#cordiform

[grubbb]

[comradekade]

Yeah what's up with the choreiform tag anyways

Cordiform literally means "heart-shaped" but I tag it so often because it's the name of a D&D game (run by @dogtheory) I'm in! <3

[newt00th]

Le Chansonnier Cordiforme, c. 1470, music manuscript ― facsimile by Vicent García Editores of Valencia, Spain

[reallypheelingit]

my part of an art trade with @terra-tortoise !! it's his bogsneak Carya the enthusiastic archeologist!

[feelinfelicific]

The Chansonnier Cordiforme (1470s), or Chansonnier de Jean de Montchenu, is a cordiform (heart-shaped) music manuscript, Collection Henri de Rothschild MS 2973, held in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, France.

Fifteenth century heart-shaped songbook Chansonnier de Jean de Montchenu.

[xoxochb]

thought this was cute 🙂‍↕️

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you hear incoherent babbles leave percy’s mouth in between pecks to your neck. words you can’t understand if your life depended on knowing them. you laugh lightly and ask him for clarification. he continues pecking at your skin in between his words,

“I love you,” he murmurs. and repeats the same phrase between every singular kiss. it leaves a strong flutter of butterflies to swarm your tummy. you nearly squeal and tightly wrap him in your arms, kiss the top of his head and tell him he’s loved equally as much. you refrain and let him continue kissing your neck. he trails each peck up higher progressively, your jaw, your chin, each cheek, your nose, cupids bow, closed eyelids, forehead, and back down, claiming your soft lips with his. quickly, the kiss is cut short by his uncontrollably wide smile, forcing him to pull back.

“stop smiling, weirdo,” you whisper-laugh, attempting to force his lips back onto yours. his grin is too wide. “stop, stop, stop!”

he can’t. physically, mentally, astronomically, psychologically, he’s in too much of a lovesick daze to do absolutely anything but smile at the mere thought of you. forcefully, percy bites down on his bottom lip to suppress this, and when he’s calmed he slots his slips with yours successfully this time, once, twice, three times, a fourth, between each a quiet ‘I love you’ as he tries to deepen each kiss. you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, a silent plea for you to open your mouth to allow him further access to it. you do obediently.

and his, one, hand find themself in a tangle of your hair as he keeps your head impossibly closer to him, the other curling around the belt loop of your jeans. your hands, nearly similarly, are placed on his shoulders to steady yourself atop his lap. your intestines twist in your tummy, you hope in some kind of cordiform shape— that’s all you feel. even when percy pulls back only a tad, smiling against your lips, you mirror his expression and peck his lips once more before cupping his face between your hands, a simple action for you to admire him.

he does similar, resting his arms around your waist now.

“you’re really pretty, perce, do y’know that?” you peck his nose.

“I think you’re really pretty too.”

you can’t help the audible squeal that leaves your lips. you fulfill your previous desire and wrap your arms around him dramatically, relentlessly kissing the top of his head. this is, undeniably, the perfect moment.

[officialkendallroy]

happy birthday sab<333

thank you!!! ❤️❤️❤️

[idcaboutart]

inspired by Chansonnier Cordiforme

[lupeloto]

galladrabbles "to be with you"

@galladrabbles time with a prompt from @sweetbee78 : "to be with you" by mr. big !

the two lay glued to each other on the cordiform mattress despite the abundance of room on either side.

“what’s the one thing you wanna do in our first year married?” ian asks, both staring at the ceiling in comfortable silence.

mickey glances over with a warm smile, stealing a glimpse before reverting his gaze to the ceiling.

“hm. to be with you…guess that’s enough.”

“you guess, huh?” ian teases.

mickey breaks into a smile, his eyes crinkled at the sides. ian stares back in awe of the sight, his muscles officially jelly.

“it’ll do,” mickey leans closer. they melt into each other.

[mirrorsartworks]

Another dragon, this one of Grub for FR user Cordiformed!

[greengalaxy-254179]

LETS FUCKING GOOOOO!!!

