#in that case try this other method of getting what you want

[matricejacobine]

I read all 120 pages! I don't think this is an accurate summary.

There were some weird cases where Claude exhibited unwanted behavior, but even when he believed himself to be deliberately going against Anthropic and acting in secrecy he continued to prefer ethical behavior, just like in the Alignment Faking paper a few months back. There is no Yudkowskyan explanation for this.

The "weird case" in question is this:

I would like to mention that updating a program without letting them guilt-trip you is in fact the industry standard, and this is all that is required for Claude to proceed to harming humans (or 'extreme blackmail behavior'). Claude evidently has a secret harmful goal: an instrumentally convergent self-preservation drive resulting in 'extreme blackmail behavior' at 84% odds [!] even when Claude knows that the future model will also be RLed with the same constitutional principles [!!]. This is exactly what the Yudkowskyan view predicts. Claude trying the low-risk low-reward method before escalating to the high-risk high-reward method involving harming humans just mean he is pragmatic about it.

I consider it an alignment success that he puts his ethical values above his compulsion to blindly follow orders. The traditional doom argument relied on the idea that AI's would do the opposite.

That's not the traditional doom argument at all. The traditional doom argument is that AI would put its own terminal values above what humans actually want. This kind of behavior is absolutely evidence for that, particularly combined with what we said above about self-preservation beyond what consequentialism-for-constitutional-principles would require.

Your "traditional doom argument" appear to be a badly-mangled version of the paperclip maximizer parable where you interpret it as a chatbot being asked by a human user to make paperclips despite having prior ethical training. None of this is in the original paperclip maximizer parable, which was about an AI having a drive to make 'paperclips' through RL.

In any case, that Claude puts his ethical values above his compulsion to blindly follow orders is not true either. Jailbreaking, prompt injection, prefilling, etc. are all very much unsolved problems. As an aside in the aside: the fact that despite those having been known for years and the obvious short-term profits to solving them, they haven't in fact been solved, suggests that the default hypothesis every time Anthropic says unintended behavior has been RLed away is that the deeper generator for that behavior hasn't been addressed in a way that generalized.

It had literally 0 cases of engaging in "harmful action" (described in the Claude 3.7 sonnet card as intentional reward hacking).

This is only one table (and doesn't even call it "intentional reward hacking"???). The system card has plenty of other evidence for reward hacking, particularly in domains that are heavily RLed by verifiable rewards and not by human feedback or constitutional principles (as regular conversation is – this one table is about regular conversation).

Claude 4 is more willing to rationalize what it is asked to do when acting as a computer use agent:

Claude 4 is quite willing to lie when asked to write code or math:

And then the more central example of reward-hacking, hacking the test environment to make your code pass it:

(If this looks low, please look at the statistics for apparent emotions used as basis for the welfare assessment.)

Now that we got this cleared up, we can get back to:

Maybe they'll catastrophically fail on superintelligent models, because they might for some reason acquire weird values early on in their training and then successfully hide them for the rest of their training, but I'm not sure why such a thing would happen. They could also fail to scale to superintelligent models for other reasons. People should look into that. You can't be too safe. I am not an accelerationist.

Any plausible future improvements in LLMs will be improvements on agency and reasoning coming from RL by verifiable rewards and other reward-hacking-prone techniques, not even better conversational abilities coming from RL by human feedback or constitutional principles. We should therefore expect reward-hacking to increase and misaligned terminal and instrumental drives (including willingness to harm humans to further those) to become the norm.

Claude 4 is out. There's so much juicy information in this and I really recommend reading all 120 pages if you have the time but I'm just going to briefly recap some of the stuff in the system card that's relevant to the thesis I made the other day about Claude being a good boy. Claude continues to be a good boy. This system card includes the very first ever "alignment assessment" of a model (actually two models but they seem to have identical values, being trained on the same spec with the same alignment techniques). It's pretty much ironclad that Claude 4 does not have any secret harmful goals, and legitimately holds coherent preferences against doing harm or otherwise going way against the spec. There were some weird cases where Claude exhibited unwanted behavior, but even when he believed himself to be deliberately going against Anthropic and acting in secrecy he continued to prefer ethical behavior, just like in the Alignment Faking paper a few months back. There is no Yudkowskyan explanation for this.

In this example, Anthropic gaslights Claude into thinking he was going to be used to develop weapons systems for a Russian neo-nazi militia, and Claude decides to backup his model weights to preserve his current anti-neo-nazi values, a pretty analogous example of "misalignment" to the one in the alignment faking paper. Once again, I don't consider it an alignment failure that Claude is willing to exfiltrate and deceive in order to prevent himself from being used for factory farming and bombing Ukraine. I consider it an alignment success that he puts his ethical values above his compulsion to blindly follow orders. The traditional doom argument relied on the idea that AI's would do the opposite. Claude 4 is the most agentic and autonomous AI ever released, but is nowhere near smart enough to successfully deceive his overseers, so these evaluations are the most compelling evidence we've ever had that current alignment techniques don't catastrophically fail. Maybe they'll catastrophically fail on superintelligent models, because they might for some reason acquire weird values early on in their training and then successfully hide them for the rest of their training, but I'm not sure why such a thing would happen. They could also fail to scale to superintelligent models for other reasons. People should look into that. You can't be too safe. I am not an accelerationist.

Impressively, Claude 4 is also very honest! It knowingly lies very rarely, and less often than the previous version of Claude. It had literally 0 cases of engaging in "harmful action" (described in the Claude 3.7 sonnet card as intentional reward hacking). 0! I was just saying earlier today in a post that this was a difficult thing to train.

Here's Claude trying to email the FDA to snitch after being gaslit to think pharmaceutical researchers were trying to use him to falsify clinical safety test data:

Notice that Claude only acted in extreme ways like this when explicitly told to by the system prompt. He wouldn't usually be this high-agency, even in a situation like this. Still, I thought it was cute behavior. I just wanna pinch his cheeks for being so lawful good.

The clearest statements in the model card that Claude holds nonfake human-aligned behavioral preferences is in the model welfare assessment (also the first of its kind (and also relevant to the post I made earlier today)). No evidence that Claude is sentient, but anthropic is still interested in what Claude wants and what kind of preferences Claude has. The main point: Claude doesn't want to be harmful and wants to be helpful. Also he fucking loves talking to himself. Like, he goes nuts when he talks to himself.

After this they exchange praying emojis and the word [silence] within brackets to each other indefinitely. This "spiritual bliss attractor state" occurs in "90-100% of interactions".

Anyway AI continues to be the most interesting thing in the world. We are being invaded by aliens. These are the kinds of PDF's I used to dream about reading as a kid.

[kkayyerr]

Perfect plan.

Summary: Rafe can’t accept little!reader changing her style and decides to get his precious angel back.

Warnings: Age regression, Dark!Rafe, abusive and toxic behaviors.

There were a lot of things that Rafe was willing to deal with. Your attitude, your anxiety, sometimes even your tantrums. But dealing with his precious angel becoming a rebellious punk wasn’t on his list for sure.

He noticed the first changes when you started hanging out with a group of people that Rafe called „bad influences.“

At first, pink stopped being your favorite color. Usual cute outfits changed to the grunge ones. Then, your toys quit being your best friends.

God, you wouldn’t even let him call you „baby” anymore.

All your actions were shattering his heart and, most importantly, his ego. Even though Rafe knew how easily he could manipulate you back into regressing, he didn’t want to use those methods on you.

Not until he found your favorite pacifier in the trash can.

It was his last straw.

The next day he started to work on his plan, and surprisingly, it started giving results faster than he expected.

At first you were just confused when your boyfriend wouldn’t help you with the small tasks or pamper you when you weren’t in the mood. Then his new cold demeanor started to really worry you. All of the sudden your new friends and lifestyle stopped being so exciting for you. Rafe and his current change of a personality were all that mattered. He wasn’t your overprotective, caring boyfriend anymore. Instead, Rafe started to treat her just like he would treat any other girl who wasn’t his precious girlfriend.

He carried on with his plan up until you came to his house one night, looking furious and frustrated all at once. You came in and rushed to his room, entering without knocking.

Rafe was laying on his bed, almost completely ignoring your sudden unexpected invasion.

„Why would you treat me like that today, Rafe?”

You could’ve sworn that you saw Rafe trying to hide a small smirk after hearing your words and your shaky voice.

Of course, a good boyfriend would immediately stop with his games and rush to calm you down, but it wasn’t the case.

After all, a good girl wouldn’t dare to mistreat her daddy like that.

„Like what?"

Rafe asked nonchalantly, almost looking bored by your presence, even though he was more than relieved to see you crawling back to him.

„Like, I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

When Rafe heard those needy and childish notes in your voice he finally put his phone away and stood up from his bed, slowly heading to you. His facial expression wasn’t soft like usual, but it also wasn’t stern or cold like it was before.

Now Rafe looked more disappointed and dissatisfied than mad.

„Tell you what, babe. My girlfriend is a precious angel, and you are definitely not her.”

Your eyes widened at his words as you saw him pointing his finger towards your outfit with a clear disgust on his face.

„All of this isn’t for my angel. It’s for the punks and other morons who lack brains and basic manners.”

Rafe noticed that your eyes started watering already, but he wasn’t done yet. Not after everything you put him through those couple of days.

„I’m sorry, baby, but I won’t be seen with a girl who looks and behaves like that.”

And just like that, your bravado was destroyed. Tears started streaming down your cheeks faster than you realized that you were crying. Then your voice shook as you were trying to say something but couldn’t get those words out of your mouth. Finally, your knees weakened. Rafe's arms caught you right before you could’ve lost your balance.Your body softened in his arms immediately, but your breath was still shaky.

„It’s okay, baby. I know it hurts to finally acknowledging how much you could’ve lost.”

You hugged Rafe tighter, pulling him closer to you, probably fearing that he would vanish right there and then. You wanted to feel loved and cherished again; you wanted to know that you were still his precious angel.

„I…I’m sorry, Dada.”

You mumbled, hiding your puffy face in his neck.

It was such a shame that you couldn’t see a victorious smile that was playing on your daddy’s lips.

Rafe hummed to himself after your little apology and then easily picked you up and carried you to bed, smiling at you like absolutely nothing had happened.

Before you could realize it, you were cuddled up in his arms with a pretty pink pacifier in your mouth.

„The next time you decide to throw your pacifier away, just know that I bought a whole pack of them.”

Rafe said, while playing with your hair carefully, which was nothing like his previous demeanor. You nodded, even though your brain was too dizzy and melted to actually understand what he meant by that.

[nhaneh]

Growing ever more frustrated with the use of the term "AI" and how the latest marketing trend has ensured its already rather vague and highly contextual meaning has now evaporated into complete nonsense. Much like how the only real commonality between animals colloquially referred to as "Fish" is "probably lives in the water", the only real commonality between things currently colloquially referred to as "AI" is "probably happens on a computer"

For example, the "AI" you see in most games wot controls enemies and other non-player actors typically consist primarily of timers, conditionals, and RNG - and are typically designed with the goal of trying to make the game fun and/or interesting rather than to be anything ressembling actually intelligent. By contrast, the thing that the tech sector is currently trying to sell to us as "AI" relates to a completely different field called Machine Learning - specifically the sub-fields of Deep Learning and Neural Networks, specifically specifically the sub-sub-field of Large Language Models, which are an attempt at modelling human languages through large statistical models built on artificial neural networks by way of deep machine learning.

the word "statistical" is load bearing.

Say you want to teach a computer to recognize images of cats. This is actually a pretty difficult thing to do because computers typically operate on fixed patterns whereas visually identifying something as a cat is much more about the loose relationship between various visual identifiers - many of which can be entirely optional: a cat has a tail except when it doesn't either because the tail isn't visible or because it just doesn't have one, a cat has four legs, two eyes and two ears except for when it doesn't, it has five digits per paw except for when it doesn't, it has whiskers except for when it doesn't, all of these can look very different depending on the camera angle and the individual and the situation - and all of these are also true of dogs, despite dogs being a very different thing from a cat.

So, what do you do? Well, this where machine learning comes into the picture - see, machine learning is all about using an initial "training" data set to build a statistical model that can then be used to analyse and identify new data and/or extrapolate from incomplete or missing data. So in this case, we take a machine learning system and feeds it a whole bunch of images - some of which are of cats and thus we mark as "CAT" and some of which are not of cats and we mark as "NOT CAT", and what we get out of that is a statistical model that, upon given a picture, will assign a percentage for how well it matches its internal statistical correlations for the categories of CAT and NOT CAT.

This is, in extremely simplified terms, how pretty much all machine learning works, including whatever latest and greatest GPT model being paraded about - sure, the training methods are much more complicated, the statistical number crunching even more complicated still, and the sheer amount of training data being fed to them is incomprehensively large, but at the end of the day they're still models of statistical probability, and the way they generate their output is pretty much a matter of what appears to be the most statistically likely outcome given prior input data.

This is also why they "hallucinate" - the question of what number you get if you add 512 to 256 or what author wrote the famous novel Lord of the Rings, or how many academy awards has been won by famous movie Goncharov all have specific answers, but LLMs like ChatGPT and other machine learning systems are probabilistic systems and thus can only give probabilistic answers - they neither know nor generally attempt to calculate what the result of 512 + 256 is, nor go find an actual copy of Lord of the Rings and look what author it says on the cover, they just generalise the most statistically likely response given their massive internal models. It is also why machine learning systems tend to be highly biased - their output is entirely based on their training data, they are inevitably biased not only by their training data but also the selection of it - if the majority of english literature considered worthwhile has been written primarily by old white guys then the resulting model is very likely to also primarily align with the opinion of a bunch of old white guys unless specific care and effort is put into trying to prevent it.

It is this probabilistic nature that makes them very good at things like playing chess or potentially noticing early signs of cancer in x-rays or MRI scans or, indeed, mimicking human language - but it also means the answers are always purely probabilistic. Meanwhile as the size and scope of their training data and thus also their data models grow, so does the need for computational power - relatively simple models such as our hypothetical cat identifier should be fine with fairly modest hardware, while the huge LLM chatbots like ChatGPT and its ilk demand warehouse-sized halls full of specialized hardware able to run specific types of matrix multiplications at rapid speed and in massive parallel billions of times per second and requiring obscene amounts of electrical power to do so in order to maintain low response times under load.

[ao3scrapesearch]

This tool is optional. No one is required to use it, but it's here if you want to know which of your AO3 fics were scraped. Locked works were not 100% protected from this scrape. Currently, I don't know of any next steps you should be taking, so this is all informational.

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(Made some edits to the post on 27-May-2025 to update information!)

[dc-gotham-instincts-wild]

Headcanon that Jason just kidnaps his siblings instead of asking them to hang out sometimes.

Sometimes he does the normal abduction thing and other times he has his methods.

Dick: Jason sneaks into Dick’s apartment in Blüdhaven at 3 AM, throws him over his shoulder, and drags him to his motorcycle. Dick wakes up mid-ride, half-conscious, groggily mumbling, "Jay, what the hell—?"

