softlyspun

[softlyspun]

feedism in the victorian era mustve gone insane

[softlyspun]

HAPPY JUNE 15TH, EVERYONE!!! Here is the official Sicktember 2025 Prompts list!

Here are some helpful links to help you get started:

Event FAQ: https://www.tumblr.com/sicktember/785439209109454849/sicktember-faqs-for-the-2025-year?source=share

Past Prompts: https://sicktember.tumblr.com/prompts

How to Submit Your Work: https://www.tumblr.com/sicktember/760549128005615616/content-promotion-reminder?source=share

Sicktember 2025 AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Sicktember_2025

Text List of 2025 Sicktember Prompts:

Sicktember Prompts Text Version:

“It’s the middle of the night, why are you up?”

Forced to go to school/work while sick 

“Why are you so sweaty?” 

Pneumonia 

Worst possible timing 

The boy who cried sick

“There’s a frog in my throat,” 

Aches and pains 

“Get your butt back in back!” 

Red eyes 

No known cure 

“You’re adorable when you’re sick,” 

Chronic Illness 

Bedridden 

“This is the worst headache of my life,” 

Misery loves company 

Infection

“We’re going to the hospital,” 

Stomach ache 

Fever Nightmares

“I’ll make you some tea,”/tea 

Sobbing 

Overdoing it 

“I feel like I’m dying,” 

Medicine

Slow Recovery Time

“I’m sick, not stupid!” 

Ghostly Pale

Came back worse/round two 

“You’re too sick to (blank)

Alt Prompts:

Gentle Back/Belly Rub

Warm Bath

“I want my (comfort item),”

Lullaby

“I love you,”

[softlyspun]

As someone who has organized a gangbang, it is SO HARD to Wrangle People towards the sexy parts and away from the crafted table of snacks which just so happens to be in front of your book shelf and OMG you have THIS gaming System?? That was Kickstarter exclusive! Like, no. Stop. Please return the game book to the shelf and remove your clothes. Please?

well thank god it's not just me

[softlyspun]

semi-chance-based stuffing prompts idk 🤷 not all of these are going to be realistic but your character's limits are up to you--they don't have to finish. if a particular prompt isn't applicable to your situation, feel free to use your imagination and bullshit it, or perhaps consult a friend, and if your character has an allergy or issue with the food item in question, feel free to substitute something similar

🥪 Roll a die. Ideally a normal 6-sided one, but I can't stop you from doing what you will. Your character has to eat that many sandwiches (what kind is up to you).

💕 Think about the last meal you ate. Double the portion and serve it to your character.

🍎 Is there any fruit in your kitchen? Doesn't have to be fresh produce. (If no fruit is present, think of something you've had recently or that you're craving.) Think of a dessert you could make with it, and feed your character the whole thing.

🍰 Flip a coin. If it's heads, stuff your character with your favorite meal. If it's tails, stuff them with your favorite dessert.

🤢 Think about something you've eaten that upset your stomach. Feed your character as much of it as they can take.

📺 Count the amount of screens in the room you're in. For each one, feed your character a bowl of soup.

🍽️ Think about the last sit-down restaurant you've been to. Send your character there and ensure that they have an appetizer, an entree, a side, and a dessert.

🪙 If you have any change on you, count it up. The number you come up with is how many bananas your character must (try to) eat. If you have no change, just give them a regular bunch.

🍕 Roll two dice and add up the total. Your character has to eat that many slices of pizza.

🍪 Think about the last snack food you had. Feed your character an entire party-size package of it.

🍝 Flip a coin. If it's heads, stuff your character with a hearty home-cooked dinner. If it's tails, stuff them with fast food.

🛏️ Count the amount of pillows in the room you're in. Your character has to drink that many cans of soda. If no pillows are present, just give them a two liter bottle.

🫄 Think about the most stuffed you've ever been. Now take that meal and feed it to your character.

[softlyspun]

A Feast Fit for a Knight

Hey guys!! I've been writing a bunch of stories and getting really into some new OC's, so let me introduce you to King Cassiel and Sir Lucian! After the war, Lucian returned home thinner than when he left, so Cassiel is determined to feed him. Let's just hope the two can keep their relationship under wraps in front of the watchful eyes of the court and the entire kingdom. Contains stuffing, belly rubs, mentions of hunger, and full stomach growling.

The knights of Varethia arrived at the castle in droves, their armor gleaming under the late afternoon sun. It had been days since King Cassiel’s beloved knight, Sir Lucian, had returned from war, his body battered and fragile. Cassiel had watched over him in nervous silence as he ensured Lucian was waited on hand and foot. His wounds had been cleaned, his bruises faded from deep violet to the muted yellow of healing. But it was the hollow emptiness in his stomach, the weakness that had once threatened to take him from Cassiel, that had truly haunted the king.

For days, he had watched over his knight. Even as Lucian’s body healed, the sharp angles of his hunger lingered. He ate, but never enough. His habit of giving away his rations had left him accustomed to starvation, to taking only what was necessary and never what was sufficient. The sight of his half-finished plates gnawed at Cassiel more than he cared to admit. And so, the king had made his decision. A grand feast was arranged under the guise of honoring the returning knights, an extravagant display of gratitude for their service. But in truth, it was a carefully constructed deception—a lavish performance with one intended purpose. Lucian would eat.

The great hall was alive with the scent of seared meats, spiced wines, and honeyed bread, the tables adorned with more bounty than any man could hope to finish in one night. Laughter and raucous voices filled the space, yet Cassiel’s attention remained fixed on the only man that mattered. Near the head of the long table, beside the throne, stood Lucian. The knight was stiff, his sharp gaze flickering toward the long banquet table where his men stood waiting. Cassiel noted the tension in his shoulders, the way his armor hung loosely over his frame.

