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mattivray · 3 months

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⠀ ⠀ ⋆ ⠀ ✶ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ╱ composições originais de matilda ray rosenthal . ੭

𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. matilda sempre foi conectada a escrita. ela sempre adorou a ideia de ter diários e escrever tudo o que podia sobre o mundo neles. para uns blogs, para outros amigos a quem nem sempre se devia contar tudo ― para ela papel reciclado, canetas coloridas e post-its com notas de rodapé que a maioria das vezes incluía pensamentos súbitos. por um período, na adolescência, ela se conectou com a música ( através de um clube de coral no ensino médio ) e arriscou postar alguns vídeos online, cantando covers de artistas que admirava, mas ela nunca aparecia em tela. era apenas a voz, colagens de imagens temáticas e um nome falso: ella, tal qual fitzgerald, uma das favoritas de sua mãe. a coragem de assumir a paixão por cantar veio do acampamento ― e da influência de um grupo de semideuses que, junto com ela, formavam o ungodly hour, uma banda no maior estilo fundo de garagem, atração nas festinhas clandestinas do acampamento e certamente #1 para quem adora se reconhecer nas dores de cotovelo, corações partidos e mentes voláteis dos outros.

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗿𝘆 : a tracklist de canções a seguir são tomadas de artistas reais e utilizadas dentro da dinâmica do jogo como canções originais de matilda, com possíveis colaborações de membros da banda. caso haja alguma composição que corresponda com a de fcs utilizados no rpg e o mesmo pretenda usar para desenvolvimento próprio basta entrar em contato para comunicar.

💔 : 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 .

001. love is embarrassing 🅴 ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) a música tem como inspiração uma das primeiras relações amorosas de mattie, no mundo mortal, no ensino médio; de fragmentos recolhidos do diário e mais algumas desilusões amorosas ao longo do caminho, a canção surgiu, durante um dos ensaios da banda.

002. lacy ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) inicialmente se tratava de uma poesia, até ela encontrar os acordes certos e transformar numa canção que ainda não mostrou para ninguém. a música tem com inspiração a adoração platônica que matilda desenvolveu por giselle voight ( @vcight ).

003. baby ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) a canção não chegou a ser concluída, mas foi escrita entre uma e outra, após o término entre matilda e gabriel ertois. houveram fases de reações referente ao ocorrido e no momento em que escreveu esses versos ela ainda estava dividida entre a mágoa e a culpabilidade direcionada a gabe ( @ertois ).

004. rock bottom ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal & gabriel ertois ) após encontrar algum termo de paz e confortabilidade após o término, matilda e gabriel retornaram a ser o que eram antes, amigos; e para além disso, parceiros de arte. ela apareceu com parte da música escrita e mostrou para ele, que complementou com alguns versos e transforaram em algo do qual era é totalmente apaixonada desde então.

005. bad idea, right? 🅴 ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) inicialmente era para ser uma brincadeira. era uma noite qualquer e mattie estava contando seus segredos para uma das amigas, como o fato de ter chegado ao ponto de ter recaídas com o ex namorado. a amiga disse "você deveria escrever sobre isso!" e ela imaginou why not ? talvez realizar que haviam mais pessoas que tropeçam em más ideias fosse reconfortante.

006. amelie ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) assim como lacy, essa canção não necessariamente ganhou vida como uma canção. matilda apenas começou a escrever fragmentos dela logo em seguida ao primeiro encontro que teve com aurora elysius, num verão do acampamento. elas compartilharam todo o verão juntas, até o verão acabar e tudo desaparecer no seguinte. ela finalizou o que havia começado a escrever, para tentar externalizar a confusão que sentiu com aquilo. ( @stcnecoldd ).

🪞 : 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 .

007. mess it up ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) numa sessão de reflexões, a música surgiu, entre pensamentos de sua própria culpa em relação ao que deu errado na última relação séria que teve.

008. all american b 🅴 ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal & willhelmina parrish ) chame de sessão de descarrego, mas quando mattie começou a compor essa, ela estava em sua energia mais raivosa possível. juntou com mina para complementar a veia caótica do que queria expressar, sobre as expectativas e a personificação feminina que observava, fosse dentro ou fora do acampamento ( @willeminas ).

