#and the back of the brain is associated with vision
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
wundrousarts · 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I discovered these paintings by James McNeill Whistler recently, Nocturne in Black and Gold: Falling Rocket (top) and Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Firewheel (bottom). I’m sharing them because they make me think of Nevermoor, as so many things do.
With paintings, a nocturne refers to the depiction of night. This is derived from the musical term, where a nocturne refers to a musical piece that is “inspired by, or evocative of, the night.” These both just come from the fact that “nocturne” essentially means “of the night”.
On a basic level, this just reminds me of Nevermoor by the aesthetics. The dreamy nighttime setting strikes me the most, but also the sparks of yellow fire that make me think of Wunder. Think of how many important scenes happen at night- Morrigan on Eventide, the Museum of Stolen Moments, and the Hollowpox in Courage Square. But the concept has me thinking, obviously, about the Wundrous Art of Nocturne. The only songs we know are Morrigan and Squall’s, who both chose nursery rhymes as their Nocture. Their choices make me think of lullabies, sung at night… and there’s lots to think about with that.
55 notes · View notes
clumsypuppy · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
couldnt decide on drawing fish or horsies
267 notes · View notes
readwritealldayallnight · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Comatose Confessions
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader
wc: 4k words
warnings/tags: fluff
Part two to this
Tumblr media
He’s barely moved a single inch in the last hour
Though he blinks every so often, his eyes never once stray from where he’s held his gaze so steadily this entire time, as focused as any trained sniper could ever hope to be
Sat on his bed, back against the wall and stiff as a statue, he watches as the faint light creeping in under the crack of his door shifts every so often, the shadows outside refusing to stand still
He knows it’s you
As perfectly silent as you are, he can still see the shadow of your boots pacing back and forth, back and forth, again and again, just outside his room
You know he’s inside
And he knows that’s why you refuse to leave, annoyingly stubborn in your pursuit, determined in your efforts to get the man inside to put an end to his charades
He knows you won’t leave until you get what you want
And what you want, is for Ghost to stop avoiding you
He’s been very carefully, very intentionally avoiding having to speak to you
He can’t bring himself to do it
He just can’t
Not since he’s woken up
Not since his head felt worse than it had in a very long time, mind swimming through a heavy fog in an attempt to fight his way back to consciousness, his entire being had felt shaken to its core and thrown off its axis, his blood running cold with the unmistakable chill of pure, unadulterated fear, not too far off to how he’d once felt waking up with the taste of dirt in his mouth, buried six feet under ground
Only to be jolted into a startlingly opposite reality when he suddenly was able to smell that achingly familiar, enrapturing fragrance he’d come to associate with a certain someone, could somehow feel miraculously soft, gentle fingertips smoothing along his neck into his goddamn hair, an affectionate touch he’d only felt fleetingly as a young boy, and when he’d opened his eyes, he was certain he’d somehow snuck his way past the gates and into heaven
Because above him had been you, and though the light glowing around you burned his tired eyes, you remained a vision so beautiful to behold he could never dream of shutting his eyes ever again, could not help but to instinctually reach out to grasp you, should you vanish before him and he lose the chance to ever hold you, at least once
His brain was still pounding, insistently throbbing as it shocked itself back awake, fighting to take control back as his lips suddenly said the only thing that both his mind and heart could agree upon at this moment, looking up at you:
“Love.”
It was nearly an entire day later, following a flurry of you being whisked out of his room, doctors and nurses fussing over him, his mind and body slowly beginning to feel more like his own again, when Soap came to visit him and all too happily recounted to his Lieutenant what he’d supposedly said upon waking up from his days long coma
After the doctors released him from the med bay or rather accepted that the Lieutenant was going to leave when he wanted to whether they liked it or not, they’d given strict instructions for at least a fortnights rest, wanting to allow his brain enough time to truly recover, concerned that though everything else was checking out fine, that short bout of confusion upon waking could not be looked over when it came to head injuries
Confusion
Is that what they all thought it had been?
He couldn’t exactly blame them, he felt he’d done a more than phenomenal job of hiding the true nature of his feelings for you from anyone and everyone, making it appear as though he was nothing more than indifferent to your existence, far from someone he’d be relieved to see waking up in a hospital bed
No, he’d been far from confused when he’d insisted to anyone who would listen, not caring that anyone’s ears but your own would hear his words spoken with the utmost sincerity, when he called you his girl, his love
No, if anything that was the most honest Ghost had been in a long time
At least since you’d worked your way into his life and apparently his heart along the way
But now, nearly two weeks passed since he’d woken up and admitted to you in his vulnerable state of mind his true feelings for you, after months of carefully avoiding ever letting you know how he felt, months of keeping his distance in hopes of diminishing the gravitation pull he felt whenever you were near, and he couldn’t bring himself to face you
He can’t decide whether it’s a small mercy or not that in the fog of waking up and all the chaos that ensued, that he can’t recall seeing your reaction to his words, can’t remember seeing the look on your face when he admitted the words he would have preferred to have been buried with than to profess out loud to you
A blessing, in that he doesn’t know whether your face twisted up into a look of horror or disgust at his revelation, and a curse, in that he’s had days upon days holed up in his room, imagining every other possible reaction you might have had
Since his release from the med bay, you’ve come knocking at his door, he knows you’ve been asking around base for him, have tried to run into him during those few fleeting moments he trudges to the mess hall and back
Why you’re so determined to confront him, he can’t be sure
To laugh at him? Rub it in his face?
He doesn’t think so, it’s not something he believes you’d so, but then again he’s never had his entire heart held in a pretty birds hands before, especially when he’d never intended to hand the bloodied, somehow still beating thing over in the first place
Maybe you feel sorry for him, hope to let him down easy, or even pretend as though you never heard him in the first place, he’s not sure which would hurt him most if he’s honest-
None of those excuses feel right however, with the way you’ve been seeking him out so persistently, opposite to the neutrality the two of you had less than half a month ago, and so always more at ease in the certainty of his own misery, rather than the misery of uncertainty, he remains hidden from you
Fuck, he hopes you haven’t been speaking to Johnny too much
When he notices your steady back and forth pacing suddenly come to a halt with the shadows indicating you’re stood directly in front of his door, the only movement Ghost allows is the slightest quirk of his scarred eyebrow, gaze intent on where he imagines your form stands just beyond the thick plank of wood separating you
He’s holding his breath, wondering what your next move will be in this childish game of cat and mouse he’s roped you into, when he hears the slightest shuffling from outside, a crinkling sound accompanied by shadows moving about under the door, followed by the sound of your boots echoing away from him and down the hall
It takes him nearly another ten minutes before he dares to move again, already beginning to berate himself for the way he’s behaving like a frightened child, when his eyes lock in on the anomaly on his floor
The sun was just beginning to set when he’d dared to venture out to the mess hall and back to his room quickly, hoping it was the best time to avoid most everyone including you before they ran out of decently edible grub, only just slipping into his room and shutting the door behind him when he’d glanced down the hall and locked eyes with you turning the corner
Now more than an hour passed, the sun long gone and his food cold and untouched, he notices something that wasn’t there before
Slowly, Ghost approaches his door, bending down to a crouch to examine what’s been slipped so carefully underneath the thin seam of his door
A single cigarette
He huffs a silent approving hum, bringing the death stick up to his mask covered nose to smell the bad habit he hasn’t touched in a few days
In all his efforts to avoid running into you, he’d quickly gone through the packs he kept in his room, only daring to smoke them out of his own ajar window like a goddamn teenager hiding the smoke from their parents
He’d smoked his last one a handful of days ago, and had yet to pick up a new pack, his years long addiction to nicotine apparently coming second to his need to continue avoiding you, no matter the cravings he felt
Now however, holding the smoke between his calloused fingers, he finds himself too relieved to begin the logical train of thought that should accompany such a gift from you being slid under his door
Fetching his lighter out of his desk drawer, Ghost steps towards his window and cracks it ajar enough that he can lean his upper half out, prepared to enjoy his cig in peace
What he isn’t prepared for however, as he inches his balaclava up above his crooked nose and begins trying to spark the lighter to life, is for the flames to be reflected back at him through your very own eyes staring up at him, stood directly below his window
“Hi Ghost.” You whisper up to him with amusement, the faint quiver of your lip giving away the mischievous smirk threatening to push through the darkness of the late night hour
You’re quicker than he expects you to be, almost as though you anticipated what his next move would be, when you reach out to squeeze your hand between the window and the pane, just as Ghost hurries to shut it
“What the fuck do ye think you’re doin’?” The Lieutenant growls out, hoping to stall for time as he recomposes himself, internally shaking his head at himself for falling for your trick. Leaving him a damn cigarette like a taunt and waiting beneath his window for him to smoke it was purely childish on your part, but then again, he hasn’t exactly been the most level headed soldier on base recently either he supposes
“Apparently what I have to do to get you to acknowledge me.” You reply casually, refusing to budge your hand away from where it prevents the window from shutting you out. “How long are you planning on avoiding me? Hm?”
“You’re bloody mental if ye think tha’ I-” He cuts himself off with the sharp glance you throw his way, a look that easily reads ‘are you fucking kidding me’ even in the low light illuminated across your features. “Alrigh’, fine. You’ve got me. Your grand plan was to hide ou’ here, like some bloody lunatic, wait for me… and then what? You plannin’ on climbin’ in through the fuckin’ window next?”
Fighting for the upper hand in this situation, Ghost watches as you take a deep breath, eyes quickly scanning the length between the ground and the windowsill, where you’re struggling to keep your hold while stood on tip toes
“Well I was hoping you’d invite me in by now. But I’ll do what I have to.” You decide confidently, raising your chin up high as you hold his gaze, refusing to back down now that you’ve got him in front of you. You must see something in him that puts a slight dent in your resolve however, as he watches your eyes soften ever so slightly, and you begin to shift on your feet. “I just want to talk to you, Ghost. Can’t we at least just do that?”
He fights the urge to grind his teeth as he clenches his jaw, shifting his eyes away from you as he struggles to maintain his composure seeing you standing there bathed in moonlight, a look of genuine sincerity on your face as you plead with him to be reasonable
“Fucking fine. But you’re using the bloody door. Don’t need you causing a scene out ‘ere.” He relents, pulling his hand back from the window pane.
“You promise to let me in?” You ask, hesitating before you release your grip on the glass. He peers back down at you, taking his own steadying breath before he offers a curt but steady nod in your direction. “Good, because my next move was going to be to pull the fire alarm, and that would’ve just been so much more of a mess.”
With that little revelation, he watches your hand slip away from the glass as you tip toe along the edge of the barracks, finding your way back inside. He scoffs to himself as he shuts the windows firmly, shaking his head at your antics as he stares solemnly at the unlit cigarette still pinched between his fingers
What the fuck has he gotten himself into?