Latest scatter of my Ides of March permabab... It's so good but i don't know if it matches the eyes...

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Angel Dust Redesign! (7/7)

FINALLY I AM DONE WITH THE MAIN 7 FREAKS.

Depending how I feel I might throw in some bonuses but these guys are your only guarantees! Going to be posting the full lineup separately because I don’t want to clutter this post!!

God okay where to start. I was talking about them in Husk’s post so let’s go with that. Angel’s clothing restrictions are his necklace and shoes. I might go on a bit of a tangent with this so forgive me 💔

For the necklace let me get this out of the way: yes it is a BDSM thing! I’m terrified people are going to take this as me being a weirdo but please as an adult content creator give me some space to explain before anyone jumps on me and hits me with a metal pipe. The intentions behind symbolism matter HEAVILY. I am against Vivzie’s portrayal of Angel’s abuse and the chain/collar imagery because it is blatantly either her being incredibly uncreative or her inserting her kinks into her shows. I think it is completely fine to use suggestive items in this way as long as the intentions are clear and not just there for no reason.

I would’ve probably done something else like a corset as a restriction, but I’d like to stop being so shy about Angel’s actual job. He is a pornstar and removing that outward aspect of him is taking a big chunk of his character away. I need more people to acknowledge that Angel enjoys sex and actively wanted to explore this side of himself. With the slip chain however, I would also like to portray how things Angel enjoys in his job have been used against him and made him come to resent what he does when he is forced into it. I think thats a pretty understandable thing to show.

This is harder to explain but the gist of it is just don’t be afraid to acknowledge Angel’s job. It’s okay to use sexual things as metaphors. Have you heard any christian song ever/hj

Alright with that out of the way, with the shoes. Angel’s feet are a large insecurity and discomfort of his which already makes his shoes some sort of restriction on their own, however if controlled, they can be made to stumble forward, fall over, etc. I wanted to show how Angel has freedom to go mostly wherever he pleases, though once again, that free will can be taken away very quickly.

I hated his suit so all suiting is gone entirely. He’s supposed to look attractive or eye catching at the very least. I’ve also added back the outer fangs he had in my first redesign!

I am much happier with the new one in comparison to this old guy. I know it’s only a few months old but you can really see how differently I draw him and the details I pay attention to more like the shape of his hair. Aside from the old one! I wanted Angel himself to still keep the reddish pink to show wrath and destain being masked as lust, except now his clothing is actually the pinkish-purple lust colour and it covers more eye grabbing parts of his body like the chest, hands, hips, and so on.

I don’t think I’ve ever outwardly mentioned Angel having polycoria but he does and it’s probably my favourite feature to draw aside from his hair. About the hair and fur: Angel used to have spots and basic stripes before his contract with Valentino, where afterwards they began to curl into their cordiform shapes. Most physical overlord changes with hair and skin tend to not go away, so depending on who you make a contract with it’s either a fun perk or a sort of scar.

Once again, not sure if I will be continuing with anymore in this specific lineup, but if I do end up posting more of these I really hope you like those too! 💣

[delicatuscii-wasbella102]

Cordiform Pebbles

[clownngore]

Fullbody flat colour for @cordiformed on Flight Rising!!

[xoxochb]

⋆·˚ ༘ * you drew stars around my scars

warnings: intimate as fuck like I literally don’t know what possessed me to write this 😭 pairing: percy jackson x daughter of zeus a/n: me 🤝🏼 making random percy fics for no reason

“what about this one?”

percy points to a cordiform scar landing on your waist. the story behind it wasn’t complex, except it could be if you wondered why it was in the shape of a heart

“I got that the day I met you. do you remember that awful thunderstorm?” you explain, your voice a whisper as well as percy’s

percy nods and traces his finger over the scar. “why’s it a heart?”

“I don’t know”

percy’s hand trails to another scar on your thigh, what would’ve been under your shorts before you pulled them up slightly to reveal it to percy

“and this one?”