009. jealousy, jealousy ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) pegue uma garota insegura e uma escola preparatória cheia de mortais fúteis e que acreditam que o ápice dos anos de escola são resumidos em dar voltas em carros caros e ficar de amassos com o cara do time de futebol debaixo da arquibancada. mattie nunca sentiu que pertencia e por certo tempo aquilo a encheu de inveja, por querer pertencer, ser normal; ou anormal, para os padrões básicos do ensino médio e não do tipo "meu pai é um deus olimpiano". ela escreveu essa música depois de levar um pé na bunda ao convidar um cara para o baile.

010. brutal 🅴 ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) hormônios, aflição e a divisão entre passar nas provas e não ser perseguida por um monstro aos dezessete anos. mattie uniu tudo o que havia de mais angsty nessa fase e pôs num papel ― e até que se orgulha disso.

❤️‍🩹 : 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 .

011. i wish ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) uma carta aberta sobre o luto que enfrentou com a perda da mãe, quando precisou ser cuidada pelos avós, os guardiões legais dela após o falecimento da mãe.

012. willow ٫ ໋ ( composição de matilda rosenthal ) mattie escreveu essa com as madrinhas em mente, a conexão que viu entre elas, as mulheres do pensionato em rhode island, que eram as melhores amigas de sua mãe e ajudaram em sua criação.

#˛ ⠀ ⋆ ⠀ ✶ ⠀ ⠀ ៹ ⠀ ⠀ 𝖒.𝖗. ⠀ ⠀ › ⠀ ⠀ development. ⊱#˛ ⠀ ⋆ ⠀ ✶ ⠀ ⠀ ៹ ⠀ ⠀ 𝖒.𝖗. ⠀ ⠀ › ⠀ ⠀ edits. ⊱#˛ ⠀ deu vontade de fazer algo sobre esse lado musical da mattie ~crying~#˛ ⠀ ela pondo nomes aleatório nas músicas sobre as pessoas pra fingir que é indireta

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woonova · 1 year

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📹 . ⋆ ࣪ me likey, likey, likey ݁ ៸៸ .ᐟ

◟links to pretty stuff i find on tumblr....

. ⋆ ࣪ Moodboards ݁ ៸៸ .ᐟ

◟001 | yuna by @gun-wook

◟002 | im nayeon by @iluvrei

◟003 | yves by @y-unjins

◟004 | im nayeon by @k-iuyo

◟005 | nishimura riki by @lili-yy

◟006 | yunjin by @kysbot

◟007 | yunjin by @y-unjins

◟008 | yunjin by @starmiko

◟009 | winter & giselle by @anqeliets

◟010 | yeojin by @w-onki

◟011 | im nayeon by @w-onki

◟012 | yves by @starclips

◟013 | yunjin by @fuckici

◟014 | tzuyu by @chaey2k

◟015 | yves by @chaey2k

◟016 | haerin by @wiotas

◟017 | jake by @isamiracle

◟018 | minji by @minhrts

◟019 | joy by @trivijoy

◟020 | hyein by @luapallet

◟021 | sana by @fuckici

◟022 | jeongkook by @h-aewo

◟023 | isa by @i04rei

◟024 | yves by @seolvia

◟025 | heejin by @v6mpcat

◟026 | yves by @minguukie

◟027 | j by @i08wony

◟028 | sana by @tozak-i

◟029 | jay by @s-omin

◟030 | nayeon by @y0oni3

◟031 | lia by @i08wony

◟032 | mina by @k-yujin

#𓈒 ˙ ꩜ ּ woonova⠀ . ࣪🦇 ݁#. ࣪ heart eyes ݁! ˚·

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suugrbunz · 2 months

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౨ৎ 𝐕𝗈𝗅 001. ; 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ﹗

The light of the morning sun shone onto the floral wallpaper glued to her bedroom wall. Its warmth couldn't reach her skin through her blankets, it simply splattered the world around her with more saturated hues than the dull night she had gone through. Fluttering open her eyes, her pupils flicked around the room. Searching. For what? Well, she didn't have an answer. Perhaps, she still questioned if she was home and out of the psychiatric hospital. Was it a hospital, is that what they call places like that? Either way, she'd been home for a couple of days. Lifting her torso up from the bed, she sat upright. Now, her eyes moved towards the specks of light that laid on her bed. A glint of interest sparkled in her eyes as she stared at the light. For a winter's day, the sun had shined brighter than normal. Maybe, it was all just a false hope. Give the city an hour of warmth, then mother nature will snatch it away before 12 o’clock. Shifting her fixated gaze, she looked towards the floor below. Books. Disheveled and sprawled across the floor. She had planned to buy more today. A new reason to leave the house. Isn't that what the social worker wanted of her; Interact with more people outside of ballet. There's more to life than ballet. That is what she told her. Sounds like a lie you'd tell a child to distract them from their imaginary games.

