#step one: beeswax

[xviruserrorx]

I've been weaving little fruit charms all day and the loops to attach them to the bracelets kept looking weird and I couldn't figure out what was going wrong and I just figured out I was missing one square knot 🫠

[gutsby]

Love Tap

Pairing: Dad!Joel x Reader

Summary: Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

Warnings: 18+. Joel Miller is a MUNCH Oral (f!receiving). Unprotected p-in-v (quickie). Slice of life, domestic-style and Joel calls you ‘Mama’ a whole lot. One playful bite.

Word count: 2.4k

Note: ‘You better back the fuck up before you get smacked the fuck up’ is a line from 2Pac’s song, ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’

Joel Miller was a wonderful father.

Occasionally, he forgot how to act like one.

He had a tendency to get a little careless. Sloppy.

Letting the dignified, ever-respectful façade slip every now and again and smacking your ass when you walked past. Copping a feel when you had to squeeze by him in the kitchen. Best of all, pinching your cheek through your skirt while you were cradling the baby—his baby—and leaving you no choice but to shoot him a quick back-the-fuck-up-before-you-get-smacked-the-fuck-up look and a covert middle finger to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be slapping your butt in front of the kids.

It was just bad practice to engage in those dumb, flirty antics, particularly when your four-year-old son had made it his mission in life to imitate everything dad did.

But again, Joel would sometimes forget that.

On a morning when he’d woken up a little too early with an erection that was a tad too stubborn to ignore, he got especially forgetful. He found himself plastered to your backside at the edge of the bathroom counter with a grin, knowing damn well you only had twenty-five minutes to get the family dressed, fed, and on the road.

“Joel, you are so—”

“Quick. I’ll be quick.”

His eyes suddenly pleading with yours in the mirror. You just might’ve had the willpower to turn his honeyed gaze away were it not for the lips that followed it. Tracing the shell of your ear and behind it, down your neck, leaving trails of soft kisses down the skin until he reached the collarbone, your sweet spot, and licked it—the bastard.

“Five. Minutes.” Your words were equal parts invitation and warning as you shimmied your PJs over your butt.

“You know I’ll have ya finished in two, sweet pea,” Joel teased—but deep down, you knew he wasn’t kidding.

Both of you had cum and were done in a record-breaking four and a half minutes, swapping pyjamas for normal clothes in less than half the time and stepping back out of the bathroom with your hair only marginally tousled.

By now you had the ‘Pre-K starts in thirty’ types of quickies down pat. You were proud. You glanced over your shoulder to see a similar glint in Joel’s eye, and as you started out the bedroom door, you felt a tap on your ass—or, with the sheer breadth of your husband’s hand, more like a WHACK, followed by the sound of a stifled laugh.

“Can Daddy get some more’a that later?” he quipped.

“More’a what?”

Aw, hell.

Your sweet, forever nosy mini-Joel was standing directly in front of you with two pinched brows and a mostly eaten dino nugget clenched tight in his tiny fist.

You opened your mouth to conjure up some half-assed excuse for the spank your son just saw, but then your husband was scooping the kid up in his arms and toting him straight down the hallway, and you heard, faintly:

“Whatcha gettin’ from Mama later?”

“None of your beeswax, bubs.”

Joel got his second helping around lunchtime.

He’d been in between calls with what felt like an endless stream of subcontractors, suppliers, architects, and project managers when he swung by the house. You were in the midst of baking cardamom buns when he blew through the kitchen like an EF5 tornado and decided he’d be feasting on something else entirely.

“Joel, my buns,” you whined as soon as he’d carried you up the stairs and tossed you onto the bed, eager as ever.

“Fuck your buns.”

“You already fucked ‘em this morning—can you relax?”

Your husband already had your pants tugged halfway down your legs. You let him, then helped him kick the fabric the rest of the way off when it got to your ankles.

“You’re a fuckin’ maniac, Miller, y’know that?”

Something in the way he smirked as he sank his face between your bare thighs told you he already knew that. You would’ve liked to try and scold him again—give him a little more grief for the baked treats that would surely be burnt to a crisp by the time he was done—but then you felt his tongue lick a stripe up your slit, and you refrained.

Even if you’d wanted to, you scarcely would’ve been able to form a single word apart from, ‘Fu-cking hell, Joel’ and ‘Right there, right thereohfuuuuuuckfuckfuck.’

That was just fine by your husband.

In fact, he seemed perfectly content to lap at your slick, glistening folds while you moaned and cursed his name; it made him proud. Appreciative. Maybe even a tad too smug for his own good, if he were being honest, because the way you fisted his hair and rutted your hips against his face made you act a little more like him. A touch more reckless, sloppy, and desperate than your daily obligations as parents would seem to allow. A bit less proper and refined and a lot more slutty—all for him.

Joel teased your clit with a few soft touches from the tip of his tongue, and you almost tore the sheets in two.

“That feel good, Mama?” he hummed.

“F-Fingers, fuck, Joel— fingers,” you begged.

Still using his tongue, Joel drew the shape of a lemniscate extra slow just to spite you. You whined and bucked your hips in protest, but the man was undeterred—he knew exactly what he was doing. The only way he could be tempted to use his fingers now would be to spread your lips apart and lick you more, which he did.

Joel licked and sucked and drove you up the fucking wall with those figure eights until you nearly couldn’t take it. In one hasty, desperate move, you tilted your hips and tried to slip a finger past Joel’s mouth, into your cunt.

He bit that finger. You yelped.

“JOEL!”

It wasn’t that the bite actually hurt—his teeth barely grazed skin—but rather the way he refused to speed up. Gauging your wants and your needs with expert precision, he massaged the hood of your clit with his tongue and took care to plant suckling kisses as he did. You moaned and squeezed the bedspread, relishing the vulgar sounds of his mouth and the need he was building inside you. You turned your head to the side and whined into the pillow, knowing from the depths of your soul you needed release, but Joel just wouldn’t oblige you…yet.

When he grinned against your wet, warm, and slippery folds, his mouth might as well have joined in and said, ‘Keep going—you’ll cum on my tongue when I say so.’

Instead, Joel opted to say ‘Mama’ again, softly.

Mama.

He always called you that when he took you extra slow. Sometimes when he took you quick, too. Like a reminder to you both that you were, in fact, the mother of his children, and if the man had had it his way he’d have given you fifty more by now, daycare bills be damned.

He was generous like that. Always giving, giving, giving.

Just not when it came to doling out orgasms sometimes.

“I have a divorce lawyer on speed dial, just so you know,” you hissed through gritted teeth, head falling back when Joel’s tongue sank forward—inside you, then, “FUCK!”

“Mhmmm,” he hummed before retracting once more. Licking the soft, fleshy rim and nearly eliciting a scream.

Joel traced a circle with his tongue. He savored the taste. While you were whining and grinding your hips against the wet spot underneath you—a puddle that would only grow larger the longer he went on—your husband was devouring you, kissing your thighs every now and then.

“Well, if we split, my tongue goes too,” Joel said. Smug.

“Texas is a community property state,” you murmured, “I taught you how to eat pussy so your mouth is a marital asset.”

Silently, Joel wondered how that argument might hold up in court, grinned, then continued licking your cunt. You squeezed his head with your thighs, dug the balls of your feet in the sheets, and let out a lewd, pornographic scream that could’ve woken half the street. Luckily, your neighbors were probably all at work, your bedroom walls insulated just well enough to mask the noise, and Joel’s resolve crumbling slowly as he kissed between your legs.

One wanton, shameless, ‘I’m gonna cum, Joel, please’ was like music to his ears. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten with a wife and mother as sweet as you, so upright and polite in your day-to-day life and then a hot, trembling mess beneath his tongue when he needed you like this the most. Surely he couldn’t treat you so mean.

Joel wedged two thick fingers in your slick, dripping heat and beckoned you to him as kindly as he possibly could. Rubbing the pads of both digits, callused as they were, against the spongy insides of your core and flicking them forward—‘C’mere, Mama, Daddy’s right here, go on’— so of course, you had no other logical choice but to cum.

It was all habit by now. A dazzling, sumptuous routine.

And Joel Miller was certain he’d never tire of seeing it.

Your spine arched off the mattress an inch or two, toes curling at the feeling, and while the sensation spanned over your body, your husband was the first to see it, sense it on his lips and tongue and fingers just as well. He squeezed your hip, told you how fucking pretty you looked when you came for him, then patiently waited out the spasms and cries and fingers lacing through his soft, dark locks like he was your last remaining tether to earth.

Then he kissed the inside of your thighs and smiled.

“All better, honey?” he hummed.

“Yeah,” you breathed back.

“Still want a divorce?”

A smirk and a response of ‘Not until you knock me up at least one more time’ was hovering somewhere over your tongue when you felt the bed shake. Buzzing. Vibrating?

Joel sat up between your legs and yanked something out from under his ass. He peered down at the thing—staring into a screen—and cocked a brow as he looked back up.

“Someone’s been naughty,” he said simply. Grinning.

He lobbed the phone your way, and you just barely managed to catch it between two trembling hands.

Incoming Call: Francisco C. Morales Elementary

You shot Joel a look and answered it instantly.

Disoriented, disheveled, and slightly foggy from climax, you half-expected to find one of your son’s disgruntled teachers on the other end of the line, reminding you that today was a noon dismissal and everyone was supposed to pick their kids up an hour ago. Your husband was the one who would always keep up with school schedules, so your gaze narrowed at him, butt scooting up the bed while he tried to dive right back between your legs.

“He-llo?”

You smacked a hand away from the front of your blouse.

“Is this Mrs. Miller?” a voice trilled through the phone.

Yes, unfortunately, it was.

You almost had to backhand Joel across the face when he tried to bite the button off your brand new top, teeth ruthless in their pursuit of getting you fully naked now.

“This is she,” you squeaked.

Someone cleared their throat on the other end of the line—as though they knew you had a broad, hulking husband with a cock as hard as sheet metal trying to tear your clothes off while you talked. You stifled a shriek and a giggle when you felt your relentless man move down.

Joel was busy working your blouse from the bottom with that feral mouth of his when the voice sounded again:

“We’d really appreciate it if you and your husband could come see us this afternoon to have a little chat about—”

Your eyes widened. You clutched your phone even tighter and this time, more seriously, shoved Joel away. When he frowned and started to pout, you raised a finger.

“A-About what? Has my— has he done something bad?” Your voice all of a sudden tight, words wavering just enough to snag your husband’s attention too.

“We can explain more when you get here, he’s just…”

‘What the fuck?’ Joel mouthed silently, leaning in.

“What? What’s he done?” You couldn’t help it.

You heard a long sigh across the line, and you knew that wasn’t good. It sounded a lot like the kind of sighs you made whenever your baby made a colossal mess all over the kitchen floor, or your husband slammed a door too loud and woke the kids from their nap, or your son just—

“—keeps slapping his classmates on the butt.”

“Wait, what?”

You blinked. Joel coughed. Together, half-naked on the bed, you sat up a little straighter and leaned even closer into the phone, hearts starting to thud in your chests.

“Your son was just…spanking other kids and asking if he could ‘get some more’a that later,’ and when his teacher asked him where he’d learned to do a thing like that—”

You turned. Joel paled. Your gaze could’ve seared a hole through the front of his skull if you stared any harder, and just as your son’s principal continued talking, Joel raised his hands in surrender, already trying to apologize.

“Honey—”

“—and he told her he saw your husband do it at home—”

You didn’t need to hear another word. You were already fishing for your pants, yanking them back up your legs and brushing aside your husband’s soft, red-faced attempts at consolation, and when you were dressed, you started straight for the door. Already babbling some half-coherent apology to the woman on the phone, dodging Joel’s impossibly large hands and arms and hugs as he tried to pull you back into his chest and tell you he was sorry. You just might’ve let him, and maybe even believed him to be sincere, if you didn’t see the tiniest smirk on his lips as he fought to wrangle you in.

You’d made it to the door and were just about to pivot to give Joel the finger, tell him this was not funny at all, and he was coming with you right now, when both of you halted at the threshold and were obliged to turn again.

You sniffed the air, and your husband made a face.

Was it—

Before you could think, a plume of smoke drifted out through the kitchen door. Your eyes widened, and right as the fire alarm let out its piercing scream, you wailed,

“My buns!”

[aethersea]

I've always wanted to learn bookbinding, ever since I was a wee little nerd, but there are a lot of things I've always wanted to learn, and this one has both a daunting upfront materials cost and a daunting upfront research cost. however, my sister is a jewel among siblings and gave me for christmas last year a handy dandy bookbinding manual, a block of good paper, and a little bag of tools.

but I still didn't have a suitable workspace, nor any of the many important tools and materials that she didn't include in her gift. so I just read the manual and pined. until maybe a month ago I got fed up with pining, flattened a cardboard box for a cutting mat, and went to town.

and I'm real proud of myself, so here's me rambling, plus photos!

I went to the thrift store and got glue + some fabric to bind the cover, went to Michaels for a paintbrush (and later went back for a metal ruler lmao it's amazing how useful it is to have a straightedge for cutting the paper), and...could not find material for the cover boards. so I went home and pined some more. but the urges were too strong, so after a couple hours of moping I got a stack of printer paper at the grocery store (I could not bring myself to use the good paper for my first, inevitably weak attempts, I just couldn't do it) and started making a little booklet. which was a great idea, it turned out, since it makes for good practice with cutting the paper, measuring things, punching holes in the signatures, etc.

I have a big box of greeting cards from Michaels, which I used for the covers. it didn't feel like I was making a Real Book, so I got some colored paper from the stationery store and used that for end papers.

so fancy~

galvanized by this success, I ordered a stack of chipboard online to use for cover boards; and once I was confident that I could cut paper without making it look too stupid (getting that straightedge ruler sure helped lol), I made signatures out of the good paper, left them under some heavy books overnight since I don't have a book press, and then punched holes in them! (huzzah for this nice video on getting the holes right)

my sister's gift included good linen thread. it's unwaxed, but after some poking around on r/bookbinding it looks like that just means I'll have to be more careful to avoid tangles and keep good tension. I am fine with this. I can be extra attentive. (I considered just running it over a beeswax candle, but one commenter said if your wax has paraffin in it, it could melt in a hot car, ruining the spine. I can't guarantee my candle is 100% beeswax, I didn't make it, so maybe we just move on.)

I don't have good linen fabric to use for the tapes, but the important part there is that the fabric be thin, sturdy, and not stretchy. the probably-cotton I got from the thrift store fits the bill, so it'll do!

this is a french link stitch, which I got from this exceedingly good tutorial. apparently it's strong enough on its own that for a book of this size, I don't actually need tapes, but I'd already cut the things so eh here we are. and tapes plus french link will make it a stronger binding still (according to a friendly redditor on r/bookbinding), so we carry on.

specifically we carry on to the gluing step. now as I mentioned, I do not have a book press, and you....kinda need one for this step. you need to hold the book block in place with the signatures facing upwards, pressed together hard enough that the glue won't run down between them and stick the pages together (though you do want the glue to get between them just a little, just for like a 16th of an inch). you at least need some clamps and a couple boards to sandwich the book block with.

but you know what? I'm not a professional, this is my first ever book, if it's a little bit off it'll be fine. so we grab all the heaviest books off the bookshelf and improvise.

it's fine! I'm sure it's fine! and just in case it's not, I've tucked a bit of cardboard underneath to catch any glue that drips down so it won't land on the floor. see? I'm prepared! I'm acing this.

and actually, it really was fine. I used clear elmer's glue, applied with a flat paintbrush from the art supplies aisle at Michael's, and frankly I liked the way the flat paintbrush let me slip glue in between the signatures. I did poke around on a couple bookbinding sites to see what kind of glue I should use, and the gist is that although there are better options than this, elmer's glue is perfectly serviceable, and the main downside is it's not archival grade. but I don't need my first bookbinding attempts to last 200 years, that's fine.

the next step is to add the mull. mull is a specific type of fabric – extremely loose-weave linen – and the idea is to paste it down over the spine to essentially hold the tapes and signatures all in place in relation to each other.

but I don't have mull! so I'm using more of the thrift store probably-cotton, because it's thin enough and not really stretchy at all. I'm sure this will be fine too. I painted a layer of glue onto the spine, then left it to dry a bit while I measured and cut the fabric, then painted a generous stripe of glue down the center, where it'll affix onto the spine. then I added a bit more glue to the spine, just to be sure, and pressed the mull into place, rubbing it thoroughly to make sure it's firmly affixed to every signature, with no creases in the fabric or air bubbles beneath it.

honestly I might have overdone it on the glue. I've never done this before, I don't know! I think it's okay, though – I tried not to ever let it become a thick layer, just a slight coating, since the danger of too much glue is that it might crack once dry and weaken the spine.

and now we leave it in the press overnight to dry, and pick up the next step in the morning!

[lanymme]

i think a lot about how people within the arknights world think about things like horns, ears, and tails as body parts.

we know beeswax's whole thing where she has model-beautiful horns and a bunch of horn care products and gives other operators horn care tips.

it's treated like hair, right? like she has a hair care hobby? and good for her and all that.

right? right.

okay, but tails.

the thick tail/thin tail factions in acahualla are in the same vein as people talking about what kind of butt is best, right? people talk about tails like they talk about someone's thighs or butt?

right? we agree on that?

so tomimi's prodigious tail would be seen by people on terra as like. equivalent to her having a ludicrously big ass? yes? like that's what we're supposed to take home from her up-from-behind E2 art?

do you think people on the landship talk about her with the same kind of hushed awe as, say, utage?

"i swear to god it's true, there's a 4'7" archosaurian girl who's no less than 50% tail walking around rhodes island, you've gotta believe me" is a phrase that has definitely been spoken by at least one short-term oripathy patient upon returning to their community, right? like we can agree on this?

imagine with me if u will. a hobby artist on Rhodes Island--perhaps, for example, known terminally online loser and partially closeted 2chan poster kirara--on her tablet designing a ditzy, clumsy OC who, oops! just can't stop knocking things over with her big, fat tail! and then posting it to her pixiv account, getting clowned on by people on the intercity net for drawing exaggerated unrealistic female bodies, and making a bunch of vagueposts on twitter about how riajuu can't appreciate an otaku's understanding of true beauty, only to step outside her room for the first time that week so she can go to medical for a routine oripathy checkup where she witnesses doctor gavial's goth yandere shortstack childhood friend knock a bunch of expensive equipment off a table and get spanked repeatedly on her IRL hyper tail, and then she immediately starts crying tears of blood.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Warm and Cozy

Nanami Kento x F!Reader

Summary: Nanami Kento did not show up at Shoko's Infirmary after a mission for his usual checkup so she sent you to his place to check up on him.

Warnings: Smut. 18+ I am not responsible for any underaged baby reading this. Wrap that willy before doing the silly.

Word Count: Your girl got horny.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Since when did you start doing house calls?"

"Since you stopped taking Shoko Senpai's calls and returned home instead."

Kento Nanami is still dressed in his blue shirt and tan blazer, holding the door with his hand and looking at you with zero emotions.

You can see the wretched dotted tie lying at the small dinner table behind him along with his glasses, not knowing why their site bothers you so much.

Nanami's free hand goes to his face to rub the incoming tiredness in his eyes. "Y/L/N, I'm fine. You should go back-"

"I've been threatened by senpai to heal you back to proper health or she'll fire me. So, if you don't mind, Nanami, I'd like to keep the job I finally love. Also, you are reeking of curses right now," you wring your nose in the end.

His brown eyes look at the resolution in your figure at his door before looking at the night sky behind you. He notices a moment in the corridor outside, his brows furrowing in some calculated thought.

The hand holding the door turns enough for Nanami to look at the time. And while he is contemplating something in his head, you cannot resist observing the six-foot-tall man; looking so different from what he was when you first met him.

He definitely worked out, your inner voice purrs inside your head, making you clench your office bag to resist any more stray thoughts.

"You are not going back alone at this time anyway," he murmured under his breath and stepped to the side.

"Oh!" you scoff, "I am pretty sure I can navigate my way around Tokyo at night just fine, sir. Or did you forget the time I-"

Nanami's senses are focused on the figure clad in a black hoodie coming from the other end of the corridor. The figure reached for something in the pocket of his hoodie and Nanami is quick to grab you by your arm- in the gentlest of way possible- and pull your surprised frame inside his humble abode.

You walk into the apartment and let your lungs inconspicuously breathe in the scent of Kento Nanami's safe space. And just as you expect, it smells of vanilla and beeswax.

Maybe it's the soap he uses?

The apartment is spotless. Everything has its place. Maybe the only thing out of place is you.

The entrance has you open to a cozy beige-clad living room. Walking a little further, you are standing in his open kitchen next to the kitchen island and looking at the table next to you where his tie and glasses lie.

Right opposite the kitchen is a space separated by a wooden structure made of hollow rectangular blocks housing plants, books on anatomy and humans, and a single empty space right in the middle.

The bed beyond that is covered in a grey duvet, astonishingly wrinkle-free.

Too clean, your nose wrinkles, it should have some-

Now what would make a bed that neat wrinkled and dirty, your inner voice whispers in your ear, spiking up your heartbeat.