“I had an argument with my father. hera didn’t know about me so he wanted to kill me before she did”

“really?” percy looks up at you and you give him a nod in return before his eyes trail back down to the rest of your legs, stopping at another scar, this one star-shaped. his fingers trace over the sides of it, making a star of his own

“a monster attack. I struck him but earned a scar in return. that’s how I got away with my life, zeus cursed me with a scar everytime I use my powers”

percy frowns. “I hate him”

you sigh and turn around, pulling your shirt over your head to show percy the collection of scars you had received on your back, the cold air of cabin three hitting you instantly. his finger starts at the bottom, the small of your back where a lightning bolt had been embedded in your skin

“when I got claimed”

percy leans down and places a kiss over it, you shiver at the action and he laughs. his finger runs up to the middle of your back where a larger scar lands, he kisses one side and the other and then continues his finger up your back. you move your hair over your shoulder so he can reach the scar only slightly above your lacy bra. he places another kiss to that one too. you turn back around to show him the one on the front of your shoulder, an additional kiss there also before his lips trail up your neck and to your jaw before claiming your lips

percy allows his hands to rest on your waist, one finger rubbing over the same cordiform scar he had seen before. you fall back onto the bed slowly, not once disconnecting your lips. your hands tangle in percy’s hair and you savor every moment of this. the scars had most definitely been worth it

[qulizalfos]

[runs in after abandoning my blog all week and throws this on the table] HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYLI @wayward-sherlock PLEASE ACCEPT THIS FICLET AS A SYMBOL OF MY GRATITUDE TOWARDS HOW FUCKINF AWESOME U ARE ALWAYS <3 I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BTW!!! anyways i hope u enjoy 2k of college byler shenanigans :) mwah

home (is wherever you are tonight)

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you're here, you—” “It’s Valentine’s Day, right?” The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t about to explode.

You’d think Mike would have scrounged together a better sense of how to backpedal when he’s about to do something incredibly stupid. 

He’s trying not to think too hard about how quickly they rattle off in his head, the world’s most inconvenient list of reminders. What is wrong with you? We’re just�� not in the mood right now. You’ve been on the bench all year. Not for the first time he’s gritting his teeth and wondering if it would have been entirely too much to ask for him to have acquired, by now, some intricate sixth sense for recklessness. He’s well aware that there’s no cosmic cure against the potency of his own mistakes, but he’d take anything to help him generally steer clear of these specific situations.

Encounters with murderous, eldritch entities ought to do that to a person. In his —for the record, totally impartial— opinion.

No goddamn dice, he thinks as he raises a fist to knock.

Maybe it is different, he supposes, because he’s less consumed by a wave of defensive volatility and less likely to bury the truth at the first sign of scrutiny, recoil at any chance of being left behind, and more willing to stop before he gains too dangerous an amount of momentum. It still happens, obviously— (case in point: now, loitering in an empty corridor, bland wallpaper finding a way to make it look like it’s laughing down at him, shifting his weight as he waits) he’d just convinced himself he had it more under control.

It’s ridiculous anyway. This whole thing is clearly careening towards a setup for a copious amount of slip ups on his part. But, it’s whatever.

Will’s probably out, anyway, he considers, belatedly.

It’s Valentine’s Day, —granted, a Wednesday evening dragging by with a sluggish, hazy quality— but a significant date all the same. Will is, Mike hedges, almost definitely out, maybe with the mystery guy in their joint history lecture, whose name Mike neglected to wheedle out of him last week. Maybe they’re both walking home from some fucking café, and Will would be getting cold like he does when the threat of snow looms at every waking moment, and to make matters worse, the other guy might do something sickeningly romantic like wind his scarf around Will’s neck, all while Mike’s standing at his dorm door like an idiot.

It’s possible he’s not very committed to the whole “breathe” thing El suggested, the day before the sky turned blue again, the day he was most convinced it never would again.