Your fist has barely finished its first knock on his door before he’s swinging it open, reaching a large hand out to grip you by the waist and pull you inside before he has the chance to change his mind about this whole thing. He peers his head quickly around the corridor to make sure no one caught sight of anything before shutting the door behind you both, sealing him in with the last person he thought he’d find himself with tonight
He releases his hold on you as quick as he can, taking a large step backwards to put space between you both, eyes raking in the sight of you pressed up against the back of his door, an image he’s pictured many times before in his head but never believed he’d truly ever lay his eyes upon
He watches your own gaze hesitantly sweep around the space quickly, taking in the sparseness of the room. What he wouldn’t do to be able to take a peek into your mind, especially right now
“How’s your head feel?” You ask quietly, eyes shifting back towards the masked man’s visage as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side. The only answer you get from him is a grunt you’ve heard from him often enough to know translates to ‘fine’. “Soap was telling me that if the docs clear you this weekend you’ll be able to start easing back into work.”
Ghost simply watches as you watch him, slowly lifting one foot before another, cautiously making your way over to his small desk and easing yourself down into the chair, all the while keeping him in your sight, as though he were a wild animal you might spook with one wrong move
“I’m sure they’ll pass you, but between you and me,” you add, leaning back slightly in the chair as a shadow of a smile crinkles in the corner of your lips. “I’d help you forge the docs signature if we had to. I’ve had my fair share of Soap, I’m ready to pass custody back over to you.”
At this, Ghost can’t help the soft chuckle that slips out, watching as the hesitant smile on your face forms into a full fledge smirk at the sound of his approval. With the tension in the room slowly beginning to dissipate already, he dares to allow himself to take his own atop his bed, opposite to you. Still though, he can’t completely let go of the nerves running through him, knowing you’re likely moments away from confronting him.
“You wanted to talk, let’s talk.” His deep voice rings out in the small space, hoping to cut straight to the chase, get this over with
“Right,” he watches you fidget in your seat, eyes leaving his for a moment as you begin to fiddle with your jacket pockets. “Listen Ghost, I- I realize that I might have heard something you didn’t necessarily want me to know.”
‘Yeah, that’s putting it fucking lightly’ he thinks to himself, but allows you to go on with whatever speech you’ve obviously prepare, hoping you’ll at least be quick in your rejection of him, and that this can soon all be a thing of the past
“And I figured if we were going to talk, it would really only be fair to level the playing field, so to speak.” He watches with veiled curiosity as you fish something out of your jacket. In your hands you hold a small, but clearly well loved notebook
“How’s that?” He questions, nodding towards the item in your grasp
“I don’t think I have to swear you to secrecy here but, I used to write in journals a lot, when I was little. Don’t really keep up with it as much anymore, you know how busy we are.” You mention, pulling the strap down from across the front cover and opening the book, fingers sifting through the pages covered in handwritten words of ink and lead. “Every once in a while I’ll write something down, if it’s memorable. But mostly I jot down my uh, well my more embarrassing stories.”
“Why would ye do tha’?” Ghost questions, eyebrows furrowing as he tries not to decipher any of the words he sees on in your book, unsure where this is all going
“Honestly,” you say with a small, airy chuckle. The Lieutenant ignores the sudden feeling in his chest cavity as he comes to the conclusion he’s never seen you smile so often, at least not so up close and personal. “Reading them back makes me feel better. They make me laugh. Especially after a long day or hard missions. Nice to come back to and remind myself not everything in life has to be so… serious, I guess.”
You offer a casual shrug, still thumbing between pages as Ghost takes in your words.
“Anyways, I just thought that, maybe you’d want to hear something I would usually never tell anyone. Make us a little more even?”
He narrows his eyes at you slightly, understanding now what it is you’re trying to do.
He slipped up that day when he woke up from the coma, accidentally made himself vulnerable in front of you and said something he wish he hadn’t, something he’s embarrassed about
And so here you are now, offering to be vulnerable in front of him instead, to grant him access to some of your embarrassing moments and thoughts, level the playing field as you had put it
Yeah, he’ll bite
Again, he offers you no more than a subtle nod in your direction to communicate his agreement, but the way your eyes lights up at this response, you’d think he would’ve just agreed to make you Captain for a day
“Thought maybe we’d start easy. How about the time I accidentally spit my gum out on my CO’s boots? Or when I peed myself during basic-”
Ghost isn’t sure how you’ve done it, whether you knew this was how your cunning plan would work out all along, or if you’ve just gotten incredibly lucky tonight, but as one embarrassing story on your part turns into two, and then three, and suddenly hours have gone by, the stoic Lieutenant finds himself smiling with you, laughing with you, fuck he even starts offering up his own carefully curated stories when you pull an almost full carton of cigs out of your other pocket and toss them to him, the two of you sharing remarks over a shared smoke, hunched over the same window he nearly slammed in your face earlier
“Oh man,” you choke out in small fit of giggles, your hand holding your sides as you pass the cigarette back to him. “We oughta put all your dad jokes down on paper one day, you know why? Because they’re tear-able.”
He rolls his eyes as he takes a deep inhale off the cig, pretending the corners of his mouth haven’t been lifted nearly all night.
“Tha’ was awful.” He mutters, sparing you a side glance before he adds, “A real pun-ishable offence you jus’ committed there.” He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk anymore when your giggles grow louder at that.
“Alright, alright. I suppose my pun-ishment then,” you say between breaths, casting him a glance to see if he approves of yet another one of your corny puns tonight. “Would be to read these last few pages.”
He watches as your fingers dance across the handful of pages making up the end of the journal, yet to be read aloud tonight, your movements appearing hesitant for the first time this entire interaction.
Part of him feels the urge to tell you whatever it is, it’s not necessary, that you don’t have to read anymore about yourself that you don’t want to
Another part however, is far too curious, far too intrigued to know more about you, having learned more tonight from your own lips than he has in all the months he’s known you
“Actually, maybe I’ll just have you read it this time.” You say, reaching the journal out towards him, allowing him that one final glimpse into your personal thoughts. With a calloused palm, he takes the book from your hand, careful not to linger too long on the soft touch of your digits against his rougher ones. Glancing down at the words written haphazardly across the lined paper, he reads:
‘First week with the 141 went by in a blur, don’t think I’ve ever sweat so much on a base before, those men sure know how to train’
‘Captain is nicer than any other CO I’ve had before, and the Sergeants are funny, very welcoming’
‘The Lieutenant is… different’
‘Not bad different (though he might not say the same for me), just different. Hoping to learn more about him soon’
‘One month on the team has flown by, almost can’t remember life before the 141’
‘The lads are great, but the Lieutenant still doesn’t seem keen on me being here. Which is a shame, his teammates speak so highly of him, and his work speaks for itself. Just wish he’d speak to me sometimes’
‘Almost half a year already, if you can believe it’
‘These men feel like family, all apart from the one who still won’t acknowledge me’
‘The lads say not to worry about it, that Ghost will come around eventually… I just hope they’re right. There’s something about him I can’t shake. I find myself thinking about him more than I should’
‘Mission went bad. Lieutenant got hurt and has yet to wake up from his coma’
‘For the lads sake, I hope he wakes up soon’
‘Ghost opened his eyes yesterday…’
‘I don’t know if he meant what he said, or if he even remembers it, but I know I’ll never be able to forget it’
‘This entire time I’ve just wanted him and I to be cordial, to work together, hell maybe even become friends… but ever since he’s said those words… I can’t shake the feeling … maybe friends isn’t quite the right word for us’
Ghost isn’t sure how many times his eyes scan that last entry over and over and over, willing his eyes to believe what he’s seeing right in front of him, not until your hand slowly slips over his own, still holding the journal open, does his gaze flicker up to meet your own vulnerable stare
“I’ll be honest I’m not sure how to- do this.” You say with a slightly awkward chuckle, the vulnerability of the situation clearly starting to get to you as your Lieutenant stares you down wordlessly. “But I wanted to be honest with you. Couldn’t have you wallowing away in here any longer without knowing - well I guess without knowing how I felt too. I don’t know you as well as I’d like to Ghost, we haven’t exactly given each other many chances to do so. But I’d really like to be your… friend.”
His eyes narrow in on the sweet but anxious smile you try to put on through your nerves, your earlier confidence diminishing now that you’ve truly laid your cards out and made yourself as vulnerable as you can before the man who still has yet to say anything.
Ghost takes a steadying breath, eyes never leaving yours as he tosses your journal onto his bed where it lands with a soft bounce.
Vulnerability like this, feelings like this… it’s a grey area Ghost usually tries to avoid at all costs, a field of land mines he’d rather not cross, knowing no one makes it out on the other side unscathed
But with everything you’ve done for him, everything you’ve revealed to him, in combination with the throbbing organ behind his ribs fighting to beat its way back to life since the moment he met you and decided he couldn’t fall for you, Ghost finally relents and says fuck it. You’ve shown more bravery tonight than he has in the last two weeks, avoiding you like you were the plague, and it’s about time he put on his big boy trousers and show some bravery of his own now
“Don’ know it the lads told ya, but I don’ really do friends.” He says, slowly lifting a single boot and cautiously stepping in your direction
“I- I’ve heard.” You mutter, trying not to show the defeat that threatens to come across your features at his words, fearing he’s about to let you down.
The large man takes another step, and another, until there’s suddenly less than an inch of space left between both your heaving chests, and you have to crane your neck upwards while his is tilted down to keep his eyes on yours. Your eyes widen as you watch one of Ghost’s large hands come up into view, sneaking towards the bottom of his balaclava, which has been rolled up with entire time as you both shared some smokes
His fingers pinch the fabric, pulling it up further above his mouth to rest on the crooked bridge of his nose, revealing more of his scarred lips to you just as they whisper:
“But you and I, my love, aren’t quite friends.”
With the way Ghost’s lips come crashing onto your own waiting mouth, you’re inclined to agree with him
Tumblr media
Tag list:
@kat-herine00 @unclearblur @anastrashbin @sundaescreamcheese @milanriol @mismatchsposts @xye-weirdo @readingthingy @kitkatkristal1020
@purplegamer99 @idkwhatfor09 @alkalineapparition @lovelycurls @thecattyinthedark-blog @idkwhattodosooo @hao-ming-8 @wh0s-ra3 @cricricorner @tessakate @laduenadelswing @pinkpookiebear
2K notes · View notes
glowettee · 4 months ago
Text
✧˖° romanticizing discipline: why your study aesthetic matters more than you think
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
post 1 post 2 post 3
heyyyy angels, mindy here!
okay, listen. we need to talk about something that people love to roll their eyes at. making studying aesthetic. every time someone posts a pretty study setup, there’s always someone in the comments like, “you don’t need pastel highlighters to get good grades 🙄” or “discipline is about hard work, not vibes.” and okay, sure. but also?
if your study routine feels like punishment, you’re gonna run from it.
the way something feels matters. if you walk into a cozy, candle-lit café with soft music playing, you’ll want to stay there for hours. if you sit down at a messy desk with harsh lighting and a chair that makes your back hurt, you’ll last 15 minutes max. same work, different environment, completely different experience.
so why wouldn’t you make your study sessions feel good?
the truth is, romanticizing discipline makes you want to be consistent. and when you crave the work instead of dreading it, that’s when everything shifts.
so let’s make studying feel like an experience instead of a chore.
