#Essence Music Festival

[thejaguartour]

Victoria Monét and icon, Janet Jackson at Essence Festival 💙🤎✨

[sinnamonscouture]

Essence Magazine 30th Anniversary of Essence Festival of Culture Issue

[reasoningdaily]

"India Arie Speaks Out On Black Women's Image at Essence Festival & Guess Who's Mad?"

[bmorefashionnerd]

Lauryn Hill, Essence Festival 2023

[tvmusicnetwork]

Essence Festival 2024: USHER, Janet Jackson, Charlie Wilson, and Victoria Monét to appear

Essence Festival 2024 is once again heading to New Orleans on July 4th weekend from July 4 through July 7, 2024. This year’s festival will celebrate 30-years with a special evening concert at the Caesar’s Superdome with USHER for a special one-night only performance of “Confessions,” Janet Jackson, Victoria Monét, Birdman & Friends Presents 30 Years of Cash Money Millionaires and Charlie…

[bixels]

End-of-Splatoon thoughts.

Thinking about how since the very start, Splatoon has had a feature where players can draw and post artwork and spot them as graffiti on walls or billboards. Or how the weapons have always been paint brushes and rollers and ballpoint pens. Since its inception, Splatoon has been dedicated to engaging its players with the act of creation and creative expression, showing them how their art can build communities and (literally) change the world.

Thinking about finding golden human-made music discs buried underground for thousands of years, and a grand finale music festival. About the Voyager Golden Records. About those human handprints etched into concrete in Alterna. Did those human artists know it would end like this? First a fiery death and then, eventually, a worldwide celebration of music to represent our shared past, present, and future. Did they know that their songs, insignificant in the face of extinction, would one day become the solution that will save the next dominant life-form from the same fate?

Thinking about how eerily similar the Octarian domes are to Alterna. About how close Inklings and Octolings were to repeating the same mistakes as humans. But their doomed fates were undone not by some miracle technology or military power or a rocket, but by music.

Thinking about how humans wiped themselves out with war, and our parting gifts were liquid crystals that somehow paired with the DNA of primeval inklings and somehow infused them with our memories and culture and a Song. And 12,000 years in the future, that same Song will end a war.

Thinking about how art and music and punk culture and rock & roll and friendly competition and petty arguments and water guns aren’t uniquely human concepts, but the fundamental qualities of intelligent life. An inheritable spirit that can cross evolutionary bounds.

Thinking about the theme of Splatoon, that art and music and fun will not die with the human race. That every piece of art we create is a seed we sow for future generations to reap. That our legacy is ingrained into the crust of the earth. That long after we’re gone, the oceans will remember, and they’ll pick up where we left off.

Thinking about how Splatoon says that the essence of humanity –– the thing that will outlive us –– isn't war or prejudice or destruction or greed, it's a song.

[ablackchicnolalife]

First Day of the 2023 Essence Festival of Culture™ Presented by Coca-Cola®

THE 29TH ANNUAL FESTIVAL KICKED OFF HIP-HOP 50 CELEBRATIONS WITH ESSENCE VENTURES EXECUTIVES, REMARKS FROM VICE PRESIDENT KAMALA HARRIS AT THE GLOBAL BLACK ECONOMIC FORUM™, AND THE FIRST-EVER AFROPUNK KREWE BALL New Orleans, Louisiana — June 29, 2023 — Day One of the 2023 ESSENCE Festival of Culture™ presented by Coca-Cola® kicked off in its forever home of New Orleans. Mayor LaToya Cantrell of…

[mxdwn]

Essence Music Festival Announces 2023 Lineup Featuring Lauryn Hill, Megan Thee Stallion, Coco Jones and More

https://music.mxdwn.com/2023/04/02/news/essence-music-festival-announces-2023-lineup-featuring-lauryn-hill-megan-thee-stallion-coco-jones-and-more/

[kykyonthemoon]

One Summer Day

A road trip, a summer festival, childhood popsicles and Zayne. You have captured the essence of summer in your hands.

── .✦ Zayne x Female Reader (MC)

── .✦ Tags: R16 - MNDI, suggestive themes, summer, vacation, festival, use of Japanese culture and words, fluff, sweet, established relationship.

── .✦ Word count: 2k6

── .✦ Ky Ky's notes: This piece is inspired by Zayne’s text (Top Prize) after completing his story in Adventure above the Clouds event.

Misty Invasion Fan Art Contest Entry - Please support me on X!

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

You stood under your porch with all enthusiasm, feet tiptoeing up and down, eyes fixed on the impending cars. When you recognized Zayne's familiar transport, the smile on your lips immediately spread like flower petals.

“Why are you out here? Didn't we agree to meet inside first?" Zayne inquired as he assisted you in loading the luggage into the back of the car.

"I saved Doctor Zayne the trouble." You responded. That was only half of the truth; the rest was because you were so eager to begin this journey that you rolled about in bed all night thinking about it. This morning, you awoke before the alarm went off. Because your luggage was little, you went downstairs to wait. That way, neither of you would have to waste any more time and could depart right away.

Zayne grinned as if he understood what you were saying and opened the car door to invite you in. Then he sat in the driver seat. The first song on your pre-selected list began to play, and with all your impatience, the three-hour long journey to the predetermined destination began.

Not long after the vehicle drove away, Zayne noticed a rustling close to him. You were opening the package for a snack you had recently enjoyed. Zayne laughed as his car came to a stop at a red light. He turned to face you and said:

“We've only been gone for five minutes and you're already hungry?”

You took a piece of snack and fed it to Zayne, replying:

“For you.”

He obediently took a mouthful while still staring at you, who was beaming with your snack bag. A few curls of hair had fallen on your cheeks, and he tucked them behind your ear. Zayne used the chance to gently stroke your face.

"Someone was so happy that she was unable to rest last night, right?"

You hastily checked the rearview mirror of the car. Aside from appearing too eager, a closer look would expose the weariness from lack of sleep around your eyes.

"Are you sure that person isn't Doctor Zayne?" You commented. Even though he had caught you red-handed, you would continue to deny it.

"Then there were two people who could not sleep last night." You were not prepared for Zayne to admit it so soon. You spotted his brilliant smile just as the green light went on and he shifted his concentration to the road ahead.

Zayne stated that if you were weary, you could take a nap in the car and he would wake you up at the destination. Nonetheless, you were determined to remain awake the whole journey. Every time the car came to a halt at a red light, you swiftly fed him some snacks. Zayne, in return, clasped his hands around yours. You would occasionally hum along to the music being played and see that Zayne was enjoying it. Was it the song or your voice? His fingers on the steering wheel moved gently with the rhythm, as did his head and neck, as if he were swaying to the melodies. But every time he recognized you gazing and was about to say something to tease him, Zayne claimed to be in the dark and made an insignificant remark: "Your taste in music is acceptable."

You burst into laughter. When you were together, he must have heard those songs so many times that he knew them by heart. Zayne frequently took you on outings, but this one was different. He won a lottery at Akso Hospital, resulting in a two-day, three-night vacation for a couple. Although you guessed that everyone had given Doctor Zayne the jackpot after seeing how hard he worked day and night, you were nonetheless overjoyed to be able to accompany him like this.

Zayne was the one to plan everything ahead, always had been. However, you were constantly thinking about all that may happen, while you were both thrilled and anxious. This vacation marked a significant step forward in your relationship; how could you not pay attention to every little thing? You wanted all to be perfect so Zayne could enjoy an unforgettable getaway.

But such things might have to wait a little longer. Your eyes began to close around halfway through and after you had consumed all of the treats. You had a strange feeling Zayne was adjusting the seat to make you more comfortable. He softly touched your palm, saying something like, "Yet someone insisted that she wasn't sleepy..." Then you fell into a deep slumber.

After a series of short, strange dreams, including one where Doctor Zayne transformed into a big cat, you were awakened by a cold touch on your cheek.

“We're here.” Zayne's voice rang out, and all of your weariness vanished as you saw the small, lovely village stretch out in front of you, embracing the foot of the mountain. You hastily exited the car. The fresh wind carried the welcome aroma of grass and trees, making you feel delighted.

It was already past midday when you arrived at the resort. After a light meal, Zayne and you checked in. It was a modest room only enough for a couple with complete facilities, including a tatami-covered floor and a sleeping mattress for two people, known as a futon. The room was simply designed, yet it felt airy and close to nature. Zayne claimed that his prize included the most adorable suite at the resort, which was not an exaggeration at all. Large wooden and matte paper doors opened into the serene alpine view that surrounded the room. Outside was a steaming onsen, and the afternoon sunshine falling on the bottom shimmered like precious gemstones, so it was inevitable that it would be the first thing to attract your attention when you arrived. There was nothing better than being able to soak it up at night and gaze at the stars.

However, you briefly resisted the impulse to soak in it right away because when you opened the wardrobe, you discovered two folded yukata sets waiting for you and Zayne. It was no surprise since you overheard him discussing your clothing size with the resort personnel prior to your arrival. You turned your head back to peer at Zayne, who was averting his gaze, but his brilliant expression indicated that he had planned all of this for you.

The yukata he had chosen for you was light blue, embellished with white jasmine pattern. You enthusiastically tried it on yourself. But even with a handbook in the room explaining how to wear it, you struggled and failed to put it correctly. You sighed and requested assistance from Zayne on the opposite side of the folding screen which divided the dressing space in two. 

“Doctor Zayne… I must have done something wrong…”

“Wait for me.”

His voice sounded out. A second later, he emerged from the opposite side of the screen. Zayne put on a yukata that was a much darker shade of blue than yours, dotted with a silver swallow pattern. As soon as you saw him, so perfect in the kind of outfit he had tried for the first time, you lost your breath. It was not until Zayne came closer to fix your dress that you recovered your composure.

“You've put on the wrong layers.” He said gently. “Let me fix it.”

