#tales for teatime reading

[brightwitchbrews]

Of Ballads & Bumpy Black Toads

A tiny tale for teatime reading | ~10 minute read

The Prompt:

🍄 A bumpy black toad reads the poetry of a prince hidden in the enchanted hollows of a secret tree

The Art:

Illustration of a tree stump stacked with a prince's secret poetry journals. A bumpy black toad sits atop the stump, guarding the hollow against a woodland critter trying to sneak his own works into the collection.

Illustrated by Zack Castro @paintcapsule

The Tale:

The small child with wild brown curls and chocolate smeared across his chin was back again. He stumbled through the weeds and thorny bracken towards a small, hollowed tree stump, carpeted with lichen and tiny golden mushrooms.

In the child’s grasp was a thick stack of pages, roughly bound with cloth and bark. Resting against the stump—to the chagrin of one small, bumpy-backed amphibian observing from the liquid shadows of a nearby puddle—the child spread out his pages across the grass and began to scribble.

The sun was near to setting when the child finally packed his mess away, stowing the stack of pages in the tree’s dark hollow. The child fought his way back through the grass and, at long last, away from the peace of the observer’s domain.

The child returned the next day, and the day after that. Day by day, week by week, month by month, the observer took to hopping up atop the stump when the child was too absorbed in his writings to notice, watching as the scribbles became letters, and then words.

They were beautiful words. Well chosen and scribed in wobbling lines and dashes. Beautiful words became beautiful sentences, and the observer learned to think entirely new thoughts. They rose and curled, like smoke and the scent of new leaves, germinating, quickening, burgeoning into feelings the observer had no name for.

The observer flicked out his tongue at a passing mosquito and waited for the child to return.

Return he did. Year after year, the child and his curls grew, his bearing as wild as his thoughts, both exquisite in their chaos.

The child had long since discovered the observer, and had begun to ask his opinion.

“What do you think of this line here? I don’t think the rhyme scheme quite conveys the way a dance feels like swimming, but only when you let yourself fall from step to step...”

The observer blinked and snapped his tongue.

“No, you’re quite right, the stress is all wrong, how about...” the boy took several long moments to scribble over his words with new thoughts. “...this?” The observer tilted his head in regard and decided he quite liked both ways, and gave a loud croak to say so.

“Well that’s not spectacularly helpful, Gale. Do you mind if I call you that? Gale? I think it’s a rather regal name for a black toad, especially one so bumpy as yourself. I’m a prince you realise, and a prince must have a regal familiar.”

The observer considered the new word. It felt like marshland and the howl of a spring deluge. Gale approved.

Gale took it upon himself to guard the prince’s words. His deepest secrets and most beautiful thoughts. Book after book, stack after stack, piled up within the hollow.

Sometimes the witch with livid hair and eyes like a deep lake would come, and Gale would have to learn the new skill of how to share his prince. After a bite to the witch’s finger, a stern scolding from his prince, and gifts of glimmering moonflies from the intruder herself, Gale’s jealousy was appeased.

Sometimes creatures would scamper up to the hollow, sniffing curiously at the cloth and leather bound pages. For these, Gale bore no patience, and would scare them away with a croak like thunder.

Sometimes the rain, like his namesake, would pour down and threaten the prince’s treasures. Yet Gale, having learned one or two secrets from the witch, bellowed back, diverting rivulets and sheets of cold rain away from the mouth of his prince’s hollow.

Weary from a sleepless night in battle with a summer storm, Gale basked in the prince’s praise of his stalwart service. The prince fed Gale worms and crickets, and allowed him to sleep in his coat pocket.

Sometimes the prince would forget Gale was there, and Gale would get to go on adventures through the palace and the catacombs, forgotten crypts and half-buried libraries, lush gardens that sprouted in caves, and dark thickets of a forest whose heart keened with sorrow.

Gale saw the prince’s world in fragments, snatches of sounds and sensations, strange scents and stranger tastes. Much like his prince’s poetry, Gale learned a new world, stanza by stanza.

Gale slept on silk pillows, watching over the prince as he dreamed up new ballads.

Gale forgot about the hollow.

Until.

Gale woke to the sound of thunder and the tickle of curls beneath his chin.

The prince sat up, disgruntled, as lightning flashed beyond the window, dislodging a still more disgruntled toad from his soft bed.

The prince blinked at Gale, and Gale blinked back.

“Oh... Oh dear, if you’re here, then... My books!” The prince scrambled from his downy bed and pulled on his boots. Gale croaked and leapt into the prince’s coat pocket as he pulled it on with a violent shrug, tearing out of the room into the hall beyond.

Ignoring the shout of the guard by his door, the prince raced down stone corridors, thumping over lush woven carpets, and dashed out into the rain.

Puddles splashed, showering Gale in mud as the toad clung to the lip of the pocket. Sodden footfall chased behind them as three guards pursued the prince, who was now leaping over logs and crashing through the underbrush towards his hollow.

“No...”

The prince sank to his knees as they entered the small clearing, the fabric of his trousers soaking through with muddy water.

Icy rain was pouring sideways into the hollowed tree stump, drenching the whole stack of books from top to bottom. Shuffling forward, the prince tried in vain to shield the books as he lifted a leather-bound journal from the top of the pile. 

Gale hopped from the prince’s pocket to once more stand guard atop the rough, mossy stump. With a croak that shattered the driving rain and whistling winds to stillness, Gale watched in shame and misery as the prince grieved his words.

The crash and cracking of leafy brambles heralded the arrival of the three pursuing guards. 

“Fate’s sake, child, what are you thinking of chasing out here in the middle of a storm— Oh... oh dear.” The guard in front holstered his club of carved bone and placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder. The child turned and presented the ruined book with a tearful grizzle.

With a heaving sigh, the guard wrapped the prince’s coat tighter about him and lifted him from the earth in a cradle hold.

With a few terse, muttered instructions, the other guards retrieved the rest of the books and made to leave the clearing, following behind the guard holding the weeping prince.

Gale croaked in despair, his chest aching with failure. Had he been here, he would have staved off the storm. Had he been here, instead of content and dreaming on a silk pillow which did not belong to the likes of bumpy black toads such as himself, his prince would not be mourning years of beautiful thoughts now ruined.

Defeated, weary, and heartsick, Gale nestled into a patch of moss and closed his eyes, listening to the rustle and snap of ferns as the guards stomped away. 

Gale doubted he would ever see his prince again.

As the footsteps faded into the distance, and Gale’s magic melted away to allow the rains to fall across the clearing once again, a voice cried out from the far thickets.

“Wait!” the prince called. “Gale! We have to get Gale, turn back, please!”

Gale sat up as the chatter of a frustrated and longsuffering argument approached. The guards re-emerged through the dark and soggy trees, the prince still curled up in the lead guard’s arms.

The prince stretched out, nearly toppling from the guard’s grasp as he reached his hand towards Gale.

“Oof, hold still will you— What? That’s Gale? Good gander, little princeling, you’re going to be the death of us,” the guard grumbled, lips twisting in disgust beneath his avian mask as he caught sight of Gale huddled on the tree stump. “Fine... why not, shall we go fishing for leeches next? How about a nice stew of tree slime or—”

The prince took no heed of the guard’s muttering as he beckoned for Gale with pleading brown eyes. Coiling himself against the rough bark, Gale kicked out his legs in a great leap—arcing, arcing through the air—and landed with a squelch on the prince’s chest.

“Gale!” the prince cried in joy, caressing the bumps across his snout.

“Blegh,” the guard gagged. “All ready then? Got your swamp thing? Got all our diaries? Excellent.” The guards about-faced, crunching across the sodden earth back towards the palace.

In the days that followed, Gale watched as his prince laid all his pages out in the wan autumn sun to dry. All the charcoal writings had smudged, but only a very few pages were completely unsalvageable.

Day by day, as the pages dried, and the prince examined his work, the ache in Gale’s chest eased. All had not been lost, and the prince was very kind to his familiar.

“I think,” the prince mused as he fed small glowing bugs to Gale where he sat atop a stone windowsill, “that we need a better place to hide our poetry.”

Our poetry. Gale croaked a contented agreement, the warmth of affection filling his stomach as surely as the glittering flies.