✧˖° why aesthetics actually matter
people like to pretend that discipline should be cold, harsh, and mechanical, but your brain doesn’t work like that.
➼ your brain loves sensory rewards. if your study space looks, smells, and feels good, your brain will start associating it with pleasure instead of stress. ➼ habit-building depends on emotion. if studying is something you enjoy (even a little), you’ll do it more often. if it always feels miserable, you’ll avoid it. ➼ your environment shapes your identity. if your space and routine reflect the kind of person you want to be, you start stepping into that version of yourself.
this isn’t about making everything look cute just for the sake of it. it’s about creating a feeling that makes you want to show up.
✧˖° how to romanticize discipline (without making it a distraction)
because let’s be real... if you spend two hours making an aesthetic notion template and zero minutes actually studying, you played yourself. the key is to set up your space and then get to work.
✧˖° 1. make studying a full sensory experience
romanticizing discipline isn’t just about visuals. it’s about creating an atmosphere that makes you want to sit down and focus.
➼ sound: play a study playlist that makes you feel productive (lo-fi, classical, rain sounds. whatever works). keep it consistent so your brain recognizes it as a “focus” trigger. ➼ scent: light a candle, spray a room mist, or use an essential oil diffuser. scent is one of the strongest memory triggers, so pick one that makes you feel calm and focused. ➼ touch: make sure your chair is comfortable, your desk is clean, and your study tools feel good to use.
it’s about tricking your brain into thinking, this is a space where we focus.
✧˖° 2. design a study space that makes you want to sit down
your environment dictates your focus. a cluttered, uninspiring desk will make you feel restless. a cozy, minimal, well-lit space will make you want to stay.
➼ keep only the essentials. a clean, distraction-free setup makes it easier to focus. ➼ add a little inspiration. a vision board, a cute calendar, a motivational quote. just something that makes you feel like that girl when you sit down. ➼ lighting matters. natural light is best, but a warm desk lamp can make nighttime study sessions feel cozy instead of exhausting.
again, the goal is to create a space that makes your brain want to work.
✧˖° 3. make discipline feel like a lifestyle aesthetic
some people make discipline look miserable. but the people who actually stay consistent? they make it look effortless.
➼ romanticize the act of opening your books. make it feel cinematic. the soft scratch of your pen, the glow of your laptop, the warmth of your tea. make it feel like a movie (mean girls, gossip girls... etcc) ➼ dress like the best version of yourself. even if you’re studying at home, wear something that makes you feel put together. ➼ upgrade your study tools. if you like the way your planner, pens, and laptop setup look, you’ll actually want to use them.
this is about shifting your identity. when you see yourself as the kind of person who enjoys discipline, you become her.
✧˖° keeping the balance: romanticizing vs. actually doing the work
okay, but let’s not pretend like aesthetics alone are gonna get you an A. you still have to put in the work. the key is to use aesthetics to enhance your discipline, not replace it.
➼ set a “setup time” limit. you get 5-10 minutes to set up your space. after that? no more tweaking. just start. ➼ use a study timer. 50 minutes of deep work, 10-minute break. repeat. this keeps you from getting stuck in the “pretty but unproductive” trap. ➼ reward yourself after real progress. light a candle before studying, but don’t let yourself scroll Pinterest for an hour instead of doing the work.
discipline first, aesthetic second. not the other way around.
✧˖° final thoughts
romanticizing discipline isn’t about making things look good for the sake of it. it’s about shifting your entire mindset so studying feels good.
when you make your study space feel warm, inviting, and yours, you stop dreading it. and when you stop dreading it, you show up more often. and when you show up more often? you actually get sh*t done.
so go romanticize the process. set up your space. light the candle. play the playlist. and then? open your books and do the work. because that girl you’re envisioning? she’s already you. you just have to step into her.
do not fall into the trap of "aesthetics over work" because there will be NO reason for you to romanticize studying, if you don't actually study.
with love,
mindy
Tumblr media
552 notes · View notes
abbotjack · 2 months ago
Note
Consumed by the thought of Pope being with someone who calls him sweet little pet names just because it's natural to them and they love him etc. but him having to get a handle on that because the way they coo "baby" and "sweetie" sets off something in his brain that reminds him of Smurf.
Anyway I take your characterizations of Pope and Jack as gospel so was wondering what you think of them with pet names? Just because I think they can say so much about a character! I feel like Jack would be easy with them but Pope would just stick to someone's name, but I think it would be so special for him to get to a place where he can be called loving names and have them actually feel like love, you know?
(Same Pope Anon as before, Season 5 is tearing me apaaaaart, I will never get the way his voice broke when he told Deran about blacking out out of my mind, ok thank you so much!!!)
Ah, yes—two men for whom love-language is a ruin. Not just damaged, but decimated. Emotional blast zones, littered with the debris of things they needed to hear but never did. Like abandoned train stations where tenderness was supposed to arrive and never came—just echoes, just rust.
ANDREW "POPE" CODY : Canonically haunted. Biblically undone.
Pope doesn’t use pet names. Not because he thinks they’re silly. Not because he’s too macho. But because to call someone something soft requires a certain vision of love—one that was never modeled for him. Affection, in the world he was raised in, was surveillance dressed as care.
When Smurf cooed “my baby,” it wasn’t an act of love. It was a lock clicking shut.
To Pope, pet names don’t feel like sugar—they feel like a test. He associates them with manipulation. With ownership. With someone peering into his ribs and calling it comfort while rearranging his bones for their own use.
So when someone tries it—when someone who means it slips in a casual “baby” or “honey” or even “love”—it doesn’t feel casual to him. It feels loaded. His body stiffens before his brain even catches up. Because something in him remembers.
Remembers what it was like to be sweet-talked by someone who would slit your throat with the same voice.
That’s what Pope fights against.
This is a man who wants love like a drowning man wants air—but doesn't always recognize the shape of it when it comes. It’s not that he doesn’t need tenderness. He craves it. But craving something and knowing how to receive it are oceans apart.
He’s the kind of man who will flinch at “baby,” but memorize the way you say his name. He'll use your name like a prayer, a grounding technique, a confession. He doesn’t say “sweetheart,” but he’ll brush your wrist with the back of his hand when no one’s looking. He won’t say “I missed you”—he’ll stare at the door ten minutes before you’re due to walk through it.
It takes time—biblical time—for Pope to rewire the synapses that tell him love is a threat. But when he does start to accept it, when those words start to sound like freedom instead of control, it’s a rapture of its own kind. Quiet. Earth-shifting. Sacred.
Because here’s the theological truth of Pope Cody:
He doesn’t trust what comes easy. But he remembers everything that’s offered in faith.
And when he finally calls someone “baby”— in a cracked whisper, in a moment when the world is on fire and his heart is steady only because you’re holding it—that name becomes holy.
JACK ABBOT : War medic. ER attending. Human sandbag.
Jack Abbot, on the other hand, gives language like it’s blood. Like it’s something he owes you for surviving another day in a world that takes and takes.
Where Pope withholds softness because he was poisoned by it, Jack offers it because he understands the cost of not hearing it.
He’s spent too many nights telling people “You’re okay, you’re alright” while pressing gauze into open wounds. He’s seen last breaths. He’s memorized the look people get when no one’s ever called them “love” before they died. He doesn’t play with words. He wields them.
Jack is a man of contradictions. His words are tender, but his voice is wrecked. He calls you “darlin’” with the cadence of someone who has said it to people bleeding out on concrete. He says “babe” when he’s teasing, sure—but “sweetheart” only when he’s scared.
He’s the kind of man who says “hey, gorgeous” while pulling a bullet casing from a trauma log. Who sighs “baby, c’mere” when he’s too tired to process anything else. Who says “my girl” under his breath in the middle of a 2 a.m. debrief like it’s a lifeline.
But here’s what makes it Jack-coded: he doesn’t use pet names to make you feel small. He uses them to remind you you’re still here.
Where Pope avoids nicknames because they once meant ownership, Jack uses them because he’s spent years trying to build a new language—a better one. One where no one bleeds alone. One where kindness can sound like a whistle across a busy trauma floor and still mean something real.
And yet—it’s not performative. He doesn’t hand them out like candy. You earn Jack’s pet names by witnessing him. Not just the soldier. Not just the doctor. But the man who folds your laundry on nights you don’t come home. Who memorizes your sandwich order. Who knows when not to say anything at all.
Because here’s the gospel truth of Jack Abbot:
His love isn’t loud. It’s discipline.
And that discipline bleeds into the way he says your name like it’s armor, the way he calls you “baby” when he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose after a 14-hour shift, the way he’ll whisper “mine” only when he’s too tired to pretend he’s not terrified of losing you.
Pope has to relearn language. Jack has to redefine it.
Pope hears “baby” and flashes back to being a pawn in someone else's empire.
Jack says “baby” and means, "You're still alive. You're still mine. Thank God."
Pope doesn’t trust words. Jack has to use them, or he’ll drown in silence.
One was raised in a house where love was used like a gun. The other became a gun, just to keep the people he loves from ever bleeding out again.
And that’s why pet names matter.
Because for Pope Cody, learning to let someone call him “baby” is the most vulnerable thing he’ll ever do. And for Jack Abbot, saying it is the most honest.
299 notes · View notes
arlechinav-blog · 2 months ago
Text
What is Trancework?
Tumblr media
Trancework is the majestic art that I like to refer to as Magic Floppy Time. Trance naturally happens when you set your body to a simple repetetive task with some kind of rhythm either built in or in the background. It is not a religious experience by itself. It happens when driving in the rain with the windshield wipers going. It can happen while reading or doing the dishes for an extended period of time. These things happen on accident which means that this is something our bodies and minds were built to do and it does not require training to get the basics. But if you want to do it on purpose and learn to do some really neat things with it, that would take some skill development. And that is what trancework is--trancing on purpose. What does it feel like? Trancing is rather like sleepwalking. If you slip into it without realizing it then you will really only become aware of it once you start to wake. At that point you somewhat suddenly come back to your senses with absolutely no idea how much time has elapsed since you were last fully conscious. You may just feel a little disoriented and possibly a little groggy. However, if you slip into a trance while fully conscious of it, you will likely feel a few effects. There is a spectrum of normal at play in trancework--which is to say that there are a good number of sensations that can be experienced. For some it may feel like a narrowing of the field of vision, for others it may feel like your consciousness is pulled into either your stomach or right above your head. Still others may just feel a bit woozy or they may feel like their bodies are locked into a particular motion and that they cannot make themselves stop doing it.