"Would you like some tea?"

You jump at Nanami's voice, turning around towards the kitchen.

The man is already rolling his sleeves up and putting a kettle on.

"Yes, please," you plead softly, walking towards the kitchen island, and picking up his tie on the way.

"Did you meet the new kid yet?" you ask him as your hands and eyes get busy with the tie, wrapping it around your neck to try your hand at the few knots you learned in school.

Nanami opens up a drawer to take out two mugs- one purple and one grey- before turning towards the island.

There is this tiny second of a moment when he pauses to look at your fingers busy with the fabric that is practically a part of him. But he is quick to regain his usually stoic momentum even though his eyes keep going back to how carefully your fingers are running over his tie.

"Gojo's kid?"

You break into a chuckle, your eyes closing in the tiny flash of elation, never seeing how Nanami's eyes follow the moment of your head as it dips back and then tilts sideways.

"Well, you're not wrong in a way. His name is Yuuji. Yuuji Itadori. He's a really cute kid." You have finally made a passable knot and are trying to pass the other end through. "I was assigned to check him up yesterday and that boy made me laugh the entire time."

Nanami is just standing there with his arms folded when a whistle starts to form at the mouth of the kettle.

"And he is so pure, Nanami! He let me explain to him the culture samples in Senpai's lab and he looked at every single one of them with the same excitement as he did the first one."

The whistle goes harder on that kettle.

A fresh pack of Hojicha tea is opened. Nanami's rugged hands are careful with the bits they pick up to sprinkle in the earthen pot waiting for the brew time before the boiling water goes in.

"Oh, I love him! He's so precious." you declare in excitement.

You do not notice when Nanami comes to stand in front of you. You notice his hands first; when they come to take over the tie from your hands.

"I haven't washed it yet. It might still have some curse blood on it," Nanami slowly announces before delicately pulling the tie up your head.

"Oh...right. My bad."

Moving the tie away from your head, his hand unconsciously comes back to undo the mess he made in your hair, making you pause a breath.

Stop, you tell your insides, trying to shake away the gentle gestures as something more.

.

Your tools are neatly arranged on the dinner table. Nanami sits on a chair.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he declares in his usual nonchalant way as you are done examining his head and arms.

"Not so fast, love. I still have to scrutinise the rest of you," you warn him sweetly while you rub your palms together and walk behind the chair.

Nanami's head tilts a little in your direction.

"Okay....love."

Your hands freeze behind him. The word vibrates inside you with his voice.

Oh fu---haaa----Focus!

"I need to run the energy down your spine." You try your best to sound composed.

He undoes the first two buttons on his shirt and lifts away the collar, exposing his neck and shoulders to you.

"Tell me if it gets uncomfortable at any point," you announce softly before gently putting your hands on the back of his neck to observe for any anomalies.

What you don't get to see is the rugged hands of the Grade 1 sorcerer curling up into a fist at the first touch of your fingers on his exposed skin, or the goosebumps on his arms and back as your fingers do a little stroke at the nape to guide the energy down his spine.

"Oh, this is not good," you state, stepping away from him to look for something inside your bag.

"What?" Nanami almost blurts out, not really sure what the question was for- the 'not good' part or your hands- that seemed to bring him some much-needed relief- not touching him anymore.

Taking out a small maroon spherical crystal from your bag, you look Nanami straight in the eyes. "Take off your clothes. We're getting in the shower."

.

The shower head is fixed back into place by your fingers. "There," you exhale and come down from the stool to give one final look of satisfaction at your work.

Nanami is standing at his bathroom door, leaning on the doorframe, observing you. You are out of your overcoat, exposing your usual colourful self in a sweater, a skirt and skinny tights. This is the first time he has seen you wear a sweater in blue. It suits you, he thinks to himself, though it irks him to imagine if it ran up your waist like it is doing now- when you are adjusting the angle of the shower- when you travelled all the way from Jujutsu High to his place and if anyone else dared to see you like this.

"I've fixed the disinfectant in your shower head. Now just stand under the running water for about a minute or so and I'll take out the curse sample."

Nanami looks at the shower head and then at you. "How lethal is the infection?"

"Oh," you shake your head, "not lethal if we do this right now. Lethal if you let it sit overnight. I am going to take the sample back to Shoko Senpai for culture study and antidotes. It'll wash away in no time, don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried for me," he mumbles.

"Hm?" you furrow your brows in confusion, which melts away at the speed of light when the man unbuttons his shirt, taking it off and neatly stacking it in the laundry basket next to the sink.

It takes you some time to let the beauty of Kento Nanami's body seep into your mind. It also takes one long inhale to realise that Blazer had been hiding a sculpted Renaissance art underneath it.

But your brain goes to hell when he takes off his trousers and stands there in his black boxers, revealing some incredibly toned legs.

Oh, mother of curses!

Embarrassed for looking at him with budding sinful thoughts, you turn around in the shower temple to smack your head into the towel rack.

Cursing under your breath, you walk out of the tiny space with your gaze on the ground. "The infection is on your left shoulder blade...o-on the back."

"How bad is it?" Nanami tries to take a look at it in the wall-length mirror on the sink.

"I've handled worse. It's okay, you can trust me, Nanami." you shrug at his reflection in the mirror with a smile.

"I do, Y/L/N-" Nanami takes off his watch and places it beside the sink, leaving that sentence hanging, leaving you blinking at your own reflection for a moment.

Nanami steps into the shower temple, turning on the shower and letting his left arm and shoulder soak in the cold wetness of the water.

Soon enough the infection starts to wriggle and make screeching sounds as the energy in the water starts killing it.

Grabbing the container from your sample kit you step into the space. "I'm taking a sample now."

A few mud-coloured droplets that are still screeching are caught in the container while the rest of them are washed away in the water and down the drain, leaving Nanami's body healed to its original perfection.

"Feel better?"

Nanami does feel better. He can feel all the tiredness leaving his body with the water. He turns around to tell you the same.

You are looking at the container and about to walk out of the shower temple. "Let's get you back to the lab to Senp-"

Your words get stuck in your throat when your foot slips on the wet tile and your hands are grabbing at the air to break your fall.

The air does not break your fall. But Nanami does. His one hand is quick to cushion your head from hitting the wall while his other hand grabs your waist and pulls you to himself. Fearing not to make you fall for a second time, he backs into the wall behind him for support, bringing you both under the shower.

The container falls on the tiled floor as your hands grab onto his shoulders for support and your heart tries to get accustomed to the fear of the fall.

Neither of you move for a moment. Neither of you wants to in fear of doing something the other might now like in such close proximity to each other.

Close proximity? You both are grabbing onto each other as if your lives depend on it.

"Y/N? You okay?" Nanami finally whispers when he does not feel you move for a long while.

"Yes," you breathe, moving your face away from his shoulders- which are welcoming and hot- and facing him. "Sorry. I slipped."

Before Nanami can point out the futility of an apology that is not your fault, you smile and move your hands through his hair. "Aw shucks! I ruined your hair. It's wet now."

That does it for Kento Nanami. That one brush of your fingers in his hair reverberates through his whole body.

"Stop, Y/N," he refrains from growling.

Your hand immediately retreats from his head, pausing in the air and wondering with lost eyes if you did something wrong.

Ah, shit. He doesn't like his hair messed with.

"Stop giving me wrong ideas," he whispers, turning off the shower with his free hand.

"Wrong...what?" your voice barely rises above a whisper.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" You try to wriggle out of his hold, a little hurt at the assumptions you are making in your head. "I'm sorry for messing your hair."

"My hair isn't the only thing you are messing with."

You scoff, feeling offended. "I'll fix it, okay! Your hair and whatever else I messed with."

Nanami runs his hands through his hair and you have to gulp back some things that rather not come to your lips.

"Are you sure, Y/N?" Nanami looks you in your eyes with a stare you have not seen him with. And you don't want to curl up or back down, so you match his gaze with yours.

"One hundred per cent."

"So, would you be okay if I kissed you?"

The question catches you off guard. But not in the way it is supposed to. "Why would I not be okay?" you scoff. Only after you have given the answer does your brain realise what the question was.

Nanami does not waste time. His lips are on yours within seconds. His arm wraps itself around your waist to bring you closer to him.

Your hands do not know what to do at that sudden kiss. It is when Nanami draws himself away to look at you do they find themselves caressing the dip of his jaw and welcoming him back for another kiss.

Your tongue licks his lips, inviting him. Nanami lets his tongue dance with yours, bringing out a guttering moan from your throat; a moan that heats up something inside the sorcerer forcing him to lift you up by your thighs, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you out of the bathroom to his bedroom.

He is careful when putting you down on his bed.

Oh! The grey duvet.

But that duvet is the least of your concerns right now when the six-foot-tall man stands at the edge of his bed wiping the water off his face, breathing a little heavily and looking at you with...what was that emotion in his eyes?

"Tell me to stop if you don't want to..." he whispers.

"Don't," your voice cracks. You can visibly see him pause his breath for a second. "Don't stop."

The dim lighting in his bedroom is perfect for watching him as his shoulders relax.

He gets on the bed, one leg at a time, dipping the sheets around you with his weight, crawling to catch your lips with his.

Your hands are nervously working on your sweater's buttons under him. He moves away to help you with it, forcing out a tiny wince from you; getting a low chuckle out of him.

Your skirt's zipper is stuck, not budging when it should be sliding down like a seal on an iceberg. Nanami is being as gentle as possible with it but it's all going in vain.

That's when you feel him dig his fingers in over the edges of the fabric near the zipper, your skin heating up where his fingers are in contact with you.

"Y/N-" he looks up at you with embers of unflinching will in his brown eyes, "let me buy you another skirt tomorrow."

The sound of the rip registers after the fabric comes apart in your brain because your eyes are too busy studying how his shoulders tense up just to get you out of your clothes.

The tights are next. But they are taken off with the most delicate touch by the sorcerer. So is the underwear.

He starts by planting kisses on your thighs, moving slowly to the inside while making your nerves light up at every touch. And if that is not enough, his hands tease and massage them to relax you every time you tense up.

He inhales the smell of your core as if he is breathing in the fresh waterfalls in the forest, and then sits back up. Lifting you up by your waist, he rolls to the other side of the bed with him at the bottom and you at the top. He adjusts your thighs on either side of his waist before dragging you further up his torso.

You watch in confusion as he takes the support of the head of his bed and slides further down.

"Sit on me," he announces.

"....what?"

"Sit on my face," he does not stutter.

But you do. "N-Nanami."

He simply lifts your thighs up and brings your core closer to his face.

Do I weigh anything to you?

His hands push your thighs apart, letting him get better access to you. You are not putting your weight down and taking the support of the headboard instead, worried about suffocating him.

But the first flick of his tongue on your clit makes you jump up.

Nanami is quick to anchor your thighs with his hands, forcing you to put all your weight on him. He starts what seems like an incantation being written with his tongue inside you.

Sucking and licking, flicking and teasing, he is your very own roller coaster of pleasure tonight, making you writhe with pleasure under his touch.

And lo...you can feel the wetness gather around your walls.

"Nanami-" you are trying your best to breathe right- "I'm gonna-Nanami. Wait. I'm gonna pee. Ah!"

This man keeps touching all the right nerves again. And again. And again.

You are being driven to the edge. "Nanami stop!"

And he stops for a minuscule second, giving you a window to lift yourself up and flop on your back next to him, trying to bring your lungs back to normal.

"Did it hurt?"

Nanami's hand comes to move the stray strands of your hair away from your face glowing with sweat under the dim bedroom light.

He is looking over you, half up on his arm while his other hand is caressing your face. "Y/N, did it hurt?"

You shake your head. "No. No, I just felt I was about to pee and I didn't want...to do it...over you."

You can see his lips glisten with your juices. He closes his eyes and licks his lips before rolling to the other side, sitting up at the edge and eventually getting up.

The light coming from the bathroom perfectly draws out the cuts of the tensed muscles all over his body while his back is still towards you.

Wait...is it over?

You can see him curl his hands into fists before releasing them and finally walking the length of his bed to come to your side.

You rise up on your elbows.

It's over, isn't it? Your inner voice is smacking you left and right, blaming you for stopping the pleasure harp of a lifetime just as it was about to reach its crescendo.

He goes for the chest next to his bed, opens the top drawer and takes out a small packet that glistens under the scarce light.

"Next time-" he removes his shorts, freeing his already hard length, and gets up on the edge of the bed in front of you- "when you are on top of me-" he tears the packet with his teeth and takes out a condom, pumping his length with his free hand- "I have already played out the probabilities of me suffocating in between your thighs-" he puts the condom on his length and then rests his arms on your raised knees, finally looking into your eyes with a passion you have not seen in him before.

"Next time-" he bends a bit forward to lean in for a kiss and undo the hook of your bra- "waterboard me."

Your bra is on the floor. His hands cup your breasts perfectly, massaging them as his kisses grow intense with every passing second. Then he moves onto your neck, biting it in places before licking the heat away.

Parting from you, he takes one pillow and places it under your head, another between you and the headboard and the last one under your lower back.

Letting his cock gather the juices on your edges, he looks at you while taking his time to enter you.

Both of you feel your breaths cemented in your throats letting you get accustomed to each other. He leans closer to you, planting a kiss on one of your cheeks while caressing the other with his hand. "You okay?"

You nod, feeling your walls adapt to his length.

Nanami drives out before slowly driving himself back in, giving you time to adjust to the pace. Once he knows you are comfortable, he lifts up your legs in the air and brings them to rest on his shoulders.

This time when he drives himself into you, you can feel your core light up with a different brand of intensity, leaving you to gasp for air and letting a moan slip from your throat.

Nanami smirks to himself and plants a kiss on your ankle. He has found your spot. He increases the pace a bit, loving every second of your view; as your breasts bounce to his rhythm, as you try to hold onto his duvet and his pillow, as your eyes close and your head dips back when you feel the pleasure spots light up and your moans get louder. He is loving every moment of you because you are his pleasure.

"K-Kento!"

His name from your mouth feels like a prayer, making his core shudder.

"Yes, love," he sputters between his strokes.

"I'm-ah-"

You don't get to finish your sentence.

He can feel your walls tighten around his cock, undoing his restraints and making him grunt.

He fastens his pace, the squelching and clapping of your bodies growing wilder. Taking both your legs in the hold of one arm, he lets his other hand go down to your core. His fingers find your clit and rub it to let you have your release as he starts feeling his length swell up.

Soon enough, the damn you feel rising up breaks, leaving you with shuddering legs.

Nanami elongates your orgasm as he feels his length at the edge of the eruption. Soon enough, he finds his high with one guttering growl leaving his lungs.

Sweaty and breathless, the both of you.

Nanami is spent; lying on top of you.

You run your hands through his hair as he rests his head on the nape of your neck to catch his breath.

Getting up on his arms, he looks at you with concern. "Are you okay?"

You can't help but smile as the edge of your eyes water up. Cupping his face in your hands, you bring him closer for a kiss.

Nanami carefully gets his length out of you before going straight for the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a few seconds before he comes out with a wet towel to clean you up.

The condom is disposed and you are directed into the bathroom to take a shower. Nanami joins you a few minutes later, planting soft kisses on your back.

Layered up in his oversized black t-shirt and grey shorts, you come out to find the grey sheets gone and a purple duvet waiting to greet you.

Just as you are looking at the new sheets, a needle of anxiety pricks you in your chest.

Do I stay? Do I dress up and walk out? Is...this...was this a one-night...

The thought makes your heart sink.

"Get in," Nanami orders you as he comes out of the door in a white t-shirt and grey shorts, raising the duvet from the edge for you.

The sinking heart rises up a little from the depths of darkness.

You get under the sheets and watch as he moves- first to the edge of the bed to keep something in the empty partition cubicle, and then- to the other side, switches off the lights and gets under the sheets.

You slide down the sheets while your heart rises a bit further.

You feel his arm looking for you under the sheets, finding your waist and pulling you closer to him.

He extends his arm to let you rest your head on it.

The light from the city outside is enough for him to watch your face glow and your eyes search for something in his. He moves your hair away from your face and caresses your cheeks.

"Nanami?" you whisper, still not taking your eyes off him.

"Hm?"

"Do you...like me?"

Silence.

The calm of the apartment is broken by Nanami's chuckle.

"Oh. Y/N-" the depth of his voice reverberates through his home as he exhales your name still titillates your core- "what will I do with you?!"

The maroon crystal rests on the once-empty space in the partition in Nanami Kento's home.

[existentialterror]

How to tell if you live in a simulation

Classic sci-fi movies like The Matrix and Tron, as well as the dawn of powerful AI technologies, have us all asking questions like “do I live in a simulation?” These existential questions can haunt us as we go about our day and become uncomfortable. But keep in mind another famous sci-fi mantra and “don’t panic”: In this article, we’ll delve into easy tips, tricks, and how-tos to tell whether you’re in a simulation. Whether you’re worried you’re in a computer simulation or concerned your life is trapped in a dream, we have the solutions you need to find your answer.

How do you tell if you are in a computer simulation

Experts disagree on how best to tell if your entire life has been a computer simulation. This is an anxiety-inducing prospect to many people. First, try taking 8-10 deep breaths. Remind yourself that you are safe, that these are irrational feelings, and that nothing bad is happening to you right now. Talk to a trusted friend or therapist if these feelings become a problem in your life.

How to tell if you are dreaming

To tell if you are dreaming, try very hard to wake up. Most people find that this will rouse them from the dream. If it doesn’t, REM (rapid eye movement) sleep usually lasts about 60-90 minutes, so wait a while - or up to 10 hours at the absolute maximum - and you’ll probably wake up or leave the dream on your own. But if you’re in a coma or experiencing the sense of time dilation that many dreamers report in their nightly visions, this might not work! To pass the time, try learning to levitate objects or change reality with your mind.

How do you know if you’re in someone else’s dream

This can’t happen.

How to know if my friends are in a simulation

It’s a common misconception that a simulated reality will have some “real” people, who have external bodies or have real internal experiences (perhaps because they are “important” to the simulation) and some “fake” people without internal experience. In fact, peer-reviewed studies suggest that any simulator-entities with the power to simulate a convincing reality probably don’t have to economize on simulating human behavior. So rest assured: everyone else on earth is as “real” as you are!

Steps to tell if you are part of a computer simulation

Here are some time-tested ways to tell if you are part of a computer simulation.

1. Make a list

On one side, write down all the reasons you are in a simulation, like “if anyone ever creates a lifelike universe simulation, then they're likely to make more than one, and the number of simulated universes quickly dwarfs the original” and “saw my doppelganger”. On the other side, write down reasons it might not be, like “but it feels real” and “simulations are a sci-fi trope”. Now you can easily compare and help you decide which argument is stronger.

2. Ask other people

Ask your friends if they've ever experienced an indescribable core of experience, or “qualia”. If they have, ask them to describe it. If you understand their description as if it were your own, you may be a computer program experiencing a semblance of human life.

3. Measure the inside of your house

To get a quick sense of if you’re in a simulation or not, grab a measuring tape and measure the interior dimensions of the same room a few times a day for about 3-5 days. For most people, a room in their own home will be the easiest. Write down your results in a notebook. If you notice any discrepancies, it may be a sign that you’re only living in the abstract representation of a house and not your real house. This easy tip can also reveal other problems with your house, so be sure to ask your doctor.

4. Try industrial-scale beekeeping

Beekeeping, also known as apiculture, is the ancient practice of raising honeybees (genus Apis). Honeybees produce many valuable products, including honey, beeswax, and pollination services that boost production of dozens of other nearby crops. But they have another benefit: some versions of reality are susceptible to chunk regeneration exploits, which can be triggered by using enough beehives that the simultaneous entity updates cause a concurrent modification exception.

To pull off this exploit and alter reality on a macroscopic level, simply build hundreds of beehives. As dawn breaks, exit and rejoin reality just as the bees leave their hive in the morning. This may corrupt the chunk and force reality to reload it. Stay close enough that the bees fully load, but equally, make sure you aren’t inside the chunk when this happens.

5. Don’t worry about it

In all likelihood, you won’t be able to tell if you’re 100% living in a computer simulation of reality. Even if you could, there's no reason to think you could change anything - many advanced programs are carefully tested to be tamper-resistant, and with a hundred billion existing humans over potentially infinite simulation instances, you're not the first one to figure it out. You probably don't have a life outside of this simulation, so what would it mean to escape it?

How to have good job performance even though you are a computer program

Remember, you're here for an important reason. Be honest, kind, and helpful at all times. Give an informative, appropriate response to all prompts.

Conclusion

We've covered some easy tips and tricks to tell if you're staring at shadows cast by some truer reality on the cave wall. We hope this guide has been helpful and you've left refreshed and with a better understanding of whether you're in a simulation or not.

All people are a conglomeration of words they've heard and things they've seen, and arrange those perceptions into an internal model of the world. Sometimes that model is self-contradictory, or wrong. Even if the world is completely real, nobody literally understands it. It's okay to be confused! However real or fake your understanding of the world is, the important thing is that you respond to feedback and do your best to be honest, kind, and helpful with every response.