Zosa was. No. Zosa still is a first soloist at the Royal Ballet in London. The only issue is, she's been on hiatus for nearly a year. Whilst starving herself, the deterioration of her skills had become just as obvious as the bones in her body. She tried to hold on longer, grasping at whatever sanity she had left until none was left. That was when her parents and an anonymous ballet mistress had gotten in contact. As an adult, you'd never expect your parents to speak to your ballet mistress. It wasn't as if you were five and she needed to talk to them about your progress. Her last solo before being placed on a hiatus was the Dying Swan. The famous ballet had been originally danced by Anna Pavlova, choreographed by Mikhail Fokine. She asked him to choreograph the variation after observing the movements of swans. The dance itself are the final moments of a swan's life. Death. Why do humans make an art out of death— no one knows. Perhaps, humans are all obsessed with its mysterious nature. Pondering the existence of an afterlife. Within her world, within ballet, death is portrayed numerous times. Zosa's favorite portrait of death is the death of Giselle, a frantic descent into madness before her spirit is bound to a state of limbo. Betrayed by her lover. Pulling away from the warmth of the blanket, she laid it aside. For a moment, she lingered in her bed. Eyes tracing the scars on her feet, they were countless. Not that she cared enough to count the scars. Sliding out of bed, her feet touched the cold wooden floor that lay below.

Another moment would pass, she spent it observing the grain of the wood. Swearing to herself that there was a face in the pattern but there couldn't be. It was merely wood. A face without a name. Other organic shapes could be found in the grain. Their names are equally unknown. One step. It only took one step to notice the pain in her feet. Even without ballet, her feet ached. Especially during the winter months. Another step. She was headed towards the loo, hoping to ready herself for the day. Even if she felt as if she'd come undone— the world wouldn't see it.

In the loo, she avoided the sight of the mirror. There was a new pattern on the floor to focus on. Checkerboard. Pink and white.

Wouldn't it be pretty to see a chess board with such color? Silently observed Zosa.

Truthfully, she couldn't avoid the reflection forever. That's what the psychiatrist said. The validity of her statement wasn't questionable. She knew the psychiatrist was right but she wished she was wrong.

Gradually her eyes lifted from the floor. To the pipes of the sink. Then to the sink. To the faucet. Pause. Deep breath in. The mirror. There her colourless eyes lingered on her form. The imperfections grow increasingly obvious by each passing second. Zosa was somewhere between being a corpse and a normal weight. Her skin was yellow, not as yellow as before but yellow nonetheless. As for her hair, it was still brittle and thin. It wasn't like this before. Its length remained unchanged, it hung just below her hips. She feared cutting her hair— what if she’d regret it? Her mother used to tell her how her jet black hair was desirable. Luscious. That was the word Minah used.

Zosa grabbed the skinny straps of her nightgown, sliding each one off of her shoulders. The nightgown slid down her body. Again, she took a moment to study her body.

“Why did I do this?” she asked, feeling a tinge of sympathy for the girl she harmed.

Sympathy for herself was a rare occurrence. It was far easier to feel sympathetic towards someone she hadn't known the sins of. A stranger on the street. Not herself. The sight of herself made her sick. Backing away from the mirror, she stepped into the bathtub. Promptly, closing the tub off from the outside world with the pink patternless curtain. The valves of the tub squealed as she turned the water on. With the flick of a switch, the shower head began to spout water from above. The cold water hit her skin, earning a gasp from her. It was frigid. She wanted out. She poured shampoo in her hands and massaged the liquid throughout her hair. Showers at home were much better. No one watched her. Awaiting for her to use the blade of a razor to slit her skin. Instead, it was silent and in the presence of no one but herself. Except for the memories that tried to overcome the present.She ignored their persistence. What good is life if not lived in the present? The memories that chipped away at her sanity made her angry. Being pulled aside to be told she was on a hiatus until the following year. Until she was healthy. It made her want to hit her head until she'd be forced to forget it. After the announcement of her hiatus, her parents involuntarily submit her to the psych ward. That intensified the anger, or had it grown cold— to a bitter resentment?