With a slow tilt of his head, the king gestured toward the chair beside him. A silent command. Sit. Lucian exhaled sharply through his nose, the only sign of his reluctance before he obeyed. But before he could lower himself fully into his chair, Cassiel leaned in, his voice a low murmur just for his knight’s ears. "I could hear your poor stomach rumbling from across the hall, Lucian. No need to be shy tonight." As he spoke, his fingers ghosted down Lucian’s side, the touch barely there, yet impossibly firm in its intent. The knight’s breath caught, his spine stiffening as warmth rushed to his ears. 

Satisfied, Cassiel straightened and turned his attention to the table. His gaze swept over the assembled knights, lingering for a brief moment before he spoke, his voice carrying through the hall with effortless authority. The hall quieted, the men standing at attention, their respect evident in the way they held their heads high. Cassiel’s golden eyes flickered with something close to reverence. "You have given your blood, your strength, and your loyalty to this kingdom. And so tonight, you will take from it. Eat. Drink. Be honored, as you deserve. Varethia stands because of you." A chorus of voices rose in response, the men raising their goblets in unison. 

Cassiel gave the briefest nod of acknowledgment before his gaze hardened, turning toward the servants stationed along the walls. "See to it that these men want for nothing," he ordered. The servants rushed to obey, pitchers of wine tipping, platters of food passed down the length of the table. The hall swelled with the sounds of indulgence—the scrape of knives against plates, the hearty laughter of soldiers no longer burdened by war. But Cassiel did not care for any of it. His attention was fixed on his knight, his beloved, who still hesitated, still held himself back. Cassiel watched as he lifted his goblet but only took a careful sip, his movements controlled, precise. His plate remained untouched save for a small piece of bread he had yet to eat. Unacceptable.

Cassiel reached forward and added more food to Lucian’s plate—slices of roasted meat, a serving of fragrant rice, bread still warm from the oven. Lucian eyed the growing portion on his plate with barely concealed apprehension. The rich aroma of the feast surrounded him—meats glistening with juices, soft bread warm to the touch, the delicate sweetness of wine and fruit. And yet, the sheer amount before him made his stomach tighten. "Your Majesty—" He spoke lowly, careful not to draw attention. "This is far too much." Cassiel didn’t spare him a glance, simply picking up his own goblet and taking a slow sip of wine. "It is exactly what you need."

Lucian exhaled, fingers tightening around his fork. "I am no longer starving, Cassiel. War has ended. I am—" The king turned to him, golden eyes dark and knowing. "And yet your belly remains empty." His hand tightened just slightly against Lucian’s thigh beneath the table. “You’ve been through too much. Eat. You deserve it.” Lucian’s breath hitched, something inside him unraveling at the quiet sincerity of the king’s words. Cassiel’s fingers brushed lightly against the edge of his plate, guiding it just a little closer. “Please,” the king added, softer now. “Fill your stomach, my knight. For me.” 

There was no defiance in Lucian’s sapphire eyes, only quiet acceptance as he found no argument. Swallowing down whatever weak protest still lingered on his tongue, Lucian relented. He took up his knife and fork and cut into the tender meat, lifting a piece to his mouth. Cassiel watched, satisfaction flickering across his face as Lucian finally began to eat. And beneath the table, his hand remained—steady, warm, and unwavering.

As the meal progressed and chatter echoed off the high ceilings of the grand dining room, Lucian found himself slowly loosening his guarded demeanor. At first, the knight ate with measured control, each bite slow and deliberate. But as the rich flavors unfolded on his tongue something within him stirred. He hadn’t realized how truly hungry he was. His body had adjusted too well to hunger, to rationing his meals out of habit even when food was within reach. But now, with the warmth of the feast settling into his bones, his appetite awakened. He reached for the golden-crusted bread, tearing off a piece and dipping it into the thick, savory broth pooled on his plate. 

Cassiel’s gaze traced the softened lines of Lucian’s face, his growing satisfaction as he indulged, the way the hollowness in his cheeks seemed less stark in the flickering glow of the banquet hall. Lucian was eating. Cassiel let the happiness surge through him, though he kept his expression locked into its usual composure. Still, the corner of his lips threatened to tilt upward as he lifted his goblet, all the while relishing the sight before him. The king had always been a man of indulgence. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it. And right now, every fiber of his being was drawn to the knight beside him. 

Lucian, lost in his meal, was oblivious at first, but Cassiel was watching intensely. The way Lucian’s body had softened just enough under proper care, the tension easing from his shoulders as warmth seeped into his bones. It was a sight more intoxicating than the finest wine. Cassiel’s hand, which had rested idly on Lucian’s thigh beneath the table, shifted. His fingers ghosted upward, slipping over the hard plate of Lucian’s armor, coming to rest against his stomach. Even through the metal, he could feel the warmth of his knight’s body, the slight rise and fall of his breath. Lucian stiffened, a quiet hitch of breath betraying him.

Cassiel leaned in, his lips just a breath away from Lucian’s ear. His voice was low, laced with mischief. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, my knight,” he murmured, fingers pressing ever so slightly over the metal. “I can feel how full you’re getting.” Lucian’s face burned, his grip tightening around the stem of his goblet. His stomach was certainly fuller than it had been in days, comfortably so, but with the king’s attention on him like this, it felt heavier. He swallowed, a flush creeping down his neck. Cassiel chuckled, pleased, his thumb grazing the cool metal between them. “Perhaps later, when the armor is gone, I’ll see just how full your belly is.”