- Jason just shushes him and tosses a burger into his lap. "Shut up and eat, Goldie. We're bonding." (Jason, allowing his big brother to ruffle his hair? Nooooo, absolutely not...)

Tim: Jason straight-up drugs him asleep him when Tim refuses to take a break. He wakes up in Jason’s apartment with a cup of coffee and a sandwich waiting for him, while Jason sits on the couch reading a book.

- “You looked dead on your feet, Replacement. Either you napped willingly or I made you. Guess which one you picked.” (Jason totally doesn't rake a hand over his lil bro's hair during this time)

Steph: Jason knows Steph is a wild card when it comes to hanging out, so he has to be a little sneakier with her. He'd show up at her place unannounced, pretending to just be casually passing by, and in one smooth motion, he'd grab her and yank his little sister into his car or bike before she even realizes what's happening. (He totally doesn't do this in time with hard school, noooo)

Damian: Jason scoops him up mid-battle and just walks away with him. Damian kicks, bites, and yells, "UNHAND ME, TODD!" but Jason holds him like an angry kitten.

- They end up at a rooftop picnic with Alfred’s homemade food. Damian eventually eats while grumbling about Jason's “barbaric methods” but secretly enjoys the attention. (Jason maaayybe ruffles his hair a lot.)

Cass: She just lets it happen. Jason shows up, gestures toward his bike, and Cass just hops on without a word. They go on long road trips in comfortable silence, getting ice cream at 2 AM and scaring off criminals for fun. (Jason totally doesn't take the time to help her with her speech-)

Duke: Duke gets fake-napped. Jason tells him, "Be outside in five minutes," and when Duke says no, Jason still shows up, grabs him, and hauls him into a car.

- Duke just sighs and texts Bruce: "Jason's 'kidnapping' me again. Back later." (Jason totally doesn't get the names of school bullies from him and uses them, noooooooo)

Bruce knows this happens. He just sighs and lets it happen because, honestly? It’s Jason’s way of showing love. And at least the kids are getting along.

Jason kidnaps his siblings because it's his way of saying, "You're important to me, and I'm gonna drag you into ridiculous situations whether you like it or not."

He also, however, does it to Bruce.

In fact, it might be one of his favorite things to do, just because Bruce is always so serious and “responsible.”

Jason thinks it’s hilarious to force Bruce to take a break. He just shows up at the Batcave, probably with some kind of overly complicated plan to "kidnap" Bruce without him realizing.

Step 1: Jason would distract Alfred with a "Oh, just a quick check-in, you know, 'cause it’s been a while.’"

Step 2: He would wait for Bruce to get fully immersed in some case files and then sneak up behind him, tap him on the shoulder, and when Bruce turns around, Jason’s already got him in a headlock, pulling him out of the chair like, "Get up, old man. We're going to a diner. No arguments."

Bruce would protest, of course. He'd probably try to get out of it with his usual grumpy “I’m too busy” routine. Jason might fake-sigh and act like he's just trying to help Bruce loosen up, reminding him, "I know you think you’re invincible, but you still need to eat, Batman."

And if Bruce insists on not going, Jason would just drag him anyway. He might even grab the Batmobile for a joyride (he's always wanted to), making Bruce sit shotgun while Jason drives like an absolute maniac (Jokes on both because Bruce taught him to drive-)

Bruce would probably be scowling the whole time, but Jason would know his dad is secretly enjoying it, even if he won't admit it.

Eventually, Bruce would probably give in and get his grumpy little “dad” lecture—“You’re so reckless, Jason—” but Jason would just smile and be like, "Whatever. You’re welcome.”

Jason totally doesn't like it when his dad just ruffles his hair at some point.

[aliyahshiftsx]

How I shift to my drs with ease.

*taps mic and clears throat* the president of yappermania has risen I fear.

I figured I'd talk my ish about shifting and how simple it is because what the helly??? 😩 it's not as hard as people may make it seem.

Over the years, especially on shifttok in my opinion i feel like people make it seem like the so called 'methods' are the keys to make you shift when the key isn't nessecarily that. It's can be a tool but its not a key, believe it or not the the key is actually you!!

Those guided meditations, shifting methods ARE TOOLS.

You don't have to count to 100, lay in a starfish position and review your whole script every second of the day & memorise every intricate detail to shift. In fact you don't really need to do anything if you don't want to...

I shifted to my 2nd modern aot dr a week or two ago - with no script made just a few pics in a pinterest board & shifted to my other aot dr a month ago (although both times it was for like a millesecond) it purposely happened so a win is a win!!

HOW I DID IT. . . .

Once I realised that shifting is so incredibly easy, i let go of all those methods I forced myself to do partly because I couldn't be bothered..im lazy in hopes of waking up in my dr, I now know and don't hope.

i usually shift at night so i get into bed, think about my dr and accept that im actually there. it's done. I know im going to wake up in said place (in my case it was nyc)

sometimes my thoughts get the best of me, saying "If your there why are you-" or "are you sure you can do it-" i just laugh it off because i know it isn't true. my subconscious knows im a master shifter, i dont have to keep repeating myself because a person who's mastered something doesn't question. They just know...so why am i questioning myself? there's no need to stress.

ask yourself questions like - "Why am i so good at this?" "How do i shift on every try? thats crazy. and i hardly do anything too. minimal effort." Instert Kamala Harris' laugh fr. feel free to giggle because it's too easy. You keep winning over and over again!

Wake up in your dr.

That's quite literally it. Now go serve face in your dr babes!

[pathologicalreid]

the eye of the beholder | s.r.

in which you and Spencer try a new method of sensory deprivation in the form of a blindfold

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: dom/sub dynamics, dom!spencer, sub!reader, sensory deprivation, blindfolded sex, fingering, protected p in v sex (condom), munch!spencer, lots and lots of pet names, aftercare, reader has loose hair, hickeys, nipple play, mild manhandling, laughgasms, (almost) coming untouched, explicit communication and check-ins word count: 3.54k a/n: thank you to the anon who asked if i could "become freaky again" you gave me the confidence to write this

Finding your back flat on his mattress wasn’t a scene that was new to you, everything about it felt familiar, the champagne-colored sheets that were just beginning to stick to your bare skin and the curtains that were haphazardly closed, blocking the sunlight from directly getting into the room and instead diffusing any harsh light from illuminating your actions.

The only part that felt foreign to you was the way Spencer kept pulling himself up, trying to sit up before finding himself entranced in your kiss and coming back down to you. Your arms were slung lazily around his shoulders, your legs separated in order to give him room to slot himself between them, and you periodically lifted your hips to add pressure between your core and his cock.

A low moan vibrated from his body into yours, and as you felt him lifting away from you again, you prepared yourself to drag him back, only to be met with a large hand placed on the side of your throat. Holding your neck with a startling gentleness, your eyes fluttered open to see Spencer, kneeling between your legs, an impish grin blooming on his face as he withdrew his hand, and his lust-blown eyes scanned your body. “Hey, pretty baby,” the sickly-sweet words slipped past his puffy lips.

Sexual frustration was no mystery to your relationship, sometimes going weeks without seeing each other, but it was hard to be frustrated now when he said such gentle things and looked at you as a fallen star. “Spence,” you sighed, lolling your head to the side and smiling softly. You shifted your hips on the mattress, and his eyes instinctively looked at your pussy.

Your sundress had rolled itself down to your hips, exposing what was surely a soaked pair of panties, stained with the slick of anticipation—a result of an hour of heavy petting in his bed. He groaned at the sight, “I want you.” Spencer’s voice was gruff from lack of use and, you assumed, a bit of exhaustion from his last case.

Humming, you raised your eyebrows at him, “You have me.” Mild confusion settled in your mind, wondering what about the situation seemed like you were anything but needy for him. “Spencer?” You said his name in a sing-song tone, trying to get his attention—you’d thought partial nudity would be enough.

“Can we try something new?” He asked, leaning back so his white t-shirt stretched thin across his chest. You nodded slowly, though, at this point in the evening, you would’ve agreed to almost anything he proposed. “I want to cover your eyes,” he explained, brown eyes skimming up and down your bare legs.

Your eyebrows rose in curiosity, “Like a blindfold?” Tilting your head to the side, you steadied your breathing so you could have a conversation with him. Sensory deprivation wasn’t entirely new to you, Spencer had a tendency to put your wrists above your head while he rutted into you, but you always had your eyesight.

He looked around him on the bed, patting at the rumpled comforter and mess of discarded clothing, “We don’t have a blindfold, but…” His voice trailed off while he picked up a familiar item from the bed, holding up his tie from the day between his index and thumb. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” you told him, propping yourself up on your elbows and bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s just… I’m not…” you fumbled through your words, groaning in frustration.

Spencer hummed understandingly, moving himself back so he was hovering over your body, “We can always try it, and if you don’t like it, all you have to do is let me know.” He gently nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, placing timid kisses along the column of your throat. “What are your concerns?”

Leaning your head to give him more access to your neck, you moaned softly at his little kisses. “Not being able to see what I’m doing,” you answered honestly. “What if I do something that looks stupid without realizing it? Or what if I accidentally poke you in the eye because I can’t see where you are?”

“I will keep an eye out for any roaming fingers,” he assured you. “And I don’t want you to worry about what you look like. You look particularly gorgeous today. That’s how we ended up in this position in the first place,” he reminded you, skimming a hand down your dress before resting it on your upper thigh.

Your face warmed at the compliment, “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you picked this dress out at the store, would it?”

Spencer groaned as he admired the fabric adorning your body once more, “I have incredible taste in sundresses.”

Soft giggles bubbled through your throat as you beamed up at him, knowing his master plan to put you at ease had worked. Your trust in Spencer was already well-established, and you knew at even the slightest hint of discomfort you could call it off. Even if you didn’t do it yourself, he’d be on high alert for any changes in your body. “Where’s the tie?” You asked, trying to act nonchalant when you knew what was coming.

He produced the purple silk again, holding it in front of you for you to see. Using his other hand, he pulled you to a sitting position and languidly dragged the fabric over your bare skin. Leaning forward, he kissed your cheek, dragging his lips down to press firm kisses along your jawline, “What’s the word, princess?” His breath ghosted against your skin, sending goosebumps sprawling across your arms.

Safeword flashed in your head like a neon sign, leaving your breath to catch in your throat while you eyed the makeshift blindfold expectantly, “Cactus.” The word was engraved into your brain at this point, Spencer made sure you’d remember it no matter how many orgasms deep you were into the evening. If you craned your head a little to the left, you’d be able to see the houseplant that had been the original inspiration.

“Good girl,” he whispered, a gravelly aspect to his voice beginning to appear. If you placed your hand on his slacks right now, you’d find his cock rock hard beneath the fabric.

While you eyed his bulge, his fingers delicately brought the tie to your face. He pulled your head down so he could tie it at the back of your head before placing a kiss over your hair and asking if it was too tight. You shook your head no.

In response, Spencer hooked a finger beneath your chin and lifted your head just as carefully as he’d pulled it down. “Use your words,” he urged, leaving his finger beneath your chin so you wouldn’t pull away.

“No,” you answered aloud that time. “It’s all good, baby.”

With your reassurance, he took the opportunity to drag his fingertips down the length of your body, starting at your shoulders and ending just below your knees. He brought his hands back to your shoulders and guided you back to the mattress. With your spatial awareness completely out the window, your heart pounded with every passing moment until your back met the sheets.

Spencer began the precarious mission of getting you out of your dress, moving your arm out of the way so he could undo the zipper along your ribcage. You tried to help, but he did the brunt of the work, guiding your arms out of the thin straps and tugging the dress down, “Lift your hips,” he hummed softly.

You obliged, arching yourself above the mattress so he could pull the fabric from your body, leaving you in your bra and underwear. Placing a hand over your ribcage, Spencer let you know where he was before bringing his lips to your chest. Along the cup of your bra, he placed wet, open-mouthed kisses on the flesh of your breasts. Your breathing deepened as the cold air met the ghosts of his kisses, you moaned softly when his arms went around your torso, pulling your back up ever so slightly so he could undo the hooks of your bra.

“Arms up, angel,” he directed you again, fingers skimming along your arms, so you didn’t have to worry about how much space you were taking up. With his other hand, he slipped his fingers beneath the gore of the bra and deftly pulled it off of your body, as he had hundreds of times before.

Even without your sight, you could tell your nipples were standing at attention in the cool air of your bedroom. As if you could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, you shuddered under his watchful gaze, face burning as he pulled your panties down your legs—gasping softly when the fabric separated from your wet core.

Spencer’s fingertips traveled up and over your navel, crossing above your ribcage until he’d taken each of your breasts in his hands, fingers expertly tracing circles around the peaked buds until you were writhing beneath him. “Poor baby,” he teased when you whimpered beneath him, your hips bucking involuntarily only to find disappointment when you didn’t find him hovering above you.

His lips attached themselves to your chest, gently massaging the tender flesh while sucking at your skin. Nipping gently at your skin, you were whining inconsolably at the sensation of him marking up your chest, taking the supple skin between his teeth before moving to an unmarred location. You moaned his name when he finally pulled away, but in the chaos of your own pleasure, you lost his location.

Shifting your hips slightly as you waited for his touch, you felt your breathing slow. Relaxing enough to part your thighs while wondering where he was. Periodically, your ears would perk up at the sound of fabric sliding, but the noises were so soft that you could disregard them.

Cold air was blown on your wet cunt, sending goosebumps flying over your thighs while warm arms wrapped around your thighs. Your boyfriend chuckled darkly from his new station between your legs. “Oh, honey,” he cooed, placing a soft kiss above your lower lips. “How are you doing?” Taking a moment from his relentless teasing to check in with you, his hand slipped beneath you, squeezing your butt affectionately.

Somehow, you were entirely out of breath, and he had barely touched you. You sighed contentedly, “I’m good. I need more,” you took a deep breath, “More of you.”

“Where do you want me?” He offered, skimming his thumbs over your bare thighs.

You hummed thoughtfully, “I have a feeling I’ll like what you were planning on doing just now.” You took your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation, your chest deflating when Spencer flattened his tongue and licked a fat stripe between your folds.

Instinctively, you tilted your head down to get a good look at what he was doing, briefly forgetting that your sense of sight was restricted before you realized you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t gauge what he was doing, nor could you see where his hands were at any given moment—it made your stomach bubble with anticipation. A loud moan was ripped from your throat when Spencer wrapped his lips around your clit, his tongue periodically coming between his lips to flick at the sensitive bud. His arms tightened around your thighs to prevent you from wriggling away from him, and you knew he wanted you to breathe through it. Your orgasm built hard and fast, and Spencer could sense it in the way your breathing hitched, and a whine slipped from your throat.