Hold out your hands and spin in a field for about 20-30 seconds and then either stop or just try to stop. That's what it feels like. And the reason that is what it feels like is because that is actually a method of getting yourself into a trance on purpose. While any simple repetetive motion can get you into an altered state, the heavy hitters are movements that disrupt the body's equillibrium--that sense of balance in your inner ear. This is why dancing is so strongly linked to trancework and it is why I refer to trancework as Magic Floppy Time. It is because the movements of the body become more and more relaxed as you get into an altered state. You largely surrender your spine for a while and get... well... floppy.
Tumblr media
(Playing with the big drum, aka Making Magic Boom-Boom)
Why does this happen?
I have my theories. I personally think that our bodies do this to conserve energy. If you are going to be doing the same activity for a while and utilizing just a select group of muscles to do it, your body will eventually just relax the ones it doesn't really need. Same with the mind. If you don't need it to make decisions or take in the sensory environment, it starts to relax everything that it doesn't need. The unused parts of your brain and body start going night-night.
Is trancework religious or not?
It can be if your religion has a purpose for it. Trancework can have a profound impact on the psyche and it is strongly associated with meditation, chanting, and prayer recitation. So, either we started doing this as a means of reaching towards the spiritworld OR we started praying and noticed this happened as a byproduct. It doesn't have to be an either / or really. The end result is that trancework is and has been used by a lot of religions.
It is also something that just naturally happens during repetetive physical labor. Like mining, weaving, spinning thread, rowing a boat, threshing, kneading, etc. Most pre-industrial occupations involve trancework at some point in the process so it has been a useful tool in the workplace. Think of the musical traditions associated with things like fulling/ wauking, seafaring, and chain gangs. These are secular examples of people using trancework on purpose to coordinate their labor together with others.
Trancework can be secular or religious, it just depends on what you are trying to do and how you go about it.
How do I do it on purpose?
Put on some music with a good beat, give your body permission to relax into it deeper every few bars, close your eyes a little or all the way, sway your shoulders in a figure 8 and let that whole body just go with it. Imagine your body moving like water and let it happen. Say bye-bye to your thoughts. They do not matter. Picture a flowing image--a river flowing around the base of a mountain, a gust of wind carrying a little bird on an adventure, a serpent eating its tail... whatever floats your boat. After about 10-20 minutes of this, allow yourself to slump over, give away all excess energy, and just flop somewhere comfy. Let yourself return to consciousness gradually. When you do, have a snack and drink some water. Do something relaxing like taking a shower or a nap. That's pretty much it.
What if I want to use trancework to do something magical or religious?
Trancing is a skill. You can be good at it and you can be bad at it. It is something that you can improve at over time and with experience. Once you can get into an altered state on purpose reliably and get yourself back out again safely every time, you can then start exploring the other things trancework can be used for. Things associated with magic like: Divination Bilocation Shapeshifting
Or things associated with spirit-based religion like: Possession Mediumship
Or things associated with religion like: Deity Bridalwork Presence Ceremonies
Each of these things have unique structures to the rituals that will get you through them successfully. Think of them like recipes. Because there is a physical and neurological component to trancework, this is not a matter of making up whatever you want or doing what you think makes sense. You can absolutely do that but you will not get the same outcome as what someone who uses a traditional method of doing so would get. If you smoke bacon but call it bread, you're only really fooling yourself. The tried and true recipe gets you the predictable result. (I have to mention this because there are A LOT of modern trancework practices out there that are not based in anything traditional--they're just something someone made up because they moved around it made them feel tingly and they assumed it was the same thing as what the traditional folks were doing. It really isn't. No matter where you go on this planet, traditional trancework functions in the same spectrum of ways. It really is an exact recipe and you can't make changes to the load bearing aspects of it and expect to get the same results. Technique matters.)
If you look around on this blog you will find loads of posts on how to get into the more complicated forms of trancework and what exactly those are used to do. So, I recommend starting there or reaching out to someone who has ties to traditional forms of trancework who can walk you through the exact kind of thing you want to do.
What other beginner questions do you have? Did I miss any? Let me know how I can help!
251 notes · View notes
selenophyyy · 20 days ago
Text
The Scarlet Sketches of Shades
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Pairing: Seungcheol x reader
Genre: Romance [Suggestive]
Words: 666
Synopsis: Seungcheol is determined to prove he can leave a deeper shade of red than any lipstick or dress. He brushes his palette of seductive shades onto his canvas—that is, your body.
Note: Ovaries touching fic. He better get his apology ready if they explode lol. Minors stay away from this one!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You shield off the box; greeted with neatly folded red stained waves of fabric. You lift up the scribbled note resting on top of it.
Wear it for tonight, pretty ♡
The elaborate lines identify Choi Seungcheol, your lover, who you will accompany as plus one to a grand event.
The evening rolls around and you veil your body with his gift.
The crimson dress features a plunging neckline, crystallized straps and form-fitting bodice. Shimmering silver heels peek out from beneath the pleated skirt. The back has a sophisticated low cut, zipped down to the spine. Its elegance is bound to catch eyes from all classes.
You wipe your sweaty palms against the satin, nervousness drenching your fresh makeup. You’re all dolled up and ready to step out. Anticipation builds as you await his response; the door is on the verge of opening.
Soon enough, its hinges squeak as the door inches open, his footsteps ruffling the maroon carpet. His frame lines in your vision, forcing a timid gulp down your throat.
His pupils rake you over from head to toe, appreciating every detail. “Wow,” he approves, licking his dry lips, sauntering towards you.
“You look so breath-taking,” he compliments, his fingertips brushing against your elbow. Cherries bloom onto your cheeks as he grips your hands into his, shrinking the distance in-between.
“Thank you,” you stutter out, making a hearty chuckle leave his chest. He doesn’t call out your flustered state, but smugness palettes his raised cheekbones from curved up lips. His finger migrates onto your rosy lips, smudging the lipstick.
“Red is definitely your color, but I do better shading,” he murmurs raunchily, a sleazy intent dripping from his gaze into yours, drowning you in his desires. His suggestion hypnotizes you to lean in for a passionate kiss.
Your brain short-circuits as your fingertips generate electricity through his strands, gripping and ruffling and trailing on to pull at his baby hair nesting at his nape. Their lips part like early morning blooming petals. He savours the moment by dripping saliva onto your tongue, instantly melting into your mouth. Seungcheol presses your chest against his, curving out your body with his slow tantalizing traces.
Their hearts run a mile together as they sync their touches. The fluster from earlier evaporates into blistering spice. Your combing hand pulls him another inch closer to your mouth; his lips balm your soul and stomach.
The invitation of the event lies forgotten on vanity and now canceled as he pushes you onto the mattress. It dips under your hips as he hovers onto your body, his knee divorcing your legs.
Your heart hums faster than his fingertips trail down onto your soul, the left one shielding the back of your head from the head post as his right one grabs whatever comes his grip, squeezing and pinching your skin which makes you sing out siren's melodies. The pearly feathers of pillows soon cushion your head as he speeds up his exploration.
He leaves his crimson shades at the edge of your neck, brushing it into a deeper scarlet to his liking. You arch your back, the delicate curve of your spine a tempting invitation, your skin flushed and sensitive under his gaze.
“Admit it, my shading is better than any bloody lipstick or dress,” he cockily hums into your collarbone, the rapid rise and fall of it stroking his ego. You hold back sweet protest, as your chin dips to witness the artistry of his shading scraped onto your skin. It's brushed with such a deep palette that reminds of the vivid carmine thread knotting your pinkies and crimson associated with seduction.
“That test patch doesn't tell much. I believe I require a more exclusive edition,” you say, nibbling your lip and indulging his wishes.
“As you wish, my lady,” his lips crook up in amusement, quickly onto providing a new; much more colorful experience.
And the rest is the history of shades smudged into your sheets.
Tumblr media
Author's Note:
This is Seungcheol's pov of fl:
Tumblr media
🫵🏻🤨 this you?
you delulu af I know you were practically like this while reading this lol
Yes, I used a lot of references from recent thirst trap interview 😜
Tumblr media Tumblr media
167 notes · View notes
catboybiologist · 8 months ago
Text
One of the most interesting facets of the human body is the way our brains sometimes "generate" information. The brain can't stand being unstimulated, so lacking sensory stimuli, it invents or exaggerates stuff on its own.
It's like the blind spot in your eye, which is filled in by the brain. But it manifests in so many other ways too. Think about getting up in the middle of the night, let's say to get a glass of water. It's dark, and silent. So your brain desperately tries to fill in gaps of perception.
As you slide off the bed, you'll swear your ears are picking up the sound of your own footsteps, even if you're stepping lightly and without any kind of footwear. In this case, there's very real senses that your brain is amplifying, and maybe even misinterpreting- the pressure of weight on your feet being "misread" as something different.
The kitchen is a place with so many smell-heavy memories associated with it. As you enter it with your empty cup, olfaction centers in your brain will start going wild trying to create something from nothing to fill in that gap. Usually, the experience of this is a faint, almost metal-tinged scent, kind of what you smell on the metal slide of a hot playground.
Your vision is not exempt from this as well, especially in areas of high contrast. If the interior of your apartment is dark, and there's soft light coming in from nearby windows, your neurons cling to that. At the periphery of your vision, you might start to notice the light "dance" a little. Shadows will blend just a tad as your sensory neurons try to keep up with changing lighting conditions. Sometimes, your brain fills in this "movement" as familiar shapes.
The burble of water coming from the sink is a comparative sensory feast for your brain, and it almost dispels all other "false" inputs.
When the sink is shut off, though, your brain is going into overdrive. It just got what it needed, and it now expects that level of stimulation- so it's gonna start inventing all sorts of things. You might start to see those dancing shadows in areas for smaller contrast now- lights from kitchen clocks, color changes or art on your walls, indicator lights on computers- coalescing into strange, thin humanoid shapes that dispel the moment you look at them. Makes sense though- humans are what we see moving around the most on a day to day basis, and our brains just work on pattern recognition. They fill in what you know, and when you add more information by taking a peek, your brain settles down.