Gale listened and watched and wandered with the prince. He chased away all the scratching and scrabbling terrors of dark places as they renewed their adventures in search of secret havens.

The prince spilled more words across fresh pages, and Gale learned the names of new feelings. The witch would visit and trade flowers for a prince’s thoughts, and Gale was only a small bit jealous.

Gale lived in pockets and the silky beds of feather pillows and, more often still, the silken nest of his prince’s bark-brown ringlets, curling up to dream of ballads.

~~~

✨ Read more tales!

[sophtoart]

More Gaster Expressions! I decided to make a bit more for Episode 2, which you can watch here

There's also the Gaster Teatime tales as well.

Here's for the Gaster Q and A playlist, because episode 3 is out too.

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 7

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 3k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: Once again, I would just like to say thank you all for your continued support! This fic doesn't get many comments, but I truly appreciate the ones I do get (and I am terribly sorry I still can't reply to comments! I do see them I swear; it's tumblr's fault I don't answer! Sending asks is the only sure way I can respond at the moment.) At any rate, this is one of those shows were I have a difficult time gauging exactly how much time is passing from shot to shot, so I'm guesstimating on some of the timelines here.

After the arrival of the latest Lady Whistledown, gossip and whispers were abound. And while the public openly discussed the events of the evening with shock and delight, those involved chose instead to keep their conversations to themselves. The Bridgertons, the Featheringtons, and even the royal family had all featured heavily in the gossiper's latest edition, and all chose to keep any discussion of the matters with which they were involved amongst themselves.

Days passed, and soon talk shifted from what had happened that night, to where it would lead. And while speculation over the relationship of Princess Beatrice and Mister Benedict Bridgerton featured heavily in ladies teatimes throughout the ton, it was not the only topic of interest.

Miss Penelope Featherington had, rather understandably, avoided being seen out in society since her scheme with Colin Bridgerton had been revealed. Her scandal was hardy enough to warrant continued gossip in many a drawing room in the many days that followed. That is of course, between talk of the multiple Bridgerton children; whose actions and influence were, once again, the talk of the season.

Colin Bridgerton had quickly become one of the most desirable matches of the season. And while he had played a key role in the scandal involving Miss Featherington, his reputation remained wholly unaffected. So while the young ladies of the ton giggled and gossiped amongst themselves over Penelope's misstep, they could not help adding how desirable they found Mister Colin Bridgerton.

Then there was Francesca Bridgerton. While the news had been somewhat undercut by the actions of her elder brother, her choice as the season's diamond--or sparkler, as the queen choice to name her--was hardly something to overlook. Having the queen's favor made her an extremely desirable match, and the fact that her brother was now rumored to be attached to royalty certainly didn't quell any interest. She had already received quite a few callers in the days following the ball, but there were rumors the queen herself had already begun searching for Miss Francesca's perfect match. An interesting development indeed, given what the royal household must currently be going through.

Which leads to Benedict Bridgerton: A known rack and former aspiring artist who had seemed, up until very recently, completely dismissive of the ideas surrounding marriage and social statues. Yet he now stood as the only known candidate for the hand of a princess.

It was quite the narrative, and people could hardly get enough. Whistledown's veiled accusation and support ad only enhanced interest more, until it soon became difficult to tell fact from fiction.

It was a narrative of romance and intrigue, taking on as many versions as could be dreamt up by the ladies of the ton. It was the story of a commoner and a princess, fighting against all odds for true love. Or perhaps it was of an artist finding his muse, and the woman who finally changed his mind--and his heart. It was a beautiful tale of love at first sight, or perhaps a more scandalous image of moonlit meetings and stolen kisses.

The many speculations were retold and discussed over and over, each growing grander and more fanciful than the last.

But what was the truth? And where would it lead?

Many believed it would end tragically, while others hoped for a fairy tale romance with the happiest of endings.

So when it was discovered a footman had made a show of arriving at Bridgerton House bearing a royal invitation, people were shocked and delighted. However, this delight would soon turn to confusion when it was revealed that the invitation was not for Mister Benedict Bridgerton, but instead his mother and sisters.

No one was quite sure what to make of it, least of all Benedict himself.

---

Beatrice stared out the window at the sprawling gardens of Buckingham House, the tea in her hands all but forgotten as she lost herself in her thoughts once more.

A bored groan brought her back to reality, and she looked over to see her sister looking at her with a raised brow.

"Sister, how can you be so dull even when there is finally so much excitement in your life?" Charlotte asked.

"Sorry to disappoint sister, but I can be nothing but myself," Beatrice replied, taking a sip of her tea at last. She grimaced; it had gone cold.

"Clearly," Charlotte noted, "Then again, the Bee I knew would have never stood up to father the way you did."

Beatrice looked down, "I...never had reason to before."

"Yes, you have always been such a dormouse," Charlotte smiled, "Yet perhaps love has changed you--it has a way of doing so. I have experienced as much myself."

"A small change perhaps, but yes. I suppose your temperament has improved somewhat since you married," Beatrice joked, a small smirk lining her face.

Charlotte laughed, "Oh? Then I suppose I can return the sentiment: I like you far more this way, even if you are still a bore."

Beatrice smiled at her elder sister. The two had never been particularly close, but there was a fondness shared between them that was often shown through their playful ribbing. They were very different people, but sisters all the same, and while they would likely never be as close as a family like the Bridgertons, it was enough.

Charlotte looked her younger sister over, a more thoughtful expression present on her lovely face, "You are really quite taken with the man, aren't you?"

"I am," Beatrice replied, "He is...truly wonderful."

"Well then, I am happy for you. It's far past time you stood up and took what you wanted for a change."

Beatrice frowned, "But Lottie, what if father refuses to allow us to be together? He is so against the idea--"

"Oh hush now," Charlotte waved her hand dismissively as she spoke, "Father may have the final say officially, but you know it is grandmama who will ultimately make the choice. Father my be a tyrant with us, but you've seen how pathetic he becomes around her. He will inevitably do as she wishes, he just has to make a show of it first so it appears that he actually considered going against her. And, seeing as you've already managed to secure her favor, I don't see any need for worry."

"It easy to say so, but I find I cannot help but worry about it regardless," Beatrice said, a gloomy look on her face.

"It will all be fine. You two will have a frightfully dull wedding, you will have many dull children, and the rest of your life will lack any hint of excitement as you spend it with what I can only assume is an equally dull man...and you will be happy,"

Beatrice smiled, "Yes, dull indeed--as opposed to you, whose life will all be so incredibly exciting."

"Well of course," Charlotte replied with an air of playful smugness, "It is alright dear sister--we cannot all be so blessed."

The two sisters continued on in this way for some time, and Beatrice found her worries had lessened somewhat by the end of their visit. She was not sure if her sister was correct in her assumptions about the inevitability of their father's answer, but she said them with such confidence it was difficult not to believe her.

---

Benedict groaned as he paced around the room, hands on his hips as he walked in circles. Violet held a gilded envelope in her hand as she watched him.

"You should calm yourself dear, worrying will hardly help matters," she suggested.

"How can I not worry? What am I to make of...that?" he replied, gesturing to the letter in his mother's hand.

Violet sighed, "It should not trouble you so. As you may recall, the princess had already inquired about a possible invitation to tea."

"Yes, but that was before all the ton became aware of our acquaintance--should I not have heard something by now?"

"I would hardly call it an acquaintance," Eloise muttered behind her book.

Benedict shot her an annoyed glance, "All I am saying, is why is it you have received an invitation to tea when I have received nothing? Should I not have received some sort of correspondence from someone? Is that not a bad sign?"

Violet stood, putting hands on her son's shoulder comfortingly, "It is not a bad sign; if anything it is good news."

"How could this possibly be good news?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Well," she began, "if the crown were not at least considering their options, then surely you would have been informed right away. That they are taking their time means there is a chance they will approve of your relationship."

"Or they believe the notion so ridiculous they would hardly waste their time discussing it, thus removing any need to tell me anything at all. Perhaps their silence is their way of saying I am not even worth consideration," Benedict countered, looking gloomy.

"If that were the case, would they have allowed her highness to invite us at all? If they wanted to dispel any rumors of a courtship between the two of you, why invite your family to Buckingham House? This will certainly look to the public as a show of approval," Violet replied.

Benedict sighed, "Perhaps you are right mother. It is only the not knowing one way or the other is driving me mad!" He flung himself onto the settee dramatically. Eloise rolled her eyes at the gesture, but said nothing.