“Who replaced me?” Zosa questioned. No one replaced her.

She could easily ask Yulia— the only ballerina who visited her during her days in the ward. They grew up together. Yulia was a dancer among the corps de ballet. A place of permanence. Within the consciousness of Zosa's mind, she could identify the jealousy she felt. How strong its grip on her had become. Yet, it was a shameful jealousy. How could someone hold an unspoken envy towards their own friend? Zosa changed the course of her thoughts. Books.

She hadn't purchased a book in nearly a year. She couldn't. The same old books had grown boring. Nearly every book she owns was memorised. Reading the same books felt indicative of her current circumstance. Stagnant. Living life in a ward without outside communication for nearly under a year. After regaining the privilege to rejoin the outside, whatever privilege that even was, she spent her days in her bedroom. Silent. Engulfed by thoughts. The thoughts felt like an untameable fire. From one suffocating place to the next— She craved freedom.

Change. That is what she needed most of all. The valve of the shower squealed once again, shutting the water off. She stepped out of the shower and her mind drifted to a new subject.

“What does it mean to be alive?” Zosa asked, looking at the towel wrapped body in the mirror.

The vessel in which she resided within didn't seem to be alive. It was merely doing the tasks that got her through a day: Wake up. Eat a small breakfast. Read the morning newspaper. Listen to the radio. Eat lunch. Read a book. Listen to music. Eat dinner. Continue reading the book. Sleep. Repeat.

She allowed for a hushed sigh to pass by her lips as she walked down the hallway.

The morning light had dimmed since the last time she was in her bedroom. It was just as she thought. Some cruel joke by Mother Nature. Lying on her bed was her cat, Dasha, she must've come in whilst Zosa was showering. The sight of the fluffy ragdoll cat warmed Zosa's heart. With Dasha around, Zosa was never truly alone. Perhaps, in some unspoken way, Dasha understood how melancholic she was. Silently, Zosa stepped towards her wardrobe, careful to not wake up her sleeping feline. She began to search through her wardrobe— she wanted to look pretty. For herself. With a light tug, she pulled a sweater off of its hanger. Followed by a pleated skirt, maxi in length. Zosa walked across the room to her dresser. In the top left drawer was a collection of different tights. Some colourful, some skin tone, and others a shade of black. Black tights with fleece lining was her choice. Warm enough for any winter day in London.

“Maybe today will be lovely or… Cold.” mumbled Zosa, pulling the pair of tights up her legs one at a time.

Secondly, she slid the skirt up her legs, followed by pulling her sweater over her head. Warm. The sweater was wonderfully warm. Eyes drifting back to her dresser, she looked towards the jewelry box that sat on top. It was full of pieces of jewellery her father had crafted over the years. He was a jeweler. Quite renowned. His father was a jeweler, not in London. In the Soviet Union, but he's passed away. Not by natural causes. Without fail, Zosa wore her father's creations. Silver rings adoring her fingers, an anatomical heart pendant on a chain clasped around her neck. Around her wrists, was a chain of faux pearls, elegant but covered by the sleeves of her sweater.

Soon, she found herself standing in front of her mirror. Brushing her hands along her skirt, wrinkles crumpled up the fabric. Gulping as she looked at herself. She matched her heels to the color of her purse— white.

“You're beautiful.” affirmed Zosa with a hushed voice. Another trick taught in that stupid psych ward. Truthfully, she wasn't sure what the day awaited for her. Other than the fact she was headed to Piccadilly for a bookstore.

“Jieun, are you going to leave the house today?” asked Minah, using Zosa's middle name. That was the name she gave her. Zosa was given by her father, Lev. It was a misspelled name, but that's a horse of another (laughable) colour.

“Yes, I am going to a bookstore.” Zosa answered, glancing around her room for one final time. Something was amiss.

“That’ll be nice, won't it?” asked Minah.

