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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Dirty Work 30

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: can't wait for Friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson reappears as the tea steeps. You pour him a cup and bring it to him, quiet and bashful. Despite washing away the mess, your hand still feels strange.

He takes it and eyes the amber liquid. He blows over it and sips tentatively. He checks his watch.

"Alas, as much as I'd love to say and... watch," he drawls, "I do have somewhere to be."

This surprises you but you try not to let it show. You should be happy for the respite, some time to get yourself together, to try to understand all the emotions and sensations unfurling inside you. You nod and clasp your hands together.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I'll continue cleaning," you avow.

"Hm, yes, please do make sure to put away the clothing in the bedroom. My sister left them in the front room. You make make space in the closet," he explains. "As well, I've let the carpenter in, if you haven't heard--" he pauses for effect as the dull, distant hammering carries through the wall, "as it were, you've proven yourself capable. I cannot speak to my return but I trust all will be in order."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you answer.

His eyes flit up to you and his lips slant. His cheek ticks but he doesn't speak. He merely arches a brow and spins on his foot and waltzes away with his tea. You watch him, almost reverently. You never noticed how nice his shoulders look in those shirts...

✨

With the house empty, you find your work is simple. You can focus, not so distracted or paranoid by Mr. Laufeyson's looming presence. You finish your usual sweep of the first floor and carry the piles of clothing upstairs in several trips.

You're out of breath as you slide open the closet and do your best to fit in the dresses, skirts, blouses, and a few pairs of pants. The stockings and undergarments you fit in one of the drawers below the hanging jackets. You can't help but take your time as you admire all the lovely colours and fabrics.

You're struck by a thought. When he's done with you, do you get to keep these or do these only come with the work? With your peculiar arrangement. You falter and shut the closet.

You tidy up the spare hangers and try not to think. You look down at the black velvet under the white apron. You look ridiculous. You're dressed like a whore. That's what this is, isn't it?

Your skin scalds as you shove away the hangers in the hallway closet and return to the bedroom. You can't keep this on. It's like a brand marking you. You pull out a plain pair of black pants and a rosy blouse. It'll do.

You've been so caught up in everything, it's as if you've completely detached from reality. There's more than this house and Mr. Laufeyson and his orders. What about your father? Your real home. You grab your phone and stare at the screen, wanting to dial his number, but thinking better of it. You swipe away the several missed calls from the electric company.

You shake off the malaise but it trails after you. You go to the library and settle in behind the laptop. You sit and stare at the clustered excel and rub your eyes. You can't seem to focus. The dull thumping draws your attention from the glare of the screen and you go to the window, tearing open the curtains.

You peer out but can't quite see past the hedges. It's a beautiful day. You could go around, just to make sure nothing needs tending. It's a weak excuse but one you'll gladly take.

You leave the library and descend the stairs, a pair of flats in hand. Oh, you didn't even put out any water. You go to the kitchen to fetch a jug and glass. You carry it to the back door and stop to slip on the shoes.

You go out into the sunshine as your eyes slit against the bright yellow sheen. You balance the jug and glass as best you can as you follow the path down to the gazebo. The hammering is quieted but you can hear Ronan's footsteps on the wooden stairs. You blink through the sunny haze as you enter the shade and catch sight of him.

"Morning," you greet him as you stop just at the bottom. He turns to you and offers a small curve of his lips. He wears a sweat-stained tank which shows off the top his chest and his muscular arms.

"Morning, miss," he returns, "how are you?"

"Alright, you?" You ask, "I brought some water."

"Thank you," his voice rumbles from his chest as he wipes his forehead, "haven't seen you in a while."

"Uh, well, I've been busy," you chew your lip.

He comes down the steps and takes the jug and glass from you. He places them at the edge of the second step and turns back to you.

"Oh yes, I'm sure that boss of yours keeps you all tied up," he muses, "your little chipmunk friend has been looking for you, I think."

"Really?" You look around, "I... I guess I should try to get out more."

You reach back to scratch your neck. You're suddenly regretting your choice. Facing him makes you burn from more than the beaming sunlight. You're sure he can see right through you.

"I should... uh," you point weakly behind you.

"Yes, suppose you should," he sighs, "shouldn't take much longer."

"Um," you look past him, "yeah, er, looks really good."

"Mm," he hums curtly, "see ya around, then."

He turns back and hops back up the steps. You frown and dip your chin down. You walk away glumly, kicking your feet around heavily.

It's your own fault. You forget your place, you forget who and what you are. No one cares about you, they only have a use for you, and you're better off out of his way.

✨

As Ronan pulls through the gate, a toot comes from the other side. You keep the switch held down as Mr. Laufeyson’s car glides through. His return darkens the black cloud that's formed in his absence.

He gets out, light on his feet as he swiftly heads up the walk. You close the gate, put off by his brusque disregard. He's reverted to cool sternness.

You follow a few minutes after him but find no sign of him inside. You wet your lips and go upstairs. You enter the library silently and sit in front of the laptop.

There's a block in his schedule but no label. You've been staring at it for some time, trying to figure it out. You lean forward as you click through notes.

“Hard at work, I see,” he enters with the droll remark, “I see this place is spotless, and yet here you are…”

You look at him and blink.

“Mr. Laufeyson, did I miss–”

He quiets you as he reaches to touch the collar of your blouse, “I did not bid you to change.”

“I… sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I finished cleaning–”

“But I did not finish with you,” he retorts.

You blanch and stand up, shifting awkwardly between the chair and him. He catches you by the shoulders and his eyes glint. He tilts his head and you hit the armrest.

“I also told you I dealt with the carpenter, didn't I?” He snarls.

His tone slices through you and you wince, “sorry, I only–”

“I don’t want to hear excuses. I only want you to do your duty. Obey, that is it.”

You snap your mouth shut and pout. You look down and bring your hand together, wringing them as you sway. A thought flickers and lights an epiphany.

“How…” you peek up, “how do you know I went out there?”

He tilts his head dangerously, “since when do you question me?”

You shrug and look away. He grabs your chin and puts your head straight, crowding you against the chair. He leans in as his green eyes bore into yours.

“As fun as you are, pet, I am not fond of disobedience. You grow careless and it is not becoming,” he sneers.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you gulp, “I…” you wiggle your nose, “I will listen. I promise.” Your lower lip trembles, “what do you want me to do?”

He considers you, his jaw tensing. He lets you go gruffly and flutters his fingers as he sighs. He struts to the door as you stare dumbly. Did you say the wrong thing? How? Why is he so upset? You didn’t do anything. You’re confused.

He said he wanted you, didn’t he? So why is he walking away?

He stops in the doorway of his study. He reaches to grip the frame and lingers there. He lowers his head and turns. You look at his profile as he thinks beneath the shroud of his eyelashes. They flick up and scan over to you.

“Yes, let’s work on your obedience, pet,” he lets go of the door frame and turns as he wags his finger at you, “pull up that chair.” He goes to the other side of the desk, “here.”

You take his command eagerly. If you’re good, he won’t be mad. If you’re good, he’ll say nice things again. If you’re good, he won’t throw you away.

You struggle to lift the heavy chair but do. You scrape it just before you put it where he points. You step back, expecting him to claim the seat himself. He tuts as he steps back on his heel.

“Sit, pet.”

Again, you accept his order without a thought. You lower yourself onto the edge of the chair and await his next demand. He looks down on you, his eyes narrowing on either side of his long nose. He brings his hand up to tug on the knot of his tie just before letting it trail down to the end. His throat bobs and he exhales slowly, his chest deflating.

“Do you recall the game we played earlier?” He asks.

You nod. Of course, you remember. It’s stuck in your head.

“Well then, you may go ahead,” he gestures to his trousers.

You let your eyes descend from his face. Your gaze crawls down his long torso and to his belt. The burgundy leather looped through the brown fabric. You twitch then steady yourself. There’s something in you that’s excited, and that other part that’s terrified.

You unbuckle his belt shakily. Clumsy as you catch the little stick on several holes before you get it loose. You let the leather fall lax and fumble with the metal button, your head pounding at the air trapped in your chest. You pinch the tab of his zipper and tug it down, little by little.

