dipping candles

Candles: Color and Purpose

Candles are seen as the most powerful object for witches. If one lights a candle while reciting a chant or prayer for enlightenment, empowerment, and good health is one way to use a candle. One can also ward off negative energy and impart positive energy into one’s life using a candle also. 

Historical Uses

  • Birthdays were the first ritual with candles used. Many believe the practice of wishing and blowing out the candle brought this wish to the gods who would grant it via the smoke. 
  • Candles represent earth (wax), air (smoke), water (melted wax), and fire (flaming wick).

Magical Uses

  • Always be in the right frame of mind, or the spell will create an opposite effect intended
  • Allow candle to burn down on its own for most rituals 
  • When the candle has extinguished itself, the spell will be complete
  • Some rituals and spells may ask for the candle to be extinguished and then re-lit the next day
  • Never leave a candle unattended 
  • Give decent amounts of time for the candle to burn

Choosing a Candle 

  • Magickally disinfecting your candles before using them is very important, since the energy from those who shipped it may linger on the wax. It is good to make your own candles from scratch for this reason also. 
  • Avoid dipped candles such as white candles dipped into colored wax. Try to find ones solid color throughout  

Cleansing Your Candle

  • Depending upon your preference, you can do a few things to cleanse your candle, such as leaving it outside for a week in the garden to soak up the moon’s rays at night
  • For a less time-consuming cleansing, you may anoint your candle, using water and oils prior to the spell or ritual:
  1. Wipe clean with a paper towel, removing all dirt 
  2. Prepare a solution of spring water, one teaspoon of sea salt, and warm until the salt dissolves. Allow to cool, and then pour back into the bottle. Keep this in the refrigerator for about a month for use over time. 
  3. Intent. Stand in front of your sink, hold the candle in your left hand (nearer to your heart). Be very careful not to wet the wick, and pour a small amount of the sea salt spring water solution over the candle. If using a tea-light candle for quick burn time, remove the candle from its casing before cleansing with the water. Take a fresh paper towel and dry the candle very well and say the following: “This magickal water cleanses thee, with good intent and purity” (Robbins and Bedell, 2017).
  4. Inscribe the candle with a small, sharp knife or thick needle, and scratch your full name and your wish into the wax. It is not important that it be legible, nor the location where inscribed. The words will clout the spell more as the candle burns down. 
  5. To anoint your candle, pour some pure vegetable oil into a bowl. This oil is used for most anointing, but if using a spell for health and well-being, you may mix in a few drops of other oils if you wish. Lavender is common for health and well-being spells and will make the magick more intense. Hold the candle in your left hand again and dip the first finger of your right hand into the oil and run it down the candle from top to bottom in a line. If anointing a tea-light, place it back in its casing, dip your finger into the oil, and smear it in a clockwork motion around the top of the candle wax. Say this invocation: “This magickal oil anoints thee, with all things good, magickally” (Robbins and Bedell, 2017). The candle is now cleansed, charged, and ready to be placed in a suitable holder in preparation for the spell you choose. 
  6. Rhyming and repetition can help add punch to a spell. A lot of ancient and prewritten spells will rhyme with a poetic fluidity. Repeating the spell will give power to the message each time. The most magickal numbers that represent completion are 7, 9, and 12. 
  7. To end the spell, you will need to close the ritual. Choose one of the phrases such as “and so it is” or “the spell is cast” or “so mote it be” before looking upward and saying “thank you.” 

Colorful Uses

  • The correct color is the most important thing with candle use
  • Some spells are exact to the color needed, and others more flexible 
  • When in doubt, always use a white candle for it is neutral 

Color Correspondances 

  • White
    • Cleansing homes
    • Purifying spaces
    • Creating harmony
    • Invoking spirits
    • Improving communication with others
    • Summoning guides and angels
    • For use in every situation 
  • Blue 
    • Promoting restful sleep
    • Finding the truth
    • Gaining wisdom and knowledge
    • Invoking psychic visions
    • Calming emotions
    • Suppressing anger
    • Aiding meditation
    • Moving your house
    • Becoming more patient with others
    • Curing a fever
    • Having a better understanding
    • Protection 
  • Red
    • Promoting strength and vigor
    • Rejuvenating energy and stamina
    • Conjuring willpower
    • Summoning courage
    • Inciting passion and sexual love
    • Sparking enthusiasm
    • Prompting quick results
    • Warding off enemies
    • Becoming more attractive to others
  • Pink
    • Healing emotions
    • Attracting romance
    • Becoming more caring
    • Inviting peace and tranquility 
    • Healing rifts
    • Banishing selfish emotions
    • Protecting family and friendships
    • Invoking spiritual healing
    • Being more compassionate 
  • Green
    • Accumulating money and wealth
    • Promoting prosperity and abundance
    • Accomplishing goals
    • Growing plants
    • Attracting luck
    • Negotiating employment matters and finding new jobs
    • Hastening conception and solving fertility issues
    • Casting out greed and resentment 
  • Yellow
    • Increasing activity
    • Resolving health matters
    • Nurturing creativity and imagination
    • Passing exams and learning
    • Aiding concentration
    • Controlling mood swings
    • Protecting yourself when traveling
    • Persuading others
    • Healing problems associated with the head
  • Orange
    • Increasing energy and stamina 
    • Improving the mind and memory
    • Promoting success and luck
    • Developing business and career
    • Helping those with new jobs
    • Clarifying legal matters and justice 
    • Selling goods or houses
    • Capturing a thief or recovering lost property 
    • Removing fear
  • Purple
    • Summoning spirit help
    • Bringing peace, tranquility, and harmony
    • Improving psychic ability 
    • Aiding astral projection
    • Healing
    • Easing sadness
    • Improving male energy 
    • Summoning spiritual protection
  • Brown
    • Attuning with the trees and earth
    • Promoting concentration
    • Helping with decisiveness
    • Protecting animals
    • Amplifying assertiveness 
    • Aiding friendships
    • Bringing material gain
    • Gaining mental stability
    • Connecting with Mother Nature
    • Studying and learning
  • Silver
    • Summoning the Mother Goddess
    • Drawing down the moon
    • Connecting with lunar animals
    • Purifying female energy
    • Improving all psychic abilities
    • Aiding clairvoyance and the unconscious mind
    • Ridding negativity
    • Developing intuition 
    • Interpreting messages in dreams
    • Banishing bad habits
  • Gold
    • healing and enhancing well-being
    • Rejuvenating yourself
    • Improving intelligence
    • Bringing financial gain and wealth
    • Winning competitions
    • Attracting love and happiness
    • Maintaining peace in families
    • Cosmic ordering
  • Black
    • Protection
    • Strength
    • Banishing
    • Reversal
    • Hex-breaking 


Robbins, Shawn, and Bedell, Charity. The Good Witch’s Guide. New York: Sterling Ethos, 2017. Print.

New spell for a special occasion. I’m going in for a job interview, so I whipped up a little something morning of:

- Mint, for prosperity
- Dill and Coriander, for money
- Ashes from incense burned in prayer
- Combine, fold and wrap up in a large fresh leaf of basil
- Tie with thread
- Dip both ends in candle wax three times, letting the wax cook each time
- Before the last dip of wax cools entirely, and being careful not to burn yourself, press your fingerprint of each thumb into the wax, one thumb per side to personalize, balance, and seal the spell)

I’m going to carry it in my pocket during the day and during the interview

To Turn a Heart Cold

Sea witches do not just hail from the warm waters of the tropics.  Many of them claim the harsh lands of icebergs and deathly frigid, black depths to be their home.  These icy mistresses of the deep have a certain knack for the darker turnings of tides–so to speak–and this spell was inspired by them.

For protection and self-preservation, we must close ourselves off sometimes. Logic must be used to make rational decisions where our heart would normally charge headlong into places we are not ready to venture.  This spell will ensure that you feel nothing but the cold, frozen stillness of the arctic wasteland.  It will make you unshakeable, emotionless, absolutely cold, and dictated only by reason and fact.

WARNING:  This spell can be very dangerous and is not for the inexperienced witch.  It should only last for seven days and the aftermath of casting a spell as harsh as this can inflict permanent damage on the witch that performs it. It should not be repeated.  Proceed with caution.

–two large bowls
–sea water
–an apple core
–a mason jar with lid (or any sealable jar)
–two white tapered candle

On the night of a New Moon, go outside and place an apple core into a mason jar.  Fill two large bowls with sea water and as much ice as you can without the bowls overflowing.  Light the candles and a take a seat on the ground with one bowl at each side of you.  In front of you, you should have the two tapered candles with the jar situated in the middle of them.

Place your hands into the bowl.  Allow your flesh to absorb the chill of the water.  Submerge them down to your wrists and recite the follow, slowly, clearly, and with firm intonation:

Where tides come to stand still,
frozen in their rumble and roll;
Where salt and sediment settle
in inky pitch depths unknown;
Where mountains of ice tower:
winter’s most deadly terrain;
I cast my heart into that abyss
and forget this self-chosen pain.
For seven moons’ rising time,
night and night again turn,
my pulse will cease,
spirit numb and at peace,
until my lesson is learned.

Take your hands from the water and lift both bowls to pour their contents into the jar.  Do not overfill it.  When the container is full, set down the bowls and pick up both candles.  Dip the left one into the water in the jar and say:

I feel nothing.

Dip the second candle into the jar and say once more:

I feel nothing.

Repeat this five more times with your hands placed over your chest, marking the seven days that your heart will be turned cold.  Seal the jar with its lid and, if there is water remaining in the bowls, dump the rest over top of it.  For the next seven days, you will keep this jar either in the coldest, darkest room of your home OR in the freezer (which I prefer.)

On the morning of the seventh day, you will take the jar outside and let it sit in the sun until midnight comes.  Take the lid off, you will retrieve the core of the apple and relight the tapers, saying:

My quiet contemplation has ended and I will allow my heart to beat with spirit’s fire once more.  This ritual has ended.  My spell is complete.

This tools should be disposed of and cannot be used again.  The core of the apple should be burned, buried, or thrown away far from property where you live.

Heathens- [smutandahalf]

A Scruffy Hoes Production

Author: smutandahalf

Rating: NSFW 18+

Words: 3599

Warning: This is darker than what I usually write. It doesn’t have any triggers but I just wanted you guys to know it’s different from my usual stuff.

A/N: Happy Halloween! Trick or Treat? That’s for you to decide..

Originally posted by genjjishimada

     There is something very wrong with Stiles Stilinski, something strange and dark. I glance over at him, sitting at his desk with his head pressed into his hands and his eyes clenched closed. I turn slightly looking around curious if anyone else has seemed to pick up on it. Something is wrong and not a single other person seems to notice, a cold trickle slides down my spine and I quirk my head at him curiously. How strange that he seems so invisible to them. Brushed to the side by his best friend who seems to jump in terror of his own shadow, invisible to the girl who has been clinging to his arms for weeks who has always seemed to be balancing precariously on the line between wild child and wild animal, and overlooked by his father who seems to be too focused on figuring out what is going on in this god forsaken town. Yes, something is very wrong with Stiles Stilinski, and yet no one seems to notice but me.