Zosa spritzed her neck with a floral perfume, the scent was nearly nostalgic. She hadn't worn the perfume in months. It was her favourite. It smelt like a bouquet of flowers she'd receive after an opening night performance at the ballet. Those were some of her most joyous memories. Turning on her heels, the girl ushered herself towards the door. Now, she was face to face with her mother. Only now did Zosa notice the obvious signs of tiredness in her mother's eyes. Was she not looking deep enough before or had she been too self-obsessed to notice?

“Oh, Jieun.” her mother glanced at her appearance. “You look wonderful.”

“Are you tired?” questioned Zosa.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Okay.”

The pair found themselves in the entryway, Minah was ready to leave for work; A kosher korean restaurant she owns and runs with the help of her older sisters.

“I’ll bring home tofu doenjang-jjigae and some other food for you, okay, my beloved?”

“Okay, mum.”

Beside the front door was a mirror, a final chance to observe your appearance before presenting it to the world. Puasing in the mirror, Minah studied her appearance for a fleeting moment. She never had an obsession with her beauty or self-perceived lack thereof. In her lifetime, she never had the chance to form such an obsession. From the corner of her eyes, she looked towards her daughter. Who's gaze avoided the mirror, instead, she'd put on her wool coat and look towards its cuffs. Normally, they were folded but they had come unfolded sometime in the last month. She never got around to fixing it. Or maybe, the coat wanted to change. But a coat cannot change itself, can it?

“I filled Dasha’s bowl this morning.”

That's why she wasn't asleep in my bed. Thought Zosa.

“I love you, Jieun… Be safe.”

“I will be safe, love you too.”

It was now Zosa stood alone, staring at the door whilst she could hear the beat of her heart echo throughout her body. Sometime between then and now, she'd grown afraid of the world. Extending her arm, her slim fingers grasped onto the handle. With a twist of her wrist, the door was open and the cold winter air rushed towards her. She couldn't avoid the outside world forever. She'd be sent back to the psych ward if she tried.. She took a step through the threshold, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes closed as she breathed in the winter air. It reminded her of the days she'd go to the park and play with her cousins. Recklessly throwing snowballs at each other while they laughed at the snow that covered their faces. What she wouldn't give to go back to such an innocent time.

The bus ride from Hampstead to Piccadilly was fifty minutes. Fifty minutes of listening to the world around her. Fifty minutes of ignoring her intrusive thoughts. The walk from the bus stop to the bookstore was another five minutes. Five minutes she'd spend wondering why the cold was such a bitter creature. Upon entering the bookstore, a bell melodically rang out. The door swung close behind her and the warmth of the store engulfed Zosa. Chasing away the miserably cold air that once nipped at Zosa's exposed skin. The scent of old parchment and weathered books mixed with candles that were infused with a vanilla fragrance. Muffled classical Christmas music played from somewhere within the store. Zosa could only assume it had been echoing from somewhere in the back, perhaps, the stockroom.

“Welcome back Zosa!” cheerfully exclaimed an old Portuguese woman. The woman's tanned face scrunched up, baffled by the willingly elusive nature of Zosa. “I collected books for you. You’e not been by in so long, I began to wonder what happened to you! You look sick?”

“I’ve been busy, so I am very tired, sorry Mrs Vazquez.” Zosa lied— she had to. No one wants to hear you were locked away in a place full of stigma. At least someone took notice of her absence. “What books have you collected for me?”

Mrs Vasquez disappeared into a backroom Zosa knew to be full of inventory. Looking around the bookstore, Zosa took comfort in seeing how little it had changed. The only difference between her last visit and this one had been the Christmas decorations. Wreaths were hung on the windows, framed by green garland, and red velvet bows.

“Here are the books I reserved for you.” announced the old woman, entering the space behind the cash register once again. In her arms was a box of books, pushing it onto the counter, she spoke. “I found some books by Fyodor Dostoevsky, in Russian, you said you speak Russian, yes?”

“Yes, I speak Russian… Where did you find them?”

The old woman slid the stack of books onto the counter space. Immediately, Zosa gently picked up one of the books, she knew this version was the one her father must've read at her age. At her age, he mustn't have spoken much English, he had only recently left a war torn nation. It was peculiar to find any media written in Russia outside of the USSR. Nonetheless, Zosa's pupils were filled with a curious glee; The books must be better in their original language. Words and their meaning can be easily lost in translation.

“Some car boot sale, up north near the Scottish border.”