Lucian inhaled sharply, his composure threatening to crack. “Cas—! Your Majesty!” A few soldiers glanced their way, though none seemed particularly invested—too enraptured by food and drink to notice the dangerous game their king was playing. Cassiel leaned back, his expression as composed as ever, save for the devilish glint in his golden eyes. Lucian, however, was still reeling from the king’s whispered words, his face hot with a flush that refused to fade. The food on his plate suddenly felt secondary to the warmth that pooled in his stomach, whether from the meal or from Cassiel’s touch, he wasn’t entirely sure. 

But not everyone at the feast was as oblivious as the knights indulging in their victory meal. The royal advisors had been watching. They had seen the lingering glances, the king’s subtle favoritism, the way his hands found Lucian as though he belonged to him. This was the final straw. A few of them exchanged wary glances before the eldest among them gathered his courage, stepping forward. He cleared his throat discreetly before bowing his head. “Your Majesty,” he began, voice measured and cautious, “Apologies for the interruption, but a knight, no matter how… valued, should not be indulged so publicly, sire. It raises questions.” 

Cassiel didn’t move at first. His fingers remained exactly where they were, splayed lazily over Lucian’s armor. Slowly, his gaze lifted from his knight, golden eyes cutting like a blade as they landed on the advisor. “Oh, forgive me,” he drawled, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “I wasn’t aware that ensuring my finest knight does not wither away was now a scandalous affair.” He shifted in his seat, tilting his head as he regarded the advisors like insects buzzing too close to his ear. “Do tell me,” he mused, voice deceptively calm, “since when did it become your place to dictate where my hands may rest?” 

The men stiffened, their confidence faltering under the weight of the king’s gaze. Lucian, though silent, could feel the tension in the air. He cast a glance at the advisors, then at Cassiel, whose fingers now tapped idly against the stem of his goblet, waiting for someone��anyone—to challenge him further. But no one dared. The advisors quickly dipped their heads, not before exchanging another glance. Cassiel smirked, victorious as the men sheepishly shuffled away. He reached once more, this time letting his fingers trail lightly over Lucian’s wrist before resting against his thigh again, reclaiming his space as if nothing had happened.

Lucian shifted slightly, the warmth of Cassiel’s touch seeping through his armor, his stomach fluttering from the display of affection. His king had never been one to shy away from arrogance, but this—this was something else entirely. Cassiel had put the royal advisors in their place without so much as breaking a sweat, all because of him. Lucian swallowed, lowering his voice as he leaned in, careful to keep his words between them. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his tone firm despite the way his pulse quickened. “You should be more careful, Your Majesty.” Cassiel’s lips quirked upward, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Careful?” he echoed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Lucian’s thigh. “And what exactly should I be careful of, my knight?”

The knight cast a brief glance toward the advisors, who had wisely retreated into their silence. Cassiel exhaled sharply through his nose, something between amusement and mischief. He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against Lucian’s ear. “You seem to forget yourself, Lucian.” The knight’s breath hitched. Cassiel pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his fingers trailing up, barely ghosting over the armor covering Lucian’s stomach. “You are mine,” Cassiel said, his voice like velvet and iron all at once. “And I protect what is mine.” Lucian’s fingers tightened around his goblet. There was no arguing with the king—not when he spoke like this. Not when his eyes burned with a truth so raw and undeniable.

The great hall buzzed with the sounds of clinking goblets, the deep rumble of laughter, and the satisfied hums of soldiers indulging in a feast unlike any they had seen in months. Cassiel remained in his gilded chair, enjoying his meal with slow satisfaction. Lucian exhaled a quiet, satisfied huff as he set his utensils down, leaning back as his plate sat nearly empty before him. His stomach, which had spent too many days gnawing on air, now sat comfortably full. He shifted, absently pressing a hand to his middle as he let out a slow breath. Cassiel caught the movement instantly. His golden eyes flickered down to where Lucian’s hand rested before slowly, deliberately, he reached out and slid the plate back toward him. 

Lucian blinked. “Your Majesty—” “You’ve hardly eaten enough,” Cassiel murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing. He nudged the plate forward another inch, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Lucian frowned, glancing down at his plate. “My king, I am—” Cassiel leaned in, his voice dropping low. “If I ever see that hollow look in your belly again, I will see to it that you never leave my sight.” Lucian’s stomach gave a quiet flutter, it wasn’t quite full enough to be painful, but certainly content. But the king’s words weren’t just a command, they were a plea. Cassiel wasn’t asking him to eat for mere indulgence—this was a matter of care, of love, of showing him that his knight mattered.

Slowly, he picked up his utensils once more. Lucian hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between Cassiel’s expectant eyes and the plate before him. As his fork met his mouth, a soft, approving hum escaped Cassiel. “Good boy.” The king’s voice was like silk, smooth and rich with something that made Lucian’s heart swell. The knight’s breath caught, the sensation of the king’s hand rubbing over his inner thigh spreading warmth through his body. His stomach gave a soft rumble, but Lucian ignored it. The impending discomfort of too much food felt distant compared to the burning need to prove himself worthy of the king’s praise. 

The lively hum of the great hall stretched into the evening, the knights still indulging in their meals, their boisterous voices filling the space with warmth. But Lucian, though surrounded by his men, felt as if he were alone in the room with Cassiel. The fullness in his stomach had crept up on him, slow but relentless. The last bite had been a mistake—his belly, now stretched tight beneath his armor, ached with the weight of his indulgence. He let out a low, quiet groan, shifting uncomfortably as he set his fork down and pushed the plate away. His hand ghosted over his middle, tending to the discomfort. Cassiel, of course, noticed immediately.