          The bell rings, and he’s out of his desk and through the door faster than I can blink. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I gather my things, moving slowly as I deliberate on what I should do next. With a certain level of blind curiosity I decide that from this day on if no one else is going to notice him then I’ll be sure that I do. The unseen can always see the invisible.

Keep reading

Bonafide pt. 2 👀

Not only is the shop an LLC now, I was just accepted into my local holistic health membership! Now I’m on my way to become certified in herbalism, candle, soap, spa, natural makeup, etc. It will be really cool and humbling to learn from career crafters and learn their techniques. Wish me luck in the coming months 😭🙌

Originally posted by blackbeak

Witch Tip: cleansing method

Cut 3 pieces of string or ribbon the length of your forearm. Fasten it to a clipboard or on a table with tape or even knot it and hold the end in your mouth. Braid them.
You can gradually cleanse a space with your intent by braiding 3 pieces of material together for a length of time. The goal is to kind of zone out by the end so that the motion becomes mechanical and your mind is clear. Once you reach the end of the braid, seal the spell. This can be done by dipping the end in candle wax, knotting it, or taping it off.
Once braided and sealed, your cleansing is complete. Discard the braid immediately after

Spell for PTSD Suffers or those who have just been through trauma

***not a medical practitioner, this spell is not a replacement for meds, Doctor visit or therapy. I am in a treatment program for my PTSD and this is to supplement my medication and CBT. ***

You’ll need:
🌚 A gold candle
🌚A black candle
🌚 A bay leaf
🌚glass, metal or ceramic bowl
🌚 pinch of sea salt, cardamom, allspice, cinnamon, egg shell powder or course ground egg shells, and cornmeal
🌚 a splash of full moon water or blessed water
A cleanser such as sage smoke, sage spray, sea salt spray or incense to cleanse the area before and after the spell.

As always, cast the circle and invoke your deities or elements

Take your cardamom, allspice, cinnamon , eggshell powder, sea salt and cornmeal and ground them together until a brown powder is seen.

Take the water and add a splash into the bowl. Should be like a murky puddle.

Light both candles and anoint them with the potion you created above.

Dip the bay leaf into the potion. Make sure it’s wet and has the herbs on it.

This is where you envision your demons, dark memories or your anxieties. Envisioning and focus is key in this spell. It is not a vocal spell. It’s tapping into your mind and soul.

Dip the wet bay leaf into the flame of each candle. Careful not to burn your fingers and keep the potion near by to extinguish the leaf if it catches fire.

The leaf will smoke while you dip it in each candle flame. Envision your flashbacks, nightmares, anxieties, triggers or your negative energy rising through the smoke and disappearing. Let the smell of the herbs invoke inner strength, peace, passion and love.
Let the bay leaf protect you.

I did this until my leaf was completely black. I thanked my deities and cleaned the space upon completion of the spell. Snuff the candle flame. Don’t blow it out. Take your potion and leaf out doors and dispose of it. I put my potion and leaf into my pot of basil.

It’s all about controlling your own thoughts and being in control of what is allowed into your subconscious.

Questions? Inbox me.

Blessed Be🔮😘🍄

Reverse a Spell cast Against You

You will need:

  • Black candle
  • White paraffin, melted
  • Boline

Place the black candle in front of you and light it. Say: easily lit, you burn as I allow, but I have the power to disavow. Blow out the candle.

Dip the candle from the bottom into the white paraffin, you may dip it as far as two thirds of its length, but leave some of the black portion near the wick untouched. Dip the candle three times. Notice how each time you dip it, it gets whiter. Allow this to dry.

Light the candle again and allow it to burn the black portion remaining. As the flame reaches the part where the white paraffin begins, say: your will remains and though it is black, it has been transformed, it cannot attack. Allow the candle to burn down into the white paraffin area, and then snuff it out. Discard the unused portion at a crossroads, over your shoulder, without looking back.

This spell can be performed any time you know or suspect someone has put a spell on you, or when you seem to having a string of bad luck and you can’t explain why.

Source: Wicca Candle Spells by Milla Walsh

The Forest Fic - ChanBaek Edit

Author’s Note: I’m the biggest top fan and I am in love with this story, but I also love ChanBaek. I m in no way claiming this story as my own, I literally just changed “Tyler and Josh” to “Baekhyun and Chanyeol” (and a few other things lol). Enjoy!!! 

Ship: Chanyeol and Baekhyun 

Word count: 9,049 

Warnings: Mental Instability, Past Patient Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Sex, Suicide 

Original (Joshler): http://archiveofourown.org/works/1822504?view_adult=true

“The rain,” Baekhyun says.

Chanyeol nods, slowly.

“It’s like…” Baekhyn pauses, searching for the word.

“Crisper,” Chayeol says.

“Exactly,” Baekhyun says, nodding.

“Almost like…” Chanyeol frowns, “red? Maybe?”

“Mostly,” Baekhyun says. “With a hint of orange.”

“Orange, right.” Chanyeol points at Baekhyun. “That’s right. I keep forgetting that one.”

“A lot of things are orange, though,” Baekhyun says, frowning.

“Not where I’m from,” Chanyeol says darkly. “Everything’s just blue-black there.”

Baekhyun winces. “I can’t even imagine that.”

“Don’t,” Chanyeol says firmly. He shakes his head. “Don’t even try.”

Baekhyun shudders a little. “Believe me, I don’t want to.”

Chanyeol nods. “Good.” He sits up straighter suddenly, cocking his head.

“My mom coming?” Baekhyun asks. Chanyeol nods, standing up.

“Keep it short, yeah?” Chanyeol asks as he closes the closet door.

“Okay,” Baekhyun replies to the now-empty room.

There’s a soft tap on the door before his mom pokes her head in.

“What are you doing, Baekhyun?” Baekhyun’s mom asks, looking in.

“Talking to Chanyeol,” Baekhyun tells her. He immediately regrets saying anything.

“Baekhyun,” his mom says, sighing. “Chanyeol isn’t real, remember? We’ve been over this before.”

“Right, Mom,” Baekhyun says, nodding. “I’m sorry.”

“Baekhyun, I…” His mom pauses, looking unsure. “Don’t apologize, okay? It’s just that Chanyeol doesn’t exist.”

“Okay,” Baekhyun tells her, waiting for her to leave so Chanyeol can come back.

His mom looks at him, something yellow-blue-red in her eyes. He forgets what other people call it. Chanyeol would know.

“Baekhyun, you have an appointment tomorrow, remember?” Baekhyun’s mom says. “With Dr. Park.”

Dr. Park has lots of markers, a checkerboard, and a liberal use of a drawer full of candy so Baekhyun won’t tell anyone about the one time everything tasted like metal and soap and magenta dipped in candle wax.

“Okay,” Baekhyun says, nodding.

His mom bites her lip. “All right, Baekhyun,” she says. “Remember to eat, okay?”

“Okay,” Baekhyun echoes, and she closes the door.

Chanyeol immediately opens the closet door.

“Dr. Park,” he says with a tone of distaste.

“Why don’t you like him?” Baekhyun asks as he watches Chanyeol settle himself on Baekhyun’s bookshelf.

“He sounds so…” Chanyeol bites his lip, searching for the words. “I would say purple-green, but I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

“Pink,” Baekhyun says immediately.

“Right, right,” Chanyeol says. He makes a face. “I don’t like it when you go there.”

“Would you rather I go back to Dr. Kim?” Baekhyun offers.

Chanyeol recoils the best he can while perched precariously on a bookshelf.

“No!” Chanyeol exclaims. “No, no, never!”

“I was kidding,” Baekhyun says as he sprawls back onto his bed.

“Some joke,” Chanyeol mutters, sounding irritated. “Don’t kid about that, okay?”

“Okay,” Baekhyun says, suddenly reminded by his conversations with his mother. The sound of butter being spread on toast, bland, and purple-red acceptance.

“No, really,” Chanyeol says, hopping off the bookshelf so he can grab Baekhyun’s hand. “Don’t joke about that. That was… bad.”

“It was,” Baekhyun allows, and Chanyeol presses his lips to Baekhyun’s hand.

“Please don’t joke about that, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol murmurs.

And Baekhyun is so charmed by the way Chanyeol’s mouth forms his name that he agrees automatically.

Baekhyun can tell Dr. Park has had a long day.

“Everything all right with your wife, Doctor?” Baekhyun asks politely.

“Peachy,” Dr. Park huffs, flopping down onto his chair. “Chocolate or lollipop?”

“Lollipop,” Baekhyun answers. He likes to suck them as obscenely as possible once in a while, just to check Dr. Park’s priorities.

The lollipop is red, tasting green-red-yellow, like cherries. Baekhyun’s careful to rub it across his lips, making them as red as possible.

“Last session we discussed books,” Dr. Park says, not paying attention to Baekhyun’s treatment of his lollipop. “And headaches.”

“Those two may as well be synonymous,” Baekhyun says.

“Yes, you mentioned that many times,” Dr. Park says, sounding tired.

“And the Bible-”

“-has such small print you may as well be looking at a rainbow,” the doctor finishes.

“Although the first part-”

“-of Genesis is almost entirely green, so you can read it,” Dr. Park says. “I take very good notes, remember?”

“I remember,” Baekhyun says in the same tone he uses with his mother.

Dr. Park, who is entirely familiar with Baekhyun’s vocal tones, sighs.

“Baekhyun, I’m sorry I’m not at the top of my game today,” he says. He leans forward, and Baekhyun jerks back so quickly that the lollipop almost goes down his throat. “Sorry, sorry,” Dr. Park apologizes. He takes off his glasses so he can scrub his face with his hand. “I’m so sorry, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun doesn’t say anything. He thinks that if he opens his mouth, nothing but the ’gibberish’ only Chanyeol seems to understand would fall out. His heart’s pounding in his chest, and he places his hand over it. Dr. Park follows his movements and winces.

“I’m so sorry, Baekhyun,” he repeats. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m okay,” Baekhyun says, pleased when he hears them come out as ‘normal’ words.

“You’re not, Baekhyun,” Dr. Park says with a sigh. “You’re not okay.” He shakes his head slowly, as if to clear it. “What do you want to talk about today?”

Baekhyun shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Have you been writing?” Dr. Park asks.

“A little,” Baekhyun mutters, picking a loose thread on his jeans.

“Have you written about anything particularly interesting?”

“The treehouse,” Baekhyun says, before wishing he didn’t say anything because Dr. Park’s eyes go blue-orange-green, all interested and almost hungry-looking.

“What treehouse?” Dr. Park asks, jotting something down in his notebook.

“We- I found a treehouse in the woods,” Baekhyun murmurs, scowling down at the carpet. He feels oddly exposed now.

“What was the treehouse like?” the doctor asks, not looking up from his notebook.

“I dunno. Woody.” Yellow-purple. The way wet chalk feels. The lowest B on his piano.