He wears no briefs, as if he planned this. Maybe he did. You don’t care. None of that matters. You know what he wants. You need to think of that before you ever think about what you want. Maybe you want the same thing. That tickle between your legs seems to say so.

He shifts as he pokes out of the top of his pants. You spread his fly open as he bulges through. You push his trousers down a little further and let out a gasp. Up close, he looks even bigger than before. It’s still so new to you, so strange, a bit silly looking even.

You raise your hand and touch him. You brush your fingertips against his taut skin and he groans. You wrap your fingers around him lightly as he braces his hips, tilting his pelvis slightly.

“Tighter,” he growls.

You obey. You squeeze and pump up, then down. He shudders and lets out another groan. His fingertips curl into his hips. You keep going, the same motion, the same noise. You do it several times as you feel the tension coiling in him.

As you play with him, heat speckles in your thighs and your core sparks. You wince as Mr. Laufeyson’s hand surprises you, reaching forward to pet your cheek, then trails up over your hair. He hums and spreads his fingers behind your head.

“Pet,” he rasps, “with your mouth.”

He pulls you forward just a bit and you squeak. You look up at him, shocked. He can’t mean… that.

“Mmm, pet, please, yes, keep looking at me,” his other hand loosens your other from his dick.

He grips his base and steps closer, angling his tip against your lower lip. You try to pull back but he keeps you in place. He grasps your head tighter and crushes his swollen head to your lips. You have no choice but to open up to him.

He slips into your mouth as you close your eyes. He tisks and fists your hair, tugging.

“I said look at me.”

You snap your eyes open, peering up helplessly as he urges into you. An inch, then another, then another, until he pokes at your throat. You murmur as he eases back then in again. The wet noise of you around him curdles in your stomach yet the glow in your pelvis radiates hotter.

“Mmm, pet,” he drags you along his length slowly, rocking his hips slightly, “don’t you like to obey me?”

You hum around him and he grunts. He prods at your throat with each thrust, each time blunter than the last. Your eyes glisten as tears bobble along the brims. For more than the discomfort, but the shame. The realisation of what he’s doing to you, of what you’re letting him do.

You latch onto the arms of the chair as you slide closer to the edge of the chair. He brings his other hand to your head, gripping it firmly as he uses your mouth. Your eyes roll back behind the lids and he snarls.

“Open,” he sneers, “look at me, pet.”

You sniffle, barely able to breath as he speeds up. Your tears flow free as you look up at him and his green irises darken as his pupils dilate. He bites his lips and growls as he stills you, instead tilting his hips into you. He hits your throat again, this time breaking past the resistance.

You gag and spasm but he doesn’t relent. He holds himself there, wiggling his pelvis as his thumb stretches to touch a droplet along your cheek. He purrs and rolls back before gliding back into your slick mouth.

“When you look at that carpenter, I want you to remember this. I want you to remember who you belong to,” he hisses around pleasured grunts.

You bat your wet lashes as you sit mercilessly in his thrall. Your vision blurs as your mortification swells over and your body wracks as his intensity builds. Through it all, your mind wanders to the den and the camera hidden on the mantle. It can’t be the only one. It’s the only way he would know.

But it isn’t him who’s wrong. It’s his house, his rules, and you disobeyed him. He told you he dealt with Ronan, he told you who you belong to. You didn’t listen and this is the lesson you learn.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #avengers #mcu #marvel #thor

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xbeezchaos · 1 year ago

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BPD Howl Pendragon!

I knoooooowwww. I’ve literally been dead for months and apologies for this being something unrelated to the BPD Scara series I’ve been getting at but I’m currently fixated on Howl so I’ll be using him as my projector. I also highly believe this man has BPD and nobody can convince me otherwise

Btw. I don’t condone romanization of mental issues. I’m simply ✨projecting healthily✨

Jealousy flare ups and depressive episodes; what that looks like for Howl

He’s unsure why, but he has been struggling with jealousy in a much higher factor than what he’s typically used to. It may be due to your presence

Ever since you two have gained the new title of dating and made it public, he’s felt a sense of possessiveness over you in a way that felt consuming

He needed you in bed to sleep soundly at night, and if you weren’t there he’d have not a wink of sleep while he held one of your clothing items close, taking in your scent and crying to himself about why you weren’t here

He gets suspicious and jealous when you spend lots of time away from him and with other friends. He trusts you but he’s scared someone will take you away.

You try telling him these things you plan out, but sometimes he won’t listen after he’s become too worked up over the idea of you being away for so long

He spends hours in bed without water or food. No motivation to get up until he gets a message from you encouraging him

Sometimes you have to baby the tall man, wash his hair and brush it for him.

Getting him to eat is the worst, he blames his medication cause the side effects impact his appetite frequently but the benefits are “too good” to give it up for just that

When he does eat, he’s got a sweet tooth like no man’s business, you’d think he’d gone mad with the amount of sugary treats he’d consume. But at least he was eating now so you didn’t complain too much

If he’s not sleeping all day, he’s awake for days on end, unable to sleep and refuses to take his sleep aid pills because “they don’t work.”

He’s secretly really petty towards those around the two of you but tries his best to keep most of it to himself. Even if you know. He won’t tell you.

The sleep aid pills knock him flat on his ass and he hates it. Waking up to your giggles of how he fell asleep in your arms like a snoring baby would make his face flush in embarrassment

He dislikes a lot of people talking to him when he’s upset. He’ll start snapping and going silent. P

Sometimes despite how hard it is to get out of bed, when he does, he’ll try to do small things like clean, eat, and make you little gifts

He made you a phone charm and matching rings to wear, he’d spent all night on it, since he was in bed all day.

It’s hard when he’s having an episode due to his jealousy, if you or someone else doesn’t get to him in time he’ll start calling upon the shadows and it takes quite a while to get him to even process that anyone else besides him is within the vicinity, let alone fully calm down.

He gets very clingy when he’s depressed, he’ll carry around items of yours and calls them “support items”

He looks like a tall child with a blanket as he walks around the house doing his daily business. It’s the best you’ve seen him do in the last few weeks so you try to keep him with his support items often

“Coffee is not a meal, have you eaten anything today?”

“A cheese stick..” you hit him over the head with a rolled up newspaper after that and dragged him to go make food.

He’d done this for over a week now and despite the small efforts, a drink wasn’t enough for him to get through the day.

Extra sassy in his conversations with calcifer

Takes the longest showers ever and he’s always steaming like a boiled potato when he gets out

Becomes a tablet child to compete simple tasks

Irritable as hell when he’s around people he’s not fully comfortable with, like your friends he’s only met twice

He’d eventually try going off on his own and have a good time that way, then eventually end up having an anxiety attack when he starts getting into his own head again

It’s not that he’s not social, but when he feels ignored he gets quite irritable and especially quiet. Which is odd for him because he loves chatting with new people

#writing #oneshots #reader insert #fanfic #fluff #ao3 #howls moving castle #howl pendragon #howl pendragon x reader #howlscastle #bpd #bpd howl pendragon

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ken-dom · 2 years ago

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Ken’s Glitter ✨

Ken x reader

Summary: Ken’s stuff is not like other humans’ 🩷✨

Author’s notes: I am OBSESSED with Ken having glittery cum. @purple-1995 asked me about it after this fic, so obviously I had to go into more detail with a dedicated drabble

Warnings/content: nsfw - smut, gn!reader, handjob, making out, first handjob, cum play (kinda), Ken has a penis but I guess he’s still at least part doll

His warm and mildly sticky seed spilled over your hand, just like any other cum you’d felt against your skin.

Nothing unusual; you paid very little mind to it as you gleefully watched the effects of his back arching, toe curling orgasm and revelled in the way he cried out as though he’d just been fucked to within an inch of his life. It was just a simple handjob, though, and god, you loved how responsive he was.

It had happened fast. Gentle kissing had evolved into heavy making out and before you knew it, your hand was down the front of his jeans and he was begging you so prettily.

He wasn’t actually sure what exactly he was begging for. All he knew was that he wanted to chase the swelling sensation that grew hot in his gut, until finally he found the release he’d no idea he craved.