The king’s sharp golden eyes flickered down to Lucian’s stomach, then back up, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. His fingers drummed lazily against the table. His hand, still resting against Lucian’s thigh, gave a slow, appreciative squeeze. Lucian swallowed thickly, his face warm from more than just the feast. He wasn’t sure if it was the fullness pressing against his ribs or the king’s constant attention making him breathless. Cassiel hummed with deep satisfaction. “You did well, my knight,” he praised, voice low and velvety, threading through Lucian’s senses like a siren’s call. “You’ve pleased me greatly.”

Lucian exhaled through his nose, trying to steady himself. Despite the dull ache of his overfilled stomach, the king’s words melted into him like honey. “I—” Lucian started, but the words caught in his throat as Cassiel leaned in, close enough that the scent of rich wine and spice curled around him. “Let me look at you,” Cassiel murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, something private. His gaze dropped once more, ghosting over Lucian’s frame with unfiltered admiration, lingering at the way his stomach now pressed subtly against the confines of his armor. “I missed seeing you like this.”

Before Lucian could react, the king let his fingers press just lightly against the plated armor at his stomach, the contact featherlight, almost teasing. Lucian stiffened, his breath catching sharply in his throat. He was so full, so painfully full, but the king’s attention, the warmth of his hand on his belly threatened to melt him then and there. Cassiel’s lips parted slightly, his expression sly as he pressed a fraction firmer. Lucian felt as though he might combust. He had been prepared for the battlefields, for the sword and the bloodshed. But he had never been prepared for this—for the way the king’s voice alone could unravel him, for the way he leaned into the king’s touch despite the ache. 

The fullness sat heavy and unrelenting, stretching him to his limits, and though he tried to keep his breathing steady, his body had other plans. A low, drawn-out groan rumbled through his stomach. Lucian clenched his jaw, willing himself to remain still, to ignore the discomfort. But another sound followed—an unmistakable protest from his overworked belly. His arms slowly folded over his stomach, as if to quiet the storm raging beneath his ribs. Lucian could feel the king’s gaze on him before he even dared to look. Cassiel had gone still, his goblet resting against his lower lip, his golden eyes dark with something unreadable. 

Lucian shifted minutely in his seat, his fingers tightening where they rested against his stomach. But before he could form a protest, before he could force himself to sit straighter and pretend he was fine, the king leaned in. Cassiel’s voice was low, meant only for him. “Oh, my dear knight…” Lucian’s breath stuttered. The warmth in Cassiel’s tone sent passion curling in his chest. The king’s fingers slid against Lucian’s armor, then lower, grazing just barely against the fabric beneath. “You’re so full,” Cassiel murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles. “But worry not.” His lips curled into something softer, something fond. “I will take good care of you.” Lucian swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as his stomach gave another soft, miserable groan beneath the king’s touch. 

Cassiel smirked, rising smoothly from his seat, his movements drawing immediate attention. The laughter and conversation among the knights dulled as all eyes turned toward him. Cassiel adjusted the ruby rings on his fingers before raising his hands slightly, a casual but powerful display of authority. “Continue your revelry,” he announced, his voice rich and commanding. “Enjoy the feast you have so valiantly earned.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, ensuring they were received before adding, “I will be stepping away to speak with Sir Lucian.”

Lucian stiffened. The weight of the knights’ gazes burned into him, and though their expressions remained respectful, some of their eyes held knowing amusement. A few exchanged glances, smirking into their cups, while others simply gave nods of acknowledgment. Goblets were raised, and a chorus of murmured appreciation rippled through the hall before, just as quickly, the men returned to their meals. Lucian’s blush burned hot. He should have protested, should have insisted that he was fine, that he didn’t need this—didn’t deserve this level of attention. But he didn’t pull away. He let Cassiel lead him from the table, his stomach still heavy, his limbs still warm from wine and praise.

The grand doors of the feasting hall had barely closed behind them when the hushed murmurs of Cassiel’s advisors reached his ears. Their footsteps quickened to follow, the rustle of fine robes trailing in their wake. Cassiel exhaled slowly through his nose, already exhausted by their meddling. Lucian felt the weight of their gazes boring into his back, felt the tension in the air shift as the advisors hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances before one finally dared to speak.

“Your Grace,” one of the older advisors stepped forward, his voice carefully measured, though not without a hint of concern. His eyes flickered between the king’s hand on Lucian’s arm and the telltale flush on the knight’s cheeks. “Forgive me, but… do you think it wise to be seen leaving so intimately with Sir Lucian?” Cassiel stilled. Another advisor cleared his throat. “There are already whispers, my king. If you are seen whisking away your most favored knight like this, people will start asking questions.” Cassiel turned his head just slightly, golden eyes glinting with something dangerous. “And?” 

The advisors hesitated. “With all due respect, Your Grace,” the man continued, a bead of sweat forming at his temple, “If Sir Lucian is in need of care, there are servants who would gladly tend to him. It is not necessary for you to—” Cassiel’s patience snapped. His grip on Lucian’s arm remained light, but the air around him shifted, heavy with the weight of his authority. He turned on his heel with a deliberate slowness, facing his advisors fully, his presence suffocating. “Are you suggesting,” Cassiel’s voice dropped into a low, simmering growl, “that I, the king of Varethia, require permission to tend to one of my own?” The man took an instinctive step back. The others exchanged nervous glances. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

The advisors shook their heads stiffly after a moment of silence, murmuring their assent before shuffling away, their backs rigid with suppressed unease. Cassiel watched them go, his smirk returning as he leaned in toward Lucian, his breath ghosting the knight’s ear. “Imbeciles,” he muttered. Lucian swallowed hard, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. His king’s fierce protectiveness, the weight of his words, the fact that he had defended him so brazenly— It was nearly enough to make him forget the fullness pressing tight against his stomach. Nearly.