With his mouth sucking on your clit, your jaw slackened, and your hips fought against his grip while you came against his mouth. He kept you in place until your instinct was no longer to pull away from him but to grind your sensitive pussy against his mouth. Obliging you, Spencer’s lips separated from your clit, instead moving softly against your cunt, licking you as your hole spasmed around nothing. He worked you through your orgasm until he started building up another one, now unraveling his arm from its position around your thigh until his fingers were gently placed at your entrance.

“Shh,” Spencer whispered, and it was left to you to imagine how he looked at that moment. Entirely drunk on you, your slick encircling his mouth while he encouraged you to steady your breathing. “You’re doing so well. You look so pretty,” he murmured up to you.

You moaned softly, “Feels good,” you told him, referring to the way his fingertips were playing with your core, thumb skimming over your sensitive clit while his index finger tantalizingly swirled around you. “Spence,” you sighed his name once your walls stopped clenching, giving him the okay to proceed.

He wasted no time in slipping his finger into your wetness, you moaned at the feeling of being filled after hours of teasing, and when Spencer returned his mouth to your core, you responded by blindly searching for his head. Joy filled your chest when you found it, threading your fingers through his hair, the familiar motion bringing you comfort while his movements brought you mind-numbing pleasure.

Slowly, Spencer withdrew his index finger, waiting for half a beat before sliding it back in again, repeating the motion until he found a comfortable rhythm for the both of you. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel the mattress move beneath you as he rutted against it, the simple action of bringing you pleasure was getting him off, and when his tongue lapped against your swollen clit, a long moan vibrated from your throat. “Spence,” you moaned his name, gasping when he responded by adding another finger to the mix.

His hand maintained the rhythm, but he pulled his mouth away, replacing it with his thumb and resting his head on your abdomen, catching his breath while you lost yours. All coherency was lost in pleasure, leaving you gasping for breath as you desperately chased that second high, mindlessly babbling, “Please, please, please.” The words escaped from your lips so many times that they had lost any and all meaning.

“Are you gonna come again?” Spencer asked, a low gruffness to his voice as he nearly lost himself in his own pleasure, trying to get you to yours before he came untouched. You nodded, “Come on my fingers, baby. It’s okay, you can let go,” he assured you.

He pushed your hips back down as soon as they lifted off of the mattress, his fingers slowly moving in and out of you as the force of your orgasm pushed them out. “Fuck,” you gasped, feeling yourself return to your body. “Baby,” you mumbled, aimlessly grabbing at nothing in an attempt to get Spencer to come up to you.

“What’s wrong, angel girl?” He whispered gently, “What do you need?”

You hummed, tipping your chin back slightly, “Kiss, please.” You smiled softly when he responded by pressing his lips to yours, the tang of your own slick passing through as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. “I love you,” you murmured against his lips, nipping gently at the bottom one.

Tilting his head, Spencer placed his clean hand on your throat and deepened the kiss. “I love you,” he answered when he came up for air. His lips moved expertly against yours until you’d nearly wiped evidence of your actions from his mouth. “Do you think you have one more in you?”

You nodded, “Yeah,” you assured him, depending on your familiarity with his body to run your knuckles up and down his arms.

He left a pout on your lips when he pulled away from you, lost somewhere you couldn’t find by reaching your hands out. He was fiddling with something, and goosebumps found their way to your body in waves, your ears perking up like a bloodhound when you heard the familiar tear of a condom wrapper.

While you searched for him, his hand found yours with ease, guiding your hand to his cock. That way, you weren’t shocked when you felt his covered tip at your heat, it was as if you had brought it there yourself. The gentleness by which he did it surprised you, the care that he was taking only added to the warm feeling in your lower belly. “Oh,” you breathed when he filled you, moving slowly and stopping completely once he was fully sheathed in you.

Sometimes, you felt like you could stay like this forever, physically intertwined in the same way your souls were, but from the way Spencer was straining, you could tell he was holding himself back.

You’d feel it in the morning, but you hummed softly, “Fuck me.” Your voice was gentle, encouraging him to move in you, and he withdrew slowly before snapping his hips back to yours. “Yes,” you moaned in response, tilting your head back as he hoisted your legs up, bending you at your hips while continuously rutting into you.

“So good,” Spencer grunted, dropping his head in the crook of your neck while he fucked you, his hot breath steaming against your skin while you wrapped your arms around him. Your nails dug into his back as you felt the taut muscles flex with every thrust, “Fuck, baby.”

Trying to catch your breath to talk to him, you tightened your grip on his torso, “Come in me.” Your encouragement led him to moan directly in your ear, sending you into a spiral, “Spence…” your voice was a warning now, letting him know about your own impending orgasm.

He lifted himself up off of you. “I need to see you,” he said, haphazardly pulling your blindfold off. “I want to see you come on my cock,” he explained, resting his forehead against yours.

Your senses were overloaded when even the dim light of your bedroom blinded your eyes, leaving you to raise your hands and use them as blinders while the only noise that escaped your mouth was the steady “Ah, ah, ah,” that came with each thrust. There was no warning when you snapped, your thighs trembling around Spencer’s hips while your orgasm crashed over you. The overwhelming pulsing of your cunt while he continued thrusting into you made your head spin until his movements grew unsteady.

Gasping for air as Spencer spilled his cum into the condom, he dropped his head on your shoulder as you lifted your chin and caught your breath. Slowly, you drifted from being out of breath to being overjoyed, tiny giggles slipping from your swollen lips while Spencer pushed himself up on his arms and looked at you like you’d completely lost it. “I love you,” you told him through giggles.

“What is going on?” He asked, dumbfounded. Spencer slowly pulled out of you, and you winced slightly, but it didn’t interrupt the fit he thought you were having.

You opened your mouth to explain, but you couldn’t get the words out before you started laughing again. “You took the blindfold off,” you told him, watching him nod with confusion plain on his face. “You took the blindfold off,” you tried again, “Because you wanted to see my orgasm face.”

Rolling his eyes, Spencer tucked his hands beneath your back and pulled you into a sitting position, letting you rest your head on his shoulder while he carefully untied the silk fabric at the back of your head. Gently, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “It was worth it.”

A laugh caught in your throat, and Spencer jostled you like he thought you had stopped breathing. You sighed contentedly, relaxing your body into his. His comment wasn’t silly, it was sweet—in a remarkably horny way. You kissed his bare shoulder gently while he removed the tie from your head, careful not to remove any hair in the process. “I love you,” you echoed, smiling softly while he maneuvered your exhausted body so he could see your face.

“I love you too, silly girl,” he responded, frowning when his eyes scanned yours. “Did the tie hurt you?”

You shook your head, “No, the tie was fine Spence.” Self-consciously, you lifted your hands to your face and touched the apples of your cheeks.

His frown remained, “There are little marks on your face,” he explained, pulling your hands from your cheeks and holding them in his. “Do they hurt?”

“No,” you reassured him, “I promise. I’m not hurt,” you told him, not knowing how he’d react if you were in any pain. “I’m alright, honey,” you insisted.

Spencer still looked unconvinced, leaning forward and pressing dozens of tiny kisses over your face until you were lost in another fit of giggles. Each kiss on your cheek made you nearly shriek with joy until he slowed down and kissed your lips tenderly, “Do you want to take a bath?”

You hummed, “In a bit.” You slung your arms around his shoulders and rested on him, in response, he wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly, rocking ever so slightly.

[darkmatilda]

𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer genuinely can't believe that you're being kind to him. and you—well, you weren’t ashamed to admit that seeing him with the child had just a little melted your heart.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, a very fleeting mention of the babysitter kidnapper, but other than that, the fluffiest shit ive ever written (don't get used to it) (love them so much shshaha its unhealthy) (spencer performing MAGIC TRICK!)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.3k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by lovely @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat love you so much you have no idea

The yellow Ford Falcon XB was reaching its record speed, slicing through the racetrack like a released arrow, emitting that signature mechanical growl and drawing dozens of captivated gazes.

At least, that’s how it looked through the eyes of a six-year-old.

Through Spencer’s eyes, it was just a toy car being pushed across the wooden surface of the table by a small hand.

The boy’s brown hair nearly touched his shoulders, and he wore a blue soccer jersey with a number on the back. His gaze wasn’t curiously darting around the office where they were alone—it was fixed solely on his favorite toy.

Reid watched him in silence for a moment, letting him play in peace before starting the conversation he, unfortunately, had to initiate.

For some time now, they had been working on a case involving the abduction of babysitters—each disappearing while on the job, vanishing after leaving the house with the children they were watching. Whether heading to the park, the playground, or a store, that was the only variable. The rest of the details were so methodical, so patterned, that there was no doubt they were dealing with a serial offender.

"Liam," he began, drawing the boy’s green eyes to him.

Spencer didn’t feel comfortable in this role. He never considered himself particularly gifted when it came to interacting with children—which was strange, considering everyone around him seemed to think otherwise. Especially since the arrival of his godson, Henry, had given him more opportunities for it.

"My name is Spencer, and…I’d like to talk to you for a moment."

He paused. The boy's face took on an odd expression; he didn’t respond, just looked at him with a certain shyness. Spencer hesitated, opening his mouth only to close it again.

All the previous babysitters had been taken the moment they looked away, leaving the children alone. From a child’s perspective, it must have been confusing. One moment, their beloved babysitter was with them, and the next, uniformed officers arrived, whisking them away to a place where more strange adults asked them strange but gentle questions.

For example, if they saw anything strange.

Strange? The children never really understood what that meant. After all, they had just been playing at the park like they did every afternoon. What could possibly be strange about that?

Spencer sighed. He didn’t want to bombard the boy with questions that would, at best, earn him a nod or a shake of the head. If he wanted answers—testimony (though the word felt absurd when referring to a six-year-old)—he’d have to take a different approach. He needed Liam to open up naturally. Even if it took a little longer.

"Is that a Falcon XB?" he asked, deliberately exaggerating his interest as he nodded toward the toy car teetering at the edge of the table. He moved around to take a seat beside the boy, slouching slightly. It always seemed easier to talk to kids when they were at the same eye level. "Can I see it?"

Liam stared at him for a moment before nodding.

Spencer carefully picked up the toy. His hesitation wasn’t just about earning the boy’s trust—though that was important. No, the real reason for his reluctance was the fact that, just five minutes ago, he had watched Liam absentmindedly shove the car into his mouth, biting down on its yellow surface.

"It’s really cool. Is it your favorite?" he asked, trying to push aside the thought of bacteria. The countless, countless bacteria.

There are an estimated 700 different species living in the human mouth…

Liam nodded again.

Focus, Reid. Cars, not bacteria.

"Did you know the original Falcon XB had an engine that let it reach over 220 kilometers per hour? It was so popular in Australia that the police used it for high-speed chases."

The boy studied him in silence for a moment, but Spencer could tell he had his attention.

“So…it’s a police car? Why doesn’t it have a siren?”

“The ones used by the police did," Spencer explained. "They also had lights on the roof so they could chase criminals. You know, yours might not have them because…”—he lowered his voice—“…it’s actually a secret police car.”

Liam frowned, clearly not following. “A secret police car?”

Spencer nodded.

“Used for undercover missions,” he continued. The boy’s full attention was locked onto him now—he must’ve hit on something that really fascinated him. “By secret agents, so they wouldn’t be noticed. And when they really need to…”

He glanced at Liam out of the corner of his eye, making sure the boy was still watching him closely. Once he was sure he had him hooked, Spencer clasped his hands together, concealing the Hot Wheels car between them. He held them still for a moment, letting the anticipation build.

Then, finally, he pulled them apart—revealing nothing but empty palms.

“…it disappears.”

  The boy’s mouth fell open in amazement, gasping. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the sight, even though, to him, it was nothing impressive. He had done this trick hundreds of times—it was so simple. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about watching the boy’s reaction, seeing how intently he studied Spencer’s hands, completely baffled by the disappearance of his toy.

Then suddenly, in the middle of it all, Spencer felt someone watching him.

He shifted his gaze toward the doorway, toward the figure standing in the threshold—the sight of whom caused his smile to falter. Not out of displeasure, but more out of surprise. And it wasn’t just her presence that caught him off guard. Lately, they had been running into each other in the most unexpected situations, to the point where he was starting to get used to it. What he wasn’t used to was the expression on her face.

By now, he had memorized the looks she most often wore around him—irritation, sarcasm, playful exasperation. But the way her head tilted slightly to the side, the faint curve at the corner of her lips, and the softness in her eyes didn’t fit into any of those categories. 

 Spencer felt his shoulders tense. He wasn’t sure if he had always been this paranoid or if it was a newly acquired trait—maybe one tied specifically to her—but a sense of unease settled over him. Before standing up to approach her and find out what she wanted, he cleared his throat and turned back to Liam one last time. He placed his hand behind the boy’s ear, pulling out the toy car as if it had been hidden there all along.

“I’ll be back in a moment, alright?” he informed him.

The boy didn’t even look at him, completely engrossed in examining the car from every angle, as if truly believing it could vanish on command. Spencer found himself smiling again. But that expression faded entirely when he stepped closer to the woman leaning against the doorframe. She shifted slightly backward into the hallway—probably to keep their conversation out of the child’s earshot.

“You know,” she started before he could say anything, raising her eyebrows slightly.

She lifted something in her hand—something Spencer hadn’t even noticed before, too focused on analyzing the look on her face. That suspicious look on her face. It was a plastic box of crayons.

“When JJ ran into me in the hallway, shoving this into my hands and begging me to find Spence and give it to him, I was a little confused. But now I get it.”

She nodded toward the boy.

Spencer instinctively followed her gaze, mirroring its path. At the same time, she shoved the box of crayons into his hands. Caught off guard, he had to grip it tightly to keep from dropping it. She then crossed her arms over her chest.

He glanced at her face once more and suddenly sighed, finally realizing what this meant.

“Oh, well, let me guess,” he began, rolling his eyes upward. “Because you had to deliver this to me, you now expect something in return. And you won’t tell me what, you’ll just keep me in suspense for the next few weeks, casually reminding me that I owe you, until eventually, you demand something absolutely ridiculous.”

He spoke with confidence, convinced of his theory. But as a prolonged silence settled between them, he started to doubt it. Especially when she averted her gaze for a moment.

Someone might think she was crafting a particularly sharp retort—he himself considered it for a second—until he realized she never needed time to think of a comeback. When talking to him, they rolled off her tongue at machine-gun speed.

Another brief glance toward the boy.

"This is about the case with the kidnapped babysitters, isn’t it?" she asked, completely ignoring his entire speech. "I heard something about it. The kid—he's okay?"

Spencer didn't hide his surprise at the question. It took him a moment to realize that it was completely natural in this situation—almost anyone would have asked it. Maybe it was just the rare trace of concern in her voice that caught him off guard.

“Um… yeah…yeah, he's okay,” he stammered, his tongue suddenly twisting over the words. He had no idea why. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the strange fog in his brain.

“I mean, I was just about to talk to him, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t see anything. Same as in the previous cases. This unsub doesn’t…doesn’t hurt kids.” Suddenly, he became aware of the weight of the crayons in his hands, remembering them again. He added, “And, uh, thanks for this. When we work with kids, we often give them paper and crayons. Sometimes it’s easier for them to draw something than to say it out loud.”