Thus you stood motionless, arms wide out so Zayne could effortlessly alter your attire. Layer upon layer, one by one. It was not surprising to you that he was so skilled, given that this was your first time wearing a yukata together. Because, for you, Doctor Zayne's hands were a divine tool capable of assisting you in all you lacked. After your outfit was complete, the same hands assisted you in combing your hair and placing a jasmine flower on your head.

“How do I look? Has Doctor Zayne overdone it a bit?”

You inquired while glancing in the mirror. Behind you, he grinned pleasantly. “Not at all.”

You carefully brushed the fabric jasmine blossom Zayne had just placed in your hair. True, he had put a lot of thought into this trip. You turned around to look at him, mumbling a "Thank you" before rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek.

When the two of you arrived at the street, the sky was already tinted with dusk. You softly held Zayne's hand and moved in modest steps. You were not entirely comfortable with the geta that went with your attire. He wore a pair similar to yours, yet you were the only one who struggled.

The festival in this little community grew busier at night. Laughter breathed life into the desolate mountains and hills. The street was illuminated by lanterns, and both sides of the sidewalk were lined with vendors offering crafts, traditional games, and foods with inviting fragrances. As a result, after every few steps, you drew Zayne into a food stall to try it out.

You ate so many dishes that your tummy was full, leaving no room for supper at the resort. However, when you arrived at an old popsicle stall, you pleaded that Zayne try it with you.

"This is just like when we were kids, right?" You gladly accepted the popsicle from Zayne's hand. He sat next to you on a bench along the woodland edge, away  from the festival noise. The aromatic popsicle looked quite good. You took a large bite and felt numb to the brain.

"Ugh…" You shouted. Zayne instantly reached out to rub your head and temples. He softly said: 

"For what reason are you so hasty when there's a popsicle? Are you still a three-year-old?"

You pouted, stared at him and snorted loudly. Zayne softly squeezed your face and added:

“Slow down. With me here, you don't have to worry about your popsicle melting."

"Sure." You nodded. Your gaze fell on the mint-flavored popsicle in Zayne's fingers. Then, as fast as lightning, you leaned down and took a mouthful. 

"You—" Zayne protested, but it was a bit too late. You giggled as your head became dizzy from a fresh brain freeze. 

He grumbled and proceeded to rub your head. After consuming the popsicle, you stated:

“That's my revenge on you for pinching my cheek! How dare you?”

Zayne clicked his tongue and shook his head playfully. "It seems that no matter how old you get, the way you eat popsicles still remains.”

After that, he placed his thumb in the corner of your lips, softly wiped away the smeared cream, then lingered there forever. His gaze was unable to depart your slightly opened ruby lips. Zayne leaned down to taste the popsicle flavor that persisted on the tip of your tongue.

“Hmm… This flavor combined with mint… It isn't bad at all…”

After the festival, you chose to wrap up the day in comfort by soaking in the onsen outside your bedroom. You removed your yukata and wrapped a towel over your body before stepping out into the warm night, which was filled with luminous stars above. Zayne was already soaking in the hot spring, the moonlight casting luscious honey dews on his bare back as he turned toward the chamber. You approached delicately and sat down to soak your feet in the warm water first.

Zayne turned back to gaze at you. Iridescent drops poured from his hair and flowed down his dominant chest; every muscle fiber that was usually hidden underneath discreet layers of clothing was now displayed before your eyes, even the scars running along his arms. Suddenly, you realized that the water in the onsen was hotter than intended.

“How are your feet?” Zayne questioned as he approached you. The water solely reached his waist, where he was covered in a towel. You replied:

“I feel better now. Those geta are probably not for me.” 

The sensation of Zayne's hand on your submerged feet startled you. He took your slightly red foot and gently rubbed it while keeping it under the water. He repeated the same thing with your other foot.

“By doing this, you will feel more comfortable,” said Zayne. You nodded firmly, eyes still fixed on his body. While he was massaging your feet, you kicked the water around, causing him extra soaked. Nonetheless, he simply wiped any water from his face and glanced at you in a patient manner, shaking his head slightly.

You giggled and continued to swing your leg harder. This time, he gently squeezed your ankle and said:

“Just now, someone complained about her feet hurting and insisted on being carried back here. Is she fully recovered by now? If that's the case, she doesn't need my care anymore."

His hands eased on you, yet you quickly wrapped your legs around Zayne's waist and pressed him closer. The bottom of the onsen seemed slippery, causing him to suddenly slide forward. He placed his hands on the ground so he would not tumble on you. His hot breath invaded your left ear. His body emitted a faint aroma of warm wood. Before your eyes, the water-soaked crook of his neck was revealed. Your nose gently rubbed against it.

“Who said she doesn't need your special care anymore?”

You nuzzled him, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer. Zayne's breathing became heavier. He maintained his balance, although it was difficult to remove himself from you while you were this close to him. The sweet fruity scent emanating from you was which he had become accustomed to these past few days.

“You're using that lotion again…” Every syllable that escaped his mouth was like fire pouring into your ears. You said quietly:

“Since you seem to appreciate it so much, I…”

Before you could finish your sentence, Zayne seized your waist and lifted you off the onsen edge. You could only lean your body absolutely into his chest, legs clamped securely around his waist to keep from falling, despite the fact that he held you extremely firm in place. Zayne pushed his face against your neck, hungrily devouring the sweet scent flowing from there. His lips pressed lengthy, scorching kisses against your neck, shoulders, and chest.

"Z-Zayne…" You tenderly called his name. Your hand on his neck softly pushed him away. The thin smoke from the onsen veiled your vision, rendering everything as surreal as a dream. In the lake's heat and humidity, drops of perspiration and water ran from Zayne's temples to the back of his neck and torso. But no matter how much you resisted, he would not let go of you.

You lightly nipped his red ear. Only then did Zayne shift away from you, his expression showing astonishment mixed with a little hurt. Had he just done something that made you unsettling?

"Let me down first…" You murmured. Zayne held you with one arm, with the other hand softly drawing circles on the area of your back which was exposed from the towel. He tilted his head and whispered into your ear:

"This is also part of my special care. Are you certain you don't want it?"

His radiant eyes fixed on you, anticipating. You pursed your lips hard before deliberately pressing yourself closer to his body. 

“Of course… I want it…”

The corner of Zayne's mouth curled up slightly. He walked to a deeper part of the onsen, allowing both of you to plunge into the water, which became hotter with each touch. He kissed you. It began gently, like calm water; but over time it grew more intense, as if he was slowly melting with you. You always possessed the ability of exposing his deepest emotions and desires. Only you.

For, if he could control it, then it was certainly not love.

[ye4gerz]

blood moon — ldh

‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x afab!reader. 18+MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: thriller!au, yandere! themes, smut. ‧˚⭒ word count: 9.2k ‧˚⭒ warnings: mentions of death, blood, magic, sharp objects, dark entities, clowns, smut. ‧˚⭒ starring: haechan, jihyo, ningning, chenle, jeno, jaemin, jisung, mark. ‧˚⭒ summary: in the middle of nowhere where shadows lie beneath the surface, you're led back to a place that unravels your past. in this cursed place, time is of the essence, only to meet donghyuck, the one capable of setting you free.

The small, dimly lit room feels suffocating, the walls pressing in on you with an almost deliberate weight. You draw your knees up to your chest, sitting on the edge of the creaky bed, your head lightly resting against the cold glass of the window. Tonight was supposed to be perfect, yet an invisible unease clings to you, wrapping itself around your thoughts.

You were back at your family’s old cabin, surrounded by friends who had come to this remote countryside to celebrate the annual festival. This land, once the backdrop of your childhood, was now a nostalgic glimpse into a life you hadn’t revisited in years. Sharing this piece of your past with the people closest to you had felt like a good idea. Yet, something about being here again unsettled you in ways you couldn’t explain.

Earlier in the day, the town had been alive with energy. Crowds of locals and visitors had flooded the streets, some dressed up to honor the town’s peculiar traditions. There were games, horse rides, and even the timeless festival classic: bobbing for apples—though you’d never been a fan. Watching your friends laugh and immerse themselves in the festivities had been enough to keep a smile on your face. But beneath the surface, an inexplicable weight lingered, heavy and persistent.

The cabin creaked softly in the night breeze, the faint smell of aged wood and pine wafting through the air. Outside, the dense woods stood like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the smoky sky. The moon hung low, its hue casting an eerie glow over the landscape. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of music drifted through the trees—a melody so soft it felt more like a memory than reality.

A soft knock at your door broke the silence, making you flinch.

“You doing okay?” Jihyo asked, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed.

Her presence immediately comforted you. Something about the way she stood reminded you of your mother, a bittersweet memory you hadn’t expected to surface tonight.

“I’m okay, Jihyo,” you replied softly, your gaze distant. “Just… taking it all in.”

She gave you a gentle smile and stepped into the room. The matching flannel pajamas she wore, along with the rest of your group, brought a sense of warmth to the chilly evening. A cool breeze slipped through the cracked window, brushing against your skin like a ghost of the past.

“We had so much fun today,” she said, sitting beside you on the bed, the old frame groaning under her weight. “Ningning won’t stop talking about the horseback dude who asked for her number.” She rolled her eyes playfully, letting out a small laugh.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. “Sounds like Ningning.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, your eyes drawn to the window. The night sky stretched endlessly, the moon casting a faint, eerie glow over the land.

“Take a look at that,” Jihyo said suddenly, her voice filled with awe. “It’s a blood moon.”

Your gaze shifted upward, and there it was—a smoky red orb suspended in the heavens. Its haunting beauty mesmerized you. For a moment, you thought the light seemed to pulse, almost beckoning, though you dismissed it as a trick of your mind.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jihyo smiled and pulled you into a gentle hug. “I know how much this place means to you,” she began softly, her words carrying a rare tenderness. “And I know how hard this time of year must be, especially being back here. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose both parents, but I want you to know I care about you. We all do. And if it helps, we can make this a yearly thing—just us, with good food and drinks, hanging out in the countryside. How does that sound?”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You nodded instead, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Ji. I appreciate it.”