Walking back to your bed, you might notice that the footsteps that once seemed so loud now don't seem loud enough, as if the sound is falling dead before it can carry. The floorboards, which used to make you jump when they creaked, now make no sound. Your brain is slowly normalizing, and doesn't need to fill in those gaps anymore. Hopefully that will help you get back to a restful sleep.
You lie down back in your bed, take a sip of that water, and for a moment look at the room around you. As you slowly fall asleep, the last errant "misfirings" of your brain will come together in more "comprehensive" ways. The dancing shadows from your peripheral vision might start showing up in your direct line of sight. They'll probably look like a figure coming towards you, as those shadows occupy more of your vision. Pattern recognition is a powerful thing!
The last moments before you fall asleep are where your mind is going wild, trying to put together so many different inputs, both real and false. You might feel chills, or even a cold hand on your leg. It'll pull from memory as well. As darkness falls across your vision, the shadows may contort into the face of a loved one you left behind long ago, sitting atop a wiery, inhuman body.
Make sure to get a restful sleep, and ignore these stimuli. Ignore the feeling of breathe in your neck when you close your eyes. Ignore the feeling of your blankets parting as you drift away. Ignore the figure that was formed from those shadows. They'll be gone come morning.
They'll be gone come morning.
They'll be gone come morning.
They'll be gone come mo
558 notes · View notes
snoopyhq · 5 months ago
Text
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ so when the night falls, my lonely heart calls
type: arcane characters x reader
featuring: viktor, mel, jayce, vi, caitlyn, ekko, jinx
summary: how they spend valentine's day with you 💘 straight up fluff really.
a/n: a bit late because i was hanging out with my friends out of town and didn't get home to post this at a reasonable time. hope you guys enjoy!
divider used by @/saradika-graphics !!!
Tumblr media
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ VIKTOR
a date at the botanical gardens! :3
taking walks with you around piltover has always been one of his favorite ways to unwind, so spending the day in a calm, sunny, pretty spot just seems right
you guys are holding hands and exploring the vast expanse of greenery
there's an insect exhibit, and rumor has it they have cricket delicacies on a stick...
he'll teasingly ask you if you're brave enough to take a bite
if you go along with it, he'll do it too
takes the prettiest candid pics of you ever
the curse of a 'bf who takes the most awful photos of you' does not exist with viktor
he's a perfectionist, and you can never look less than, in his opinion
he shows you the photos later, all shy and nervous and you're losing your mind at how he managed to capture everything so beautifully
"it's easy. you're always beautiful to me. capturing a second of it is no trouble. i just wish i could live every frame of you again over and over."
back in your shared apartment, he's organizing the layout for the next chapter in his photo album of you
you've started your own filled with photos of him
you guys go through them at the end of every year to reminisce on memories
the night unwinds with a glass of sweet wine and reading together by the fire, eventually falling asleep all cozied up on the couch <3
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ MEL
spa day
facial, manis, pedis, the whole package
a day of pampering her beloved!
she wants you to look and feel your best
the best type of love can be self-love, after all
after the spa, she takes you to an orchestral concert featuring renown musicians from the city and beyond
she's booked you both your own private balcony where you can watch the performance from the comfort of privacy and plenty of courses catered to your tastes
there's a gift exchange at home to top off the perfect day
you'd been agonizing on what to get her
councilor medarda? the brains, beauty, and vision of success? what could you give her that she can't simply buy when she feels like it?
you ended up making her gift. a jar decorated with fairy lights and resin'd petals on the outside, and filled with handwritten notes from you
the messages range from cheesy pickup lines to affirmations of how much you love her, and reminders for her to take a break
you also put together a small folder of tickets
each ticket reads something like "movie night", "dinner of your choice, on me", "painting date", etc. etc.
whenever she feels down, she can just pick one and you'll drop whatever you're doing and spend the rest of the day dedicated to that, and to her
she loves you and you love her so much
it's sickening. tooth rotting, even. definitely acts of service and quality time here
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ JAYCE
cooking together is a love language. sharing food that you've made together? hooray! how romantic is that?
especially if it's a cultural exchange of food
he's teaching you to make his mamá's birria tacos and rambling about parts of his childhood in the kitchen, helping her out
you're listening with a silly smile on your face
an expression of pure lovesickness
he's moving around the place with such ease, and the smell of comfort is heavenly
then it's your turn to walk him through something from your culture, and talk about your own stories associated with the dish/dessert/drink (whatever it is you wanna make)
me personally, i'll be making some bánh xèo (it's like a vietnamese crepe! very savory, very yummy)
half your plate is your food, and the other is jayce's birria tacos
cleanup can be dealt with later
right now, there's good food and better company to be have
it's a shared learning opportunity and serves to strengthen your bond :-)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
�� ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ VI
she's picking you up from your house first thing
ready with a "good morning!", kiss on the cheek, and a bouquet of your favorite flowers
wrapped in paper, of course <3
if you have chocolates for her, she'll melt right then and there in your arms
or maybe even chocolate covered strawberries you put together yourself!
you two are heading right to the arcade
paintball gets competitive. and messy
go clothes shopping for each other after
it's a chance for her to indulge in something she usually doesn't, and you get the chance to spoil your favorite girl in the whole world
she appreciates that you love her style and who she is and doesn't try changing who she is. because of that, she trusts you to help style her
once you're both newly out in some new clothes and kicks, you guys hit the highway
windows down, blasting your favorite songs and singing along at the top of your lungs
i love vi, i wish women were real :(
she's my favorite alongside viktor. AUGH.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ CAITLYN
what's the point of having money and an influential family if not to rent out places, like a whole bookstore? or a planetarium? a movie theater, even
all of the above, and more
maybe not in that order though
the bookstore is first. you both buy each other a book you think the other will like and promise to keep each other updated on your progress
the movie theater next
speaking of movies, i saw heart eyes with my friends yesterday! it was a great movie, i enjoyed it a LOT more than i initially thought
so glad to have been proven wrong
you guys watch some good ol' romance movies (10 things i hate about you, la la land, the princess bride, etc.)
planetarium! sick as fuck
you're spending the entire day wrapped up in each other and your shared interests
some warm tea and sweet kisses for the winding down as you're watching the sunset
sigh. oh to be in love...
she isn't a kiramman today. not captain, officer, on-duty caitlyn kiramman
she's just your beloved cait, caitlyn
the headstrong, passionate, and protective woman who has your entire heart
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ EKKO
in an opposite direction of caitlyn's, but no less loving
money can buy certain happiness but it's not always necessary
art date where you guys stay home and paint each other with the variety of art supplies he's gathered over the years
ekko's an artist through and through
his mural of vi in the alternate universe? oh i'm in love.
the paintings are getting hung up wherever there's space on your guys' wall because the space is FILLED with posters, artwork, memorabilia, magazine and news pages, etc.
it's a very creative living space
there’s also plenty of plants that litter the windowsills and ledges where sunlight can reach
you guys spent each day of february decorating each plant with something for valentine’s day
the cranes on your ceiling has been joined by spiral hearts
interior decoration could be so romantic. i’d want to do that with someone i love someday
a little walk through the city at night too, but on the rooftops
less people to bother you guys and the aerial view makes it more thrilling
don't fall
he'll catch you regardless
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ JINX
you guys spend the day in her air balloon base
she's made you a gift basket!
it's filled with sketches and doodles of you
all colorful and wild and completely her style
she's stitched together a teddy bear plush too, having gone to ask vi and (reluctantly) caitlyn for help with it
you can see all the uneven bits and parts where the stuffing is too much or too little
but it's perfect
she even added a heart with her signature perfume sprayed on it too
like build-a-bear or something
funny, you also got her a gift basket
various gadgets and knick-knacks, and a new tool kit
some sweets you picked up a bakery
soft, fluffy macarons. tiramisu. a matcha strawberry cake that you share
it's a rare treat for a special occasion
cait also gave you some skincare when you went to visit her, so you and jinx had an impromptu skincare session, gossiping and talking about her latest project and relaxing together under the open night sky
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
257 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
Cherry Pie. aka - Cherry, Part Three.
There are certain things in life that can’t be denied. You’re starting to think maybe you and Steve are one of them.
pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing.
word count - 2.6k
authors note - part three has arrived!! thanks for your patience, angels. thank you for all your continued enthusiasm and support for this series. I love them and I love you <3 as always, please reblog if you enjoyed!! it’s the only way to circulate my fics <3
masterlist. inbox. series masterlist.
Tumblr media
“The prettiest girl in the world just walked in.”
“Your mom?”
“Funny, Harrington. Try again.”
“My Cherry?”
Robin smiles knowingly, nodding her head. Not only did Steve automatically associate you with the phrase prettiest girl in the world, but he called you his. Some days, she wished she could slap him square across the face in hopes of waking him up to what everyone else could see so clearly.
“Hi, you two. Working hard, or hardly working?”
You giggle, and the sound bounces off the metal shelves of the Family Video Store. Steve’s mesmerised, stood unmoving with a beaming grin on his face.
“I’m the first, Steve’s the second.”
The boy kicks his coworker in the shin, laughing when she pinches the bare skin of his arm in retaliation.
“Not true.”
Steve takes you in for a second, stuck still in his place. You’re wearing his favourite sundress, all patterned and pretty in front of him. Your lips are glossy and skin glowy, sneakers on your feet a perfect white. The perfect picture of a summer day.
“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, breaking him out of his haze. He snaps back to reality and throws an arm around your shoulders, kissing your temple sweetly.
“I was nearby anyway, thought I’d come in and see if you were busy. And I had to remind Steve to pick a movie for tonight.”
“We’re not watching a romcom.”
“We’re watching a romcom,” you say at the same time as Steve while Robin laughs.
“I better grab the new stock from the back. See you later,” she says, winking at the boy who still has you pulled tight into his side.
He rests his chin on the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your cherry conditioner and vanilla body wash. If Steve gets to heaven, he’s convinced this is what it’ll smell like.
“I finish here at 6, so I can come and get you, or you can wait for me at my place? Your choice, Cherry Baby.”
“I’ll wait for you. I was thinking I’d make us some dinner anyway, ready for when you get home.”
Home. Steve’s brain short circuits, a vision of a domestic life with a white picket fence flashing across his mind. He cups your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Sounds perfect,” he whispers.
You’re a little confused by all this sudden affection, but the last thing you’ll ever do is complain. If he wants to kiss you until you’re dizzy in the middle of this Family Video Store, then so be it.
“I should leave you to get on with stuff.”
“You could stay all day, if you wanted. We could make you wear the uniform and everything - no one would suspect a thing.”
You laugh, nudging his foot with yours.
“As tempting as that is, I have a little more shopping to do. And I have to get ingredients for later.”