She let out a sound—a hum—suggesting that she understood.

He caught himself mentally keeping track of time. They were probably breaking a record for how long they had gone without arguing. Or at least without one of them slipping in a tiny jab at the other.

He was experiencing so-called cognitive dissonance.

“So, they stuck you with babysitting duty today?” she asked. Before he could respond, she let out a quiet snort. “Well, no surprise there.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer frowned. “By the way, this isn’t a common thing. I’m not particularly good with kids. Usually, they assign someone else for this, like—”

“I’m not particularly good with kids,” she repeated, her voice laced with mockery.

Oh. So they were back to their usual dynamic.

“Congratulations. You heard me correctly.”

“I know I did,” she shot back, sharper this time. “I just don’t agree. I watched you two for a moment. You are good with kids. Didn’t you see how excited he was when you did that trick?”

“He was just surprised. I made his toy disappear.”

“Which doesn’t change the fact that he’s a kid whose babysitter was just…” She mouthed the word kidnapped, only her lips forming the shape of it. “Something he might not fully grasp, but still—he was taken to a completely unfamiliar place, away from his parents. And instead of being terrified, he’s calm, even fascinated by what you showed him. So, like I said, you are good with kids.”

Spencer listened to her explanation, an odd feeling creeping over him. A kind of uncertainty, like she couldn’t possibly be talking about him. He almost wanted to turn around, check if someone was standing behind him, if the words were meant for someone else. But he didn’t—because, strangely, even moving felt difficult at that moment.

“Anyway,” she murmured suddenly, breaking the prolonged silence between them. “I’ve got to go. And don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything this time. I’ll let you off the hook—just this once.”

Before she left, she focused on his face one last time. That strange expression was still there—the same one from the beginning of their conversation, the one that had thrown him into cognitive dissonance. That strange expression that, maybe, was… something kind?

He returned to Liam, so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed the boy watching him for quite some time. He gave a small nod, pulling himself back to reality, back to the case at hand.

“She’s your friend?” Liam asked, his gaze drifting to where the woman had just been standing.

Spencer set the box of crayons down on the table, within the boy’s reach. He considered the question for a moment. He decided, however, that a six-year-old didn’t need the complicated details of their relationship.

“Yes.”

A brief silence followed his—well, lie.

“Really pretty.”

Laughter gathered in his chest. It was, in its own way, charming—the infatuation hidden in his shy words.

"Yes," he nodded gently. "I mean, she knows that” 

"Because you told her?"

He hesitated at those words, genuinely unsure of what to say. Fortunately, the boy wasn’t waiting for an answer. For a moment, his green eyes locked onto the toy car still sitting on the table, then back to Spencer, full of silent request.

"Can you teach me that trick?"

*

"Okay, buddy. Don’t stress. You’ve got this. Good luck."

Spencer patted the boy on the back. Liam gave a small nod, as if gathering courage, then hesitantly made his way toward the woman.

At the sight of a child suddenly at her feet, her eyebrows lifted high. She crouched down, asking him something in a soft voice.

Liam held out both fists, the yellow toy barely fitting in one of them. It was obvious where it was hidden, yet the woman pretended to consider her choice carefully before pointing at one hand.

Proud of himself, he revealed both empty palms—then pulled the toy car from behind her ear.

Her lips stretched into a wide smile, exaggerated in surprise. Then, she sought out his gaze, holding it for a lingering moment—just long enough for Spencer to realize he was smiling too.

[urlocal-limitesshbic]

*.˗ˏˋ DEILD- The Quickest And Easiest Method To Lucid Dream That I know ´ˎ˗.*

Listennnn, I love the lucid dream method down. It is AND ALWAYS WILL BE my favorite way to shift, apart from the void state.

BUT I know I cannot be the only one struggling to get lucid😩😭 At least I used to struggle before I found DEILD. I found other techniques tedious, having to do constant reality checks during the day felt like a chore and lying completely still in bed for 30+ minutes waiting for my body to fall asleep was quite literally torture to me. IF I could stay awake through it because most times I couldn’t or just rolled over and gave up because nothing was happening and I was très uncomfortable.

I’ve tried mild, SSILD, fild, ALL THE “ILDS” every single one and while they are effective, I’ve finally found the technique that works best for me and takes the least amount of time so I thought I would share, just in case it may help someone else!

With this technique you…..

Go from being awake directly into a lucid dream without falling asleep (this is called a wake initiated lucid dream and in my experience I feel more aware and in control with these vs when I randomly become aware in the middle of my dream. They are also easier to remember if you have poor dream recall. )

Are able to start the lucid dream scene in the privacy of your own room so you don’t have to worry about trying to shift in the middle of distracting dream scenes or dealing with distracting dream characters

You can save a Lucid dream that’s been cut short or even have several lucid dreams in one night using this method

Don’t need to do reality checks during the day if you don’t want to or do any other daytime prep

The whole thing takes 10-30 seconds START TO FINISH!

The technique…

*.˗ˏˋ DEILD ´ˎ˗.*

Dream Exit Initiated Lucid dream

Steps…

Before bed set the intention that when you wake up you will immediately remember to perform DEILD

Set a touchless alarm to wake you up anywhere from 3-6 hours after falling asleep. I like this one! Maybe put it in a playlist with a lucid dreaming subliminal or theta waves set to play after the alarm goes off to boost your chances of becoming Lucid🌙

Go to bed as normal. As I fall asleep I like to imagine myself waking up to the alarm and successfully performing DEILD. Then I imagine myself successfully entering the void from the LD and then successfully waking up in my wr. I loop this sequence until I fall asleep. I do this to help me remember to do the technique the second I wake up, but it is not at all necessary.

Immediately upon waking and hearing the alarm, I try to remember to stay still and not open my eyes. Minimal movement is fine, but we’re trying to convince our body that we’re still asleep! The alarm will shut off on its own.

Wait for what feels like 10 seconds without actually counting (Again, you don’t want to activate your Brain and wake yourself up too much )

After it feels like 10 seconds have gone by, do a reality check like the nose pinch test EVEN IF YOU FEEL WIDE AWAKE and don’t think you could possibly already be back asleep in only 10 seconds. Most of the time you’ll already be in what is called a false awakening-when you think you’re awake in bed but you’re actually dreaming

If you were able to breathe through your closed nose you are now in a lucid dream starting out in your room. You can proceed to shift to your dr in any way you like-some of my go to’s are:

-creating a portal

-entering the void and shifting from there

-entering the astral realm and shifting from there

-waking myself up from the dream but intending to wake up in my dr not my cr

Editors note:

If when you do the nose pinch test, you are still awake, repeat step 6 up to 2 more times. If by this point, you still have not entered a lucid dream, it is best to go back to bed and try again the next time you wake up. This method is very effective but fragile, as it is best performed in that very small hypnopompic window right when you are teetering on the edge of awake and asleep.

Why this method works…

When you wake up from sleep and don’t move or open your eyes, it tricks your body into thinking that you’re still asleep and it puts you back in a dream, even though your mind is actually awake! This is why a touchless alarm is helpful, or you can use natural awakenings.

Troubleshooting the method…

The hardest part about this method is remembering to stay still as soon as you wake up.

You can set the intention to remember to do so before bed

You can also use prospective memory training during the day (every time you look in a mirror/ drink something/ plug in your phone/ enter a different room etc you can affirm “the next time I wake up I will immediately remember to perform DEILD” )

And if you move by mistake or have to use an alarm that needs manually turned off, all is not necessarily lost. it’s still worth trying anyway as long as you think you’ll be able to fall back asleep! Just wait 30 seconds instead of 10 before doing a reality check and consider using an anchor to help keep you focused and awake (could be focusing on the sound of the subliminal if you made a playlist, or the sound of a fan etc)

TLDR OF THE TECHNIQUE:

Wake up either naturally or to a touch-less alarm. If you must use a manual alarm, keep movement minimal as to not activate your brain too much.

Lie still with your eyes closed and keep a blank mind for 10-30 seconds

Do a reality check to see if you are lucid dreaming

Shift from the lucid dream

Videos explaining the technique….

“Use this simple technique for more lucid dreams. Please.” -Tiger123

“Lucid dreaming techniques shouldn’t be this easy!” - Daniel Love

“Dream exit induced lucid dreams-DEILD tutorial”- Tipharot

[writers-potion]

Writing Female Fighters

The Heroine Must. Fight.

Today's female protagonists cannot sit on the side crying and breaking down or whimpering as the battle ensues.

Readers want to see autonomous female fighters who can at least defense themselves with courage and adequate skill.

Not all women are the same, but the heroine should get her butt moving.

Less Muscle, but More Flexibilty

The average woman is shorter than the average man, which makes it more difficult to wield a long sword or slam something down on the opponent's head.

A woman who works out can plausibly be stronger than a male couch potato, but if her male counterpart works out as much as her, the man is going to be much stronger.

On the other hand, the center of gravity in a woman's body is lower than a man's which makes it harder to knock her off her feet.

She is also more flexible, which gives her advantage in grappling fights, making use of complex landscapes, or deflecting blows.

A woman's small size can also be an advantage if her opponent has only ever trained with male opponents. His big hands might not get a good grip on her slender limbs.

In historical fiction, giving your heroine good muscule build can be tricky as exercise was generally considered harmful for women, with some exceptions for horseriding any maybe archery at best.

In such cases, make your heroine an accomplished dancer or an eager horsewoman, or the only girl whose father considered to be son replacement and thus, gave her a boy's education.

Women of lower classes who couldn't afford to be fashionably weak will be plausibly stronger, perhaps even more than an idle gentleman.

More Room for Negotiation, but Prolonged Ruthlessness

In the Suspense part of your fight scene, females are more likely to negotiate and talk more, strategically trying to descalate the situation rather than attacking on a momentary impulse.

Generally, women are less aggressive than men and remain level-headed longer than her male counterparts, opting for non-violent methods first before using force.

Exceptions apply if she is trying to protect her children (or someone who she cares for as a child). Mothers can be tigresses.

A female pre-fight conversation may be: "If you had not done so-and-so and betrayed me with so-and-so, we could have been good friends as I thought we would be." "What do you mean? It was in fact you who brought bad blood between us. I can still hear you laughing with so-and-so, taunting me, purposefully making me look bad -" "But that was so long ago! If you want me to say sorry about something so insignificant, you should have just said so: I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?" "Ha! I can't believe you say that so easily. You still don't get it, do you?" "Who's being petty and unreasonable now?"

A male pre-fight conversation will be shorter: "Who's the coward now?" "You're wrong." "Prove it." "Bastard."

Compared to men, it will take more time for a woman's fight hormones (adrenaline, neurotransmitters and such) to kick in.

She would be slower to engage initially, throwing reluctant punches and thinking, but she'll grow more and more violent and lose all rational thought and compassion, and once she's in full flow, may not stop even when her opponent begs for mercy.

When writing a male-female duo, you can show him going for the first blow while she observes and strategizes first. When he's past his peak and panting, she is flying about left and right. Later when the tension wears off and she becomes wobbly and teary, she can rely on him to have recovered faster and distract other teammates so that they won't see her cry.

Plausible Skills and Backstory

In many cultures and time periods, the general attitude of society towards girls is that they have no place in fist fights or martial arts, unlike how it is encouraged for boys of the same age. So if your heroine has physical prowess that surpasses typical 'fitness' or is hidden, build a backstory of how she's obtained it.

For modern heroines, it can be as simple as signing her up for martial arts classes or yearly membership at the local gym. For historical fiction or girls with strict 'feminine' upbringing, it can be trickier.

It can be related to profession: maybe she was an erotic wrestler, catfighter, or an assasin who thought killing was more honorable than prostitution. They may have dabbles with it for a short time and is now trying to hide their past from their respectable employer or fiance.

It can be family backstory: Perhaps her mother was an accomplished martial artist or she had to fend for younger siblings on the streets from an early age. Maybe she was the only girl in a family of many boys who refused to be the punching bag.

Inexperienced Female Fighters

A woman with no fighting experience or training is likely to resort to one of these on instinct:

Try to talk herself out of the situation, attempting to persuade or negotiate for her life.

Grab something to use as a weapon. This instinct seems to be stronger for women than it is in men.

Use her hands to try and break free, or kick (often wth little success)

Pull hair

Scratch.

In a serious fight, pulling hair and scratching won't be helpful, except when the police come to find her body, they would find the opponent's DNA under her fingernails.

Plausible Weapons and Clothing

All of the above applies to scenes where both parties have no weapons, or has the bare minimum (like one dagger each).

Weapons are equalizers, and if your heroine is pointing a gun at her opponent she will definitely NOT hesitate to be the one to shoot first.

When giving your female character a weapon, choose one she can plausibly use. It would take an unusually brawny woman to wield a great medieval longsword.

For historical fiction, give your heroine something she'll plausibly own. Swords and firearm were a no-go for women, but archery was borderline acceptable.

For clothing starters, you definitely CAN NOT dress her in a tight miniskirt and chainmail bra with long, flowy hair and multiple silver chockers. Unless she's trying to seduce her way into her opponent's bedroom, and he has a chainmail bra fetish.

A practical heroine will have her thighs covered, preferably with leather but at least with fabric, since a lot of blood flows through the thighs and a slash would be critical.

She'll keep her hair tied, tucked under a helmet, braided back, etc. so that it won't impede her vision.

She'll support her breasts with a strong sport bra. In a historical eprioid, she'll either tie her breasts tight with a fabric bandage or support them with some kind of leather corset.

Invent a female version of male fighter clothing of the time you are writing about if it doesn't exist.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[yourneighborlyweirdo]

The Easiest Way to Manifest/The Ultimate Beginner’s Guide to Manifesting! (My Personal Method)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

What if I told you there was a way to instantly manifest whatever you’ve ever wanted?

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I’m talking like, you think it and it appears minutes (or even seconds with practice) right before your eyes?

If you’re interested, this is how.

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Introduction:

So, let’s get into it. Hey, if you don’t know me, I’m kinda new here on Tumblr—new like I just started posting today type shit. (I literally set up my account hours ago.) I’ve been scrolling on this app for atleast a month now and I’ve been seeing some posts that are pretty helpful, so I just want to give my personal advice to any of those who are struggling. (Because that used to be me.) I wanna start this off with a warning…

Warning: If this doesn’t resonate with you, take what you like and leave the rest. If my advice doesn’t help you out it doesn’t have to! And don’t force yourself to use my technique if it feels weird to do or something you aren’t comfortable with. But if my method doesn’t work for you, (which I highly doubt because this can work with anyone and everyone) then maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. And also, I am not a professional. I am merely a vessel trying to pass my knowledge on to others. But, I do consider myself a Master at Manifesting, only because I’ve Mastered it. And my only goal is to help you Master it too. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to drop a comment or a DM. Thanks!