“Do your parents know about the treehouse?” Dr. Park asks.

“Does it matter?” Baekhyun says, a little more defensively than he intended.

Dr. Park blinks. “I suppose it doesn’t,” he says slowly. “I just wanted to know if you’ve been talking to them.”

“You could’ve just asked them that,” Baekhyun points out. “You could’ve just asked me that.”

“You’re right, Baekhyun. I’m sorry,” Dr. Park says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Have you been talking to your parents?” Baekhyun snorts. “I thought so.” The doctor leans forward slowly, so Baekhyun has time to prepare for his presence. “I think you should talk to them, Baekhyun. They really care about you.”

“They don’t.” Baekhyun knows he sounds like a child, like the smell of orange peels, but he doesn’t care.

“They do, Baekhyun. And they were so, so upset when they found out what had happened to you.”

“They never believed me.”

“Baekhyun, you weren’t very easy to understand then,” Dr. Park says gently. “You still aren’t, honestly.”

“You seem to manage.”

“I’ve known you for a long time now, Baekhyun.”

“So have my parents.”

“Have they really?”

Baekhyun is silent for a moment. “No.” He pauses. “They don’t know me at all.”

“Baekhyun, have you ever thought about making peace with your parents?” Dr. Park asks.

Baekhyun scowls. “They should be the ones making peace with me.”

“They’re trying, Baekhyun, really,” the doctor says. “I guess you haven’t noticed, but they’re trying to make amends.”

“Well, they’re doing a heck of a job,” Baekhyun mutters.

Dr. Park ignores that comment. “They said they’ve been trying to take you out more and participate in family activities.”

“I hate crowds,” Baekhyun tells his doctor. “I hate board games. I hate TV.”

“They don’t know what you like, Baekhyun,” Dr. Park says. “But I’m sure they’ll be happy to do whatever you do like with you.”

“I…” Baekhyun pauses. “There’s nothing that I like to do.”

Dr. Park goes quiet for a moment. “You like Chanyeol.”

Baekhyun blinks. “What?” Dr. Park has never willingly brought up the topic of Chanyeol before.

“I’m not saying that Chanyeol is real, Baekhyun,” the doctor says quickly. “But maybe you could try telling someone in your family about him.”

“And what purpose would that serve, other then to cater my delusions?”

“It’ll help you open up,” Dr. Park says, ignoring his sarcasm. “You’re much easier to understand when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about.”

Baekhyun thinks about this. “You’ll have to tell my parents that it okay for me to talk about Chanyeol.”

Dr. Park sighs. “I didn’t mean for that to happen when I told them about Chanyeol, Baekhyun. I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun shrugs. “Whatever.”

Dr. Park nods slowly to himself, jotting something down in his notebook. “I’ll talk to them.”

“What are you going to say about me?” Chanyeol asks as he picks at a piece of splintering wood in their treehouse.

Baekhyun shrugs. “I dunno. There’s a lot to say.”

“You could tell them how pink-red-orange I am,” Chanyeol says, flashing Baekhyun one of those smiles that make Baekhyun melt. “How sexy I am, how I sound like melted marshmallows, how my lips are the key C major, how I can-”

“Oh, shut up,” Baekhyun says, pushing him playfully.

Chanyeol laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grins. Baekhyun looks away before Chanyeol can see him staring.

“My parents think I’m crazy,” Baekhyun says suddenly.

Chanyeol sobers immediately, frowning. “You’re not crazy.”

“I know,” Baekhyun says. “But telling them about you isn’t going to convince them of that.”

Chanyeol is silent for a moment. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk to them about you anyways,” Baekhyun says. “Fuck what they think.”

Chanyeol grins. “You’re really pink-red-orange when you swear.”

Baekhyun blushes. “No, I’m not.”

Chanyeol looks at him thoughtfully. “You’re pretty pretty, Baekhyun.”

“Pretty pretty?” Baekhyun says.

Chanyeol laughs. “Not my best word choice.”

“Why do we talk like this, anyways?” Baekhyun asks. “If we just used our words, nothing like that would happen.”

“You asked me to talk 'normally,’” Chanyeol says. “For practice.”

Baekhyun frowns. “Why did I do that?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “Something about better communication.”

Baekhyun nods slowly. “Sounds like something I’d do. Back, y'know.”

“Well, yeah,” Chanyeol says. “You were all-” he makes a few indiscernible hand motions, “blue-purple. Jumbled.”

“Mixed up,” Baekhyun says, nodding.

“Not exactly,” Chanyeol says. “Sort of… I can’t remember the word for it. Orange-green-purple.”

“Confused,” Baekhyun translates. Chanyeol nods.

“That’s it. I keep forgetting that one,” he says. “Confused. You were confused. And like the letter M. The way August smells.”

“Confused, maybe,” Baekhyun allows. “I don’t know about lost, though.”

“You were lost,” Chanyeol says, sounding certain.

“Maybe,” Baekhyun says again. He watches Chanyeol flick the lighter he always has on and off. “Why do you even have that? You don’t smoke.”

Chanyeol shrugs. “You never know when you’ll have to set everything on fire.”

Baekhyun furrows his eyebrows. “What? What are you talking about?”

Chanyeol just shrugs agains. “You’ll get it some day.”

“He dyed his hair the other day,” Baekhyun tells his mom.

They’re sitting on the steps outside, watching the wind blow through the trees in their backyard. It sounds like a cool pillow on Baekhyun’s skin, and he smiles.

“What color?” his mom asks.

“Blue. Bright blue,” Baekhyun says, grinning a little to himself. “It was red for a while before, actually.”

“That’s neat, Baekhyun,” his mom says, still looking rather uncomfortable.

“He has these really dark brown eyes,” Baekhyun says, choosing to ignore his mother’s discomfort. “Coffee eyes. That kind with coffee and hot chocolate. What’s that called again?”

“Mocha,” his mom supplies.

“Mocha eyes,” Baekhyun says, nodding.

“Baekhyun,” his mom says, biting her lip, “who is Chanyeol to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is he your friend?” his mom asks. “Boyfriend?”

Baekhyun splutters a little. “What? No!”

“It’s… y'know, okay if you want a boyfriend,” Baekhyun’s mom says. “Just so you know.”

“Great,” Baekhyun says, still wide-eyed. “What brought that on?”

“You always have this goofy look on when you talk about him, Baekhyun,” his mom tells him.

“Yeah, but that automatically made you think I’m gay?”

“Well,” his mom shrugs, “you’ve never seemed very straight, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun blinks. “Thanks, Mom.”

“It wasn’t an insult!” his mom begins to protest, but pauses when she sees Baekhyun laughing.

“I’m gay,” Baekhyun assures her once he’s done giggling. “I just never expected you to notice.”

“I do occasionally notice something about you, Baekhyun,” his mom tells him.

Baekhyun immediately sobers. He frowns, and his mom sighs, carefully taking his hand.

“I’m sorry, Baekhyun,” she tells him. “I know that an apology won’t fix anything, that it won’t change anything, but I am still so sorry.”

“Why-” Baekhyun swallows hard, “why didn’t you believe me?”

“I-” His mom sighs. “Dr. Kim seemed very professional, Baekhyun. He was supposed to be top of the line. And he was very smooth, very reassuring that there was absolutely no misconduct.” She sighs again, squeezing Baekhyun’s hand gently. “I regret not listening to you more than anything, Baekhyun.”

“Don’t we all,” Baekhyun mutters. “Don’t we all.”

“How do you feel?” Chanyeol asks one day.

“Who are you, Dr. Park?”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “Come on, Baek,” he says, passing him his pocket knife. “Show me. In 'normal’ words.”

Baekhyun stares at the knife, warm and heavy in his palm, like silk on dewy grass.

“Show me,” Chanyeol repeats.

Baekhyun flips out the blade, pressing it to the wooden floor of their treehouse.

'Normal’ words,” he whispers to himself, trying to recall one for how he feels.


Terrified,” Chanyeol reads. “Why?”

Baekhyun shrugs, wiping the wood shavings off the knife before flicking it closed and handing it back to Chanyeol.

“I don’t know. Always am,” he says.

“Why?” Chanyeol repeats. “Of what?”

Baekhyun shrugs again. “Of what’s next, I guess,” he says.

Chanyeol frowns. “That’s nothing to be scared of,” he says.

“Why am I scared, then?”

Chanyeol smiles in that small, gentle way of his. “Orange-green-purple,” he says.

Baekhyun sighs, tracing his thumb over the carving in the wooden board.

“I’m not,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

“You are,” Chanyeol says. “Like stretched orange cotton. Not knowing what’s around the corner is one of the best things ever.”

“Terrifying,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head.

“Maybe a little,” Chanyeol allows. “But maybe what’s around the corner is the best thing you could possibly imagine.”

“What if it’s not, though?”

“What if it is?”

“What if it isn’t?”

Chanyeol leans forward, taking Baekhyun’s fingers away from the carving in the wood.

“But what if it is?” he whispers.

“How are things with you and your mother?” Dr. Park asks as Baekhyun slides a peanut butter cup into his pocket.

“Fine,” Baekhyun says.

“Fine?” Dr. Park repeats, eyebrow raised.

“Better,” Baekhyun amends.

Dr. Park nods slowly. “You talked to her about Chanyeol, then?”

Baekhyun nods. “She didn’t look too happy.”

“As expected, Baekhyun,” Dr. Park says, still looking down at her notes. “It can’t be comfortable for a woman to hear her seventeen-year-old son talk about his imaginary friend.”

“Who she thinks is imaginary,” Baekhyun corrects before he can stop himself.

Dr. Park pauses, finally looking up from his notes.

“Baekhyun,” he says softly, “Chanyeol is-”

Yes, okay, whatever,” Baekhyun says quickly.

The doctor sighs, running his hand through thinning hair absentmindedly.

“He’s not real, Baekhyun,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, but he just doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, fine, whatever you say.”

Dr. Park rubs his face with his hands. “Baekhyun…”

“Look,” Baekhyun says, suddenly feeling ready to fight, “I know you think I’m crazy because of this, but Chanyeol is real, okay? You’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

Dr. Park chuckles dryly. “I’m seeing that, yes.”

“It’s all blue-black,” Chanyeol says. “My home, I mean. That’s why I like it here better.”

“You’ve told me that,” Baekhyun says. “Lots.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Chanyeol points out.

“I know,” Baekhyun says. “I’m just saying that I hear you whenever you tell me.”

“But I don’t want you to hear me,” Chanyeol says insistently. “I want you to listen.”

Baekhyun frowns. “What’s the difference?”

Chanyeol makes a frustrated noise. “Some people- philosophers, mainly- say other people never hear each other,” he says. “But I don’t think that’s true. I think everyone hears, but I don’t think most people listen.”

Baekhyun’s frown deepens. “I still don’t get it.”