"I'm sure the girls and I will gain some insight when we see the princess tomorrow," his mother assured him. He frowned, but said not more.

---

The opulent gold carriage slowed to a stop as it arrived in front of Buckingham House, it's four passengers stepping out one by one as they took in the view. Violet Bridgerton reached out and took Francesca's arm in hers.

"Oh, isn't it marvelous?" she commented as she stared up at the impressive structure.

"It is certainly...overwhelming," Francesca replied with a nervous smile.

"Come now dears, we mustn't keep her royal highness waiting," Violet urged, making her way up the stairs with Francesca. Eloise and Kate following behind.

"You have not met the princess yet, have you Kate?" Eloise asked as they walked.

"I have not had the pleasure, no," Kate replied, "Is she truly as wonderful as Benedict claims she is?"

Eloise shrugged, "I suppose. She seemed nice enough when we spoke, but it is hard to say. She is royalty after all--they have to behave themselves, do they not?"

"From what I have heard, her father hardly conducts himself with such consideration," Kate observed.

"Well he is a man: Men can do whatever they please without fear of the consequences."

"Too true," Kate smiled as she and Eloise stepped through the doors of Buckingham House.

Beatrice stood just inside, watching as they entered. She grinned, eager to welcome them all.

"Dowager Viscountess, Viscountess Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton," she greeted them formally as they lined up and curtsied before her.

"Your royal highness, thank you for the invitation," Violet said, smiling kindly at the princess.

"I was quite eager to have you all, so thank you for accepting," Beatrice replied, turning to Kate next, "And Viscountess, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Lady Danbury has told me so much about you."

"Oh dear; only good things, I hope?" Kate asked.

Beatrice laughed, "Yes of course! And I have found Lady Danbury says nothing she does not mean, so it must all be true."

Kate smiled back at the princess.

"Now shall we then? We will certainly be more comfortable speaking in the drawing room," Beatrice suggested as she turned, leading them down the many winding halls of Buckingham House.

They arrived at their destination, taking seats around a table laid with tea and biscuits. Beatrice sat so she was facing her guests, smiling at them as a servant poured their tea.

"I must confess I am rather nervous," she admitted, "I have never hosted tea before."

"You're nervous?" Eloise repeated without thinking, "You're not sitting across from royalty."

"Eloise!" her mother hissed.

Beatrice laughed, "It's alright. She does have a point," she turned to Eloise, "I get nervous quite a lot actually; I am not so bold as some of the other members of my family. Though, it would help ease my nerves somewhat if you continued speaking freely with me. I feel less of a need to perform when the situation feels more informal."

"Oh, well I," Eloise didn't seem to know quite how to respond.

"I believe what Eloise means to say is that we certainly do not wish to make you nervous. However, it would be...improper for us to address you so casually," Kate said eloquently.

"Ah, of course," Beatrice replied. She raised a hand, and with a wave dismissed the servants standing silently against the back wall. Without a word they filed out of the room, leaving the ladies alone, "There--now there is no one to witness any lapse in decorum."

"Your royal highness," Violet began hesitantly.

"Please, call me Beatrice."

"Oh, I...I'm not sure I can do that," Violet replied honestly.

"Won't you please? And then I shall call you by your names as well," Beatrice insisted, "My social circle is...quite small at the moment. I would so like for us to be friends."

The Bridgertons were silent, their social training at odds with their desire to adhere to her wishes.

"Well, if you insist," Eloise said with a shrug. Her family looked at her with surprise, but with one of them in agreement, it seemed easier for the rest to follow suite.

"Lovely!" Beatrice replied happily, "Now, perhaps we should drink our tea--I would hate for it to go cold."

The ladies secured a cup of tea, each taking small sips as they looked at one another. A silence fell over the room as they waited for someone to say something. The Bridgertons had expected Beatrice to go on, but she seemed unsure of what she should say.

"Oh enough!" Eloise finally spoke, sitting her tea aside rather forcefully, "Will you be telling us about what is going on with Benedict or not?" Everyone looked at her in stunned silence. Quickly realizing she had all but yelled at a princess, she softly add, "If you are so inclined....Beatrice."

Her mother moved to scold her once again, but Beatrice spoke before she could begin.

"Ah yes...I suppose you all must be quite curious," Beatrice fidgeted in her seat, "How much has Benedict told you exactly?"

"Everything," Eloise answered bluntly.

"I see...so you are aware we are more acquainted than we may have let on?"

"Indeed," Kate replied.

Beatrice sighed, "Then there is little else I can tell you. For my part, I can say the matter has been discussed with her majesty and my father, but he has not yet made his decision. I expect we shall hear soon enough, but I truly do not know what his answer will be."

"I see," Violet said, a hint of disappointment in her voice, "We had hoped for better news, though I suppose it is not nothing. That the matter is being considered at all is something with which to be thankful."

"My sister believes it will all work out, since grandmama has made her stance known to my father. He is...not known for defying my grandmother's wishes. Father is quite adamantly against the relationship, but with my grandmother's support it will be far more difficult for him to disallow it."

"Her majesty supports you?" Violet asked in surprise.

"Yes, though I'm not sure what motives she may have for doing so."

"Well whatever her reasons, if you have the queen's blessing then surely there is nothing to worry about," Kate reassured her.

Beatrice smiled, "Yes, I truly hope so."

---

The rest of the afternoon was spend speaking about less serious subjects. Beatrice found it became easier to relax as the time passed. The Bridgertons clearly felt the same, each of them losing a layer of the rigidity they had started with. Francesca even joined the conversation once the topic shifted to music.

Beatrice showed them the music room as promised, though there was little time left for playing. She promised Francesca another invitation soon, and gifted her some sheet music as an apology. They also made a quick stop in the library, where Eloise found more than a few books that caught her eye. Beatrice would have allowed her to take them all, but the stack was quite high in the end. instead, Eloise chose only two, and agreed to another invitation so she may trade them out for more.

As the Bridgertons made their way to the foyer, Violet rather discreetly handed Beatrice an envelope containing a letter. Beatrice seemed surprised, before smiling shyly and presenting her own hidden letter in return.

Farewells were exchanged, and soon the Bridgertons were on their way home. Beatrice watched them from the window, her thumb rubbing against the soft paper in her hand. She had enjoyed her time with them immensely, but it had only made her miss Benedict more.

She desperately hoped she would see him again soon.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @asterizee @g4ns3y @bubblegumcat229 @mhmoony @mmmunson @iamcailin08

[shootingstarpilot]

Do you have any recommendations for fics where Qui-Gon is a good master/dad to Obi-Wan?

Oh, boy, do I!

Author-wise, I really cannot recommend @the-last-kenobi enough. Definitely the best source for some good master/dad Qui-Gon- they were actually the first SW author I started following! You can find their works here.

The vast majority of the works in my bookmarks under the Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi relationship tag have Qui-Gon being a good master/dad to Obi-Wan, so if you'd like, you can browse those here. Some of my absolute all-time favorites are listed below, but I love everything in my bookmarks!

The Melida/Daan Probation series by @trysomecats has some really good sweet interactions between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon as they try to rebuild their relationship.

Memory's Betrayal by @maychorian gets me every time. A oneshot with amnesia and Qui-Gon realizing he has the opportunity to do better.

The Recovery series by @firondoiel, @happygiraffe, @luvvewan, and @sanerontheinside is a masterpiece of long-term recovery from a severe injury- both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon survive Naboo, but Obi-Wan is left severely injured by Darth Maul. An achingly tender read.

I thought I fought this war alone by @stonefreeak, I just-- man, I have no words. It's a oneshot. Go read it. You won't regret it.

the massive machinery of hope by Kilbothtwins (I don't know if they have a Tumblr account) is an absolutely magnificent series- at the end of the war with the Empire, Obi-Wan wakes up in his twelve-year-old body and decides to be an utter BAMF about it. Qui-Gon is not 100% sure what's going on, but he trusts his Padawan and is enjoying himself immensely.

Invitation by @antheiasilva is one of my FAVORITES-- during an awkward Lineage dinner, Obi-Wan finds out that Qui-Gon had a shitty Padawanship and rallies magnificently in his defense. Sweet, well-written, and provides a wonderful glimpse of the budding Negotiator.

Patrilineal by @markwatnae is an absolute delight- with bonus Codywan! General Jinn is dispatched to join the 212th, and Cody can't quite figure out the relationship between him and his General.

I can't imagine that you haven't heard of the Mission Report series by @smilebackwards yet, but just in case, I'll add it here! A brilliantly done series that gets me every time-- Qui-Gon survives Naboo and finally manages to start repairing his Padawan's shredded self-esteem. No lie, this makes me so emotional every time- they care so much about each other and I would die for them both.

Oh, my gosh, and also everything by @deniigi. My favorites are:

Owl Dad Qui-Gon in pines and needles (the follow-up to take flight is equally good, but only mentions Qui-Gon in passing).

poisoned chalice is EXCELLENT for post-Melida/Daan Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon trying desperately to cope.