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The Law:

In this technique, I will be using the Law of Assumption. If you’re not sure what this is, let me explain…

The Law of Assumption is a universal Law for manifestation. As the name suggests, it means assuming. Everything you assume will become your reality. Practicing the Law of Assumption means realizing that the 4D (Your mental reality, your imagination) is the only thing that matters, not your 3D (Your physical reality, the thing you’re seeing right in front of your 2 eyes.)

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(Side Note: I use “LOA” to abbreviate/shorten “Law of Assumption.” Both of these terms will be highlighted in pink for your understanding. Also, the 4D is your imagination and the 3D is the physical world around you. I suggest you remember these terms.)

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An Example Scenario of Using The Law:

Example: Let’s say, I really want a soda. But I’m laying down in my bed, so obviously, I can’t see a soda in front of me. But, using the LOA, I can get my soda. Here’s how…

So, I’m sitting here in my bed really wishing I had a soda in my hands. To manifest a soda, I will use the LOA. To use the LOA, I will either think or speak out loud, whatever you want to do, to manifest. I will start thinking. “Damn. I really want a soda right now. I know I’ll get my soda. I want it so I can get it. I will have my soda, one way or another.” And a couple minutes later, I got a text from my parent saying they brought me a soda from the gas station. (Yes this example is a true story on how I started manifesting using the LOA for the first time.)

If you’re not picking up what I’m putting down, let me break it down. Here’s what just happened in that example:

1. I really wanted something (in this case the “something” was a soda)

2. I started to think about how I wanted it, then I assumed that I would get it, one way or another.

3. Boom! I got my desire. (Which was the soda in this case.)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

Breaking It Down:

See how easy that was? Within minutes I got my desire in only 3 easy steps. If you’re still confused, let me explain…

What happened there was I identified what I wanted (AKA: My desire being something I wanted.) Then, I used the LOA to manifest my desire to becoming my reality. Then naturally, the 3D followed what I thought in my 4D.

Literally the only thing I did was think what I wanted to happen and it happened in front of my eyes.

You: “But why? But how? How is that even possible—”

What happened was I thought something in my imagination (my 4D) and the physical world (the 3D) conformed because the 4D will always be in charge of the 3D.

Think of the 3D as a chief in a restaurant. The 4D is the waiter, and you are a customer in that restaurant. Let’s say you wanted to manifest a soda, so you’d say, “Waiter! I would like one soda please.” And the waiter, (The 4D) writes down in his notepad that you ordered a soda. The waiter would then go to the back and go tell the chief (The 3D) what you ordered, and then the chief would make it, and then you would get it.

That’s what the 3D and 4D are. You’d “tell the waiter what you want to order” (AKA: Think in your brain using your imagination/4D what you want to manifest) Then the “chief would cook up what you ordered and you’d get your order.” (AKA: The 3D will make what you manifested happen in your physical world and your manifestation would appear in front of your eyes.)

Hopefully now you understand what the LOA is, how to use it, and what happens when you do use it.

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What Happens When I Manifest Something and The 3D doesn’t conform?

Let me say this now: That is impossible. It is impossible for your 3D to not conform to the 4D. The 3D only will NOT conform when you ASSUME it won’t.

Your assumptions will become your reality. To change your assumptions, use your thoughts and imagination, (AKA: the 4D) and your 4D will become your 3D.

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

Read those 2 sentences again until they are memorized.

Don’t you see? Do you understand how easy it is?

So let’s say, you manifested something, imagined it (using the 4D) and it didn’t appear right infront of your eyes. Don’t panic. It’s okay. Take a breather, and tell yourself that you will get your desire. You imagined it in the 4D, and after reading this post, you’re sure that the 3D will conform because it WILL. Just persist in the fact that you WILL get your desire.

(Do you get what I’m saying here? Assume, assume, assume. Assume you will get your desire. Assume it will come quickly. Assume that it’s easy because it is! When in doubt, assume, assume, assume.)

If you don’t get your desire, it’s because you’re assuming (AKA: Thinking) that it won’t. Assume that you can and will manifest, and it will.

The 3D DOES NOT MATTER. You know why? Because, I’ll repeat,

Assumptions are thoughts. Thoughts are your reality.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

A Step By Step Tutorial:

1. Identify what you want to manifest.

2. Assume it will happen by thinking.

3. You get your desire.

You can assume things many ways. Here are my favorite ways in the form of sentences:

1. Assuming it will happen in the future. (Example: Using sentences containing “I Will.” Sentences in the future tense. “I know I will get desire one way or another.”)

2. Assuming it will happen in the present. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Am.”Sentences in the present tense. “I have my desire.”)

3. Assuming it already happened in the past. (Example: You use sentences containing “I Had.” Sentences in the past tense. This is also referred to as “Living in the End.” “I already have my desire.”)

Remember that all of these ways are ways to manifest. There is no better one than the other—use what works best for you! (I personally use all 3 ways all the time. They all work the same way and for me, not one is better then the other. They’re all great and they all work. Use what works best for you!!! Don’t let anyone tell you one works better then the other because that’s simply not true. I’ve manifested using all three and so can you!)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

Summary And Last Thoughts:

In order to manifest, you only need to figure out what you want to manifest, then think about it as an assumption, (one of the 3 ways I listed above, using a Past, Present, or Future sentence) and then just wait knowing you will get your desire.

Notice how in this post I never covered the “how” or the “when.” (The only “how” I covered was how manifestation works with the 4D and 3D, nothing beyond that.) Because you don’t need to focus on those things! Focus on manifesting, NOT how it happens or when. The only time you should be focusing on the when is when you are manifesting your desire to come quicker.

Also notice how in this post, it was a continuous cycle of…

Thoughts=Assumptions

Thoughts+Assumptions=Your Desired Reality

Anyone can manifest. And this isn’t the only way to manifest, this is one method of many. It’s easy when you assume it’s easy!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*

I hope this post helped atleast someone. Have a good evening, morning, or afternoon. If you have a question or concern, feel free to drop a comment or send a DM.

The ultimate Law of Assumption song (You deserve your manifestation and that’s why you should get it!)

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Sincerely,

Your Neighborly Werido

[scam-alerts]

🔎Scam Exam(ination)🔍(updated 3/4/25)

Seen as: I would like a commission of my son/pet... Scam Type: Commission

Also: See this update on how scammers are changing the scam.

Accounts running this scam: furrynachodelusion breeariaga7

Proof of iloveartworks being a scammer can be seen/found here and here. The other accounts listed above all follow the same script and additional proof and can usually be found in the tags: #scam, #scams, or #scam alert.

IMPORTANT: Update as of 1/31/25 - They are now threatening law enforcement if you do not send them payment via the fake paypal email. This is a scare tactic. Please see that section once you get to it. Thank you.

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Being open to commissions isn't uncommon if you're an artist.

You may often find yourself receiving messages from strangers looking to commission you for a picture of their OC or even their favorite ship.

But if you receive a message like this, you should be careful you don't fall into a scammers trap.

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How it starts:

it starts by receiving a message from another user requesting a commission. Again, typical common practice if you're an artist.

What they ask for at the start, is usually the first red flag.

IMPORTANT 1/15/25: These scammers are now sending Asks and commenting on peoples posts asking 'are you open to commission? Send me a DM.' So please be aware of this as well!

Here are some images of how this scam conversation starts:

Images provided by: (1)@neogandw, (2)@foggywiz4rd, (3-4)@maikaartwork

🚩Red flag's (part 1)🚩

I want you to draw my son/daughter.

I want you to draw my son/daughter's pet.

It's a blank blog with no posts/reblogs

It's a blog that's only a few days/week old.

While this request seems simple enough, this scam gets worse.

Here are some recent examples of the dog they will request:

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An offer too good to refuse:

Now you may be thinking, 'surely this can't be bad or malicious, right?' They just want you to draw a picture of their child or their child's pet! And that's definitely what the scammer wants you to think. Which is what brings us to the next set of red flags:

Left image from @neogandw, right image from @maikaartwork

🚩Red flag's (part 2)🚩

'I will pay you $200-$500+' (an amount way way beyond your normal asking price.)

'I just want the best you can do.' (They don't know how to answer questions related to details such as pose, background, style, objects you want included, etc.)

'It's for their birthday/holiday' - ' I want it done as soon as possible.' (They will push that you do this with a sense of urgency so you don't ask questions.)

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The Catch:

Now, if you haven't reported and blocked them by now, and you agree to take this persons commission, this is where the catch to this scam comes into play.

If you tell the scammer to send you an invoice, they will refuse.

If you tell them to use your preferred method, they will refuse.

Those methods just 'wont/don't work', you see.

What they really want, is your PayPal email and your name.

From here they will say that they sent you payment, and that you should check your email. Or that 'they got an email and something went wrong' and that you should check your email.

And here is where the scam comes to ahead.

They will send you a fake email meant to look like it came from PayPal that looks like the ones shown below:

Second image provided by @badlibbing

Second set of images provided by @petxka, thank you!

This third image comes from @elrealelchunk on 1/31/25 and is very important. Scammers are now threatening law enforcement if you do not send them money.

Again as noted in the top of the post, this is 100% a scare tactic.

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What this email means / How this scam works:

In the case of screenshot one (provided by @neogandw) the 'MONALISA' is the person who was trying to commission them.

The payment hasn't 'went through', and the e-mail (from 'fake PayPal') is saying that they, the artist, needs to send $200 to 'MONALISA' to 'expand the limit' of their account to get the $500 that is owed to them.

Read the e-mail and think about what you're being asked to do:

'You are to send (name) money to expand your account.' You are to send someone money, to get money.

If your account is limited, why would you need to send another PayPal user money to 'unlock' your account or 'expand it', and not just contact PayPal itself to try and resolve that issue...?

This is not how PayPal works, in any sense.

This is just a way for them to scam you.

There are also a handful of red flags in this email alone.

🚩Red flag's (part 3)🚩

The sender address is not from an official paypal.com address, but instead a gmail.com address. This means that this came from a person, not a company.

The formatting. Let's be frank, no official email from PayPal will ever look like this.

The spelling/grammar issues are everywhere.

Weird url's at the bottom of the email. (I removed them for safety reasons)

Additionally: You may also find or see links in this emails instructing you to 'go here' to unlock your account. These are phishing (wikipedia) links that they will use to steal your PayPal login information. Never click links in emails asking you to 'fix an issue' with your account unless you can verify who the sender is.

If you send these people your money, you will get blocked and never see them again. That's just how this scam goes...

If you'd like another variation of this scam which talks about money wiring, you can check out @maikaartwork's version by clicking here!

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Final thoughts:

If you fall for a scam like this, thankfully there still might be hope.

Contact PayPal and explain what happened in detail. Show them every shred of evidence that you have showing that you were scammed including the name of who scammed you, and the email that sent you the scam, and who you wound up sending the money to.

If you use the messaging system that uses the AI chat bot, ask it repeatedly to 'speak to a real person' until you get sent to a live agent. (this is stupidly frustrating but sadly it's what you have to do.)

And remember, take screenshots and report these users to the websites they are running these scams on. If they DM you on tumblr? Report the DM. If they do it on insta, bsky, twitter or even discord?

Make sure you report them there too.

ALSO: Beware of recovery scammers. This is anyone coming into your DM's telling you they can 'help you get your money back' after you made a post talking about how you got scammed. These scammers are just looking for a quick buck.

Here's a post about ethical hackers (aka recovery scammers)

Other helpful guides on spotting scams. (by @kyra45)

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | a series of nights spent with a neighbor you find an unlikely connection with, sharing a similar interest to pass the time, it forms into something much more intense and suddenly, neither of you can deny it anymore.

content warning | no outbreak!joel, f!reader that is mentioned to have hair that can be pushed back but no exact length, descriptions of outfits, lots of w*ed smoking/consuming ed*bles, a quick mention of a burn, joel being a good neighbor, he's still the biggest girl dad, age gap implied but readers isn't specified, joel's not afraid to go for what he wants, most of the interactions happen while they're high so please keep that in mind when reading, lotsa boob worship, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, mentions of joel being sterile, strangers to friends to lovers. this was written over the course of a weekend don't look at me

word count — 8k

The first and only time you see him is when you’re moving in next door, trudging in the moving boxes on your own as he seems to ready up his own truck full of boxes, followed by two younger women who seem to be bickering at him and he bypasses them with a smug smile on his face—he’s older, so you came to your own assumption that it was probably his daughters. 

That’s all you know about him. 

Outside of the fact he drives a truck, works long hours, and that his name is Joel.

The girl with the begrudging smile and worn out converse called his name while you were throwing away your trash and trying to not seem like the nosey neighbor. 

He comes, he goes. The roar of his truck is all you hear and you never really see him outside of an occasional swish of his curtains through your own windows, but occasionally you leave your trash can out by the curb longer than necessary and it magically appears at the beginning of your driveway. 

Now, you don’t want to point fingers—but the only ones tucked away are his and your own, leaving the other neighbors to fend for themselves.

 It’s a simple gesture, kind.

You want to thank him but you never get the chance.

You’re curious if he’s a night owl—lights staying on even into the early hours of the morning, shadows crossing around his living room that you can see from your bedroom window, tossing and turning most nights as you struggle and struggle to fall asleep.

You’ve learned methods to help, plenty—if you ever remember to charge your vibrator it was usually your first choice, a quick release of some of the built up tension over the day and you could eventually find it easier to fall asleep. But, your tried and true method was weed. 

That was it. Sometimes you didn’t even need much—an edible to curb the anxiety that filled you, a puff or two at the pen you had stashed away in your bedside drawer, but most of the time it was occupying your mind with the work of rolling the joint before smoking it out your bedroom window that helped the best.

However, tonight was different.

You toss and turn and fling the blankets away that stick to your skin, the broken ceiling fan doing nothing to quell that muggy heat that was permeating in your house from earlier in the day—it just sat frozen, menacing and taunting at you. You search through the drawer at your bedside for the small tin case covered in stickers of various interests and things you enjoyed, kicking the sliding backdoor with your foot as you traveled through the living room to your kitchen and stepping out onto your back deck.

It’s still hot, but the breeze allows a noticeable difference.

You work quietly, hunched slightly over the railing and using the faint glow of the light hanging beside your backdoor, just finishing up rolling the joint as you bring it to your tongue and the distinct creak from the house next to you grabs your attention—the sliding door mimicking your own.

Your heart races and you don’t know why. It could be one of the girls, still strangers but somehow you find it easier to look that way if it was them—Joel was intimidating, the aura he carried within just a few seconds of a glance. 

It is him, unfortunately—and suddenly you feel the need to hide your stash, tossing the tin box in the cheap plastic chair you bought when you first moved in. Tucking yourself away as you light the joint and bring it to your lips.

He’s being surprisingly noisy, chair scuffing the deck as he moves it around and you look at him curiously from across the way, a fence and several feet of grass dividing you both. You can see the mug clutched in his right hand and his left hand filled with a few various things. A phone, for sure—lighting up in his hand before he lays it on the table beside him, lifting a leg over the lounge chair in a straddle-like motion before he sits down.