“It’s like…” Chanyeol shifts, taking Baekhyun’s hand. “Okay, when I say 'take my hand,’ you think of holding hands, right? Not of taking my hand someplace with you. Unless we go somewhere hand-in-hand, but that’s a different story.” He shakes his head to clear it. “What I mean is, you hear 'take my hand’ but listen to 'hold my hand.’”

“Oh.” Baekhyun pauses, thinking. “I get it.” He frowns again. “I think.”

Chanyeol cracks a smile. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

“Baekhyun, your psychiatrist and I want to start you on a new kind of drug,” Dr. Park says as Baekhyun sits down.

“What?” Baekhyun asks as he picks out a purple lollipop. “Don’t you remember how it went last time?”

“Not antipsychotics,” Dr. Park says. “That was a mistake, I know.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That was a mistake.”

“What kind of drug, then?” Baekhyun asks, unwrapping the lollipop and popping it in his mouth.

“Lorazepam,” Dr. Park says. He pauses. “Ativan.”

Baekhyun frowns. “Doesn’t that treat anxiety?” Am I anxious? he wonders to himself.

“It also treats insomnia,” Dr. Park says. “Frankly, Baekhyun, you’re starting to look like a skeleton. One in need of a good night’s sleep.”

Baekhyun shrugs. “I think I’m okay.”

Dr. Park sighs. “Your mother told me she can hear you talking to yourself at three in the morning. Every single night.”

Baekhyun opens his mouth to say that it’s not himself he’s talking to, but decides against it.

“I’m okay,” he says instead.

“Baekhyun, I really don’t think you’re getting enough sleep,” Dr. Park says softly. “You look exhausted all the time.”

“I’m fine.”

“Baekhyun, this is honestly what I think is best for you,” Dr. Park says gently.

Baekhyun glares at him. “And why do you care about what’s best for me?” He leans forward, undaunted. “I don’t think you do,” he says, placing his hand over his cheek deliberately.

Dr. Park’s expression drops. “Baekhyun,” he begins, stopping. “Baekhyun, I’m so, so sorry about that.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, leaning back. “Whatever.”

The doctor sighs, rubbing his eyes. “There’s no excuse for that,” he says. “But Baekhyun, this really is for your own good.” He pulls out another piece of paper and jots something down on it. “I’m going to talk to your parents, and once I have their approval, we’re going to start you on Ativan. Okay, Baekhyun?”

“Whatever,” Baekhyun says again.

Dr. Park sighs, rubbing the ring on his left finger. “Okay. Now, Baekhyun, I thought-”

"Stop that,” Baekhyun says, irritated.

Dr. Park pauses. “Stop what?”

“Stop putting my name in every other sentence you direct to me,” Baekhyun says. “I know my name now, okay?”

“Force of habit, Baek-“ he catches himself, “force of habit,”

Baekhyun chuckles dryly. "I hate my name,” he tells his doctor.

“And why’s that?” Dr. Park asks, scratching something down on his notepad.

“It’s just a reminder.”

Dr. Park pauses. “A reminder of what?”

“It’s just another reminder that no one’s actually unique,” Baekhyun says. “No one’s actually special.”

Dr. Park sets his notepad onto the desk, looking intrigued. “Elaborate?” he requests.

“Certainly,” Baekhyun says. “You know, there’s someone out there named Byun Baekhyun. Maybe not now, but there will be. Maybe even both, depending on how long I live.” He pauses, tapping his chin. “And if there really are infinite universes, there are an infinite number of Byun Baekhyuns, saying the exact same thing that I’m saying, thinking the exact same thing that I’m thinking. Yes, there are an infinite number of worlds where Byun Baekhyun is a plumber who crossdresses in his free time and has never once considered other universes, but that would mean there are also an infinite number of worlds that are an exact replica of this one. And if that’s true, there’s no reason for anyone to feel special.” Baekhyun hums thoughtfully. “You could always argue, of course, that there may be no such thing as parallel universes, but even so, there’s still going to be someone in this world with your name in your past, present, or future. And I read that everyone has a doppelgänger on this earth, although the two doppelgängers may not live at the same time.” Baekhyun sighs. “What’s the point in being unique?”

Dr. Park stares at him. “…and that’s why you don’t like your name?”

Baekhyun laughs a little. “A rather wordy version of why, yes.”

“It’s definitely interesting,” Dr. Park tells him. “I’m definitely going to think long and hard about it later.”

“Good,” Baekhyun tells him honestly. “I think everyone should think about it at least once in a while. Food for thought, you know.”

“Mom?” Baekhyun asks, walking into the kitchen.

“Baekhyun?” his mom responds, turning to him with an expression of mild surprise.

“I have something to tell you,” he says, cautiously taking her hand and leading her to sit at the kitchen table.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I…” am in love with the boy you think is imaginary what do I do, “…uh.” Baekhyun scratches the back of his neck. “Um.”

“Yes?” his mom says.

“What’s for dinner?” comes tumbling out.

His mother blinks in surprise. “Spaghetti and meatballs,” she says. “Why? Do you want to eat with us?”

And for some unknown reason, Baekhyun nods.

“So, let me get this straight:” Chanyeol begins, “you tried to eat the spaghetti with a spoon, called your brother a periwinkle dust mop when he tried to give you a fork, listened to your sister talk about her basketball tournament, fell off your chair when your other brother kicked you under the table, watched your dad drink a nonalcoholic beer, listened to your mom talk about your sister’s basketball tournament, and burst into tears when the brother who kicked you asked why you don’t go to school.”

“That just about sums it up,” Baekhyun says, nodding.

Chanyeol raises an eyebrow at him. “And why did you even go to dinner?”

Baekhyun blushes. “It was sort of an accident.”

Chanyeol raises the other eyebrow. “How do you accidentally wind up eating dinner with your family?”

“I- ah…” Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair. “Well, I was going to ask my mom something, but, uh, I ended up asking her what was for dinner.”

Chanyeol’s raised eyebrows lift even higher. “What were you going to ask her?”

Baekhyun feels his face flush even darker. “Nothing,” he says a little too quickly.

Chanyeol’s eyebrows rise so high that they almost disappear into his mop of deep, black hair. Before Baekhyun can stop himself, he’s reaching out and pushing Chanyeol’s eyebrows down himself.

They stare at each other for a moment before they both burst out laughing.

They end up with their foreheads pressed together and fingers intertwined, and they’re both still giggling as Baekhyun looks down at Chanyeol’s soft, C major lips. It would be so easy just to…


Baekhyun snaps out of it, looking back up into Chanyeol’s mocha eyes. Their foreheads are still pressed together.

“Can I, um…” Before Baekhyun can think about it, he’s shifting himself oh-so-slightly for their lips to touch. It’s brief, but Baekhyun can still feel those perfect, C major lips unresponsive on his when he pulls back.

“Oh,” Chanyeol says, looking startled.

“Oh,” Baekhyun echoes, standing up. “Oh, oh man, I’m so sorry, I- I’ll…” He practically slides down the ladder.

“No, wait, Baekhyun-” Chanyeol calls, but Baekhyun doesn’t look back.

“You seem gloomy today,” Baekhyun’s mom comments as Baekhyun pours milk into a bowl of cereal.

Baekhyun shrugs. “I’m all right.”

She frowns. “You haven’t gone outside at all today.”

Baekhyun shrugs again. “Not in the mood.”

“Do you mind if I join you?” his mom asks, gesturing to the seat across from Baekhyun. He shakes his head. “Thank you.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“I didn’t know you like that kind of cereal,” Baekhyun’s mom comments.

“Hmm?” Baekhyun says, looking up. “Oh, yeah, it’s Chanyeol’s…” he cuts himself off when he looks down at the floating brown and tan corn puffs, “…favorite.”

Before he knows it, Baekhyun’s suddenly bawling into his bowl of Reese’s Puffs.

Baekhyun??” his mom says, sounding alarmed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Baekhyun says through a small sob. "I- I don’t know, I-” Another sob cuts him off.

“Shh,” his mom says, suddenly kneeling next to his chair, hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Baekhyun wraps his arms around her, burying his head in her shoulder. He’s suddenly bombarded by memories of when he used to cling to her after his unending nightmares when he was little. He stopped asking for his mom when Chanyeol came into the picture, though. He’d cling to Chanyeol instead.

Baekhyun chuckles through a sob, wondering if he’ll have to go back to hugging his mother after nightmares.

“It’s okay,” Baekhyun’s mom says softly, patting his back. “Sweetheart, it’s all okay.”

“Mom?” he whispers into her neck.

“Yes, Baekhyun?” she replies.

“I’m in love with Chanyeol,” he says, voice cracking on ‘love.’

“Oh.” Baekhyun’s mom holds him even tighter. “Oh, Baekhyun.”

And I know-” Baekhyun pauses to take a deep breath, “I know that you think he’s not real, and everyone’s so vehement about it that sometimes I think he might not be too. And where would that leave me?” He’s starting to shake now. “Stuck in love with a ghost, that’s what.”

“Oh, baby,” his mom says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

The position they’re in isn’t very comfortable, and Baekhyun’s mom slowly helps them both stand before guiding their way to the sofa. Baekhyun immediately curls up, burying his head back into his mother’s shoulder.

“I messed up,” Baekhyun says, shuddering. “I kissed him and he didn’t kiss back and I want to die, Momma, he means so much and I messed it all up.”

“Oh, honey,” Baekhyun’s mom says softly, running her hand through his hair.

“I messed up,” Baekhyun says again. “I messed up bad.”

“Baekhyun,” his mom says carefully, “have you considered that this might be a good thing?”

What?” Baekhyun says, confused.

“It’s not healthy to rely on- on someone like you do,” his mom says gently. “Maybe take a break from Chanyeol?”

“A break?” Baekhyun says, so appalled that he’s stopped crying.

“A break, Baekhyun,” she echoes. “Just for a little while. Take up a new hobby or something.”

“Chanyeol isn’t a hobby, Mom,” Baekhyun says, indignant by her implications. “He’s a person. A person that I need to make amends with,” he says, springing up.

“Baekhyun, wait-”

But Baekhyun’s already dashing out the back door and running into the forest to find Chanyeol.

Baekhyun can hear Chanyeol humming mindlessly when he approaches the treehouse. He hears the faint sound of gnats buzzing in the distance and the stream a little ways away running peacefully as he cautiously climbs up the ladder, poking his head in.

Chanyeol is sitting there, flicking the lighter on and off as if in a trance.

“Hey,” Baekhyun says, and Chanyeol nearly drops the lighter in surprise.

“Hi,” he says, pocketing the lighter. “Come in.”

Baekhyun hesitantly clambers in. “So, I wanted to apol-”

He’s cut off when Chanyeol surges forward and presses C major lips to his.

The kiss last longer than the last one, and this time both of them are contributing. Chanyeol’s mouth is warm and sweet, and Baekhyun can feel his own heart thumping madly.

Chanyeol’s soft, blue-sky hands reach up. One cradles the back of his neck, and the other cups his jaw. Baekhyun’s hands hesitantly reach up as well, grasping Chanyeol’s shoulders.