He tried to catch his breath enough to ask you what that incredible feeling was, and why hot liquid had spilled out into his underwear, but he didn’t get the chance because you kissed him again, hard and deep.

As you pulled away, you removed your hand from inside his trousers, glancing briefly down at his release on your fingers.

With a double take, you gasped and dropped back. Ken’s eyes grew wide.

‘What is it? Did I do something wrong?’ he breathed shakily, eyes flitting over every inch of your face in panic, trying to figure out what happened. Was he not supposed to feel it, whatever it was, that strongly? Had he hurt you?

‘No, Ken!’ You soothingly rubbed at his arm with your clean hand. ‘Everything’s fine, it’s just…’

Ken shivered at your touch, gazing at you through puppy dog eyes on the verge of overwhelmed tears.

‘Ken, your… your cum…’

He tilted his head.

‘This.’ You showed him the slick traces on your hand. ‘This is what happens when you climax, and it’s totally normal. But yours is… pink. And glittery.’

‘Is it not supposed to be glittery?’ His voice was quiet, concerned curiosity pulling at his brow. Why wouldn’t it be glittery?

You huffed a gentle laugh, delighted at the shimmer coating your skin. It was the prettiest cum you’d ever seen.

‘I think that perhaps for you, it’s supposed to be glittery, yes,’ you chuckled.

You dragged your thumb over your fingertips, feeling the slightly gooey, thick consistency of his shimmering release, smiling at the way it sparkled.

‘So… you like it?’ Ken asked nervously. He was still unsure what had actually happened to him that had felt so good and he had so many questions. But the first and most important was of course, what you thought about it.

‘Yeah. I like it.’ Your eyes flicked up to meet his. ‘And I want more.’

Ken’s eyebrows raised. ‘You want to do that again? W-with me?’

‘Yeah, of course I do! Did it feel good?’

He nodded eagerly.

‘You wanna feel like that again?’

Another nod and you pulled him by that stupidly cute pink ascot to fall on top of you this time.

‘Come here.’

#not s f w 💀#ken #ken x reader #ken x you #ken smut #ken x y/n #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x you #ryan gosling!ken #ryan!ken #ryan gosling #rg!ken #ryan gosling ken #ken barbie #barbie movie #barbie 2023 #ken-dom writes #ken fic #kenergy

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joannasteez · 10 months ago

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the aftermath

pairing: tattooist!cm punk x reader warning: mentions of needles, and biting, and explicit descriptions and dialogue pertaining to sex. tattooist!punk (this warning is more for me cuz he makes me delusional sometimes) authors note: nothing really. just enjoy! if so, don't be afraid to let me know! inspired by @kill-the-artiste master class in ✨tension✨… please go read. RUN NOT WALK! word count: 3500 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @2-muchsauce

in for a penny of pain, in for a beauty by the pound

@ WARNING: all work is of quality but more importantly is done with respect to the bodies health and limits

the way your apartment window faces, you never get the sun till a ways after high noon. so no. this isn't your apartment. exhaustion playing in your legs. a good, sated, tired ache. like if you bend or extend too much too quick they'll cave in and collapse without warning. they'll remind you of how horrible it is, to make assumptions about a perceived strength. especially when it's so obvious that you aren't ready to leave the cool touch of his sheets. his. oh shit. because the bedroom in your apartment doesn't get much sun with the way it faces and it for damn sure isn't cream colored and littered with wood framed portraits. memory like a teasing trickle in of rain. little droplets collecting—his teeth grazing, the patient mischief of a wolf, sinking in to pull skin—till they ripple and pool together. a throb of something journeying to live between your thighs, swirling till it breaches skin again in an effect to make you shiver, to make you shift against the sheets because he,—"you can't stay still for shit can you?"—that's what he'd said. making rough impressions in your thick soft skin. holding and groaning and amused. buried amidst the pillow of your inner thighs, eager tongue dipping to lick against the desperate pulse of your clit. whimpers and moans and near shrill begging, and—oh God—your stomach swirls. embarrassment this deep exhale as your head falls in your hands.

and for a second, the world plummets into something disgusting. a disturbing shade of gray. laughter breaking beyond the crack open of the bedroom door. because he could be laughing at you right? mulling over and recounting the events of the night with a buddy and having a go at making you miserable enough to delight in some fucked sort of amusement at the helpless way you moaned and teared for him. but thats not what it is. it's quiet chatter and early morning comedy. little hums of his early day coarse voice and a bold, earthy warmth. coffee. your mouth watering and the emptiness in your belly going about a great terrible violence as it growls and shudders. a hickory note of something twisting the air, the back of your throat dry, and seemingly—well...not seemingly, because that sort of implies some lack in surety. you'd made good, disgusting, honest, work of voicing just how much fun you were having. that much you remember, and fortunately, you remember everything. alcohol forgone for the sake of lucidity. because you know what he is. a buddy of yours just as clean and straightedged.

in a fuller state of honesty, it'd be accurate to say it was all like form of reverence. an eagerness to please. anything if it meant him peeling your jeans off quickly. and yes, he'd done it. but it was more patient than you'd wanted. like he was reciprocating that reverence. studying and planning.

his dresser draws are wooden, much like the rest of his decor. a polished mahogany that brings more warmth to the room.

rolled up t-shirts sorted in no particular fashion, the fit of it snug as it falls over.

at the corner foot of the dresser lays last nights underwear. a predetermined pick. simple, and black and lacy. nearly tattered to bits because his patience had eventually reached a max capacity before he dove headfirst into being a damn brute.

underwear is a hot commodity when you ball on a budget. he owes you.

you sift for something reasonable. a checkered pair of boxer briefs that fit more like boy-shorts, but it works. slipping your jeans over them. and his bathroom isn't so much huge but it is lived in. comfortable. the tiles, a sage green with minor cracks made more from age than from some man made disruption.

and thank God almighty. he's not the three-in-one type. a wash cloth and a toothbrush laying lonely along the bathroom counter, separate from the other things. you hum. going about a quick wash up.

and whats that saying? it's only awkward if you make it awkward. because hell, there was nothing tricky or particularly delicate about fucking your tattooist right? you could do a small stint away. go cold turkey from your favorite past time. a silent walk of semi-shame and a few months till your next appointment would do the trick. enough time to forget such a destructive allure living with his words and the way he said—"you been waitin for this for a while huh? so pretty, lettin me touch you"—things. his every expression an accusation. exposing the unspoken things living behind just barely placid eyes. desires, fantasies and half baked plots for his attention.

the pain of a needle is no worser than this. cant be. cant be worser than the creak of the floors, announcing your entrance to the kitchen. his little chuckling smile forming less loose and more attentive as he drinks you in. an unabashed performance of observation that makes the skin crawl. a shiver really. green eyes cool, heavy, and exacting, like metal. like the prick of his needles. wandering with ease—your jean dressed legs, a clinging t-shirt that rides up some as you walk and the slow but sure appearance of indentations about your neck that indicate his penchant for tasting, biting —while stuck between a casual, early morning call and your performance of feigning indifference.

he hums. a response to whoever is holding him over the phone. tongue slipping over his bottom lip before he's turning back to the stove.

coffee sits in a mug littered with dog breeds. the steam of it curling up thick. a plate half dressed next to it. just finished buttered toast and still hot eggs. his arm reaching over to drop bacon on it. teeth baring as he laughs into his call. flits of his eyes that motion for you to eat. stationing to lean against the long stretch of marble that makes up the kitchen island. a focused attention. assessing your quiet take to indulging in whatever this is. because he didn't need to make you breakfast, didn't need to brew you coffee and leave you comfortably tucked in the sheets. but then again, he'd more than generously put you to sleep. wore your nerves and bones down. rendered you to a bout of tears even. yeah. he owes you breakfast. your fork digging into the eggs. and a new pair of damn underwear.