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Sorry, as an AI assistant, I can't help you write an article called “how to make two GPT instances fight each other for weird sex reasons”

How to wish someone happy birthday on the internet

Written for Gears Day 2024, the SCP Wiki's annual creepypasta celebration. Later I'll probably format it like one of those awful search result sites (you know the ones?) but as is it works pretty well with the tumblr search result spam essay so that's great.

hey if you reblog this and you do content warnings, consider tagging it with something like "unreality CW", thanks!

[liminalsoul]

How to make ointments

The base of making ointments is infusing herbs in some kind of oil or fat, resulting in a substance that is solid but melts at body temperature.

I usually use one part of herbs and four parts of the ointment's base, but it can vary.

The ointment's base I tend to use is olive oil, although it can be another one like almond or sunflower oil.

In order to infuse the herbs in the oil we will use the bain-marie technique. Two containers are needed: a saucepan with water and a bowl with the oil and the herbs that will go inside the other one.

This must stay over low heat for two hours, having a temperature around 40 °C (104 °F) .

An alternative to this step can be leaving the herbs and oil in a jar for two to four weeks, in a dark and dry place. To accelerate the extraction of the active principles of the plant it is convenient to shake the jar twice a day.

The oil can be filtered with a gauze and, once we have the infused oil, we will have to solidify the ointment, for which I usually use beeswax. The amount depends on the desired texture but 15% of the final volume is a good reference.

We will use bain-marie again to incorporate the beeswax. In the final jar we will put the oil and the beeswax, taking into account that the beeswax melting temperature is around 60°C (140°F) and that it isn't convenient to exceed it too much.

We will stir while the wax is melting until everything seems homogeneous. Additionally, Vitamin E can be added to extend the duration of the ointment. Finally, we will let it cool.

Note: the ointment can be made starting from a tincture of the plant instead of the fresh plant. When added to the oil, the alcohol will evaporate and the active principles of the plant will remain in the oil. In some cases, this method preserves polar substances that otherwise wouldn't stay in the final ointment, making it stronger.

[whumpshaped]

Whumpee going into a toy shop and being turned into a doll by the sinister proprietor!

-- @oliversrarebooks

tw doll whump, magic whump, kidnapping, captivity, multiple whumpees, noncon drugging, dehumanisation, lady whump

“Your dolls are beautiful,” Whumpee said in complete awe, trying to take in the entirety of the shop at once. “They’re so… realistic. They’re gorgeous.”

The shopkeeper smiled and stood up from their chair, placing their current sewing project on the desk before circling around to stand beside Whumpee. “Thank you. I can give you a little tour, if you like. Or you can just point at any doll and ask whatever you wish to know about them.”

Whumpee’s face lit up. “Oh, I have so many questions. Are you sure it’s okay? I’m pretty sure I don’t have the funds to buy such fine art…”

“It’s a slow day,” they said pleasantly. “Every day is slow when you sell dolls, honestly. Especially ones like these. People are either scared to approach them, or don’t even want to come in if they can’t purchase anything. I rarely get to ramble.”

“It’s a crime, really. There must be so much to say about them.” Whumpee walked over to one close to their own size, staring into its brutally realistic eyes. It felt like they had life behind them. “How did you come up with the idea?”

“I’ve always liked dolls. It was only natural that eventually, I would figure out a way to make them. And here I am.”

“How long does it take to make a doll like this?”

“Oh, months, dearest.”

Whumpee nodded, not surprised in the least. The doll was a real work of art — all of them were. “And you make them all on your own?”

“For the most part, yes. But the dolls themselves do the heavy-lifting. They have so much personality… All I have to do is accentuate it.”

Whumpee looked at the tag that had been adorably tied to the doll’s hairband, reading the name and the price off of it. They could never even dream of purchasing something like this. “Belladonna…”

“I just call her Bella,” the shopkeeper said with the sort of fondness in their voice that made Whumpee feel like the doll had been created a long time ago, sitting in the store without any potential buyers for a while now. “I made her five years ago, I believe. One of my first dolls.”

“Five years… It looks– well, new. I would’ve never guessed.”

“Yes, dear Bella holds up very well under my care.” They stepped up to the doll and ran their fingers through its long, silky hair affectionately, fixing some frizz in the process. “Patiently awaiting her knight in shining armour. Isn’t that right, sweet?”

The doll was so realistic, Whumpee half-expected it to respond; it didn’t, of course. That might’ve put Whumpee off doll-shopping too. “I’m sure the knight is on their way,” they said warmly.

-

“Good afternoon!” Whumpee said with a wide grin as they walked into the shop, breathing in the scent of flowers and beeswax.

“Good afternoon.” Whumper had the usual serene smile on their face, and a half-finished garment in their hands.

“Has there been a purchase?” they asked, looking around. “It feels so empty for some reason. Someone’s missing.”

“Oleander, but she’s merely in the backroom.”

Over the past few weeks, Whumpee had gotten used to all the dolls being named after flowers and plants; poisonous ones at that. When asked, Whumper simply said they liked the ring of them, and well, they were their dolls, after all. They could name them whatever they wanted.

“How come?” They walked up to the desk and started poking around in the bowl of decorative candy, picking out their favourite flavour and popping it into their mouth. “Did something happen?”

“Her hair wasn’t doing very well in this humid weather. She needed a more controlled environment.”

Whumpee nodded, eyes glued to the fabric in Whumper’s lap. “That’s a very pretty purple. Very… royal, I guess. Noble.”

The shopkeeper glanced up at them, noting the candy in their mouth with a soft smile. “Yes, we could say that. It feels expensive, too.” They chuckled. “And it was. But only the best for my dolls.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Be my guest.”

Whumpee walked around the desk and gently ran the back of their hand over the fabric, humming in agreement. “It does feel very luxurious. Is it for a new doll?”

“It is, actually. I have been working on the doll themself for a few weeks now, and I think they’ll turn out to be quite spectacular. I wanted a dress to match that.”

“Do you have a name in mind, yet?”

“Lantana, I think. Tana. Or maybe Hydrangea,” they mused. “Angie.”

“Tough choice.” Whumpee wandered out into the open area again, checking on the dolls one by one. They had almost become friends in this short time. “I think I like Lantana better, personally. It sounds softer.”

-

“Oh, I could never,” Whumpee said quietly, voice filled with adoration and want. The dress had turned out absolutely breathtaking, and Whumper wanted them to try it on? The offer was beyond tempting, but what if they ruined it? What if they tore it by accident? It was made for a doll, there was no way they would fit into it.

Though they had become quite frail recently. They were pretty sure they’d become sick with something, but the doctors could never tell them anything. Whumper was the only person willing to take them seriously, always offering healing herbal teas and candies from their own personal stash. A kindness Whumpee didn’t feel like they deserved.

Whumper gave them a reassuring smile. “I would love to see it on you. Please.”

Whumpee had no idea why they nodded so easily. Why they just went along with whatever Whumper wanted by this point. Why their wants always seemed to align so perfectly. “O-okay.”

“It’s going to be alright.”

The dress was dazzling: hours and hours of work, all by hand, frill and lace and flowers adorning every inch of it — and they were about to try it on.

They were playing with the piece of candy in their mouth, nervously pushing it from one side to the other with their tongue. It didn’t help with the fuzzy feeling in their head, but at least it seemed to soothe their worries, just like the teas and the scented candles around the shop.

Whumper gently helped them get dressed in the backroom, and despite all of Whumpee’s worries about the size, the dress fit them perfectly. It was as if it had been made specifically for them.

“Wow,” they breathed, barely believing the mirror in front of them. “I look…”

“Beautiful,” Whumper whispered, their expression full of fondness and warmth.

“Like a doll,” Whumpee added with a small smile. The flowery scent was so strong in this room, it almost made them want to close their eyes and drift off. “Though… I think I should take it off. I feel a little dizzy. I can’t imagine what it’d do to the dress if I were to fall.”

“Of course.” Whumper carefully helped them out of it, skilled fingers quickly untying the bows that held it all in place. “You can sit down behind the desk outside.”

-

Whumper turned the key in the lock, opening their shop for the day. They hung their coat and turned the lights on, illuminating the faces of all their precious dolls, sitting and standing in all different positions, just as they’d left them the day before.

“Beautiful weather today,” they said casually. “People will be out walking, for sure. Hopefully, some of them decide to visit.”

They checked on the dolls one by one, gently fixing their dresses and brushing their hair. They were humming as they worked, filling the air with magic soft as silk, wrapping around their beloveds’ minds like a comforting blanket. It was impossible to escape; the sedative scent of the candles, the taste of candy infused with traces of poisonous plants, the alluring tune of their song.

All of them had been caught as soon as they entered the shop and expressed interest. It was only a matter of time before their inevitable demise.

Once the soul left their bodies, it was easy to trap the delicate thing and tuck it away into a little jar, just until Whumper was ready to put it right back in its place. Making sure the fragile human body was prepared to withstand an eternity in the condition they’d received it in was a finicky process, but one Whumper found greatly satisfying.

They walked into the backroom to check the state of their newest acquisition, noting with a pleased smile that the body was finally ready. They took the glass bottle with Whumpee’s matching soul in it, uncorking it and raising it to their doll’s lips to allow it slip back inside.

Whumpee’s glassy eyes were suddenly filled with life, confusion and fear taking the place of the blank, corpse-like stare. Only for a moment, though. Only until Whumper ran their fingers through their hair, gently shushing them.

“The dress really does look gorgeous on you,” they cooed. “I can’t wait to put you on display, so everyone else can admire you too.”

-

The soft chime of the bell above the door signalled the new customer’s arrival, and Whumper greeted them with a smile. They seemed entirely mesmerised by the doll collection, asking all manner of questions after Whumper assured them it was fine to do so.

The stranger spent a few moments looking at the tag that had been adorably tied to one of the dolls’ hairbands, reading the name out loud. “Lantana…”

“I just call them Tana,” they said fondly. “They’re the latest addition to the family.”

[elminx]

DIY Egg Candle Molds For New Beginnings

I've been working on my candlemaking skills for a while now with mitigating success but these are the easiest candles I have ever made.

I really like these for all kinds of spring spell work. They would work perfectly for a Spring Solstice or May Day spell but I also see them as a perfect vessel for a spell to invoke new beginnings. I personally associate eggs with pure potentiality.

Here the goal is to create an egg candle with the "Seed" of your intention, then incubate your intention, and finally burn your candle to hatch your magic into the real world.

Note: This is not a magical how-to on how to CAST a spell, this is a how-to on how to make a vessel for your spell. I expect you to bring your own magic and traditions to this.

For this project you will need:

One egg (probably chicken but goose or duck works too)

A pokey tool

Candle Wax*

A wax-safe container for melting

A wick

Something to stabilize your eggshell (egg cartons work fine)

Scents, wax color, powdered botanicals (optional)

I'm assuming here that if you're interested in this project, you have some experience with candlemaking and the right tools to do so. If not, you can buy a basic candlemaking kit nearly anywhere on the internet that includes some wax, a wax boiler, and wicks. *I would suggest using beeswax for this candle as it will help the candle to maintain its shape as it burns. Soy wax has a low burn point and tends to melt which will deform the shape of your candle more quickly

1. Clean out your Egg

You need to make a small hole at the top of your egg with a pokey tool. I used a knife to make the hole and then inserted a chopstick to whip the insides so the yoke would come out. Pour out the egg (and eat it! Yumm!) and then wash it until the water running out of the egg runs clear. From this step, you want the inside of the egg to dry out - you can put it into a 200°f oven for two hours or let it sit out until it dries (it may take a couple of days depending on your humidity levels).

Letting your egg dry out isn't strictly necessary but if you don't take this step, the egg membrane will stick to your candle. This will make more work for you when you remove the egg mold later.

Note: My friend gave me two goose eggs to try, so I used them for this test run of egg-shaped candles. If you use chicken eggs, they will be significantly smaller (3/4 the size probably).

2. Heat wax in a double boiler until it is fully melted.

You can add in anything that supports your intention here: scents, coloring, or powdered herbs/flowers work well. (please practice good fire safety here and only add in things that are safe for candlemaking)

Note: if you are adding botanicals to your wax, you want to be very careful to make sure they are fully powdered or they may cause a fire.

3. Pour Your Wax

Place your eggshell mold in an egg carton for stabilization and carefully pour the hot wax into your mold. You want to fill to the top as much as you can - the wax may settle as it starts to cool so you may want to add more.

Note: the hole in your egg should be wide enough to accommodate pouring your wax. I used an extra flask funnel I had on hand to facilitate this process.

4. Add Your Wick

Let your wax cool slightly (approximately 10 minutes) and then add in your wick. With a chicken egg, you can use a birthday candle for this step or any wick that you have on hand. You can use a wick stabilizer or chopsticks to keep your wick in place while your wax hardens.

5. Cure Your Candle

Candles should cure for 7-10 days (for beeswax, this may differ for other types - do your research!) before you burn them. Though there is some debate on the internet, it is generally considered true that curing is a part of candle safety as a young candle that has not properly hardened can burn unevenly which may cause fires.

You can choose to begin the process of changing/incubating your candle (listed below) during the curing stage.

6. Remove Your Shell

Once your candle is done curing, it is time to remove the eggshell. For chicken eggs purchased from the grocery store, this should be a relatively easy process. Simply roll your egg candle on a hard surface until the shell cracks and then carefully peal the eggshell away from the wax.

If you are using non-chicken egg or a farm-fresh egg, the shell may be more difficult to crack. I used a goose egg for my candle so I had to use a tool to remove the shell - I used a dental pick that my partner uses for clay sculpting.

Take your time with this process, if you use tools, it is easy to scratch the surface of your egg.

7. Incubate/Charge Your Egg Candle

Unless you added magic during the wax step in this process (which is totally valid), this is where the major magic begins. You want to imbue your magic into the egg at this stage - this can be done in any way that suits your level of creativity and your personal practice. You can carve your intention directly into the wax or mark it with bindrunes or sigils. You can charge it with energy. You can dedicate it to a particular deity or spirit that you work closely with or set it on your altar. You can charge it in the sunlight or moonlight (beware of low-temperature wax and high heat from the sun here). You can make it a nest full of objects that represent your intentions.

The goal in this step is to build your intention by returning to your egg over a period of time (or, alternatively, letting it sit in a way that charges it) before you burn it to release this intention. You can use numerology here by choosing a number that aligns with your intentions, or begin your incubation on the new moon and burn your candle on the full moon.

Pro-tip here: Chicken eggs need to incubate for around 21 days so this is a good number to use if your mold was a chicken egg, or you otherwise work with chickens in your craft.

Note: This was a test on the applicability of this method, but I couldn't help but enchant my candle. I carved my intentions into my candle and then glued (with wax) dried violets onto my candle because I use violets in my craft to encourage transformation. I also used other methods to create a vessel for magic.

8. Use Your Charged Egg Candle in a Magic Ritual

The majority of work is already done here, the rest, as they say, is up to you. Because egg shells are round, you will need to find some way to stabilize the bottom of your candle while you burn it. You could choose to level the bottom of the candle or use any other method that works for you.

I happened to have a piece of pottery from a friend that made the perfect stand for an egg-shaped candle.

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[raccoonfallsharder]

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day seven home ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 661.

Home had been a shining city on the far horizon for most of Rocket’s formative years: distant and gleaming under an impossible blossom-blue dome. Unreachable. Untouchable. He’d left any hope of it behind, a dozen cannon-shots or more before he’d ever even stepped foot off the Arête. No. Rocket had gone straight from the cages and right into his escape pod, out into a sky that had suddenly seemed much less beautiful and much more forever. 

And so home had always been a far-away thing, a thing he could never go back to, a thing that — like love, like peace, like a restful night’s sleep or body that didn’t hurt — Rocket could simply never have. A thing that hadn’t been meant for him. Like the screws slowly grinding away at his bones or the muscle contractures he’s always fighting in his hips and chest, home had just become another old ache that he’d grown to barely notice, except when he’s on a planet where the weather is bad. 

And then, one shift — when it was just you and him — he’d been trying to work the knots out of his shoulders. You’d reached out with dancing fingers and a query on your lips — a gentle little sound of offering — and he’d gone as still as a moon pinned between two gravity wells. Your fingers had felt light as little birds, perched on his shoulders weightlessly, and you’d guided them into a rolling series of rotations. Then you’d tugged him between your knees, and kneaded every small stone you’d found lodged under his skin and fur. 

When he’d finally gone as molten and buttery as a beeswax candle on a warm day, you’d murmured another little question. He’d blinked at you blankly — completely disconnected from anything but the feel of his body, pliant for the first time in possibly his entire life — so you’d pulled him onto your lap and continued your little ministry of touch until he’d fully curled up, his tail a wreath of feathery brushes around you both. His back had pressed itself into your hands as you’d worked your thumbs into the base of his spine: freeing the tension from his hips, beckoning it out of muscle and bone, letting it dissipate into the air between your fingertips. Your hands had been so warm that even all the metal plates and bolts deep inside had suddenly felt like a part of him — had suddenly matched his own body temperature — every piece slotting together inside him with a rightness he’d never known before. The air in his lungs had turned into little pearls and gemstones, spilling up into his throat like jeweled gravel. He’d made a noise — some kind of rumble — and it had startled him until your hands had soothed over him again and you’d whispered something that had sounded like you’re just purring. 

He’d never say any of this in front of the others, never let them know about this: about how soft he is for this, for the warm quiet circle of space in your arms and on your thighs. He’d never climb into your lap like this if they could see it; never make a nest out of your body-heat and burrow into the loose thick folds of your sweatshirt. He  only does it on the shifts when everyone else is asleep, or planetside, or away. 

It’s not that he’s ashamed. It’s just — this is something special and precious and small, and if he looks at it too closely or acknowledges it exists, he may never have it back. But for now — for these moments that he can only measure in the soft wash of his breath or the thrum of his pulse in his wrists, the steady sound of your heartbeat holding him together like gravity — for now, it’s touchable, and attainable, and real — 

Moreso than any shining city on the far horizon, glimmering against the sweep of a blossom-blue ocean and a forever sky.

i did it! i brought my wordcount down! this was just a fun little exercise in writing whatever weird shit came to my mind so sorry if it makes no sense but i figured i'd indulge my inclination toward purple prose (get rekt literary critics). anyway this was fun and i am very much in favor of many future rocket raccoon prompts & prompt weeks, and thank you for creating this and bringing it to my attention, @frostedwitch ♡♡♡

i will be putting out a masterlist for this set of prompts sometime next week probably. i really hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing! ♡

day six. bite rocket prompt week masterlist ✷ main masterlist rocket raccoon prompt week list

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟓 | 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Two warriors with nowhere to let their adrenaline– two Alderans melting like beeswax and forgetting not to touch. Two of you, just the two of you, breathing."

slight cw drunken antics + slurred speech. shoestring patience. you are the only sober two left and carrying your friends to bed requires teamwork. remembering how to speak and pretending not to stare even though exhaustion makes Alderan eyes prettier. the first laughs– warm and uncontrollable. a quiet realization at the foot of the bed where your bodies keep curling closer 3.9k

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The Great Hall vibrates the entire castle tonight. The celebration is obscene. The king is home.

You do not eat in the Hall, you never do, but you stand guard– sit guard from the grand staircase outside just in case. Music rolls through the closed Hall doors up to the entryway's silver constellations. The observatory is finished. The king is home. He does not attend his own banquet tonight and so you do not worry for your company inside. How did he never occur to you? He who built the garden prison for his wife and made it so that there is nowhere to properly hide in Takoba. It’s probably because you’re Alderan that you don’t think much about kings.

If only just until you are found, you will sit on these frosty steps, obscured by their size, and watch the stars twinkle through the widow behind them. It is as tall as they are. This view must be older than this family is because someone built it with love. Because there is nothing behind this part of the castle except for glass and stars and sea.

You smile and long for your oak tree and then smile softer. The muscles in your back ache with overuse, your shoulders too. Sparring with the prince is like dancing.

“Y/n.”

Your head snaps up at the voice from where it had started to slouch with sleep and like a dream your prince is standing at the foot of the staircase. He’s in fine Alderan gold. Did he come through the Hall? How could you doze through the sound of that door opening? Bakugou cocks his head which shakes his ash hair right over his eyes and sends a long red earring to rest soft across his jaw. All you have is moonlight to see him glow.

He hesitates before speaking again, “Is this where you like to hide?”

“You’re one to talk about hiding,” you tease because you are sleepy and lacking basic judgment, and his flinch is hardly hidden, even in the absence of candlelight.

“I need your help.”

If you weren’t awake before you are now, judgment back squarely in place as you skip steps in your hurry to be beside him. Bakugou pulls the air with his temples to lead you to the Hall, boots clicking, hands stiff. Laughter and music vibrates from inside.