They finally pull back, and Baekhyun slowly opens his eyes to see Chanyeol’s still closed, looking utterly contented.

They just sit there for a moment, catching their breaths.

“Why’d you run?” Chanyeol asks, breaking the silence.

“Why didn’t you kiss back?” Baekhyun answers.

There’s another moment of silence.

“I like you,” Chanyeol says suddenly. His voice sounds a little different. Like rain falling up. “I like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot too,” Baekhyun says, and Chanyeol beams at him, tiger-growl teeth peaking through C major lips.

Good,” he whispers, odic, and kisses him again.

“Oh,” Baekhyun gasps into Chanyeol’s mouth, “Chanyeol.”


“Good?” Chanyeol mumbles as he twists his fingers. Baekhyun yelps.

“Like- like-” Baekhyun throws his head back, hitting the wooden floor of the treehouse. “I can taste- ahh…”

Chanyeol swallows his groan, pressing perfect C major lips to his. Baekhyun whimpers again, bucking his hips up.

“Chanyeol,” he gasps.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, warm and low in his throat, honey and birdsong and dark, sweet orange.

Baekhyun’s a mess of gasps and moans as Chanyeol gently moves his fingers inside him. He can taste something, like metal but not quite, and he’s so so desperate for something, but he doesn’t know what.

“Please,” Baekhyun whispers, not even sure of what he’s pleading for. Chanyeol’s fingers press up, and the not-metal taste becomes so overwhelming that a sob is startled out of him.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, pausing. He cups Baekhyun’s cheek with soft, blue-sky hands. “Are you alright?“

"Yeah,” Baekhyun says shakily. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Chanyeol presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Tell me if it becomes too much, okay?”

“Okay,” Baekhyun murmurs. He presses himself against Chanyeol’s fingers, and Chanyeol smiles, all C major-sweet. “Come on,” Baekhyun says, throat suddenly dry, “you can- ah.”

Chanyeol goes back to slowly moving his fingers. Baekhyun isn’t exactly sure of what he’s doing, but it’s good.

He can feel something else in his veins, hot and desperate and red-black velvet. He groans, squeezing on Chanyeol’s fingers.

“So good,” Baekhyun grunts. “So, so… like- ah, not metal but almost, and velvet, and- ahh…”

“Shh,” Chanyeol says softly. “I know.”

Chanyeol slowly pulls his fingers out. Baekhyun frowns at the loss.

“What?” he starts to ask, but Chanyeol is suddenly shifting Baekhyun’s hips and pressing something warm and hard against him. “Oh.”

“Okay?” Chanyeol murmurs, looking down at him with wide, mocha eyes.

“Yes,” Baekhyun says, absolutely certain. “Yes.”

Chanyeol gently pushes in, lower C major lip tucked under tiger-growl top teeth.

Baekhyun’s eyes roll back as he’s slowly filled up. It burns, but it’s like creamer for coffee, like red robin feathers, and it’s okay.

“Okay?” Chanyeol whispers.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun confirms, closing his eyes. The not-metal in his mouth is building up again, and he gasps as Chanyeol shifts his hips oh-so slightly. “Oh! Oh, ahh…”

Chanyeol kisses him again, and Baekhyun kisses back as hard as he can.

“So, so, ahh,” Chanyeol moans into Baekhyun’s mouth. “You’re so, oh, oh…” Baekhyun kisses him, swallowing his groans.

Chanyeol is starting to move his hips in slow, steady motions, and Baekhyun finds himself moving his own hips to meet his motions. Chanyeol is hitting something inside Baekhyun every single time, and Baekhyun can’t help but whimper in a low, constant sound.

Tell me,” Chanyeol grunts, “tell me if it’s too much.”

It is,” Baekhyun murmurs back. “Keep going.”

Chanyeol laughs softly, startled, but obliges.

Baekhyun runs his hands through Chanyeol’s soft, dark hair, tugging gently. Chanyeol groans, fingers digging into Baekhyun’s shoulders, and Baekhyun wraps his legs around Chanyeol’s waist. His hips shift up slightly, and whimpers when Chanyeol starts to hit that place inside him even harder.

“Come on,” Chanyeol grunts into Baekhyun’s ear. “Can I...?”

Baekhyun doesn’t even know what Chanyeol is asking for, but he presses his hips even closer to Chanyeol’s, squeezing, and with a yelp, Chanyeol’s movements stutter and still.

“Um…are you all right?” Baekhyun asks.

Chanyeol is panting hard as he reaches down and wraps his hand around Baekhyun’s- whoa.

I’m great,” he says as he starts to move his hand.

Ack,” is Baekhyun’s reply.

He reaches up, wrapping his arms around Chanyeol’s back, clinging desperately. The not-metal taste is more intense than ever, and he sinks his teeth into Chanyeol’s collarbone with a groan.

“Oh gosh,” he gasps out. “Oh gosh.”

Baekhyun feels the velvet in his veins, tastes the not-metal in his mouth, and he can start to hear a low humming, a perfect G sharp.

He groans, high in his throat, and Chanyeol mouths along his jawbone down to his neck.

Come on,” Chanyeol murmurs. “You’re almost there.”

Baekhyun doesn’t have any clue what Chanyeol is even talking about- where he’s close to being-, but he’s too jumbled up and overwhelmed to ask.

Chanyeol twists his hand, rubbing his thumb over the top, and the not-metal in Baekhyun’s mouth suddenly becomes so much, too much, and he sobs hard into Chanyeol’s skin.

“It’s okay,” Chanyeol whispers. “Just let go. Let go.”

Baekhyun lets go.

He’s falling, sinking, and he can feel himself shaking. The not-metal in his mouth finally comes spilling out as a moan more expressive and emotion-filled than he ever thought he could make. He splays his arms out, one hitting the wooden wall, and he feels all of his muscles clench and unclench.

The G sharp grows louder and louder until he finally screams, groaning and whimpering. Chanyeol is murmuring soft, cloud-sweet words as Baekhyun finally quiets down.

Oh,” Baekhyun says once he can finally speak.

Hi,” Chanyeol says against Baekhyun’s neck.

Hi,” Baekhyun echoes, ears buzzing. “That was- that was…” For the first time ever, there’s something that Baekhyun can’t describe.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says, kissing him chastely. “I know.”


“I know,” Baekhyun says, and immediately wishes he could shove those words back in his mouth because Chanyeol’s mocha eyes go dark.

What,” Chanyeol says softly, C major lips pulling back to bare tiger-growl teeth, “did you say?”

“I’m sorry, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says immediately.

Chanyeol exhales in a way that Baekhyun can only describe as red-green-orange, like a stream over a bed of jagged crystal. Perfectly dangerous.

I’m sorry,” Baekhyun repeats.

You don’t-” Chanyeol takes a deep breath, “you can’t understand, okay?”


You have no idea what it’s like,” Chanyeol growls, “to be terrified of going home! No idea what it’s like to be frightened of your own parents!” He stands up, pacing the best he can in the cramped space of the treehouse. “You have no idea what it’s like to have to hide whenever your dad gets too drunk and destroys whatever he comes across, and your mother is too high to care. You have no idea what it’s like to use your body to protect your sisters, your little brother. You don’t know the fear that runs through you when your father pulls out his belt because he’s feeling pissed off and needs something to take it all out on. You have no idea what it’s like to be whipped as hard as a grown man drunk on cheap liquor and anger can manage. And let me tell you something, Baekhyun.” He stops pacing and turns to look Baekhyun in the eye. “It. Hurts.”

Baekhyun swallows hard. “I- I’m sorry-”

Sorry, sorry,” Chanyeol sneers. “Everybody’s fucking sorry.”

He resumes pacing. “Everything is blue-black,” he repeats. He pauses, frowning. “For me,” he adds, “not you.”


“What’s wrong, Baekhyun?” Baekhyun’s mom asks.

“Huh?” Baekhyun says, looking up.

“You’ve just been sitting there all day,” she says, sitting down next to him on the sofa. “Is there something wrong?”

“Well,” Baekhyun says. He tries to stop himself, but the words suddenly come pouring out. “Chanyeol and I had sex, okay? And ever since then he’s been extra moody and I don’t know what to do. And yesterday we had a fight because I agreed with him when he said that everything is blue-black and he got mad because I don’t know what it’s like. And he’s right, I don’t know what it’s like for everything to be blue-black. But he kept on yelling and yelling and Mom, he’s hurt so bad at home and I want to help him but I can’t and that hurts.”

You- you had sex with Chanyeol?”

Baekhyun looks up to see his mother’s face completely white.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “That’s what I said, right?”

Baekhyun,” his mom says urgently, squeezing his hand so hard it’s to the point of painful, “did it hurt?”

Baekhyun feels his face contort into a vaguely shocked and disgusted expression. “What?”

When you had sex with Chanyeol, did it hurt?” his mom says. “Did he hurt you?”

Baekhyun frowns. “Well, a little. But I didn’t really notice then.” He considers this thoughtfully. “It hurt to sit down the next day,” he says truthfully.

His mom looks absolutely horrified. “Oh, Baekhyun,” she whispers, wrapping him into a hug. “I’m so sorry.

“What?” Baekhyun says, confused. Why is she sorry? Wasn’t the sex a good thing? It felt so good…

It’s okay,” Baekhyun’s mom says, rocking him gently. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Baekhyun sits there, utterly bewildered. Was he not supposed to have enjoyed it?

His mom runs a hand through his hair. “You’re all right. No one’s going to hurt you. Not anymore.”

Baekhyun’s mom hasn’t let him out of her sight since he told her he had sex with Chanyeol.

He hopes Chanyeol will understand why he hasn’t been out to make amends yet.

His mom has only left his side to call a few people and to talk to his dad.

“I’m just going to go say hi to your siblings, okay?” his mom says, when they hear the garage door open. “I’ll be right back.”

Baekhyun nods slowly.

He can hear his mom greeting his brother and sister when there’s a tap on the living room window. He looks out to see Chanyeol standing there, waving cautiously.

Baekhyun runs to the window, opening it.

Hi,” he says cautiously.

Come on,” Chanyeol says, gesturing out to the woods behind them.

Baekhyun bites his lip. “My mom’ll freak out if she comes back and I’m not here,” he says.

Chanyeol sighs. “Please?” he says. “I’m sorry, Baekhyun. I didn’t mean to yell. Please. I'm… I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun sighs, looking out. “Fine,” he murmurs, climbing out of the window.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says softly, cautiously taking his hand. “Can we talk?”

“Okay,” Baekhyun says, and they walk, hand-in-hand, into the forest.

“I’m sorry that I blew up at you like that,” Chanyeol apologizes once they’re safely hidden in the trees.

“I’m sorry I said I understood,” Baekhyun says. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Chanyeol smiles, C major lips a little sad. “Everybody’s fucking sorry,” he whispers, and Baekhyun leans in and kisses him.

Chanyeol’s eyes are closed when he pulls back, and he looks peaceful.

“Sing,” he says, eyes still closed.

What?” Baekhyun asks, taken aback.