"yeah, i need you opening up shop for me today...", he gives. a sweet, feminine voice sighing deeply over the other end. loud and long enough to reach you. something in your stomach swirling odd and quite disgusting. sharp and twisted up. "...i'll be a little late, got caught up in something this morning...", the folding over of the words along his tongue giving your skin a chill. a ride of a shiver up your back. his eyes slipping over your face. a pale green leaving their edged, assessing, impressions. "...i owe you one...alright...", his thumb tapping the screen to end the call.

the bacon is salty on the tongue. satisfies the nothingness on your palette. your fork poking dumbly. like you'll find brilliant words amidst the plate. a sick little smirk on his mouth. loving your inability to look at him without wavering.

why in the absolute hell did you fuck this man? the fit of his boxer briefs odd under your jeans. poorly shaped to hips and thighs, the material not made to take that kind of stretch.

"you owe me new underwear...", that declaration of it too feathered. not strong enough. not sure. his lips spreading more. joy taking his face up wholly. feeling it as he casts his eyes over you. "...i'll send a receipt or something...".

"noted. how do you like to take it?"

excuse me? your throat drying up. fingers clutching the fork tight. your belly flipping stupidly quick. too damn excitable.

"what?"

the mug of coffee he'd poured for you in his hand. the sugar jar close by. spoon ready to be used for it's stirring purpose. an elation pouring from his cheeks that makes you want to curl in. "coffee". a slow, near patronizing reiteration. "how do you like to take your coffee".

"oh...", breath a little caught in your throat. the unsettled frenzy under skin an oddity. because this very regular, slightly older, very good looking, self assured man, shouldn't have such an affect. "..um...a little sugar, a lot of cream".

and he does it to perfection. listens and performs. giving short flits of his eyes to yours. stirring and assessing. an appraisal. your neck heating from the sensation of being examined. satisfaction brightening him up at such rough handy work made the night before. smug fucking asshole. that curling scrape of the spoon against coffee filled porcelain winding up your curiosities to a nagging degree. sensitivities under the skin too plain and forthright to ignore. too well suited actually. like they've taken up a comfortable residence after just one night of being made pliant. had others felt this way once upon a time? sat where you sit now? being made by themselves to snuff out the disgusting giddiness of some post-night spectacle. a green, rotten, world of a feeling in the pit of your stomach now.

"do you—...", finding the phrasing, forming properly on the tongue, "...you usually get caught up in... things...like this?"

a scoff but it's fully amused. his lips spreading, a chuckle slipping into words. "is that a 'do i regularly fuck my clients question', cause if so then no". the mug sliding along the marble island. coffee prepped pluming thick still. "you're the first. congrats".

this fucking guy. "oh?" that bite of irony in him, troubling the skin playfully, as if to lure you out from behind that disconcerting wall you've so diligently built, in an attempt to evade him. his eyes and that little smirk he feels the need to keep along his mouth. "i didn't realize you were some sort of prize".

his head tilts, gaze slipping up and over and about. appraisal again. the look you give at the arrival of an object of affection, desire after some time. a satisfaction born from the restoration of a familiar, comfortable thing. your jaw shifting soft as you chew. lips pursing over the mug to sip tenderly. a drip of coffee falling off and away from your mouth. his pace quick as he plucks a napkin to hand you.

"i mean...", his body leaning in against the island. elbows pressing to the marble to bring him closer. his hair a little messy and untamed. "...i don't think so, but you were lettin a lot loose last night. little noises and such. i figured you were just so happy and satisfied...", grabbing his own mug to sip from. delighting in the silence, in the astonishment his teasing is leaving you to settle in. "...felt like you'd won something".

your cheeks are warm. hot even. stomach suddenly full off of his domestic efforts of a hot breakfast. your fingers gingerly pushing the plate away towards him, but the pull and roll of your eyes speak of something a little more heated than some gingered, cautioned disposition. his cockiness doing awful work. irking your nerves and reeling you in just the same. and maybe it's your turn to appraise. to examine and assess. his early morning, kitchen attire very obviously calculated enough to bring about some dead-brained, teenaged, short circuiting. chest shirtless and his legs covered in mesh shorts. arms tatted and muscled. grays and dark brown hair like a fine patch work on his face. admirable things of course, but you've already, obviously, given yourself away in revealing how much of it you find appealing. he doesn't need more.

an attempt to bruise should work. if not successful, at least give it a go right?

"you were alright", you shrug. chest hammering, near implosion. his eyes casting down, daring for an evasion. "i give it an A minus. there's always room for improvement".

"ouch", he laughs. a wide, bright, light expression. dumping your finished plate into the sink. "if i knew i was getting tested on performance, i'd have strove for higher marks...". sipping from his mug again. a head shake to express disagreement. "...but some of the judgement here is a bit range-less...doesn't really grasp the full effect of my—"

"dick?"

you stiffen just after the leave of it. a thought never meant to be expelled but here you are, fighting the urge to curl in and hold your head. heart beating terribly hard. embarrassment rife.

"...capabilities...but now i see where your heads at. i think this is grounds for some rescoring. you're impaired".

"by what exactly?"

he hums. that head tilt again. "you were a little eager last night, which, given how long you been wantin and schemin, is very understandable, but those good, true bits of judgement are from how well you can savor it right? you gotta stop and smell those roses".

you scoff. "scheming is a reach".

his eyes roll. pushing off the edge of the island. "an observation". shuffling back slightly to make a bodies worth of space. his hand motioning. "come here".

"for what—"

"please", like he's sweetening the give of a request. an appeal. like he knows just the chord to strum to produce the work of some easier follow through.

eyes softer but exacting. a clever lure in. like last night. like when he fit and slotted his mouth against yours and breathed deeply. fingers gentler and patient, pushing in to soothe the quake of your thighs. your body undone beneath him. performing a beautiful release with the song of all those little noises he couldn't help but to bring up now for his amusement. palms slipping between your legs then for more. to spread and curl. a dangerously steady feed in, swirling along the tender beginning of your pussy. toying and prodding, suckling your neck, and then a knuckle deep stroke that sorely excites already sensitive nerves. your legs pressing in to trap him to a stillness. his mouth at your ear. hot breaths, your skin shivering. a kiss to the shell of it before his delicate "please". that manner of request unfolding your legs easy. the simplicity of it forcing you to moan for him as he'd sought to take more from you.

your thighs press together hard, memory bursting till its coursing along every bit of skin. but you don't make to indulge him. testing the waters of this defiance. because he's obviously looking to stretch some authoritative muscle. "open, spread, be still", those the tender taste of his commands filling your mouth as he kissed you last night, and in your daze you complied swiftly. as eager as he'd said you did. the whole of him used to control. used to finely straddling lines of danger and succeeding well. what with his needles and their sharp, biting impressions. so no, you don't move, letting the thickness of the air settle deeper. playing at a naive rebellion done only by fragile little prey thought invincible. because this is it, isn't it? the thing that gets him going. sets his bones hot and fingers achy.

it's a finger over licks of a fire, a push of the limit after already being burnt to a beautiful consumption. your brows pulling. hands palming your knees tight. "you bite".

he smirks. bares teeth. steps calm to cover the distance. the patience of a wolf. "only upon request".

his island chair is one that swivels. a short creak breaking as you turn to face him. laughing breathy, wry, shifting in place, searching for comfortability under the weight of his presence. his hard body slotting between your thighs. coffee on his tongue as he nears, mouth ghosting shy. his nose slipping at yours. a hard swallow in your throat as you feel him press in to wedge you against the chair and the island. "i never asked", a little docility to your voice. adverting your eyes, closing them, to refuse his own, another small performance. something refractory. his chest warm as you press forward into him. a hot hand running up along your back till its situating to cradle your nape.

"you didn't oppose".

his teeth sinking in to pull at your bottom lip. sharp enough for an abrupt wince. attempting to pry yourself from his grip, that palm at the base of your neck strong. corrective. short breaths huffing into his mouth as he kisses your lip. a light play at a remedy. the affection of it sweet and dotting enough that you rush in for more, much to his sudden displeasure. his throat humming, the confirmation of some long standing observation. the column of your neck warm from the run of his free thumb. that slip of a touch shivering you whole. hands gripping into the waist band of his shorts. knuckles aching. a terrible make at reprieve.