She hugged you one last time before standing and heading for the door. “Goodnight,” she said, smiling back at you as she closed the door behind her.

Exhaustion crept over you like a heavy blanket as the house settled into stillness. You slipped under the covers, the warmth lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

A soft whisper cuts through the silence.

“Come…”

Your eyes fluttered open, disoriented. The room was bathed in shadow, the faint glow of the moon casting eerie streaks of red across the walls. You sat up, straining to hear, and rubbing your eyes. The whisper came again, louder this time.

“Come find us…”

It was faint but unmistakable, the voice achingly familiar. Your heart skipped a beat as chills raced down your spine. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, every nerve in your body on high alert.

The red light outside pulsed faintly, casting the woods in an otherworldly glow. The whispers seemed to wrap around you, tugging at your very soul. You glanced toward your now opened door, the adjoining guest room, where your friends were fast asleep. Their soft snores and murmurs reassured you they were blissfully unaware of the eerie disturbance.

Your feet moved almost of their own accord as you slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed a sweater. The wooden floor creaked under your weight as you tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake anyone. The cabin door groaned softly as you eased it open, the cool night air biting at your skin.

The whispers grew louder, clearer, as if guiding you.

“Come find us… we’re waiting.”

With one last glance at the cabin, you stepped into the woods, the pulsing red light ahead of you like a beacon.

You didn’t look back.

The whispers grew louder, drowning out the crunch of leaves beneath your hurried steps. The pulsating red light loomed closer with every breath, an unnatural urgency filling the air and compelling you forward.

“Sweetheart…” The familiar voice reached your ears, tender yet chilling, like a memory resurrected from the depths of your mind.

“M-Mom?” Your voice cracked, trembling as you stumbled forward, breaking into a run.

This couldn’t be real. It was impossible. Your mind grappled for an explanation. Was this a dream—a vivid, warped projection of your subconscious? Maybe you were caught in a lucid nightmare, wandering through some uncharted corner of your own mind. Yet, the cold air stung your skin, and the steady thudding of your heart told you otherwise.

Finally, you stopped, your breath catching as you stared, wide-eyed, at the scene unfurling before you.

A carnival.

Towering red-and-white-striped tents stretched high into the night sky, glowing unnaturally under the moon’s light. Flashing bulbs blinked erratically, casting shadows that danced with unsettling energy. The air was thick with the syrupy scent of popcorn and candied apples, mingling with the faint metallic tang of something unrecognizable. Strangers in capes and masks strolled arm in arm, their laughter melodic and strangely distorted.

Something about the place was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

“What… is this?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you took in the chaos. You stood frozen, painfully aware of how your pajama-clad form stood out against the surreal revelry of the carnival-goers. Their gazes lingered too long, curious and invasive, making your skin crawl.

“WELCOME IN, FOLKS!” boomed a voice from above. You jumped, startled, and turned to see a figure perched impossibly high on stilts, towering over the crowd. His face was a riot of bright, garish paint, his grin stretched unnaturally wide across his face.

“I, Chenle, your gracious host, welcome you to the annual Blood Moon Celebration! Grab your tickets and make your way to the freak show!” His voice rose and fell theatrically, delighting the crowd with every exaggerated gesture.

The air buzzed with cheers and applause as he gestured grandly toward a smaller, dimly lit tent behind him. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, his gaze locked on you. His grin faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker of something—recognition?—flashing in his sharp eyes.

He tilted his head, studying you with unnerving intensity, before his grin reappeared, wider and more calculated than before.

Balancing with ease, he descended his stilts, each movement precise and deliberate as he made his way toward you. His painted face loomed closer, his sharp eyes scrutinizing every detail of your appearance.

“You…” His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, laced with something unreadable. “I’ve never seen you here before, Miss. Do you have your ticket?”

The weight of his gaze was suffocating, like a spotlight trained on you. You swallowed hard, your voice faltering. “N-No. I’m visiting my hometown with my friends. I don’t remember there ever being a carnival… especially not during this time.”

His sharp eyes raked over you once more, his painted grin frozen in place. For a moment, you thought he might dismiss you—or worse, see right through you; but then, like a switch had been flipped, his grin stretched impossibly wider, his painted cheeks crinkling unnaturally.

“Well, well,” he said, voice bubbling with false cheer, “I’m sure the ringmaster will make an exception for you and your friends. Speaking of which…” His gaze darted past you, his grin unwavering. “Where are the rest of the bunch?” His voice dipped lower, feigning casual curiosity while his eyes scanned the shadows behind you.

A chill ran down your spine as you realized you hadn’t even thought about your friends. “I… I’m here alone,” you admitted, unsure if that was the right answer. Every instinct screamed at you to turn back, but his painted face held you in place, a sinister magnetism radiating from him.

For a moment, Chenle’s body stilled, his movements unnaturally controlled. Then, his eyes widened with exaggerated excitement, and he gasped loudly, clasping his hands together in delight. “Even better!” he exclaimed, voice rising with manic glee. “Come on in and enjoy the show!”

With a grand sweep of his arm, he gestured toward the main tent, the light inside pulsating like a beating heart.

You hesitate before stepping forward, Chenle’s lingering gaze burning into the back of your head. A chill creeps down your spine, but you shake it off, convincing yourself this must all be a dream—nothing more than a figment of your imagination.

As you step into the tent, the world transforms into a chaotic burst of color and sound. Confetti rains down from above, swirling through the air like a storm of celebration. A thick rope stretches across the audience, separating them from the performers. Jesters glide effortlessly on unicycles, their painted faces lit by flickering stage lights. Clowns honk their oversized noses, their wide, artificial grins aimed directly at you as you pass.

Your eyes dart nervously around the space, searching for an escape or a distraction. The only open seat is at the very front of the stage, directly under the spotlight. Swallowing hard, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with unease. As you sit, you sense every pair of eyes in the room shifting toward you, an unspoken curiosity in their stares.

Beside you, a cloaked figure sits unnaturally still, his face hidden beneath a stark white mask. Slowly, almost too slowly, he turns his head to look at you. Without saying a word, he raises a hand and waves.

Your stomach twists, but you manage to lift your hand in return, offering a weak, trembling wave. A strange weight settles over you—a pull, almost magnetic, keeping you rooted to your seat. Every instinct screams at you to leave, to run back to your friends and the safety of the cabin, but your body refuses to move. It’s as though the air itself has wrapped around you, binding you in place.

“You must be new,” the masked figure says suddenly, his voice muffled but friendly.

Before you can respond, he lifts the mask, revealing a strikingly handsome face. His dark eyes are sharp yet cheery, his smile so charming it feels out of place in the eerie setting. The sight of him loosens some of the tension in your chest—he looks normal. Safe.

“I’m Jeno,” he says, extending a hand.

You hesitate before shaking it, introducing yourself. You study his features closely. There’s something oddly familiar about him, but you can’t place it. “You look… familiar.”

He chuckles softly, his laugh low and pleasant. “I think I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

Your cheeks flush as you quickly glance away. The compliment feels genuine, but it catches you off guard, especially in such a surreal environment. “So, what is this place?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno leans back in his seat, a casual confidence in his posture. “It’s a late-night tradition that started a few years back,” he explains.

The timeline aligns with when you left for university, but unease creeps back into your chest. The way he speaks about the carnival feels rehearsed, as though he’s said these words to countless others before.

“The circus only comes around for special occasions,” Jeno continues, his voice steady but laced with something you can’t quite name. “This year’s theme is the blood moon. Guess they wanted to add a little extra mystery to the usual town festivities. This is my third year here. It’s funky, but fun.”

As he speaks, something clicks in the back of your mind. You’ve seen him before—or someone who looks like him. The memory is hazy, but it sharpens with every passing second. It was in a news article years ago, about a man who had gone missing from the area. The resemblance is uncanny.

Your throat tightens as you glance at him again, searching for any sign that he recognizes you, too. Jeno’s expression remains calm, unreadable. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, you tell yourself. Maybe the lights and the atmosphere are playing tricks on your mind.

“The show’s about to start,” Jeno says suddenly, breaking the silence. His lips curl into a sly smirk as he adjusts his mask back into place. “You don’t want to miss this.”

His words send a shiver through you. There’s something unsettling about the way he says it—playful, yet cryptic. Before you can respond, the stage lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

The curtains rise, revealing a kaleidoscope of performers in elaborate costumes. A dancer twirls at the center, her movements hypnotic under the spotlight. The air fills with a haunting melody, each note wrapping around you like a spell.

Jeno leans slightly closer, his mask glinting in the dim light. “You’ll want to pay attention to this part,” he whispers, his tone carrying an edge of excitement.

Your hands grip the edge of your seat as the performance unfolds, a sense of foreboding settling deep in your chest. Whatever this is, it’s far from ordinary.

The performance was truthfully very entertaining. You were engrossed by all the acts—the dances, the daring stunts, and even the silly little fights between the clowns. It wasn’t until the end of the performance that the spotlight shined on a few new faces standing at the center of the stage.

There were two men; the one on the right with striking white hair wore a tag that read “JAEMIN”, but it was the man in the center who immediately caught your eye.

He stood with an aura of confidence, his movements deliberate and captivating. The light reflected off his beautifully tan skin, and his black, slicked hair glistened under the stage lights. His dark eyes carried a heavy intensity, as though they could pierce right through you. He was dressed in all black, his fitted attire complemented by gloves and a cane, which seemed purely for dramatic flair. His name tag simply read, “HAECHAN.”

"As for the grand finale!" Haechan’s unique, rich voice echoed through the tent, pulling everyone into his gravity.

That voice. It sent a chill down your spine. Despite being front row, you found yourself leaning forward, desperate for a closer look. You cursed yourself for how intoxicating you found him, annoyed by your own curiosity and attraction.

Two assistants wheeled out a young man strapped to a table, his torso encased in a box, his face carried a nervous smile, betraying his unease.

“My lovely assistant here—” Haechan gestured toward Jaemin, whose smirk was both charming and sinister. “Will perform our infamous sword box trick on the ever-so-gracious volunteer, Jisung.”