Sing,” Chanyeol repeats.

“What do you want me to sing?” Baekhyun says, bewildered.

Chanyeol shrugs. “Something everyone would know.”

“Um.” Baekhyun pauses. For some reason, all he can think of is “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

Chanyeol smiled goofily and in-love to himself, eyes still closed. “Okay.”


“Twinkle, twinkle, little star

How I wonder what you are

Up above the world so high

Like a diamond in the sky

Twinkle, twinkle little star

How I wonder what you are


When the blazing sun is gone

When he nothing shines upon

Then you show your little light

Twinkle, twinkle, all the night

Twinkle, twinkle, little star

How I wonder what you are”

Chanyeol finally opens his eyes when Baekhyun finishes. “Thank you,” he says.

“Sure,” Baekhyun says.

They walk deeper into the forest, hands still clasped together.

“Have you ever noticed,” Chanyeol begins, squinting up at the darkening sky, “that when you squeeze your eyes together, everything changes?”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says. “Not dramatically, though. Just enough to be unnerving.”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol snaps his fingers. “Like that- that guy. With the covered faces. Red-August-L name.”

“Um,” Baekhyun says, thinking. “Uh, René Magritte?”

“Yel- yes, him,” Chanyeol says. “Everything’s not quite what it should be.”

Baekhyun nods slowly, squinting around the forest. Everything has a slightly eerie gloom to it, slightly off. He shivers, looking back at Chanyeol, who- who isn’t who he’s supposed to look like.

“You’re not quite what you should be,” Baekhyun says without thinking.

Chanyeol stiffens, and Baekhyun thinks he’s going to yell again, but Chanyeol just squeezes Baekhyun’s hand.

“That’s okay,” he whispers, “as long as you remember me.”

Baekhyun squeezes back.

They walk in thick silence, all green-orange. Baekhyun can sort of taste it.

“What if this isn’t real?” Baekhyun says suddenly.

Chanyeol frowns. “In what way?”

“In the way it’s all in my mind,” Baekhyun clarifies. Chanyeol cocks his head.

“Well, of course it’s all in your mind,” he says, and Baekhyun blinks.


“This is all in your mind,” Chanyeol says, gesturing. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Baekhyun sighs. “Yes, but what if all this-” he gestures around, “is only in my mind?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “Then it would still be real, wouldn’t it? If you can see it, if you can feel it, why wouldn’t it be real?”

“I- I don’t know,” Baekhyun says, frowning. “Maybe because it isn’t real for anyone else.”


So, maybe you’re not real.”

Chanyeol freezes, looking at Baekhyun. “What?

“Maybe you’re not real,” Baekhyun repeats.

Chanyeol is shaking his head. “No, don’t say that.”

“Everyone tells me you aren’t,” Baekhyun says. “My therapists, my psychologist, my parents-”

“Don’t listen to them,” Chanyeol says firmly, staring into Baekhyun’s eyes. “Don’t listen. You can see me, right? Hear me?” He squeezes Baekhyun’s hand. “Feel me?”

“Hallucination?” Baekhyun offers.

“One that kisses you?” Chanyeol retorts.

Baekhyun shakes Chanyeol’s hand off in favor of burying his head in his hands.

“Baekhyun, I’m real,” Chanyeol snaps. “Do you hear me?”

“Let me think!” Baekhyun yells back.

“I told you to remember me!” Chanyeol is upset now. “Did you think that up yourself? Am I really just your imagination?”

“Shut up!” Baekhyun screams, hands over his ears. “Shut up shut up shut up!”

“Listen to me!”


“You’re not real!”


“Yes I am!”


“You’re not real!”


“I am! Baekhyun, listen-”


“Not real, not real, not real-”

And then Chanyeol backhands him across the face.

They both freeze.

“Did- did you just-”

Baekhyun,” Chanyeol gasps out. His voice is crunchy and scared. “Baekhyun, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Get away from me.”

“Baekhyun, I-”

Leave me alone!” Baekhyun screams. “Get away from me!

Baekhyun, please, I’m sorry!”

Stay away!” he shrieks, running towards his home.


Baekhyun screams, tears running down his cheeks. He runs into the light of his house, bangs on the door, and his brother opens it.

Baekhyun! Mom’s been so-”

Baekhyun runs past him, sobbing as he dashes into his room. He collapses on his bed, not even bothering to lock the door.

He burrows under the blankets, curls up, and falls asleep.

Baekhyun wakes up to his mother lying on his bed next to him, rubbing his back.

“Hey,” she says softly as he sits up, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, feeling hollow.

“Want to talk about it?” his mom asks gently.

Baekhyun starts to shake his head, but says, “Chanyeol hit me.”

His mom’s eyes widen. “He what?

“It was my fault,” Baekhyun says, running his fingers through his hair. “I kept screaming that he’s not real, he’s not real, and he was crying but I didn’t stop and finally he just hit me.”

His mom stares at him, looking horrified.

“He hit you…” she says slowly.

Baekhyun rubs his eyes, nodding. He’s suddenly wrapped into a fierce hug.

Mom?” he says uncertainly as he feels her shake as though she’s crying.

Baekhyun,” she says softly. “Oh, Baekhyun. I’m so sorry.

Why… why are you…?” Baekhyun begins but doesn’t finish, hesitantly patting his mother’s back.

My baby boy,” she whispers, hugging him to the point that it’s hard for him to breathe.


Baekhyun looks up to see his youngest brother peeking into the room.

“Um, I don’t mean to bother you, but Dad’s on the phone,” the brother says, holding out the phone.

Reluctantly, Baekhyun’s mom releases Baekhyun and grabs the phone. Looking much relieved, his brother leaves immediately.

“Honey?” his mom says, holding the phone to her ear. She listens for a moment. “No, he just woke up.” She pauses again. “Yes, I did- no, I’ll tell you later.” Another pause. “Yeah, he is. See you soon.” She hangs up, setting the phone on Baekhyun’s dresser.

Baekhyun’s mom sits back down next to him on the bed.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

Baekhyun shakes his head. “What time is it?”

His mom checks her watch. “3:50,” she says.

“In the afternoon, or-”

“In the morning,” she says.

Baekhyun frowns. “What’s Dad doing out? What’s my brother doing up?”

“Your dad went out to go pick up a few things,” his mom says. “And all of your siblings haven’t been able to sleep.”

“That’s my fault, I’m sure,” Baekhyun says, sounding perfectly apathetic.

His mom squeezes his hand. “It’s my fault, if anything,” she admits. “I’ve been a bit of a mess.”

“Oh,” Baekhyun says, unsure of what else to say.

“We’re going to see Dr. Park later, okay?” she says.


“We all need to talk together,” she tells him.

“About what?’

She shrugs. "Everything that’s been happening.”

Baekhyun sighs. “The sex,” he says, and his mom flinches.

“Yes, Baekhyun,” she says. “That’s part of it.”

Baekhyun nods slowly, lying back down. He buries his head in his pillow and pretends Chanyeol never hit him.


“I don’t get why we’re making such a big deal out of this,” Baekhyun says.

“Why do you think we shouldn’t be?” Dr. Park says.

Baekhyun shrugs. “It’s just sex,” he says. “plenty of kids do it.”

“Most kids do it because they like it,” Baekhyun’s mom says gently.

“But I liked it, Mom,” Baekhyun says, frowning. “I like it.”

His mom stares. “You- you liked it?”

“Yes,” he says. “Why? Should I not have?”

“Well, no, I- I mean…”

What?!” Baekhyun demands.

“We didn’t think you would ever be able to enjoy sex,” Dr. Park interjects. “Not after what happened with Dr. Kim.”

Baekhyun freezes.

But Dr. Kim,” he pauses, swallowing, “he just- he just hit me. Right?

“Oh, god,” his mom says, burying her head in her hands. “Oh, Baekhyun.”

Momma?” Baekhyun says softly, suddenly so so scared.

His mom just shakes her head, burying her face in Baekhyun’s father’s shoulder.

Dad?” Baekhyun asks softly, and his father swallows hard, intertwining his fingers with his wife’s.

“Baekhyun, Dr. Kim-” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “Dr. Kim…” He shakes his head, looking to Dr. Park.

“Baekhyun,” Dr. Park says, his normally calm expression looking troubled, “Dr. Kim would hit you, yes. But, ah…” He runs a hand through his thinning hair. “He would, well, hurt you. Sexually.”

Baekhyun sits back.

He’d- he’d rape me,” he says dully.

“Molest you, yes,” Dr. Park says softly, eyes full of rooster-crow sadness.

I remember now. I… How come I didn’t remember? How could I…” Baekhyun asks.

“That was a severe amount of trauma for a child that young, Baekhyun,” Dr. Park says. “It’s not surprising that you repressed those memories.”

“But no one ever told me?” Baekhyun questions, standing up and wiping the tears from his face away swiftly.

“We saw no need to upset you,” Dr. Park explains. “It would’ve only hurt you.”

We’re so sorry, Baekhyun,” his mom interject tearfully. “So sorry.”

Sorry, sorry,” Baekhyun mumbles to himself. “Everybody’s fucking sorry.

“And this is where Chanyeol comes in,” Dr. Park says. “You started talking about him not too long after Dr. Kim became your therapist.”

So?” Baekhyun asks.

“Baekhyun,” Dr. Park says softly, “Chanyeol is a coping mechanism. He’s not real.”

No,” Baekhyun tries to say, but things are starting to click into place. “Oh. Oh, no.”

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Park says, looking genuinely apologetic.

But… but we...” Kissed. Touched. Made love. It was real.

Was it?

Baekhyun buries his head in his hands. No one else has ever seen Chanyeol. No one else can prove he exists.

Hell, Baekhyun doesn’t even know Chanyeol’s last name.

Oh, god.


“Baekhyun,” his mom says, “do you want anything? Do you need anything?”

Baekhyun’s shaking his head slowly, digging ragged nails into his knees.

“No, no,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “No.”

“Baekhyun,” somebody says. He doesn’t know who, because everything is starting to blur in his ears.

The food is poisoned,” he whispers before everything goes dark.

Baekhyun wakes up in his bedroom, his mom asleep on the chair next to his bed and holding his hand in an nearly painful grasp.

He looks out the window, at the sinking sun, and squints his eyes.

Remember me,” he whispers. A tear quietly slips down his cheek- the check Chanyeol once held in his strong, fragile, blue-green hands.

His mom stirs next to him, her eyes fluttering open.

“Hey, baby,” she murmurs.

“Hi,” he says, still looking out the window.

“How do you feel?” his mom asks.

“Tired,” he says. “Could I, ah, maybe get some water?”

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, still looking out at the sun.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Baekhyun reluctantly looks away, looks at his mom.

Don’t go anywhere,” she orders.

“Okay,” he repeats, and she gives him a hug before leaving.

As soon as she closes the door, Baekhyun’s throwing open his window and clambering out the way Chanyeol used to all the time. He races out into the woods, skin suddenly too tight for his body.