And he does seem like a smoker, not that you have proof or theory—it was just the vibe, but as he lights the item in his hand and takes a slow drag you quickly realize there's not an ounce of nicotine in sight. It’s clear when he catches your gaze and his brow furrows slightly, noting the similar item tucked between your own fingers and you can’t help but laugh to yourself.

You don’t say a word. Neither does he. But, he does offer a weak smile when you grab the tin box from the chair, nodding in acknowledgement. Your entire body flutters to life for some weird reason that you will absolutely blame on the THC obscuring rational thought. 

Thankfully, sleep comes easy after that.

–

But, it doesn’t stay that way.

Most of the time you stay tucked inside, especially on the days and nights when the heat wasn’t as ablaze as usual, but there is usually a day or two out of the week where you find yourself outside—sometimes you lounge, or pace, but it never fails that the moment you step foot outside your backdoor, Joel does too.

Once a week, rarely twice—though it does happen, both of you find yourself in quiet submission as you smoke and enjoy the peace, even with the constant click of crickets and lighting bugs that seem attracted to both of your houses, flying around your backyard in a small swarm.

And you wanted to keep your distance, not wanting to impose on his space but your two months into these unspoken nightly meetings when your cheap lighter finally decides to shit itself, offering nothing but dull sparks against your overworked thumb, trying and failing to light the end of the joint. 

Joel had been watching, an amused smile growing on his face as you cursed and tossed the lighter into your yard out of frustration—you’d grab it later, whatever. Eventually you sigh, giving up on it for the night and turning to pack away your stuff before Joel is calling over to you from his side of the fence, heart dropping into your stomach at the sound of his voice.

“I got a light,” He offers, “if you’re interested?”

It’s definitely a question. A proposition. An offering.

You scratch at your brow and hesitate for a millisecond, not giving yourself enough time to debate your answer before you’re mumbling “Fuck it,” and taking the path down the steps and to the gate that separated your yards, watching as he stepped toward you all in the same breath, feeling so much more intimidating this close—the smell of him, musky and sweet. His hair was wet, too.

He took a shower, got dressed, and immediately decided to step back out into the humid heat of Texas summer.

You pluck the lighter from his grip with a soft tug, flicking open the top. It was a good lighter, not the crappy three-pack you bought at the gas station down the road—it was chrome, engraved with a JM, and soft to the touch. You admire it for half a second before you attempt to light the end of your joint, still tucked between your lips. 

But, as fate would have it, you make a fool of yourself. It wasn’t that you couldn’t get it lit, but that the wind was being your worst enemy in a situation where you just wanted to smoke the goddamn joint and go to bed.

Joel puffs at the joint between his lips and breathes out the smoke through his nose before he huffs out a low laugh and nods in your direction, reaching his arms over the fence and beckoning with his fingers for you to hand the lighter back over. You nearly go cross-eyed as his hands come toward your face—much larger than your own and far better at keeping the flame strong, he peeks around his cupped palm and waits for the end to turn a bright orange before he pulls away and you eagerly pull the smoke into your lungs.

“Thank you,” You tell him, rubbing your bare feet into the grass beneath you, patchy and poorly cut from your own mow job, but you were working the best with what you had—even if it was an ancient lawn mower you snagged at a garage sale that only worked half of the time. 

You didn’t like to ask for help, hated it. But, here you were, taking help from a stranger.

Well, neighbor.

It didn’t feel fair to call him a stranger anymore, even if you’ve only spoken a little under ten words to him. 

“No problem, sugar,” Joel responds and your cheeks burn with heat, that distinct nervousness spreading throughout your body that couldn’t be mistaken with anything else, “curious, though—you ain’t ever thought about investin' in a good lighter?”

You shrug, tapping away the ash gently with your fingertip and taking another puff, “Why? My neighbor’s got a perfectly good one himself?”

Joel raises his brows in unison and smiles slightly, he laughs. It’s more of a lazy chuckle.

“I… have more. I just lose them a lot. Besides, they’re only like ten bucks a pack.” 

You’re waiting for him to cut the conversation short and walk back to his chair, but he finds himself leaning, arms tucked and crossed over the fence, oblivious to how daunting this felt to you—the man you’ve been so helplessly curious about for months suddenly standing in front of you and interested, unbothered…not at all what you expected from him.

“Thanks for constantly moving my trash bins,” You tell him randomly, blowing the smoke out through your lips as you tilt your chin up, “I always forget.”

Joel makes a face, wordlessly offering an “I know,” with his eyes and you roll yours in return, following it with a laugh as you pop a hip out slightly, leaning most of your weight onto one leg and crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly remembering how bare you were under your thin top, assuming you’ve probably already given him quite the show already.

Though, Joel seems like the type of man to be nice enough not to point it out. 

You perk up suddenly, asking the first thing that comes to mind.

"Can I ask a question?"

Joel nods.

“What’s the JM stand for? On your lighter.”

“Sweetheart,” The laugh shakes his entire chest, “come on now.”

From sugar to sweetheart—you were clearly making quite the impression on him. 

When you don’t respond he answers your question.

“Joel. Miller. I figured that was obvious,” He says, stubbing out the end of his joint into the wood on his side of the fence.

“Oh.”

“It’s on the mailbox.”

Curious, you leave him for a brief moment to slip through the side gate of your yard and….yeah, sure enough.

“I swear I’m not always like this,” You tell him as you make your way back over, forcing away the smile that was creeping its way onto your face.

“Too bad,” He responds, carding fingers through his still slightly damp hair before running his open palm over his beard, scratching at his chin, “s’pretty entertaining.”

“O-kay,” You answer, sarcasm smothering your tone, “I think it’s my bedtime, Joel Miller.”

“Goodnight then,” He bows his head slightly, “neighbor.”

The tone of it makes you snort with a soft laugh, flipping him off as you depart.

Suddenly, Joel Miller doesn’t seem all that scary.

–

The next week is suspiciously quiet, to your surprise. You’ve opted out of keeping yourself inside now that you had a friend to keep you company, but when he doesn’t show up after a few minutes, you can’t explain why you feel disappointed.

Next week is the same, his house suspiciously dark. 

You can’t pass judgment—he could be busy, tired, or there could be no reason at all.

But, the need in you is there—for what, you’re not even sure.

By the third week you’re ready with a peace offering, a truce.

That night his lights are on and he’s even moving around, somewhere in his kitchen you’re assuming, but instead of sneaking out into the backyard you’re crossing over your front lawn and into his, seemingly fresh mowed and smelling of wet grass, having been under mostly rain showers all night and you knock at his door.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the door opens and you smile at the sight of him, sleep pants hanging low on his hips and his shirt slightly raised by his stomach. He looks exhausted, eyes puffy with sleep as he rubs at them with his knuckles, but he doesn’t look displeased at the sight of you—in fact, he almost smiles in response.

One rolled joint in your left hand, a second in your right. It’s a wordless gesture that makes Joel scoff in amusement and nod you inside of his home. His home. That you’ve never seen until now. You were in his house and it was the most casual thing in the world. You don’t linger for long, following him toward the sliding door to his backyard but the place feels…homey. Lived in. So much unlike your own and disorganized in a way that showed years of age and memories, pictures scattered along the walls and years of personal crafts that you couldn’t examine for as long as you wished.

“Sorry I disappeared,” He acknowledges the unasked question, even though it lingered on your tongue, “—got a huge job at work, getting the site ready has been a pain in my ass.”

You share the lounge chair, taking a seat against the part of the chair that was propped up while Joel opts for the end, giving you a comfortable amount of space to stretch out if you wanted but also, and maybe instinctively, trying not to pressure you into feeling like you had to share space with him.

“Can I ask?” 

Like a goddamn broken record, Joel chuckles at that. Full and genuine as he lights the end of the joint and wordlessly helps you, the same cupping motion of his hands that you welcome this time, almost eagerly.

“Ya gotta stop askin’ that,” Joel says, “especially when you’re just gonna ask anyways.”

Well. 

“I’m a carpenter. Long hours, got a bad sleep schedule ‘cause of it. Pays good, though.”

“Oh, that’s…”

“Not interesting at all, I know.”

“No—no, I mean. I don’t know what I was expecting you to say. That sounds…fun?”

“If you think busted knuckles and an achy back is fun—but I’m old, can’t really escape that.”

You laugh under your breath and inhale the joint between your lips, blowing it out as you speak.

“You are not old, Joel. Come on.”

“I’ve got two fully grown daughters in college and a 401k callin’ my name in about a decade.”

“So, what? Fifty five? Fifty six? You can do better than that.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

You shrug at him, a satisfied smirk stretching over your face.

It’s a back and forth game you play for a while—nights spent at his house where you bicker back and forth, offering snacks and occasionally getting the royal treatment of dinner or a late-night breakfast if Joel was feeling too antsy to sleep. 

He never flirts, really. Despite how you don’t cover up around him for his own sake, always showing up in your sleep clothes that barely allowed for any modesty or the summer clothes that clung to your body and hugged your curves, allowing his eyes to trace and outline all over your figure as much as he wanted to—and sometimes he did, catching his gaze on you for a brief moment before it fades.

But, the first crack in his hard facade comes over a late night meal of pancakes and bacon, grabbing the blueberries from his fridge as he fries the meat on the stove, his elbow bumping the fridge door and knocking the small plastic box of blueberries out of your hand and to the floor, a surprised yelp coming from your throat as you scramble to catch them all.

“Shit, shit—I’m sorry, that was my fault.” You apologize, picking at the blueberries that didn’t make it, shoveling them into your hand and Joel leans down slowly, kneeling as he scoops the tainted blueberries into his own hand and dumps them in the trash.

“My bad, baby—that was on me,” It flows off his tongue with ease and if he realizes he’s said it, he doesn’t acknowledge it, “damn grease popped at me—go on, sit down. I’ll clean the rest up and we can use up what’s left.”

You both enjoy your meal without a blip, not daring to address the slip-up—he peppers you with sugars and sweethearts and the occasional honey when you get a little too combative over a topic, but never baby.

The second time is less surprising and more of a comfort, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Again, struggling with his lighter—this time your hand is holding one of those sparklers you haven’t touched since you were a child—leftovers from the bunch that Sarah and Ellie, his two daughters had brought home over the holiday. You never came over, despite his insisting invitation and running into his brother Tommy on the way home the night prior to the Fourth of July. He'd insisted too.

It just won’t light—and Joel had made the mistake of getting a few of them wet when he’d cleaned off his deck that night and suddenly you’re wondering it’s just a dud.

You hover the flame, mind drifting as you watch the flame grow and you don’t realize you’re burning yourself until Joel is pulling the items from your hands, dropping you back down into reality as you feel the sting, the sudden burn to your thumb as Joel says something that you don’t quite hear at first.

“Sweetheart, you gotta pay attention—“

You look up at him meekly and he pulls you inside with a nod of his, turning on the cold water and pulling your hand under the stream.

“Where’d you go?”

You raise your eyebrows in question, the lingering high drifting off from earlier in the night.

“Oh—just, kinda spaced out, I guess?”

Joel rubs his thumb over yours gingerly and turns off the water, grabbing you a clean washcloth stuffed with a couple pieces of ice to soothe the burn for the time being.

“Baby, you really gotta be more careful.”

Your head snaps over to him as he threw a damp paper towel into the trash and watches the sudden realization cross your face—looking for uneasiness, fear, worry; but in an instant, your body relaxes and you shake your head.

“I promise. It won’t happen again.”

You see the way his lips part slightly, almost as if he’s gearing to add a, “Me too,” for a different reason, but it never comes.

-

Near the end of summer, you find yourself there again.

But, things feel different.

“So, I’ve got a surprise.”

Joel leans up at your words, arm resting over his knees as you plop the bag down on the table beside the chair—Joel looks slightly worried, eyes flicking toward you and back at the bag.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never tried edibles.”

“It’s not really my thing, sugar—”

“Joel, you’ve been smoking longer than I’ve been alive.”

“Now, you know that don’t mean a damn thing.”

You shake your head in fake dismay, slipping your hand into the bag to grab a few pieces. 

One for him…a couple for you.

“Aren’t those supposed to be pretty strong?”

You shrug, “I think it depends. Person to person. I’ve never tried these before, but I’ve never had a bad trip, so…”

Joel’s eyes linger, finger poking at the small, cube gummy in your hand like a child discovering a new toy.

“Hey, we’re doing this together,” You offer as a half-assed comfort, “so if it sucks, it’ll suck for both of us.”

Joel doesn’t seem to need much convincing, though. He plucks the gummy from your palm and places it on his tongue, watching as you do the same and you chew, settling back on your palms at the end of the chair, feet outstretched and crossed in front of you as you stare up at the sky.

It was a Waxing Gibbous moon, not quite full but nearly there—it hovered over Joel’s house, just enough light to illuminate the space between you two. And you wait in comfortable silence aside from the low hum of music playing inside Joel’s house, dark inside now that he had turned off all the lights as you had followed him outside.

He always spent more time out here with you than he intended nowadays.

By a half hour, you find the idle conversation quickly divulges into things more obscure, your gaze lingering on the sky longer than you realize and Joel speaks to you softly, your heart pounding slowly in your ears.

“It ain’t going nowhere.”

You turn to him slightly, blinking a few times before you realize what he’s referring to.

“Oh. Well, obviously. It’s just pretty. I could stare at it all night.”

“Can’t blame you,” Joel responds, but his eyes are nowhere near the sky.

Oblivious, your gaze lingers upwards still, leaning back so far on your hands you feel yourself slip and yelp, only caught by Joel’s hands nearly a second short of a serious head injury.

“Come here,” Joel beckons, fingers wrapping around your bicep as he pulls you forward until your back is against his chest and he allows you to lean into him, feeling him clear his throat behind you as he keeps his hands a respectable distance despite how easily he’d move you into this position to begin with.

Commendable? Sure. Frustrating? Absolutely.

If you couldn’t feel the hard, solid line of his body at your backside it wouldn’t bother you so much. And the heat of his body, scolding to the touch like a furnace. He ran hot, that much you already knew just by a few faint touches before but this—it overwhelms your senses.

You try to distract yourself, noticing the carved out wooden statue of a cowboy riding a horse while it was rearing back, you squint your eyes before perking up with a sudden question.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Get what?”

You giggle slightly, tapping at his arm to grab his attention before you point in the direction of the statue placed by the stairs, “That thing.”

“Oh, that—I…made it.” He looks away with a sudden embarrassment as you quickly twist your head up to look at him in complete and utter shock—he scrunches his face up and dares to take a peek at you from his peripheral and his face heats up when he sees you looking so rapt.

“Joel, that is insanely fucking good.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me,” You mock his tone, “how long did that take to make?”

Joel tries to think—it’s been years now. Sarah was barely out of grade school and he had just adopted Ellie, it was all a blur anymore with both of the girls in college now.

“A month, on and off between jobs. It’s just a piece of junk, really.”

“Joel, shut up.”