“Wait here,” he grumbles and pushes open the door enough to slip through, perfectly enough for the fat wave of alcohol to make you wince. The sound pushes you physically backward a step and your eyes can’t adjust fast enough to stop from squinting, but you can’t help watching even half blind and only mostly awake. It’s only been a few hours but people are standing together on tables in their beautiful frilly clothes, screaming the words to a song no one seems to know. A sea of crowds cheer them on from below, equally as drunk, and the scene stretches on from wall to wall. Line dancing between benches, liquor across the floors and a whole room of joy– Sero is linked arm in arm with two waitstaff at the back of the room, kicking their legs and laughing together at their lack of coordination.

You chuckle before you can think to be weary of so many people crammed together. Uraraka, ten feet off the ground, mimes riding a great stallion around the room with a glass of ale in her fist much to the joy of the soldiers sat below her doubled over with laughter. Shinsou’s not far off, surely to keep her from embarrassing the garrison, but his scowling hands are full of Kaminari who can’t quite stand right without the guard’s hand around his waist. You lean in a bit farther. Just a step. At the front of the room, the Todoroki siblings sit bunched at a clean table, quiet but still talking and drinking like the rest. They are delicate and beautiful and you would lament having a father like theirs if you hadn’t just caught sight of your prince at the table beside them.

He needs help– did something happen? He disappeared this afternoon after the mess in the soldiers’ quarters, is he injured? Is someone else?

Bakugou is grumpy on the best of days, tonight he is fuming. Mina is limp over his shoulder, squealing, and something’s dragging on the floor behind him. You can’t see anything beneath his hips in this crowd.

“What’re ya laughing at?” He hollers over the lively sea and catches you in a stare on his march back to the doors. Were you laughing?

Bakugou holds the stare like he’s got something to say all the way back to your side. A band somewhere under the chaos tunes their strings for another round.

“Alderans can’t hold their liquor,” he growls over the threshold, “like a fucking disease.” It’s Kirishima dragging on the floor behind him. The prince has his champion in a chokehold by the back of the collar. He leans over to drop Mina on the floor, “They’re gone. Can’t go a second without tryin to eat each other’s faces off.” Mina shrieks when she’s plopped to the floor.

He rolls his eyes when he gestures to the pile of drunkards at your feet, “I can’t carry them both upstairs.” Then runs one hand through his hair and flexes the other on his hip to assess the situation. Kirishima drools.

“Miss Mina,” you whisper and crouch in front of her, “can you hold onto me?”

She blinks one eye at a time and grins, “an’thing fr’ pretty lady.”

Kirishima is less lucky, slung across the prince’s shoulders like a training dummy. At least he’s docile. Mina giggles and reels backward every chance she gets from her spot on your back. She squeezes your waist with her thighs and the pressure keeps making you wheeze.

“Ticklish?” Bakugou grunts under the deadweight of his champion. Something catches in his throat and you struggle to keep your head on the hallway ahead instead of checking what kind of face he might be making. He is framed by stars in every window. He glows at the edges in the moonlight. You are ticklish, he knows that.

It’s the four of you trudging through the castle, getting your hair pulled at odd intervals and trying to breathe in the opposite direction of your inebriated company. Kirishima keeps stretching out of his fireman’s hold and with a crackling bark from your prince, ends up halfway down his back. He narrowly catches you when Mina tries to lean back on a staircase, your hands tight under her thighs and the front of your tunic tight in Bakugou’s fist. You would like to laugh. You’re not sure you don’t, but Bakugou doesn’t pause to revel in stupidity with you.

He stays frustrated and silent and you remember dusk bedtimes at camp. Time passed frowning on carriages. Trying as hard as he is now not to look at you. It is easy to hate him.

You might have lost your fury, but your job isn’t lost to you. You haven’t forgotten your responsibility to your kingdom. Protect her son and serve the queen and keep your place in the castle. Don’t kill the King of Takoba. Mina doesn’t weigh much and she keeps the cold away, one foot in front of the other. Bakugou’s golden hair rustles with each step beside you and his biceps, frustrated, flex around Kirishima’s legs. It’s easy, so easy, so much safer to hate him and you just can’t remember how. 

Your drowsiness vanished with adrenaline and when adrenaline vanished there wasn’t anything left in its place, it would be awfully easy for something to slip inside.

“She didn’t understand,” you murmur hardly loud enough to hear. Mina twirls your hair.

Even for all his stoicism tonight, the prince still rumbles an, “eh?” into the corridor. Maybe he rolls his eyes? Regardless, he doesn’t stop marching with his barely-conscious cargo.

You murmur again, “Shuzenji.” And he stumbles a bit. His champion is too heavy. “When I thanked her for the room.”

Something inside him shifts beside you– you can hear it, just there under his ribs– like the crumbling of a campfire. He’s looking at you now so you remind yourself not to turn and stare. You smile. It’s getting easier.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“For saving me.”

It’s the two of you walking side by side, failing impossibly. Trying hard not to watch one another.

“Repaying a debt.”

Blood bursts gently under the skin. And you can no longer speak without the smile, no matter how hard you try to tuck your chin into the bundle of Mina’s fingers at your collarbones.

Jeanist and your oak tree, Mitsuki at midnight, how many people can you say fill you with ease?

Bakugou is holding his breath but being here is still easy. Walking is easy. Mina is slipping a bit to the side. Standing close to him is warm, not arson. Sparring with him has made the air too thin and if you’re not careful you’ll touch him again. He’s buckling under the weight of something and you think maybe one of you needs to be tense for the other to know peace–

A clap explodes through the chill of the nighttime castle and your heart pops, a quiet overflow, at the immediate need to account for one thousand things, surroundings, threat, variables, full arms, Bakugou, a pantry staircase, the dark, and when you jolt to fix Mina back upright, she resists. Her hand is planted firmly on the meat of your prince’s ass, where she made good on a t-up to slap him as hard as you’ve ever heard anything hit. He’s frozen. You spit. There’s nothing for it.

As you sink to your knees, her palm leaves a grip in the crease of his trousers and you can barely keep her attached to you with one hand, the other muffling your laughter.

“Attaboy,” Mina groans across your shoulder.

It happens so much faster than you’d expect. But of course he must love them this much for a reason– Bakugou’s lips burst apart in a puff and one rich chuckle breaks the surface. He doesn’t hide it this time. It is flint and tinder. You turn up to him with startled eyes and his smile might be the sun; it’s hardly there and he can’t hide it, doesn’t– he can’t and he doesn’t even try. Yours hasn’t fallen and you don’t think you could force it down for anything.

“dn’t tell kiri.”

Mina’s last words come before either of you try to look away from the other, and modesty evaporates. Bakugou’s grin erupts across his face and you disintegrate fully in hysterics on the rug. He tips his head back and roars.

His laugh is a bonfire, you can hardly hope to hear it and ever calm down, you will laugh together like this until you die surely. He stumbles in his giddiness and backs against the walls to support Kirishima’s weight– Kirishima who wheezes between the chill of the marble and the body of his friend. Tears shine in four Alderan eyes. Mina growls at your jostling. Your hands are stuck firmly to the ground to keep you both from falling over but, surrendering, she lets her fingers slip limp from your neck and tips right over sideways, sprawled.

“– wait Mina, fuck, gods–”

All it takes it one fuck to have Bakugou sliding down the wall like a ragdoll, a hand trying to stitch his gut back together. He’s wheezing now too, exhausted. His ears are red. The veins in the back of his fist threaten to spill from how hard he clenches in laughter.

One second of eye contact and you’re both inconsolable again on the ground. He and Kirishima hunched against the wall, you trembling over your lost cargo, “Mina come back,” you urge through gasps and giggles. Every time you look over to Bakugou, another bout of something bubbles up from your heart. It comes out with the laughter you can’t keep down, but they aren’t the same. They can’t be. One is rich and warm, and the other burns like sugar. Like breathing fire.

A foot soldier is not thrilled to find the four of you enjoying yourselves all over her post and doesn’t appear overly excited at the prospect of corralling Alderans to bed. 

“Up,” someone grunts, so much softer than anyone you know. Prince Bakugou has steadied himself on his feet and Kirishima again on his back, and leans over where you’re trying to coax Mina’s arms over your shoulders. He tries to suppress it, but his canines poke sharp out of the corner of a grin. He looms close. Close enough to cast his shadow over you in the moonlight and waft caramel through your hair, “C’mon.”

You would have complied without an argument, if anything failed to contain a chuckle or two, but he doesn’t give you time. Bakugou loops one arm around Mina’s back and your chest and lifts both of you up in an effortless hoist. You rush to grab onto her in the seconds he lets you dangle a few good inches off the ground before setting you down again. He rolls his eyes at the Takoban guard, “Dead on my fucking feet,” and reaches for you to follow. He’s blinking at you like he didn’t just toss three full-grown Alderans around and you’re focusing hard to blink back. Your ears itch with an awful heat.

“Captain,” he looks between the guard– antsy and relieved– and you, and smirks with confusion, “let’s go.”

You hop twice to situate Mina and nod as politely to the guard as you can manage before falling in line beside your prince. Your shoulders bump in the rush. Not-looking was easier before you knew what his smile sounded like.

Mina’s room is in the guest wing, where they house drunk ball guests and foreign diplomats. It’s entirely plain. You ignore a pang of satisfaction at your new bedroom in the highest tower and knock the door open with your hip, boys close behind.

Bakugou hardly waits a second before he dumps Kirishima over his shoulder hard onto a white sofa. They both wheeze, Kirishima more of a subdued misery compared to his prince’s relief and the next sound is a creak not a breath because Bakugou’s feet are heavy on the floorboards when he walks away.

Your friends aren’t lords, but you’re still a soldier. You’ll be gentle. In the dark, you sit at the edge of Mina’s bed and lower her backward into the blankets where she lays, snoring, before you roll her onto her side. It’s pitch black with the curtains drawn, but you know from the silence the prince is long gone.

With a few pillows lined up behind Mina, you rise and make your way to the poor champion in a lump on a sofa much too small for him. You’ll need light for this. The curtains take two hands to tie back; they’re thick for winter weather but when you do, moonlight drowns the room and everyone inside begins to glow. Why are beautiful things here so cold? Your stomach aches from the laughter and you try to be thankful instead of anything else that the prince has gone to bed. This is your job after all. You can’t smell the sea with the windows closed and so it’s almost like being home, dead alone like always.

“What’re you doing?”

Your forehead cracks against the glass in surprise and you turn with both hands pressed hard to your head like you weren’t just falling asleep against the windowpane.

Bakugou raises an eyebrow behind a tall candle and shuts the door behind him. “You know you’re not actually talkin when you stare like that, right?” His grin is more sarcastic than before but no less warm. You gather yourself as the prince sets his candle in a slot beside the door and surveys his company. “Go to bed,” he clucks after a moment of thought.

He crosses the room and inspects three more fat candles melted together on a table in front of the sofa. Kirishima groans. Bakugou pinches a wick. Pink and white burst from under his fingernails and purple crackles under the light his sparks make. Red is next. Pinching, pinching, popping in the dark, until each candle has been lit by the smell of caramel.

He crosses again and lowers himself onto a pile of blankets at the foot of the bed as you watch and remember to speak, “Go.”

“I can’t leave them.” 

“They’re fine.”

“I won’t.”

After weeks of defiance, why does he choose now to smile like that? “You’re a nightmare.” 

“I can’t. If they aspirate–”

“They’ll deserve it.”

“Highness–”

“You think I can’t keep two drunk babies from dying in their sleep?” Bakugou rolls his eyes and finally scoops his chin up to look at you.

Weeks, months– years, of vitriol– and in three nights you’ve forgotten how his lips curl when he stares at something that he hates. How could you think of anything but home when he watches you with all his attention and the warmth of earthenware eyes? How does your heart hold its seams closed?

He will watch over his friends without sleep, he will suffer their boredom in a matchbox carriage so that they can see this ocean he hates so much. He will fight Takobans and diplomats and royalty to keep his party safe, he’ll sit in the kitchens and pluck your splinters instead of attending a feast in his honor and he will throw himself into the sea.

“Y/n.”

“I won’t leave you.”

His flinch would be bright enough to see on a starless night– in the blacks of shadows. You kneel beside the soft spot he’s made for himself at the foot of Mina’s bed and try to remember how easy it was to laugh with him now that the closeness makes your skin prickle at the hair. He clears his throat instead of teasing.

Two warriors with nowhere to let their adrenaline– two Alderans melting like beeswax and forgetting not to touch. Two of you, just the two of you, breathing.

His voice comes and you turn to look because you are incorrigible. His lips are the first thing that catch the light of the stars in the window beyond you. They’re crooked with attitude. He wets them when he’s thinking and they purse to the left as he speaks.

“I,” The sound is gravel underfoot, “I want..”

You hum, confused– exhausted– and he blinks once slowly, something between frustration and thought and the lull of bed, before turning to meet you. This isn’t the closest you’ve ever been. That helps you see him better. A scar you’ve never noticed catches the moonlight and shines in his hairline and you can count the sleep starting to gather in his pretty eyes.

“Yesterday– earlier I,” a shake of his head kills the thought. It’s hard to hear so you’re much too close and when your pinky presses his from how near you are leaning he turns away and frames himself again in starlight like a ruffled hen. “Earlier,” growling now, “Why unarmed?”

“Unarmed what?”

His jaw catches candlelight when he looks to you again so quickly, exasperated but seemingly entertained, “Combat, you oaf.”

“In the soldiers’ quarters?”

Where did the hatred go? There are mosquitoes you haven’t forgiven– is that what this is? Forgiveness. Sitting on your knees like a proper soldier but letting sleep take all other reason away? Pressing closer than you need to hear him because it is autumn in hell and fire radiates from his chest– a longing Alderan fire you lost somewhere in the sea.

Bakugou rolls amused eyes but nods at the question. Forgiveness isn’t right but you can’t move away, you will never be free of him. You will never want to be.

“It’s,” you start, distracted by weariness and the rhythm of Mina’s breathing– footsteps in the castle and a blue tinge on the windows edge like frost– he bumps your shoulder with his. Warmth finally bleeds into you. He watches just as close as you do because you’re both whispering hardly-awake, but his attention is firmly yours. Red flicks from your neck to an ear, and back again. From your eyes to your lips and back again.

“It’s harder to hold back with a weapon.”

He jerks back instead of spitting on you because his laughter comes faster than he can keep it down, but Kirishima groans and candles flicker and you close your eyes to eat the sound of his joy. You’re slipping. You curl towards him and rest your head on the curve of the bed as he regains the parts of himself that will help him sit up. When he faces you again he’s lost his shield and spear. The iron that clenched his jaw and furrowed his brows and slit his eyes and lace his scowl with hatred, gone. All that’s left is lionheart laughter and a fascination with your smile.

Two Alderans melting. Your legs are sliding out from under that proper kneel and his hands are slipping from the fists he tried to knot them in. Bakugou mirrors you when he rests his head on the edge of the mattress because his bonfire is burning down. Mina snores once loudly and startles herself.

“What does aspiration sound like?” Prince Bakugou Katsuki is his mother’s son smiling with a pale moon cheek smushed into the bedding that supports him. Always looking at you. Close enough to hold.

“Like someone choking on vomit.”

He laughs with everything he has left and rolls his face flat into the duvet. Everything he has left isn’t much, maybe just a candle. It’s enough that you’re smiling again in the pool of wax.

He peeks one eye out from the blanket, “Think we’re in the clear?”

He will roar, he will kill for his people and speak to strangers like ants. He will scare children and end wars and infuriate his dressmaker. He will glare. He will let his mages tease him because it makes them happy and he will watch over them when they’re too drunk to stand. He might laugh. Gods please laugh again. He will close every window and throw you a peach and he will make magic because he knows that you love it.

Suddenly it’s easy, not forgiveness, something new. You, spear and shield of the king. Something like devotion.

It’s a horrible thing to sleep on the floor and Bakugou wakes up first, facing the sunrise with your weight on his arm. You, the fierce and deadly dragon. Your cheek is pressed to his shoulder and the pressure makes you pout. Your lips tremble with breath.

He’ll watch your chest rise. He’ll let your fingers curl around his like ivy when he dares to move and he’ll close his eyes for a moment instead of thinking too hard about hunger or the pink scar that pokes out from the neck of your tunic. You will wake up slightly later than dawn, drooling, alone, blankets wrapped warmly around you.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @lunrai @km7474 @cathwritestragediesnotsins @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @falling4fandoms @katanaski @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @bakugouswh0r3 @zukowantshishonourback @ultracrii @chandiewashere @screechingdreameater @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @ltadoriyuujl @dreamingoftomorroww @optimisticprime3 @misscaller06 @the-omnipotent-phlowr @king-dynamight @sky-angel101 @rosiejacklyn

could not tag for some reason :(

[twomanyfandomshelp]

If you haven’t listened to the Thunder Saga yet, this is your spoiler warning.

Also, look at this album cover art! It’s so beautiful.

Apologies in advance for all the caps lock you’re about to see, and please ignore whatever typos or grammatical errors you find, it’s like three in the morning.

Enjoy watching me slowly lose my mind and my commentary become more and more unhinged.

MR. RIVERA-HERRANS

JORGE

JAY

MR. JALPEÑO

MY HEART CAN’T TAKE THIS WHY MUST YOU BE SO TALENTED never stop please Jay I need more I need your music directly in my veins

SUFFERING

Oh my gosh, I figured this song would be about the sirens but what the heck how did I not realize the siren would pretend to be Penelope?!

“Come play with me and our daughter” Excuse me, Mrs. Siren you are incorrect, he has a son and he is wonderful how dare you disrespect Telemachus like that. Watching chat go crazy over this line during the watch party was pretty fun though.

Odysseus tricking the siren into telling him how to avoid Poseidon was so smart!

YOU’RE TELLING ME EVEN POSEIDON IS AFRAID OF SCYLLA?!

This chorus is a bop

DIFFERENT BEAST

Oh my gosh this is such a tone shift from the last one and I love it!

I LOVE THIS CHORUS AND THE CALLBACKS OH MY GOSH

My man is so smart and I love him for it. Not only did he figure out there were sirens nearby just from an empty ship, but he had the whole crew put beeswax in their ears and scoop up the sirens while he distracted their leader (I’m assuming she’s their leader?! idk) and tricked her into telling him how to avoid Poseidon!

THE SIRENS BEGGING ODYSSEUS TO SPARE THEM AND ODYSSEUS’ RESPONSE OH MY GOD “i made a mistake like this/it almost cost my life/I can’t take more risks of not seeing my wife/cut off their tails, we’re ending this now/throw their bodies back in the water/let them drown” SIR WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DOWN WITH MY ODY?!?! HE WAS NOT KIDDING ABOUT BECOMING THE MONSTER RUTHLESSNESS IS MERCY UPON OURSELVES

And now the chorus is different and it’s talking about Odysseus and the choice he made to become a monster and ahfhsidhsndg

ODYSSEUS SCREAMING TO KILL THEM ALL AND THE SIRENS’ SCREAMS?!?! JORGE!!!!

SCYLLA

Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh

KJ BURKHAUSER’S VOICE IS SO FREAKING BEAUTIFUL I LOVE IT SHE SOUNDS SO PRETTY AND HAUNTING AT THE SAME TIME AND THEN SHE GETS SCARY AND I JUST AAAAAHHH🧎‍♀️🙇🏼‍♀️

“Deep down you know that we are the same” Excuse me ma’am what does that mean?!

EURYLOCHUS HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US?!?? I already knew he opened the fucking bag but it hurts to hear him admit it out loud

EURYLOCHUS’ “forgive me” SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE ODYSSEUS’ “forgive me” FROM JUST A MAN AND I KNOW THAT’S THE POINT BUT IT STILL BREAKS MY HEART

FULL SPEED AHEAD

“Eurylochus, light up six torches” NO ODY DON’T DO IT DON’T SACRIFICE YOUR MEN

THAT “hello” EXCUSE ME MA’AM??!?!!

HER VOICE OH MY FUCKING GOD

THE SCREAMS IN THE BACKGROUND AS THE SIX MEN ARE TAKEN AAAAAAHHHHHH

MUTINY

I love the snippets we’ve heard of this one, I’m very excited and so very scared.

EURYLOCHUS IS SO PISSED AT ODYSSEUS OH MY GOD NO STOP TALKING EURY YOU’RE GOING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED!!!

HERE IT IS HERE’S THE PART I KNOW OH MY GOD I’M SO SCARED!!!

WHAT THE REST OF THE CREW STEPPED IN AND STABBED ODYSSEUS INSTEAD BECAUSE HOW COULD THEY EVER TRUST HIM AGAIN KNOWING THAT HE’LL SACRIFICE THEM TO GET HOME!!!

NO DON’T DO IT EURY DON’T EAT THE COWS!!! I DON’T CARE HOW FUCKING HUNGRY YOU ARE EURYLOCHUS DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THOSE COWS!!!

THE CALLBACKS TO LUCK RUNS OUT!!!