The heavy doors of the royal chambers shut with a resounding thud. Before Lucian could even catch his breath, Cassiel was upon him. The king moved like a starved man—pressing Lucian against the door, his lips claiming his knight’s with a hunger that sent heat searing through Lucian’s veins. It was desperate, needy, as if Cassiel had been holding himself back all evening, waiting—aching—for this moment alone. Cassiel’s hands dragged over his body, tracing the contours of his armor, tugging at the clasps with expert precision. One by one, the metal plates came undone, falling away with dull clinks against the marble floor.

Lucian exhaled sharply as the constriction around his stomach eased, his overfilled belly finally given space to breathe. He swayed slightly, warmth pooling in his limbs from the wine, the indulgence, the dizzying weight of his king’s attention. Cassiel’s lips never left him, moving from his mouth to the sharp edge of his jaw, then down the column of his throat. His hands roamed freely—grasping, pulling, claiming—as though he sought to brand Lucian with his touch alone. Lucian’s breath quickened. "Cassiel,” he moaned, voice tight. The king was absorbed in the moment, his fingers dancing lower, ghosting over Lucian’s abdomen, his movements slow, teasing. Lucian’s stomach gurgled. His face burned.

“Cassiel,” Lucian tried again, more firmly this time, though the rasp in his voice made it far less convincing. He grasped the king’s wrist, stilling his wandering touch. “I—I can’t.” Cassiel finally pulled back just enough to look at him. Lucian swallowed, his pulse unsteady. “My stomach is too full,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. A beat of silence. Cassiel’s gaze flickered downward, his hands still resting at Lucian’s waist. He could feel the slight swell beneath his fingers—the way Lucian’s belly, usually taut and firm, now pressed tightly against his shirt, heavy with the weight of the feast. Another quiet gurgle sounded through his belly. Cassiel smirked.

The shift in his expression was maddening—equal parts amused and something far more indulgent. His fingers flexed slightly, a teasing touch against the sensitive skin of Lucian’s abdomen, making the knight tense. The glint of desire softened, amusement curling at the edges of his lips as he let out a breath of a laugh. “My love,” Cassiel murmured, leaning in just enough for his lips to graze Lucian’s cheek. “What makes you think I brought you here to ravage you?” Lucian’s face burned hotter, heat licking at his ears. “I—” Cassiel cut him off with a tut, his touch turning feather-light as he ran his fingers over Lucian’s sides. “Your mind is in the dirtiest of places, Lucian,” he teased, voice dripping with playfulness. 

“I should be offended, truly,” the king mused, his lips brushing over Lucian’s temple in something far too soft for the sharp arrogance of his words. Lucian exhaled sharply, the heat in his chest turning into something warmer, something deeper. Cassiel pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. And for the first time all evening, there was no teasing, no sharp wit—only an unwavering, quiet devotion. “I brought you here,” the king murmured, his palm sweeping gently over Lucian’s stomach, soothing, “because I promised to take care of you.” Lucian melted. The tension drained from his shoulders, his body leaning into the warmth of the king’s touch. He let out a slow breath as Cassiel’s thumb traced small, careful circles against his overfull belly.

Cassiel hummed in satisfaction, clearly pleased with himself. “My beautiful knight,” he murmured, voice dripping with indulgence. “You act so strong, yet here you are, utterly helpless in my arms.” Lucian tried to glare, but the warmth of the king’s embrace, the soothing cadence of his voice left him weak. Cassiel only smirked, tightening his hold as he lifted Lucian into his arms as though he weighed nothing at all. Lucian’s breath caught as Cassiel carried him across the chamber with ease, lowering him onto the bed with careful hands. The mattress dipped beneath him, the comfort of the silk sheets wrapping around his weary body like a warm embrace.

Before he could utter another protest, Cassiel was at his side, his hands finding Lucian’s stomach once more. The first slow stroke of the king’s palm had Lucian sucking in a breath. Then another, slow and steady, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the tightness in his belly. A low, pleased moan rumbled from Lucian’s throat before he could stop it. Cassiel chuckled, utterly delighted. “There we are,” he cooed, his voice slipping into something so warm, so affectionate, it almost felt foreign. “Just relax, my love.” Lucian shuddered. With every stroke of his hand, every tender caress against his aching stomach, his body surrendered to the king’s touch.

Cassiel hummed as he worked, his eyes drinking in Lucian’s flushed cheeks, the way his breathing slowed into something languid, content. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Lucian’s jaw, light as a whisper. “You’re so pretty like this.” Lucian swallowed hard, his fingers curling into the sheets beneath him. Cassiel’s praise, his warmth—it was too much, yet Lucian craved it. A deep, lingering kiss pressed against his temple. Another at the corner of his lips. Then, finally, Cassiel captured his mouth in a slow, indulgent kiss. His voice dropped into something softer, something intimate. Lucian let out a low, satisfied moan as he allowed himself to sink into the king’s touch. Cassiel watched him with something achingly fond in his eyes. “My love,” he whispered, pressing a final, feather-light kiss against Lucian’s cheek. “Rest now. I’ll take care of you.”