The crowd cheered wildly as Jaemin stepped forward, dramatically unsheathing a long, gleaming sword. He spun it in his hands with practiced precision, earning gasps and applause.

You, however, felt an unease prick at the back of your mind. Something about this didn’t feel like an ordinary performance.

Jaemin’s grin widened as he lined the sword up with the box. Haechan raised his arms dramatically, rallying the audience with his booming voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, this is an illusion of the highest skill. Prepare yourselves for the impossible!”

Jaemin plunged the sword into the box with terrifying speed.

At first, you expected silence. For Jisung to feign a scream, for the illusion to go off without a hitch, but the sound that filled the tent wasn’t pretend.

Jisung’s screams were gut-wrenching, his body convulsing as blood spilled over the edges of the box.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but you couldn’t move. The scene felt wrong—too real, too visceral.

You ran toward the stage, desperate to stop the performance. “Stop! He’s hurt! This isn’t a trick!”

The audience’s laughter turned into a low murmur, but Haechan’s gaze snapped to you like a predator locking onto prey. His lips curled into a grin, dark and calculating, his piercing eyes gleaming under the crimson light.

“You…” he murmured, almost inaudibly.

Jaemin, unfazed by the chaos, twirled another sword in his hand with eerie precision. “Time for the finale!” he announced, his voice dripping with showmanship.

“No!” you screamed, trying to climb over the rope line to reach the stage, but a pair of clowns grabbed your arms, pulling you back into the crowd.

Jaemin plunged the final sword into the box. Jisung’s screams echoed through the tent, chilling you to your core. Blood pooled from the base of the box, the metallic scent thick in the air.

Your heart pounded as tears pricked your eyes. “He’s dying!” you shouted, thrashing against the clowns holding you. “Somebody stop this!”

But the crowd roared with laughter and applause, cheering louder than ever as if nothing was wrong.

The lights flickered once, twice, and then everything went dark. Gasps rippled through the audience, and you froze in the suffocating darkness, your breath caught in your throat.

A single spotlight blazed back on, illuminating the stage.

Jisung was standing. His body was whole, unharmed, not a single trace of blood in sight. He stood beside Haechan and Jaemin, both of whom bowed deeply to the roaring crowd. Confetti rained down as if nothing had happened.

Your stomach churned. Your eyes darted between the three men on stage, your mind screaming at you that this wasn’t just a trick. You had seen the blood, heard the screams. It was real.

You shoved your way through the sea of clapping hands, panic and confusion clouding your thoughts. You needed to get out, to breathe, to make sense of this.

As you stumbled through the tent flap and into the night air, you collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Whoa there,” a smooth voice said. Strong hands steadied you, keeping you upright.

You looked up, your breath catching as you met Haechan’s intense gaze. His face was just as captivating up close, his dark eyes glittering with something unreadable.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement. “The show’s only just begun.”

You took a step back, your body trembling. “What… What was that? That wasn’t a trick. I saw—”

“Blood?” he interrupted, his grin widening. “You must be mistaken. Our performers are highly skilled. It’s all an illusion.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice shaking. “I know what I saw. That man—he was screaming—”

“Perhaps your imagination got the better of you,” he said, his tone smooth and condescending.

The way he stared at you, like a cat toying with a mouse, sent a wave of unease through you. You shook your head, taking another step back. “I need to leave.”

Haechan tilted his head, his grin never faltering. “Go ahead, but you’ll be back.”

His words clung to you like a curse as you turned and bolted, the sound of his low chuckle echoing behind you. You ran as far as your legs could carry you, not daring to look back. Dream or not, everything about this place felt wrong. Your chest heaved as you made it past the stand where Chenle once stood, and without a second thought, you made a beeline straight toward the exit.

Only to find yourself… entering again?

“W-What… No, no, no,” you stammered, panic settling deep in your bones. You turned and tried again, running faster, more desperately, but every time you crossed the threshold, you were spat back to the same spot.

It was like a cruel loop, trapping you in its surreal embrace.

“Stuck?” a smooth voice startled you.

You whipped around to find Haechan standing a few steps away, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze was dark and amused as he watched you, your chest rising and falling with frantic breaths.

“Let me out,” you demanded through gritted teeth, the fire in your voice masking the growing unease in your chest.

“Perhaps it’s best if you follow me,” he said, extending his arm toward you in an oddly polite gesture. “That’s if you truly wish to leave.”

You eyed him warily, your heart racing. There was something disarming about his charm, but every instinct screamed at you not to trust him. Still, what choice did you have? You nodded slowly, stepping toward him but ignoring his offered arm.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, his grin unwavering. He turned and began walking, and you hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside him.

The two of you weaved through the bustling carnival crowd. Strangely, people seemed to part like the sea as Haechan walked by. Some stopped to bow at him, their faces expressionless, while others whispered in hushed tones or pulled their companions out of his path.

You couldn’t ignore the growing question in your mind. Who is this man?

The further you walked, the quieter the carnival became. The music and laughter faded into an eerie stillness as Haechan led you away from the chaos and toward a secluded area far from the lights and festivities. Finally, you stopped in front of a large, ornate tent, its fabric shimmering under the crimson light of the blood moon.

“This is my home,” Haechan said, gesturing for you to step inside. “It’s quieter here. We can talk.”

You hesitated at the entrance, your gaze darting between him and the ominous structure. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk,” he repeated, his tone calm yet laced with impatience. “Unless you’d rather keep running in circles.”

Swallowing your fear, you stepped inside. The interior was surprisingly luxurious, adorned with plush velvet seating, velvet bedding, golden trinkets, and flickering candles that cast long shadows across the walls. It felt strangely intimate, though the air carried an unshakable sense of foreboding.

Haechan walked past you, settling into a chair and gesturing for you to sit across from him. Reluctantly, you obeyed.

“So,” you began, your voice shaky, “what is this place? Why can’t I leave?”

Haechan leaned back, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. “You’re stuck here,” he said simply. “Just like the rest of us.”

His nonchalance sent a chill down your spine. “Stuck? What do you mean?”

“This carnival isn’t what it seems,” he said, his tone growing somber. “Everyone you’ve seen tonight—the performers, the guests, even me—aren’t alive in the way you understand. We’re spirits, cursed to live in an endless cycle.”

Your heart sank as his words sank in. “Why? Why are you cursed?”

Haechan’s smirk faltered for the first time, replaced by a distant, pained expression. “Because of me,” he admitted. “Years ago, I made a mistake. I was desperate to save someone I loved, my best friend Mark. He… died too young, too tragically. I couldn’t accept it.”

Your breath caught. “What did you do?”

“I summoned something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “A dark entity, one that promised to bring Mark back in exchange for a price. I thought it would be something simple. I was wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists. “The price was this carnival. My soul, and the lost souls of those who entered, would belong to the entity. We would perform endlessly, night after night, to entertain it. As long as Mark remains alive, this cycle continues.”

Your stomach churned. “If Mark is alive after all these years, can’t you stop? Can’t you break the cycle?”

Haechan shook his head. “Mark probably doesn’t remember me, his soul is forever immortal, and I can’t leave. The demon made sure of that. I’m trapped here, forever watching over this hellish spectacle.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his confession suffocating. You stared at him, trying to process everything. The charming, confident man you had seen earlier now looked vulnerable, haunted by centuries of regret.

“But why me?” you asked. “Why am I stuck here?”

“I don’t know,” Haechan admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “But the fact that you’re here, that you can see through the glamour, means you’re different— and that terrifies me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him, the way his pain resonated with you. Yet, the thought of being trapped here forever sent shivers down your spine.

Haechan’s voice softened. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this, but if you want to survive here, or at least find a way out before sunrise, you’ll need to trust me.”

His words left you conflicted. Trust him? The man who admitted to summoning a dark entity and cursing countless lives? Yet, as his dark eyes searched yours, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was your only ally in this twisted nightmare.

Haechan sat across from you in the quiet solace of his tent, the air heavy with the weight of the truth he’d just revealed. His expression softened as he leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together.

“This tent has been glamoured,” he explained. “No spirit, entity, or curse can touch us here. It’s the only place where you’re safe.”

You glanced around the dimly lit space, noticing the intricate symbols etched into the canvas walls. A faint hum seemed to vibrate through the air, a quiet magic you couldn’t quite grasp. Though his words were meant to reassure you, they only deepened your confusion.

“You’re telling me this whole carnival, everyone here… they’re lost spirits?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He nodded solemnly. “Every single one. Bound here to perform endlessly. Now, you’re a part of it, only you’re alive.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. You were desperate to find an answer, to find a way out, but as your thoughts spiraled, flashes of your past came unbidden; your mother’s gentle voice as she read you bedtime stories, the warm glow of your father’s laugh as he told you tales of old, and the cryptic conversations you’d had with them before they passed.

“Sweetheart, you have a light in you,” your mother had once said, her hand brushing against your cheek. “One day, that light will guide you somewhere important.”

“But why me?” you whispered to yourself, the memory blurring into the present.

Haechan’s voice broke through your reverie. “You’re holding something back. What is it?”

You hesitated, unwilling to share the lingering suspicion that your parents had somehow lured you here. Instead, you shook your head. “Nothing… I just—this doesn’t make sense.”

Haechan frowned but didn’t press further. “There’s one place that might help you understand,” he said after a pause. “The Mirror Maze.”

“The Mirror Maze?” you repeated, the name alone sending a chill down your spine.

He nodded, his tone more serious now. “It’s where no performer dares to go. The maze reveals the deepest fears and memories of anyone who steps inside. It’s dangerous, unpredictable. Even I can’t enter, it’s the one place my spirit doesn’t have power.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “So, you think it might help me?”

“I’m not completely sure,” he admitted. “But if there’s a clue about why you’re here—or how to break the curse—it might be there, and as someone whose still alive, you’re the only one who can find out.”

You felt a lump form in your throat but nodded, “Take me there.” 