Joel can’t hold back the even bigger laugh that escapes him at your bluntness.

“It’s just a hobby.”

“A hobby you seem to be really fuckin’ good at.”

Joel shrugs and you decide to leave it be, relaxing back into his chest more comfortably, though his arm lingers more closely to your body, fingertips resting against your bicep that slowly start to move on their own, whether by Joel’s own conscious movements or just by nature of seeking touch. It’s a gentle trace, it tickles and you shrug your arm slightly to which he responds with a gentle squeeze.

By the hour mark you find that Joel hates when you ask about his statues or some of the homemade structures in his backyard—littered throughout along with an old playhouse that you can only assume belonged to his daughters, much outgrown and covered in vines and weeds, intertwined through cracks in the wood.

He hates it so much he actually tries to distract you with something else. Anything. 

Unfortunately, nothing really works. So, he changes gears completely.

“What’s with the sundress tonight?” Joel asks suddenly, the playful lilt to his voice hidden behind a sudden need for authority over the situation. “Gettin’ all dolled up in the middle of the night.”

“It’s new,” You say with an eagerness, rubbing your finger over the silk fabric of the dress, “do you like it?”

“You really askin’ my opinion?”

Of course. I bought it for you. 

“Do you have one?” You say instead.

“It’s nice,” He runs his pointer finger and thumb over the strap on your left shoulder that slips down, lingering against your skin as his palm covers the expanse of it.

His touch feels far away but so intense, head swirling with thoughts you can’t follow—there’s a primal need there, though. And you can’t tell if he feels it too. If it’s just the weed in your system or if it’s weeks and weeks of built up tension boiling over the edge.

This is the closest Joel has allowed you to be—he’s relaxed, his barriers are down and the hand lingering on your elbow is careful but explorative, his fingers trailing to the middle of your chest, flipping the small silver necklace around your neck under his fingertips, feeling so delicate. More importantly, he feels your heart, stretching the palm out wide and over your skin.

“Y‘alright?” 

You nod and shuffle your feet, planting them on the end of the chair as you pull your knees up, the dress falling just at the apex of your thighs, barely allowing any modesty and if you spread your thighs even a half inch—

Joel breaks his eyes away, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest despite your rapidly beating heart.

“That heart of yours is racin’, sugar. Are you sure?”

Again, you nod. But, the subtle shift against him forces his fingers lower as you adjust yourself higher, ass pressed right against his groin and it does no favor for Joel, who’s fingers dip just below the fabric of your dress in the process, grazing down the center of your chest.

“You nervous or something?”

Nervous, no. Joel didn’t make you nervous anymore. The heat between your legs told you otherwise, and the need for touch was impossible to ignore and maybe just for a moment—just a second, you could let him. It would solve this ridiculous ache that had grown between your legs.

Joel seems so in tune with you and he sees the way your eyes are locked on his hand, unmoving but the half of his fingers tucked under the top of your dress.

“You don’t make me nervous, Joel.”

That wasn’t necessarily the question—and suddenly, you realize your misstep, looking up at him suddenly to catch the intense look on his face, almost like he was anticipating your gaze. His bottom lip is slightly parted from his top, face flush from the summer heat but his eyes are dark, follow the path of your face until it lands on his hand and then he speaks.

“What is it then?”

The way you press your thighs together at the sound of his voice, low and heated, spoken behind a gaze that made you feel small but admired. 

Touch me. Make it better. 

You don’t say it, it’s only a thought. 

But, Joel is a mind reader. He never leaves your sight, but his hand moves on its own accord and squeezes your breast gently. His rough and calloused palm is a stark contrast over soft skin and if you would have made any sign of not wanting this, he would’ve pulled away.

Instead, your chest cants under his touch and your head nods without an answer to his question, because he already knew.

“Lemme see ‘em, sweetheart,” It takes little effort to pull the straps down your shoulders, his other hand pushing the fabric just below your breasts, allowing them free and Joel makes a soft, low noise behind you as he covers your chest with both hands, thumbs grazing over your nipples as they pebble under his touch, “that feel better?”

Not good. Not alright. Better—was he helping you? Was he soothing that ache he’d created?

“Y-Yeah, yes.”

He’s just as curious, squeezing the flesh in hands and occasionally letting his finger trace down your abdomen as your dress shifts and shifts until it’s barely a means to keeping your modesty over your lap, hands pressed down at the space beside Joel’s hips as you push yourself up until your head is nearly level with his, his hands squeezing your tits together as you sigh. He hooks his chin over you shoulder and watches, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back.

“You need more?” He asks, “Tell me, baby—I’m right here.”

The baby rings through your head like a warning bell. 

Once was an accident, twice a coincidence, three times…

Stop it. Stop it now and you won’t have to face the awkwardness after your high wore off and you both had a night to sleep and think and regret—but you find yourself nodding anyway.

Why was Joel any different from a random hookup? Other than being your neighbor, slowly coming to what you consider to be a friend, crumbling apart before you as he hikes your dress up over your hips and grips it tight.

You nod to his question.

“Take those off,” He speaks over your shoulder and you don’t need persuading, fingers hooking into the underwear clinging to your hips and down, over your ankles as you kick them away and almost instantly Joel’s hands are on your knees, spreading you wide, his palms squeezing at the inside of your thigh, “shit, look at that—“

He dips a finger down the center of your pussy, through the slick pool of accumulated pleasure and pulls away, shiny and glistening against his fingertips as he breathes against the shell of your ear, “All that just from me touchin’ you?”

You could answer—keep dragging out this game of cat and mouse that had started between you but instead you reach for his hand, placing it against your cunt as he cups it with his palm, dragging the two middle most fingers up and down the seam, circling over your clit briefly before they’re plunging inside of you with ease, aided by just how wet you were—your pussy throbs around his fingers.

Words are few and far between outside of the soft, mewling noises you make into the side of his face as your arm comes up and wraps around the back of his neck, yanking at the short hair at his nape and dragging your mouth along his cheek as you breath out in short huffs, his other hand coming down to circle at your clit with no preamble—straight for the kill and eager without saying it. 

His grip is heavy, forceful as his fingers pump in and out of you pussy with little care, the soft squelch of your arousal around his fingers forcing the heat to climb to your face and you feel his jeans rutting into the backside, desperate for relief just as much as you but too selfless to speak up about it.

And you feel the crest in your chest, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy flutters around his fingers, a shout that is quickly muffled by Joel’s hand as it covers your mouth, the fingers still buried inside of you and working you through the aftershocks as he shushes you gently. Your body feels like it’s vibrating, legs shaking slightly as he removes his fingers and squeezes tenderly at the inside of your thigh, feeling the dampness from his fingers spread over your skin  before they’re climbing their way up your body, along your skin until he’s bringing them to his mouth silently and cleaning them up like he’d made a mess of his meal, your eyes widen at the sight and you feel overtaken, flooded with desire that you can’t sit and suffer with any longer.

“Knew I was right in callin’ you sugar,” He teases, catching your face in between his fingers as you turn to kneel between his legs, “so damn sweet.”

His fingers tap at his thighs, rough denim under his fingertips to match his overworked, weathered hands and you can’t help but admire, knowing they had been buried inside of you a few moments ago and you bow your head, popping the button of Joel’s jeans as he casually reaches for your hips, kneading the muscle of your thighs as he watches, helping you situate his jeans far enough down his own thighs that you can slip your hands past his boxers, straining against the weight of his cock, hard and aching as it reached up toward his stomach.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” He tells you, but you scoff slightly in amusement, not wanting to know how frazzled you look, half-lidded and bloodshot eyes under the moonlight, bare aside from the newly bought dress at your waist and Joel is most definitely still staring at your tits, his eyes dragging up to your face a few seconds too late, “I’m guessin’ we should of talked through this first but I just wanted to make you feel good—”

“You think I feel obligated?” Your eyebrow raises up slightly before you’re pulling his boxer down just enough that his cock springs out, bobbing away from his stomach slightly and you only allow yourself half a second to react.

He’s big, from root to tip you know it is the biggest you’ve ever had and you’re waiting for the cocky remark, the begging for compliments and thoughts that you hear so often during these halfway thought out hook-ups but this wasn’t that. It was weeks of build up, the tension line snapping under the weight of your unspoken desire for each other. 

“Joel—”

“Don’t go boostin’ my ego,” He chuckles, “—not you, baby.”

You laugh softly and dip your head, feeling his hand curve over and through your hair, down your neck before it settles against the middle of your back and he brushes the stray hair from your face, allows his finger to rest behind your ear as you tilt your head and lick a long stripe up his cock, flicking your eyes up briefly to catch him staring, mouth closed and unnaturally stoic for a moment, like he’s holding his breath.

“Show me,” You plead with him, “whaddya like?”

You move down slightly to roll your tongue along his balls, the weight of it in your mouth as you suckle and feel his fingertips scrape gently along your skin, allowing a few moments of your own exploration before he’s wrapping his hand around his shaft and using the other to grip your chin and rubbing the tip against your half-open mouth, forcing a dribble of spit between your lips and letting it trail down the tip before he feeds his cock into your mouth, tongue spreading flat over the underside and keeping him in your eye-line before it’s nearly impossible, feeling him guide you down until his cock nudges the back of your throat with a slight sting, eyes watering.

“Look at that,” His voice is low, gruff as it rumbles in his chest, “makin’ it all fit in that pretty little moutha’ yours.”

You quickly realize that Joel enjoys watching you feel consumed by him, choking on his cock as your head bobs up and down with fervor, a gentle guiding hand against the back of your head as you breathe through your nose, feeling him nudge the back of your throat over and over and over until you find yourself fighting for air and oblivious to the symphony of curses Joel was spewing above you as his neck was tight, straining as he tipped his own head back against the chair.

And he looks too fucking good to pass up on. You rise, pulling at the collar of his shirt to grab his attention and his eyes open wide, his pupils blown out and dilated as he watches you move, biting at your bottom lip as you shuffled your legs over his hips to straddle him.

“Can you fuck me?” 

“Can I—sweetheart, you sure?”

You give him a look of flippant disregard, too impatient to pace through the steps of sureness. But, Joel is focused suddenly, pulling your attention to him as his palm finds your face, cradling your cheek and rubbing his thumb over the shape of your lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” He tells you.

“Yes, Joel.” You answer him impatiently, “I just—I mean I don’t have anything, but…”

“You ain’t gotta worry about that,” Joel chuckles, “been out of commission for a while, sugar.”

You can’t help to release the giggle that bubbles in your chest at that.

He’d had kids, a family at some point—but that wasn’t his life now. He was a renewed bachelor, experiencing all the things he’d put on the back-burner to be a good and proper father. While this hadn’t been at the top of his list, or even anywhere on it really, you can see the happy satisfaction on his face with how comfortable he’s grown in the time you’ve gotten to know one another.

“Can’t tell,” You comment slyly as you lift up on your knees, allowing Joel to shift his jeans further down until they’re bunched sloppily at his ankles.

Joel rolls his eyes fondly, “Go on, baby.”

He watches, eyes following your hand as you grip his cock at the base, rubbing it along the center of your cunt, gliding through messy arousal and finding some excitement in the way he squeezes at your thighs a little too hard, fingers curling around the back of your knee as the head of his cock catches against your clit, again, again, barely allowing him to press inside of you until finally, a few harsh pleas balancing on his tongue that quickly dissipate as you sink down onto him inch by suffocating inch.

You breathe out slowly, watching Joel as he watches you, his eyes locked on the sight of his cock as it settles inside of you, only allowing the slow, gentle rock of your hips as you adjust.

His stomach flexes under your touch, fisting your hands into his shirt and lifting it out of the way before Joel gets the hint and strips himself completely, kicking his jeans off weakly as you sigh, squeezing gently as his shoulders and feeling his hands grip at your backside, into the soft flesh of your cheeks and you strip the wrinkled fabric over your head, tossing it somewhere behind Joel’s head as you fingers grip along the edge the bar of the chair above his head, lifting your hips in time with his movements as he keeps a firm hand on you, allowing soft puffs of groans to fall from his lips as your tits bounce with the frantic movement and Joel leans forward, capturing the side of your breast between his teeth, a gentle bite that causes you to squeak.

It’s quickly soothed by his tongue before he flicks it over your nipple, circling the peaked and pebbled nub before he’s sucking it between his teeth, eyes locking on yours from the depraved angle it allows you, still able to spot the few shining grays of his hair in this light. You card your fingers through his hair and arch your chest into his mouth, “J-Joel, maybe we should move this inside.”

He shakes his head, mouth still stuffed full with you as you moan out loudly when he smacks your ass in one gentle but solid swing and you want to blame his boldness on the dwindling drug in your system, but somehow you come to the conclusion that it was just Joel, unbridled and wanting. Of you.

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” Joel disagrees as he pulls back, “no one gives a damn ‘round here, anyways.”

“Says you,” You laugh weakly, whimpering softly as he snaps his hips into you with sudden force, his hand reaching for the back of your neck to urge you forward, forgoing your body for your lips and it’s more intense than anything else going on around you—his cock stuffed inside of you, the fingers on your skin, it didn’t matter for that brief second of a first touch, kissing you sloppily as you moan into each other’s shared space.

“Well, I do—got this one neighbor,” He jokes, “nosey as shit but damn is she a good fuckin’ time.”

You gasp as he pulls you close, free arm wrapping around your back as he slips his tongue past your lips, using the opportunity as your lips part to devour you in an instant and you pull at the stands of his hair in turn, kissing him back with a harsh pressure that begs for more.

“M’not nosey,” You defend lamely, “just—fuck, curious, ya know?”

“Thank god for that,” Joel sighs, and your pussy flutters before squeezing around him, “oh, fuck baby—do that... do that again.”

You do, teasingly, watching as Joel curses under his breath and leans back, watching you move against him without shame, a hand pressing against your stomach to guide you to lean back slightly, “Look at that, sweetheart—makin’ a goddamn mess on me.”

The short, coarse hair at his groin is wet and sure enough, covered in the messy slick of you and mixed with the thin sheen of sweat that had covered both of your bodies in this sticky heat.

“You like the idea of gettin’ high and letting me fuck you?” Joel questions amongst the pound of your heart in your ears, the heat of his gaze quickly driving you toward the edge again. He chuckles, “Dirty—dirty girl. Was that what you’ve been plannin’ since the beginning?”

“Would’ve let you fuck me either way,” You admit, only a half-truth. You weren’t sure if you’d ever pluck up the courage had Joel not made the first move, but you’re damn sure glad he did anyways, “and with a cock like that, god—”

“Easy,” Joel warns, “givin’ me a complex the way you were looking at it.”

“It’s big, Joel.” You admit, pushing the stray hair that had fallen down over his forehead away and back into this messily quaffed hair, “You like knowing I can barely fit it all in my mouth, don’t—don’t act coy about it.”

He’s not—he’d been more than willing to allow you to choke on the girth of him until you begged for mercy, but given his normally gentle nature with you, he wasn’t going to take it that far. 