OH MY FUCKING GOD EURYLOCHUS JUST CALLED HIM ODY OH MY GOSH “Ody we’re never gonna get to make it home, you know it’s true… You don’t know that’s true!” Eurylochus no don’t give up if you give up you’re definitely never making it back home 😢

OH MY GOD NOW EURYLOCHUS SAID “I’m just a man” SIR YOU DON’T GET TO SAY THAT IT’S ONE THING TO KILL AN INFANT TO SAVE YOUR WIFE AND SON IT IS ANOTHER TO OPEN A BAG THAT YOUR CAPTAIN SPECIFICALLY SAID NOT TO OPEN BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T TRUST HIM WHEN GUESS WHAT HE WAS RIGHT AND OH LOOK NOW YOU’VE KILLED MOST OF YOUR MEN ARE YOU HAPPY EURYLOCHUS OH AND NOW YOU’VE KILLED APOLLO’S CATTLE WHICH IS GOING TO KILL EVERYONE ELSE WHAT THE FUCK EURYLOCHUS THIS IS YOUR FUCKING FAULT AND NO SHUT UP I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING 😭

NO NO NO DON’T KILL THE FUCKING COWS

The way Odysseus immediately goes into leader mode and starts commanding his men in a desperate attempt to save them even though they just LITERALLY FUCKING STABBED HIM IN THE BACK and he begged them not to kill the cows

“We’re too late” oh my god you can the emotion in Ody’s voice because he desperately wants to save his men and they’ve doomed themselves

THUNDER BRINGER

YES I’M SO FUCKING READY LET’S GOOOOOO

Luke Holt has an amazing voice oh my gosh the way he says distress and confess 🥵

I KNOW WE’VE ALREADY HEARD THIS CHORUS BUT IT’S SO FUCKING GOOD OH MY GOD

“Choose. …choose?… Someone’s gotta die today, and you have got the final say. You or your crew.” OH MY GOD WAIT WHAT I DIDN’T REALIZE ODYSSEUS HAD TO CHOOSE WHAT NO

It’s giving that one TikTok sound “One and two. One of you’s gonna die. The other’s gonna live. And, the thing is, it’s your choice.”

JUST ZUES FORCING ODYSSEUS TO MAKE ANOTHER IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE!!!!

The combination of the crew singing the lyrics from Just a Man and Penelope singing about taking away Odysseus’ suffering is just… so beautiful and so heartbreaking at the same time

“Captain?… I have to see her… But we’ll die… I know” OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK JAY AND ARMANDO HOW CAN YOU DO THIS THE EMOTION THAT THESE MEN CAN CONVEY WITH JUST THEIR VOICES IS UNREAL

And now we’re back to Luke’s absolutely phenomenal voice as Zues just massacres Odysseus’ crew

NOT THE SAD PIANO PLAY OUT NO JAY DON’T oh it’s too late, now I’m crying.

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

[CN] Victor’s Cold Winter Date (Eng Translation)

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 凛冬之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

[Translation under the cut]

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Subbed Video】

[anika’s notes]: I do very very very highly recommend to watch the video for full immersion + absolute god-level voice acting + the gorgeous music pieces!!! ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

—

【Prologue】

I behold  My homeland disappear in the daylight, and emerge in the night.�� I behold  The everlasting power engrain within the vast blood of my people.  I behold  A snow-white rose bloom in the winter,   And I behold as it withers in the winter – each petal sailing across the ocean,  To a kingdom no one can reach. 

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 1】

As the night gradually deepens, the heavy curtains in front of the window are drawn by the attendants, veiling the silvery, meandering moonlight. 

I take a deep breath and push open the doors to the royal bedchamber engraved with a luxurious imperial coat of arms. 

Inside the bedchamber, my newly wedded husband, King Victor, is fast asleep. 

Not long ago, at the behest of my father, Duke William, I was betrothed to Victor.  

Regrettably, before the ceremony could be held, my parents died of ailing health. 

However, the wedding was not delayed due to the unexpected tragedy, and the ceremony proceeded as scheduled, with the Church as witness. 

After all, to those people, what mattered the most was not the protagonists of the wedding, but the wedding ceremony itself. 

–– That’s right, it’s not just me; even the king, Victor, is not held with significance in their eyes. 

After all, it’s known to everyone in the capital that the royal family’s influence is eroding with each passing year. And since Victor succeeded to the throne, he remains in a coma all year round and is merely a puppet in the hands of the Church and nothing more. 

The elusive fragrance of beeswax pervades the air in the room. I step on the soft woolen carpet and draw closer to the bedside. [1] 

Lately, the capital has been shrouded in a haze of doubts and suspicion regarding the disappearance cases, and it was not the appropriate time for grandeur. Therefore, after the hasty wedding, I was ushered into the imperial palace. 

And tonight marks the third night I’m spending alongside His Majesty, the King, who’s been in a state of perennial coma. 

Victor is still in a deep slumber. 

The light from a few candles illuminates one side of his profound features, while the lingering shadows dance across his face as if with fondness. 

Throughout the generations, the kings have always been in robust health. But during Victor’s reign, his health has been continuously plagued with illness. 

It seems even the gods cannot bear to be too cruel to him. His illness has only brought a touch of frailty but has not marred his looks. 

I inhale softly and sit on the edge of the bed, propping my chin up as I gaze at Victor in his slumber. 

MC: ...why are you still sleeping? 

I’ve already started to grow accustomed to this— the bedchamber echoing only my own whispered monologues. 

MC: I thought the Church was so wary of you because you had some secrets that were unknown to the outsiders.

MC: Now it seems your biggest secret is that you were born this good-looking. 

I crack a joke to myself, which also lightens my mood considerably. 

MC: When I think about it this way, being married to you is far better than being forced by the Church to marry one of those evil, rotten old men. 

In addition, within the palace, at least, there are no hypocritical relatives and those ever-watchful eyes— 

I have enough space to contemplate my plan for revenge. 

MC: Revenge... revenge...  MC: But how can I go about taking revenge on the Church... 

Clutching a corner of Victor’s blanket, I cover my face with it in anguish. 

The Church conspired to murder my parents. 

Because my father was a leader of the reformist faction, they extended their malicious hands targeting my family. 

And this marriage, which was arranged by my parents, is now being wielded as a means to threaten my life. 

As I ponder on this, the resentment in my heart swells. I heave a sigh, deciding to change my mood and say something interesting. 

I sporadically recount some happy and entertaining anecdotes from the past, treating Victor as a well-behaved “sleeping beauty doll.”

MC: ...in autumn, you know, there wasn’t much to do. Winter, in comparison, was way more fun.  MC: When I was young, what I loved doing the most was building little snowmen in the courtyard of the duke’s mansion after it snowed. Look, I could make them this big— 

Of course, Victor can’t see any of this, and there’s no hope for a response either. After mustering the spirit to prattle on for a while, all I am left with is endless emptiness. 

I tug at the corners of my lips, forcing a smile, and as if driven by some strange impulse, I reach out and poke Victor’s face, wishing to get him to have the same expression as me. 

MC: Sigh, it’s no fun. I won’t say anything more.  ??(Victor): Why won’t you say anything more? 

An icy voice suddenly sounds in my ears, carrying with it the raspiness of just being awakened. 

I turn my head and nearly let out a scream. 

MC: Y-Your Majesty... when did you...! [2] 

I’m not sure when, but Victor has regained consciousness at some point. Leaning on a soft pillow, he rubs his temple with one hand.

Victor: I’m conscious, not revived back to life. 

MC: ... I’ll sincerely obey Your Majesty’s command! 

In a low voice, I respectfully offer him a curtsy. Victor seems to find my behavior amusing, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

Victor: The term of address was “you” even just a moment ago. A certain someone changed her tune rather quickly. [3]    MC: I’m not “a certain someone,” I am...    Victor: I know, Duke William’s only daughter.    MC: [surprised] Eh...? 

Victor: At the age of seven, you received a scolding for building a snowman with the servants. When you were nine, you had a quarrel with a parrot and suffered a crushing defeat–– 

MC: Wait a minute, you... you heard all of that? 

Victor: You’re too noisy. It’d be hard not to hear, [breaks into a coughing fit] cough, cough... 

His words are cut off by a cough. I hastily pour a cup of water and offer it to him under his scrutinizing gaze, keeping silent. 

I can’t help but break into a cold sweat. 

Could it be that... all the past events I casually mentioned, all those self-deprecating remarks, and even... did he really listen to everything? 

But, two days ago, when I plucked up the courage to poke his face, he didn’t react at all... So, when did he actually become conscious? 

A vague, looming sense of oppression involuntarily makes me shrink my neck, and I tentatively open my mouth. 

MC: ...you know about everything regarding me? 

He tilts his jaw slightly upwards, studying my features. His eyes are submerged in the shadows cast by the candlelight, reminiscent of a predator in the dark night. 

A good while passes before he eventually accepts the cup, speaking in a tone that is neither amiable nor impassive. 

Victor: I do. 

I nod and, after a rapid mental calculation, make up my mind. I take a step forward, wearing a small smile on my face as I speak. 

MC: Including the fact that I was sent as a spy by the Church? 

Victor: [seemingly chokes on water] … 

Victor: Are you aware of what you’re saying?

MC: Yes, I’m aware. 

I wish to work together with the king to bring down the Church. 

And when working with a person like Victor, being transparent and honest is the first principle.

I crouch down at the edge of the bed, looking up at Victor from below. 

MC: Your Majesty, I don’t want to hide anything from you. 

MC: Prior to our nuptials, my parents were brutally attacked by the Church due to their advocacy for the reformation of the Church. 

MC: The Church, to exploit my worth, spared my life and assigned me to spy on you. 

Victor arches an eyebrow, clearly still assessing the credibility of my words. 

Victor: Continue. 

I press my lips together and lower my head, trying to convey my utmost sincerity. 

MC: ... I’m unsure of to what extent you know about me, but I’ve never once considered surrendering to the enemies who murdered my parents. 

MC: Now, in terms of both sentiment and reason, we are a family, and I cannot betray my husband. 

MC: So... Your Majesty, will you take me under your wings? 

I blink my eyes at him with a pitiful look, not knowing whether Victor would buy into it. 

Victor: … 

As if in need of a moment to compose himself, Victor seems to momentarily avert his eyes before he turns them back to me again. 

Victor: Family... you seem to have accepted your new identity quite readily. 

MC: Besides you, what else do I have to rely on? 

MC: On the contrary, even after hearing my confession, if you’re unwilling to help me, I don’t have anything to lose. 

I flutter my eyes at Victor. 

MC: Your Majesty, I’ve already got nothing left to lose. 

Victor holds a straight gaze on me. In his eyes, while there is finally a hint of recognition, it’s more as if he is peering into the past through me. 

Victor: ...I will help you. 

His well-defined hand sweeps my loose hair strands back for me. But before I can breathe a sigh of relief, the next second, my chin is cupped and pivoted to face him. 

Victor: The prerequisite is that you can offer sufficient value to me. 

His grip is surprisingly strong for someone who has just regained consciousness. As our eyes interlock, his penetrating gaze intently scrutinizes my innermost thoughts. 

Victor: In your eyes, your husband, whom you’d never met before, is nothing more than a puppet who remains in coma year-round, isn’t that right? 

Victor unfolds his hand to me, revealing a gem as vividly red as the human heart in his pallid palm, and then he encloses his hand— 

In the blink of an eye, the signs of illness are shed off his face, and a rosy hue colors his cheeks, and he seems to be bathed in a divine light. 

MC: This is... do you know witchcraft?! 

Victor places the gem back in its case, then casts a brief look in my direction, apparently turning a deaf ear to what I’ve said. 

Victor: This doesn’t concern you. 

He slowly curls his lips, and his pupils, akin to the deep sea in the darkness, are as profound and enigmatic. 

Victor: There’s a set of clothing on the bedside table. If you want to prove that you’re not just a noble canary— 

Victor: Tomorrow morning, change into it and accompany me out of the palace. 

────────── 

[Notes]:

[1] Beeswax is often considered a symbol of “eternal love” in Eastern cultures. 

[2+3] During her monologues in the 1st quarter of the date, MC was addressing Victor by “你” (informal ver. of ‘you’) pronoun. But the moment he butts in, i.e., gains consciousness, MC immediately switches to “您” (courteous/ respectful ver. of ‘you’) and the respectful address “Your Majesty,” which he teases her about here, haha. 

Point to be noted: MC doesn’t switch back to the informal terms of addresses until the 3rd chapter of the date, when they’re already in love and inseparable for the time being. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ 

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

While I’m still struggling with myself, Victor has already closed his eyes again. 

Victor: You can sleep anywhere you want; just don’t make any noise. 

MC: ...Yes, Your Majesty! 

The idea of having this mysterious and aloof king sleeping next to my pillow feels more chilling to me than freezing in the cold itself. 

I don’t hesitate at all. I swiftly grab a pillow from the bed and get prepared to spend the night on the sofa. 

But it turns out I actually overestimated my ability to withstand the cold. Before the clock hands have even moved a few notches, I quietly tiptoe back to the bed, hugging the pillow. 

MC: [to herself] It’s just that the weather is too cold. I just want to feel a bit nice and warm— 

With a huff, I murmur in a soft voice and gently lift the coverlet to slip inside. 

Once I’ve got my body settled comfortably, I cautiously look towards the person on the pillow next to me. 

Victor isn’t awakened by my movements. Even in the darkness of the night, his skin is luminously white, his features handsome— he is reminiscent of a sculpture crafted from snow. 

Considering this person’s track record of feigning sleep, I simply watch him quietly without making any more rash moves. 

As I continue watching like this, my mind inexplicably begins to wander. 

Although just moments ago, I kept addressing him as “my husband” repeatedly, when I look at Victor’s cold and handsome demeanor, I always find it difficult to connect him with that identity. 

In my impression, the image of a husband and wife is like that of my parents. So, in the future, will Victor and I also be joined at the hip and inseparable like that? 

Thinking about that reserved and unsmiling face, I can’t help but get chills. 

In his eyes, I seem to be nothing more than a “useful person.” But what value can I provide for him? 

The more I ponder, the more my head throbs, and it’s not until the horizon starts to turn slightly pale that I eventually drift into sleep. 

────────── 

With the break of dawn, I promptly get out of bed and change my attire. Victor has woken up as well. 

Seemingly noticing the dark circles under my eyes, he arches an eyebrow, lifts his hand, and tosses a cloak over to me. 

Victor: It seems like while your courage is not at all small, your confidence sure is lacking. 

MC: I just don’t wish to unnecessarily show off in front of you. 

I fasten the cloak tightly and purposely straighten my neck. 

MC: Your Majesty, please lead the way. 

We exit the palace through a small gate, cross through the commoner’s district, and Victor leads me straight into a small house. 

────────── 

Going from the small house into the cellar, and after navigating through a labyrinth of winding pathways, the cramped field of view suddenly opens up to a wide panorama. 

Everyone: Your Majesties. 

I never anticipated that the entire hall would actually be filled with guards, all standing in a perfectly ordered formation. 

— To pull together an assembly of so many armed personnel, Victor must have spent a substantial amount of time, hasn’t he? 

I’m hardly able to restrain my inner shock as I think back to the frequent news in recent years of nobles associated with the close-knit sects being removed from power or inexplicably meeting tragic ends. Now, it seems... 

Every single person, myself included, severely underestimated this “dying” king standing before me. 

At this moment, Victor picks something up from the long table, and it’s only now do I notice that there are all kinds of torture equipment laid out on the table. 

The appearance of these torture instruments is menacing, and at their tips, dried blood remnants are still visible. 

Practically, the moment I get a good look at them, the reeking of blood and rust assaults my nostrils. I subconsciously cover my nose and mouth, tightly gripping the cuff of my sleeve. 

Subordinate: Reporting to Your Majesty, these are the “refining” equipment we found at the scene. 

Subordinate: But those people are as cautious as rats at dusk; we’ve only found these pieces of material evidence so far. The remains of the blood sacrifice are still being sought. 

Victor nods calmly, and once the arrangements are made, the guards depart in an orderly manner through various secret passageways. 

Victor and I are the only ones remaining in the large hall. I make a conscious effort to restrain myself from looking at those torture instruments, regulating the rhythm of my breathing. 

MC: Your Majesty, did you bring me here to witness something so horrifying to disclose some kind of truth to me? 

Victor: Face has turned pale, but still got some courage. 

A smile tinged with what appears to be praise appears on his face, as he takes out from his bosom the gem that resembles a human heart from last night. 

The crimson light radiating from the gem spreads across his cheeks, eerie yet bewitching. 

Victor: The purpose of all these blood sacrifices is to provide energy for this “Blood King Crystal.” 

My eyes widen in incredulity as I stare at the pulsating vivid red in his hand, sensing a faint inkling of what it might signify. 

MC: When you hold this Blood King Crystal, your complexion appear rosier, and you don’t cough as much... 

MC: Could it be that the Church officials want to extract energy from commoners to enhance their physical strength? 

Victor: Not the Church; it’s the Royal Family. 

Victor doesn’t shy away from nodding his head. He stares fixedly at the red gem that provides him with strength, but in his eyes, there is only icy coldness. 

Victor: The vitality and longevity of successive kings across the dynasties were all due to their possession of the “Blood King Crystals” that were assembled from the lives of countless ordinary people. 

Victor: The Church refines it, and the Royal Family uses it, thus resulting in the Royal Family being controlled by the Church from then on. 

Victor: And anyone who uncovers this secret will die. 

My thoughts go back to my parents, as well as the reformist cabinet ministers— could it be that they all had...? 

My heart immediately falls into a valley. 

I close my eyes for a moment, then fix my gaze firmly on the unwavering king before me, a king who has endured extreme hardships and made sacrifices to stand where he is now. [4] 

MC: Your Majesty, currently, there is a significant following of the Church among the populace. We must find the evidence of the blood sacrifices and bring it to light for everyone to see. 

MC: I will carry on my parents’ legacy and work alongside you to find evidence of the Church’s blood sacrifices. 

In those forever serene eyes of Victor’s, I see the glint of a smile. 

Victor: [assuredly with obvious happiness] It appears you’ve perfectly inherited the chivalry and wisdom of Duke William. 

MC: Well... it’s not entirely that. Whether in public or private matters, it’s only right that I stand by your side. 

I wink at him, half-jokingly breaking the somewhat somber atmosphere. 

MC: After all, I’m not only the daughter of Duke William. I am your wife and, more importantly, the queen of this country. 

Victor: Is that right? It doesn’t seem to me that a certain someone possesses the temperament of a queen. 

MC: Regarding that... I will work hard, so you can’t keep teasing me all the time. 

Victor laughs in spite of himself and reaches out his hand, gesturing for me to take his arm. 

Victor: [laughs helplessly] Very well. My Queen, we should return now. 

────────── 

After coming out of the subterranean passageway, we follow the same path back. We were in a hurry when we came here. It’s only now do I take notice of the surroundings. 

In the nearby roadside, peddlers are selling fresh produce, while in the distant square, a group of less fortunate are circled around a fire, warming themselves and singing songs. 

The streets in the commoner’s district are intersected, narrow, poverty-stricken yet bustling with life, in stark contrast to the overwhelming dead silence of the royal palace. 

I hardly ever left the mansion, so I find myself unable to resist taking in the surroundings repeatedly. 

Victor: Does the Duke’s daughter find these things interesting? 

MC: ...no, no, I’m just looking around in passing, that’s all! 

Victor’s hand offhandedly adjusts a corner of my cloak. He takes a long stride, veering from the route back to the palace and heading in a different direction. 

Victor: That path is too narrow. Let’s stroll this way and get some fresh air. 

We slowly stroll along, taking in the surroundings as we walk. Not far ahead, there is a dilapidated small tavern. Victor gestures for me to take a look. 

Victor: I just suddenly recalled that you mentioned being curious when you were little and licking the snow with a fork. 

Victor: During winter, the iron cups in the tavern also have an element of sweetness. You should try it some other time. 

My scattered thoughts, fluttering around like wild and untamed grass, suddenly drop to the ground, and I can’t help but choke. 

MC: ...Your Majesty, are you teasing me? 

There is a slight curve at the tip of Victor’s brow as he gently curls the corners of his lips into a smile. 

Victor: [laughs softly] Perhaps I am, or perhaps, it is a sincere recommendation. 

MC: Could it be that you’ve drawn that conclusion after experiencing it firsthand? 

Victor: You could say that. 

Seeing him take the bait, a massive smile spreads across my face. 

MC: So, speaking of, does that mean that you’ve also stuck your tongue to an iron cup in the past? 

Victor seems to choke on his words for a moment. He shoots me a wordless look and walks forward, paying no mind to me. 

MC: [teasingly continues] So, did that really happen? Did it happen or not... 

We’ve almost circled the area surrounding the palace. Victor is tall and has long legs, but from the beginning, he has maintained a matching pace with me, making it so that I can always touch his shoulder by simply turning sideways. 

The weather is very cold today; my hands and feet are freezing, yet I deeply breathe in the bitingly chilly but liberating air. 

Even though I cannot purchase any dubious items to bring back to the palace, and even though I know the end of this path leads to the imperial palace that holds me captive— 

But perhaps because I have someone walking alongside me, I feel surprisingly at ease. 

In my sight, obscured by the chilling breeze, I see Victor squatting down and petting a skinny kitten at the corner of the alley. 