The entrance to the Mirror Maze loomed before you, a twisted archway draped in dark velvet, the words “Face Thyself” etched ominously above it. Haechan stopped at the threshold, his expression grim.

“This is as far as I can go,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Be careful. The maze doesn’t lie, and it doesn’t show mercy.”

You swallowed hard, stepping through the archway. Instantly, the air grew cold, the dim light of the carnival fading behind you. The mirrors stretched endlessly in every direction, reflecting distorted versions of yourself—some familiar, some eerily foreign.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing.

The reflections shimmered, and suddenly, the maze came to life.

One mirror glowed brighter than the rest, drawing your attention. In its reflection, you saw Haechan, but not as you knew him. His black suit was replaced with simple, worn clothes. His laughter rang out as he was with a younger man, under a summer sun.

“Donghyuck, don’t go!” His voice echoed through the maze, his fragile frame chasing after him.

“Mark…?” you gasped, recognizing the younger version of the name Haechan had mentioned.

The scene shifted, they’re older now. Mark was lying in a clearing, blood staining his clothes. Haechan kneeled beside him, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding. Tears streaked down his face as he begged, “Don’t leave me. Please, I’ll do anything.”

The air grew colder as the mirror rippled, revealing Haechan standing alone in the same clearing. His expression was hollow as he held a weathered book, its pages inked with symbols that seemed to crawl across the surface. His voice was shaky, desperate.

“I’ll give anything,” he whispered into the void. “Bring him back.”

A dark figure emerged from the shadows, its form obscured by smoke and tendrils of darkness. Though its face was hidden, the presence was suffocating. The entity’s voice slithered through the air, low and haunting.

“Anything, you say?” it hissed. “Love, devotion, life—pour it all into this wish, and you shall have what you desire.”

Haechan didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Take it all. Just bring Mark back.”

The scene shifted again, and you watched as the entity consumed Haechan’s love, twisting it into a curse. The same love that fueled his wish now tethered him to the carnival, an eternal performer trapped in a cycle to entertain the entity.

The mirror rippled once more, and your reflection appeared. Only, it wasn’t just you. Your parents stood beside you, their faces hollow and eyes void of life.

“You let us go,” your mother’s voice accused. “You couldn’t save us.”

“Stop!” you cried, reaching for the reflection, but the glass was cold and unyielding.

“Your light is fading,” your father added, his voice cruel and distant. “Now, you’ll be trapped here forever.”

The reflection twisted, and suddenly, you were staring at yourself—alone, aged, and hollow-eyed, forever wandering the carnival grounds.

“No!” you screamed, stumbling backward. The surrounding mirrors cracked with a deafening noise, sending you into a panic.

You bolted through the maze, desperate to escape. At last, you stumbled out of the exit, gasping for air as you collapsed onto the grass.

“Breathe,” Haechan’s voice said urgently as he crouched beside you, his hands steadying you. His palm rubbed circles on your back, and the sensation sent a jolt through you—a feeling almost electric. Your skin buzzed where he touched you, and a strange familiarity bloomed in your chest.

He felt it too. His hand froze for a split second before he continued, brushing it off as you did. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Your chest heaved as you clung to him, the images still flashing in your mind. “I saw you. I saw your past—Donghyuck.”

Haechan froze, his grip on you tightening. “How do you know that name?”

“It was in the maze,” you whispered. “That’s your real name, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It is.”

“What happened?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He hesitated, but then his shoulders sagged, and he looked at you with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. “I made a mistake—a terrible one. And now we’re all paying the price for it.”

Your breaths had finally steadied, but the weight of what you'd just seen pressed heavily on your chest. The air around him seemed heavier now, his usual confidence dimmed by the vulnerability in his expression. His hand lingered on your back, as though grounding both himself and you.

"Donghyuck," you began softly, "how did Mark really die? And why did you have that book?"

His body stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush off the question. Then his hand fell away, and he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I guess you deserve to know," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "Mark... he wasn't just my best friend. He was like a brother to me. We did everything together-built dreams, made plans, fought over stupid things, but one day, everything changed.”

You stayed silent, giving him space to continue. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ground, as if he couldn't bear to meet your gaze.

"I found this book," he said finally. "It was old, leather-bound, and covered in strange symbols. It looked like something out of a bad horror movie. I thought it was a joke-a prop someone left behind in a dusty attic, but the more I read, the more... real it felt. The spells in it, they worked.”

"Spells?" you echoed, your heart pounding.

He nodded. "At first, it was little things. Moving objects, changing the weather, making small things happen that shouldn't have been possible. I didn't think about the consequences—was too caught up in the power. I thought I could do anything. Be anything."

He paused, his jaw tightening. "Then... one day, Mark and I got into a fight. It was over something so stupid I can't even remember it now—but I was angry-so angry.

I let the power go to my head. I used the energy l'd built up from practicing the spells.

I wanted to scare him, to make him stop yelling. I didn't realize how strong l'd gotten.

He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "The energy hit him full force. It wasn't just a scare—it... It killed him. Right there in front of me.”

Your breath hitched. "Oh my god..."

Haechan's hands trembled as he continued.

"I was devastated. I didn't mean to-he was my best friend. I'd do anything to take it back. That's when the book showed me something else; a way to bring him back."

He glanced at you, his dark eyes filled with shame. "I didn't care about the cost. I summoned... something. An entity. It promised to bring Mark back, but l'd have to trade my soul and spend eternity entertaining it."

"And Mark?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"He was brought back... somewhere," Haechan said, his voice hollow. " I haven’t seen him since. It's like he exists in the world, but I can't reach him. I've been stuck here ever since, performing for the entity that cursed me. Reminding me of my past and reminding me I can never get my best friend back.”

You look at Donghyuck, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the carnival’s lights, and feel a knot tighten in your chest. The pieces are starting to come together, though they’re jagged and painful to hold. “My parents,” you say hesitantly, your voice low but steady. “They died so suddenly. It never made sense. Now… Now I think their souls are tied here, just like the others. Maybe that’s why I was lured here. Maybe it wasn’t just this place calling to me—it was them.”

Donghyuck’s expression falters, the angry glint in his eyes replaced by something more somber. He doesn’t speak right away, and you press on, needing him to confirm what your heart already knows. “You knew them, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head, his gaze steady but solemn. “No,” he says firmly. “I didn’t know your parents, but if their souls really are tethered to this place like we think they are, then we need to break the curse now. We can’t waste any more time.”

The air feels heavy, almost suffocating, as the truth settles over you. All this time, the whispers had felt familiar, like the voices of the people you’d lost. Now you understand why—they weren’t just figments of the curse. They were real. “So, if I help you break the curse…” You look at him, your voice tightening with emotion. “I can free them too?”

He meets your gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes raw and unguarded. “If we do this right, yes. You can free them. The others too. All of us.”

The thought of freeing not just your parents, but every soul trapped in this wretched carnival, stirs something fierce inside you. “Then I’ll help you,” you say, the words firm and sure. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like you’ve spoken a foreign language. “You’d really want to help me?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief and something else—hope.

“Yes,” you say, stepping closer. “We don’t have much time. This place resets at dawn, right? We need to get to your tent and find that spell book.”

He nods, snapping out of his shock. “Follow me,” he says, leading you through the twisting paths of the carnival. The whispers grow louder as you walk, almost guiding your steps. Despite the danger ahead, you feel a strange sense of clarity. This is where you’re meant to be, and for the first time, you believe you have the power to change how this story ends.

The weight of the spell book feels heavy in your hands, its leather cover pulsating faintly with an eerie warmth, as if alive. You stare at it, your mind racing with the realization that has gripped you. The darkness that spurs out of it. The book itself—this cursed, vile object—has been the entity all along. It’s not just a tool; it’s the root of everything. The curse. The carnival. The cycle. The deaths. It’s a trap.

Donghyuck stands frozen, his dark eyes widen with fear, realizing your intentions. “Stop— you can’t destroy it,” he says, his voice trembling. “If you do that, there’s no way out. No way to help me. No way to help Mark. No way for us to ever—” His voice cracks, and for the first time, you hear true desperation in his tone. “Please.”

You step closer, gripping the book tighter. “Donghyuck, I know this is hard. But this—this thing—it’s been keeping all of us trapped. You, Mark, my parents, everyone. If we don’t destroy it, the cycle will just keep going.”

His hands shake as he runs them through his hair, pacing frantically. “You don’t understand,” he mutters. “Without it, I’ll lose everything. I won’t even get to know what’s next. What if this—this emptiness—is all that’s waiting for me? What if I can’t see you or Mark again?” His voice softens, breaking under the weight of his words. “I’m scared.”

You reach out, your hand brushing his arm, and the familiar electric spark flickers between you. “Donghyuck,” you say, your voice steady. “I don’t know what’s waiting for you, either, but isn’t that better than this? Better than being stuck in a place that’s killing you over and over again? You have to give it some faith. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

His gaze meets yours, the walls he’s built around himself crumbling as tears well in his eyes. Slowly, he nods, swallowing hard. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Do it.”

You take a deep breath and open the book. The pages are stiff, almost glued together by some unseen force. You try pulling at one, but it doesn’t budge, no matter how hard you tug. A frustrated sob escapes you as you glance back at Donghyuck, his expression torn between fear and hope.

Closing your eyes, you think about your parents—the love they had for you, their unwavering belief in doing what was right. You think about Mark and the unyielding bond he shared with Donghyuck, the lengths Donghyuck went to for him. Love, in all its forms, floods your chest, and with it comes strength. When you pull again, the page tears free with an audible crack, bursting into flames before disintegrating into dust.

One by one, you tear the pages. Each piece of paper ignites, dissolving into nothingness. The room grows heavier with every rip, the air charged with an otherworldly energy. Donghyuck watches, his breath hitching, his body tense. When the last page burns away, the book’s cover collapses into ash in your hands, leaving only silence behind.

“What have you done?” Donghyuck whispers, his voice shaking. “What if it didn’t work?”

