How’s That House That Raised You?

"fuckkk I missed you" while sliding in >>>

---

Forget thinking about the descriptor “soft eyed” for Hypnos. It’s so,,, yes. That’s him. Soft eyed. That gentle loving gaze only your most beloved can give you. Soft eyed Hypnos my beloved.

---

also because when a prey animal raised by predator animals becomes, through a twist of fate, a true predator animal that outclasses even the predator animals that raised them. what happens to the rage?

maggie has a lot of predator animal fear in her childhood, being raised by lions (seeing the acts they commit in exacting detail to survive and even collaborating and helping and committing those acts as well, and knowing if this is what they can do, at their scale, what happens if one of them hurts another, or worse, adopts the presence of a larger predator like the gods and the fear that one day they will run out of resources and be forced to turn on each other because there is scarcity in all times) but as she gets older it really does turn more into prey animal rage (because she never was a lion in the first place. she was a fox, at best. a hare, most likely. designed to run and be cunning and out think her circumstances and hating hating hating her circumstances that were constructed long before she was born, the murderous rage and desperation to never again be in that trap of an island, literally or metaphorically) and i think that's neat :)

---

#relatable

The Nanny – 4.14: The Fifth Wheel

---

—

---

when lazy kissing gets intense with that deep breath and hip pull

---

›   FIRST   TOUCH   PROMPTS    →    receiver   to   sender.

brushing   hair   behind   their   ear

hands   grazing   while   reaching   for   the   same   object

catching   them   by   the   waist

helping   them   up   and   not   letting   go

fixing   their   collar   or   necklace

knees   bumping   under   the   table

tucking   something   off   their   face

draping   a   coat   over   their   shoulders

pinkies   brushing

falling   asleep   on   their   shoulder

touching   their   wrist

hand   falling   over   theirs   mid-laugh

fixing   their   tie   or   jewelry

whispering   with   a   hand   on   their   knee

lingering   touch   while   passing   an   object

playful   hand   to   the   chest

hands   meeting   in   the   dark

wiping   away   a   tear

stopping   them   by   the   wrist

buttoning   their   shirt   or   jacket

dancing   for   the   first   time

hands   meeting   over   a   shared   item

tending   to   a   wound

shoulder   bump   turning   into   leaning

touching   their   heart

cleaning   a   cut

brushing   hands   at   an   event

tripping   into   their   arms

untying   them   from   restraints

fastening   a   necklace

shoulders   brushing   in   a   crowd

helping   with   a   coat

adjusting   their   posture

guiding   with   a   hand   on   the   back

brushing   something   off   their   shoulder

carrying   them

hiding   in   a   tight   space

dabbing   a   cut   on   the   lip

steadying   them   over   a   step

holding   their   hand   while   dazed

falling   into   each   other

cupping   their   face

pulling   them   into   a   protective   hold

holding   hands   after   a   nightmare

sharing   a   coat   pocket

removing   something   from   their   face

helping   unzip   a   dress

brushing   hair   off   their   forehead

touching   their   cheek   while   laughing

tracing   a   faint   scar   or   mark

pressing   a   palm   to   their   back

resting   their   chin   on   their   shoulder

reaching   out   to   stop   them   mid-step

straightening   their   glasses   or   hat

helping   them   into   a   seat

lifting   them   over   a   puddle   or   obstacle

touching   their   jaw   while   talking

fixing   a   loose   button   or   strap

cleaning   something   off   their   lip

giving   their   hand   a   reassuring   squeeze

resting   their   hand   on   the   small   of   their   back

brushing   snow   or   dust   from   their   hair

holding   their   hand   during   a   scary   moment

steadying   them   as   they   climb   or   balance

touching   their   arm   to   get   their   attention

pulling   them   close   for   a   photo

grabbing   their   hand   to   run   together

placing   their   hand   over   theirs

pinning   a   flower   or   corsage   on   their   outfit

sliding   fingers   into   theirs   during   silence

wiping   a   smudge   off   their   face

catching   them   as   they   faint

brushing   dirt   from   their   cheek

pulling   them   into   shelter   from   rain

slipping   their   hand   into   a   pocket   for   warmth

leaning   against   their   shoulder   while   laughing

reaching   for   them   in   the   dark

resting   a   head   on   their   lap

catching   their   face   before   a   fall

holding   them   upright   while   tipsy

brushing   fingers   along   their   sleeve

guiding   their   hand   while   drawing   or   writing

removing   an   eyelash   from   their   cheek

helping   them   zip   up   a   coat

pulling   a   twig   from   their   hair

offering   their   hand   to   dance

cradling   their   hand   during   a   tense   moment

brushing   past   them   in   a   narrow   hallway

clasping   their   arm   to   steady   them

pressing   their   forehead   to   theirs

leaning   in   to   whisper   against   their   ear

holding   onto   their   sleeve

resting   a   hand   on   their   thigh

smoothing   their   hair   gently

tracing   a   line   across   their   palm

gently   lifting   their   chin

bumping   into   them   and   staying   close

catching   their   hand   mid-gesture

brushing   crumbs   off   their   lips

squeezing   their   arm   for   comfort

---

Erika jumped as she sensed Maggie beside her, journal clutched in a death grip for a moment before she relaxed and lowered the open pages away from her chest. “I got so absorbed I didn't sense you. I just…the fluctuating variegation of these leaves…I was just planning on how to sketch it.” Ever since her own garden had been destroyed, Erika had been coping by spending a great deal of time in Maggie's gardens. A whole new notebook had been started just to document the plants here. Some entries had just been remade from her earth plant sketchbook, but some seemed to have adapted to Maggie's realm and become their own entirely new species! Documenting them had been her coping mechanism thus far, her own garden now mundane and empty. Repaired but mostly empty, save for most of the poisons.  @singofus ➼ erika

maggie's  eyes  shine  metallic  green  and  black  before  she  blinks  and  they  return  to  their  normal  yellow  hue  ,  a  soft  smile  on  her  face  . 