"being skittish is just a natural little condition of yours huh?"

"no". your voice airy. feathered for him.

"so just with me then?...", skimming his mouth at your cheek. a simple kiss to the apple of it. "...cause i can't really give you what you need when you're all excitable and eager like this...". another lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth. "...need some patience".

a near unbreathable daze forms about your head. eyes dim. the scent of him filling your nose till its blooming in your lungs. fingers curling and sweeping and releasing along his skin. at old tattoos and taut muscle. a pulse at the heart of your thighs that teeters your nerves on the verge of inconsolable. his fingers squeezing perfect at your neck. a purr of a moan in your mouth. "what else do i need?"

his mouth slots for a full kiss, done up with breath and purpose. your palms holding firm at his waist for stability as he pulls you in. "a little direction". his tongue peaking to slip. a lazy lick at yours. your breath hitching at the wet curl of it. lips parting to receive. smirking as you whimper against him. "don't need you gettin distracted, then all of your attention gets eaten up by trivial little shit. you start making the real poor decisions then".

"like pepsi logo tattoos...", you muse. "...and fucking your tattooist raw...", a languid, tongue filled kiss. air harsh through the nose to make up for the overtake of his mouth. the slipping noise of it lewd to the ears. makes your skin hot. hotter. urges erupting sure. a fragile hiss playing off your mouth, his teeth finding refuge over your lip again. a grunted moan hitting the air. his hands tucked under your knees, rushing to pull your thighs in, body at the edge of the island chair. you feed your tongue in again. eagerness unabated. "...you're not the first man with too many gray hairs trying to be my handler...", a snicker thats more like a scoff. a teasing tug at the waist band of his shorts again. making to release him but never getting to it. his mouth at your chin and your jaw, nipping and licking into your neck. "...i make your dick harder just a little more than all the others so now you want to manage me? make sure no one else is gettin in on this huh?..."

he digs into your leg. a harsh pinch that makes you jerk into him. "i'd only be offended if you didn't like me so much, didn't wanna fuck me so badly", his nose knocking into yours again. a bruising kiss by the firm pull of his lips. "something tells me you like a little correction...", a hand keeps your thigh cinched to him and the other releases your other leg to journey near the zipper of your jeans. "...being commended".

his middle and ring fingers venture between. a faint circling where your jeans cover over the throb of your clit. the pace and patience of his touching and his mouth quaking your bones. irritated with an eagerness he seems to want to handle so insistently.

his phone rings.

you whine in protest. the slip away of him abrupt and emptying as he fishes for the phone.

"relax", he muses. kissing the corner of your mouth.

but he answers anyways. settles into the call so much till his brows pull. a focus that leads into that faithful disappointment of having to prioritize. green eyes casting over. taking stock of your face. his thumb soothing your lip, just where he'd bitten.

the emptiness grows, occupying this shitty liminal space. and it only gets worse. the neediness he'd corralled snuffed out quick. something about "forgotten early appointments" and "taking you where you need to go".

there are many valuable little notes to give to the self. an unwieldy feeling under the skin as you make to get your belongings. going about a terrible attempt of acting like he wasn't just about to give you a three-peat of last nights little fun. so close to feeling all of him just meticulously fed into you.

the biggest note of all though. toughing your shoes on. annoyance playing unabashed. don't fuck your tattooist.

#joannasteez #cm punk #cm punk fanfiction #cm punk fanfic #cm punk fic #cm punk x reader #cm punk x black reader #cm punk x fem reader #implied plus size reader #tattoo au

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poppitron360 · 7 months ago

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i love epic too! and i think ur super smart so can you share any cool things that you noticed/learned about it?

So I think my favourite song in Epic in terms of the composition is probably Scylla.

Btw this analysis barely scratches the surface of the composition/production of this song alone. I could talk for hours about this.

Also if I use any words you don’t understand, please please please ask me to elaborate and explain further (please). I tried my best to make it as easy to follow as possible but I grew up around this stuff so I tend to under-explain things and assume everyone knows what I’m talking about.

Most of the time when you’re recording vocals, you record the singer singing the melody two or three times (this is called double-tracking, and it makes the voice sound richer and better) and then you record the harmonies in the same fashion.

But with Scylla, they just recorded the singer singing the melody a bunch of times, and then pitch-shifted some of it to the harmonic note. When using any kind of DAW (Digital Audio Workspace (Sidenote but from what I can tell from the vids, Jay uses GarageBand, which I believe is free for most devices)), manipulating a note- changing the tempo, or in this case, changing the pitch- of a naturally-recorded instrument like a singing voice will make it sound really artificial.

(I love this because it’s clear that Jorge doesn’t have the best equipment and he’s using it to his advantage. Something recorded on a crappy four-track tape recorder in your bedroom can sound so much cooler than something recorded at Real World Studios or Abbey Road with the world’s best recording equipment- but only if you know what you’re doing.)

Also, in the context of Epic, the more synthetic, artificial, and electronic sounds are reserved for the mythical characters- the gods and monsters.

Taking a quick re-listen to Scylla’s song, I’ve noticed she’s harmonising on the 3rd and 5th of the note (now, I don’t have perfect pitch (which is when you can tell what note it is just by ear) so I could be wrong).

This is a very simplified explanation, but basically any key has a scale, and most chords are comprised of the root (the first 1st note in the scale) the 3rd note, and the 5th note. You can add or take away extra notes to make it ✨sparklier✨.

So she’s harmonising on the 3rd and the 5th, and her harmonies are mostly moving in parallel motion (in the same way) with the melody. This gives a clean, sweet, consonant feel. (Consonant= not dissonant. Dissonant= “smushy”)

Most of the melody is conjunct (moving in steps- no big leaps) and also descending, like you’re falling down in steps with her. Then, at the end of each line rising back up again.

Except for “Deep down” which is disjunct (big leap), moving downwards. You are plunging into the depths.

This has a chilling simplicity to it. And the fact that it’s repeated over and over and over again makes it almost sickening. I love it.

What I love about this is the duality of simple, beautiful elements, and dark, haunting elements.

So! You have the combination of:

The main vocal melody being sung by a natural voice- imo showing how Scylla was once a beautiful nymph

The harmonies being sung by a pitch-shifted voice, giving it a strange, creepy, artificial, “mythical” sound to it- as established by the other uses of electronic instruments in Epic to show myth

Consonant harmonising on the notes of the chord, which is something we are trained to hear in music and feels very “right” and “natural”

The parallel motion of the harmonies, which give a simple feeling- you’re not being sent out in loads of directions. You’re falling down with her.

The descending nature of the melody taking you “deep down”, then rising back up.

The continuous repetition of this simple melody line

The fact that it’s sung in a minor (sad) key

Ultimately these two factors create a stark contrast- a juxtaposition- which creates a super cool and bone-chilling effect. The only thing I can relate it to is something akin to a creepy children’s nursery rhyme from a horror movie. It’s unlike any other song in Epic just because of how twisted it feels. This beautiful, creepy song being played as you hear Ody’s men screaming as she slaughters them

(While we’re on the topic of the screams, in music production there is this thing called “panning” which (if you’re listening in stereo and not mono) controls how much to the left or right the sound is coming from. This is why I love to listen to Epic, specifically this song, on headphones, because you can hear the men being gruesomely killed all around you.)

Also “Drown in your sorrow and fears/choke on your blood and your tears/bleed ‘til you’ve run out of years” is just a mood and a half (there’s a whole other post I could write for the literary analytics of the lyrics- how she uses imperative verbs. It’s a command. It’s an instruction.)

And so when Odysseus joins in with Scylla singing “We are the same you and I…” it really hits home just how much of a monster he’s become- how unfeeling he was when he sacrificed his men. This is so subtle but in my opinion it’s what really turns him. Jorge is using all of these contrasting techniques to make Scylla seem horrific and creepy as fuck, and Ody is empathising with her. He is relating to her. I just… *shivers* wow.