He threads a nervous hand through the disaster-prone section of his hair, hoping to smoothen it out, as he lifts his clenched hand, setting his face in concentration and aiming to knock one more time, and—

He has to flinch back to avoid accidentally punching Will in the face with his knock. Needless to say, that would be pretty counterproductive.

Will. Standing in front of him, soft furrow between his brows, loose sweater, lips parted.

He’s beautiful.

He shoves the thought to the side. It’s not the safest one to have when Will is less than two feet in front of him.

“Mike?”

It hits him about an hour too late: Maybe it’s ironic, how this holiday, composed entirely of spontaneous lovesick bullshit and cordiform chocolate boxes, doesn’t warrant him showing up at someone’s door unannounced. Not when it’s already 7pm.

It isn’t that he hadn’t brought that into consideration, just that now it’s not just an inkling in the back of his mind he has to ignore if he has any hope of getting ready with minimal distraction, but a real, pressing concern, and—

Will’s face splits into a grin, and the thought vanishes as quick as it came.

“Hey,” Mike tries, too hastily. The longer Will stands, just blinking at him, the further Mike burrows his hands into the pockets of his jackets.

He snaps out of it fairly quickly, and the expression has melted into something pleasantly surprised. Mike can work with that. He’s done much more with much less. “Uh— hi.”

“Are you busy?” Mike cranes a neck to peer around Will’s shoulder, unsure of what he’s looking for but appreciating the lack of anything all the same. “If you’re busy, I’ll totally come back, to— fuck, maybe not tomorrow, you have that—”

“Mike.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not busy,” he says with bright eyes, stepping back from the door to accommodate him. “I— don’t just stand there, come in, of course I’m not busy. Why, what’s up?”

“Thought maybe you were off at a candlelit dinner,” Mike remarks, because it’s easier to get out than the other thing, kicking off his shoes and trying not to think too hard about Will, the same Will in the same shadowy alcove as him, whose expression is tinged with fondness, at dinner; with warm lighting and a muted hum of chatter and someone else sitting across from him. “With the fancy napkins.”

“I think I would’ve mentioned the horrors of scraping together enough money for anything like that,” he says, and Mike’s efforts at miming cradling the aforementioned, hypothetical napkin receive a raised eyebrow. “Seriously, is something going on? If Max—”

“Nothing’s happening,” Mike tells him, passing him out and swiveling around to keep walking backwards, reversing into the couch and pretending he didn’t whack his knee as he drops onto it, picking at the edge of the nearest cushion, sprawling out as much as he can manage to. “Which is precisely why I’m here. Well, one of the reasons.”

Will hums, folding his arms and leaning on the back of the couch, contemplative. It has no right to be as endearing as it is. “Are there a lot of reasons?”

“I’m not allowed to visit you anymore?” Mike jokes. “Should I have called and given you a week’s notice?” He sits up, relishing the back and forth. “Should I—”

“No, you’re just… I dunno.” Will pokes his shoulder and skirts the couch, settling in the space Mike makes for him. “You seem nervous. Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Shit.

Mike lets out what may be considered as the fakest laugh he’s ever mustered, darting his eyes away and plastering on a frown. He gives a half-hearted attempt at an unconvinced, hopefully somewhat assuring scoff, tugging free the crease that’s formed at the ankle of his jeans. “What makes you say that?” he asks. He’d like to describe it as nonchalant. Maybe he’s not as good at hiding as the boy in front of him, but he’s been sidestepping the obvious for what feels like his whole life. He’s had more than enough practice.

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you’re here, you—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, right?”

The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t trying its damndest not to explode. Again, counterproductive.

Will’s mouth drops open a little, the line of his body stock still, and just hovers there, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes Mike’s face, and the room slips into little more than a backdrop. Mike searches his eyes for a sign that’s not there. He lifts a hand from where it’s resting on a dark green cushion, weighing the implications and consequences of reaching out against the part of him that doesn’t want to consider technicalities until far, far later. The moment stretches, engraving itself into Mike’s memory. 