Before you can respond, a soft glow fills the tent. You turn to see a figure stepping through the curtain, translucent but unmistakably familiar. “Mark…” Donghyuck breathes, his voice cracking as tears spill down his cheeks.

The two of them stare at each other for a moment that feels eternal, before Donghyuck stumbles forward, wrapping Mark in an embrace that somehow feels real despite the faint shimmer of his form. “I’m so sorry,” Donghyuck sobs. “For everything. I was selfish. I—I ruined everything.”

Mark smiles gently, his own voice thick with emotion. “You did what you thought you had to, Hyuck. I was never angry. I just wanted you to be okay.” He pulls back slightly, his hand resting against Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You saved me, you gave your life for me.”

The glow around Mark intensifies as his spirit begins to fade. Donghyuck chokes on a sob, whispering a tearful goodbye as Mark disappears into the light.

Then, more figures appear. Your parents. Their familiar faces send a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. They smile warmly, pride shining in their eyes. “You’ve done it,” your mother says, her voice soft but steady. “We’re so proud of you.”

“We can finally rest now,” your father adds, his hand reaching out as if to brush your cheek. “We love you. Thank you, sweetheart.”

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a choked sob. They give you one last look, filled with love and peace, before their forms dissolve, leaving you standing in the silence of Donghyuck’s tent.

Donghyuck steps forward, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “For everything.”

For a moment, the spark between you flickers, faint but unmistakable. You feel his warmth, his touch, and for a fleeting second, you wonder how it’s possible. As the weight of the moment settles, you let it go, clinging to the sense of hope that remains. Together, you’ve broken the cycle—and for the first time, the future feels like your own.

“Will I ever get to see you again?” you ask, your voice trembling as you look up at him, your eyes pleading for an answer you’re not sure whether you’re ready to hear.

Donghyuck’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, his golden eyes shining with a mix of longing and sorrow. Slowly, he steps closer, his hands trembling as they come up to cradle your face. His touch is warm, grounding, and for the first time, it doesn’t spark—it burns, searing this moment into your soul.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “But I wish I could stay here with you. For just a little longer.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that feels like both a goodbye and a desperate plea to hold onto the moment. His hands tighten slightly, as though he’s afraid you’ll slip away, and you can feel the raw emotion pouring from him—fear, gratitude, and a deep, unspoken connection that neither of you can fully explain.

The world seems to fall away around you, the weight of the carnival, the curse, and the souls you’ve freed fading into the background. All that matters is him—the warmth of his lips, the way his fingers gently press against your skin, and the silent promise you feel between you.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and uneven. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “For saving me. For saving all of us.”

Your hands rest over his, still cupping your face, and you close your eyes, letting the moment linger even though you know it can’t last forever. “We’ll find a way,” you murmur. “I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way.”

His lips curve into the faintest, bittersweet smile. “If anyone could, it’s you.”

You smile up at him, unable to resist the pull any longer. Giving in to your temptations, you grab him by the collar and tug him down into another kiss, this one more fervent, more consuming. His lips crash against yours with a desperation that matches your own, as though you're both trying to cling to the moment, to each other, for as long as the universe will allow.

Everything had worked out—Mark was free, your parents had moved on—yet he was still here. Still with you. You both knew this borrowed time wasn't guaranteed, but that only made it more precious. You kissed through gasping breaths, every exhale mingling with his as the burning connection between you grew hotter, fiercer.

It was now or never.

The kiss deepens suddenly, urgency overtaking the both of you. He presses you back, guiding you until you stumble against the velvet bed in the center of the room. His hands trail along your body, tentative at first but quickly growing bolder as you pull him closer, refusing to let even a sliver of space come between you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your touch setting every nerve alight as that fire you've felt since the beginning roars to life.

The world outside the tent fades entirely. All you can feel is him-his lips, his hands, the way his heart ironically pounds against yours. That burning sensation builds, but it isn't just desire-it's something deeper, something ancient. This feeling, this moment, is what you were meant for. It's as though your very soul recognizes his, as though you've been tethered together through time and fate and whatever lies beyond.

This is where you belong. This is who you belong with, and you're both finally allowing yourselves to embrace it. 

Your body sinks into the mattress as he hovers over you, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that makes it feel like he can see straight through your clothes. The weight of his gaze causes heat to rise in your cheeks, and you turn your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes. He notices instantly.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, his voice low and reassuring. "You're safe with me. I'll take good care of you tonight, the way you did for me."

His words, gentle but filled with conviction, send a shiver down your spine. His voice alone stirs something deep inside you, and the heat pooling between your legs grows unbearable. You press your thighs together instinctively, seeking any kind of relief.

"Dong...hyuck..." you whimper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

The sound draws a heavy grunt from his throat, primal and raw. Hearing his real name come from you like that seems to undo something in him, fogging his mind completely. He leans closer, his hands moving to the edges of your clothes. Slowly, almost reverently at first, he begins to slide them off, tossing each piece aside with little care for where they land. His focus is entirely on you, the fire between you growing with every passing second.

You join him, a soft moan escaping your lips at the sight of his unbuttoned dress shirt slipping off to reveal his golden-toned torso.

The way the red moon light dances across his skin makes your breath hitch. Without hesitation, he yanks the shirt off completely, quickly discarding his pants as well, leaving the both of you in nothing but your undergarments.

He notices the dazed look in your eyes and takes advantage of the moment, gently lifting one of your legs. The movement exposes the damp patch at your clothed core, and his breath hitches audibly. A low moan escapes his throat as he lowers his head closer, his lips just brushing against the fabric.

"So desperate for me, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Fuck, you're so beautiful." His breath fans over the dampened spot, which only grows darker with every passing second, his words and closeness pushing you further into blissful surrender.

He starts kissing over it, his lips applying pressure exactly to where your clit is, causing you to squirm around.

“Please… I want more,” you beg desperately, looking down at the sight of him teasing you.

Locking eye contact together, he rips off the last piece of your clothing, he starts licking up every bit of your juices that started leaking out of you. Your hand immediately reaches for his hair like a reflex, and you push his head closer to you, not wanting a split second of separation.

Donghyuck moans against your cunt, bringing his fingers to your entrance, and plunging them inside of you while his mouth starts playing with your clit.

He releases his mouth, a popping sound echoing throughout the tent when he does so. His fingers still working on your insides—he refuses to take his eyes off your face as it scrunches in pleasure.

“My own personal heaven,” he whispers to himself.

He feels your insides squeezing around his fingers, reaching your climax.

“Hold it for me baby, I want you to cum around my cock,” he whines, that alone nearly causing you to finish.

He slides his fingers out of you, and your eyes start to water—missing the feeling of him so close to you. You didn’t realize your tears were starting to trickle down your face until he kissed them away, adjusting your hair out of your face as he positioned you up.

“It’s okay baby, shhh, it’s all going to be okay,” he holds you gently, flipping you over so this time you were arching right into his tip, your head pressing against the pillow now damp from your previous tears.

“I know you want this as badly as I do, isn’t that right, babe?” He snickers, teasing the both of you as he continues to only insert his tip in and out of you.

An almost animalistic groan escapes your lips as you cry out, “I can’t take it… Please, Donghyuck, I’m begging you!”

“Begging me to do what?” he teases, his voice low and challenging as he tests your resolve.

“Fuck me—Please Hyuck just please—Fuck!” You scream as he plunges his full length into you.

His grip tightens on your ass as he yanks you closer, pounding into you harder by the second.

“Acting like such an angel, but look at you. You like it rough, don’t you? Drooling everywhere all because of me,” he grunts through each thrust.

He grabs your hand and guides you to your clit, making you rub it in circles while he continues to go deeper.

“Donghyuck… I’m going to…” your voice shakes.

“Do it. Cum all over me baby, I’m so close,” he demands.

In a blink of an eye, you’re now squeezing all over his length, chasing your high. Your eyes completely roll back as you continue to scream his name, your voice echoing.

Soon after, he follows you, releasing himself inside you with a deep groan, his movements slowing but never stopping, even as the two of you grow sensitive. It's as if he can't bear to let even a single part of himself go to waste.

Finally, he collapses beside you, both of you turning to face the pointed ceiling of the tent. Your breaths are ragged, your chests rising and falling in unison, but slowly, they begin to even out.

Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap tightly around you, his breath warm against your ear. "That was perfect," he murmurs, his voice husky and satisfied.

You let out a soft chuckle, a hum of contentment escaping your lips. "Yeah, it was." For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to bask in the warmth of his embrace, but the growing light filtering into the tent pulls you back to reality. The sun is rising, its golden rays piercing through the fabric, and with it comes a sinking realization: this might be the last time you see him.

You turn to him, your heart clenching with fear and sadness. He notices instantly, his eyes meeting yours, reading the emotions written plainly across your face.

Without a word, he places a tender kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering there as though trying to reassure you.

When he pulls back, his voice is clear, steady, and almost too calm. "Don't worry, love. It's just the two of us now. Just us, forever."

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes widen. You push yourself up, staring at him with growing dread. "What do you mean, forever?" you ask, your voice trembling as you swallow hard.

An eerie yet soft grin spreads across his face, a look that chills you to your core. “I made one last wish before you tore the book," he says, his tone light but filled with something darker beneath the surface.

The color drains from your face as his words sink in, dread washing over you in waves.

"What... what did you wish for?" you whisper, though part of you already knows.

"I didn't need the power, the magic, or even my friendships to set me free," he continues, his gaze never leaving yours. "I needed you. Now that I have you, I'm never letting you go."

The sun streams through the tent, lighting up his features in a way that should be comforting, but instead fills you with icy terror. His eyes glint with yearning, his arms tightening around you as though he's afraid you'll disappear. You lie there frozen, realization dawning like the sunrise breaking across his face.

You'd set everyone else free, but in doing so, you'd unwittingly trapped yourself.