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outfitqueer · 6 months ago

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Props and backgrounds can take your photos to the next level🌟

1️⃣ Pick a Theme: Match your props and setting to your vibe—cosy with a book or bold with colourful backdrops📱📸 2️⃣ Keep It Simple: A clean background (like a plain wall or soft fabric) lets you stay the focus🍧🍇🍓 3️⃣ Play with Depth: Stand slightly away from the background for a pro-level effect🌻🪻

Your photos should tell your story—get creative and have fun! ✨📸"

@outfitqueer🏳️‍⚧️

#trans pride #transgender #trans beauty

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stellaronrecords · 16 days ago

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﹙❤︎﹚ 𝓢𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 #1 : 𝓐𝐓𝐋𝐘𝐒 ( 𝓢𝐓6𝐑𝐋𝐘 )

official writing analysis created by @kurogira. any commentary provided is purely anecdotal, apart of the stellaronhvnters 1st anniversary project.

sample excerpts : 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

author introduction. atlys writes like a slow-blooming storm—rare, vivid, and impossible to ignore. their words move like poetry, shaping characters that breathe and speak with startling life <- see sections below.

CHAPTER OO1 ╱ ❛ PROSE STYLE. ❜

atlys’ writing walks the line between restraint and ache. it favors clean language — often gentle in tone, rarely overwrought — but there’s a pulsing current beneath it all: something withheld, something deeply felt. even when straightforward, his voice is patient, controlled, and emotionally grounded. he’s not writing to impress — he’s writing to connect !! 😼✨

example one 📌 -> “as inhuman as he might feel, his hands are careful.” a line like this does all the heavy lifting: character insight, emotional tone, subtle grace. atlys trusts the reader to hear the echo.

his prose embraces subtlety, often relying on suggestion rather than explicit description, allowing emotions to simmer under the surface rather than boil over. this invites readers to engage actively, filling in the spaces with their own feelings.

example two 📌 -> “his fingers twitch. the wraps around his arms are peeled away with care… every bit of skin revealed is met with a soft kiss.” here, simple physical actions convey vulnerability, tenderness, and intimacy without spelling it all out.

there’s a lyrical quality woven through his sentences — phrases like “the press of your lips lighting his nerves” or “eyes soft at the corners” create a mood that feels both intimate and cinematic, drawing readers quietly but firmly into the scene. it’s easy to get attached, to feel the scene play in your head like a movie — this is an experience that not many get to enjoy, but atlys allows it for every fic they provide.

additionally, i believe atlys uses repetition and parallel structures sparingly but effectively, reinforcing key emotional beats without becoming redundant or distracting.

example three 📌 -> “‘… thank you.’ it’s quiet, a plea if anything for you to read between the lines and the unsaid.”

overall, his prose feels like a gentle touch — never forcing meaning, but coaxing it out with quiet precision.

CHAPTER OO2 ╱ ❛ CHARACTERIZATION. ❜

these characters don’t shout. they don’t need to. even when things are unspoken, the emotional weight is unmistakable — the silence is part of the story. when atlys gives us a pov, it’s never surface-level. the narration becomes an extension of the character’s own body: how they speak, how they flinch, how they think when no one’s listening. atlys specializes in showing, not telling 📚

take moze: in excerpt 4 ( linked here. ) 📌 -> he’s composed, even gruff — “stop trying to speak” — but you can feel the panic in how carefully he presses a cloth to the reader’s skin.

in excerpt 5 ( linked here. ) 📌 that restraint starts to crack: his silence, his hesitation, the way he “blinked, then didn’t.” he never says “i’m grieving,” but the grief is everywhere — in how he holds on, how he bleeds, how he won’t let go.

these characters don’t need to scream to be heard. a single line — “it’s cold, moze” — is enough to shatter you. and that’s atlys’ skill: he understands the power of stillness. what someone means when he says nothing at all.

there’s always a sense that the characters are trying. trying to be gentle. trying to survive. trying not to fall apart. he’s not perfect, but he wants to be — and that’s what makes them human.

CHAPTER OO3 ╱ ❛ TONE FLEXIBILITY. ❜

atlys moves easily between tones — from hushed intimacy to biting banter — without ever losing clarity or heart. his prose is adaptable, but not shapeless. whether it’s a lighthearted exchange or a quiet unraveling, there’s a throughline of emotional sincerity in everything he writes.

luocha, from excerpt 2 ( linked here. ) 📌 here is a transition of tone from dry wit to aching honesty. tone slides from dry wit to aching honesty:

“nah. don’t trust you enough for that, merchant.”

[ … ]

“forgive me,” he whispers. to himself, to you, to the aeon that cannot watch from above.

the dialogue isn’t flashy, but it changes temperature gradually. the switch from banter to prayer happens in real time — and atlys gives it room to breathe.

another example from excerpt 5 ( linked here. ) 📌 -> “please,” the words crawled out of your throat; ragged, pained, reverent, akin to a prayer and too much like a desperate plea, “don’t be mad at me.”

[ … ]

the snow was red. it’s melting. it’s warm. perhaps it was love.

he blinked, then didn’t.

this tonal turn — from fear to fatalism — is devastating. and yet, the delivery is quiet. atlys doesn’t force the drama; he lets the moment arrive on its own.

take this opener from the excerpt 1 ( linked here. ) 📌 -> as inhuman as he might feel, there is no doubt that moze is mortal to the bone when he melts into your touch.

it’s both lyrical and grounded. not indulgent — just thoughtful. he balances emotional weight with careful structure, never tipping too far into sentimentality.

in short: atlys isn’t afraid of silence, softness, or humor — and he doesn’t flatten his voice to fit a certain tone. each piece still feels uniquely his, no matter the mood or setting.

CHAPTER OO4 ╱ ❛ ATMOSPHERE. ❜

atlys writes scenes that breathe. his atmosphere is never just aesthetic — it’s emotional. the quiet between words, the weight of a held breath, the feel of wind or water — all of it becomes part of the story’s inner pulse. his writing captures not only where a moment happens, but how it feels to be inside it.

for this section, i will be using excerpt 6 ( linked here. ) 📌

for this particular piece, atlys writes in a world of almosts. each universe feels whole, lived-in, and aching with a quiet beauty — but it’s the undercurrent of fragility that leaves the strongest impression. there’s always the sense that something is slipping through your fingers, that what’s tender could also be temporary. his atmospheres aren’t just backgrounds; they’re moods, textures, soft hauntings.

even when the scene is mundane — a lecture hall, a farm, a front door — atlys paints every setting with significance. a single breeze, a press of fingers, the hesitation before a door opens: all of it matters & allows the reader to imagine the surroundings described.

example one 📌 -> “The hospital room is stuffy, void of colour except for the stack of ‘Get well soon!’ cards and deflating balloons shoved by his bedside. He misses the farm, he decides, the vast openness of the trees and fields. The smell of medicine had stung his nose at first; now it’s barely there.”

this detail-heavy approach builds not just setting, but emotion. you can smell the air, feel the weight of time. atlys often pairs ephemeral sensory moments with deeply human ones — and that contrast is where the atmosphere sings and embraces its true colors.

example two 📌 -> “In one universe, he is a star.” + “In one universe, you are the wind that greets him every morning.” + “In one universe, you’re a birdhouse and he’s the bird.”

these lines blur metaphor and narrative in a way that’s gentle, dreamlike, and deliberately soft. atlys invites the reader into layered universes — not with grandiose worldbuilding, but with stillness, intimacy, and loss.

example three 📌 -> “It’s funny how his world comes to a standstill when you do.” and that’s really it: atlys makes you feel how a world can pause for grief, for memory, for love. not with thunder, but with melting snow with a held breath.