You pick up your bag, swinging it over your shoulder as you look at him.
“See you later, Stevie.”
“See you later, Cherry Pie.”
You’re halfway out the door when he calls your name, head whipping around to face him.
“You’re so pretty. You know that, right?”
You look at your shoes, suddenly bashful at his boldness.
“You too, Stevie. Prettiest boy I know.”
You both go about the rest of your days floating on air, high on the giddy sweetness of it all.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
Steve almost passes out when he unlocks his front door.
There’s candles lit and music playing softly, the kitchen alive with movement. Something smells delicious, and he can hear you humming along to a song he thinks he recognises as you chop and stir. He can picture it perfectly before he even enters the room, but the sight still knocks him off balance when he finally gets a good look at you.
“Honey, I’m home!”
You spin from your place at the stove to grin at him, petticoat trimmed apron tied around your waist to protect your dress.
“Darling! I’ve been waiting all day for you!”
You curtsy in mock greeting, which makes Steve laugh much harder than it should. He strides over and gathers you in his arms, squeezing you a little tighter than necessary.
“Steven, I saw you a few hours ago. You’re acting like you’ve just returned from war.”
“Forgive me for missing you,” he mumbles into your hair.
You sink into his embrace anyway, tangling your fingers into the back of his shirt and inhaling the familiar scent of it.
“Something smells really good.”
“It’s my famous cherry pie,” you grin, pulling back to look up at him. “Made it just for you.”
“You’re an angel,” he exclaims, spinning you around on the tiled floors. “An angel sent just for me.”
You try to ignore the way heat rises across your chest, his compliments warming your skin.
“Let me take it out of the oven, and then we’ll eat. You must be starving.”
He laughs, because you know for a fact he’s always hungry. You know everything about him. It should scare him, spook him, make him nervous. Instead he hums with the excitement of it, body alive with the anticipation of it all.
Steve changes out of his work clothes as you plate up dinner. He comes back downstairs to see you sat at the table waiting for him, all patient and pretty. He wonders momentarily what he’s done so right in life to be rewarded so greatly.
✵  ✵    ·  ✵    *  · ✵
“So you totally brought me a romcom, right?”
Steve wants to deny it, wants to tell you that actually he stood his ground and stuck to his word. Instead, he says,
“Of course I did.”
And you laugh, all silvery and melodic, because you knew he’d cave. He can’t say no to you, even if he wanted to. You don’t use it to your advantage as often as you should. Steve wishes you did a little more.
“I’ll make popcorn if you get the video set up.”
Snacks made and movie ready, you settle in next to Steve on the couch. The two of you always follow the same routine - you sit separately, a fair distance between you, watching the movie with your hands to yourself. Then, slowly, you migrate towards each other, until you’re pressed together without an inch of space to be found.
The same thing happens tonight.
You end up being spooned by Steve, both of you laying across the couch cushions. Your back is pressed to his front, legs tangled together, his arm keeping you bracketed in to him. He’s hooked his chin over your shoulder to watch the TV, pressing kisses into the skin of your neck absentmindedly every now and again.
The film Steve picked is one you’ve seen before, but you’re not about to tell him that. Instead, your eyes slowly slip closed, the steady rhythm of the boys breathing lulling you into a sleepy haze. He traces patterns over the exposed skin of your stomach with his fingertips, chuckling slightly when you flinch as he brushes a ticklish spot.
Your hips roll back into his as you try to adjust your position, and Steve’s breath hitches in his throat. He inhales deeply, waiting for you to settle back down.
You don’t. You keep wriggling, clearly uncomfortable as you sink further into the couch cushions. Steve tries to help you, strong arm pulling you up and into him. You jut your hips once more, and he can’t help the small groan that leaves his lips.
Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the flashing lights of the TV illuminating the room. The movie is still playing, but you know it’s almost finished. Steve’s arm is tight around your waist, his breathing heavy against your shoulder. You shift your hips to alleviate the pressure on your tangled legs when Steve sucks in a harsh breath, startling you.
He’s warm behind you. So warm. His chest is moving ragged, panting against your bare skin. His fingers grip your thigh tightly for a second, before letting it go and soothing over it.
Oh. Oh.
You’re wide awake, suddenly. Liquid heat spikes its way up your spine, all prickly and electric. You’re not sure what your next move is, but lust is clouding all five of your senses.
“Steve.”
“Cherry.”
“Steve.”
You try to say his name more firmly, but it just comes out as a whine. The sound shoots straight to Steve’s core, his hips bucking into your ass involuntarily.
“You okay?” he mumbles into your ear, grip on your thigh tightening. His fingertips dig into your skin, and you pray you’ll still be able to feel it tomorrow.
“Yeah,” you breathe, but it’s a lie. You’re not okay. You’re on fire, every nerve ending in your body alight with molten heat. You think you might be shaking with it, hoping Steve doesn’t notice.
His hand smooths up from your thigh to just under your breast, resting gently on your ribs. Your heart is fluttering like a hummingbirds wings, frantic and delicate. He can feel it through his fingertips.
“I love you, Cherry Baby.”
You lose your breath momentarily, reminding yourself how to inhale. He always does this, always catches you off guard by telling you he loves you in the moments you expect it the least. It always means more, in times like these. He could have said anything to you just then, but he chose I love you. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or neither or both.
“I love you too,” you choke out. “So much.”
You grind your hips back into his, grinning when he groans all low and buttery. His hand glides up to cup your chest, squeezing gently as you arch into him.
“What do you want?” he asks slowly. “Tell me what you want, babe. I’ll give you anything. Need to hear you say it. Wanna hear you say the words.”
You let him ramble for a minute, trying to put your thoughts in order. You try as hard as you can, but all you can say is,
“You.”
Steve buries his nose into your hair, pressing a kiss into the space behind your ear gently.
“You’re killing me, baby.”
“Want you so badly, Steve. Please.”
The hand that’s on your chest dances down to your stomach, slipping underneath your sleep shorts. He traces his fingers over your underwear, moaning when he feels them completely soaked through.
“Shit.”
“Stevie.”
He strokes you gently, hips rutting into your back when yours jolt into his hand. Eventually, he pulls your underwear to the side, running his fingers through your wet heat before slipping two inside.
You keen instantly, back arching into him. His lips find home in the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, teeth biting down occasionally to try and stifle his desire. You move your hips in tandem with his rhythm, grinding down to try and find the right spot.
“Yeah, fuck, that’s it. Atta girl. Ride my fingers, sweetheart. Take what you need.”
His voice is like melted honey, all golden and warm. It’s making your bones turn to liquid, sinking further into the hold he still has on you with his other arm. Every inch of you is plastered to every inch of him, not a millimetre of space between you. You’ve never been so connected, both physically and emotionally. It’s like the tectonic plates are shifting, the very foundations of your lives changing right in front of your eyes.
Your chest is heaving, panting like you’ve just ran a marathon. All you can focus on is the white heat building in the pit of your stomach, volcanic and bright. When Steve crooks his fingers, you cry out, tumbling over the edge into a blind freefall with no parachute.
“That’s it, baby. Good girl.”
“You’re so good f’me. Doin’ so well.”
“Ride it out, pretty girl. Fuck.”
“Make a mess, there we go. Just like that.”
You’re not even registering his words, but you know that he’s praising you. He always is. He thinks you’re an angel, sent down from heaven to teach him what love is.
Steve ruts his hips into your back, groaning as he finishes. He can’t even find it in him to be embarrassed. The feeling of you writhing in his hold as you tightened around him was his undoing, whether he wanted it to be or not. He doesn’t mind.
You go boneless, head dropping back into his shoulder. He presses kisses onto your temple, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. You sigh in contentment, and Steve wishes he could bottle up the sound and take it like a shot of espresso every morning.
“You okay?”
You nod and then giggle, dopamine rushing through your blood. You’re almost lightheaded with it, floating on cloud nine.
“Steve?” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
You turn in his hold to finally face him, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair. You rest your sweaty forehead against his, panting into his mouth.
“Want it to be you.”
He pulls away slightly to get a good look at your face, eyes a little wide with shock.
“You mean…”
“Yeah. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but if you do, I guess I, um… there’s no one I trust more than you.”
“You know you can only lose your virginity once, baby.”
“I know. Which is exactly why it should be you.”
He grins at you, all giddy and love drunk, bumping your nose with his.
“You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
Steve leans in to press his lips to yours, all slow and tender, kissing you as if you have all the time in the world.
Perhaps you do.
“Not tonight, obviously,” you murmur, chuckling under your breath. “Don’t think you could handle that.”
He scoffs, pulling back from you in disbelief.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just came in your pants and I didn’t even touch you. Who even knows if we’ll make it to actual sex.”
Steve pinches your sides, wrapping his arms around you so you can’t escape. You laugh, trying to squirm out of his hold without luck.
“You’re gonna be eating your words, Cherry Baby.”
You shake your head, blinding smile still etched on your face.
“You know what I am gonna eat? My cherry pie. I’m starving.”
Steve groans at the thought of the dessert sitting on the counter in the kitchen. No one does a cherry pie quite like you.
“Hell yeah. Let’s do it. There’s ice cream in the freezer, too. That vanilla bean one you like.”
You peck his lips before standing up on shaky legs, wincing as you do it.
“You good?”
“I’m gonna need a new shirt. This one’s sticky.”
You look at him with a raised eyebrow and he can’t hold in his laughter, the sound of it booming around the quiet room.
“Shut the fuck up,” he jokes as he throws you over his shoulder. Despite your protests, he carries you up the stairs, smacking your ass a few times on the way for good measure.
When he puts you down, he cradles your face gently, looking into your eyes with sincerity.
“It’s me and you forever. You know that right?”
You know what he’s trying to say. I love you. You’re it for me. There never has been and never will be anyone else.
But neither of you are quite ready for those words. So instead, you say,
“I know. I’ve always known.”
And that’s enough, for now.
Tumblr media
@psychicnerdcat @allcheesemelts @valerievortex @swiftsgirlfriend @steviespookie @betweenstarsandsatellites @mrsjoequinn @internallysalad @saucypeanuttt @empathyroad @niceskyler @spookysins @theoraekenslover @7minutes-tomidnight @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @livsters @diffrent-spokes @regular-joe-shmoe @ihatepeanutss
for some reason I didn't tag some people from part one in part two... no idea why. sorry!
1K notes · View notes
wormtoxin · 3 months ago
Text
She sips hair-of-the-dog in a backwater saloon in a town so small it’s nameless. She passes a ranch hand, a desperate squire with no master, carrying a banner with no meaning. It’s got that stupid bowlcut all the squires seem to have. Reminds her too much of herself.