skipping stones has some fantastic lineage feelings-- Feemor is going absolutely feral over his new Padawan brother. There is a lot of bonding and I am having a lot of Feelings.

And to round it off- sunshine_lollipops_and (also do not know their tumblr) has been putting out some top-notch good dad!Qui-Gon content lately! Learning Curve is, quite frankly, an adorable mission fic, and Tales from Teatime is a series of oneshots that range from hilariously funny antics to heart-wrenching hurt/comfort- all of it equally well-written!

Feel free to add your own recommendations-- I'm sure I'll end up reblogging with more additions soon enough, but I wanted to get this out today!

[jinkookspencil]

my daisy | kth

you're late... but your lifelong crush helps you get ready

description/tags: taehyung one-shot / angst and suggestive / taehyung is her childhood family friend and neighbor / historical!AU! / this can be any historical era you wish it to be, it was inspired by the regency era, bridgerton, and taehyungs photofolio but it can be the early 1900s if you want it to be too it's really not that specific / ~1.9k words

rating: 18+ minors dni / 18+ even though it's suggestive because it starts out in an 18+ way but reader is alone (she is touching herself) /

author's note: this is my first time writing taehyung!! i had this written in my drafts for a while, intending to publish it when layover was out in celebration of him! <3 finally completely edited for like the third time and now i can finally get to work on my requests. i hope you guys like it :') i literally gave him one of my favorite scenarios of all time.

A chill summer breeze wafts through the windows, cooling your otherwise sweltering bedroom… though a bead of sweat forms at your hairline, for your bare body still radiated heat. 

The sudden air against your folds tickled, right while you’d been playing and feeling through and within them while lying atop the restricting cotton bedsheets, your other hand lost in the tangles of your own hair.

 “T-t-t….” you moan into the dimly lit room, imagining it’d been the hand of your brother’s best friend getting you close to the edge instead of your own. His name almost slips from your lips….

But the man himself storms into your room instead.

“Mr. Kim!” you screech, seeing him at your side at once. Quick to grab the pillow from beneath your hips and jerk the sheet below until it was free from its tidy dressing onto the mattress, you were unkemptly covered in seconds. “Get out!”

But Kim Taehyung still stood before you, head merely tilted downwards, waiting for you to properly wrap your bare body with the fabric. Tugging the thin sheet tightly at the back, you'd been oblivious to the fact that it outlined every curve and dip of your figure and truly, was all the more tantalizing to the man before you who'd been obviously failing his attempts not to steal glances at you through his periphery. It was unsurprising.

Taehyung had always been a menace. The boy never listened, never followed any rules except his own, and evidently never learned how to knock on another’s door. 

It was no secret to your family that you'd been smitten with Taehyung, the neighbor’s only grandson, since childhood, long before he grew to be your brother's most trusted friend. He'd been your friend first, after all, until the two of you had come of age and society deemed such a friendship inappropriate with youthful, hurried engagements, infatuations, and hormone-riddled courtships running amuck...

It proved to be a lifelong infatuation that followed you into womanhood, and though the days spent picking flowers, reading fairy tales, and ‘make-believe teatime’ were long behind you, his friendship with your brother still kept Taehyung in your life, and you were as thankful for it as the fond, playful memories of your youth.

The sheer power of your own feelings only made itself apparent when he’d went away to begin his apprenticeship in France with no promise of an engagement or any indication of reciprocated feelings. Despite an initial sorrow, the longing had turned into an ache in your chest that seemed impossible to ignore, only slightly remedied by his occasional letters and gifts. It was a short-lived hope that he could still be yours. His return as society’s most eligible, handsome, and accomplished bachelor only made it harder to confess - for everyone fell under Taehyung's spell.

With rumors of his charming reputation and dedicated work in France swirling through society and countless men and women organizing courting arrangements before he'd even arrived a month ago, you thought to make haste with your confession, but your half-written love letters were ultimately kept away in the drawers right behind where he'd stood now, with the postcards, letters, and gifts he'd sent you over that time. And you'd spent all those nights with him away just as you had tonight, imagining he'd been there, in your very room, bare as you'd been right beside you... And it had to have happened as such.  

“Oh, I apologize, Miss_____,” he says calmly, and the hint of a smirk appears on his face before he turns to face away from you, “But I’m here on orders of your dear mother. You’re, uhm, expected?”

Fuck. You lost track of time. 

“Should I tell her you’re not feeling well?” 

“No. No, I have to be there, sir. I’m expected to make at least one possible match tonight,” you panic, slithering into the undergarments you’d discarded by the bed earlier. Too hasty to feel shame, and, for the first time, thankful that women’s undergarments cover more than they ever should, you march to the wooden partition, only for your corset to be in Taehyung’s hands.

“Allow me to help,” he offers with a smile. “Your sisters are furious at your being late already, and well, I’m the only one who won’t give you an earful.”

You resign, stepping between Taehyung and the mirror and readying yourself into the corset. Looking at your reflection, you could see your figure and breasts through the sheer chemise with ease…. Practically as naked as you had been. And the man you’d who held your corset and your affection in his hands was staring at the same image with a blank expression on his face. 

“This is absolutely humiliating,” you groan, inhaling as he pulls the strings of your corset. Your breasts rise above, forming a perfect, heaving cleavage that remains there, perfectly shaped, as your torso is pulled back…. But only ever so slightly. This was new…. comfortable, and…. just as shapely and alluring. A miracle.

“….It fits well and isn’t as tight as when the girls do it… you have practice, I assume, tying women’s corsets?” you say, taking in your reflection and silently wondering if the man behind you stole another glimpse before he swiftly tied the knot at your back - or if you’d compared to the beauties he must’ve courted in Paris.

Tutting, he ignores the question. His fingers remain at your back, playing with the strings he’d just tied together before tracing your corset's hem. You don't push his hands away when he continues to trace the boning to where it lies below your breast, until his long, elegant fingers ghost your stomach and he pulls his hand away.

It’s only when he steps backward that you exhale comfortably, highly unusual in such a corset, and in the reflection, you see Taehyung grab the dress you were due to wear from its hook behind the partition that enclosed you. He hands it to you without a word from where he stood at your back and with his help, you quickly step into the silky dress, and he ties it up just the same. 

The color of the dress allowed your skin to shine as brightly as the rhinestones that adorned it, laid perfectly across your breasts and capsleeves…. Admiring them so, you remember the accompanying jewelry you’d prepared for the evening, a dainty set of earrings, which you put on in a millisecond, and its matching necklace.

“Allow me,” Taehyung says in a hush from behind you, tracing down your arm until he reaches the necklace in the palm of your hand. He brushes your hair to the side, the gentle graze of his fingertips sending chills down your spine as he works away at the lock. 

“There”, he says, close enough for you to feel the breath of the word at your nape.

Thankful his gaze was fixated there, chilling as it may be, you quickly attempt to hide your heavy breathing and the rise and fall of your chest by working away at your hair, braiding and pinning it in minutes until you looked like every other 'hopeful' bachelorette.

With a dazzling look and the event kicking off the society’s courting season… you were sure to catch the wild eyes of plenty of eligible bachelors, much to your chagrin. You were at an appropriate age to be wed, let alone courted…. but it was clear that you could never feel about a man what you felt for Taehyung. Every other dead-end meeting your mother had set up in the time he’d been away proved that fact and only frustrated her further, especially when you’d turned down both of Taehyung’s now-married cousins, the highly educated and well-off brothers Namjoon and Seokjin. ‘Artistic boys get you nowhere,’ she’d said, trying to secure your future despite having a soft spot for Taehyung herself. 

Now, in the mirror, you could see. Lust. Love. Trust. Humiliation. Your own sinful desire reflected back at you, along with Taehyung's striking side profile. Disregarding the mirror altogether, he had his head turned towards you, surely close enough to smell the rosy scent on your skin, on which you'd continuously felt his warm breathing.

“You look ravishing,” he finally mutters. “You looked beautiful even then.”

“Even then?” 

“Before France…” he whispers, toying with the silky fabric at your shoulders. “And tonight....before this…. Especially before this.”

You finally break your own gaze, turning to face him and allowing your nose to brush against his, noting his floral scent… daisies specifically… the kind you’d always play with…. With a hint of some French cologne… The person you always knew, and the man he came to be… 

“Any man would be lucky to dance with you.”

“It is not any man that I would wait for. It is not any man that I want…” you whisper, taking Taehyung’s hand and placing it on your waist. But his hand moves, quick to wrap around you and pull your body right against his.

“And what is it that you want so badly?”

Taehyung’s head tilts as his gaze fixates on a spot on your neck, biting at his lower lip and ready to do the same to your exposed skin. His lips meet your neck….

And a loud knock is heard on your door.

