#candle writes

[abubblingcandle]

✨🌹🌹🌹🌹✨

So I'm doing that thing again where I have an idea and then that idea consumes my every waking moment until I put it on paper and then I can finally rest. (I shouldn't be allowed to rewatch S1-early S2 Ted Lasso, every time I do I get ... ideas)

So yeah here's a snippet from the new idea I have already frenziedly typed 1k of it in the last hour

Jamie rolled his head over to the side away from his injured arm and inched his eyes open. Either he was having auditory and visual hallucinations from the medley of painkillers he was likely on right now … or Leslie Higgins was sat at his bedside, rubbing circles onto the back of his hand. The circles were helping though, which likely meant not a hallucination. Therefore, Lesley Higgins was sat at the hospital bedside of the striker who get his team relegated. Which begs the question, what the fuck?

[inkskinned]

fucking hate it when the stuff everybody says "actually works" does actually work.

hate exercising and realizing i've let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i've overturned my fight-or-flight response.

hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i'm less anxious and i have more energy

hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i've actually started healing about something once i'm able to externalize it

hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently

hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love

horrible horrible horrible. hate it but i'm gonna do it tho

[awearywritersworld]

mdni

thinking about how when toji first meets you, he quickly decides he just has to have you. you're so timid and sweet— just his type.

he has to give you credit though, because you make it hard work for him, but he's relentless perseverant and eventually gets you into his bed.

and he's surprised to find that you're a completely different person between the sheets.

you're grabbing him by the face roughly and spitting into his mouth while you fuck yourself down onto his cock.

you're telling him he's pathetic, that he's not even a good fuck (the way your pussy clenches around him tells him you're lying).

and he's so confused because while this has never really been his thing, he's so fucking hard it hurts.

"wanna smack your pretty face, that okay?"

you ask so sweetly that he can't help but nod before he even has a chance to consider what he's agreeing to.

when your palm meets his cheek and leaves his skin tinted pink, he's so embarrassed that his hips buck up and he comes much sooner than he'd have liked.

"aw. you liked it that much, baby?" you coo at him. "maybe i'll keep you around after all. how's that sound, hm?"

[avastyetwats]

Izzy Hands and his fascination/love for candles.

[life-spire]

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

this is probably one of my favorite outfits that i've ever put together! and it's all for one of my top five fav character designs, like... Ever!

rambles:

i would like to note that my dear beloved Jaime (@/awkwardalphajay here on our very own hellsite<3 check em out <3) helped out a Ton by sending inspiration photos and providing insightful commentary on details and vibes!

overall i wanted Sally to have fancy vibes! while i was originally going to have her fit very much based on her canon one, i wound up veering off course and - while still keeping some elements - mostly went for Medieval Entertainer and Her House insp! continuing with the day/night theme, and leaning heavily into the fire aspect - she's a literal star fallen to earth, after all!

it was suggested that she should have dragonscale used in the making of her clothes since she's, you know, kind of made of fire! and it was genius! I imagine she has extra fire charms on this fit and also the rest of her clothes, since dragonscale is hard to come by and is a finite resource once Gathered. she gets better at Not burning everything she wears over time, thankfully!

i think that, like Frank, she'd have One (1) Dagger. for emergencies! it's likely very ornate, and she'd hate to scuff up the gleaming blade. Probably. plus, why would she need it? she's got firepower, babey!

there isn't quite as much to say about this as usual... mostly because this one was more Vibes than strategic "ok this and this and this because this and also-" i was just! makin a fun outfit!

[peacefulandcozy]

Instagram credit: laurasreadingtime

[bizarrelittlemew]

every time i see "Ed asks Lucius to write down his lyrics" used as an argument for claiming that Ed can't write i just want to. you know. point out that Stede has Lucius write down everything he says?? and does?? all the time?? and when he can't find Lucius he asks Frenchie (who actually cannot write) to do it instead of just writing it himself. and we know Stede can write. it's got nothing to do with ability to write, just that the captains don't seem to want to write stuff themselves when they have an employee whose job is to do that exact thing for them

[fiveredlights]

squeeze my had 3 times in the back of a taxi… they’re so <333 (anything in this universe makes me insane /pos I’d love to hear more from it)

“I want a kid.” Max blurts out over breakfast one morning, and Daniel resolutely does not drop the fork he’s holding. 

“I want a kid,” He repeats again, stronger and confident. “And I know maybe right now isn’t the best time because we’re both still racing and I would never ask you to stop but maybe we can start thinking about it?”