[softlyspun]

[softlyspun]

I think we all need some soup right now. Reblog to give prev a bowl of their favourite soup.

[softlyspun]

heyy can we do a sexy roleplay where im a prince from a fallen kingdom and youre the powerful warrior who has taken me for their own pleasure. yes? yipeeee ok so before we start first here's a google doc with the whole history of the fictional land we're both from and the intricate geopolitical workings of the- oh yeah and here's a supplementary doc on the agriculture and trade routes of said fictional land and stuff and yes this is important. the dirty talk has to be lore accurate

[softlyspun]

I feel like some people need to relearn Genre Expectations... "Man, this tragedy sucks!!! Why didn't they just do XYZ, then everything could have ended happily!!" well, then it wouldn't be a tragedy, would it. "Man, this lighthearted teen romcom is terrible, it's so sappy and unrealistic!!" Well, yeah. If it had been gritty and dark, it wouldn't have been a lighthearted romcom, would it. Is the writing actually bad or are you just trying to order a milkshake from a Home Depot

[softlyspun]

it’s december 1 where’s the christmas tail kitten bring him to me

[softlyspun]

I'm not sure this was quite what you were going for, but the first one turned out as a bit of a villanelle. For Red:

But he was something less than human now

Fleeing the land, in one last vain quest:

Deny the hunger gnawing at his soul.

Rain soaked his cloak, and soaked the forest floor

Men stayed inside in weather such as this

But he was something less than human now

The squirrel was quickly caught and quickly dressed

A meager meal, but one he hoped would help

Deny the hunger gnawing at his soul

Fire to ward off the creeping cold

Withheld the human comfort of its light

But he was something less than human now

Raw he devoured it, and choked it down

Through throat half-closed against this last attempt:

Deny the hunger gnawing at his soul

The squirrel was gone now, nothing left but bones

His hands dark-stained, and he no longer could

Deny the hunger gnawing at his soul

But he was something less than human now.

Ok here's a stupid little prompt challenge. Send anybody who reblogs this a color. Your character has to put together a meal made only with things that are that color.

🩷❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🤍

What might your character have on hand? And more importantly, what could go wrong? Are there so many perfect things to choose that they wind up going overboard, or maybe so little that they leave the table hungry? Maybe the matching choices they have available are a little too heavy or greasy or sugary, or maybe they aren't very filling at all. Maybe the combination of foods they wind up with just curdles their stomach. Or maybe they wind up perfectly full and content after their monochromatic meal. Use your imagination.

🧁🍎🍑🧀🥦🫐🍇🥔🍙

[softlyspun]

I'm sure I can put together an OC for this...

Ok here's a stupid little prompt challenge. Send anybody who reblogs this a color. Your character has to put together a meal made only with things that are that color.

🩷❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🤍

What might your character have on hand? And more importantly, what could go wrong? Are there so many perfect things to choose that they wind up going overboard, or maybe so little that they leave the table hungry? Maybe the matching choices they have available are a little too heavy or greasy or sugary, or maybe they aren't very filling at all. Maybe the combination of foods they wind up with just curdles their stomach. Or maybe they wind up perfectly full and content after their monochromatic meal. Use your imagination.

🧁🍎🍑🧀🥦🫐🍇🥔🍙

[softlyspun]

Oh, this is fun! As a historical costumer, I have some Thoughts on how corsetry and fit interact, and this is actually a topic that was keeping me from writing a costuming post for the Ginger and Mint girls. Might as well get it out of the way now! So, corsets...

I think the first thing that might not be completely obvious is corsets are sturdy. Even cheap ones from places like Corset Story are much, mush heavier than, say, a t-shirt or dress shirt. For its components:

The Busk

So, when I refer to the busk, I'm taking about the front closure of the corset, this bit right here:

(My cat decided to help.)

This is the bit that's going to give you trouble when you put the corset on, even if it's the correct size. It's a rigid bit of metal, much, much less flexible than the rest of the corset bones, and it's where the closures are attached. Usually those are the little metal clasps that you see here, but sometimes, especially in modern fashion corsets, you get some really whimsical ones, like this thing from Corset Story.

I'm inclined to say the busk isn't generally a point of failure in a corset: those little metal loops are riveted in place.

Next, we have

The Bones

So, when I'm talking about corset bones, I mean these bits:

These are long strips of something stiff but flexible. Historically, whalebone (a misleading name, it's actually baleen) was used, though, you'll also see things like stiff cord or reeds used for the purpose. Modern corsets use plastic or metal. They tend to be about the weight and flexibility of zip ties, maybe slightly stiffer. With time and use, these bones will conform to the shape of the wearer's body. This is sometimes a point of failure, usually when the boning pokes through at either the top or bottom of the corset. This will usually manifest as the tip of a bone poking you. (Almost every time this has happened to me, it's been under the armpit, but it could just as easily jam annoyingly into your waist). I suppose, technically, if it was put under some kind of weird strain, a bone could snap and poke through the middle of the garment.

Last, we have:

The Laces

So, a corset is actually a fantastically adjustable garment. This isn't to say that it isn't possible to wear them too tight, or for a corset to be too small, but in general they're a lot more forgiving than pop culture would have you believe.

At least with the corsets I've worn, the top and the bottom of the corset actually lace separately, and they tie at the middle. I almost always end up loosening the laces almost as far as they'll go when putting a corset on, getting the busk fastened, and then lacing it to the desired tightness.

While it's possible to lace it up on your own, the whole thing is much easier with another pair of hands.