CHAPTER OO5 ╱ ❛ ADDITIONAL NOTES. ❜

favorite line #1 / “What was he to say? ‘I love you’ was far from sufficient; any ‘Goodbye’ was morbid.”

favorite line #2 / “You’re so pretty,” you chuckled, the words slurred with an edge of sleep.

favorite line #3 / “You must be a ghost, if only because you always find me when I’m at my loneliest.”

favorite line #4 / “It’s you and me. We haven’t come all this way just to end.”

favorite line #5 / “No world could make me love you less.”

narrative pacing. atlys balances quiet moments with subtle shifts in tension, never rushing but also never lingering too long. his pacing invites the reader to feel alongside the characters without overwhelming them, which makes the emotional beats land softly but firmly.

use of imagery. his imagery tends to be understated but evocative — small physical details or natural elements (like light, touch, or textures) that double as emotional signifiers. this restrained symbolism deepens the themes without calling too much attention to itself. ✨

emotional accessibility. while his writing is subtle and reserved, it remains highly accessible. atlys manages to convey complex emotional states without alienating the reader through abstraction or over-complexity, which broadens the appeal of his works. 🎉

dialogue style. his dialogue often carries an undercurrent of meaning — what’s left unsaid or implied feels as important as the words themselves. this layering supports character interaction and encourages multiple read-throughs! confirmed by me 🥂

final commentary : to atlys / @st6rly, thank you for allowing me the opportunity to study your writing over the course of 2 full months. to say it was an honor is an understatement, a major one. you don’t just write fics, you write echoes. your works linger in my mind despite only reading them a few times. what makes you stand out isn’t just the way you write love — it’s how you write remembrance. the ache of almosts, the peace in presence, the devotion buried even in endings. to read your work is to witness someone hold every version of a bond tenderly, even the doomed ones. you are a writer of ifs and whens. of what could have been — and what still is, because love doesn’t end at a goodbye. you’re an incredibly talented individual with so much passion that it astounds me. i love you endlessly ⭐️

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witchyintention · 1 month ago

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Holy Water: Ancient History, Modern Magic, and How to Make Your Own

We’ve all seen it in movies — a priest flings a few drops and demons go screaming. But holy water isn’t just for dramatic exorcisms or Gothic cathedrals. It’s far older, far wider-reaching, and yes — witches have been using sacred waters long before Hollywood caught on.

So let’s pour a cup of tea, light a candle, and dive into the blessed (and sometimes salty) world of holy water.

🌍 A Brief History: Holy Water Didn’t Start with the Church

The concept of sacred water is nearly as old as human spirituality itself.

In Ancient Egypt, priests bathed in sacred waters before entering temples.

The Greeks and Romans used lustral water (from the Latin lustratio, meaning purification) in rites and public rituals.

Hindus revere the Ganges River as living divine essence — a tradition that continues to this day.

Celtic holy wells were dedicated to goddesses and spirits of the land, often used for healing, prophecy, and blessings.

Indigenous cultures around the world have used spring water, rainwater, and river water in ceremonies for centuries.

So no, holy water didn’t start with the Pope. It started with people recognizing water as a bridge between the mundane and the sacred.

🧿 Magical Uses for Holy Water

Today, magical practitioners across paths — witches, mystics, pagans, animists — still use holy water in deeply intentional ways. It can be:

✨ Protective – Used to seal spaces, banish negativity, or anoint people and tools 🌿 Purifying – Cleansing altars, crystals, or ritual objects 🌙 Empowering – Charged with moonlight, herbs, or intention for spellwork 🌍 Connecting – Offered to deities, ancestors, or spirits 🌬 Cleansing – Sprinkled before rituals to clear energy or in spiritual baths 🔥 Warding – Used to draw sigils or symbols of protection across thresholds

And guess what? You don’t need to be a high priestess or ordained clergy to make it.

🧪 How to Make Holy Water (Witch Style)

There’s no single “correct” recipe — different traditions have their own methods. But here’s a simple and effective way to create witch’s holy water that’s charged with intention and elemental balance:

✨ Ingredients:

Clean water (spring, rain, distilled, or filtered)

A pinch of salt (sea salt or black salt for banishing)

Your intention

Optional: herbs (rosemary, lavender, rue), moonlight, crystals, or deity prayer

🕯 Ritual Steps:

Set the space — Light a candle, center yourself, and call in your guides or deities if desired.

Pour your water into a clean jar or bowl.

Add your salt, stirring clockwise while speaking your intention. “With salt, I purify and protect.”

Bless the elements — Breathe over the water (air), pass it over flame (fire), sprinkle the salt (earth), and hold it with gratitude (spirit). “By Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit, I consecrate this water.”

Charge it — You can leave it under the full moon, say a prayer, or visualize white/gold light filling the jar.

Seal it — Store in a clean bottle. Label it clearly. Use within a month if not preserved.

💡 Holy Water Variations:

Full Moon Water – for charging spells, love and intuition

Banishing Water – made during a waning moon with black salt, vinegar, and wormwood

Solar Water – left in sunlight for confidence and clarity spells

Deity Water – offered to a specific god or goddess, using herbs and symbols associated with them

🔥 Final Words from the Cauldron

Holy water is one of the most ancient and universal magical tools — and it’s still powerful today. Whether you’re cleansing your space, protecting your aura, or honoring the moon, you’re stepping into a timeless current of sacred flow.

Remember: the magic isn’t just in the water. It’s in you. You are the bridge between the physical and the spiritual. The water simply carries your will.

So go ahead — bless, stir, sprinkle, and sip (safely). You’ve got holy hands.

#witchblr #witchythings #witchcraft 101 #witchcraft blog #witch community #witches #witchcraft info #witchcraft #real witchcraft #wicca #hellenic deities #healing energy #helios worship #history #hellenic community #hellenic gods #hellenic polytheism #herbalism

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nakiahsuniverse · 2 months ago

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🌙 How Your Moon Sign Affects Your Skincare Routine ✨

Your Moon sign = your emotional core, daily rhythms, and the way you nurture yourself.

So if your skincare routine hasn’t been hitting lately... maybe it’s not you—it’s your chart. Let’s match your Moon sign to a skincare style that actually feels like you 💆🏽‍♀️💗

♈ Aries Moon – The Skincare Sprinter Fast, fiery, and sometimes forgetful. You need something simple, effective, and on-the-go. 🔥 Your vibe: gel cleansers, tea tree oil, SPF sticks, anything that works fast.

♉ Taurus Moon – The Self-Care Sensualist You live for cozy luxury and soft textures. Routine = relaxation. 🌹 Your vibe: rosewater mist, creamy cleansers, face oils, jade rollers. Indulge, babe.

♊ Gemini Moon – The Curious Switch-Up You love trying new products... but forget to stay consistent. Keep it playful, but stick to the essentials. 🧪 Your vibe: exfoliating toners, brightening serums, skincare sets, multi-masking.

♋ Cancer Moon – The Skin-Emotion Connection Your skin reacts to your feelings. Sensitive, soft, and intuitive. Gentle care is everything. 💧 Your vibe: calming masks, hyaluronic acid, fragrance-free moisturizers, oat-based cleansers.

♌ Leo Moon – The Glow Queen You want your skin to shine. You love luxe and drama. Confidence = radiance. ✨ Your vibe: vitamin C serums, gold-infused products, shimmer oils, bougie packaging.

♍ Virgo Moon – The Ingredient Snob (in the best way) Clean, detailed, and perfectionist. You analyze your skincare like a science project. 🔬 Your vibe: niacinamide, antioxidant serums, minimalist routines with effective results.

♎ Libra Moon – The Aesthetic Skincare Girlie You want balance, beauty, and vibes. Your routine should be pretty and peaceful. 🌸 Your vibe: hydrating toners, under-eye masks, matching skincare sets, rose quartz tools.

♏ Scorpio Moon – The Skin Transformer You’re not afraid to go deep—emotionally or exfoliationally. You crave intense results. 🖤 Your vibe: charcoal masks, glycolic acid, retinol, peels, mystery potions.

♐ Sagittarius Moon – The Skincare Adventurer You hate being tied to a 10-step routine. Keep it travel-friendly and fun. 🎒 Your vibe: tinted SPF, multi-use balms, minis, skincare sticks, aloe-based products.

♑ Capricorn Moon – The No-Nonsense Classic You invest in what works. You're all about structure and results. 📈 Your vibe: retinol, peptides, dermatologist-approved creams, eye serums that actually do something.

♒ Aquarius Moon – The Skincare Futurist Trendy, experimental, and a little out-there. You’re the one trying LED masks before anyone else. 💡 Your vibe: serum cocktails, jelly cleansers, tech tools, skincare that looks like it came from space.