Daniel still hasn’t said anything, so Max keeps talking. 

“Maybe we can buy a place in London so we can have somewhere permanent to stay when we both have to go to the factory instead of staying in hotels all the time because I think it’s not good for our kid to be travelling all the time if they do not want—”

The chair he’s sitting in screeches across the hardwood floor as Daniel hooks his foot around the leg, pulling him closer. He’s tangled their legs together, and has his hands on Max’s forearms. “Max, baby. Repeat the first four words for me again, I might be hearing things.”

“I want a kid. With you.” He adds on for good measure.

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

part two

———

“Ugh,” Keith says.

“Ugh,” Lance agrees.

Keith looks up slowly from where he was glowering at his plate of appetizers, staring at Lance for several minutes with eyes squinted in suspicion.

“What the fresh fuck are you talking about.”

Lance wrinkles his nose at him. “What?”

“You love these things,” Keith says, like the Blue Paladin is a particularly slow toddler. “You’re usually – prancing around, making a fool of yourself in front of pretty people. Every time one of these dumbass celebration missions ends you complain. The fuck you mean, ‘ugh’?”

“I mean ugh,” Lance repeats, emphasizing the word. “Sometimes I simply do not feel the party vibe, Keith. You ever think about that? No. Because you never think about anything. Because the only thing in your skull is a hamster wheel covered in cobwebs. So there.”

Keith lets that hang between them for a moment.

“You’re just mad you got called ugly earlier, huh.”

“It was so rude!” Lance explodes, obviously waiting for Keith to bring it up. “Like, who says that? What kind of trained diplomat refers to a random stranger as ‘the homely one’? Why the fuck would you say that? And it’s not even true! I’m a legit snack! I have been propositioned, you know! More than once! It’s actually quite frequent!” He throws his hand up, noise of frustration coming from deep in his throat. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no actual sentences come out, just different variations of ‘ugh!’ and ‘how dare!’ and ‘the nerve!’.

Because he is a stellar person, Keith does not laugh, instead biting his tongue as hard as he physically can without biting it clean off. Everytime Lance’s sputtering dies off only to kick back up when he thinks of his transgression again it gets harder.

Contrary to what everyone seems to think, Keith likes Lance. They’re friends. They hang out, they talk shit about other people, they do friend things. That’s why they’re both sitting here, at the edge of some grandiose ballroom on a planet whose name Keith has forgotten because they’ve only been here one day, leaning against each other and picking food off the same plate. (Well, Keith’s plate. He’s being gracious and letting Lance have some because Lance has taken enough massive Ls today, and Hunk is busy, so if Lance gets hangry Keith can’t just pass him off on somebody, so. Better to keep him fed, or whatever.)

“We should go – do something,” Lance mutters, picking apart what appears to be a cookie. Maybe. Alien shit is weird. “Make faces behind Shiro’s back. Convince Coran to get wine drunk.”

“We did that already,” Keith dismisses. “Last time, remember? We can’t do it too many times or we’re gonna have to be supervised again. We just managed to convince Shiro to ease up on the trackers.”

Lance sinks further into his chair. “Ugh,” he says again, with true feeling.

Keith begins to feel bad. Lance doesn’t look genuinely upset, he doesn’t think – he knows what a genuinely upset Lance looks like and it’s fucking heartbreaking; it’s the kind of shit that could stop wars – but Keith is a little bit worried that he is bothered, in some way. It can’t feel good to get called ugly in front of everybody. It was funny. And Keith laughed a little. But, still.

Keith nudges their shoulders together. “You wanna go dance?”

Lance freezes. He turns his head slowly to face Keith, like if he moves too fast Keith is going to change his mind. His brown doe eyes are wide and hopeful and over the top, honestly. God. No one asked for that.

“Really?”

“No. I’m taking back my offer. You’re being weird about it.”

“Nope! Nuh-uh! No takebacksies! We’re dancing!” Lance whoops, shoving back his chair and scrambling to his feet. He wraps his fingers tightly around Keith’s wrist, grinning so wide his face is about to split.

“You are holding me hostage,” Keith complains, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He gets up at Lance’s urging, popping the last of the weirdo alien cookie in his mouth and wiping his hand on his suit pants. “Let’s go, Homely One.”