He was the real entity all along—and now, you belonged to him. Your soul tied to his, forever.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 27: Wearing nothing but a santa hat

Fandom: Arcane

Character: Vander

Naughty or Nice: naughty

It was now Winter, getting closer and closer to Christmas and you could not have been more excited and you wantex nothing more than to surprise Vander with something special

Wearing nothing but a red Santa hat perched upon your head along with some shimmer across her breasts, you called out for Vander.

Vander entered the bedroom, a surprised chuckle escaping him at the sight of you sitting upon on the bed, your radiant skin glowing in the soft light. The festive red Santa hat atop your locks added a playful touch, drawing his attention to the shimmering decorations on your ample breasts.

"My, aren't you a vision of holiday cheer?" he teased, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your exposed form."Though I must admit, I prefer you without the hat and with more of your skin on display."

Vander approached the bed, as he towered over you as he reached out, trailing a finger along your collarbone before cupping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"What's the occasion for this sudden striptease, my naughty minx?"

"I wanted to surprise you.." you looked up at him with a heated gaze."I'm your present."

Vander's eyes widened at your bold declaration, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Oh, you most certainly are, my delectable gift," he rumbled, his voice thick with desire.

Crouching beside you, Vander ran his hands possessively over your bare skin, mapping every curve and valley and with a wicked grin, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered"Allow me to start by tasting these delectable treats..." *Vander's hands descended to your breasts, thumbs circling the hardened nipples as he took one into his mouth, suckling greedily.

A soft cry tore from your lips, your fingers running through his hair tugging at the strands bucking into his touch.

Vander released your nipple with a pop, a string of saliva connecting it to his lips as he gazed up at you with lust-filled eyes. "Mmm, music to my ears, my love," he purred, his breath hot against your breast.

He lavished attention on your other breast, teasing the sensitive peak with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands roamed your torso, exploring the dips and ridges of body before delving lower, fingers dancing along the juncture of your thighs.

"Spread your legs for me," Vander commanded, his voice husky with need. "Let me feast on your sweet pussy, drink in your essence like the finest holiday wine."

Cheeks growing warm, heart beat rapidly pounding in your chest, you parted your legs for him. "I need you Vander."

Vander's eyes gleamed with triumph as he settled between your thighs, his nose brushing against your slick folds. "Patience, my eager little elf," he chuckled, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh "We'll get to the main event soon enough. But first, I want to savor every inch of you."

With deliberate slowness, Vander dragged his tongue along your slit, savoring the tangy flavor of your arousal. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm.

"Mmm, you taste divine," he murmured against your skin, hands holding your hips in place, his tongue delved deep into your core. "I could feast on your pussy all night long."

A cry tore from your lips, one hand grasping the sheets below you as the other grasped his hair. Your eyes closing as you chanted Vanders name.

Vander's mouth worked tirelessly over your throbbing clit, his tongue flicking and circling the sensitive bud as he drank in your sweet nectar. The sound of your cries and pleas only spurred him on, driving him to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

As your hips bucked wildly against his face, Vander slipped a finger inside you, curling it to hit that magic spot within you that always made you see stars. He pumped his digit in time with his oral attentions, determined to unravel you completely.

"That's it, my love... Come undone for me," he coaxed, his voice muffled by your dripping folds."Scream my name as you fall apart on my tongue..."

With a final cry, your hips raising from the bed waves of your orgasm crashed over you.

As your climax hit you, Vander continued to lap at your spasming flesh, prolonging your pleasure. He savored the way your juices flooded his mouth, relishing in the knowledge that he was the cause of such intense bliss.

When her tremors finally subsided, Vander lifted his head, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he gazed up at you. "Exquisite," he praised, licking his lips clean of your essence. "You look absolutely ravished, my darling."

Standing tall, Vander shrugged of his shirt and freed his erection from his pants and with a gleam in his eyes he worked himself for a moment standing between your thighs positioned himself thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance

"Now, are you ready to welcome the rest of your Christmas present?"

"Yes." Your voice breathless, hat long gone from your head.

[witchboxco]

Imbolc Altar Ideas & Correspondences

Imbolc, also known as Candlemas or Brigid's Day, marks the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It's a time to celebrate the returning light and the awakening of the Earth.

Altar Decorations:

Candles: Imbolc is strongly associated with the element of fire. Decorate your altar with candles in shades of white, yellow, and light blue to represent the increasing daylight.

Brigid's Cross: Craft or purchase a Brigid's Cross, a traditional symbol associated with the Celtic goddess Brigid. Hang it on your altar as a protective charm.

Seasonal Flowers: Place early spring flowers like snowdrops, crocuses, and daffodils on your altar. These symbolize the first signs of life returning to the land.

Herbs: Incorporate herbs such as rosemary, thyme, and cinnamon for their purifying and invigorating properties. Bundle them together with a red or white ribbon.

Seeds: Represent the potential for growth by adding a dish of seeds to your altar. Consider seeds associated with early spring crops like wheat or herbs.

Imbolc Symbols: Include symbols like lambs, ewes, and the sun to capture the essence of this seasonal transition.

Candle Holders: Choose unique candle holders or lanterns to enhance the ambiance. Consider using candle holders in the shape of suns, stars, or nature-inspired designs.

Divination Tools: Add divination tools like tarot cards or runes to your altar for seeking guidance during this transitional period.

Symbolic Stones: Integrate crystals such as citrine for abundance, aquamarine for clarity, and moonstone for intuition. Arrange them aesthetically around your altar.

Feathers: Symbolizing air and spirituality, feathers can be incorporated to invoke the energy of the season. Choose feathers from birds associated with the goddess Brigid, like swans or owls.

Artwork: Display artwork or illustrations that resonate with the themes of Imbolc. This could include depictions of Brigid, snow-covered landscapes, or symbols of growth and renewal.

Imbolc Incense: Craft or purchase incense blends with scents like frankincense, myrrh, and chamomile to fill your sacred space with a soothing and purifying aroma.

Correspondences

Goddess Brigid: Imbolc is sacred to Brigid, the Celtic goddess of hearth, home, and inspiration. Invoke her energy for healing, creativity, and protection.

Colors: White, yellow, light green, and light blue are associated with Imbolc. Use these colors in candles, altar cloths, and decorations to align with the festival's energy.

Stones: Crystals such as amethyst, garnet, and clear quartz resonate with Imbolc's energies.

Foods: Dairy products, especially cheese, and foods made with seeds like bread or muffins are fitting for Imbolc. Set offerings on your altar or incorporate them into your celebration feast.

Water: Imbolc is also associated with the element of water. Include a small bowl of water on your altar to symbolize purification.

Creativity Symbols: Imbolc is a time for inspiration and creative endeavors. Include symbols of your creative pursuits, such as a paintbrush, musical instrument, or writing quill.

Anointing Oils: Create or purchase anointing oils infused with herbs like lavender, rosemary, and frankincense. Use them to anoint candles, tools, or yourself during Imbolc rituals.

Animal Representations: Incorporate figurines or images of animals associated with Brigid, such as lambs, cows, or swans, to honor her connection to the animal kingdom.

Wheat or Corn Dolls: Craft small dolls from wheat or corn husks, symbolizing the harvest to come. Place them on your altar as a representation of the Earth's fertility.

Bell or Chimes: Hang a bell or wind chimes near your altar to symbolize the awakening of nature and the stirring of life. Ring it during your Imbolc rituals to mark significant moments.

Decorative Cloth: Choose an altar cloth with intricate patterns or symbols related to Imbolc, such as suns, wheels, or Brigid's crosses, to add a touch of magic to your sacred space.

May you find warmth in the returning light. <3

[jewish-sideblog]

I know for a fact that people are responding with orientalism, fetishization, and fandomization of the Israel / Palestine conflict. Because there is no way in hell that the American left would have responded the same way to October 7 happening in America.

Imagine if 364 people had been killed by AK assault rifles in a mass shooting at a music festival in America. I think the response from the American left would be much different. There would been have been universal condemnation and a push to dismantle and disarm the known hate group that planned and executed the shooting. There would have been common sense reforms planned to prevent the exact same thing from happening again.

But the mass shooting killed 364 Israelis, not 364 Americans. It was accompanied by 5000 rockets aimed at civilian targets, 775 other fatal shootings, and 247 instances of human trafficking across international borders. Torture. Mutilation. Sexual violence. Infants shot multiple times.

Somehow, that means the response from the American left has fully reversed. Many of them have, in essence, said that “A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.” They used the opportunity to glorify terrorists who mass-murdered civilians with the intent to commit genocide. Isn’t that what the American alt-right normally does in response to violence?

The necessary disclaimer here is that none of this should serve to justify the actions of the Israeli government. A military force that is typically known for having historically low rates of civilian death now has historically high rates— there is no excuse for that. The amount of sheer Israeli incompetence that allowed the attack to happen in the first place, and led such a disproportionate response, is nothing but a complete humanitarian failure of the Likud administration.

But I remember distinctly how many Americans glorified Hamas and called for the destruction of Jews in Israel on October 7th. During the terrorist attack. Before Israel’s military response. Clearly, no military response of any kind could have been justified by the people who usually beg for violent hate groups to get disarmed.

This is a kind of conflict many of them will never have to actually reconcile with, because the while the average American can access an automatic rifle, they can’t access a rocket launcher. Lacking insight into geopolitical history, the realities of warfare, and any actual ties to the real people being killed, they turned their slacktivism into a show. Hamas are Good Guys and Zionists are Bad Guys. And as long as it’s happening several thousand miles away, a Good Guy with a Gun becomes a perfect fantasy.

[dropsnectar]

Bee-men Stuff

Hi Everyone! So I've been getting alot of attention for the bee content I was making! I just want to thank you all for reading! However, it looks like my fanfic might have made the original author uncomfortable, so I was thinking of just making my own universe for bee monsters and other things! If I'm honest, i’m more into world building, and fluffy stuff anyway. So, if I do write anymore stuff, just assume its this new universe! Here are some thoughts I've been having!