“_____, mother is waiting!” you hear through the door. “We’re all waiting. What’s taking you so long? Should I help with the corset?”

Oh… Right.

The two of you exhale against each other, Taehyung’s breath warmer than it had been…. even nicer. But he pulls away, ever so slightly.

“No! No, did that myself. A minute more,” you say, loud enough for your little sister to hear through the door.

“You did your own corset? Strange. Well, do you have any idea where Tae is? None of us can find him after mother sent him up here, and I want to show him how cutely I'd dressed up the teddy bear he got me!” your sister continues. “Mr. Kim Namjoon came looking for him too. Did he run off to the event ahead of us?”

“I don’t know,” you say, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze. “Now run off. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

“I should go,” you say quietly, when you’d heard your sister’s footsteps fade. “I’ll see you there?”

Taehyung nods as he unwraps his arm from around your body, licking the lips you'd almost met.

You hear your name being called lowly from behind you just as you open your bedroom door. Turning only your head, you resist the urge to slam the door shut and kiss away the sudden anguish on Taehyung’s face.

“Save me a dance.”

“Two,” you reply, and he chuckles, walking towards you and taking your hand in his.

"I won't delay you further, my daisy. Tonight, I ask you for a dance, but soon... I hope you'll allow me to ask for this as well." Taehyung brings your hand up to his face, kissing your knuckles with his eyes closed, fluttering them open, and looking at you through his lashes with his lips still there. He doesn't wait for a reply. “Go.” 

[sigyns-drafts]

Wassup! How ya doin? So, I've been looking through your stuff, and honestly, DAMN you write good! If it's not too much, I'd like to request for ROR Buddha, Ares, Hermes, and Jack interacting with or having teatime with Marie Antoinette reader?

After reading her up as to what she was actually like, I'd like to think that after her death, she started leading a more modest lifestyle cause I like the idea of her becoming a cottage core girlie, but still maintaining some level of opulence from her life, like jewelry, or love of sweets.

That'd be all! Wish you the best!

A/N: Hello, I'm doing just fine today and thank you so much for asking and for the compliment!! I'm very passionate about my works and writings. 👀

Glady I will, it's never too much. I hope you're also doing fine and if not, please enjoy what I've got for you. Also did you draw that? It's stunning!!

I absolutely adore this idea you have for Marie Antoinette, 100℅ cottagecore girl!~ <3

Teatime with Marie Antoinette ☕🤍

➩ Marie Antoinette, adorned in a gown of shimmering silk and gold jewelry, sat gracefully at a marble table set with delicate porcelain teacups and dainty pastries. Across from her, sat an empty chair for whoever would want to join her.

And much to the woman's surprise, who was used to being alone in this afterlife because of her past, would be having some company after all, much to her delight!

➩ Reader type: Marie Antoinette!reader with Buddha, Ares, Hermes and Jack the ripper.

⚠: Mentions of past death, murders, past regrets & flashbacks, angst, jacks mommy issues!

Buddha:

The scent of blossoms hung heavy in the air and the gentle rustle of leaves provided a soothing backdrop to the graceful Marie Antoinette, who found herself seated at a elegantly set tea table.

Opposite her sat Buddha, the enlightened one, who had joined her for tea, albeit for an unconventional reason.

Marie Antoinette, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected guest, regarded Buddha with a mixture of amusement and intrigue.

"Welcome, honored Buddha," she greeted, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Buddha, his serene expression unchanged, offered a gentle smile.

"I have come for the pastries," he replied simply, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"But I am also curious to hear your story, Madame Antoinette."

Marie Antoinette's laughter bubbled forth like a sparkling stream, her mirth contagious in the tranquil garden.

"Well, Buddha," she exclaimed, her eyes dancing with amusement, "you are in luck, for I have plenty of pastries to share, and a story to tell that is as rich as the treats before us."

As they indulged in the delectable pastries, their conversation flowed effortlessly, traversing the realms of history, philosophy, and the intricacies of human nature.

Despite their stark differences in background and beliefs, Marie Antoinette and Buddha found a surprising kinship in their shared appreciation for life's simple pleasures.

Buddha listened intently as Marie Antoinette regaled him with tales of her life as the Queen of France, her voice animated with passion and warmth.

From her extravagant balls and lavish feasts to the tumultuous political landscape that defined her reign, she painted a vivid portrait of a woman caught in the whirlwind of history.

"And what of you, Buddha?" Marie Antoinette inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"What led you to seek enlightenment and transcendence?"

Buddha's expression softened, his gaze turning inward as he reflected on his journey towards enlightenment.

"I sought to understand the nature of suffering and the path to liberation," he explained, his voice serene yet filled with compassion.

"In the pursuit of truth, I found a deeper understanding of the human condition and the interconnectedness of all beings."

Marie Antoinette nodded thoughtfully, her admiration for Buddha's wisdom evident in her eyes.

"A noble quest indeed," she remarked, her voice tinged with respect. "And yet, here we are, bound together by a shared love for pastries and the joy of good company."

Buddha had to let out a small chuckle, "Hah, indeed we are Madame, indeed we are."

Ares:

Marie Antoinette found herself seated at a gracefully adorned tea table, her delicate porcelain cup filled with fragrant brew.

Across from her sat Ares, the formidable god of war, his imposing presence softened by the ambiance of their setting.

Marie greeted Ares with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with charm. "Welcome, Lord Ares," she said graciously, extending a dainty hand in greeting.

"I am delighted to have your company for tea this evening."

Ares, his expression stoic yet tinged with uncertainty, returned the gesture with a curt nod.

He shook her hand as gently as he was able to, afraid to somehow hurt her. His hand was much bigger than hers after all and compared to her, he was a god.

"The pleasure is mine, Madame Antoinette," he replied, his voice gruff yet respectful.

"I must admit, tea is not something I am accustomed to, but I am willing to partake.."

As they settled into their seats, Marie Antoinette poured tea for both herself and Ares, her movements graceful and practiced.

Ares, however, found himself struggling with the delicate intricacies of tea etiquette, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the delicate teacup.

Marie Antoinette let out a small giggle behind her hand as she watched Ares' attempts, finding his earnestness endearing despite his lack of finesse.

"Fear not, Lord Ares," she reassured him, her voice laced with amusement.

"Tea drinking is an art form, but with a bit of guidance, I am certain you will master it in no time."

With patient encouragement, Marie Antoinette guided Ares through the proper technique of holding the teacup, lifting it with elegance, and sipping the tea with refined grace.

Though Ares initially struggled to emulate her poise, he soon found himself growing more accustomed to the ritual, his movements becoming smoother with each attempt.

As they conversed over tea, Marie Antoinette regaled Ares with tales of her life in the royal court of France, her anecdotes punctuated by laughter and animated gestures.

Ares listened intently, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of admiration and bemusement.

"And what of you, Lord Ares?" Marie Antoinette inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"What tales do you have to share from ancient Greece?"

Ares' expression softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"My tales are not ones of refinement and elegance. They're just not suitable for a fair lady such as you," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of determination in doing the proper thing he thought was best.

Even if it had sparked her curiosity and interest to hear what went out on the battlefield, Marie Antoinette simply just nodded and chuckled in return.

"Whatever you say Ares, if that is what you wish."

Hermes:

Marie Antoinette found herself seated at a beautifully adorned tea table, her porcelain cup filled with delicious warm tea.

Before her stood Hermes, the fleet-footed messenger of the gods, his presence exuding an air of elegance much like her own and efficiency.

Hermes, clad in his customary black suit and carrying a tray laden with delicacies, bowed respectfully before Marie Antoinette.

"Madame Antoinette," he greeted, his voice smooth as silk.

"I have come to attend to your needs as your humble bulter this evening."

Marie Antoinette smiled graciously, her eyes filled with appreciation.

"Oh thank you, Hermes," she replied, her voice soft and filled with a sincere warmth.

"But I would much prefer your company, if you would be so kind."

Hermes hesitated for a moment, unused to be offerd this by someone he saw as a guest to him and the other gods court.

But he found himself unable refuse the request of the gracious lady in front of him.

With a nod of acquiescence, he set down the tray and took a seat opposite Marie Antoinette, his demeanor composed yet curious.

As they began to engage in polite conversation, their words flowing effortlessly between them.

Despite their best efforts to maintain a sense of decorum, a sudden mishap occurred when Marie Antoinette inadvertently knocked over a delicate teacup, causing it to spill it's contents onto the table.

"Pardon me, sir," Marie Antoinette exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I did not do that on purpose!"

Hermes' expression softened with recognition as he realized the significance of her words.

Those were her last words before she was executed.

"No need to apologize, Madame Antoinette," he replied gently, his voice tinged with sympathy as he took out a napkin from his pocket.

"Its okay for even those of high statuses to make mistakes and be a bit clumsy."