She lets the gasoline moonshine burn off some more of her stubble. The wide brim of her helmet shades her eyes. Maybe, if she’s very quiet and still in the dark, her hangover won’t find her. It only senses motion, like a dinosaur.
“Howdy ma’am.” A squeaky voice. Cloying, senseless. The pit behind her eyes starts to throb immediately, a dog called to heel. Ah well, worth a shot.
She looks up. It’s here, nearly eye level since she’s slouching in her own chair. Its backpack is huge, stuffed full of provisions. Its banner is nearly 6 feet long, coffin-sized. It’s drawing the eyes of other early-morning drinkers.
“Spit it out,” she chuffs.
“Ma’am— Sir,” it corrects quickly. “You’re a knight, ain’t you?” A drawl. Poorly educated. Speaking colloquially to its superior. She ought to behead it. But if she moves, she’ll vomit.
“So?”
“Who do you serve?” It says ‘serve’ reverently, like it’s something special. She’s definitely gonna hurl.
“Noone,” she says. A few other patrons’ ears perk up. She regrets it immediately.
She knocks back the last of her drink, and spots fill her vision. She blinks them away.
“Ain’t your momma teach you not to talk to strangers?” she reprimands. It doesn’t have the instinct to flinch yet, a pup who’s gone unnoticed by the kennel master, runt of the litter.
“You’re a knight,” it says, as though the two thoughts are connected.
“If I was a smart knight, I’d beat you senseless and sell you to the highest bidder.” It had a pretty face and soft curls, like a girl. Squires don’t get the privilege of being assigned a sex until they’re knighted. That usually doesn’t stop people, though.
She stands, and a few other patrons stand up too. She pulls her duster aside to put a hand in her pocket, and the hilt of her sword pokes out. Well-worn handle, gleaming trigger. It’s worth enough that anyone would gut her for a chance to steal it. Noone tries.
She leaves the saloon, and a ray of sunlight passes through both eyes like a lightning bolt, skewering her brain. She vomits immediately.
A clean hand offers a hankerchief, and she accepts it without thinking, blots away the bile steaming off her teeth. She looks up to see it again, eyes wide and curious. She spits.
“Are you stupid?” she croaks.
“A little,” it answers bashfully. Fair enough.
“Whose banner is that?” she points with her chin.
“Yours, Sir, I hope.” It scuffs a toe in the sand, waiting expectantly.
She hauls herself up off her knees, patting sand from her trousers. She really looks at it.
Denim that might’ve once been a royal blue, now dusted with sand and ash into a bluish-gray. A stitched emblem of The Falling Star, a many-pointed radiant thing with a long tail of white-gold fire.
The emblem of once-blessed sinners, damned things of the earth. The emblem of gravity, downward spirals, all things breathless and heaving towards their ends. A pointless emblem. A banner that declares its master’s approaching end.
“You stitch that yourself?” she says.
“Yessir,” it says. Poorly educated, but well-brought up. Always says Please and Thank Yous.
“Looks like shit.” She’s not the type to take in strays. There’s always a kitten hanging around, mewling for milk, showing off its ribcage. She’s no momma cat. Doesn’t waste breath on cooing, doesn’t waste cash on withering things. She’s got plenty of betting debts, but none associated with losing dogs. Doesn’t like to be disappointed when dying things die.
“Don’t let it trail in the sand like that,” she says. While she unties the bridle and hitches a boot in a stirrup, the squire quickly turns, chasing it like a tail, scooping it up into its arms and patting the sand off.
“So you’ll take me?” it says, and her heart twinges. It’s the first hopeful note to touch her ears in decades.
“I won’t kill you if you try to follow me,” she says, “That’s all. I ain’t letting you ride with me, and I won’t stop just cause you get blisters.”
It squeals a profusion of gratitude, backpack clattering with god knows what, and she immediately kicks herself for being soft.
266 notes · View notes
cheri-cheri · 2 months ago
Text
Headcanon: Going for a pop culture convention
Hearing that a popular convention is taking place over the weekend, you decide to go...
Tumblr media
With a height towering at 188cm, there's no fear of losing sight of Caleb in the event that the both of you get separated in the crowd
But that's an unnecessary concern because he never leaves your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as the both of you wade through the flood of humans
Having a sharp vision thanks to your respective jobs comes especially in handy when spotting merchandise from your favourite fandoms:
Caleb: Hey, isn't that Gavin from Mr Love Queen's Choice, the character you used to swoon over back in college? What's so good about him again? You: He's handsome, looks delicious in a uniform and is amazing at flying! Caleb: Oh? Sounds like you have a type 😉 
You’re aware that Caleb would be more than happy to pay for your purchases (and Sylus’ black card is still nestled comfortably in your wallet), but you’ve decided to exercise some discipline today and stick to your budget
After all, you've got a few surprise gifts in mind for Caleb's upcoming birthday and they aren't going to pay for themselves
Fortunately, Caleb is talented at playing devil's advocate in preventing you from overspending:
Caleb: Sunny Apple's gonna turn green if you get that banana plushie 😔 Caleb: Should I call the Hunter's Association to save you from the claws of capitalism? 🤔 Caleb: There won’t be room for me on the bed if you get that body pillow 🥺
You come across a few booths run by overseas artists who flew in from across oceans to showcase their art, and you snap a few photos for Rafayel
Rafayel replies almost instantly with, "Miss Bodyguard, why didn't you ask me to your bodyguard today? :<"
Unsurprisingly, Caleb is drawn to booths that sell model airplanes and meme stickers.
Caleb: I'm getting this one for Gideon. And this one kinda suits Zayne but I'm not sure if he appreciates meme culture... Guess we'll find out.
After visiting all the booths, the both of you take a water break in a corner of the convention hall which is pleasantly empty
As you do a stretch, you notice that the mini plush doll of Lumiere that you usually hang on your bag had fallen off at some point
Caleb offers to look for it, getting war flashbacks of the times you were an inconsolable mess whenever you misplaced your toys as a child and would rub your tears and snot on his shirt...
But you shrug, not wanting to dive back into the crowd now that the fatigue from walking and exercising self-restraint for hours is finally catching up to you:
You: I’ve already experienced losing the most important person in my life. Losing this keychain is nothing to grieve about in comparison. Caleb: ... You: Anyway, I hung it on my bag as an inside joke with a colleague who gets riled up whenever he sees Lumiere merch, so it's not a big deal. Caleb: Hm? You've never mentioned such a colleague. Who is he? You: ...
Before leaving the venue, you cast a final glance around for any cosplayers from fandoms you recognise. Caleb's glare ensures that male cosplayers maintain a respectable distance from you
After such a fulfilling day out, the both of you return home with hearts feeling fuller and wallets feeling a little lighter
Tumblr media
( ´ ꒳ ` ) Thanks for reading! It's been years since I last wrote a headcanon so I'm now packing my brain cells up and sending them off for a massage...
❀ Masterlist
87 notes · View notes
lala-lyx · 6 days ago
Text
No.1 Party Anthem
Pairing: scaramouche x gn! reader
Warnings: none
Notes: this was based on the vision/interpretation I had when it comes to the bridge part of No.1 Party Anthem by Arctic Monkeys. I guess it's best to read with the music in the background lmao. Enjoy!
Scaramouche is a skeptic when it comes to love at first sight
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Scaramouche sneers at the notion of love at first sight.
It was nothing more than a pathetic gimmick founded by those who are hopelessly lost in their delusional yearning. A rather embarrassing concept only mindless idiots would entertain.
An array of colors winks in his direction, and he blinks. Right, the party. Dizzying red, white, and blue lights gleamed, barely illuminating the dim room he was in. He sighs. With a glass of whatever the bartender had brewed for him, he retreats into a corner and seeks the solace brought by the dark. The somber ambience he has long associated with comfort.
Multiple piercing screams cause him to look up. Oh, the mildly attractive Inazuman DJ was taking his shirt off. A flash of red hits his skin. And then blue. And then more squeals and screeches, almost overpowering the song blasting through the sound system.
It was the same every time.
Parties had a way of satisfying some inner cravings within him. He revels in the fact that parties aren’t just for fun, they’re a short-lived escape. A place where people got drunk to forget about their shitty situations and catch a momentary glimpse of freedom.
Scara takes a swig of his iced whiskey, indigo eyes trailing towards a woman in red. She wore garments that defeated the purpose of wearing clothes as she strutted her way towards a middle aged man. He watched as the woman swayed along with the music, moving her hips side to side before shoving her ass on him. The man grins like he's won a prize.
Scara averts his gaze, nose wrinkled before he was assaulted by the glaring lights once more.
He could feel a bitter tang in his mouth. Was it from the whiskey? Undoubtedly not. His grip tenses on the coupe glass, raising it a bit higher to cover his face. Ugh, he can feel a dull throb in his head. Great, just what he wanted.
Scara clenches his whiskey like a lifeline. God forbid it drowns out the image that's setting his brain on fire. Oh, how he wants to scrub himself a thousand times to get rid of this invisible stain. He closes his eyes. He inhales. Then exhales. He flickers them open.
And he sees you.
Beautiful, ethereal you. He pauses for a moment, and apparently, time does too. His gaze fixates on your face, illuminated in red, white and blue. His vision whirled just like before, but he's sure it wasn't from the light. You turn your head sideways, locks framing your features like a painting he'd want to have memorized.
And his heart nearly stops when you lock eyes.
A zap of electricity runs down his spine. And he shivers.
Scara glances back at his half empty cup.
How ironic. He wants to vomit all the butterflies floating in his stomach and run away. Yes, he should definitely run away.
He looks up, only to be met with your smile. His heart stutters. He can't move, like his mind short circuits.
Hypocrite.
88 notes · View notes
teastainedprose · 1 year ago
Text
Mark You Pretty (Homelander x Reader)
Tumblr media
My brain saw this post and ran with it. Homelander bruises you. 13k words, Homelander x GN!reader (Warnings for bruising, mild Sadism/masochistic play)
The first time Homelander bruises you, it's an honest mistake. He didn't mean to grab you that hard. Not really. Sometimes Homelander forgets how delicate normal people can be. It had been a reflexive thing, snatching you about the arm just above your wrist as you reach over him to gather up the handouts from the meeting.
"Leave it," Homelander mutters with eyes still fixated on the stack of papers set before him, gloves creaking as he briefly tightens his grip on your arm before releasing you. The small gasp you make as you withdraw doesn't penetrate his concentration. He doesn't notice how you rub at your arm, expression pinching up while stepping away. You're another faceless worker bee and Homelander has no time for you. The meeting is over and you shuffle out with the other nameless non-supe Vought employees. His attention is back to the paperwork in front of him, mind buzzing on how to handle the downswing in public opinion on The Seven. You're forgotten as Homelander turns back to the task of being Homelander.