If looks could kill, Keith’s intestines would be painting the floor. The look Lance gives him is lethal. It’s made worse when Keith laughs, because that was funny as hell and he refuses to pretend otherwise. He pulls Lance away, though, before he can reach for the butterknife that’s closeby and stab Keith in the eye, clasping their hands together and weaving them through the crowd of dancers and partygoers. Pretty soon the excitement catches up to Lance, because after a minute he’s the one dragging them around, having apparently picked a perfect spot on the ornate marble dancefloor for them to situate themselves. It is, of course, right smack in the middle, surrounded by people on all sides, right under the massive and delicate crystal chandelier that Keith and Hunk spent forty minutes mocking when they first got here.

“You’re extra as all fuck,” Keith informs him, dutifully putting his hand on Lance’s waist as instructed.

“I will have my Sam Montgomery moment or so help me God,” Lance responds. Keith notices he’s closer than he needs to be and immediately orders himself to un-notice that. He can see flecks of amber in Lance’s dark eyes. It’s so actually horrible. He focuses on Lance’s nose, instead, hoping for reprieve, but of course there is where all his freckles are. An attempt to focus on Lance’s mouth is a disaster waiting to happen, so he looks deliberately at Lance’s bigass forehead to distract himself. It kind of works.

The forehead that he is so intensely focused on wrinkles, and Keith says, “What,” and Lance says, “Aw, Keith, gross,” and then before Keith can stop anything Lance is untangling their hands, licking his thumb, and wiping something at the corner of his mouth.

Keith freezes.

He processes.

He gags.

All in that order.

“Lance!” he cries, swiping his own hands at his mouth. “Gross!”

“What’s gross is you walking around with crusty icing on the corner of your mouth, heathen,” Lance says, eyebrow arched and chin tilted defiantly.

Keith makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. His face matches his armour. He prays that the universe crack open the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t – gah. No one has done that to him since Shiro’s mother would come to visit and take them to get ice cream. When he was eleven.

“Are you a ninety year old grandmother,” he hisses, swiping the corner of his mouth one last time. He thinks his face may actually be glowing.

“Are you a two year old who can’t keep his food in his mouth?” Lance counters. He looks entirely unbothered and Keith wants to strangle him. Who does that. Who, honestly.

“That is not how I wanted your spit near my mouth,” Keith mutters, and immediately wants to open his bayard between his eyes.

Lance stops. A twirling trio of people bumps into him. He does not move. Slowly, his face begins to burn, starting from the sharp jut of his cheekbones and quickly spreading everywhere else. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then narrows his eyes in determination and opens it again.

“Nope,” Keith says before he can say anything. There is no recovery from this. There is only tactical retreat. “I have to – I left my excuse on the castle. I’m gonna go grab it.”

As quickly as he can manage he lets go of Lance’s hand and his waist, gracefully ducking around a dancing couple and high-tailing the hell out of the room. He averts his eyes when he walks by Shiro, praying he doesn’t get stopped, and walks straight out the door. Lance’s calls of his name quickly become faint as he sprints down the hallway.

He can’t believe — God, he said that. Out loud. To Lance’s face. After Lance fucking — licked his thumb and wiped Keith’s face. Like the fussy mother he is.

And Keith is still attracted to him.

He stops in the middle of the hallway, head cradled in his hands, skin hot to the touch.

Fuck, he has a complex.

[abubblingcandle]

The @ficwip word of the week is POUR and this is from my currently untitled RoyJamie Big Bang fic

“What on earth,” Julie, the Chief, muttered. “Play that again,” she waved to whoever was operating the cameras. And again, she watched the sets of celebrities pour out of the prison gatehouse. No, she was right the first time. There were only eight. “We’re missing Tartt and Kent,” Kevin, her head analyst muttered with the same confusion that she was feeling. This was new. Where had they gone? Were they still in there? “The prison say that everyone is accounted for apart from the ten known escapees. They aren’t still inside,” a voice chimed in. “They must have found another way out. A way that we didn’t put there for them,” Kevin huffed a tense laugh. “Those two are a lot more elusive than we expected from a reality tv peacock and a retiree. Find them!” Julia barked, leaning back on the table to stare at the information boards. Roy Kent’s steely stare met hers and Jamie Tartt’s self-satisfied smirk raised her hackles. She would enjoy their capture, particularly his. Tartt was surely the weak link here and Kent was the brains. They could enjoy this little victory, it would be their last one.

[lake-lady]

Rainy day at my desk 🕯️🏮🍵

[talos-stims]

inherbones on tt

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[dustofthedailylife]

Today I learned that the phrase 月がきれいですね (tsuki ga kirei desu ne?), which translates into "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" essentially implies "I love you".