Marie Antoinette nodded but quickly grew quiet, her thoughts drifting back to the events of her mortal life, to the past tumultuous moments leading up to her untimely demise.

Yet, despite the weight of her memories haunting her, she found solace in Hermes' understanding gaze, his silent support a balm to her troubled soul.

"I apologize for my words, Madame Antoinette but I'm being truthful." Hermes spoke once more, his eyes filled with compassion.

"I did not mean to cause you so much distress."

"How did you- doesn't matter.."

Marie Antoinette shook her head, offering him a gentle smile. She wasn't sure how Hermes was able to tell something was off about her.

Was it because he was a divine being or because it was so obvious? Either way it didn't matter.

"It is quite all right, Hermes. You haven't..i just had to remember something." she replied, her voice filled with forgiveness.

"In fact, I am grateful for your understanding. You're right, even I can make mistakes."

"Exactly, now let me clean this up for us so we can continue this splendid tea party, hm~"

Jack the ripper:

In the serene gardens of the afterlife, Marie Antoinette sat gracefully at a finely set tea table, her porcelain cup filled with warm tea, her mind lost in contemplation.

Suddenly, she sensed a presence approaching, and to her surprise, Jack the Ripper emerged from the shadows, his demeanor creepy yet strangely intriguing.

Jack, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, bowed respectfully before Marie Antoinette.

"Madame Antoinette," he greeted, his voice a low murmur, "I hope you do not mind if I join you for tea. After all, who am I to resist such a grand offer?"

Marie Antoinette, though taken aback by the unexpected company, of such a known killer gestured graciously for Jack to take a seat.

"Of course, Monsieur Ripper, who am I to dismiss some company!" she replied, her voice composed yet tinged with curiosity.

"I welcome you, unlike most here.." She sighs, recalling how many had been very cold towards him.

Though who were they to blame for having murdered innocent women.

As they settled into their seats, Marie Antoinette and Jack engaged in polite conversations at first, their words dancing between until it slowly took a deep turn.

Jack, ever the enigma, shared tales of his past, his voice tinged with a mixture of remorse and defiance.

Marie Antoinette listened intently, her heart heavy with empathy for the man shrouded in darkness.

Yet she still had to think about his poor victims and how it could've all been avoided if Jack's mother hadn't snapped, same went for the bearded man himself.

"And what of you, Madame Antoinette?" Jack inquired, his gaze piercing yet strangely gentle.

"How did you find yourself in the halls of the afterlife?"

Marie Antoinette's expression softened as she recounted the events of her mortal life, from her rise as the Queen of France to her tragic demise at the hands of the revolutionaries.

She usually wouldn't have shared such memories with someone, for it haunted her so deeply til this day.

But knowing Jack hadn't been any better than her when he was alive, she felt like she could speak of the trials and tribulations she faced, her voice filled with hidden sorrow.

As their conversation delved deeper into the intricacies of their pasts, Marie Antoinette and Jack found themselves bound by a shared understanding of the burdens they bore.

Even with the vast chasm that separated them in life, they discovered a common thread of humanity that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.

Suddenly, amidst their conversation, a faint sound echoed through the garden, the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps.

Marie Antoinette's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see her beloved child, running towards her with arms outstretched.

"Mama!" the child cried, tears streaming down their cheeks, seeking solace in their mother's embrace.

Marie Antoinette's eyes brimmed with tears as she enveloped her child in a warm embrace, her heart overflowing with love for her youngling.

"Oh darling what are you doing here?!"

As she glanced up at Jack, she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a glimpse of the vulnerability that lurked beneath his hardened exterior.

Jack watched the tender scene unfold before him, a bittersweet smile playing upon his lips. In that moment, he saw himself reflected in the child's tears, a lost soul seeking comfort in the arms of their mother.

"Well aren't they a adorable little one~"

[augment-techs]

Literary Witches: A Celebration of Magical Women Writers

As Writing Prompts~

wife, sister, virgin, whore

an incantation, a naming, a blessing, a curse

weavers, potters, cooks, and healers

flip to any page; follow your wyrd

conjurer of hurricanes, zombies, and tall tales

with each story, the basket gains an apple

alchymist of monsters, children, the living and the dead

a terrible baby, their very arrival a murder

even the freshest thing is mixed with rot

a painful tale about the creation of life and what happens to shunned, abandoned children

shaman of dew, hummingbirds, and mushroom language

could not read or write and lived in poverty on the mountains

healer and oral poet

hermit of hospitals, belonging, and lost souls

"You think you're the only one who doesn't belong?"

at least some creatures can find a home

receiving two hundred electroshock treatments and narrowly escaping a lobotomy

grand dame of trickery, murder, and teatime

"Most unpleasant."

a consolatory apricot biscuit

sibyl of masks, extraterrestrial eggs, and twisted fantasies

smashes the crystal ball on the ground

what remains--glass shards and a black, sticky substance

the room is clean and the crystal ball intact

madame of roses, geometry, and repetition

grow feathers, slink into worms, shrink into dragonflies--anything to get out

undine of introspection, opulent dreams, and voyages

some collect seashells, others chart the sun's movement

some keep house, make lace, pursue lovers

dakini of holy ecstasy, the dark one, and ankle bells

poison becomes ashamed

miraculously escaped their poisoning attempts twice

fantasma of silence, death, and lilacs

a bird of blue bones drops a piece of paper

the paper unfolds into a palace

step in through the door

the music hollows

cursed to hear it forever

give in, eat the bird whole

storyteller of rattlesnakes, turquoise, and the sacred desert

the drought has gone on too long

spider's silk holding all things together shines with the light

high priestess of scholars, volcanoes, and eros

a grim jewel of astronomical price

fondles their muscles over coffee and toast

sorceress of islands, venom, and histories

the soup boils down to a thick black sludge

soothsayer of utopias, creeping women, and evil wallpaper

the unseen fairy

the people must realize the changes for themselves

the disastrous, sexist "rest cure" prescribed for postpartum depression

sorceress of names, houses, and solitude

sometimes the mango is perfectly juicy, sometimes underripe, sometimes too sweet, or bruised

cigar in hand, walk into the jacaranda trees, hanging black bras off the branches

'Use this to climb out,' read the notes tied on with ribbon

guardian of the waters, the porcelain, and the lexicon

they love these puddles

they will not survive this one

wolf child fight their way to the bank of the river; they survive

after a lifelong struggle with mental illness

fairy godparent of bloody tales, the circus, and mirror

"Not another one."

doll in a red riding habit

and a bleeding wolf escapes from under the cloth

dark drops of blood sink into the soil and the roses bloom a deeper, more delicious red

sumptuous tapestries depicting sexual, violent scenes

ornamented with symbols and adjectives

warrior witch of otherness, bodies electric, and sisterhood

the sword is for slaying ghosts and demons along the way

lava filling their wounds

the coroner writes

populated with mothers, children, sisters, anger, cancer, the erotic, unicorns, snails eating dead snakes, witches, fire, and the importance of refusing silence

specter of windows, flies, and the unexpected

travels freely between the afterworld and this world

a white dress kneeling in the flowerbeds

rebel of sensual love, green gardens, and perfume

they never speak of it, but each man is haunted by his vision

withered leaves, wilted geraniums and lilacs

write explicitly about sexuality

siren of the lyre, honey, and ruins

the rest of the words are illegible

how seriously each child puts those wings on in the mirror

seer of peacocks, weird country people, and glass eyes

pray to see humanity clearly

the doors creak open

cosmic traveler of crows, horses, and survival

joy lies down in a field

the music is a spell

courageously survived an oppressive childhood, teenage pregnancy, and domestic abuse

koldunya of winter, endurance, and willows

the sodden papers become bandages for the wounded

rations of potatoes, cabbage, and milk

queen of miracles, generations, and memory

fury of motherhood, marriage, and the moon

dismembers mannequins with ferocious, precise claws

terrified into the thrill of living

enchantress of bitter love, treachery, and jewels

summons a moonbeam into a locked room

climb down to find an underground chamber

"I am the ruler of this prison."

locked up in the bedroom for six months

witch of villages, domestic horrors, and omens

rabid cats, poisoned beetles, blood-tipped needles

the ice cream section of the twenty-four-hour grocery store at three a.m.

doesn't need help finding anything

marries the ordinary with the supernatural

sower of strange seeds, species, and the future

mutating with violent need for food, power, and sex

covertly tosses seeds kept in pockets into the neighbors' yards

watcher of the moors, fantasy, and cruel romance

brushed the carpets and took walks in the hills

death of tuberculosis at thirty

[sansahightower]

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser

Midnights become my afternoons

When my depression works the graveyard shift

All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices and vices

I end up in crises

Tale as old as time

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

'Cause you got tired of my scheming

For the last time

It's me

Hi!

I'm the problem, it's me

At teatime

Everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Did you hear my covert narcissism

I might disguise as altruism

Like some kind of congressman

Tale as old as time

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving

And life will lose all its meaning

For the last time

I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money

She thinks I left them in the will

The family gathers 'round and reads it

And then someone screams out

"She's laughing up at us from hell!"

[lilithnightray]

People really aren't joking when they say Ensemble Stars will destroy your life. I became ReiP instantly. That wasn't my choice. It was written in the stars. Then I became RitsuP among a few others. I thought to myself, “This is fine. La Mort will be the hardest step, but I still have like over a year”. First I felt my heart shatter whenever I saw Entrancing Myth card because I was unable to get it and was sure it will never return. AND THEN IT CAME BACK So I did literally everything I could and just barely got it.

And before this revival came Ritsu's Teatime Fairy Tales, which also forced me to read (skip) all the stories I could and even reminded me of the existence of Infinite Live and Expert Live. I also discovered you can buy scout tickets using Mission Coins. Getting it was what made getting Entrancing Myth a nightmare, as most of my options without spending money for more than VIP were already exhausted.

And now comes La Mort. I had like 4k dia at the beginning. So naturally, I was desperate to get Rei as getting memorial coins for Ritsu is just a matter of time not luck. Also, Rei was the absolute must-have simply because he looks gorgeous here, and they are together❤. Fast-forward 60 pulls in, that once more involved pain and suffering to afford, and still no Rei. So I go and finish reading the event story. In the beginning, I thought I may be able to also get Ritsu if I get Rei in like 10–20 pulls, but I long since gave up on that idea. AND THEN Rei showed me mercy and came in 70th pull. AND SUDDENLY I actually may be able to also get Ritsu with that wonderful 80% event bonus from Rei and Nagisa, normally I had like 6% max from 3* cards so seeing 80 made me baffled. For some reason, I thought it would be like 20% max.

But I will suffer again. Looking at the future events, they spell nothing but my demise.

Throughout the days, from announcements to the end of their event/scout, they were always in my mind.

Also, a fun fact: Up until today, I honestly didn't know it's possible to run out of small gems

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 3 - AUs Regency/Bridgerton AU

Young debutante Rapunzel has always had a hefty task on her shoulders: restore her family’s honor in high society, soiled when her father vanished after leaving Lady Gothel with child. When it comes time for Rapunzel’s first season eligible for suitors, however, she finds fixing a reputation is much easier said than done.

There are plenty of handsome bachelors eager to ask her to dance at the season's balls, despite her sullied name. And why not? Lady Gothel has never accepted anything less than perfection--perfect blonde locks, perfect figure, perfect dress, perfect character, perfect complexion. Perfect wife. Not a trace of dirt, bad manners, or inelegance in sight. As long as Rapunzel wears the polite, demure persona her mother has so carefully crafted, she knows finding a husband will be no trouble. Lady Gothel even claims Rapunzel could draw the attention of a duke or an earl or a viscount if she applies herself.

The problem, however, is that Rapunzel has to hold so very much of herself back to be what Lady Gothel wishes.

Proper young ladies do not go out riding unchaperoned, nor are they so indelicate and uncivilized as to get paint on their fingers when they take to the easel. While they may go birdwatching or flower-picking in the garden, they do not stray beyond the cultivated hedges and soil their gowns in the filth of the woods, of all places. Proper young ladies certainly do not read and memorize so much from the library that they might intimidate or outdo a man with scholarly pursuits. A lady should pursue pastimes with grace and poise, not a loud vigor that would scare any sensible gentleman away.

Then there is the matter of her heart.

High society ladies do not marry for love, as Rapunzel is well aware. They marry for security, for status, for who will be able to best provide for the children. Even carrying this knowledge all her life, Rapunzel finds herself hoping for a fairy tale ending so fantastical--so absurd, so scandalous--that it would make her mother faint.

She wants to run away with the stable boy, shed every lavish thing that has ever been hers and start a new life in a ton where no one knows her.

Rapunzel’s no fool. She knows things rarely end well for those who marry below their station, and the entire ton would shun her if someone saw her and Jack Overland stealing off to kiss in the back of the garden. A proper lady, particularly one just beginning to get some of her family’s renown back, can’t very well admit she’s fallen in love with a grime-coated boy who cleans the hay.

But Rapunzel hates hiding Jack like a dirty secret. Ever since they were children, she’s so often felt like he’s the only person in the world who truly knows her. He’s the only one who knows she never really wanted to find a high society suitor and longs to go to art school, commissioning beautiful paintings for the very estates she was once expected to marry into. He’s the only one who’s seen her with mud on her dress and paint in her hair and cupcake icing smeared on her nose when Mother leaves the room during teatime and Rapunzel doesn't have to “eat like a lady” for once. He’s the only one who knows she has a way with horses, and riding comes to her as naturally as breathing--even in the most wild and untamed parts of the woods. He’s the only one who knows she likely has more self-taught knowledge than many of the students at the local university.

And he’s the only one who wholeheartedly accepts her for all of it.

If Rapunzel truly wants to be with Jack, however, she knows it will be anything but easy. The season's clock is ticking, and Rapunzel knows she can only go so long before she’ll have to start rejecting proposals from perfectly respectable men. Complicating matters further are Lady Gothel’s sinister new husband, Lord Pitchiner, and the emergence of a seemingly-omnipresent gossip column that always seems one hair away from catching wind of what Jack and Rapunzel do behind closed doors. Between her new stepfather’s schemes and shady dealings and the strange rumors circulating that Gothel is not who she claims--not a doting mother, but a socialite wannabe who once stole the queen’s daughter herself--Rapunzel has much on her plate.

And behind it all is Rapunzel’s burning desire to fight for love. If she chooses this path, however, she must be prepared for all she will have to give up--and all the strife she will face--just to have the only boy she’s ever truly wanted.

...so I guess this is what happens when you finally get around to watching Bridgerton, and you’ve always had a weak spot for the whole princess-and-poor-boy Jackunzel AU, whoops. I can’t help it tho, the class difference angst and the moments of tenderness only allowed behind closed doors just. Turns me into putty in its hands, every goddamn time ;_____;

Anyways I’ve always loved the idea of Rapunzel being a debutante socialite who’s really sought after because she seems pretty and sweet and agreeable...but in reality, she just wants the goofy little stable boy who she can run around in the mud and get absolutely filthy with <3 Like Gothel’s trying so hard to make Rapunzel be a proper young lady fit for high society and Rapunzel just wants to dick around in the stables and ride horses through the countryside like. Obscenely fast. And that is so valid of her, honestly.

Pretty pleased how the moodboard turned out! If that little lavender-and-yellow tea set doesn’t capture Rapunzel’s very essence, then by GOD, I don’t know what does!!! That dress is also possibly my favorite shade of purple of all time :O Also yes, Punzel is definitely running amok in the woods and getting it dirty enough to make Gothel faint XD

As always, pic credits available upon request!

[brightwitchbrews]

Marmalade the wood witch and her chaotic woodland companion, Marmot, enjoy a picnic overlooking the autumnal wilds of Faewood. Illustrated by Zack @paintcapsule

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About Me

Hello and welcome fellow teatime daydreamers! I'm Sarah Louise, writer, artist, and proprietor of Bright Witch ✨

I write ethereal fantasy with dark fairy tale vibes for those who enjoy a few shivers and meltingly cosy moments by the crackling hearth.

Together my partner, Zack @paintcapsule, and I bring the magic of my stories to life in both digital and natural media art.

Website | Patreon | Art Prints

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Stories

Marmalade's Love Potion

A cosy cottagecore romance with witches, ethereal forests, and ghosts that creep amongst the shadows...

Sequestered in the wilds of ethereal Faewood, Princess Penelope has spent her life yearning for love and home. Long abandoned by family and shunned by her peers, Penelope’s hopes are waning.

An unexpected invitation to the Dark Moon Ball may be her last chance to win the love of her dreams. Desperate for a fairy tale, Penelope beseeches a witch to ensure her happily ever after.

Instead, she is spelled into the path of ancient horrors, enchanting strangers with dangerous secrets, and hard truths at odds with her desires. Raising ghosts of the past that threaten more than she dreamed, Penelope must choose between the love she craves, and the path she is fated for.

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The Ghosts of Grimwood

A series of vivid dark fantasy novelettes exploring the spectral secrets of a haunted realm...

These hour-long tales offer thrilling adventures within the realm of Grimwood Village and its bordering forest, the Darkwood. These short reads explore the spectral mysteries and haunting secrets of the Grimwood realm, perfect for a teatime daydream.

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The Adventures of Marmot & Marmalade

A collection of tiny tales for cosy teatime reading...

Marmalade is a mysterious wood witch who dwells in a hollow red tree deep in the wilds of Faewood.

Her companion (and self-appointed apprentice), Marmot, is a chaotic woodland critter with a penchant for mischief and mossy baked goods.

Together they confront the dangers of the forest, learn new magics, share tea by the hearthside, and find a sense of family that stands the test of time.