Dirty. Dirty dirty dirty. The kind of dirty that Baekhyun can feel in his soul, the one place where he can’t scrub viciously with soap.

His feet are wet with blue-black water, and he looks up to see everything turning blue-black now. He wants to shout for Chanyeol, to tell him that he gets it now, he understands, but Chanyeol is gone and he’s never coming back and Baekhyun thinks his lungs are going to burst.

I’m sorry!” he screams. “I get it now! I promise!”

But everything’s becoming bluer and everything’s becoming blacker and Baekhyun can feel the cold in his bones. It’s seeping in through his eyes, and he closes them as tightly as he can but it still leaks through. He’s shivering, he’s shaking, and he’s so, so dirty.

Baekhyun slowly becomes aware that he’s pleading for Chanyeol to come back, come back to him, but Chanyeol is never coming back because he isn’t real, and Baekhyun is a crazy fucking idiot left with only his crazy fucking mind and he’s so so so dirty, he’s filthy, and he’s never going to be loved by anybody and he finally understand the phrase ignorance is bliss and he cannot breathe and he cannot stop running away from nothing.

Please!” he shrieks, harsh and guttural, like the word’s being torn away from his throat. “Oh, please!”

The word echoes around the forest, bouncing from tree to tree, and Baekhyun can feel the word sink through him, coating his bones, making them vibrate “pleasepleaseplease.”


“Where are you?!” he screams. “I need you! I fucking need you, oh please!”

His hands are on his head, pulling his hair, clawing his skin. His nails are tearing though the soft skin of his cheeks, ripping, and he thinks that the pain is the most real thing he’s ever felt. He claws desperately at his face, his neck, his arms. It hurts, it fucking hurts, and he’s sobbing but he’s laughing because isn’t this just the best thing ever?

I’m real!” Baekhyun screams. He points towards the sky accusingly. “I’m fucking real! Why aren’t you?!” He collapses onto the cold, cold ground. “Why aren’t you real?!” he shrieks. “Why- aren’t- you- real?!” he demands, slamming his head against the ground with every word.

He feels the skin of his forehead scratch and pop more and more with every blow to the ground. He’s screaming so much that he’s dry heaving and trying to taste all of the stickysweetChayeol’sfavoritecereal again. His brain and whole body is thriving and crashing around and he rips at the dirt beneath him.

Baekhyun goes still suddenly when he realizes that he’s sprawled out in front of the treehouse. Their treehouse. He closes his eyes and lets the memories play before them. Kissing, touching, whispering lullabies that were never real.

It was never real.


He was kissing himself, touching himself, whispering to himself.

With a struggling  groan of agony, Baekhyun pushes himself up off the ground, stumbling up the ladder into the treehouse.

It’s dark. Quiet. The air is heavy and thick. Baekhyun doesn’t speak. He sits and watches tears drip onto the T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D that’s carved into the wooden floor.

Chanyeol’s lighter is lying by Baekhyun’s shoe. He slowly picks it up, flicks it on. The flame glows in the darkness. Baekhyun watches himself touch the flame to the wall.

He holds it there, watching the wood grow darker as it chars. For a while nothing else happens, but Baekhyun suddenly sees the wood ignite. He flicks the lighter off and watches, completely transfixed, as the flame grows larger and larger, climbing up to the ceiling.

Baekhyun lies on his back and watches as fire slowly engulfs the roof. The treehouse is starting to fill with smoke.

Something inside him is pulling, insisting that he has to get out, get out before he suffocates or burns. He ignores it. He doesn’t care anymore.

Baekhyun shifts to his side and falls sound asleep as everything around him burns.

He doesn’t care.

“How do you feel?”




The funeral is a small, quiet ceremony.

The mother is crying softly, the father is purposefully silent, and the siblings are warily grieving the brother they never really knew.

The doctor is there too, rubbing the tan line on his left ring finger and breathing in, breathing out.

The priest conducting the ceremony asks if anyone would like to say a few words.

A boy with deep, black hair and mocha eyes (and C major lips and blue-sky hands and tiger-growl teeth) stands up.

Wedding Dance 3

Read previous parts here.  

I raise my eyebrows. She’s being quite forward, and I wonder if she’s had too much wine. But then I remember that her last glass of wine ended up soaking into the tablecloth and my trousers. With held breath, I wait to see what she will do next. When she tentatively brushes her lips over mine, I hold very, very still. When she repeats the gesture, I breathe out, and then I feel her tongue trace my lips. My eyes, which have drifted closed, open to her eyes searching my own, seeking an answer to her question. But I don’t know the question. Or the answer. All I want is to taste her.

When she once more cautiously grazes her lips over mine for a third time, I give in, capturing her bottom lip between my teeth, worrying it a bit before I soothe it. And when she introduces her tongue into my mouth, I have had enough. With fierce energy, I meld our mouths together, thrusting into her mouth relentlessly, my left hand wrapped around the back of her head while my right hand reaches for her breast. Fuck. She is not what I was expecting to find at this wedding, and I’m at a loss of what to do now.

I have to leave in the morning. There is no question here. Tomorrow afternoon I have to be on the last flight out to Los Angeles from Heathrow. It’s a given. There are too many things in play, and I was lucky to get time off to come to Allen’s wedding. But staying longer just isn’t an option.

So now I don’t know what to do. My head is racing. I want her. So fucking bad, and it seems she is willing. And yet I know that she’s not the one-night-stand kind of gal. The kissing, though. Fuck me. The kissing is everything I ever imagined it should be. Our lips are melded together, our tongues fused in a dance as old as time. My hand on her breast caresses her until I feel her nipple bead up, and it’s all I can do to not reach around and unhook her bra. I want to feel her cool skin against my lips. I want to know that she’s mine. Completely.

But we’ve just met. We don’t really know anything about each other, despite my earlier pronouncement and joke. But oh! How I want to know her on a deeper level. To be able to hold her close night after night, feeling her pliant skin against mine on a regular basis. Why does real life have to get in the way of love? Whoa. Love? Who mentioned love? Casually, I bring our kiss to a close, as I smooth her top over her bra once more, wondering who I’ve become in the last several hours.

Keep reading

Happy birthday, dear!

It had been two months since you and Sebastian renegotiated the terms of your contract.

In addition to his typical duties, he was now committed to fulfilling your most intimate carnal desires.

Everything and anything was permitted under one vital condition: he must keep things interesting.

Night fell and you found yourself taking your evening tea in the library. Alone.

You impatiently page through the book at your desk, glancing at the clock every few paragraphs. Your heart begins to race and your palms grow sweaty. Your legs numb in anticipation. Could he have forgotten?

You idly scan the text. Flip the page. Glance at the clock.


Scan. Flip. Glance. Repeat.

After 45 minutes of this routine your knees are shaking and your stomach is in knots. Very much like a junkie in need of a fix, your body is responding to the withdrawal of the thing you crave the most. His touch. His smell. His taste.

“He’s a sadist,” you decide to yourself as you make your way over to the mini bar. You need a drink. Something to calm your nerves. A glass of Scotch? Vodka? No. You opt for wine, a drink with a hue reminiscent of his deep crimson eyes.

You reach for a glass to pour your drink when suddenly a hand reaches out from behind you, taking yours.

“Drinking on a weekday is not wise. Especially when one has business to attend to in the morning.” He whispers in your ear. It is then that you become aware of the close proximity of the front of his body to your backside. A sheer nightgown the only thing separating your bare skin and his suit. He takes your hand and lowers it to your side.  

“You’re late.” You remark feigning coldness despite your body feeling as if it was being dipped in hot candle wax. His arrival relieves you but you’d rather not give him the satisfaction of knowing all the ways in which he has plunged you into a world of agony and yearning.

He runs a gloved hand under your nightgown and up your thigh. Slowly. Carefully.

“Sometimes the anticipation of the act can be far more intense than the act itself.” You can hear a slight grin in his voice.

His hand continues up your thigh, over your hip, and stops just under your ribcage.

You can feel his warm breathe on your neck. “I promise I’ll make the wait worth it.”

His hand cups your breast as he runs his tongue from the back of your neck down to the edge of your collarbone. His finger gently caresses your erect nipple. He grabs your waist with his other hand and turns you around to face him.

Your eyes meet his and you immediately melt in their carmine glow. He agilely removes his suit jacket and begins to roll up each of his sleeves. He doesn’t break the mutual gaze as he places his finger in his mouth and removes his glove with his teeth. Sebastian leans in to kiss you. You wrap your hands around his neck. The taste of his tongue is enough to drive you wild. He gently bites your bottom lip and pulls away, flashing you a devilish smile.

He leads you to the reading desk, propping you up against it before colliding into another kiss. His hand runs up your leg and stops mid-thigh. He kisses your lips and trails slowly down your jaw and neck, running his tongue lightly across your collar bone.

You push yourself onto the desk so you’re sitting comfortably and open your legs as a nonverbal invitation. He chuckles softly.

“Mmm…I see.” He says, gently running his hand higher up your thigh and between your legs. Higher. And higher. Until finally reaching your sweet spot. “Is this where you’d like me to direct my attention to, my lady?” He delicately traces your outer labia with his pointer and middle finger, teasing you. It’s driving you mad. Worst yet is the fact that he can tell. Your breathing quickens and you respond with a light moan.

He removes your nightgown in one swift movement. Placing his hand on your back, he leans in and lightly licks and gently nibbles at your nipples while lowering you on the desk so you are now in a comfortable laying position. Sebastian runs a trail of kisses along your stomach and down to your warm center. You can feel his hot breathe on your lips as he runs his nose along your slit, inhaling deeply. “Your smell is enticing.” He says in a milky voice.

He begins to lightly kiss your outer labia from top to bottom before inserting his tongue in between your lips and slowly sliding it up. He spreads your legs and begins licking rhythmically, occasionally stopping to gently suck and pull your inner labia with his mouth. He wraps his lips around your clit and begins to suck and flick with the tip of his tongue while slowly inserting two fingers inside of you. Your moans have increased wildly and you have your hands buried in his hair. He glances up at you mid-taste still engrossed in your body and the sight is enough to send you over the edge. Your grip tightens around his hair and you finally let go, releasing warm cream on his fingers. He licks you once more and sucks his fingers clean. As you lay back in ecstasy, he lowers himself over you and greets your lips once more with a kiss.  

“My lady,” he grinned, “you make a most delicious meal.”

The One Event Your Story MUST Have

“What if I told you that removing one event from Harry Potter’s life would stop his story from ever happening?”

*intrigued Voldy noises*

Yes, one thing would’ve fixed it all for Voldemort. Just stop one thing from happening, and life would’ve gone back to being great for him. There wouldn’t have been a kid around to stop him from getting that Elixir of Life. He would’ve gotten a body again, maybe one with hair and a nose, and gone back to his favorite hobbies: morning house elf kicking, going down to the pub with his Death Eaters, Avada Kedavra-ing the bartender because he doesn’t serve snake milk, taking over more of the wizarding world every day – all of it. If he’d known about this all-important scene, and had the wherewithal to stop it, he could’ve prevented his life from spiraling into this:

This was a particular low point. Even lower than becoming an evil infant.