For the points of failure here: the laces themselves can vary wildly. I've personally never had an issue with laces breaking, but it's not impossible that they might fray/weaken against the eyelets, or, if they're under a lot of strain and made from a flimsier material, they might just snap. The eyelets themselves are another potential point of failure: I've found that they can pull out and tear a garment when under strain (Or if you make the mistake of putting a grommeted garment through the wash. RIP, the kirtles I made in college). This is less of an issue when you're looking at historical construction, since historical eyelets are more or less embroidered into the garment, like this:

This is stronger and less likely to pull out, but still has the potential to unravel or wear out.

The final potential point of failure is the fabric of the corset itself. Like I said, these things are sturdy, but they're not indestructible. If the corset was already worn/damaged, and not carefully mended, it's possible for the fabric to tear (possibly dramatically!)

Just for funsies, let's look at how likely the issues are to occur:

The corset is uncomfortably tight, and it's all your character can think about.

Yeah, this is absolutely likely to happen. I think anyone who's done historical reenactment or cosplay has misjudged the fit of a costume at some point. Bonus points if the corset is an integral part of the costume, or if you're at a con or a Faire where you can't easily get out of the stupid thing. It almost always goes along with chaffing from the fabric of whatever you're wearing underneath the corset (and you should be wearing something underneath the corset. They're undergarments, but not next-to-the-skin undergarments)

I actually have my own personal experience with this. At a wedding, a reenactment friend came up to ask why I wasn't dancing. When I mentioned that I was corseted into a formal dress that didn't quite fit, her face went from teasing to sympathetic, and she assured me that I should just sit down.

The corset won't fit, no matter how much your character--or a helper--tries to get it on.

Like I said before, corsets are surprisingly forgiving (just lace it looser), but sometimes a garment is just too small. This is bound to be a point of frustration: even mass-produced fashion corsets can set you back a couple hundred bucks, and it takes a while for them to ship. If it's a custom corset, that's a much, much bigger investment, in time, money, or both. Depending on how much time you have before the event where the corset was being worn, this might require some radical changes to costume/garment plans. Many historical dresses are made to fit over structured undergarments, and won't fit correctly (or possibly at all) without a corset underneath. If it's for a cosplay, this might mean having to frantically throw together a look-alike out of duct tape and hope the morning of the convention.

All that being said, it might be possible to salvage the garment by just adding in a new panel. This was often how maternity corsets were handled in-period. Still, if the character is in a hurry, this is likely to end up being an obvious patch job, especially if they don't have a matching fabric on hand. If the corset is being worn as an undergarment, this might not matter. If it's being worn as a fashionable overgarment, it might cause remarks.

The corset is beginning to break or come undone as it struggles to contain your character.

I suppose it's possible that a less-experienced assistant might tie a bad knot that could come undone, which would honestly be the best case scenario here. The corset would just loosen as the night went on. Otherwise, this is the herald of frustration: this is going to mean either some time-consuming repairs, or buying a new corset.

The corset bursts open, unable to contain the pressure behind it.

This one's pure fantasy (not that there's anything wrong with that!) The possible ways I can see this working:

The rivets along the busk pull out, letting the corset fall open in the front.

The laces tear, sending shreds of ribbon everywhere, and the garment opening in the back.

The fabric itself tears, probably along one of the sides, in between the bones.

The corset is too restrictive to take off, and your character needs help getting out of it.

This has so, so much potential for a sweet, intimate moment. At the end of a day, feet and head both aching, I've found that I usually just want my beautiful outfit off. And there's always that point of exhaustion, realizing that the busk isn't going to cooperate and let you get out without unlacing the stupid thing, but that the laces are either tied too tight for you to undo yourself, or the knot is just out of reach. Turning to your equally exhausted assistant, and just quietly asking for help. The sigh of relief when the corset finally falls away. The red marks on your skin, where the fabric was pressed too-close for hours. The overall soreness of being through a busy day in costume, and the satisfaction of having had a great event. A vow to take things easy tomorrow, to let your body rest and recover.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on corsets and historical costumes as they relate to this kind of kinky fun!

corset prompts if u can!!! like being too big for a corset and just either not fitting or burstin it if thats ok !!

A time and a place:

On the way to an event that your character needs/wants to look extra nice for.

At an event, presumably with plenty of people your character wants to look good in front of.

On the way home from an event that your character may or may not have gotten a little too wild at.

At home, while getting dressed.

At a store, while trying things on.

The issue:

The corset is uncomfortably tight, and it's all your character can think about.

The corset won't fit, no matter how much your character--or a helper--tries to get it on.

The corset is beginning to break or come undone as it struggles to contain your character.

The corset bursts open, unable to contain the pressure behind it.

The corset is too restrictive to take off, and your character needs help getting out of it.

The cause:

No fault on your character's part; the corset was simply too small for their body.

Too much eating/drinking.

The corset used to fit, but your character has gained weight since they last wore it.

Bloating, be it from nerves, bubbly drinks, something they ate earlier, what have you.

Too much movement, gradually wearing on the too-tight corset and/or your character.

[softlyspun]

heyy can we do a sexy roleplay where im a prince from a fallen kingdom and youre the powerful warrior who has taken me for their own pleasure. yes? yipeeee ok so before we start first here's a google doc with the whole history of the fictional land we're both from and the intricate geopolitical workings of the- oh yeah and here's a supplementary doc on the agriculture and trade routes of said fictional land and stuff and yes this is important. the dirty talk has to be lore accurate

[softlyspun]

Costuming Research: Bramley Nubbins

Time to give some outfits to the last of the boys for @ginger-and-mint. Bramley Nubbins (I keep wanting to spell it Brambley, I assume because it sounds like brambles) is probably the most well-adjusted and best-dressed of the boys. Let's look at the reason why under the cut.