♓ Pisces Moon – The Dreamy Ritualist Skincare = fantasy. You want soft textures and intuitive rituals. Your routine is a whole mood. 🧴 Your vibe: overnight masks, creamy cleansers, dreamy scents, anything that makes you feel like a mermaid.

✨ Your skincare should feel like a love letter to yourself ✨ Let your Moon sign (or your whole chart tbh) guide your self-care magic.

Follow @nakiahsuniverse for more cosmic beauty, astrology inspo, and dreamy glow-up vibes 💖🌌

#moon sign skincare #zodiac skincare #astrology beauty #cosmic glow #skincare by sign #witchy beauty tips #tumblr beauty #soft skincare aesthetic #nakiahsuniverse #glow up magic #spiritual skincare #beauty rituals

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sexy-celestial · 4 months ago

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✨ Wellness ✨

Taking a holistic approach to my well-being this season. It’s about listening to my body and nourishing it from within. Collagen, Omega-3s, and daily rituals keep me feeling my best. Consistency is key, and I’m learning to embrace rest just as much as activity. 🧘🏾‍♀️💖

✨ Beauty ✨

Embracing natural beauty and self-love. It’s not about perfection but feeling confident and glowing from the inside out. Keeping my skincare routine simple, effective, and tailored to what my skin truly needs right now. Nourishing my soul with love and radiance, not just products. 💅🏾💕

✨ Skincare ✨

Listening to my skin and giving it the love it deserves. Keeping it clear and balanced with intentional products—hydrating oils, gentle exfoliation, and of course, my favorite skincare must-haves. It’s not just about looking good; it’s about feeling beautiful in every moment. 🌿✨

✨ Health ✨

Staying in tune with my body and focusing on holistic health. Exercise that makes me feel strong, clean, and balanced—whether it’s yoga, walking, or strength training. Healthy food, mindfulness, and staying hydrated keep me glowing. I’m always nourishing my body from the inside out. 🍓💧

✨ Spirit ✨

Taking time each day to connect with my spirit. Meditation, prayer, and reflection ground me in peace and purpose. God’s guidance is my anchor, and the quiet moments of stillness are where my soul finds clarity. Faith, trust, and divine timing—always. 🙏🏾✨

✨ Finance ✨

Financial freedom is a journey, and I’m learning to make intentional choices. Growing my wealth, creating opportunities, and building a sustainable future. Budgeting with intention, saving with purpose, and investing in what aligns with my dreams. Small steps lead to big wins. 💸✨

It’s about balance, alignment, and taking the time to nurture all parts of me. ✨🌸

#aesthetic #luxury #dream life #black girls in luxury #dream girl #black women in luxury #moodboard #manifest #manifestation #that girl #digital diary #journal entry #my uplaod #kenyasjournal

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24hrfrog · 2 years ago

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Ok I feel like I need to know... how do you render your art, it just looks soooooooo clean!

✨I love it✨

Tysm! I can break it down for yah

So I actually don’t rlly render anything I just consider it just drawing cuz when I think of render its those blended type illustrations with a whollle lotta details, I think mine it’s a simple coloring just like a Cartoon Network drawing tbh (that’s what I’m calling this style), where you have:

1.) pen pressure in lines

2.) you add in the color and have contrasting colors on top of its opposite or darker color to make the neon highlights

3.) include a “add” effect layer or just a layer that has a hue/brightness on top

4.) if you r lazy in between any of the steps and didn’t wanna clean a mistake than u just go on top of all the layers and fix that mistake at the v end

And throughout this whole thing the details are minimal and there are a lotta solid shades so barley using the smudge/blend

#thanks for askin! happy to hear ppl r interested in the process #24hr answers

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urbanxindia · 1 month ago

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Transform Your Space with Acoustic Foam: A Simple Guide for Everyone

Are you tired of hearing echoes in your room? Does outside noise disturb your sleep or study time? Whether you're a student, a music lover, a YouTuber, or someone who just wants a quieter space, there's one simple and affordable solution: acoustic foam. In this blog, we’ll explore everything about acoustic foam in the easiest way possible. It’s perfect for beginners, students, and even children to understand. And the best part? You can easily buy acoustic foam online at Urbanxindia.in.

🏠 What Is Acoustic Foam?

Let’s keep it simple: Acoustic foam is a soft, cushion-like material. It helps in controlling sound in your room. But wait! It doesn’t stop sound like a brick wall. Instead, it reduces echo. That means if you clap your hands or talk in a room with foam, the sound doesn’t bounce back too much. It gets absorbed.

That’s why you’ll find soundproof foam for recording studios and home theaters. It helps in making the sound clear and pleasant.

Learn more about how acoustic panels work on Wikipedia.

🎧 Why Do People Use Acoustic Foam?

Here are some super simple and real reasons people use acoustic foam in India:

🎧 For Home Studios

If you’re making music or recording videos, pyramid acoustic panels for studios are perfect. They help your voice or music sound better. No echo. No noise. Just clear sound!

🎓 For Studying or Working

Echo and noise make it hard to concentrate. With echo reduction foam for home, your room becomes quiet and calm. You can focus better on your homework or office work.

🌸 For Better Sleep

If you live near a road or noisy place, acoustic panels for walls in India help in reducing the outside noise. You sleep peacefully.

💼 For Online Meetings & Video Calls

Nowadays, we all use Zoom or Google Meet. A noisy background doesn’t look or sound good. Acoustic foam improves the audio, so your voice is clear and professional.

🚀 Benefits of Using Acoustic Foam

Let’s see the benefits in bullet points, super easy!

✅ Reduces echo in rooms

✅ Makes sound clear and sharp

✅ Improves recording quality

✅ Looks cool on walls

✅ Easy to install

✅ Available in many colors and shapes

✅ Affordable and long-lasting

People often search for the best soundproofing foam in India, and Urbanxindia.in is their top choice. Our foam is trusted by music artists, teachers, gamers, and families all over the country.

🚚 Where Can You Use Acoustic Foam?

You can use foam panels almost anywhere. Here are some great ideas:

🎤 Home studio

💼 Office cabin

🎥 YouTube recording room

🌆 Apartment bedrooms

🏛️ Conference halls

🎮 Gaming setup

🏫 Coaching centers

🎡 Home theaters

Our foam is not just for professionals. Anyone can use it to improve their space.

External Tip: Explore acoustic design ideas for creative ways to decorate with foam.

🛍️ How to Buy the Right Acoustic Foam

Buying the right foam is easy on Urbanxindia.in. Here’s what you should look for:

1. Shape

Pyramid: Looks modern and works well for studios.

Wedge: Classic design and great for echo control.

2. Size

Check how big your wall is and choose foam sheets accordingly.

3. Color

Choose colors that match your room. We have black, red, blue, grey, and more.

4. Quality

We offer premium-quality foam. It’s durable and effective. Our Urban India acoustic foam reviews are proof of our happy customers.

✅ Step-by-Step: How to Install Acoustic Foam

It’s fun and easy! Even kids can help with this:

Clean your wall with a dry cloth.

Take double-sided tape or foam glue.

Stick it on the backside of the foam.

Press the foam on the wall.

Done! Your room looks and sounds better now.

No need for drilling. No damage to walls.

Related Guide: How to Soundproof a Room

✨ Why Choose Urbanxindia.in?

We’re proud to say we are one of the most trusted sellers of soundproof foam for recording studios and homes in India. Here’s why our customers love us:

⭐ Affordable prices

⭐ Fast delivery

⭐ Great customer service

⭐ Secure payments

⭐ Premium quality foam

You can buy acoustic foam online anytime, and we’ll make sure it reaches your doorstep safely.

🙏 Final Words

Making your room sound better doesn’t need to be expensive or difficult. Acoustic foam is the perfect solution for reducing echo and creating a peaceful space. Whether you’re a kid doing homework, a teacher taking online classes, or a music lover, foam panels can make a huge difference.

So, what are you waiting for? Visit Urbanxindia.in today and explore the best acoustic panels for walls in India. Make your room sound as smart as you are!

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#acousticfoam #urbanxindia #soundproof #reducesound

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