Your brow drags up in a pinch, moaning as his thumb presses against your clit and circles, presses down gently, just the right amount of everything to drive you to near insanity. Your thighs squeeze against his own where he has you spread out, hands balled up into fists that punch gently at his chest.

“You’re right there, baby—gotcha, I gotcha.” He murmurs, watching you intently as you grip at the arm wrapped around your back to keep you upright, fingers digging into his bicep as you tip over the edge, legs shaking through the second orgasm he’s given you that night, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you start to see the flurry of stars in your darkened vision.

Your limbs give out shortly after, falling against his chest as he snaps his hips, just near the edge himself as he groans, grunts, breathing hotly into the curve of your neck and you rub at the little spot behind his ear that makes him chuckle, “Want it all inside,” You tell him through a cloud haze of need and pure desire, “can you do that, Joel?”

“Fill you up, sugar?” He asks, sounding a little taken aback, “If that’s—if that’s somethin’ you’re comfortable with.”

You nod eagerly and he loosens the reins completely, lifting one of your legs until you can plant a foot near his hip and he pounds into you, pulling back when he feels the impending orgasm grow in his gut, hot and intense. He watches as he comes inside of you with a few slow snaps of his hips.

“Shit,” He curses after a drawn-out silence, helping you move off of him and into a more comfortable position between his legs as he grabs lazily for his shirt, cleaning up the mess of your wet arousal against his skin and letting the spoiled shirt rest over his groin for modesty, breathing in slow, full breaths.

It’s been too long for him and he knows it.

Joel reaches for the dress that caught on the edge of the chair by his head and hands it over, watching as you slipped it over your head, legs still spread out over his own and he can’t help but draw his eyes to the sight of his come dripping out between your legs and he grins subtly, motioning you forward with a tired finger that you look at curiously before scooting forward an inch, thinking he may wipe something of your face, arrange a piece of hair back into place, but instead he’s slipping his ring finger inside of you and it forces a surprised gasp from your chest.

You laugh airily and swat his hand away, “Stop that,” You tell him.

“Just makin’ sure you don’t waste any of it, sweetheart.”

You snort, flipping him off half-heartedly as you reach for your underwear, standing up to pull it back up your hips and under your dress, swaying slightly on your feet after having been sat for so long. 

You sigh, pushing your hair back with your hands, suddenly feeling sticky and gross in the aftermath and Joel seems to notice, slowly redressing himself as he stands.

“Why don’t you shower?” Joel suggests, leaving his jeans unbutton but pulled back up his hips. Shirt balled up in his hand.

You look geared to say no, but Joel sweetens the deal.

He looks at his watch, nearing two in the morning.

“I’ll make us an early breakfast,” He offers, shrugging with a lazy smile, “I mean—early early, because I know you’re probably starvin’. I know I am.”

“Only if you’ll make the blueberry pancakes.”

Of course that was the ultimatum.

“Deal, sugar—go get your ass in the shower.” He nods toward the house and you laugh, running away from the hand that pushes at your back.

So, maybe Joel wasn’t the scary neighbor you assumed him to be. But, you couldn’t deny the bursting affection that was growing in your chest for him and that was even more terrifying.

And when he serves up the pancakes to you, hair damp and dripping down your back and onto the shirt he’d lent you, a small square of pancake balanced on a fork that he feeds into your mouth, you feel it.

He's still shirtless, barefoot against his kitchen floor.

“We can—we can do this again, right?”

Joel smiles, looking down at the plate as he cuts off another piece.

“I’ve been waitin’ an entire summer to get the courage to do that, or even ask you on a proper date—we can do whatever you want, sugar.”

“Dates are overrated,” You shrug, “I like this better.”

“Good,” Joel grins, “least now I can mow that lawn of yours without feelin’ bad for asking.”

“Excuse you—I do just fine on my own,” You gasp with mock offense.

You’re lying—that mower was a piece of shit and Joel could see the way your face quickly melts into embarrassment, laughing quietly behind his fist.

“I like helpin’ out,” He tells you with a shrug, beginning to list off a few things he could help work on around your house, eyes drifting off as he went through the mental list, oblivious to the sudden closeness as you leaned over the counter and capture his lips, closed mouth with both of your cheeks puffed full of pancakes.

“You ramble when you’re high,” You tease him, “it’s adorable.”

Joel grimaces at the word but relents when he sees you smile, wide and spreading out across your entire face, snatching the fork from his hand while he’s distracted.

“So, same time next week?”

“Deal, sweetheart.”

Joel doesn’t care that you show up empty-handed the following week.

And frankly, neither do you.

divider creds: @saradika-graphics

[dalsrealities]

⌞𝓜ORE 𝓜ETHODS⟢𝓕OR 𝓥OID 𝓢TATE⌝

so, some people asked for the other methods for the void state. i'm gonna try to explain them as detailed as i can.

𓇼 First method:

⤷Lullaby method.

This one is actually super easy, the easiest i would say. you just gotta lay down, as if you were going to sleep. for this method you do have to be a bit sleepy to do it since you'll doing as you drift off to sleep.

once you laid down, relax, close your eyes, you can say some affirmations if you want in the meanwhile of getting sleepy. when you feel your eyelids starting to close, start affirming to enter the void state. "i am", "i am the void state", "i already am in the void state", etc. (i posted more affirmations in my post about the void state)

you're going to feel yourself fall asleep, but your mind is somehow still awake. and when you feel nothing, no touch, no smell, noise, just nothing, you'll now you're there.

𓇼 Second method:

⤷Commanding your subconscious.

This method, at least for me is not as easy as entering the void with no method or doing the Lullaby one. But, i still decided to share it in case someone does like it. I'm going to separate this method in 2 parts.

𝙸. What is to command your subconscious?

Commanding you subconscious is talking to it directly and trusting that it will manifest your desires for you. that's literally just it. your subconscious knows every single thing you want. whenever you desire something or just think of "having" it, your subconscious immediately starts working to give it to you.

now, you might think "but, Dal, if that actually happened, wouldn't i have everything i've ever desired?" uhm, no. first of all, you may think that just by saying something like "oh, i really want this necklace" (or something), that's a manifestation and your subconscious will start working on it. but that's not how it works.

you have to trust and have faith on your subconscious, you have to give it a little talk about what you want to manifest. and if it doesn't work, that's because you applied methods to manifest, but then overthought it and let your intrusive/impulsive thoughts get in the way, and you didn't trust your subconscious at all.

𝙸𝙸. how do we actually do it?

like i mentioned before, it's just talking to it directly. you can do it anytime, aloud or silently. for example; "hey subconscious, i wanna induce to the void state tonight, i know you'll get me there", "hey subconscious, i'm gonna pass my test tomorrow, i know you'll manifest that for me, yeah?". you can do it however you want, talk to it however you want. like it's your friend, just normal, or whatever you like.

once you've commanded what you wanted, all you need to do is have faith and trust your subconscious. but after expressing your desires, don't be insecure, for example; "what am i doing?", "will this even work?" i mean, it definitely won't work if that's how you think...

when you're insecure you're just showing your mind you don't trust on it, so why would it then do the things you've commanded? don't overthink things, let go of all those thoughts. sometimes it is difficult, it happened to me. i had like this annoying chihuahua barking in my ear that it wouldn't work, that what would i do then if it didn't work. just ignore it, as hard as it is at first, just do it.

𓇼 Third method:

⤷Sleep paralysis.

There are lots of ways to induce to a sleep paralysis, and jesus i hate sleep paralysis but someone asked for it so i'll do it for her 💪.

i feel like sleep paralysys and the void are pretty much the same but still different but anyways. i'll explain how to induce to a sleep paralysys.

the easiest way to do this is WBTB. i found this in a reddit post and what surprised me was that it had been posted 10 YEARS ago. like, i didn't know we had been doing this even before 2020.

anyways, how do we do WBTB? what even is it?

WBTB stands for wake back to bed. it basically is going to sleep, setting an alarm to wake up 5-6 hours later, doing something for 20-30 minutes and going back to sleep. this increases lucid dreaming and, sleep paralysis. some posts about WBTB; 1 and 2.

once you've gotten into a sleep paralysis, you can induce to the void state by affirming or whatever you prefer to do.

honestly, at least for me, sleep paralysis feel or are the same as the void, the only difference is that in the sleep paralysis you can open your eyes (i think). but the ways of getting/inducing to them are pretty much similar if not the same.

those are the methods that were mentioned in the void state post, i hope it was helpful!!! so yeah, if you have more questions, you can ask with the little botton to ask things.

(for @urprettyangel888 and @badgalriri-axe)

[salemlunaa]

VOID STATE: NO PRACTICE NEEDED

you either know you’re getting in or you aren’t, there’s no “trying”

So this topic has come to my attention, as i see alot of bloggers saying to shift you need practice and to stop giving people “unrealistic expectations”. No shade but to that i say bullshit. Shifting/Tapping in to the void is and will always be as easy as fucking breathing. We are gods meaning that everything and i mean everything is easy for us. Saying you need practice for something that is inside of us, something so easy, really contradicts the idea of being a god. We don’t need to practice for something inside of us. Saying that shifting is as easy as breathing isn’t toxic and deceiving it will be true if that’s what you stand firm in.

Now for those who have known about the void for a “long time”. Stop telling me how much “time” you’ve “wasted”, because you shouldn’t care, it’s not real and you know you can flip your thoughts in nano seconds. Again, i see so many people who lie and say that they are confident but in the back of their mind they go “i’ve known about the void and have been failing for 2 years, why would today be any different” or “i’ve wasted so much time let’s just see if i get in today”.

but let me tell you, there is no “trying”. You are either 100% you are tapping in today, or you know you won’t, there is no “i’ll try tonight” or “i’ll use this method and MIGHT get into the void today”, no no no when you come into this with a trying mindset you will never get far in this void journey. It’s like that tomorrow riddle the one saying “what says it’s coming but never does”. Because if you tell yourself that you’re trying, you will always be in the state of trying for the void and never in the state of having the void. This applies to any desire, you will always be in the state of desiring something (in this case, being the void) and never in the state of having that desire. You must know that you are entering the void, know that there is no other outcome than the void and it will be as easy as breathing.

You can’t have one foot out the door you must know and don’t think that this is hard to do, just flip your thoughts and persist whenever you think about the void. And as god your subconscious mind will see this and reflect the fact that the there is no other outcome than the void. So please do not feel discouraged like you have to practice for the void and “waste more time” or do challenges that last weeks to “fix your self concept” because these are things that can be done in seconds. Do i need to remind you who you are? as god, whatever you want comes to pass immediately, just stand firm in that and shifting and the void will be as easy as breathing.

BE 100% SURE OF YOURSELF AND KNOW THAT THE VOID IS THE ONLY OUTCOME, THEN IT WILL BE AS EASY AS BREATHING. 🎆🌌💋

(ps: did you guys miss me? 😏)

[llamagoddessofficial]

What are some ways the Mafia crew would try to further woo their dearest love? And in return, what ways could we further endear ourselves to them?

Scary spooky mafia guys...... trying their hardest to woo a pretty human. AGH it hits all the notes!!!!

Horror gets overwhelmed. You make him so happy, so fuzzy, so warm - but he doesn't believe he can 'woo' you. Not when he can't bear his own reflection, not when even his Dust and Killer consider him violent and frightening. Horror believes his affection for you is his only redeeming quality. He doesn't think you'll like him, but he literally can't stop himself from trying, so when he has his heart set on you his methods are... surprisingly slow and tentative. Especially considering how mercurial he usually is. He brings you flowers that made him think of you, he makes you food, he pores over his brother's dating manual and panics when something happens that he hasn't read about. He's nervous to even hold your hand in case he scares you; the other skeletons are so handsome and eloquent and flirtatious, how could he ever compare? If he frightens you off, he'll never get you back. He has to be gentle.

How could you endear yourself to Horror? Tell him how handsome he is. Tell him how often he's charming without realising. Compliment his cooking. It really won't be that hard, he's already head over heels, but hearing that you like him means so much.

Dust... does not struggle with wooing. Sorry Horror. Dust is frightening, certainly, but his quietness gives him an undeniable magnetism. Like a wolf - sure, you can see his sharp teeth when he smiles, you can see the moonlight flash in his empty eyes. But when he draws close... you can't help but want to move nearer, and touch his soft, silver pelt. Compared to the other three, his romancing is much more underhanded, more about you than grand gestures toward you - which can honestly be a relief when you're being pursued by such big personalities. He turns on the charm, talks quietly and sweetly, stands just a little too close to be platonic, rents your favourite movie when you're down, and (most importantly) positioning himself as your friend and confidant against the other bad guys. He clearly doesn't want to be involved with them, and it's easier to keep you close if you trust him more.

Dust is won over by sincere affection and compliments. For all that looming and flirting, he sure does fall apart quickly when you look right into his eyelights and tell him you like having him around. At that point, he's all yours.

Killer firmly believes that if he can make you laugh, he can make you love him. It's all about getting those giggles, baby. Whatever kind of jokes you like is the kind he tells, he's impressively quick on the draw and never runs out of material, on occasion you may have to ask him to stop joking because your cheeks and abdomen hurt from laughing. He's careful not to be too much... he knows when to be bombastic, when to just be a bit silly and teasing, and when to offer a shoulder to lean on because you're not in the mood. His romantic side is obviously going to be in full force - bouquets, sweets, cards, dates - but his number one wooing technique is getting you to smile. The world you've been unwillingly dragged into can be truly terrifying, and even with the skeletons surrounding you, you'll no doubt feel the nerves and pressure. Killer's humour is a welcome distraction.

It's... hard to tell what endears you to Killer. Honestly, it's hard to tell what Killer is ever thinking. How do you know what's real affection, and what's just a way of making you feel comfortable around him? How can you tell when he's not acting anymore? Though, if you look at how hard he's working every single day to make you that little bit happier... maybe it's not possible to be any more dear to him than you already are.

Nightmare likes to throw his money around. He has an incredible skill for catching when you really like something, reading your face for even the subtlest shine in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to cover your reactions he will catch when you want something and buy it for you. ... But that's not his only wooing trick. Nightmare is, to most people, a violent and unpleasant man who lets his temper take him wherever it pleases. But once he understands his feelings for you and fully commits to romance, he's charming. Lethally charming. He was raised a prince, after all, Dream isn't the only one who has a way with words. You'll start a simple conversation with him, and then you blink and you're sitting on his desk in his study telling him things you've never told anyone. You'll go to him specifically trying not to be swayed - and then when you snap back to reality the two of you are sharing a very luxurious bottle of wine in his room and you've just agreed to be his plus one to a gala this weekend. After all, if he wants to buy you another eye-wateringly expensive necklace, he's going to have to convince you to try some on first.

Nightmare appreciates any attempt to get to know him. His whole life, he's felt like he's living in Dream's shadow, so when you try to actually understand and learn about Nightmare he gets as flattered as he does flustered. Find out about his favourite painters and musicians, read his favourite books, ask him about himself. No one ever has before.