He doesn't even register that he hurt you until the next day. It's the top you're wearing that does it. Long sleeved and out of season, which draws his attention to you for the second time this week. He registers the blooming bruise peeking out from under your sleeve when you bend over to offer handouts about the table. He blinks, clocking the imprint as a mirror of his gloved grip. There's no guilt associated with this realization, simply an understanding of the connection. He did that to you. Homelander marred your pretty skin with a bloom of purple where he grabbed you. Suddenly, it's satisfaction that's coiling in his gut. He likes how you wear his mark.
For better or worse, now he notices you.
Homelander lets his eyes wander up your arm, snagging briefly on your ample chest before flicking across your face. You instantly look away, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. Cute. He smirks as he takes you in. You're a charming enough little thing. A bit too skittish for his taste, but the bruise he left on you keeps drawing Homelander's eyes back over and over again.
For the entirety of the meeting, Homelander lets his attention wander to you while his eyes roam your form. He's shameless with the ogling and never looks away when you catch him at it. No, he's only further pleased by it. He makes sure to catch your eye as his lips curl up and part slightly, his tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. That gets a blush across your cheeks and you're quick to break eye contact. This only amuses Homelander further and galvanizes him to find further ways to unsettle you throughout the meeting. You are his distraction to make this presentation a little less dull.
The meeting ends and Homelander puts you from his mind once more as soon as you walk out the conference room doors. You're nothing but a passing amusement, something to play with at the next meeting perhaps. He's already letting the image of your blush and the bruise he left on your skin fade from his thoughts before something catches in Homelander's ear later that day as he strides down the hallway.
There are many curious sounds within Vought Tower and Homelander has heard plenty. People whispering secrets across phone lines and into ears. Muffled moans of employees sneaking off to empty conference rooms or even broom closets for salacious rendezvous. The one that catches him now? It's soft, more a quiet exhale with a moan undercutting the sound. He blinks, pausing to look towards where the sound came from. It's your office Homelander finds himself standing outside as he cocks his head to the side. He watches you as you sit at your desk, clearly not thinking yourself observed. X-ray vision lets him watch as you press two fingers into the bruise he left on you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to hold back that noise. You moan again all the same, your enjoyment evident as your face twists into a brief flash of pleasure.
Oh, isn't that interesting?
Now Homelander's fascination with you ignites. His eyes seek yours constantly throughout every business meeting the two of you find yourselves in now. He's prone to stepping too close and invading your personal space whenever Homelander comes across you, which has jumped in frequency. He even has the gall to hook his pinky on the sleeve of your shirt one day, tugging it up enough to check if the bruise is still there. By then the purple has faded to a duller, splotchy green. His mark is almost gone and Homelander finds he doesn't like that one bit.
The second time Homelander bruises you, it is very intentional. 
He's bolder the second week. Homelander deliberately holds you back after one meeting with a flimsy excuse. Those massive doors ominously shutting close after everyone else has filed out. Now you're trapped inside the conference room with him. It makes your pulse skitter with terror, which is an utter delight to Homelander. He can smell the fear off of you. A heady scent that stirs a primal need within him because it's mingled with your arousal as well. That fact alone has a smirk on Homelander's lips as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back and under his cape as he leisurely strolls over. Normally, such posture would be non-threatening but on Homelander it's anything but.
It's a terrifying sight yet compelling. Homelander is ever the perfect superhero in looks. Vought's true golden boy that you and countless others privately swoon over in the break room despite his reputation. yet even you have learned that Homelander isn't the squeaky clean supe he's portrayed as. The looming trial only adds further credit to the rumors that circulate about him. Still, it's thrilling, and you may be a little too into the danger Homelander represents. You can't help the anticipation coiling in your belly as you watch him stalk closer.
He traps you there against the wall, shifting as he places a palm flat against it. You stare at his chest as Homelander slides his hand down, lifting it to cup your chin to tilt your gaze up to meet his own. "Er, you wanted to talk sir?" You manage to push the words out, flushing at the tremor in your voice. He smiles and those too sharp canines flash. You shiver, eyes wide as you meet the clear blue of his gaze.
"You bruise easily, don't you?" Homelander muses, his hand on your chin shifting to stroke down your cheek before moving to your neck. Electric heat shoots up your spine from the chaste caress, the leather of his gloves smooth against your skin. His fingers curl around your throat as you feel his thumb ghost over your pulse point. Your breath hitches at the subtle threat but then he's sliding his hand down to tighten his fingers about your shoulder. Homelander digs his thumb in just below your collarbone to the point of pain as he watches you intently.
You hiss in response, eyes squeezing shut before you huff out a sound. It’s not a pained noise. An echo of the sound he’d heard by chance last week. He eases up, a knowing look on his face as you open your eyes again.The scent of your fear lesses, while your arousal fills his nostrils. You like the pain. He smirks all the wider while leaning in to ghost his lips over your cheek. 
"I didn't mean to hurt you." Homelander rumbles out, breath a hot caress against your skin. For the other day or just now? You don't know which he's apologizing for and there's not much time to ponder over that because Homelander's lips are against your own in the next breath.
His mouth against your is Homelander's sort of apology, more for him than you but you enjoy it all the same.
519 notes · View notes
chellz22-blog · 2 months ago
Text
Have you ever heard of MOGAD before? No? Neither had I. According to Google, 1-3 people of 1,000,000 are diagnosed with MOGAD each year, with no known statistics for seronegative MOGAD.
I have been suffering for years. Silently struggling with symptoms that sounded ridiculous and with no answers that led me feeling ashamed and depressed because when you are constantly 'sick' and going to hospital and from doctor to doctor, only to be told your suffering mirgrains, well no one is going to take you seriously. My headaches were severely disabling. I was popping nuerofen like malteasers, feeling sick, loosing my vision, my balance and what felt like my mind. I couldn't keep a job because I was so unreliable due to my symptoms. I was always tired and angry which of coarse affected those around me. Especially my kids. Things got seriously bad in December of 2024. I needed to hold onto my kids to cross a road, or do a food shop. I was falling over, I was loosing feeling in my left arm and leg. By Feb 2024, I was rushed to boxhill hospital under a stroke code. I wasn't having a stroke. I was diagnosed 3 days later after finally receiving a MRI with Multiple sclerosis.
I spent weeks at a time in and out of hospital due to my symptoms flaring back up constantly. I was the diagnosed with MOGAD, then further seronegative MOGAD.
MOGAD (myelin oligodendrocyte glycoprotein antibody associated disease) is an autoimmune condition where your immune system attacks proteins in the protective cover around your nerves (myelin). It causes symptoms that affect your eyes, brain and spinal cord, like vision loss, confusion and muscle weakness.
I myself suffer from seronegative MOGAD which means despite having clinical and radiological features consistent with MOGAD, I test negative for MOG antibodies.
If your not confused by all of this, I take my hat off to you, because I'm still extremely confused as to what it all means. I just know that this is slowly but surely taking my life from me.
My name is Michelle (Chell) and I'm from a small country town in rural Victoria. I'm the youngest of 4 children with 3 older brothers.
I'm 36years old with 3 beautiful children, my oldest is 14, and I have 2 sons who are 8 and 9. I'm honestly blessed as my children are hands down beautiful, kind and well behaved kids. Every day I live for them. In October of 2024, I was lucky enough to meet the love of my life and despite my health issues and being a single mum of 3 kids, he took us all in with open arms. He drives me to and from every medical appointment and hospital visit. He cares for me and my kids better than I've ever known.
I have always loved writing and decided I would try write a blog about my condition and struggles. If I can encourage just 1 person who has any symptoms similar to mine to push your doctor to get you into that MRI machine, then in my eyes that's a success.
I encourage questions and will write again explaining my symptoms in a little more depth soon.
Please feel free to leave a comment or even email me.. [email protected]
For more info check out MS Australia's website https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&opi=89978449&url=https://www.msaustralia.org.au/&ved=2ahUKEwi1vd-9uMOMAxXbdvUHHc7PEl8QFnoECAwQAQ&usg=AOvVaw1KfxYaUSM5M1G-9V2eLdlS
Much love, Chell xx
74 notes · View notes
hbheavensent · 3 months ago
Text
Belphegor/The Sloth Ring
Tumblr media
Oh my sweet sleepy she/they who gets off screened,,,
Also I did a bit of building with The Sloth Ring in general.
Belphegor, out of all the fallen angels, had the easiest transition from Heaven to Hell. She's practically dead to the world most of the time and conversations with her never last very long. She is eternally exhausted, excluding a cold chill that inspires you to curl up with the nearest blanket- but if you get too close to her fur you'll just melt right into it. Naturally I took away her arms, they won't be needing those. I imagine she's very magical, has telekinetic powers that move things out of her way automatically when she sleepwalks. Also some level of psychic powers, very good at reading emotions... would be awesome if she could communicate that but she rarely has the energy too. As for the rest of her design elements, I combined moth motifs with her previous sheep/llama vibes. This isn't for any good reason really, I just heavily associate moths with winter and death. I've also tried to make her shapes a touch more rounded besides the wings/cape arms. I wanted to really emulate drippy wax with her fur as well- Honestly, I'm not sure I'm happy with her but I DO love her dark smokey candle that just fucking blinds you lmao
I wanted to lean into a overwhelming presence with the big form, I honestly might go back and rework it because I'm not super happy with it but- yk. I really was inspired by the Minecraft Warden for her as she acts as more of an environmental hazard, not only are you mostly in the dark but you're completely disoriented. Like you're being pumped full of melatonin gummies and are desperate to stay awake. She's for sure in a lot of pain in her Big Fuckoff Form, all she wants to do is sleep. I imagine she can't talk at all like this, projecting feelings into people rather than having the energy to express them, which is naturally draining on anyone else.
As for the Sloth Ring, I wanted to scrap the hospital thing and fully make it into a winter wonderland. The cold really slows the world down, muffles noise, makes you want to just stay in. Why go to work when you have to shovel the driveway? Also I find it fun to make it so that Hell Literally Froze Over since she was the last to fall. Primarily for not doing their job in Heaven. Belph was the Archangel of Dreams, Visions, and Positive Energy- which was originally shared by herself and Lucifer before The Apple Incident, and then after her own fall those titles were given to Lucifer's younger brother Michael. (Who we will get to LATER, I have a lot of Extra Angels to draw.)
This is a shorter post because admittedly with finals week I have been scatter brained as all hell BUT! I do have the rest of the Sins + An Extra done and colored! Sorry this is sparce guys
Tumblr media
Also I realized the sins Big Fuckoff Forms (particularly Mammon and Bee) are not big enough but this damn thing is as big as the canvas gets so I'll have to mess with it yet again-
80 notes · View notes