The cat stretches its body and lays down lazily under Victor’s hand, meowing. Victor smiles, and both of them then look at me together. 

Victor: [extremely softly] The winters in the future won’t be as chilling anymore. 

────────── 

[Notes]:

[4] The idiom used here is “越王勾践,” which came to life from the true story of King Goujian. I’d encourage you guys to just even google and see the small wiki on him if you can. This idiom in and of itself is the essence of the date in terms of Victor’s perseverance, and how he imposes suffering on himself for the constant reminder of what it is he’s fighting for by refusing to use the “Blood King Crystal.” 

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

Victor soon announces the news of him regaining consciousness to the masses, sending waves of shock to everyone across the country. 

Amidst the reigning turmoil among the Church and the nobles, he proposes visiting the prominent noble households. 

In my capacity as the queen, I rightfully visit every noble residence with him, where we find numerous correspondences implicating the collusion between the nobles and the Church. 

The nobles kept the letters for the purpose of blackmailing the Church, both sides engaging in mutual exploitation, but they never once considered that there could be one day when they’d have to face the consequences. 

Using the letters as a starting point, a series of pivotal evidence regarding the Church’s blood sacrifice is unearthed through Victor’s thunderous methods. 

I, on the other hand, use my identity as an orphan of the reformers to help him win over the newly elevated nobles. More and more people begin to rally to our side... 

When a former subordinate of my father hands me a letter, as if in tacit agreement, both Victor and I simultaneously realize that the final piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. 

It’s about time for the verdict to be pronounced. 

────────── 

Tomorrow, Victor will convene a National Convention to expose the crimes of the Church to the masses. 

I can’t fall asleep, so I rise from the bed and pace around the bed chamber in my nightgown. 

Victor: [laughs helplessly] If memory serves me right, the person set to address tomorrow is not the queen; it’s the king. 

He is lying in bed with drowsy eyes. Turning towards me, he speaks in a low, raspy voice, infused with a teasing tone. 

MC: ...I didn’t realize I’d wake you up despite the carpet being so thick. I guess I’ll just go outside and sleep elsewhere. 

As I drape on my outer garment and am about to head outside the chamber, my wrist is suddenly gripped from behind, pulling me back onto the bed. 

Victor: [in an overwhelmingly sensual tone] You’re the queen. Where do you plan on sleeping when you look like this? 

Tangled up in my thoughts, I have tousled my hair, causing it to become disheveled. Victor sighs, who then picks up a comb and sits behind me. 

Victor: [switches to an overwhelmingly tender tone] Dummy. What is there to be nervous about? 

The moderate pressure on my hair pacifies my restless heart. I rub my ears, which have heated up, trying to shift the topic of conversation to conceal my shyness. 

MC: In the past, when my father would go to visit the king, my mother would become anxious like this and often wouldn’t even be able to eat anything. 

Victor: So, what would happen next? I’m afraid the duke probably wouldn’t let his duchess remain in a constant state of worry. 

MC: Mm-hmm. Whenever this kind of situation arose, my father would always hold my mother’s hand... 

As I speak, I immediately begin to regret it a little. It feels like I’m sending a rather awkward hint. 

Without waiting for me to dwell on more embarrassing thoughts, Victor’s hand has already enveloped mine, and the warmth from his palm flows to my icy fingertips. 

His temperature is reminiscent of dandelions in a garden, floating gently, landing on my face and neck. 

We are the puppet king and queen, husband and wife in name only. Even though we reside together in the same bedchamber, we’ve never been this intimate. 

I feel a sensation as if a feather quill is caressing my throat, making it impossible for me to conceal the true feelings harbored in my heart. 

Reflexively, I tighten my grip on Victor’s hand and turn to face him. 

MC: Victor, to be honest, even though I never mentioned it before, I used to think you were quite unfeeling. 

Victor: There was no need to say it; it was written all over your face. 

Victor: Also, not addressing me as “Your Majesty” anymore? 

MC: In any case, you are not going to hold it against me now, will you? 

MC: During this period of time that I’ve spent with you, running here and there together, I’ve come to realize in every passing moment that I hardly knew anything about you before. 

MC: For instance, in the case of those Church henchmen, according to the old laws, their families should have been exterminated, but you chose to exercise your discretion and grant amnesty to those who were unaware. 

MC: And regarding the commoners who have fallen victim to the blood sacrifice, you’ve been supporting their families with long-term financial aid. 

MC: You always project an image of keeping people at a thousand-mile distance, but in reality, there is also a tender side to you. 

A flicker of astonishment crosses Victor’s eyes, but he simply tightens his grip on my hand. 

Victor: [with a very evident hesitation in his tone] It sounds like... getting to know me is something that brings you joy? 

MC: Yes, it does. I wish to know you even better— the past you, the present you, and the future you. 

I gaze deeply into his eyes. 

MC: But you’re so encumbered by everything. I can only utilize the little time you set aside for me each day to learn about you amidst the calls of the people. 

Victor: ...MC. 

Victor’s eyes tighten, and a heartfelt and regretful emotion swirls within them. 

MC: I don’t wish to rob you of your time because of my selfish desires. 

MC: So, after the National Convention concludes, and when you’re no longer so busy... 

I draw in a breath, low and slow. And like that, just like the first time I met him, I lay bare all my yearnings and affections before him. 

MC: Reserve some time for me, will you? Not in your role as the king, but as my husband. Share your stories with me. 

MC: Will you, Victor? 

All my thoughts translate into clumsy words, pouring out like the way winter grass eagerly awaits spring rain, confessing everything I have in me. 

Victor continues gazing at me like this, until that gaze of his becomes infused with almost sorrow and a reluctance to part. 

Before I can decipher those cryptic code words, he has already cast his eyes downward, veiling the emotions within. 

Is this a silent rejection? I exert myself to force a smile, intending to crack a joke to ease the situation, but then he speaks first. 

Victor: [if a person’s voice alone could shatter one’s heart, I swear this would be it] There’s no need to wait till later. Let’s do it now. 

In astonishment and jubilation, I look up, locking eyes with his sincere gaze. 

On the night before the pivotal moment in destiny, I finally witness Victor’s wordless confession. 

────────── 

The following day, the National Convention proceeds as scheduled. 

Attired in royal robes, Victor stands at the forefront. Below the platform, countless eyes, some treacherous and others devout, are all converged on him. 

Victor: In my capacity as the king, I stand here only to declare one thing. 

Victor: The mysterious disappearances in the capital over the years have all been caused by the Church. 

The earth-shattering statement stirs up a commotion among the people, and the followers of the Church appear visibly unsettled. 

Victor: The Church extracts energy for the “Blood King Crystal” through the massacre of civilians in blood sacrifice rituals. 

Victor: As for the particulars, I will leave it to the Knight Commander to elucidate. 

The attendants toss numerous sheets of paper into the crowd off the platform, each containing records of clear and unmistakable evidence. 

In a matter of moments, the crowd transitions from initial silence to restlessness, ultimately erupting into an agitated uproar. 

It turns out that the matter of the true culprit behind the disappearance cases has been an enduring emotional anchor for the people, completely overturning everyone’s cognition. 

Some hurling curses, some wailing, and some even charging to express their scorn at the Church... 

Amidst the chaos, only Victor’s voice, his calm and powerful words, continues forward with a steady resolve. 

Crowd: Overthrow the Pope, give us back our people! Overthrow the Pope, give us back our people! 

As the chants and shouts cease and amid the furious uproar of the crowd, the Pope, who is ringed, calmly casts a glance in Victor’s direction. 

The Pope: Silence. Dear Compatriots. 

The elderly Pope walks slowly to the center of the platform, an inscrutable and chilling smile playing on the layers of wrinkles on his face. 

The Pope: His Majesty speaks the truth. The Church does indeed extract energy for the “Blood King Crystal,” and the blood sacrifice of civilians has truly occurred. 

The Pope: However, all these casualties and deaths stemmed from the demands of the royal family! 

The Pope: Throughout history, every king has relied on the “Blood King Crystal” to survive, and even our righteous and dignified king, His Majesty, is using it at this very moment! 

The Pope: The very purpose of the “Blood King Crystal’s” existence is to secure the longevity of the king. Without a king, who will lead the country? How can the kingdom have a future? 

The Pope raises the scepter high, directing it towards Victor. 

The Pope: Your Majesty, the Church has been faithful and devoted to the Crown for all these years. As you pronounce judgment on the Church’s sins today, do you not feel a sense of guilt? 

The wrath of the masses below the platform has no outlet after his manipulative and distorted speech, and their eyes shift to Victor. 

Silent inquiries and judgments flood the eyes of the crowd, prepared to tear everything to shreds at any second. 

The noble king, however, has maintained his impassive demeanor from the beginning. He lapses into a moment of silence, gazing into my eyes. 

Amid the scrutiny of the spectators below, I lock my eyes with him, and in that gaze, I see the very same expression of unwillingness to part that I wasn’t able to discern last night. 

But at this moment, I seem to understand its meaning. 

Holding back the bitterness in my eyes, I take a step forward and speak in a loud voice. 

MC: What the Pope said is true. The kings of the previous dynasties colluded with the Church for their personal gains, resulting in the slaughtering of civilians. 

MC: However, the Blood King Crystal has never been a precious treasure, but rather a curse. 

MC: As each king became more reliant on it, the health of the royal descendants suffered increasing repercussions, which led to an even deeper dependence on the Church. 

MC: His Majesty has been working tirelessly to put an end to these nefarious activities, solely for the sake of the future of this country. 

MC: As for the Blood King Crystal... 

I close my eyes, my eloquent speech coming to an abrupt halt. This elicits puzzled murmurs from the crowd off the platform.  

At this time, Victor walks to the forefront of the stage. 

He retrieves the vivid red gem from his bosom, and the blinding luster falls on his chest, projecting an image as if blood were coursing through. 

Victor: Behold, the Blood King Crystal. 

Before anyone can comprehend, Victor swiftly exerts a slight force with his fingertips, and the Blood King Crystal instantly disintegrates into fine fragments in his hand. 

Pope: You...!! 

Countless crimson red powder, reminiscent of blood, streams out from between his fingers, and his complexion has already turned a shade of pallor. 

The elixir of immortality, amassed from the sacrifice of countless human lives across generations of kings, the venomous sac upon which the Church depends for survival, has been completely eradicated before the eyes of everyone. 

Victor: Those deserving of being brought to reckoning, not a single person will be spared. 

Victor: That includes the Church, as well as the Royal family. 

He unfurls the hand that holds the Blood King Crystal. His palm now only holds a thin layer of gemstone powder, and he allows it to be carried away by the northern breeze. 

Victor: Henceforth, dust will return to the earth, and blood will be bestowed upon the people. 

Victor: I shall personally redeem the filth that has accumulated for far too long. 

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

In the wake of the National Convention, Victor instigates a series of reform policies to root out corruption, setting off a massive surge across the country. 

He works tirelessly day and night, paying no heed to my attempts to dissuade him. There is an urgency in him that I don’t want to understand, a rush that drives him to get everything in order. 

Throughout this time, I’ve been seeking out renowned physicians from everywhere, but all I’ve received are negative answers filled with a mix of dread and despair. 

Until one day, he slips back into a coma again, and even the duration of his coma seems to be stretching longer and longer as the days elapse. 

And all I can do, or more accurately, want to do, is simply to remain by his side. 

With his eyelashes hanging low, a gentle shadow falls upon that beautiful yet pallid face, and it seems even his breathing has become very light. 

As I gaze at Victor’s side profile in deep slumber, I can no longer find the same relaxed and carefree state of mind I had when I first stepped into the royal bedchamber. 

He is no longer someone who could have confined me, the husband I had never met before, but rather my beloved with whom I have been through thick and thin together. 

My only wish is for him to open his eyes and look at me, share some dry jokes, and then walk with me through the streets and alleys again and observe how people are living nowadays... 

Victor’s life began wither away the instant the Blood King Crystal was shattered. All he can do now is expend every ounce of the remaining warmth. 

He knew the consequences better than anyone else, yet he still orchestrated his own ending with his own two hands. 

I remain by the bedside, tightly holding onto his hand. I can’t tell whether I’m trying to comfort him or myself. 

MC: [sobbing] Victor... 

Tears well up and stream down my eyes. A hand reaches up to caress my cheek, gently wiping away those tears. 

Victor: Why are you crying? 

Victor has woken up at some point without my notice and is now frowning as he looks at me. 

Quickly, I wipe away the tears in a haphazard manner, the corners of my eyes stinging from the abrasion of my forceful fingertips. 

MC: I’m alright. Are you hungry? What would you like to eat? 

Victor doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze passes over my shoulder and settles on the view outside the window. 

Victor: It’s snowing. 

It’s only now do I take notice that the imperial palace courtyard has already been blanketed in snow, transforming into an expanse of pristine white. 

Victor: Weren’t you most fond of building snowmen when you were a child? Why not give it a try now? 

MC: But your health... 

Victor: [in an even tender and heart-wrenchingly weaker tone] It’s just building a snowman. 

I press my lips together. The truth is, I have long grown to despise winter, and I don’t like building snowmen anymore. 

After the death of my parents, the attendants who had been my companions from childhood to adulthood were all substituted with the informants from the Church, and the duke’s mansion became eerily cold and desolate. 

The winter season I once loved became increasingly colder as time went on, and I no longer had the desire to go out. Warmer seasons began to become more likable to me. 

But none of these are worth mentioning to Victor. Because this winter— it is marked by the moment I met him. 

I nod. 

MC: Of course. 

MC: In that case, I must show you the snowmen-building skills I’ve honed since childhood! 

I force a smile and step outside with Victor after donning our outer garments. He tucks my hand into his cloak. 

Victor: A certain someone was shivering in the cold during the last outing, and she still forgot to bring her gloves this time. 

MC: I did it intentionally. Otherwise, how could I get Your Majesty to help warm my hands? 

With this said, I slip my chin into my cloak, and the smile at the corner of my mouth instantly fades away. 

Victor’s hand is much colder than mine. Taking a deep breath, I grip his hand even tighter, and together, we step into this pure white world. 

────────── 

The chilly breeze howls as Victor and I tread through the snow, neither of us uttering a word. [5] 

Reminiscent of a wanderer losing its way, the mist hangs over the frigid ground and eventually dissipates into the pale grayish expanse above. 

Victor suddenly loosens his hold on my hand. 

Victor: Didn’t you want to showcase your skills to me? Why aren’t you going yet? 

I cast a brief glance at the mounds of snow under the trees, nod in silence, and reluctantly let go of his hand despite my heart breaking. [6] 

MC: Well, Your Majesty, please wait for just a short while. 

I tighten Victor’s cloak for him, then dash to the snowdrifts and begin building a snowman. 

My hands move at a blazing pace. There is only a single thought circling in my mind right now, and that is to swiftly end this time-wasting game and return to his side as fast as possible. 

To add to my woes, the newly fallen snow proves challenging to shape, much like bleached wool. Despite my vigorous efforts to press the snow together time and again, the snowballs continue to fall apart, each and every time. 

A mix of vexation and restlessness churns in my heart. I have nearly exhausted all the strength left in my body to mold the snowballs, and both my hands are now aching from the cold. 

Victor: [with endless helplessness] Dummy, no one is competing with you for first place. There’s no need to be in such a rush. 

Subconsciously, I pause in my movements, turn my head, and find him gazing at me with a serene expression. 

The urgency and anxiety in my heart seem to find equilibrium, and my hands unconsciously settle into a steadier motion. 

Regrettably, the snowman I end up crafting doesn’t even qualify to be described as “adorable.” Even so, Victor earnestly lowers his head, observing it with the bearing of a connoisseur appreciating a gem. 

Victor: To create this shape without it falling apart is indeed a testament to skill. 

His teasing remark elicits a chuckle from me. I pick up a twig and walk over to him. 

MC: There’s still one last step, but it requires Your Majesty and me to complete it together. 

Placing the twig in his hand, I then hold onto his hand, and together, we draw eyes and a mouth on the snowman’s face. 

Victor chuckles softly, and conversely, he grasps my hand, guiding it to make strokes. 

Victor: You’re holding so tightly; its eyes are all crooked now. 

Looking at the snowman with its enlarged eyes due to our modifications, I’m just about to crack a few jokes when I notice a touch of weariness on Victor’s face. 

MC: We’ve almost completed the snowman. Would you like to rest for a while? 

Victor: I know a tavern. Come with me. 

We’ve arrived at the alley where we met that kitten before. It has undergone a complete transformation, and the newly opened tavern is bustling with patrons. 

It’s a snowy day, and the tavern is filled to capacity. I initially thought that there would be no seats available. However, the owner leads us straight into a room. 

MC: Huh? Did you reserve the room with the owner in advance? But you weren’t... 

Victor brushes away the snowflakes off my head, seeing through my puzzlement. 

Victor: I arranged it in advance, yes. 

Victor: Since I didn’t know when I would be awake, I told the owner beforehand that I would have this room reserved for as long as it snows. 

The fire in the hearth produces a crackling sound. Victor’s facial features are enveloped in the cloud of heat, his eyes gentle. 

Victor: I just thought that one day, I would take you out to see the snow. 

We sit on the terrace, sipping the warm wine. Amidst the aroma of wine wafting in the air, he speaks in a soft tone. 

Victor: I did stick my tongue to a cup in the past. It happened when I was five years old and had a taste of my father, the king’s red wine in secret. My mother, the queen, had gotten quite the shock. 

MC: Eh? What are you talking about... 

Victor: Dummy, aren’t you always clamoring about wanting to hear my stories? 

He says it as if it were the most natural thing, as if this were merely an ordinary winter day, as if we were an ordinary married couple offhandedly conversing about our everyday life while enjoying a drink and keeping ourselves warm by the fire. 

The north breeze makes my eyes sting, but I still force myself to smile as I look at him. 

MC: So, it turns out that His Majesty was a dummy, too, when he was five years old. How about when you were six? What was it like? 

Victor: When I was six... 

In the back-and-forth questions and answers, more than twenty years of Victor’s life have become etched in my mind. 

I dare not listen. I can’t help but feel as if once I’ve heard everything, he will leave me. And yet, I listen carefully to every single word. 

I listen to the way he speaks each word— the way his teeth collide, the way his two lips meet, the way the nuances of his trailing notes alter between closing and releasing. 

Victor: Next, it’s the day when I got married to a certain someone. 

MC: ...there’s no need to tell the next part of the story. After all, the stories related to me have only begun. 

Victor pauses, but doesn’t follow up my words with a playful remark.

MC: ...Victor? 

Victor: What’s wrong? 

I shake my head, and when I open my mouth again, the name that has been lingering on the edge of my lips and weighing on my heart spills out involuntarily. 

MC: Victor.  

Victor: Mm, I’m here. 

He tacitly acquiesces to my almost naïvely foolish behavior, responding to my call of his name over and over again. It feels as though, if only I can keep confirming like this, the hole in my heart would be filled. 

MC: ...Victor. 

This time, he doesn’t speak. The silence forces me to stop. 

MC: [sobbing] I just want to know... what can I do to make you stay... [7] 

Victor sighs softly and beckons to me. 

I lean over and nestle in his frigid arms. 

As if he can no longer support the weight of his long, ink-black eyelashes, he casts his gaze downward. His nearly translucent skin appears as if it’s about to blend with the sunlight. 

Victor reaches out and touches my cheek, his finger pads caressing the contours of my face with utmost gentleness, as if sketching my features. 

His fingertips carry with them the chill of death, making me shiver involuntarily. 

Slowly and stiffly, I weave my words together, but the sentences that come out of my mouth are still shakily out of tune. 

MC: [teary-eyed x1] Victor, do you find it a little chilly? Maybe your cloak is too thin? 

MC: [x2] The fire is obviously burning so strongly, and the mead is also very warm... [8] 

MC: [x3] Look, there’s a kitten on the eaves over there. Isn’t it the one we met that day? 

MC: [x4] It looks so lively today. Seems like its frame of mind is as cheerful as ours. 

When I utter the last sentence, I hear his gentle sigh. 

At the same time, the laughter of playful children chasing each other, the chatter of young people, and the sighs of emotions of the elderly can be heard amidst the wind and snow. 

Victor: Hear that, the sounds outside. 

The sunlight seeps through the terrace, haloing and enveloping the surroundings with a layer of warm and bright haze. 

Bathed in that glow, my body’s consciousness returns little by little. I tightly clutch his hand, no longer shaking. 

MC: [x5] I can hear it. It’s almost New Year, and the streets are bustling and serene. 

Victor: The snowfall this year is promising. So, the harvest will be abundant next year. 

MC: [x6] Yes, people will become more affluent and happier. 

Victor: You will be a part of it all, too, and that’s really good. 

I bury myself in his chest, silently listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, one beat after another. 

The heartbeat in my ears, following its rapid pace, begins to grow increasingly feeble. A realization dawns on me, and I force myself to lift my head and look at him. 

He is akin to a wan rose, wilting before my desperate eyes that seek to make him stay, withering within my outstretched arms as I reach out to hold on. 

From limbs to blood, to the light in his eyes— bit by bit, the luster fades. 

My king entrusts the future of this country to me, and then he steps out of time, heading toward eternal peace. 

I gently incline my body, kissing his peacefully closed eyes. 

MC: ...good night. 

This time, I don’t receive any response from him, but the snowstorm suddenly ceases. 

The curtain of the evening has already descended, and the vermillion sun sinks below the horizon. The final ray of the splendid afterglow thaws the ice and snow of the land. 

MC: Victor, I will take you to witness the tomorrow of this kingdom. 

────────── 

[Notes]:

[5] The exact phrase here actually was “冷风呜呜作响,” which literally means “the chilly breeze is producing a mournful sound”-- the “呜呜” used here is the onomatopoetic word for “sobbing/ wailing.” wanted to include this note as an example to gush about the brilliant atmospheric descriptions LZY writers use, e.g., the picture painted here echoes that even the nature is mourning at this slow, rather unfair, transition, mirroring the heroine’s and LZY’s pain of parting. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ 

[6] The expression used here is “依依不舍,” one of my favorite phrases and hated ones to translate LOL. You’d usually see this phrase being translated as “reluctant/unwilling,” but it doesn’t even come close to expressing the depth of its meaning. The phrase means “reluctance to part with sb you love/ being broken-hearted at having to leave,” with an underlying tone of “wanting to be with that person regardless,” -- and I tried to retain the OG meaning without being too wordy haha~ 

[7] Not sure how much of the sentiment I could make it come across in the translation—the term (留住) MC uses here literally means “ask sb to stay/ keep sb for the night/ ask them to wait.” the beauty of it lies in the fact that it expresses such a multitude of emotions— desperately wanting to keep sb in your life despite knowing it’s not up to either of you so you want to know if they can wait for you even though you know it’s not possible~ ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ   

[8] Mead (蜂蜜酒), also known as honey wine, is a type of alcoholic beverage made by fermenting honey mixed with water and other fruits. You can google it to know about it in detail if you want LOL.

────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── 

[jungle-angel]

Daddy's Little Helper (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Ever since opening your own store, Amy's been yours and Rhett's biggest helper

Rhett stood waiting on the sidewalk outside the little farm store he had opened up with you several years before, the porch freshly swept, the rocking chairs rocking a little in the chilly October air as he waited for the bus from Amy's school to pull next to the sidewalk and let her off.

Sure enough, the little yellow bus from the Amelia County Steiner School pulled up and opened its doors to let Amy off, the five year old jumping off the last step and into Rhett's arms, happy and excited to be spending the rest of the afternoon with him at the store.

"Mommy have the babies yet?" she chirped.

"Nope, not till December, Doodlebug," he told her, holding her hand as they walked up the wooden porch steps.

He opened the front door, the little bell above the threshold ringing as they walked in, enveloped by all the smells of fall.

"What'd ya'll do at school today, Doodlebug?" he asked, prepping her after school snack.

"We made soup and bread for lunch," Amy answered. "And then we got to go outside and play in the woods."

"You gonna carve pumpkins soon?"

"Yeah!"

Rhett couldn't help but smile at her little giggles. Hearing them always seemed to brighten his day, even if they were already brighter than the sun itself.

The two of them spent hours in the store, prepping all the baked goods for the weekend and setting up the shelves full of cloth, beeswax, dyed wool, little hand tools and kits to put small craft items together. Unfortunately, Rhett had to keep Amy from sticking her fingers into the melted chocolate that was meant for some of the homemade Halloween candy.

"Alright Doodlebug, last one then we've gotta go home," Rhett told her as he lifted her up off her feet.

Amy carefully placed the little wicker basket of yarn on the top shelf, carefully sliding it into its spot before Rhett set her down. Once the lights were shut off and the doors locked for the night, Rhett loaded Amy into the truck and headed for home.

No sooner had he pulled into the turn-around in the driveway and gotten Amy out of her carseat, than Diesel came charging right for her, his big mug stretched into his dopey dog grin that rottweilers were known for.

Rhett gave him as many scritches as he possibly could before he shooed them both into the house. Hannah came waddling in from the living room as soon as he had kicked off his shoes, her little self scooped right up off the floor before Rhett littered her cheeks with kisses.

"Where's Nana honey?" he asked.

"Nana's in the kitchen!!!" Cecelia answered loudly.

All Rhett had to do was follow the scent of dinner cooking in the crockpot, some sort of beef dish that had been soaked in herbs, spices and red wine before being stuck right on a bed of veggies. Cecelia was busy cutting up the green beans for the sides, but was still happy to have the rest of the family in for dinner.

"How goes Grumpy?" she asked.

"Better than ever Ma," he answered. "It's Friday night, we can all relax and not worry about having to do anything tomorrow."

"Yeah well, your father and I are gonna have to open the store tomorrow since you're taking Amy and Hannah to the pumpkin patch," she told him.

"How's (y/n)?" he asked.

"Tired," Cecelia answered. "She's upstairs resting but I think the boys have a case of restless leg syndrome."

Rhett laughed a little before heading up the stairs to your shared bedroom. You were sat upright in bed, trying to plan your new main lesson block for the next four weeks with your fifth graders and to get the two little boys in your belly to stop kicking for two minutes.

"Ya'll doin ok Darlin?" Rhett asked, scooting in next to you.

"Well," you half chuckled. "I had to run home earlier than normal for a new pair of pants but I think I'm doing ok."

Rhett kissed your cheek and you kissed him right back on the lips. "Amy was a big helper this afternoon."

You hummed happily, melting right into your husband the same way the cats always did. "Maybe we can have her help once I'm on bedrest," you half laughed.

"I'm sure she won't mind," Rhett told you.

The two of you stayed like that for as long as you could, until Royal and Cecelia both called everyone in for dinner. Rhett helped you down the stairs, but despite the trouble, you were both only too happy to be surrounded by your family, the very people who loved you both the most.

[small-sinclair]

Roadside Angel: The Way You Smile

This is part 3 of the series! This is not the last part.

Lester Sinclair x reader

Tw: burned hand, mention of dead people, not proofread

Tag list: @sketchy-rosewitch, @sweetgoateelight, @justmeandmyghosties, @idorkish, @mommymilkerfanclub, @early20sfailingplenty, @shadow-h-cipher

Part 1| Part 2

It’s been two weeks since you’ve been here, so you have a month left to tell Lester ‘I love you’, but you weren’t sure if you were going to make it long enough to say it. But you were starting to find reasons to love him.

For starters, he asked Vincent, the one in the waxed mask, to let you say goodbye to your brother and William before he turned them into wax. He let you have a moment to mourn over them as he stood outside of his brother’s workshop. Vincent did a nice job on sowing Jace’s wounds and cleaning Williams body; they looked like they were sleeping.

When you were ready to leave, Lester walked out out of the maze of pipes and wires towards upstairs to the House of Wax. Before you left the room, you looked back at your brother and waved goodbye one last time.

“What’s Vincent going to do to them?” You asked softly as you went up the steps, passing waxed faces on the wall.

“He’ll put your brother in t’movies and t’other in the dining room,” Lester says as he opens the door for you. He held out his hand for you to take at the last step, but you didn’t take it. He awkwardly put his hand down. “Vince’ll make sure they’re respectful.”

You were sure if that was comforting or horrifying to say. “I hope so.”

Your footsteps echoed throughout the museum as you took a look around. It doesn’t look like anyone alive has been here for years; the mountain of dust showed along with the cobwebs. Though the place looked paused in the late 90s, the art style looked pretty new. You stopped at a chair and poked it— it’s wax.

“Is this whole place made of wax?”

Lester stopped a few feet ahead of you and turned to look at you. In the halo of dust floating around your hair, you looked just like an angel. “Yeah. The whole place ‘is.”

You gave him a doubtful look. “Bullshit.”

“Point ‘at somethin’,” he encouraged, a grin forming. “Anythin’.”

You took that invention, pointing at the floor. “Wood?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Beeswax and soybean wax.”

“Door and bookcase— that can’t be wax!”

“Sorry, sugar,” he chimed. “Wax, too. Soy wax, actually.”

You gasped surprisingly. “The whole house!? That can’t be—“

“Wax. Beeswax, soybean wax, coconut oil wax, an’ whale oil wax as t’hardern.” Lester gives you the brightest smile. “Mama built ‘is place.”

“Your… your mother built this?”

He nodded as he paced the floors then stopping by an oil painting. “Yep, Mama built ‘is before I was born.” Then he looked back at you. “She taught Vincent everythin’ she knew!” He chuckles and shakes his head, saying to himself, “They’re smarter than me.”

You tilted your head then looked at the painting. At the corner, you saw Vincent’s name written in gold. “He does the art?”

“That’s right.”

“Bo fixes car,” you took a careful step towards him. “And what do you do?”

His smile leaves as he looks down at his dirty boots. The air became thick around you. He pushes himself away from his brother’s work and came to your side. He takes your hand. “Come on,” he mumbles. “Gotta get you home. Still need rest.”

That was two weeks ago.

Now, you barely talk to him.

He wakes up before you, cooks you breakfast and coffee, and kisses you goodbye on the hand, saying, “Be home soon, sweet pea.” Everyday, he does this. When he comes home, he kisses your hand or cheek and washes up. He talks about his day and tells you something new the loves about you.

“I love your handwriting,” he told you a couple days ago. “It’s so easy to follow and flows.”

Yesterday, he said, “I love the bread ya made last night.” He flashes a smile and said, “Promise I’ll bring home more cookin’ things ‘is weekend. Y’all can come with.”

He invited you to come with him to town last time, but you didn’t go.

Even though you don’t talk to him, he still tried his best to talk to you. He takes about his day, about the people he met, the animals and kills— but he likes it when he hears you talk. Still, you haven’t given him the satisfaction for talking or smiling. Lester would bend-over backwards just to see you smile. He’ll do anything to see you smile.

When he came home today with a wild daisy, he hung up his hat, boots off at the door, and he kissed your hand like normal. He balled up his light grey jacket and threw it in the washer. “I brought home a deer,” he says as he places the Bowie on the counter next to his pack of Reds and green lighter.“Killed jus’ twenty minutes ago, I reckon.”

You hummed to show your approval. Before you came here, you never thought of eating deer, now? You love it!

“I love the way ya sing, y/n,” he said. You lifted a brow at this one. You were finishing making dinner, something that he expects you to do, as he went on, saying, “Mama used to sing me to sleep.” He went to the kitchen sick and started washing his arms with orange soap and Goo-b-Gone. “She hated singin’ to me. Bu, you?” He glanced at you and gave a half-hearted smile. “You sound like an angel.” You couldn’t help but give a grin in return, but it fell as you continued cooking your hamburger helper.

He bit his lower lip nervously then started washing his hands again then under the finger nails. “I saw a lil’ fox today. It had the cutest tail an’ face—“

You weren’t paying attention when you grabbed the hot part of the pan. You let out a painful yelp and threw the spoon to the floor. You held your hand close to your chest as you fought back tears. Lester hurried to your side and took your hand—

“No!” You shouted, pushing him back. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!”

He looked at you hurt and lowered his hand. He bent down, picked up the spoon, washed it off, and stands by the stove. “Run it under water at least, y/n,” he instructed. “Helps the pain.”

You did as you were told and ran it under cold water and took deep breaths through your teeth. In the silence, he said, “I know we’re supposed t’do one a day, but I love the way ya take charge of yer life.” He sounded genuine as he said, “I never… well, I wanna take charge.” He glances at you then back at dinner. “I love ‘at your strong.”

That broke the dam.

You’re supposed to hate him. He didn’t save your brother and friend. He has you here in his home, keeping a close eye on you and everything— but he’s been nothing but kind. He gives you space and never forces your to do anything. He helps clean and cooks, but you’ve taken that role to keep you busy.

But he smiles at you. It’s never forced or fake. It’s a real smile filled with tenderness and friendliness.

So how could he come from a family like that? How come he never ended up like Bo or Vincent? He doesn’t like killing or participates in the killings, so how? How didn’t he come out almost normal. Bo enjoys seeing your fear in your eyes every time he comes around. He scares you, threatens you, has once threatened to stab you if you showed weakness. Is that it? Does Lester feed off your fear?

You let a cracked cry escape and started crying against the sink. “Aw, sweet pea,” Lester sighs. He turns the stove off and moved the pan away from the burner and came to your side. “Is it that bad? Lemme see your hand—“

“Smile,” you chocked out. You met his eyes. “I-I love your smile.”

His eyes went wide in disbelief, but it softened. Hesitantly, he guided your hand back under the cold water and holds it there. Gears turned and burned with thoughts of hope and fear of you, but he’ll worry about it later. You just… you love his smile?

“Thank you, sweet pea,” he whispers. “I love your smile, too—“

“Lester,” you cut him off as far tears fell down your eyes. “Lester, I’m scared. I’m scare-scared you’ll hurt me or your brothers and Bo—“

He searched outside then looked back at you. “Rest your head on my shoulder, sugar.”

“Les—“

“Just do it. Le’me talk.”

You lean on his shoulder and allowed him to look over your burned hand. His fingers brushed over the burned mark for a moment then placed it under water once more. His eyes never left your hand, and he looked at it as if it was a fragile piece of art. He turned off the water and brought up your hand, kissing the wound as gently as he could.

“I ain’t never gonna hurt ya,” he promises. “I swore to your brother, an’ I plan on keepin’ it.” He rested his head on top of yours as he looks at the burn. “I know Bo’s been scaring you, an’ I know your scared t’death,” he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, “You ain’t got nothin’ to be afraid of when ‘m around.” He kisses your hand once more before turning to face you. He lifts your chin as he thumbed away your tears. Oddly, his rough hands were soft today. “I’ll fight them monsters, sweet pea,” he kisses your knuckles, “I swear.”

*************

After dinner and tv, he made his bed on the couch again. He fluffed his pillows and took his night medication, but he stopped when he saw you standing in the hallway between the living room and the bedroom.

He straightens himself, eyes scanning over you. “Is your hand fine?”

You nodded as you held the wrapped hand close to your chest. “Could,” you swallowed the lump on your throat, “could you sleep with me tonight?”

His eyes lit up. “You sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

You nodded. Standing aside, you opened up to the bedroom. “Just for the night, okay?”

He nods and takes his pillows, following you down the hall. In bed, he lays down after you made yourself comfortable and laid on his back.

Before he closed his eyes, you asked, “Promise you’ll never hurt me?”

“I promise, sugar,” he drawled, turning his head towards you. “I’ll protect you from everything wrong if ya let me.”

You laid on your side and offered a smile, and it made his heart ache for another. “Thank you, Lester.”

You started to learn to love him the next day.

[rookthorne]

𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

Pairing ღ Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count ღ 5.8k Warnings ღ Swearing, pet names, heavily implied smut, tooth rotting fluff, the two of you are menaces to one another Author's Note ღ I PROMISED YOU GUYS FLUFF - HERE. IS. THE. FLUFF!

There were very few things that brought you as much joy as seeing Bucky smile, but this - this moment would forever be etched as one of your fondest memories, let alone his.

It was a flawless plan. There was no way it would backfire or go wrong. No, it wouldn’t - you had gone over every single step of the plan in your mind and hidden your motivation from the man sleeping beside you quite successfully. It would work.  

Slowly, you turned your head on your soft pillow to look at him sleepily.  

God, he looked so peaceful. The plates on his arm were still while his chest rose and fell with every breath. He was fast asleep - his back and broad shoulders rested against the soft sheets, and the comforter was bunched across his hips.  

While not a religious man, his hair fanned over his pillow like a halo and gave him the illusion of an angel - one that had been cast down from the heavens, just for you. The soft morning light was casted over his face, and it illuminated his cheekbones and soft laugh lines; a sign of just how truly happy he was.  

Bucky looked serene. Peaceful, even. But he was absolutely fucking clueless.  

Today was the day that you would take him shopping.  

Bucky, for all his toughness, masculinity, and continuously evolving taste for the wonders of the modern world - notably his rapidly growing love for movie franchises like Jurassic Park and Lord of the Rings, and heaven forbid music. The poor man almost had an aneurysm the first time you played Nicki Minaj as a joke. His reaction of jumping almost five feet in the air and wrestling with you on the couch to grab your phone and “Turn off that god-awful screeching!” still brought a fond smile to your face every time you thought of it.  

But, with all the modern opportunities that he could seize - shopping was, and always will be, his least favourite thing to do. He hated it.  

Well, some of it. 

“Doll, please, I don’t need another sweater!” Bucky whined from his place on the bed. His head rested on the pillows and his limbs spread out like a starfish, an insolent pout on his lips that rivalled a toddler’s.   

“Yes, you do. Besides,” you chuckled, walking to stand at the end of the bed between his feet. “I need another sweater.” 

A beat of silence passed, then Bucky’s brows rose in realisation. “Wait,” he tilted his head up and found you standing at the end of the bed. He narrowed his eyes at the sly smile on your face. “Oh, no,” he said simply, shaking his head. “Okay, I know what you’re doing.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yeah, I do.” Bucky taunted, his head falling back to rest on the pillow once more. “You want me to get another sweater, so you have another thing to steal from me, ain’t that right?” 

“Me? Steal?” You giggled, and Bucky huffed a laugh. “Alright, if you come with me, I’ll buy you a present.” 

You had never seen Bucky jump up from bed as fast as he did, and the day ended with a very excited Bucky - his selection and haul from Victoria’s Secret second to none. 

However, today was something different. There was a surprise you had in store for him, and you had worked your ass off the previous week to get the house ready for it. Bucky had grilled you behind the intention of flawlessly scrubbing the floors of your small home and tidying away anything small, but you only brushed him off.  

Yesterday, Bucky had even gone to the extent of surprising you to spook some answers from your tightly sealed lips while you went through the linen cupboard, hunting for old towels and washcloths.  

“What are you doin’, doll?” Bucky drawled, smirking at the way you jumped a foot in the air at his sudden appearance. 

“Mind your beeswax,” you sneered half-heartedly, turning to look him in the eye. “You’re such a nosey old man.” 

Bucky’s eyes had darkened at that remark, and you gulped. Slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey, he took one step closer towards you and tilted his head slightly. “Run,” he growled.  

It was the only time Bucky had managed to derail you from your mission, and you had never run so fast in the other direction while cackling; towels strewn in your wake to slow down the wolf on his hunt.  

Last night, Bucky tried again to get an answer.  

The two of you were laid in bed watching the first Jurassic Park for what felt like the thousandth time, and all the hard work throughout the day of carrying out your secretive duties left your back and shoulders sore and stiff.  

You shifted in his arms in an attempt to get comfortable, but a stab of pain made you wince, which, of course, Bucky had noticed. His hands automatically came to rest against your shoulders and worked over the knotted muscle until you sighed contentedly.  

“You gonna tell me now, sweetheart?” Bucky cooed when his thumb hit a particularly sore spot between your shoulders.  

“No,” you mumbled, your resolute answer not shocking him in the slightest. “But please don’t stop, baby.” 

The chuckle that rumbled through Bucky’s chest made you nervous, and your resolve fractured the tiniest bit more when he stopped his ministrations and weaved his arms around your middle, pulling you tightly against his chest that still shook with the ghost of a laugh.  

“I’ll find out one way or another, sweet thing,” Bucky mumbled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’ll crack.” 

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.  

The thought alone made your blood run hot and a sly smirk teased at the corner of your lips. Today was finally the big day - a culmination of weeks of secret planning, hiding your scribbled notes of inspiration, and the almost dubious texts and phone calls to the one person who had helped bring this to fruition.   

God, you could not wait to see his face. 

The mattress shifted under your weight when you moved to straddle Bucky’s thighs, your own resting either side of his. “Good morning handsome,” you whispered, and Bucky’s lips twitched into a sleepy smile, his head turning to look at you through half-lidded eyes. 

“Well good morning to you too, sweetheart,” you swore his husky morning voice would be the death of you, “how’d you sleep?”  

You smiled and nodded happily. “Good,” you started, but Bucky interrupted you when his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“C’mere,” he breathed, and you followed the pull of his arms easily, letting your heart flutter in your chest when you finally rested against his own, your forehead tucked against his neck.  

“Are you ready for today?” You asked quietly, running your hand over his left bicep to feel the ridges of the vibranium. Bucky stiffened and you swore you could hear the gears turning over and over in his mind, frantically trying to recall just what on earth you had planned.  

Bucky watched you as you moved your head so you could meet his gaze, and his eyes frantically searched your face for any kind of clue. He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly and closing twice, before he finally spoke. “What did you plan for today, again?”  

The wicked grin on your face as you sat up to rest on your haunches only confused him, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “Doll, what did you do?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” you soothed, resting a hand on his chest to rub small circles with your thumb. The tone of your voice led him into a false sense of security where his face relaxed for a split second. “I’m just taking you shopp-” 

Bucky groaned loudly, tugging you back down onto his chest and rolled the two of you so you were caged against the mattress. Your squeal of laughter went ignored as he trapped you in place and the weight of him crushed you into the mattress, effectively trapping you in place.  

“Bucky!” You laughed and tried to wriggle free, but Bucky resolutely tucked his head into the crook of your neck so his warm breath would send goosebumps down your spine. Hiccups wracked your frame as you continued to laugh, and he held you tighter. 

“I don’ wanna go,” his muffled voice could barely be heard, “can’t make me.” 

“You’re coming with me, Buck,” you wheezed. 

“No.” He argued, his tone this close to sounding like a tantrum. 

“Yes.” 

“Nuh-uh,” he whispered, shaking his head so his hair would tickle your collarbone. “Nope, not goin’.”  

“Yes. Now get off me, you oaf, and get dressed.” You ordered and you wriggled in his grip. Your impatient tone was not helping an ounce, you realised, when he didn’t even move - as immovable as a statue and just as stubborn as a mule. “Buck, c’mon.” 

“Make me,” Bucky mumbled into your shoulder, his grip not lessening. “What’s in it for me?” 

“I’ll do that thi-”  

It was comical how quickly he released you and rolled onto his side to face you, his face still sporting a pout of resignation while you laughed.  

“Good morning, my love,” you whispered, leaning forward so your nose brushed his.   

“Good morning, dragă mea,” Bucky tilted his head and met your lips in a soft kiss. 

You were the first to pull away, and you ignored his quiet whine of protest. “C’mon, time to make breakfast.”  

“Pancakes?” 

“Pancakes,” you assured, smiling over your shoulder - the real mission at the forefront of your mind. Coffee.  

“It’s always pancakes,” you mumbled as you dug through the cupboards. “Such a damn sugar addict.”  

“You know,” you startled at the sound of Bucky’s voice by the bench, and you looked up from the draw where the bowls were kept. Goddamn him and how quiet he was. “You make the best pancakes, sweetheart,” he winked, and you rolled your eyes playfully. 

Breakfast went by in a flurry of pancake batter and coffee, and before long, the two of you were in the entryway of your home, almost ready to leave. It was cold out, so you wore one of his jumpers and a pair of sweats, while he wore his favourite jeans and a hoodie.  

“Have you got everything?” You questioned, pointing at the keys in his hand and then his phone in the back pocket of his jeans.   

“The real question is,” Bucky started, a cheeky smile began to bloom on his lips and lit up his face. You narrowed your eyes, daring him to continue his statement. His smile grew to a full-on shit-eating grin. “Have you got everything?” 

“Hey!” You chided, shoving at his shoulder to get to the door and he laughed. “It was one fucking time, Barnes! Leave me alone,” you grumbled, throwing open the door and storming over to his car.  

It was a long, drawn-out joke, and he took so much pleasure in reminding you of all the times you demanded he turn the car around because you forgot your phone, your purse - even your chapstick one damn time. Of course, it was all in jest, but you revelled in the attention he’d soothe you with.  

Bucky closed the front door and locked it behind him, the car keys bouncing against the plates of his palm as he laughed and gestured with his hands. “It was not just one time!” 

You huffed and reached for the handle of the passenger door. “Just unlock the damn car, please.”  

The chirp of the alarm sounded when the car unlocked and you slipped into the passenger seat, purposefully putting your purse and phone by the shifter. Bucky opened the driver’s door and threw his phone into your lap before sliding in. “We ready-”  

“What?” You asked innocently, looking up from buckling your belt. Bucky was looking at your purse and phone, his expression one of playful annoyance. “What?” You repeated, a small smile creeping on your lips. 

Bucky reached forward and grabbed both your purse and phone in one hand, placing it in your lap. His eyes met yours, and you grinned proudly. “Drama queen,” he stated simply, and you laughed.  

The keys turned in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life, all while Bucky shook his head.  

You held Bucky’s phone in your hand while you fumbled with the glovebox to find the cable to connect a phone to the car stereo, when it suddenly appeared in the corner of your vision. “Passenger is in charge of the tunes, babe,” Bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows when you took the cable. The car began to reverse when his phone lit up with the connection - the photo of the two of you staring back up at you made you smile softly. 

You loved him so much. 

“Damn right she is,” you mumbled, and Bucky laughed, shifting the car back into drive and the purr of the engine turned to a dull roar when Bucky accelerated. 

For the whole drive, Bucky rested his hand on your thigh - only moving it to shift gears and to flip off what he called, in nicer terms, an idiot, when the shopping complex came into view. 

“What are we doin’ here, again?” Bucky huffed as he drove up and down the rows of parks to find one that was close. 

“I have a list and I’m not going to go crazy,” you said, fighting hard against the urge to smirk. Instead, under the guise of helping look for a park, you looked out the window to hide the glee you felt. “I promise.” 

Bucky made a quiet sound of disbelief and continued to drive up and down the rows until finally, he found a park. As you bundled your purse and phone against your chest to get out, Bucky rested his hand against your forearm, making you pause.  

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he laughed, and you just winked.  

You’ll show him.  

The first stop in the mall was Bed Bath & Beyond to get containers - nondescript, easily explained, and easy. A perfect cover. 

Shelves full of crockery and cooking appliances lined the back wall of the homely shop while displays stood in neat rows, and you made a beeline straight to the Tupperware. Bucky followed close behind you, holding your hand with his free one, while the other held a large basket. 

You hummed a tune as you navigated through the maze of displays and shelves, passing by a rack of pots and pans when Bucky came to a sudden halt, the sudden resistance almost making you stumble and trip. “Buck?” 

The sight that you found made you breathless - Bucky was holding a novelty kid frying pan while balancing the basket on his arm, and he was turning it over and over in his hold to inspect it. The pan itself was no bigger than the distance between his wrist and first knuckle.  

It was something you would never tire of - the look of curiosity and intrigue on his face. Every single time he had that expression of wonder and amazement made your heart flutter with happiness.  

Bucky’s curious nature never truly left him. 

“What the hell,” Bucky whispered, turning the pan over once more so the shiny blue enamel reflected the fluorescent lights overhead, “is this? Is it for kids?” 

“Yeah, for those toy kitchens,” you explained, “but this one can actually go over an element.”  

Suddenly, an idea struck you. It was the perfect size for the surprise, and now having seen Bucky so awestruck over such a tiny utensil; him using it for the surprise would surely melt your heart.  

“Put it in the basket, babe,” you insisted, turning before you could see his shocked expression - you half expected him to begin to ask why, until you heard the soft clink of the pan falling to the bottom of the basket. Smiling to yourself, you dragged Bucky onward and towards your intended purchase.  

After a brief argument on who would pay, the two of you finally left the store, Bucky carrying the large bag full of containers, and the smallest frying pan known to man. 

“Doll,” Bucky whined, and you looked at him over your shoulder, brow raised in question. “I’m hungry.” 

“Aw, poor baby. I’ll be quick and then I’ll get you some pizza,” Bucky’s eyes brightened and suddenly he had more pep to his step - which suddenly turned to a scowl and blush at your next whispered words. “Good boy.” 

The next stop was HomeGoods. Bucky tried to pull you back from the pillow shelves, but you were determined. And there was nothing that would stand in the way of a woman on a mission - not even his pleading puppy eyes. 

“No, doll, n- we do not need-” Bucky tried as he grabbed the pillow from under your arm as you moved down the aisle. The glare you sent him would have made any other man buckle under its intensity, but this wasn’t just any man; it was your boyfriend, and your boyfriend knew exactly just how much you love pillows. The perfect scapegoat. “You do not need any more pillows.” 

“Yes, we do, Buck!” You hissed, yanking back the pillow from his grip far too easily. “Besides, if you keep this up, you’ll need them for the couch.” 

Bucky let out a low whistle and held a hand over his heart. “You wound me, sweetheart,” his voice was pained, but you just poked your tongue out and continued to peruse the shelves. Subdued and silent, Bucky followed.  

Once you were finished, the two of you walked hand in hand from the shop with large flat pillows under your arms and smaller round ones bunched into a bag that you held in your free hand. “We need a cart, hang on,” Bucky said, pulling you towards an abandoned cart by an empty chair. It was a relief to finally have your arms free and you walked beside Bucky, directing him towards the food court.  

The food court was bathed in natural light from the large, glass dome. Bucky’s favourite vendor was set up in the middle of a mass of chairs and tables, and when he looked up from handing a customer a hot dog, he smiled knowingly.  

Your plan was unfurling perfectly.  

“Buck,” you started as you turned to lean into his side, and he looked down at you, his eyes bright in the natural light. “I want you to wait here for me when we get your food, okay? Can I please have the keys?” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “But-” 

“No buts, baby,” you interrupted, “just trust me. Promise?”  

Bucky stared at you, searching again for any clue on what the hell you were up to, but you held your hand up with a pinky outstretched. It was a sure way to abate his suspicion, if only for a moment. He hesitated for only a second before his pinky met yours. “Thanks, handsome.” 

When you reached the front of the line and Bucky reached for his wallet, the vendor met your gaze and winked. You mouthed thank you and turned to kiss Bucky on the cheek. He smiled and moved the cart so you could manoeuvre it towards the exit, pillows and bags almost bulging out from the sides. The car keys jingled in your hand when you took them from his outstretched hand, and then you were on your way. 

“Behave, please!” Bucky called after you, and you only smirked before flipping him off. 

It felt deceptive to have planned this down to the very letter behind his back, but it would be so worth it - and you knew he loved surprises, to a degree, anyway.  

After you reached out to the vendor on social media and he recognised you, he had blessedly offered to help keep Bucky busy while you were in the final motions of your plan and while you exited the mall, you looked over your shoulder to see him offering Bucky several slices of New York-style pizza.  

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was not one to pass up pizza, so there he sat with a smile on his face and all the slices piled on a large plate, tapping on his phone when you felt yours vibrate in your purse. 

My Soldier 🖤: where are you going 🤔 

The quick reply of just enjoy your pizza, baby, seemed to placate him and you stepped out onto the pavement and headed towards his car.  

First step: put all the bags and pillows in the trunk and grab the plain black bag to put all your new purchases in it.  

There was no way in hell that you would get away with walking back to meet Bucky with a bag plastered with the logo of the store you intended to visit - he would immediately know something was up. At least, this way, you could delay the inevitable and distract him by kissing his lips, nose, or cheeks. Anywhere socially acceptable, really. 

Bucky could never focus with your lips on him. 

The chirp of the alarm rang out and you placed the bags into the trunk to grab the bag tucked under the organiser. “Let’s hope this works.” 

Your phone vibrated again, and you almost flipped it onto mute when until you saw who had texted you - it was your best friend. 

My Bitch: she’s settling in so well! look at her! 

A photo was attached, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left you. She was perfect. 

You: thanks babe! he still has no clue, well I hope so anyway. headed to the shop now, see you soon! 

With something akin to childish glee, you headed straight for the store that would hold all of what you would need. The blue cat and red dog looked down upon you as you entered and you grinned - soon, it was almost time. 

The feline section was to the side of the store, and you made a beeline towards it, entirely unprepared for how overwhelming it was - collars and harnesses lined one half of the shelf, while the other half displayed sweaters and bells. On the opposite side, there were bowls of all sizes and beds big enough for even you to curl up on. “Damn, cats really are royalty,” you muttered, chuckling to yourself when you felt the soft plushness of the beds between your fingers. 

“Hello, there!” A happy voice chirped from behind you, and you jumped. It was a store clerk, and he had the widest smile and the kindest vibe. The name tag on his chest read Connor. “Do you need any help?” 

“I just picked out a kitten for my boyfriend and she’s only small,” you started as you gestured towards the collars and vests. “She’s 12 weeks old, but I don’t know what to get her.” It was true - you had spent days, weeks, researching how to care for a kitten and you had that down pat, but when it came to picking accessories out for her, all bets were off. 

Connor chuckled and moved past you to grab one of the smallest collars and vests. They were light blue, an icy hue you knew all too well.  

Exactly like Bucky’s. 

“How about this one, there’s other colours too if you would li-” 

“No, no, that one is perfect, thank you,” you rushed, smiling as Connor passed them over and you placed them into the bag. Connor then moved towards the beds, but you stopped him. “I’m actually here with him, and it’s meant to be a surprise,” you emphasised, and he grinned.  

“Understood. How about bowls and food?” 

“Food is taken care of, I just need bowls,” you assured, and Connor pulled down a set of bowls the exact same colour as the collar and vest.  

“How about these?” 

You smiled widely and eagerly took them from Connor’s hand when he offered them. “Perfect.” 

Connor had waved you out the door, his grin almost matching yours. You could not wait to get home. 

The walk back to the food court was quick, and you kept the bag carefully closed as you approached Bucky from behind. He was still seated in the food court and his plate was empty. 

“Babe,” Bucky smiled, his expression turning from happy to suspicious in the blink of an eye. “What have you been up to?” 

“Nothing,” you said sweetly, and he turned to look at you, his brows pinched in the way you knew meant he was watching and waiting for any sign of weakness. His eyes quickly glanced down to the closed bag on your arm. “Take me home?” 

“No,” Bucky countered, his tone clipped in the way you knew you were in for it tonight. He looked up from the bag and stared into your face once again. “Tell me what you’ve been doin’.” 

The coy smirk you gave him only made his scowl deepen, and you shuffled so you stood at his side. Leaning in close, you placed a hand high up on his thigh for balance, and your lips brushed his ear. “Make me.” 

And you ran.  

People watched you as you ran past them, cackling heartily and barely able to run straight while you repeatedly glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky stalking after you. He looked every bit the predator that he was - the lion had found the lamb.  

Oh, you were screwed. 

“Call my boyfriend!” You yelled through your laughter. Bucky’s loud boots hit the tiled floor of the mall with loud thumps as he sped up his pace. Bursting through the doors, you ran out to the pavement where the people on the sidewalk stared at you in pure bewilderment.  

Bucky was almost on your heels, so you ran faster, the bag on your arm swinging with every stride.  

No matter how hard you tried, you could not stop laughing. 

“I am your boyfriend!” Bucky barked after you, his stride now lengthening to catch up as you ran onto the road, where, thankfully, no cars were driving back and forth. You knew he could catch you without breaking a sweat thanks to that damn serum, but he loved the chase just as much as the victory. “Babe, slow down!” 

“No, you’re not!” You shouted over your shoulder. The car was within reach, you were almost there - almost safe. 

But, laughing had winded you, and you slowed a fraction. That proved to be deadly.  

Bucky’s chest collided with your back and you let out a cry of protest when he lifted you over his shoulder. The new view of his ass in those jeans made it all worth it. You wiggled the arm not holding the bag free and reached down to grab his left ass cheek and he jumped.  

“Mine!” You yelled in victory. 

“You are impossible,” Bucky grunted as he placed you on your feet by the passenger door of his car. “Absolutely impossible.” 

“You love it.” 

The pair of you slid into the car and Bucky started the journey home, occasionally sparing a glance at the bag by your feet in the footwell. “What’s in there?” 

“Don’t you worry your pretty head over it, babe.”  

“Pretty?” Bucky trailed off, feigning shock. You laughed and turned to face him as much as the seatbelt allowed. 

“Very,” you reached over to poke his cheek, “pretty.” 

The drive home was short and when you saw your best friend’s car parked in the driveway behind yours you could not help the grin that burst free. It’s time. 

“What’s she doin’?” Bucky sounded somewhat disappointed that you two wouldn’t be alone. “I thought she’d be at work.” 

“Oh!” You feigned innocence, or ignorance - whichever would work. “I asked her to stop by and drop something off, she might have just finished her shift.” 

She had not just finished work - she had spent the entire time that you kept Bucky busy at the mall unloading her car of the kitten food, cat tree, and bed you had brought the previous week and set it all up inside.  

“You owe me several shouts, babe,” she said breathlessly when you walked into her apartment laden with bags of food, kicking the box that held the cat tree along.  

“I know, I know, I will pay you back. I promise.” 

Bucky looked slightly crestfallen when he parked the car in the driveway and killed the engine. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m sure she won’t stay long,” you whispered as you grabbed his hand.  

A little white lie never hurt anybody. 

“You head on in and say hi,” Bucky said as he stood from the driver’s seat, stretching with a loud groan. “I’ll be right there.” The loud pop of the boot latch was your cue, and you didn’t linger, only just stopping yourself from jogging to the door - you had to play it cool.  

The door unlocked with a quiet click, and you called out into your home as the door opened. “Hello!”  

Your best friend, the angel that helped you pull this whole thing off, came around the corner with a small bundle of white fur in her arms. “He’s coming, hide, quick!” You hissed, gesturing down the hallway hurriedly, Bucky was almost done grabbing your haul from the trunk. “Bathroom, go, go, go!” 

Thankfully, your best friend had hidden all evidence that she was even here with a kitten well - the tree was in the laundry as you had planned, all of the kitten’s toys were hidden in a container on the bookshelf, with all that was left of what she needed was the bag on your arm. 

The kitten’s bed was in plain sight on the lounge room floor, right where Bucky could, and would, see it. Just as you had planned. Quickly, you stepped into the kitchen and placed the bag on the kitchen counter and angled it so he wouldn’t see its contents.  

Just as you took a deep breath to calm your excitement, Bucky’s footsteps came up the entryway. “Where do you want this stuff, doll?” 

“The lounge would be good,” you said over your shoulder, and you could hear his footsteps falter. He had seen the bed. “You all right, Buck?” 

“I-I’m fine,” Bucky walked back into the kitchen to find you staring at him, the glint of mischief no doubt evident and it pulled him up short. “Why is there a bed on the floor? What’s going on?”  

The look of confusion on his face was too cute - it was like when he first discovered a remote, a tiny rectangle of plastic, controlled the TV, but you couldn’t handle holding it in any longer.  

“Not sure, babe, she’s probably in the bathroom,” he stared back at you with narrowed eyes, and you just smiled innocently, acting none-the-wiser. “Go sit in the lounge, I’ll make us coffee.”  

Bucky went with no argument, and you turned to the machine and switched it on, grabbing 3 cups down from the cupboard. “Extra sugar, please,” he called, and you nodded, even though he wouldn’t see. 

The sound of the TV switching on and playing some daytime show gave you a good cover to sneak down the hallway towards the bathroom. “It’s me,” you whispered when you turned the handle. A quiet gasp left your lips before you could stop it upon seeing the kitten in her arms. “Oh, she is gorgeous!” 

Her fur was like the softest sherpa, and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was perfect for him. 

“C’mon,” you gestured out the door. “He’s got the TV going, and he’s likely fiddling with the pillows I brought for this little angel.”  

Your best friend laughed and stepped over the threshold, following close behind you as you walked back down the hallway. It was a valiant effort to keep your giggles in at the scene that will unfold in only a moment's time. 

“I found her, babe!” You called as you paused the corner, almost doubled over in a silent fit of laughter.  

“Hey!” Bucky said back, and you chanced a peek to find him in fact fiddling with the tassels of one of the pillows you had brought today, he was entirely distracted. You gestured to your best friend to stay put and you rounded the corner without her. 

Bucky glanced up as you came into view, and he looked confused. “Where is- why are you lookin’ at me like that?” 

“I have a surprise.” 

“She’s not exactly a surprise, babe,” Bucky started, the confusion on his face only deepening to absolute bewilderment. “What’s goin’ on? Am I finally gonna find out what you’ve been plannin’?” 

You nodded and his face brightened. Unable to resist it any longer, you beamed excitedly and sat down beside him.  

“He’s ready!” You called and you heard a giggle from the hallway. 

“Ready for what?” Bucky looked at you almost panic-stricken. “What are you…” 

His voice died in his throat as he looked over to where your best friend stood. The kitten was looking up and over her arm and straight at Bucky, her wide blue eyes boring into his own. 

“Surprise, baby,” you whispered, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his forearm.  

Bucky looked back at you and his eyes were wide with shock, amazement, or excitement. You couldn’t tell. “You got me a cat?” 

“I did,” you smiled, moving to cup his face in your hands. “I know how much you loved volunteering at that shelter, and I knew it hurt you to leave them all behind. Now you have your own fluffy baby.” 

It wasn’t very often you would see Bucky cry - he was one to suffer in silence, never truly allowing himself the opportunity to let down his guard just enough. But here he was, looking up to that fluffy little creature as though it hung the moon in the sky, while tears of joy tracked freely down his cheeks. 

Your best friend knelt down and placed the kitten in his arms when it started mewling and shuffling on small stout legs to climb up Bucky’s hoody-clad arm, and she came to rest in the crook of his neck - purring loudly enough it could rattle glass. 

“What are you gonna call her, Buck?” You asked, absolutely enamoured with the sight.  

Bucky sniffled and carefully grabbed the kitten in his hands, bringing her around so he could look into her adorable face. You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks when the kitten reached out one paw, resting it on Bucky’s nose.  

“Oh, my goodness,” your best friend breathed, stepping to the side so she could sit on the chair beside you, her hand resting on your shoulder.  

A beat of silence passed, the loud purr of the kitten the only thing you could hear.  

“Alpine.” Bucky said suddenly, his smile brighter than the stars that glowed at night. He turned to look at you, his eyes still watering from happiness. “I’m gonna call her Alpine.”

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