Happily for us and Harry, Voldemort never bothered to study the science of story, and obviously wasn’t a writer. Writers know this scene instinctively, and their brains are geared to generate these story events endlessly.

So! What story event holds all this power? An event that can make or break the story? To find out, let’s remove it from some movies and see what happens.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them:

Kowalski never picks up Newt’s case. In fact, Jacob gets run over by a renegade penny-farthing rider just before he picks it up. Newt grabs his magical suitcase, and continues about his business.

Yup, Jacob gets runs over by this guy.

  And Newt doesn’t even notice. 


Rapunzel asks Gothel if she can go see the floating lights for her birthday. Gothel doesn’t say “You may never ask to leave this tower again.” She instead says, “Sure! Let’s go. Bring a thermos of hazelnut soup for the trip.”

Uh … yum.

Harry Potter:

Voldemort gets a job at the post office and intercepts every Hogwarts letter sent to Harry. He then sabotages every attempt the wizarding world makes to contact Harry. Maybe he even fakes Harry’s death.

And Harry continues his lifetime of frying bacon for Dudley.

So, with these changes, what happens next in these stories?

– Newt finishes his business in New York, and sails back to London.

– Rapunzel goes on a trip, returns to her tower, finds Flynn there, hits him with a frying pan, and he runs for his life.

– Harry never finds out he’s a wizard.

Or in other words, nothing. Nothing happens next. They have ceased to be stories.

How did removing one event stop them from happening?

Because the event we removed was the Catalyst. The inciting incident. The event that triggers CHANGE.

In stories, a catalyst causes things to happen. The hero is always paralyzed in some way in the beginning, their ordinary life stagnant and unchanging. The catalyst introduces change, motion, trouble. Without it, nothing else can happen. Which is why a villain would be really smart to keep his nemesis in that trouble-free life, and prevent any sort of catalyst that could trigger a story.

Oddly, heroes are far more prone to killing catalysts. Some ignore it, refuse to be affected by it, or – worst of all – complain about it. Imagine Harry getting the mysterious letters from no one, but having no desire to read it, simply wishing to keep things as they are. Imagine Newt shrugging when he discovers his case is gone, and saying “Well, I can get other magical creatures” before going back to London. Or Rapunzel being perfectly content to practice ventriloquism and dip candles for the rest of her life. This is why whiny main characters who “just want to be a normal person” or “just want to be happy” are so annoying: they are stopping their own story from happening.

So! This one is super easy. When you’re developing the foundation of your story, ask yourself these things: What event is going to trigger change in my hero’s life? And how will they react?

sunethesocialkitty  asked:

When you make wax candles, do you just pour the wax into molds? My little sister has two beehives and were talking about making candles, so I'm researching a bit for her (she's 14). I know that you can make candles by dipping them repeatedly into the wax as well? Also, I really like your blog, I learn so many interesting things from it!

You can either pour the wax into a mold or container, or melt the wax and dip the candles. The poured method lets you make cute shapes or candles in jars; the dip method lets you make taper candles. 

the-porcelain-flower  asked:

Hi! I have exams to study for and I am stressed out. Your stories always brighten my day. Would you care to share one?

sure, okay. it’s christmas. even i can be moved by the spirit of christmas. 

so around this time a few years ago—let’s say 5 years? maybe 6? i don’t know, some time between 2005 and 2010. this morning i referred to something that happened when i was four as “the other day,” so don’t ask me these things—i was spending christmas with my father and his side of the family. 


  • my dad, a 6’4 Mister Dad, who just looks like he should be wearing a tweed suit with elbow patches on it at all times
  • my grandparents, dammah and dappah; dappah lost a thumb in a boating accident and dammah snail-mails me poetry she’s written while walking on the beach
  • my brother, the straight-A grumpy cat whose two favorite hobbies at the time were video games and not talking to anyone at social functions
  • my cousin andrew, an eagle scout and general rapscallion
  • my cousin barea, who loved the color orange, philosophy, and this really sweet blue satin cape that made her look like a young minerva mcgonagall 
  • my aunt terse, a practicing witch (wiccan? i’m not really sure; my young brain only understood that she had a magic wand, roughly a dozen cats, and a moon garden)
  • and me.

essentially every family gathering was like an episode of Leave It To Beaver meets Sabrina the Teenage Witch. 

anyway, we all went to church for the midnight service on christmas. my aunt terse sang in the choir, which i don’t think was in fact connected with the church? i think it was like an independent choir for people who loooove chamber music but are maybe a little less interested in sitting through services every sunday.

  • or like a lot less interested.
  • or like not interested at all.

so the midnight service is beautiful, obviously, and they hand out candles so that we can all sing along and light our candles for jesus, and the preacher gives this really beautiful speech about how we should all let our own personal marys into our own personal inns, whatever that metaphor is supposed to mean. 

so the choir launches into o holy night, which is in fact my favorite christmas song. i love o holy night. i love it like i don’t love any other song in the billy gilman christmas album, which is the only christmas album that i love in its entirety.

i don’t want to listen to any albums that aren’t the billy gilman christmas album. this isn’t a joke. i’m not kidding. billy gilman or fucking bust, do you understand?

  • do you?
  • “what are boys?” the world asked, and 10-year-old mollyhall said, “BOYS ARE BILLY GILMAN AND NOTHING BUT BILLY GILMAN, SO HELP ME GOD.”

i feel like this guy explains a lot about my reaction to hockey player jack johnson, but THAT’S NEITHER HERE NOR THERE.

so there we were, lil’ 2005ish-2010ish mollyhall belting o holy night with all that her vocal chords could muster. oh man, i am killin it,she thought. the whole church was going to fall quiet just to listen to her sing. boy, she sure was going to make it as a musician one day! 

except…..suddenly, an overwhelming smell seemed to reach out and choke o holy night off at its root. it smelled like the way that stubbing your toe feels.

  • panic, disappointment, and the absolute conviction that your entire life is crumbling around your shoulders and that this is how you die.

i looked down at my hymnal like, yo, hymnal, what the shit? is this your fault? is it my fault? is this what my sins smell like?????

someone tapped my shoulder.

“excuse me,” said a voice, quiet, polite. “beg your pardon.”

i turned around. it was a sweet-looking old man, with big glasses. he pointed over my shoulder and said with what in hindsight is an astounding degree of serenity, “your friend’s hair is on fire.”

“haha,” i said, and then, “wait, what?”

barea’s hair was on fire.

she seemed to be politely panicking, tilting her head to the side to keep the fire away from her face and frantically blowing air out of the side of her mouth. “OH MY GOD,” i said. “OH DEAR SWEET JESUS.”

“please help,” barea whispered. 

i stared at her. i stared at the little ball of fire that was steadily climbing up her head. her hair had gotten long, and when she wasn’t paying attention had dipped into the candle in her hand. the flame had not yet engulfed her head but it was definitely … fire. there was fire there. on her head. there was fire on her head. 

in the span of about twenty seconds, my brain ran through my options:

  • stop/drop/roll. PROS: i learned about this in school, so it’s probably legit. CONS: we’re in a pew????? what is she going to do, get up and excuse herself to the ten people between her and the row and then roll around in the tiny little aisle like a sad ping pong ball of flame???? “oh, excuse me, pardon me, yes i’m so sorry just have to take care of this little problem of BEING AFLAME.”
  • blow it out. PROS: no awkward fire-person pew shuffling. CONS: won’t that….blow….the fire…. toward her face??? i just felt very strongly that we should keep the fire in a controlled area that was not her tender flesh.
  • holy water? PROS: water definitely works on fire. CONS: is that….legal? like, religiously? will jesus come for me about that later????

anyway, what i did was: i hit her in the head with my hymnal. 

IN MY DEFENSE: the fire had now almost reached her scalp, and i was panicking. IT WAS ANYWHERE BETWEEN 2005 AND 2010; WE ALL DID CRAZY THINGS IN THOSE WILD YEARS.

“ow,” said barea. “oh my god, ow.

"sorry, i’m so sorry,” i told her, a little hysterically. “on the bright side, your head isn’t on fire anymore????”

"that’s true,” barea said, just like—just like totally calm, like, yeah, good point there mollyhall, one point for fire safety! 



when the song ended, my aunt terse hurried over. 

"oh, mollyhall,” she said, “your shout really touched me. you were so moved by the music.”

“no, aunt terse,” i opened my mouth to say. “i was moved by barea turning into ghost rider.

but barea just patted her hair and elbowed me in the side. “it was a very beautiful rendition of o holy night, mom,” she said before i had the opportunity. “my hair caught on fire a little bit, but you sounded so great.”


i write a new will and testament every time i get the sniffles, and this steel-nerved, tequila-blood motherfucker just pats her head like angela lansbury fixing her hair at an awards show. who are you really, cousin barea??? WHAT SECRETS ARE YOU HIDING??


The Hermit Tarot Spell

This spell is useful for uncovering hidden secrets, discovering the causes of things, to develop your critical and analytical faculties, for protection against gossip, for a good reputation and the regard of those in authority, for interesting encounters while traveling, and for enhanced ability to make shrewd decisions that will affect your life in important ways. 

As always, feel free to modify this spell to suit your own needs and resources. 

1. Lay down a grey altar cloth. 

2. Dress a white candle with Myrrh essential oil and place it in the North of the altar and light it. 

3. Put a feather in the East of the altar. 

4. Place a small bowl of Olive oil in the South of the altar. 

5. Place an hourglass in the West of the altar. 

6. Rest the Hermit card upright against the candle. 

7. Dip the feather into the olive oil and wipe a small bit on your forehead. 

8. Dip the feather into the oil again and sprinkle droplets around the altar in a clockwise direction. 

9. Replace the feather and turn over the hourglass, so that the sand begins running through the narrow channel. 

10. Visualize yourself as a tree, with the roots deepening into the earth, and the branches reaching far up into the sky. Feel the wind on your arms, and imagine that fruit of many kinds is growing from your fingers. Underneath your toes you can sense tiny animals burrowing into the ground. 

11. Focus on the image on the card, and allow it to grow, until finallyl the Hermit walks out of the card and into the room in front of you. Allow him to walk right into you physically. He has now become a part of you. 

12. When all the sand has run through the hourglass, sprinkle some salt around the rim of the altar, working in a clockwise direction. 

Spell from Terry Donaldson’s The Tarot Spellcaster

The Aries Witch ♈  DIY herb candles

Adding your own personal touches to your witchy tools is an easy way to empower them. If you’re making your own candles you can layer the herbs throughout the candle by have a plate of your favourable herbs and rolling the candle in the herbs a few times throughout the candle making process.

If you have store bought candles and wish to add herbs, choose your herbs according to your magickal workings. To attach the herbs to the candles, melt a few tea lights in a saucepan on low heat, and once they have reached liquid state dip in your candle and proceed to roll it throuhg your plate of herbs and then re-dip it in the melted tealights