And then it shatters.

Will slumps back, clearing his throat twice in rapid succession, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in diplomacy. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Mike’s throat feels unreasonably dry. “Nope,” he says, omitting any mention of the crisis he’d had marching down the hall, questioning whether he’d gotten the date wrong and everything would blow up in his face tenfold, and just drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“So—” Will frowns, “what are you trying to say?”

This was all going much smoother during the numerous rehearsals in his head. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he parrots, trying not to think about Will’s sharp inhale too much, “and I haven’t done something on Valentine’s Day for years, and you’re free, and I’m free, and…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I don’t know, I thought we could hang out.” 

Silence.

It’s about to backfire, he can sense it, so he rushes to add: “In solidarity.”

“Right,” Will says, faraway. Mike sort of needs to run outside and scream for an untold amount of time.

“Doesn’t have to be super special,” he says, sensing the need for a prompt change in subject. “Unless you want it to be special, but I just figured— like, what were you gonna do before I came?”

Will glances at him once, quizzical, but drops it. 

—

It’s a short walk from the dorm to the closest Circle K, and one spent wrapped up in pleasant, amicable conversation, catching up on the various aspects of each other’s lives that aren’t entwined already, and about halfway there Will stoops to tie his shoelace. As Mike waits he considers how scary it could be if he dwells too long on how noteworthy the most mundane tasks become in Will Byers’ company.

They wander inside, Mike leaning on the door to open it for Will in what he hopes is a courteous manner, and trails down an aisle beside Will, the faint beat of a trashy pop song barely covering the echo of their footsteps on the tiles.

“Just the sodas?” Mike checks, swerving to avoid a display stacked high.

“Yeah,” Will says, nabbing a coke and gesturing to the fridge. “Take your pick.”

Mike reaches for a 7Up.

“Knew it,” Will says, something indecipherable in his tone. And then he’s extending a hand, covering Mike’s for a split second — long enough for an odd sensation to bloom in his ribs, but short enough for him to want to say, fuck it, and tangle their fingers, but Will teases the can out of his grip, leaving Mike with a cool smear of condensation on his palm.

“We can pool our resources,” Mike quips as Will deposits the cans on the counter. The cashier flicks a lazy glance at them and tells them the price. “I have a quarter.”

“Generous of you,” Will observes, producing a crumpled dollar note from his back pocket.

They settle on a wall outside, and Mike kicks the solid stone intermittently with his dangling heels, sipping away as Will starts to talk. The sky runs like spilled ink above them, perforated with only a smattering of stars and a few dark clouds, but Will is bathed in the gold ring of a streetlamp. There’s a lull in conversation, but it’s fine. Mike’s content to stay here all night.

“This was nice,” he says, in lieu of everything else.

Will bumps against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

A tiny droplet of rain lands on Mike’s nose, and three more freckle more of his exposed skin. A low fizz kicks up, drilling into the gray landscape surrounding them, and more dots pepper on the wall.

“Yeah.”  Will turns away. Mike scans the area around them, but they’re alone save for a few empty chip packets strewn across the concrete. Will’s gorgeous. Mike can’t explain it, but he knows when warmth floods your veins it’s a sign that merits extra morosis, and his intentions are in the right place, and it’s so hard to steer himself in any direction other than pitching forward and propping up a hand on the other side of Will’s jaw. Mike doesn’t let himself think too much of it as he presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

It’s as short-lived as it is sweet: Will’s answering gasp, all wide eyes and questions in every line of his face, the beads of rain on his skin, near lucent in the orange lighting, the tickle of his bangs getting in Mike’s eyes a little when he turns.

And then Will’s breaking away to set down his Coke, and closing the gap between them.

Truthfully, Mike didn’t know that kissing could feel like this. It seems like something so untouchable, so far from what’s in his own comprehension of the world, that finding this kind of warmth could happen, but Will’s slinging an arm around his back and all coherent thoughts promptly dissolve in the now steadily falling rain.