~~~

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy your time in this cosy pocket-sized realm ✨

love & daydreams, Bright Witch

[zazzander]

Have I mentioned that Anti Hero is Octavian's song yet? Well even if I have I'm doing it again.

I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crisis Tale as old as time

Octavian grows more and more self destructive the more power he is given. When Reyna leaves, there's no one left to tell him to knock it off.

I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming

He's always scheming but we know he often does it to keep / make friends. And many of his friends eventually leave him. So I think he'd be scared they'll all be gone.

I'm the problem, it's me At teatime Everybody agrees

Everyone thinks Octavian is the problem, the source of the war, despite the fact he's just a kid caught between the whims of fate and the divine

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

Reaching out to Apollo. Idolizing him. But being burned by that relationship.

And then, of course, being unable to face his own flaws, his own bad choices

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I'm a monster on the hill Too big to hang out Slowly lurching toward your favorite city

This lyric, like, Octavian is often described in a why that's evocative of monsters and villains. He's not pretty or young (compared to the people around him).

And in the books, he's literally going towards camp half blood, the "favourite city" if you will (your = Apollo?).

Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism Like some kind of congressman

I think this line speaks for itself

I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money She thinks I left them in the will The family gathers 'round and reads it And then someone screams out "She's laughing up at us from hell!"

Octavian would absolutely have beef with a person that doesn't even exist. Just ruminating, dreaming about being killed for the money lol. He's paranoid like that.

[finding-hope-strength-courage]

Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift

I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser Midnights become my afternoons When my depression works the graveyard shift, all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crisis (Tale as old as time) I wake up screaming from dreaming One day, I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time) It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At teatime, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero Sometimes, I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I'm a monster on the hill Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city Pierced through the heart, but never killed Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism Like some kind of congressman? (A tale as old as time) I wake up screaming from dreaming One day, I'll watch as you're leaving And life will lose all its meaning (For the last time) It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me) At teatime, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money She thinks I left them in the will The family gathers 'round and reads it and then someone screams out "She's laughing up at us from Hell" It's me, hi I'm the problem, it's me It's me, hi I'm the problem, it's me It's me, hi Everybody agrees, everybody agrees It's me, hi (Hi), I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me) At teatime (Teatime), everybody agrees (Everybody agrees) I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/taylorswift/antihero.html

[paintcapsule]

Painting a Grimwood ranger from @brightwitchbrews Teatime tales. Which you can read here: https://brightwitch.com/tea-tales/

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Just listened to “Anti-Hero” from Sherlock’s perspective talking to John and the second verse absolutely devastated me:

“I wake up screaming from dreaming/One day I’ll watch as you’re leaving and life will lose all its meaning/(for the last time)”

I’m in pain!! Thanks love you <3

I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser Midnights become my afternoons When my depression works the graveyard shift All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices, I end up in crisis (Tale as old as time) I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)

It's me Hi I'm the problem, it's me At teatime Everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I'm a monster on the hill Too big to hang out Slowly lurching toward your favorite city Pierced through the heart but never killed Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time) I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving and life will lose all its meaning (For the last time)

It's me Hi I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me) At teatime Everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money She thinks I left them in the will The family gathers 'round and reads it And then someone screams out "She's laughing up at us from hell!"

It's me Hi I'm the problem, it's me

It's me Hi I'm the problem, it's me

It's me Hi

Everybody agrees Everybody agrees

It's me Hi (Hi) I'm the problem, it's me (I'm the problem, it's me) At teatime (Time) Everybody agrees (Everybody agrees) I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

(Lyrics from AZ Lyrics)

Hey Lovely!

AH, thank you for the addition of this one! I can totally see it being Sherlock to John!!

🎶 LISTEN TO THE JOHNLOCK PLAYLIST ON [SPOTIFY] & [YOUTUBE] 🎶

[kumaradosha]

Bringing you your daily dose of c!Dream songs.

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser Midnights become my afternoons When my depression works the graveyard shift, all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crisis (Tale as old as time) I wake up screaming from dreaming One day, I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)

It's me, hi I'm the problem; it's me At teatime, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I'm a monster on the hill Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city Pierced through the heart, but never killed

Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism Like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time) I wake up screaming from dreaming One day, I'll watch as you're leaving And life will lose all its meaning (For the last time)

It's me, hi I'm the problem; it's me At teatime, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money She thinks I left them in the will The family gathers 'round and reads it, and then someone screams out "She's laughing up at us from hell"

It's me, hi I'm the problem; it's me It's me, hi I'm the problem; it's me It's me, hi Everybody agrees, everybody agrees̴̢̛̫͍̘͈͚̐̎̃͌̈̚s̸̢̲̗̖̣̉͗̈̽͂̓͜š̴͈̘̞͙̰͠ś̶̫ṡ̸͍

It's me, hi I'm the problem; it's me At teatime, everybody agrees I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero