#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 🫠

[lovefeasted]

hmmmmm thoughts in the tags, obviously not about anyone here just a gen observation

[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.

[son1c]

i had a dream last night about the sonic movies. they were different, though. instead of staying put once he lands on earth, he keeps moving. he travels from place to place, always out of sight, staying safe with his speed and momentum. he gains a real appreciation for earth's environment this way, since he's basically "roughing it" through north america's many biomes.

he manages to go undetected until he's about 10 years old. his discovery happens like this: he's tramping through the woods like he always does. he's pretty far in there--don't want to risk running into any hikers, right?--but there's someone else there. at first, he thinks it's just a bird or bobcat making some noise. so, he turns the page in the stolen "borrowed" library book he's reading and ignores it, but it doesn't stop.

he closes the book. strains his ears. now that he's listening harder, the noise almost sounds like someone crying.

of course, sonic has his 1 golden rule: don't let anyone see you. he's stayed true to that for all these years, and he's not going to break that rule now... but what's the harm in a little investigating? it'll just be a quick peek.

as it turns out, the noise wasn't coming from a bird or a bobcat; it was the faint crying of a human kid. sonic can tell even from a distance that the kid is hurt--there's no way an ankle is supposed to bend that way--but he's also hesitant to get any closer. what if this is a trap? isn't it a little suspicious that there's a kid all the way out here? and, most importantly: does he really want to break his golden rule?

well, yeah. there's no one else out here but him and the kid. help isn't coming--if there's gonna be a hero in this situation, then there's no other choice. so, sonic steps out of the bush and toward the kid with his hands raised in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. his heart is beating a million miles a minute, but he's not scared, not really. his entire being aches with this opportunity; the opportunity to shed his years-long loneliness and make a connection, if only for a moment.

the kid hears a twig snap under sonic's feet and stiffens, her sobs catching in her throat. in a trembling voice, she asks, who's there?

sonic pauses. he's barely 10 feet from her now. looking directly at her, with nothing in between them but air. and yet, it's like the kid doesn't see him. her eyes dart around, searching, but always jumping right past sonic. trying to keep it casual, sonic replies, your hero has arrived.

sonic holds his breath. the girl looks confused, her brow furrowing, but at the same time, her shoulders relax. under her breath, she mumbles something that might be, a kid? then, she looks directly at sonic... kind of. her head turns toward the direction his voice came from, but her eyes don't focus on him. what are you doing way out here?

you know, sonic says, a smile tugging at his lips despite the anxiety coiling in his stomach, i was just about to ask you the same thing.

the girl frowns. she turns away from sonic as a stormy expression overtakes her face. none of your beeswax, she replies, but her venom is halfhearted. she's clearly hurting right now.

tentatively, sonic steps closer. his golden rule is beginning to slip from his mind. ooo-kay, he says slowly, keep your secrets. now, sonic kneels down in front of the girl. if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her, and it took every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from doing just that.

the girl turns toward sonic again. this time, her eyes don't slide past him like he's made of slippery syrup. she squints, her nose scrunching up as she appears to focus very, very hard on what's barely a foot in front of her face. then, finally, she asks, you just gonna stand there and stare?

sonic grins. hey! it's not every day i get to stage a rescue operation in the woods. i wanna savor the feeling of being a forest ranger. sonic pauses, the girl's shallow breaths bringing him back to reality. he notices the old backpack clutched in the girl's hands and asks, what's in the bag? please tell me it's a smartphone. preferably of the apple variety. but i'd accept a blackberry too--those are cool. either way, we can use it to phone home. you know, like in E.T.--

i'm not an alien! the girl snaps. besides, i don't have any home left to call. she tightens her grip around the backpack as her eyes narrow into tiny slits. when she does this, sonic notices the deep, dark circles under her eyes. either rescue me, or go away. i don't care.

sonic matches the look of angry despair on the girl's face with one of stubborn optimism. i thought you'd never ask, he says. then, he pulls an old t-shirt out of his quills and tears it into strips. alright, so, he starts to say as he reaches for the girl's twisted ankle, i've watched almost all of grey's anatomy, and the first two seasons of house m.d., which means i'm basically a doctor. right?

the girl blinks. no?

sonic stops, his fingertips millimeters away from her bloody sock. you have a better idea?

the girl bites her lip. no.

great! i'll be fast. promise. true to his word, sonic wraps the girl's ankle in a flash. then, he says, yeah-heah-heah! now we're talkin'. if i didn't know any better, i'd say that was a professional patch job!

the girl loosens her death-grip on the backpack and slowly wiggles her toes. it hurts, but not as much as before. not bad, she mutters.

beaming, sonic offers her his hand. but she doesn't react at all, so sonic slowly lowers his hand. then, he scratches his head. he's missing something, but what? he looks around, scanning the dirt-and-leaf-covered forest floor for any clues until eventually he finds it: a white cane poking out of a nearby bush, caught in the root of a particularly gnarled tree.

forgetting himself for a moment, sonic uses his super speed to grab the cane before returning to the girl's side. he goes unpunished though, as all she does in response is widen her eyes and ask, what was that?

just the wind, sonic says, a little cheekily. then, he tells her about what he found. the girl snatches the cane from him rather rudely, but sonic lets it go without comment. then, because she's still sitting on the ground, he asks, need a hand?

and then the dream ended. i think it was pretty epic because a visually impaired companion would mean sonic could have a friend without letting his secret (i.e. the fact that he exists) get out. he'd just have to be veryyyy careful about not touching her or letting her touch him. cuz while he can explain some things, like his arms are fuzzy cuz he's wearing a... ""fur coat""... and his hands are big cuz he's still ""growing into them""... other things, like his quills, are a bit harder to explain.

i'm also not entirely sure what her deal was but i know she was a runaway orphan. her family died tragically etc etc. i was imagining a house fire. the flames of disaster, as it were. idk.

[thecapricunt1616]

Kinktober Day 13 🎃

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 (𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭): “Someone has a big Chem lab today, and didn’t take a lunch” you said and he blushed a bit, shrugging. “That’s what m’studying for right now. Did you really come all the way down here to bring me food?” He asked and you smiled, nodding and taking the little brown paper bag out and putting it in front of him

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Helloooo! Welcome to day 13 of kinktober with our lovely lip gallagher! I hope you enjoy hehe 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.0k+ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Implied smut, college kids in love, not very edited, swearing 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @/𝘀𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗸𝗮-𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰𝘀 & @/𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰𝘀

You wrapped up the turkey, apple, and Gruyère sandwich with hot honey that you’d made for your boyfriend, wrapping it in one of your little reusable beeswax wraps that you’d gotten for your shared apartment. 

Lip called them ‘fancy shit’ but you’d done research in one of your eco-studies classes at school and plastic was really killing the earth, so it was important to you that you made the switch in your own house. The only reason he hadn’t had the time to throw a sad baloney and American cheese sandwich into one of them for himself this morning, was because he was running late for class himself. 

You grabbed one of the reusable silicone ziplocks and filled it with the jalapeño parmesan chips that he liked, sealing it and grabbing a banana, and granola bar as well as a beef jerky stick for later since he usually ran late studying in the library, which is what you figured he was doing now between classes. 

You packed all the food neatly in a brown paper bag, adding a note in that said ‘love you handsome guy, need brain-food for all that studying ;)’ and drew a little heart as well. 

And just like that, you were on your way to The L, tote bag containing both of your lunches to enjoy together in the library. 

You popped your headphones in and continued to read The Awakening - which was your assigned book for English this semester, tapping your highlighter on your knee between highlighting passages you wanted to add into your analyses. It wasn’t too long until you were tucking your book back into your tote bag, as well as your highlighter and getting up from your seat. 

The doors opened for your stop and you step out into the crisp autumn air, nuzzling your nose into your warm scarf as you walk. You hummed along to the song playing through your headphones, something new by Taylor swift as the library came into view. When you finally opened the large heavy door of UChicagos library and the warmth of the heater hit your near frost bitten cheeks from the wind whipping your face. 

Sniffling, you made your way to the very top floor, trudging up all those stairs since the elevator took forever, and by the top you were panting a bit, scanning over the room until you found Lip in his signature brown jacket and jeans. He was sitting at one of his favorite tables in the far left corner near the back stairwell, slouched down in the chair with a pencil pressed to his temple and wired headphones buried in his ears. You were the only 2 people on the floor, since it was just a quiet Friday afternoon afterall, most people were skipping class today to party and drink- but Lip had gotten much more serious about his education since he’d met you. 

You took the chance to surprise him, walking up behind him and covering his eyes gently and he pulled out his headphones

“Babe? You don’t have class-“ he said and you tilted his chin up, stealing an upside down kiss 

“Someone has a big Chem lab today, and didn’t take a lunch” you said and he blushed a bit, shrugging. 

“That’s what m’studying for right now. Did you really come all the way down here to bring me food?” He asked and you smiled, nodding and taking the little brown paper bag out and putting it in front of him 

“And to be a good girlfriend and have lunch with you” you took out your same identical lunch out, except it was in your pink lunchbox that was reusable. 

“You’re too cute- what did you make?” He asked, nearly grinning from ear to ear which you thought was adorable. He had shown you through his reactions to things that acts of service and physical touch were absolutely his love languages. 

“Take a bite and find out. I think you’ll like it, very Lip Gallagher vibes, spicy and sweet” you giggle, opening up your bag of chips and popping one in your mouth. He chuckled at that, kissing the corner of your mouth lovingly. 

“I don’t think someone’s ever come all the way across town to give me lunch before” he said and took a bite, brows raising and he hums in delight. “How the fuck did you come up with this? Are those apples?” He asked and you giggled, nodding a bit. 

“Apples” you concur. “In a sandwich, how about that! Is it good?” You asked and he smirked 

“Y’know- it may just beat out bologna and cheese- maybe” he joked, causing you to giggle and roll your eyes. 

“Wow! Look at that. And to think I didn’t know that would ever get beaten out. So am I gonna have to get up every day and make it?” You joked and he huffed a chuckle as he finished his first half 

“No you just gotta show me what fancy shit of yours you use to make it and then I’ll know how to do it myself” he nudges you with his shoulder playfully. 

By the time you were both done and had washed up after lunch, you were sat on Lips lap in one of the corner recliners that was blocked from view of the cameras making out. It was only natural for him to get handsy after you’d done something nice like this for him. It was one of the ways he knew best how to express his gratitude. 

He slips his hand down the front of your leggings and you gasped a bit into his mouth, holding the back of his neck. “Lip- we’re in the library” you said in a hushed whisper. He smirked into the crook of your neck in response, kissing down your jaw and over your chin until he found your lips again. 

“Thats what makes it so fun, ye’? All the risk?” he said into your lips before giving you a hot, loving kiss. 

Lip Gallagher was going to be the death of you. 

Fin

Tag List:  - @carmenberzattosgf - @daysofyellowroses - @mouseymilkovich  - @gallaghersgal - @maggiesarchives - @carmybrainworms - @l4long-winded - @babyspiderling - @southsideserendipity - @djlnkaled

[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.

______________________________________________________________

Do you like my work? I am doing a fundraiser over on my KoFi page to help pay off an unexpected bill. You can tip me there, commission me to write an astrology report for you, or sign up to be a monthly supporter of my writing.

[heavenlytouches]

i saw you write for Game of thrones, can you write a female reader and Kingslayer (Jaime Lannister) taking a bubble bath together in his chambers? That bath scene with Brianne is still etched in my head. Thankss

Hi darling! Thank you so much for a great request! And yes of course I can write about Ser Lannister :0 let's go, head first El <3

Ser Jaime Lannister- a splash of love

.ೃ࿔*:･

FEM reader

<3 (SFW)

TW- mentions of blood, suggestive talk (nothing too bad)

Helping Kingslayer after a rough day

SERVANT! reader

Ser Jaime Lannister

As you move quietly through the opulent halls of the Red Keep, the scent of lavender and beeswax fills the air, a stark contrast to the dark bloodstains smeared against the polished stone walls.

You are just a servant, quietly carrying out your duties, but you feel the weight of the world around you- a world where the rightful lords and ladies command power, while you merely serve. Today, though, the world holds a peculiar charm.

You approach the lavish bathing chamber, where a warm bath awaits, its steam curling into the air like whispers of long-hidden desires.

Jaime Lannister sits in the tub, tired and covered in the remnants of his last battle- a unique blend of blood and grit smeared over his golden skin. He glances up at you, and your breath catches in your throat.

He gives you that familiar teasing smile, the one that always makes your heart race, and you feel a heat rise to your cheeks.

“Come on, don’t you have a task to help with? Or do you plan to stare at me all day?”

His tone is light, but you can see the fatigue behind those mesmerizing blue eyes.

"Ser, I have to.."

You begin, your voice barely above a whisper before you catch yourself, flustered. You shouldn’t get too close, but the urgency of your duties pulls you toward him.

“Help me wash, perhaps?”

He suggests, delighted by your evident struggle. The words tumble out like a gentle tease, and you can’t help but feel the electricity that crackles between you, teasing the edges of propriety.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, my lord,”

You murmur, your heart pounding as a flurry of sensations engulfs you: his warmth, the inviting water, and the very real danger of crossing lines you never dared imagine.

“Come now, I promise I don’t bite.”

Jaime chuckles, his cocky bravado hanging in the air. He knows how to charm, and the glint in his eye beckons you, pulling you closer even as doubt whispers in your mind.

You hesitate, your hands clenching nervously at your sides. Yet something deep within you ignites; the mundane fades, replaced by curiosity and an unexpected desire to ease the weariness stamped across his rugged features. Clenching your jaw, you take a tentative step closer.

“I suppose I could help, my lord..”

You murmur, your voice wavering from nerves as you set the basin on a small table beside him. His grin only widens, reflecting a mixture of appreciation and mirth.

As you dip your hands into the warm, fragrant water, you feel an undeniable thrill at the thought of touching him, the bravery you muster as vital as any shield he wears as a knight.

You reach for a cloth and begin to gently scrub at his shoulders, the tension in your shoulders melting under the steam and the soft lapping of water.

“Ah...that's good..”

Jaime lets out a low sigh, letting his head fall back against the edge of the tub. You can’t help but sneak a glance at his face- the way the sunlight cascades through the windows highlights his sharp features, making him seem as though he’s carved from the finest ivory.

“How is it? How does it look?”

He asks, his voice soft, almost intimate. He was asking about his blood stained body, your eyes watching something else. You look at him, caught between a world of duty and an aching need to remain close.

“Nice,”

You whisper, your voice hushed as you try to conceal the warmth rising in your chest.

“I mean the bath, um, it looks nice.”

A teasing laugh escapes his lips, and he captures your gaze.

“Is it just the bath, my dear? Or are you noticing something else?”

His tone is lightly suggestive, turning heated, and your heart evens out in a chaotic rhythm as you feel the intensity of his stare.

You scold yourself internally; this is absurd! The attraction between you seems both uniquely magical and utterly reckless. You fight the urge to retreat, to hide behind the modesty surrounding your position.

But as your hands glide across his muscular form, the warmth of the water and the connection between you both grow.

“Most servants would turn on their heel at such an offer.”

He remarks playfully, breaking the tension as you wash his arm.

“Mainly because they’re worried about their standing, or about getting into trouble. But here you are, helping me.”

“I- well, I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. You looked like you could use some help, ser.”

You admit, your fingers tracing across his skin as a gentle flush brightens your cheeks once more.

“Helpful servants are hard to come by, but I suppose I’m lucky today.”

His tone turns serious then, and for a moment the teasing facade falls away.

“You know, I’m grateful for your kindness. It’s the little things that carry me through.”

The sincerity in his words sends a flush through you, and you smile nervously as you catch his eyes.

“It’s just, um, my duty my lord.”

You reply modestly, even as a multitude of thoughts scatter in your mind, overwhelmed by his charm and allure.

“Not everyone sees it that way.”

He whispers, the hidden meaning in his words resonating deep within you.

“They are often so caught up in what they think they deserve.”

He takes the cloth from your hand unexpectedly, catching you off guard with his attitude; then he begins to wash your arms in return, the warm water slipping down your skin in soothing waves.

Your breath catches in your throat again; there is something intoxicating about the shared intimacy of the moment- a spark igniting across the surface.

“This must be how we find solace; even if only for a moment in our turbulent lives...”

He murmurs, his eyes darkening with emotion.

Your heart fights against the weight of what you know: the chasm of class between you, the rules that separate servant from lord. Yet here you are, soaked in warmth and laughter, and for just this fleeting moment, nothing else matters.

“I think you’re right, Ser Jaime.”

You say, your pulse quickening.

“And while we both know this can’t last, I…”

You falter, biting your lip to stem the rush of emotion. You wish you could capture this moment forever- the warmth, the laughter, and the gentle brush of hands against skin.

The bathwater swirls around you like possibilities yet to unfold. Acceptance and longing tangle deliciously, leaving you breathless, as the kingdom outside carries on unaware of the magic forged in a king’s guard and a humble servant's hidden connection.

"Maybe... maybe if no one knows. I am Ser Jaime, no one will question my actions or attractions."

With a soft laugh, Jaime splashes water toward you, breaking the tension, and you can't help but smile brightly as every droplet shimmered like hope- a secret you both would carry, one that stretched across the burdens of nobility and servitude alike.

“Let’s just enjoy this moment a little longer, shall we?”

He invites, mischief twinkling in his eyes. And as you lean closer with warmth against warmth, the world fades away, leaving you only with a heart that races in the bubble bath of Kings Landing.

Phewwww I love this one! Jaime is such a tease tho TwT

I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33

I love you guys so much

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[sunday-spells]

Samhain Candles

This year I'm making candles for my ancestors as part of my Saimhain celebration! This was my first time making "taper" candles but it was pretty easy + fun, as long as you dont mind getting your hands a little dirty!

What you'll need~

Beeswax

Candle wicks

Saimhain herbs + anything that feels right to you

Charcoal

Tinfoil

Some sort of mixing utensil (plastic butter knife/pallet knife)

Double boiler

You'll want to gather your herbs, and enchant them if that tickles your fancy. I used, mullein, anise seed, lavender, rose petals, baby's breath, rosemary, thyme, cinnamon, pine needles, and cardamom. I stirred clockwise 3x to bring in connection to my ancestors and the spirits of my home, and stirred counterclockwise 3x to banish negative + evil energies and spirits.

To melt your wax, use a double boiler on the stove. I added charcoal once it was almost completely liquid so my candles could be a spooky black color + have protective qualities.

I put tinfoil down on my workspace, and used a plastic butter knife to mix my herbs with the melted wax.

Put your herbs in the center of your foil workstation and create a little well in the middle. Then SLOWLY add the melted beeswax and be careful, it will be VERY HOT. Mix your herbs with the wax and pour a bit more wax if you need/want to. The more you mix, the faster the wax will cool and once its at room temp, it will be malleable, but still pretty warm to the touch so be careful as you do this part.

Once you can touch the wax, roll it out a bit and then add your wick and try to push it into the center of the wax. This part is kindof trial and error, but just try to keep the bottom of the wick at the bottom of your roll. Then just shape the candle as you wish! Remember to keep the bottom flat as youre shaping it. When its cooled enough to pick up and keep its shape, you can stand it up and try tapping the bottom on your table/flat surface to get a nice and flat bottom.

You can also roll your shaped wax in herbs instead of mixing them in before it cools. IF YOU DO THIS, YOU NEED TO SEAL THE CANDLE or else things will start becoming a serious fire hazard. You can also seal your candle if you followed the steps above and just want that extra bit of fire safety, like a smoother look, or want to have a different color outside than the inside.

Seal your candle by dipping it in fully melted wax. You can do one or a few layers, just make sure it cools before redipping it.

Then you should be all set!

Have a wonderful Saimhain, and don't forget to take time to remember and honor your lost loved ones and ancestors!

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 11: as the world falls down.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: with the sweetness of the fae-fruit on your lips, you blinked your eyes open to a magical celebration. an opulent ballroom spun before you with intrigue and wonder, drawing you into a fantasia and further and further away from the labyrinth and your worries. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, mature, suggestive adult content, faerie lore, world-building, explicit language, implied drugging, a lot of overwhelmed YN, toxic relationship, idolization, manipulation, unequal power dynamics, implied background alcohol consumption, tons of flower symbolism, magic, vomit mention, other than thatttttt lemme know if i need to tag anything else :) this is my favorite chapter fyi ive had it written for literally years. like, all of this was leading up to this chapter in my head lol word count: 7.1 k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

Around her was magic. Not the twisted upside-down magic of the Underground but pure beautiful shimmering magic she had once dreamt about as a young girl.

Y/N was in a ballroom – a grand ballroom with marbled floors veined in sparkling gold. Polished and shiny enough to see herself in, but that didn’t matter now as she heard the music swell and whirl in the air wondrously. Her gaze rose higher and higher, following the tall-mirrored walls to the mirrored ceilings above. With how the room curved into a circle and all the looking glass surrounding her, it made the entrance hall to the grand ball room seem to go on and on for forever. Sparkling with star dust and silver and gold. Long ivory silken curtains that held a soft glow in them towered above her, draping this way and that, hiding what she assumed to be windows of starlight and moonshine in this strange space she found herself in.

Looking ahead, opulent drapery of ancient lace and silken organza linked between marbled cornices, shimmering and glittering in between the dozens of low-hanging chandeliers that glowed with honeyed flames. Milky-beeswax dripped down the chandeliers – leaving long trails of wax in the sky. It looked as if these candles had burned for many, many hundred years; each chandelier had formed wax stalactites of different sizes and colors. Pale pinks, oranges, and blues. Strange and yet beautiful. It didn’t seem out of place and somehow only elevated the wonder of the room.  

Bubbles of varying sizes drifted into the room, sparkling unnaturally around her. They almost danced around her in a waltz, urging her to move along. Some pressed soapy kisses to her skin, her cheeks. Popping as soon as they pressed against her. It reminded her of the scene from Cinderella – the bubbles gleaming in different technicolor hues, impossible yet somehow happening before her eyes.

As she blinked about, the large room’s mirrored walls gleamed and shimmered. Winking at her. There was that magic-remnant, sparkling in the glass as if they were made of magic and not simply just a looking glass. The light and magic seemed to bounce off one another, sending a kaleidoscope of sparkles glittering into the candlelight. Y/N was reminded of soapsuds – as if the very ballroom she was standing in was an iridescent bubble.

It was holographic and lacey and wonderful. But the siren calls of the ballroom ahead intrigued her, the giggling and loud conversation clashed with the orchestral music. Taking a few tentative steps forward, she entered the verandah of the grand ballroom.

Every corner was beautiful and intriguing here, too. Opulent but not busy. Ancient but not aged. Flowers beyond anything earthly bloomed around the room. They clung to pillars, to cornices, to statues, to the floor, even to the tall mirrored ceilings. Ivy the color of rich olive and unnatural silver curled around the aging gold-gilded mirrors on the circumference of the ballroom. Blossoms of snapdragons, lyre flowers, camellias, and columbines shadowed the ceiling. Delphinium, jasmine, roses, and peach blossoms climbed down the waxy stalactites like fungus.

Gold and silver intertwined throughout the grand ballroom as she walked down the marble stairway steps to the atrium of dancers. Past a marble sculpture of some woman with twisted horns coming from her forehead, chiseled away in a scandalous attire.

It was odd, because at one glance, it was posing with her arms pressed to her chest, but if you glanced away and back, suddenly the sculpture looked different – with its hands above its head in joy. It had moved. Not in a dangerous way, but as if she itself was dancing. A statue dancing… impossible.

Y/N’s lips parted in confusion before a couple bumped into her as they hurried into the ballroom, giggling as they held their masks up to their faces before she could spot what they looked like. It was too late – they were swallowed up by the crowd, the dancing whirling bodies of opulence and extravagance distracting her.

Women were dripping in pearls and diamonds and flowers as they twirled in the large ballgowns with their breasts nearly tumbling out of their corsets. Their ballgowns consumed the ballroom’s floor in a layered mess, yet somehow none of them stumbled over the fabric in the ocean of people.

Men wore opened silken shirts and tight velvet pants that held little to the imagination as they entranced their partners. Some wore no tunic at all, simply vests of dark luxurious fabric. Sweat slick bared chests, shimmering with the magic dust she saw everywhere. Lip-sticked red mouths cackled and kissed at throats. Some men wore gowns; some women wore trousers and bore extravagant hats.

Hats and horns and wigs and façades of debauchery curled around the mass of attendees. Masks of grotesque creatures . . . of monstrous goblin faces she realized. . . were pressed to their faces as they danced about. Wrinkled greying skin, orange leathered scales, occasionally strange-looking feathers made up the masks. Hiding their youth with monstrosities. Or their monstrosity with their beauty, Y/N didn’t know.

The world was a whirling, swirling, laughing technicolor blur. The air was heady with the scent of sweat, the expensive perfumes and cologne of nobility, and the heavy aroma of the blooming flowers that hung everywhere. It felt primal in a way like a jungle.

Those who were not in the brilliant waltz were strown about the circular ballroom. Reclined in chairs or pressed against columns with tiny goblin servants stacked upon one another to reach their mouths, feeding them odd-looking fruits or pouring wine from elaborately-carved wooden goblets and shining hand-blown glass chalices. Spilt honeyed wine trailed down skin that nearby partners would lick up lasciviously with hot tongues and darkened eyes.

Y/N glanced aside, spotting multiple dips in the marble floor – pillow pits with only the finest of silks, velvets, and lace cushioning the pit into a soft escape for men and women to lethargically lean into one another’s embrace. Lovers were kissing, groping, pouring the honeyed liquid into one’s mouths. She spotted a breast freed and a lovers’ lips lock over a goblet of golden honeyed-wine before there was a whirl of a dancer in front of her gaze, blocking out things she didn’t need to see.

Her gaze left those corners of the party quickly. There was a burning on her skin. Flushing red as she felt the eyes of others sting against her skin. Fanged smiles and cruel chortles behind ornate masks and elaborately painted hand-fans. She hated the burn of the laughter; humiliation and loneliness stung.

Where was her mask? She wondered, looking down at her emptied hands.

Was that why they were laughing at her?

Another group of women rush past, giggling and chortling as they push past her. Spinning in a whirl, alone, finally, Y/N caught a look of herself for the first time since entering the ballroom. And with it, it felt like the weight of the fabric on her skin materialized. Heavy against her bones, real and heavy. Elegant and expensive.

Her gown was a mother-of-pearl color, a shimmering silver thing with a million different layers and large off-the shoulder puffed sleeves. Long sleeves covered her arms, but the fabric was not thick nor lacy but a strange shimmering skin-tight fabric. It made her arms glisten with rainbow constellations as she turned them this way or that in the ivory candle-light.

Her bodice had an intricate brocade fabric of fruit, embroidered in a silver thread that gleamed like spun starlight. Peaches, pomegranates, other organic shapes of fruits she couldn’t describe, and curling leaves made up the design with jeweled beads of sunrise pinks, yellows, oranges and sunset gold and purples embellishing her pearlescent corset. It was laborious work to make this she realized once she brushed her hands over them. They had to have been hand-sewn with how delicate they were. At the top of her sweetheart neckline, there was a constellation of sea-glass pearls, lining and guiding the eye down her corseted bodice to the gathered pooling fabric on her hips. The layers of shimmery organza and silk poured over the crinoline-lining she must’ve been wearing to achieve such a big dress.

Stepping closer to the nearby mirror, she looked closer at herself, awe in her eyes. Her face looked pretty in this light. Blurred and perfect as if there was a filter over her features. Perfect. Large curls made up her hair with portions of her locks gathered in intricate holographic silk ribbons and twisting silver metalwork, tugging it from her face. And around her neck, a necklace held those odd sea-glass pearls, transparent yet cloudy with colors of the rainbow, matching the chromatics of her dress as she twirled tentatively. The fabric swished in a pleasant way, swooshing with a watery iridescence that seemed impossible. 

She. . . was beautiful if not a bit youthfully innocent. It wasn’t a dress with slits and curve hugging fabric. Instead, she felt like a princess. Like a magical illustration of a princess from the fairytales she loved.

Approaching one of the nearby mirrored walls, her hand reached out to touch her reflection. Reverently. Disbelieving. In the reflection, she spotted eyes on her again. Too many eyes in fact. Many of the dancers were watching her from behind their mask. Even while they twirled about, they seemed to turn their necks at unnatural angles just to keep their shadowed eyes on her, at all times. Darkened eyes that seemed to watch her every movement. It was a bit eerie. She felt like prey.

She didn’t like that.

Turning, she caught a glance of blonde hair and winter eyes. She gasped at the glimpse of him in between the throngs of dancers. Just barely. He quickly disappeared into the crowds. Vanished. She stood there trying to find him again – like spotting a pearlescent fish in a net of writhing carp.

“You’re her?” a voice murmured.

It was a man – young and handsome enough despite the mask – yet as he brazenly stared at her, up and down her shoulders, breasts, hips, and finally her face, she felt a mixture of disgust and . . . pleasure. His foxy-goblin mask hugged his face tightly, only making his eyes visible. His leering eyes. She couldn’t see if his eyes were curled into a smirk or a frown or a grin.

“A pretty thing.”

She could recall being called pretty by few (recently, it was from the Direwoods), but she disliked how he crowed it out in a laugh as if it was game. A joke. A polite smile of nervousness consumed her beautiful face before she crept back and away. Into the throngs of people, Y/N got swept into the whirlwind of twirling bodies.

Jostled this way and that by the dancers, she entered a new world of mingling and warmth (despite the cold, clammy skin she touched as she tried to pass by the party-goers.) What was this party even for?

As she passed by a horde of closely entwined dancers, she spotted a group huddled around a masked magician who was tugging out oddities from a floppy hat. Puppets of frightening figures and monster-like creatures bellowed in the uproarious music as the viewers laughed.

It was then she could hear the music for what felt like the first time. Truly heard it. What once was something pleasant began to grow into a loud cacophony. Harpsichordal piano, overly powerful, and discordant. A concertina aerophone harmoniced out in a bumbling sound. There was a violin stringing higher and higher. It felt like the song was spinning out of control. Y/N was shoved forward from the arms of a passing dancing couple as they tossed and turned violently in a tango.

She was jostled toward the masked magician whose deep eyes caught her attention as he tugged out what looked like a princess doll, dressed in the same iridescent mother of pearl cloth her dress was cut from. A chill shot through her heart as the man’s shadowed gaze rose to her and gave her a plump lipped smile.

His mouth moved up and down, but she couldn’t hear his words among the chortles and cackles of the others around her. She was shoved this way and that in the ocean of people. Her eyes darted this way and that away as she tried to maintain her balance only to see him again.

He wasn’t passing by or among the dancers or entertainers. No, he was on the outskirts of the masses. Far from her. Back to a twisting pillar, Hyunjin’s eyes were on her even as multiple scantily-clad women draped themselves over him. Bare-chested against him and whispering something in his ear. Lips sticking to his skin as they did so. He never looked at them. He smiled, eyes hooded as he tilted his head at her, acknowledging her as his mouth quipped a reply to the masked woman on one of his arms. In his hand was a lyre flower – the petal forming an almost organic shape, like it was a reddened heart clasped in between his metal-tipped fingers. He fondled it, tilting his head as her.

A wave of heat filled her cheeks – watching the encounter felt strange. His focus was solely on her, and it felt simmering and ever-present even as he ignored the near-nude women about him. There was a poof of magic beside her. The smell of fire-smoke filled her face. She coughed, waving the smoke aside to. Glancing back at the magician in front of her, she saw that now he held a goblin doll rather than the princess doll. The smoke lingered in the air, musky against the opulent sweet aroma of the ballroom.

The party-goers hooted and crowed out excitements. It grated against her ears. Flinching, she glanced back towards Hyunjin, only to find him gone, and the women busied by whirling about with one another now.

Despair. Devastating and consuming despair. Like someone had taken her favorite stuffed animal as a child away. Unreasonably strong. It overwhelmed her. Widened eyes, her head swiveled this way and that to find him. Just once more. Surely… He had to be… he was just there. He had to be nearby. Maybe he was coming her way and she didn’t see him. He was just there.

It made her skin crawl like maggots were creeping up and down her back. She didn’t know why she needed to find him in this ballroom. She didn’t know why she needed to see him, or what she would say or do. She just felt it in the pit of her stomach that it was important to find him. That she should find him. She had to. She had to.

So, Y/N began to wander once more, dodging dancers and minding her step over flowing, long dresses. Tiny goblins seemed to race around the dancers; sometimes they dove beneath dresses to appear on the other side. One even tugged at her gown, scrambling up the fabric with clawed hands. Chittering in a language she could understand as it stared with large yellowed eyes. She jolted backwards. Back hitting a column painfully, flower petals rained down over her in a floral shower.

The goblin startled at that and jumped away onto the marble floor, chattering with sharp teeth at her before scurrying away. A man beside her, lounging in a nearby chair, smirked at her with fanged teeth before offering a glass of something honeyed and alcoholic smelling. The goblet sloshed this way and that, leaving iridescent puddles on the ground. She ignored him and pushed herself up to continue her search for him.

And there was plenty of encouragement. She. Kept. Seeing. Him. If only for a moment, from the corner of her eye. Like a phantom he’d escape her sight, only to appear at the other side of the room. Smirking, smiling, glancing her way before disappearing again.

He was dressed in a deep-cobalt, crushed-velvet long coat with beadwork that matched hers. Sea-glass pearls that seemed to sparkle like caught stars in the candlelight made up the constellations over his shoulders. The inner fabric of his coat gleamed a mother-of-pearl lining, matching hers. His blonde hair was styled in wind-swept waves as if a lover had run their hands through it in an embrace. His pout of a mouth that smirked sharp as always was visible, but his eyes were shadowed by a masquerade mask now. He held the mask to his face, the grotesque thing held up on a clawed hand-like stick. At some point, the mask was stuck to his face instead as he promenaded in between her sight. And then it was on a stick once more.

She was going in circles around the room, chasing after the disappearing King. Head in circles, she felt woozied for a moment. Delirious and blurred. The music triumphed into a loud crescendo. There was a static hum, a taste of ozone on her tongue. She was pushed and pulled by the ocean of people, wrapped up in a dance alone amongst the throng.

It was beyond frustrating. She wanted to talk to him… dance with him. Tears pricked her eyes as she felt a pang in her chest. A prick of a headache behind her eyes. An uproar in laughter, a screech of the almost-violin-like instrument playing in the large room, and she was approaching what felt like an emotional cliff. Stuffy faced and irritable and insecure and alone – her dress was heavied and her arms itched and her face was hot and the room reeked of rotting magnolias.

“Dearest one,” a voice murmured deeply, finally swooping her up into his arms after the long foreplay of their chase.

Arms that were cool to the touch, velvet soft under her overheated fingers as she sagged faintly into his arms.

In that moment, it felt like someone had dimmed the lights. Like they had quieted the world. Dampened her uneasy emotions. Everything zeroed in on him. His mask was on the tip of his nose still, a goblin grotesque facade. But, she could see his shimmering dark blue eyes and his berry-bitten full lips.

“Hyunjin,” she let out a sigh.

Her hands rose to his cheeks naturally so, almost as if she wasn’t in control of her own body. His eyes fluttered shut, pleasantly smiling as she removed his mask. Its waxy texture felt sticky like clay under her fingertips as she pried it from his skin with a suction-esque sound. Like, it was one with his skin until she pried it away. It fell away from her fingertips easily, shattering to the floor. Her hands returned to his smooth tawny skin. His face was perfect, like a sculpture carved meticulously. His face had a youthful flush at her gentleness, a honeyed-blush bloomed over his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose.

A reverent sigh escaped her as Y/N stroked over his cheek carefully. Her thumb grazed over a mole beneath his eye; she had never seen it before. He was cool to the touch, but it felt less like a corpse’s skin and more as if he had been out in the evening rain. A fantasy of him waiting for her with an umbrella came to mind. Romantic.

He breathed out slow, and smiled fondly. One of his own hands rose to caress her cheek. His metal-clawed fingers would never harm her; she knew that. They simply tickled over her blushed skin. His stroke of her cheek was slow as dripping nectar from a flower’s petal, as if he was savoring her skin against his.

“Y/N,” he said sweetly, dipping his head to press his forehead against hers.

His curled bangs pressed against her skin; his horned crown just grazed the top of her head. He pulled her closer, shifting his arms to cradle her securely. Yes, his arms felt right. This felt oh so right. Like a wonderfully soft dream. Her dizzied head eased in his grasp.

“Shall we dance?” he murmured with his mouth close to her ear.

His breath wasn’t warm; no, it was cool and damp as a cave’s interior. The question felt less like a question as he began to sway them. She nodded just a bit, oblivious to the world around her.

The other fae brushing around her didn’t bother her as they continued their wild waltz. The Goblin King did not join the frenzied dance with her, but instead kept their dance to a gentle swaying. Intimate and slow and just what she had needed.

Her hands grasped his arms, nervously. Fingers pressed against his velveteen coat. Almost as if he’d be lost again. But with a curve of his lip and a flash of his intimate eyes, he pulled her ever-closer.

“I’m here,” he whispered, reassuringly gently. “I’ve got you.”

And it did ease her in to a sense of calm, like the sky full of rolling clouds on a sunny day.

There was just a strange melodic tune between them; the grand hapriscordal cacophony traded for a sort of bass-like sound, strumming out chords in a soothing repeating tempo. A piano-esque metallic instrument chimed out in the gentle lullaby.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N,” he admitted, swirling them in a circle to the rhythm.

His shadowed eyes did not wander down her chest, her bare arms, or her neck. They locked onto her eyes. All of his attention was on her.

“So beautiful,” he sighed, neck bending as he leaned close as if he’d kiss her. His breath was cold as it fanned against her face.

“So strong.” His eyes were reverent.

(His Labyrinth-Runner, his body hummed as he smiled with such wicked loveliness.)

Compliments made the back of her neck tingle and burn pleasantly. Far better than the man who had leered at her earlier in the night. When was that? Oh yes, it felt like she had been wandering and tossed about for hours. Her feet ached, snug in tight, sharp shoes. If she had tugged aside her many layers of organza and lace, she’d see them to be the princess-perfect glass slippers. Ones she had dreamed about growing up.

How unrealistic.

As if reading her mind, Hyunjin’s hands shifted to grasp her waist, firmly lifting her into a promenade of an elevated spin. Her arms draped over his broad shoulders to support herself as she left her shoes behind on the polished floor. A mimicry of a Cinderella caught.

She gasped, hugging close to him. Hyunjin buried himself into the softness of her waist as she clung to him. Slowly, he lowered her, sliding he down until her feet touched the tops of his shoes. He kept her in his clutch, holding her close and off the ground. Bosum pressed into his chest intimately.

“My Princess,” he cooed, swaying this way and that. “Swept of her feet, all mine, hm?”

He grazed his nose over her cheek fondly. 

She felt his chuckle, like a low tumbling rumble of the Earth. There was an echo of laughter from his subjects around them. Like they were in on a joke she wasn’t privy to. She glanced over at the dancers among them; they were watching them intently. It made that eerie feeling bubble up, breaking the ocean of calm that had once washed over her.

His nose nudged hers, gently redirecting her gaze from the carousel of masked figures about them to him once more.

He smiled, fanged teeth sparkling in the light as he rose her up again by her waist and spun her about. Flower petals tumbled around them in a magic whirl, catching on her hair, her sweatied skin, his jacket.

As he continued their waltz, her bare toes rested on his, depending on him to move her this way and that. A spare hand rose to pluck a petal from her hair, presenting it to her; the petal transforming into a blossoming ivory foxglove before her eyes. He indulged in her wonder; in the innocent way, her shiny eyes flickered from the flower to him in surprise.

He tucked the flower behind her ear, delicately.

“How do you feel?” he asked her lowly, swaying soothingly like the way the waves of the sea magnetically roll with the moon.

“I feel –“ she murmured, tilting her head to look around at the world spinning about.

They’d been dancing for how long? Shimmering magic and sweat stuck to her skin. His breath like cool peach and hot honey-mead, engulfed her senses. Eyes flickering shut, overwhelmed by the scent, his touch, the humid heat of the ballroom.

“Wonderful?” he filled in, lips brushing tantalizingly against her blushed cheek.

He could almost taste the scattered remnant of magic across her skin. Nearly taste her iron-blood just at the surface from how ruby red her cheeks had become.

Salt sweat and sweet magic made a delicious potion.

Hyunjin sighed deeply, his sharp tongue dodging out as he pressed a tender deep kiss to the side of her jaw, too low to be considered simply a kiss upon her cheek. He would’ve moaned if it was his dreams.

“Is this not what you dreamt of, dearest?” he cooed in her ear, spinning her about once more. “I can do far more than these balls. I can do anything you want - you just need ask, properly.”

Flashes of burning desires and demanding needs crossed her mind like wildfire. Things she couldn’t explain or begin to put words to. It was feelings as deep as the darkest of oceans and as difficult to place as a tide underneath the waves. It was golden-spun day-dreams and valentine evenings with phantom kisses to her skin haunted her and an irresistible satiation in her bones heavied her as if she were lost in the galaxy, cool and yet burning. Warmed skin pressed against cool, fingers intertwined. Moans into red mouths, fangs clashing against one another. Flickers of feather-soft embraces amongst flowers, amongst sand, amongst the dirt. Painted pastel mornings, a golden sun outside a balcony looking out over the Labyrinth as she laid in the softest of beds. Warm and comfortable and at peace and not-alone.

Never alone, for he was there. Always.

Hyunjin. No…the Goblin King. Her King. Her ruler. Her Everything.

Every molecule of her was for him. Everything for his eyes only… Even now, as they twirled amongst nobility, she knew he allowed it. She was his after all.

His eyes. Gone were the frozen deep blue eyes that struck an odd sense of defiance in her – and instead – his eyes were glimmering like a pale jewel in a wedding band, like the summer ocean at mid-day. As if she was staring at the bluest sky from the field of flowers. Warm. They were a warm azure. No longer cold and cruel. Why would he ever look at her with cruelty?

His cupid-bowed lips did not smirk and sneer and mock but tempted as they spread into a heart-stopping wide smile as he laughed lowly in her fantasy. Gone were the oil-slick metallic velvets and opened shirts and tight leathered pants. Replaced with soft linens of pearlescent fabric that only highlighted his tawny-tan skin which sparkled with the magic coursing in his veins, making him faintly glisten and glow as if he were an angel.

He was. He was her Everything. Angel, savior, king, lover.

It was like seeing a different man. A man that was only for her. A side of him only for her.

Only when she was his would she see this. Behind closed doors he could be this.

Not a King of the Underground, not the Goblin King. Simply the ruler of her heart. King of her. And if he controlled her, didn’t she control him? What a sweet fooled heart she had.

Flickers of a daydream continued. The sky would be lit up by stars, countless glowing star that held their love. Each twinkling as he pointed them to her, whispered words of how they were strung in the sky for her. This one was devotion, that one her love, that one was his desire. The way he’d consume her bite by bite, kiss by kiss, in the darken rich soil they laid in. Fingers interlaced as her eyes rolled back. The way her skin would cool to a cavern temperature for eternity just to remain in his arms. Here, there was no pain. No injured body. Her fangs didn’t hurt any longer. Her eyes would blink up at a cavern sky. And her memory was a faded hazy thing that was full of him, him, him.

Her king, her king, her king.

That’s all she could think as she blink, blink, blinked at him as they swirled into another twirl on the dance floor. Hyunjin smiled soft as he saw her eyes soften into such a cotton candy gentleness.

She’d want for nothing. Laying amongst silks and satins. Feeding upon fae fruit, the nectar dripping down the column of her throat only for him to lick up greedily. No, no, he wasn’t greedy. She was his after all. Anything he wanted he received.

“Dearest one,” he hummed.

His voice pulled her up from the sea of daydreams she was drowning in. He looked different again. His eyes still that soft blue like the moon on a cool night. His clothes were the white linens she had dreamt of him in before in a blink he was back in the blue-velvet suit. A hand raised to tuck large curls behind her ear only to rest on the column of her neck afterwards. “Is this not what you’ve dreamt of?”

Balls of wonder, pretty dresses, nights of ecstasy, happily ever after with a King. Princess sweet and soft. Sheltered and doted upon. Protected in a high tower above a difficult Challenge. A proper fairytale.

Her eyes blurred as she was spun once more, whirled out of her daydreams as her mind tried to catch up to what was around her. Had his clothes just changed? What? How did that happen?

“I – don’t know what to think,” she admitted as she was whirled around again.

A loud cackle by her ear echoed out. . . almost as loud as the toll of a grandfather clock. A clock?

Her head turned as they twirled again. The people around them felt suffocatingly close and the music that had been soothing, once again battered up into a harpsichordical tune, unnerving and discordant. Clashing of melodies soft and loud, bad.

Bad, bad, bad - why did she feel so bad? So unlike herself?

Her arms and legs tingled like television static and she tried to steady herself while she grasped his hand in hers as she returned from the spin outwards.

Her eyes met his again, and he smiled so kindly and calmly like the images that flashed before her eyes. Yet she saw a flash of something knowing in the gleam of his eyes, a laughing cruelty in his eyes from the dungeons. Dungeons, she pondered? What dungeons? There were no dungeons in his arms.

She felt trapped suddenly. Itchy and buzzing. Aching and sweaty. Real. She felt real for a brief moment before she felt his hand smooth over her bodice until it eased up and down her back, soothingly.

But, it didn’t ease her stomach as she was thrown into a dizzy whirl again. They were dancing in a circle, a whirl of a waltz, less calm like before. Her neck gave out, her head lulling back and her eyes flashing to the chandeliers above. The candles were flickering rapid and erratic; there was a breeze kicked up from the ball room’s dancing. The room smelled of peach flowers. Bubbles floated about like perfect baubles of glimmering light.

A hand went to cup the back of her neck, supporting her as Hyunjin pulled her upright. Her bare feet lifted once more. He held her entire weight then and there as he kept her close. Her arms were lose around him.

There was a purse in between his brows, but he still smiled at her. Patient blue eyes. His blonde hair looked darker in this light she wondered. The shadows of his crown making it look almost as if the blonde grew darker at his roots. His horned crown sat upon his perfect head. Not a tiara, a crown. He was a King, not a Prince. He was so handsome she noted. How could a man with such wicked cruelty be so lovely? It was magical. He was magical. Fae magic. . . dreamy fae magic. Her thoughts were scrambled about like a poorly mixed potion.

“You’ve found a way to your dreams, Y/N,” he confided, his voice somehow perfectly clear in her ear despite the brash music.

“Stay in your dream. . . where you are truly free and wholly yourself. The truest form of yourself. You want that, dear one?”

His lips were hypnotizing. Her stomach bubbled like champagne in a flute. Butterflies aching to be released from the cage of her ribs as she saw him lick over the plushness of his mouth.

And she nodded. Like a marionette.

“Don’t abandon it,” he shifted his hold on her. “Don’t leave it behind – if you leave behind your dreams, your wish, you’ll be at the mercy of other people again and again. Forget them. Trust to your dream.” He lamented, divulged, and pled.

Spellbound, the smell of honey-suckle on a hot day burned her nose as she leaned in closer. Hyunjin grinned, none of it warm nor soft suddenly.  

“Trust to me,” he commanded sharply, moving in closer and closer. “Give in to me.”

His breath was akin to a corpse’s chill, and he now reeked of rotted peach blossoms. Of magic and dreams and lies. He did not kiss her yet his lips pressed to her cheek. Only a breath away from her parted lips. They were clammy against her overheated skin.

Her stomach turned as the people around her laughed and chortled. She felt too close to Hyunjin. His skin felt deathly cold and clammy and she was too hot and her dress was too tight and heavy and they were spinning oh too fast. How could they be spinning this much? She shut her eyes tight.

“Believe in me only me,” he whispered, lips trailing over flushed cheeks before stealing a kiss on her lips, startling her eyes open wide. A clock chimed distantly, and she felt her skin burn with his affections. His lips tasted of pomegranates, the dust of a crypt, fizzing candies, and fire-smoke. It muddled her senses as he kept her close, breathing her in. His kiss was insistent as he indulged in her.

“Only I can be your dream-maker.” He pulled away just enough for the words to be shared between their lips. “You need me.”

Her eyes fluttered, and he hummed lowly in his chest, a melody that was distant and familiar. Only I can be your dream-maker whirled in her head like the dancers’ promenade.

That wasn’t true.

A clock tolled again. A clock. . . her eyes fluttered open – when had they shut again? - as she felt hands that were scaly and furry and goblinesque trail over her arms and her bared back. She glanced aside when she felt claws, and saw a goblin mask so large and leathery leering into her gaze. Women chortled and men guffawed at her. She felt small, as small as those goblins she had seen running about.

Hyunjin tugged her close, cheek pressed against crushed blue velvet. The smell of rotten flowers on a hot day overwhelmed her, sickening her. The curve of a smile, triumphant pressed into her hair. She could see a clock distantly – golden and grand with its curling numbers - as another toll cracked in her head.

The burn of laughter around her, only Hyunjin could protect her from here. Why were they laughing? What was the clock for? Why did Hyunjin’s grasp hurt? He needed to protect her; she couldn’t do anything. Helpless. It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

You say that so often.

Where had she heard that before?

The dungeon. The dungeons… Wait, wasn’t she doing something? Why was she here? Why. . . ?

“Stop,” she whispered out; the words feeling like peanut butter was stuck in her throat.

The Goblin King’s eyes widened as she writhed in his grasped. Her hands pushed him away and, with weakened arms, he let her. Her feet tumbled to the floor, sliding against polished tile; her skirt pouring out across the floor as she fell. A startle in the crowd. Her breath gasped; the corset was so tight - how had she not noticed? Glancing up, the attendees were staring down at her with matching blue eyes. Mockery, laughter, anger. Copies of the eyes she knew so well. She heaved herself up at once. She had to get out of here. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Her large dress rammed into the other dancers as she pushed at the crowd. There were shrieks and wails as the clock tolled out another hour. Then another.

A huff left her as she looked around the ballroom. She hadn’t been here before. No - how’d she get here? She can’t even remember getting here in the first place. How did she end up here?

Her eyes met Hyunjin’s with a heat. Cruelty in her eyes, a betrayal of sorts. He simply looked on at her, tall and still among the jostling, jeering crowds. Furred and clawed hands reached out to tug and pull at her, masked faces with no consequences to their actions. She pushed away a woman who draped herself against her back, making her sag against their weight.

“Please, my Lady,” she had pleaded as she shoved with her might.

My Lady. . . as if she belonged here. She didn’t. She wouldn’t.

She would be a spellbound pet to the King. A fae’s human plaything. That wasn’t reality. It wasn’t a reality that would be good. Despite all its wonderousness, all she could remember was the burning emptiness. The shell of herself was all that woman was.

She had something to finish… she didn’t know what. But she couldn’t be here. It wasn’t here. C’mon, Y/N, remember. Grasping the heavy dress-skirts (heavier now, as if they were soaked in rain-water, she noted), she turned and ran.

Where was the stairwell? Where was the exit? Where even was the ballroom? Was she in the Castle? Stolen away to the prize without knowing. No. . . no. . . Hyunjin wouldn’t do that. That’s too close. Too close to her winning that he wouldn’t risk it. He was clever. He was goddamn clever. A burning feeling in her chest was difficult to decipher – was it hatred or admiration? Y/N was confused. She pushed past party-goers with little grace, huffing out in pain as they collided with her.

She couldn’t find any way out. She was met with endless mirrored walls, the shimmering reflection of a debauched dream staring back at her. Like the bubbles around her. A bubble. This place felt like a bubble that could pop.

With a grit of her teeth, she let go of her dress’ skirts in a shimmering flutter of fabric and grabbed a resting chair from nearby. Slamming it into the mirror, there was a tremble beneath her icy bared feet. Frightened and uneasy, she shut her eyes as she slammed the chair into the membrane of the pearlescent mirrored bubble again. And again. And again. Until the world shook and shattered in a whirlwind of screams and yells.

And she was falling - down, down with the world.

-

The Labyrinth-Runner’s eyes flashed open. She was no longer in the forest-flowers nor in a ballroom of debauchery, but lying still in an unknown darkened space. A starry sort of light gleamed high above her. Haloed in the light, she looked down to see she was in her own battered clothes again. In her hand was the fae fruit she had bitten into. The flesh was rotten-brown, the juices sticky in between her fingers, and the smell akin to rotten fruit in the humid sun. A maggot crawled from the decaying pit towards her palm. With a yell, she threw it to the side. A wave of nausea hit her.

Vomiting to the side, she huffed and panted before fainting backwards into a familiar bed.

-

Hyunjin’s own eyes flashed open as the fae fruit’s dream was shattered. He could still taste the magic on his tongue mingling with the iron-salt of her lips. He licked his plump rose-petaled lips with his tongue, savoring the taste.

She was so sweet.

She was strong.

She was a good challenge.

Breaking free from a spell was difficult and yet she had. She had manipulated the world around to remind her of her challenge and, with that, Hyunjin admired her. Yes, a part of him even preened that he would have such a clever human soon. A Changeling of his own with devotion only for him.

Her eyes, her eyes, oh, her eyes. He had seen paradise, a promise of her love and her dreams that he could fulfill. Her eyes had shined so sweetly. Her lips were petal roses, curling so gentle into a smile that he wanted all to himself. She was a wonder. How could a human be so intoxicating? He’d make her his. A puppet princess who only cared for him. No betrayals. No others to keep her attention. She’d be all for him. She was different than the others. His Runner was tempting and clever and all the things fae loved.

She had made it far, so much further than any Runner he had seen, but he’ll up the ante. She’ll see his strength. Marvel at his powers! She’d willingly give in once she sees!

He stood from his throne with his trembling hands pushing back raven hair. His breathing was heavied.

He can’t lose.

He walked out the door of the mystical throne room, locking it behind iron-lock and key. He needed his Grimorie. Where had he put it? Magic danced over his fingertips, anxious hands tip-tapping against his palms. His eyes looked wild as he searched among drunk goblins and rambunctious subjects.

He can’t lose.

He would not lose to her. He wouldn’t fall to his Runner. He must win this game.  

He wanted her to be his forever.

For Hyunjin had hopelessly fallen under her spell.

[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