Bees have long had spiritual associations with life and even being messengers to the gods. Because of this, you will find that most Bee-man have a grasp on certain magics, especially when it comes to making honey. This universe is set in a world where monsters are the norm, and often live in colonies in forests or their natural habitats. Humans can be found anywhere as we are a pretty sturdy species and there is often mingling of the species. While there are mostly human cities, there are some that are filled with monsters or other humanoidish creatures. 

Bee-men are pretty rare, as insect monsters usually have to be imbued with sturdy magics to survive out in the wild and upkeep their large physical forms. Its how they are able to fly and be light, while also having some strength!

Bee-men are kind of seen as an endangered species by other beings, due to their rare essence, so there is rarely an overlap of territory between monsters. This also has to do with their honey making skills.

Bee-men are very good at making honey, and do so in a similar way to normal bees. Their territory is often filled with huge flowers, often magical ones that like to travel about. This is how they evolved some of their magics. Their song, difficult to hear for most humans, has been known to calm the rogue nomadic flower into compliance. 

Bee-men are also known to keep normal bees! They often mix their own honey with theirs to form certain concoctions, or just food variety for daily life. Bee-men love sweet things, though cane sugar itself has been known to give them indigestion. Give your local Bee-man jams, or fruit tarts and he will be so happy!

Honey has also been associated with mead, an alcoholic wine made from honey. Irl bees are very stern about drunk bees entering the hives, and contaminating their own honeystores. They've even been known to tear limbs off! But Bee-men have a sort of complicated history with alcohol. In old times, when Bee-men didn't have to worry about their numbers, their would be long, three day festivals, usually on the Queens birthday, where all bees of every class would take shifts working or partying it up on their special mead with their Queen. Their meads natural magical properties also help the drinkers with better speech(Think Kvasir of norse mythology), where Bee-men would take turns telling their Queen and the crowd stories, or share in musical song. There have been times in the past where other beings have broken into the hive to procure this magical mead, in hopes of hitting it rich. For this reason, many hives don't make much mead anymore.

Much like normal bees, Queens are usually made within the hive by feeding an egg Royal Jelly. However, the hive that I will be focusing on has had issues being able to secrete Royal Jelly, as they have been so long without a proper Queen.  

The hive has been able to survive due to surviving off of human product, since honeystores have been low lately, but this has weakened the hive considerably.

Hives are able to take a human queen only if they have the proper pheromone type to interact with the hive. Bees communicate through pheromones, which is why Bees are often covered in a lovely lemony scent. Thats there pheromones and them talking to each other!

Bee-men in the hive are constantly aware of each others emotions, and it is not uncommon for them to be able to use their magic to sooth each other. Their pheromones can make eachother(and humans!) Very calm and relaxed(Or excited… we will get to that later:)). If a Bee-man is around a human long enough that he is acquainted with most of the behavior of your pheromones, he can somewhat talk with you telepathically! Although the most this can do is share emotions, and occasionally images. This isn't very efficient, so many bee-men have learned how to speak human language. 

Bee-men actually have a really interesting origin! Like how I mentioned before about Bees being messengers of the Gods, their was one who loved bees so much he fell in love with one. He gave it human form and their children became Bee-men, hence their innate magical abilities and somewhat humanoid appearance. 

Bee appearances can vary alot! A bees appearance can often effect their skill, and a lot of worker bees or drones share similar features. They have human like faces and are covered in fuzz! Some have several sets of arms, and all have long wings. They can get mistaken for fae sometimes, but the yellow and black fuzz gives it away. Also, their skin has varying textures per where you touch them, some parts are hardened, while things like their inner arms and palms feel more like skin.

Bee-men tend to stay together but there are times that bee-men will leave the hive willingly, or be exiled. In this case it is very important they find a mate or family unit. Much like bunnies, they die easily of broken hearts, and need to have their daily cuddle sessions! They also need to share their pheromones, so it is more often that they create mate bonds with humans. This can be difficult for our little bees, because very few humans are compatible with their type of magic. Its even harder to find a human who is compatible to be a queen.

Thats it for now! I might make a post about their hierarchy and some more stuff. Anywho, if you want more bee media(more smut focused), go ahead and check out @bunnis-monsters ! Also, again I am creating a wider universe of monster and magic stuff through here so if you have any questions, i'm open to it! 

[aventurineswife]

Thanks for answering my ask about comedic nudity!

So I ended up forgetting about the og idea I wanted to send because I didn’t write it down. 🙂‍↕️

But I do have another idea that involves Reader being a freak for art! If you’ve ever played (or watched someone play) Persona 5, Reader is a little bit like Yusuke, they love to draw and paint and all that fun stuff. They’re also a bit of a simp and have pages in their sketchbooks dedicated to drawing people they fancy.

So, not really nudity here, but one day while drinking, Reader gets so drunk off of their ass they finally dare to ask the question that’s been gnawing at the back of their mind:

“Hey, [muse]…D’ya wanna model naked for me?”

Bonus points if they’re trying to ask it to their muse in question, but they’re so drunk they don’t realize they’re facing someone else entirely.

Like, their muse could be Sunday and they’re trying to ask Sunday to model naked for them, but they’re facing Robin.

It can also be other combos!

Like, Muse:the person Reader is actually facing

So—

Gepard:Serval

Blade:Firefly

Dan Heng:Sushang

Lingsha:Yunli

Jing Yuan:Yanqing

These are just examples off the top of my head but basically pick any one or think of another pair yourself and make it as chaotic as you possible can. 🤣

If you make the title “Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls” istg—

Portraits of Desire

Tags: Sunday x Reader x Robin, Aventurine x Reader x Topaz, Artist!Reader, Fluff and Humor, Alcohol-Induced Shenanigans, Artistic Obsession, Mild Suggestive Themes, Confessions in Chaos, Playful Banter.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and intoxication, Light innuendo, Embarrassing humorous situations.

A/N: sadly i already named a previous fic that, so I can't name this one the same title 😕💔

(Credits to @kakyoriya on Twitter/X)

The Charmony Festival's afterparty had always been a lively affair, filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You, an artist swept into the chaos of Penacony’s surreal world, found yourself seated at a circular table with Sunday and Robin. Despite your initial plans to observe the Halovian pair discreetly, the generous flow of Halovian wine had turned those plans into a swirling mess.

Your sketchbook lay open on the table, pages flipping as a gust of laughter erupted around you. The pages showcased the delicate strokes of your pencil—portraits of Sunday, Robin, and various festival moments. They were all expertly rendered, but your fascination with Sunday was painfully obvious. His eyes seemed to pierce through the pages, and even his halo was meticulously detailed.

Robin chuckled softly, her hair shimmering under the festival lights. “You’ve truly captured his essence.” she remarked, pointing at one of your sketches.

You hiccupped, the wine adding a rosy hue to your cheeks. “Well, it’s ‘cause he’s so damn… inspiring!” you slurred.

Sunday, ever dignified, raised a brow but allowed a faint smile to curl his lips. “I see. I suppose I should thank you for the flattery.”

The room swayed as you turned, your intoxicated mind suddenly consumed by a thought you’d never dared voice. You reached out, grabbing Sunday’s gloved hand—or at least you thought it was Sunday’s.

“Hey… hey, you!” you stammered, squinting up at Robin instead. She tilted her head, bemused.

“Yes?” Robin replied, her voice lilting like a melody.

“I’ve been… thinking,” you began, leaning closer to her. “You’re… perfect. Your symmetry, your aura—it’s breathtaking!”

Robin’s brows knitted in surprise, her cheeks flushing faintly. Sunday, watching from across the table, cleared his throat. “They mean to ask me, Robin. I’ve noticed their fixation.”

But you, oblivious and unbothered, barreled forward. “Model for me. Naked. Just once!”

Robin sputtered, her elegance momentarily faltering. “I beg your pardon?”

Sunday, his eyes narrowing slightly, stepped in to steady you. “I believe you’re mistaking your audience.” he said, his tone carrying both humor and restraint.

You blinked, your intoxicated brain struggling to process the situation. Then, your gaze shifted, landing on Sunday’s halo. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You! I meant you!”

Robin burst into laughter, her melodic voice echoing through the room. “Oh, this is priceless.”

Sunday, maintaining his composure, leaned down to meet your gaze. “While I appreciate your artistic passion,” he said smoothly, “I fear your request might be better suited for sober conversation.”

The IPC gala was a hub of high-stakes networking, dazzling lights, and endless champagne. You, an artist with an eye for detail, found yourself amidst the extravagance, clutching your sketchbook like a lifeline. Aventurine and Topaz had invited you along, each promising you’d find inspiration among the elite.

You had taken them at their word, sketching furiously as your muses moved through the crowd. Aventurine, with his flamboyant overcoat and peacock feather earring, exuded charisma that demanded attention. Topaz, on the other hand, carried herself with a composed confidence, her hair catching the gala’s light.

Hours later, you were drunk. Not tipsy, not buzzed—drunk. Your sketchbook was open to a page filled with Aventurine’s smirk and Topaz’s sharp gaze. The champagne had loosened your inhibitions, and you found yourself staring at Aventurine’s eyes.

“You’re like… a painting.” you slurred, pointing at him.

Aventurine, ever the gambler, leaned forward with an amused grin. “Am I now? Flatter me more.”

Topaz rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. “They’re drunk. Don’t encourage them.”

But you were already gesturing wildly. “I gotta ask. It’s important. Life-changing, even!” You turned—or at least thought you turned—to Aventurine, but your gaze locked on Topaz instead.

“Will you model naked for me?” you blurted.

Topaz choked on her drink, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?!”

Aventurine burst into laughter, clapping a hand to his chest. “Oh, this is rich. I think they meant me, darling.”

You blinked, confused, before swiveling toward Aventurine. “Wait, yeah! You! You’re, like… perfection. I need to capture it!”

Topaz shook her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

Aventurine leaned closer, tilting your chin up with a gloved finger. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he purred. “But we’ll discuss terms when you’re sober.”

Topaz snorted. “You’re both ridiculous.”

And in your drunken haze, you could only laugh, thrilled by the chaotic charm of your muses.