See, Bramley is from a large family of shepherds. Now, around the turn of the century, you did sometimes have the raw materials being processed somewhere other than the area where they were produced, but, practically speaking, it makes a lot more sense to have wool produced, washed, carded, spun, and woven/knit all in one area. Bramley, as far as I can tell, worked as a shepherd before he was summoned to be a di-mage, and his parents and siblings would likely have been in the same industry. I'm not sure how far industrialization has gotten in this world, but it seems likely that his mother and sisters are involved in spinning or weaving cloth on a professional scale.

We tend to think of wool as a winter fiber, but it's possible, with the right breed of sheep, and the right thickness of thread, to make lightweight, breathable woolen garments suitable for summer.

(Tangent time! Synthetic fibers robbed us of so many fantastic developments in natural fibers. Wool is a fantastic material! It drinks up dye like a dream! It'll keep you warm, even when wet! It's self-extinguishing! You can make entirely non-woven fabrics from it! If oil-based fibers hasn't taken over, I think we'd see a lot more cool variations in felted garments in the modern day.)

Back on topic. Annoyingly, a lot of daily-wear clothing doesn't survive to the modern day, so I'm frustratingly short on primary examples of farmer's shirts from the turn of the century. I picture Bramley wearing somewhat old-fashioned clothes for the period - not because they're actually old, but because they were made by his mother, and she's using the same mental shirt pattern that was fashionable when she was a girl, or made by his sisters, who learned to sew from his mother. Fashions may change slowly out in the countryside, but his clothes would absolutely be well-made and new, with any damage carefully (and possibly decoratively) mended (His character sheet describes him as "neat and well-groomed"). I would picture him wearing something similar to this 1850's shirt, and high-wasted pants, held up with suspenders.

Alternatively, he might wear something similar to this shirt from 1871. This is formal wear (the blog, witness2fashion, suggests that it's a wedding shirt), so it's fancier than he'd wear in the day-to-day, but it might be appropriate for the midwinter ball. Notice the pretty eyelet embroidery

The suspenders bring us to the fun part of his costume, though. See, while there's always something that needs doing on a farm, there's also quite a lot of downtime. Lambing and shearing season would be extremely busy, but otherwise, you have a lot of long hours of just making sure the sheep don't wander off. And downtime gives people time to be creative. Bored people doodle, and what is embroidery if not doodling with string?

Let's look at some extant examples.

This pair of suspenders came from an auction site, and are attributed to 1873. It's a little early for our time period, but just look at that embroidery! And the beautiful shade of red!

This pair is from the Victoria and Albert museum. If you're not in the mood to doodle your pattern free-hand, you can always follow a cross-stitch chart.

This one is also from the Victoria and Albert museum, and also from the 1850's. I just love the little blue flowers and the swirling, two-toned leaves!

So, while all the examples I threw out here were of suspenders, this kind of embroidery could go just as easily on cuffs and collars, to tack down facings, or to hide darning and mending.

Now, I'm not actually sure if Bramley would embroider himself. His poor eyesight might make it difficult (though certainly not impossible.) However, there are plenty of other people in his household who might take up a needle and doodle on his clothes for him as well.

In the winter, I can just about guarantee that he'd have intricately made home-knit sweaters to wear. Fiber arts are addictive, and if you have the time, you

To close off, I'm going to share a link to an absolute treasure trove of charted embroidery/crochet patterns from early 20th century newspapers. If you're at all into embroidery, crochet, or pixel art, it's worth a browse!

Next time, we'll take a look at some of the girls! Probably Malia Pikolt, who'll give us a chance to look at both practical and fashionable women's clothing!

[softlyspun]

@ginger-and-mint Since food preservation preservation came up in the last chapter: I thought you might enjoy this bit from the historic house where I work. It was built in the 1850s, and the builder painted murals of bounty and prosperity in the dining room. Lots of pretty paintings like this:

There's one mural in particular that we like to point out to guests:

Those are cans of lobster and oysters. The technology was relatively new at the time, (developed in the 1810s, and trendy by the 1850s) and was considered impressive enough to depict in the murals.

Also, fun fact! Oysters were absurdly popular as a snack food in the mid 19th century! To the point that my home state, formerly known for its oyster production, still has a bunch of costal ghost towns with names like Shellpile and Bivalve.

Anyway! Only tangentially related to your work, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

[softlyspun]

So, obviously nothing is painted yet, but this is my general idea.

Bluejays

So... I'm actually going to go through with making a diorama of Bluejay's. A Victorian era gay bar feels like a fun project.

So, just detailing scope before I actually get started. I'll build this one in a cardboard box. For this era, the actual building construction would be brick, with plaster covering it over, and paint/wallpaper applied to the plaster.

For the walls, I'll probably just print out a brick pattern, and add that directly to the sides. For plaster, a layer of off-white air dry clay. Once it's dried, I'll paint it up, then break off a couple of the corners (so the underlying brick is visible), and scratch up the surface.

I'm absolutely going to look up and print out a bunch of turn-of-the-century theater and circus posters.

Furniture is going to be snap-together dollhouse furniture (I found a cheap kit). I think I'll stain the bar blue (partially to try out a new woodstain they had at Michaels!), before having some fun with distressing the surface. I'll also be using some little wooden dollhouse barrels.

So! That's the plan! Now to dig through the recycling for an appropriate cardboard box...