❛  there's  no  need  to  apologize  ,  erika  .  i'm  glad  you  are  finding  enjoyment  in  my  gardens  .  ❜  she'd  heard  from  atonia  just  how  bad  it  had  been  ,  and  is  glad  her  own  could  keep  erika  occupied  while  they  looked  for  ways  to  restore  her  own  lands  . 

a  thorny  vine  reaches  up  ,  the  flowers  rushing  through  the  fertilization  and  maturation  process  ,  presenting  perfectly  ripe  berries  that  fall  ,  heavy  and  lush  ,  into  maggie's  waiting  palm  . 

❛  have  you  had  these  before  ?  i  use  them  for  the  diner's  cherry  cloud  pies  .  i'll  let  you  in  on  a  little  secret  though  —  they  aren't  actually  cherries  ,  ❜  she  adds  with  a  little playful finger over her lips  . 

❛  try  one  ,  if  you  want  .  ❜ 

the  berries  give  a  small  good  dose  of  auric  sensation  ;  perhaps  a  specific  memory  ,  or  just  warm  and  peaceful  sensations  .  maggie  pops  one  into  her  mouth  and  feels  her  husband's  arms  around  her  ,  the  gentle  peace  that  comes  from  his  presence  . 

the  other  ,  she  offers  to  erika  . 

---

🪞     𝑯  𝑶  𝑳  𝒀  𝑩  𝑬  𝑵  𝑻    ⸻     selective  ,  private  ,  ﹠  independent  writing  blog  for  the original character of magissa  ,  daughter  of  hermes  ﹠  circe  ,  goddess  of  psychedelics  ,  the  waking  dream  state  ,  ﹠  (  sub  )  conscious  messages  ;   created  ﹠  cradled  by  𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒂𝒔  (  they  /  them  ,  28  ,  gmt  -4  )  .   shaped  by  ﹠  grounded  in  historical  greek  mythos  ﹠  madeline  miller's  circe  . 

carrd   ﹠   prompts

⸻   a  narrative  study  of  the  nature  of  secrets  ,  the  weight  of  generational  trauma  ,  what  makes  a  family  ,  gods  ﹠  fear  ,  purifying  feminine  rage  ,  breaking  the  cycle  ,  love  in  unlikely  places  ,  diamonds  in  the  rough  ,  femme  in  relationship  ,  reveling  in  entropic  systems  ,  being  raised  by  lions  ,  being  a  daddy's  girl  ,   ﹠   leaving  claw  marks  on  everything  you  touch  !!

singofus  ﹠  nectaric   in  the  (  poison  )  garden   ⸻

dni  :  under  20  ,  antis  ,  zionists  ,  racists  ,  terfs/transphobes  ,  homophobes  ,  or  any  other  kind  of  bigot

a  note  :  this  blog  is  low  activity  ﹠  contains  themes  which  may  be  triggers  ,  such  as  child  abuse  ,  substance  use/abuse  ,  adult/nsfw  content  ,  ﹠  unreality  .  please  follow  ﹠  engage  at  your  own  leisure  . 

---

ANYWAY which one of your faves is gonna spend a lazy day in bed with you, catching up on the past week’s missed sleep? just cuddled up under the warm sheets, skin to skin, comfortable in each others’ presence. maybe- definitely- there’s some light touches, he’s feeling the softness of your skin under his fingers and relishing every quiet little sigh, memorizing every little hitch in your breath. and what if he holds you close, spooning you and remarking how perfectly you fit tucked against him, even though he feels like he just can’t get close enough to you. and just when you think your sleepy heart is about to explode, he softly kisses your neck, your shoulder, brings a hand up to kiss each knuckle with so much quiet admiration. it’s enough to make you absolutely melt. when he asks how you’re feeling, you tell him to see for himself- those same reverent fingers dipping between your thighs to feel the wetness gathering there, and he groans into your skin, half-hard cock twitching against his thigh. it doesn’t take long for him to be fully sheathed inside you, barely even thrusting, just grinding slowly, little bit little building up the friction that makes your toes tingle. he holds you tightly against him, whispering praise and admiration into the crook of your neck where he leaves bruising kisses, drinking in every sigh and quiet moan from your lips, pausing to feel every time your walls squeeze him. there’s no rush, no means to an end, just mutually enjoying the feeling of each other. you don’t know how long you’re like this, you refuse to check the time— but your peak washes over you gently like waves on an undisturbed shore, his equally as quiet, and you stay there together, comfortably as close as you could possibly be. there’s no need to move yet, not when the little shards of sunlight glitter around the room, not when his breath is steady against your skin, not when you feel yourself drift back into a comfortable sleep.

---