It's apparently used in that context in JP pop culture a lot and I'm just dskjfhdsj. That's so cute and poetic? Like??

[innocent-writers-soul]

Tate Langdon x Fem!Reader (smut)

summary: you pass by the room where the noises come from and decide to look in to see what is happening there and a strange picture opens in front of you;

warnings: male masturbation, dirty talk, cumming, voyeurism, exhibitionism (?), mention of blood and aggression; not proofread (i apologize if i forgot smth)

word count: 839

You look at Tate and think he's cheeky. He is out of control; he has no brakes or they work too late. And sometimes you can predict what will happen in the end, but there are moments, the consequences of which even for you remain a mystery, for example, like now. You look through the gap in the door and see Tate lying back down on the floor, blood dripping from his nose, he does not stop smiling and laughing maliciously, not even defending himself from attacks. His T-shirt is pulled up, revealing snow-white skin and a slightly embossed body, and you fleetingly understand that you are more similar to him than you could imagine. The only difference is that dark feelings have been born in the depths of your soul and almost always remained there, while Tate has a lot on display — he is not ashamed of himself most of the time, not ashamed of his gloomy and vulgar side. And it even fascinated you to some extent. Delighted, but sometimes frightened, because it was rarely possible to understand what was in his head. And considering the fact that you were still not particularly close and familiar with him, the atmosphere around him was still dangerous, but, nonetheless, exciting.

You quickly look at Patrick, who is standing at a distance from the door, half a turn, with his back to you for the most part, but in such a way that you can watch him clenching his fists in fury, his face twists in aggression, but then he completely freezes with mixed emotions in his eyes. You don't understand what's wrong, but when you return to Tate, your breath hitches.

“Admit it, you haven’t felt such a strong dick for a long time while imprisoned in a house with Chad,” the guy unzippes his fly and begins to stroke himself through the fabric, deliberately sobbing and sighing loudly, “but I have something that might interest you…” Long fingers take out an impressive arousal, the veins on which are already beginning to show — it is difficult to match the childish face of Tate with it — and move up and down at an increasing pace; lube collects under his moving palm, the sounds of squelching spread in the room where there is no furniture yet, and his ragged breathing is the second thing that echoes along the walls. A bright, lively, playful and mischievous smile does not stop leaving his face, his tongue constantly licks dry and cracked lips, he jerks off, looking into Patrick's eyes, but your heart stops beating completely at the moment when he looks at you outside the door, strengthening grip on the length, narrowing his eyes. “And maybe not only you,” he tosses his hips up in reverse motion, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and rolling down his temple, blood continues to drip onto his T-shirt, but he doesn't care much. However, as well as you and Patrick. You forcefully squeeze the wood at hand, incomprehensible feelings arise inside you, you panic, the phrase “YOU ARE DISCOVERED” lights up in large red letters in your head, while Tate approaches his peak, biting lower lip, closing eyes a little in bliss, arching, but keeping an eye on you. You can’t tear yourself away from the view, it’s too captivating and beautiful, you think that your hand would look good on Tate’s place, but you quickly turn these thoughts away, feeling the uncontrollable atmosphere and your own arousal. You clenches your legs, feeling a throb between them, a tingling warmth beginning to spread in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but continue to watch and tremble from overwhelming feelings. Your other hand reaches down to calm your admiration at least a little, but when you see that Tate notices this, tilting his head to the side a little, still watching with interest, you fast move it away. This is new for you, because you have never felt anything like this before, especially since you have not peeped at a jerking guy, but everything happens for the first time. Tate meanwhile comes to his senses, his curly tangled hair in even more disarray than usual, he sighs languidly, licking the cum from his palm revealingly, slowly putting two fingers into his mouth, not taking his eyes off you and still grinning.

You let out a barely audible breath, legs do not obey you, but you harshly go away, unable to endure the scene in front of you, of Tate himself, heading to your room at a fast speed, forgetting your (un)secret hiding place and hearing that Patrick has apparently recovered from his daze, beating Tate again. Your face is burning and reddening more and more every second, hands are freezing, heart is beating so fast and you cannot calm it down. You still have no idea what will come out of this situation, but something inside tells that Tate will come to you tonight, not letting you forget what you saw during the day.

a/n: english is not my first language but i tried my best, as always. before that i had been writing in my own for many years and now decided to improve english. in a very interesting direction, i need to say. hope you enjoyed! :)

[projectmayhem-stims]

wool stop motion