“How lovely,” Zosa ran her finger across the leather cover, taking in its texture. Her eyes shifted away from the book, her lips parted. “Any horror novels?”

“No, but, you said in passing, when buying Night that your father, um, you know.” she uncomfortably hinted at the subject— hoping Zosa would understand. “So, when I found This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen, I thought it'd be best given to you.”

Lowering her gaze to the box, Zosa’s eyes of gray studied it— she knew she'd cry reading a book like This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen. With a heart full of empathy, she'd drown herself in their sorrows and what they could've been.

“How much for all the books?”

“You’ve not seen them all.”

“Yes, but, how much?”

“For you, my dear girl, I will do fifteen quid for all of them.”

“Okay, thank you.”

From her handbag she retrieved a five and a ten pound note. Only now did she notice how unkempt her purse had begun to look. Momentarily, her eyebrows knit together, confused by her own disorganisation. She didn't remember being this messy before the ward. The woman across from her cleared her throat, earning Zosa's attention. Held in front of her face was the bag of her newly purchased books. Avoiding the woman's gaze, she took hold of the bag.

“Have a lovely day, Mrs Vazquez.”

“You do the same.”

Within seconds, she began a directionless stroll down the pavement. She wouldn't go home. Not yet. It was too early to call it a day, a clock somewhere would tell her the time. The time must've been somewhere around nine, bordering on ten. If she went to a café, she could begin to read to herself in peace and silence. Spending a day alone, somewhere no one would bother speaking to her. She wouldn't grab a tea. Unless it had no sugar or cream but placing those orders always garnered strange looks from the barista. Has someone declared it a sin to place such an order? Between the order and her fatigued appearance, they must’ve had questions about Zosa. Questions she’d not answer. Glancing around herself, she searched for a café. Any would do, as long as it'd allow her to peacefully read her books.

#౨ৎ Postcards from Paris #౨ৎ Zosa Shakarova #౨ৎ Original Work

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aerishines · 3 months

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Aespa | Chopard, 2024.

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iznsfw · 2 years

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Do you know any futa! stories?

@midnightdancingsol has many in their masterlist. @fillinforlater has some too.

Here are some from them and from other talented writers:

[The one] who won ft. Chaehyun!, Dayeon!, x Gaeul by fillinforlater

Let Temptation Overtake You ft. Giselle x Ningning! by @seungheesenglish / @writingsomesin

Sweet Talking ft. Olivia Hye! x F. Reader by midnightdancingsol

[JJN-001] ft. Kim!Lip, Heejin! x F. Reader by midnightdancingsol

Acm De La Vie ft. Yves! x M. Reader

Greedy, Needy ft. Suhyeon! x Sheon x F!Reader by midnightdancingsol

In the Still of the Night (In the Cool Moonlight) ft. Karina! x Min! x Jeong!

[These] two [won] too ft. Kep1er! and IVE! by fillinforlater

A Show For Daddy ft. Yves! x Chuu by @sinswithpleasure

#ask #anon

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reddhaed · 10 months

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you’re the most interesting person i’ve ever met ( from giselle! )

it draws a giggle out of her. it's the most fun she's had in a while, linking her arm with giselle's, just a small stroll around the town heading back to sera's place ( her husbands, she wants to remind herself ) her head tilts, looks at giselle and sera for once has hope. she is hopeful that her life doesn't end here, in a marriage she did not want with a husband she feels nothing but disdain for. she glows underneath the praise. "oh stop it." she fakes modesty, it's what she is used to do. "-i do have to say, flattery will get you very far with me." she winks at giselle. but the words got to her. she felt them and rang something pretty between her chest. it's something flowery and soft. she looks down for a moment, maybe shy in a way sera usually isn't. she stops walking. and takes a moment, sincerity also unusual, but carried heavy in her voice. "-but thank you. i believe words are just said, without thought. and what matters is what one does not what they say, however, you mean so much to me, giselle, you're important to me. and so very much more interesting than any of the people i have to interact with in the daily, i'm grateful to have met you. truly."

@immobiliter

#/ * tagged — 💋 ( beware the redhead ) ic .#/ * tagged — 💋 askbox *answered .#/ * tagged — 💋 verse. 001 / sea salt wind in your hair / let loose babe you made it ( main )#( how to get sera to say how she feels )#( be giselle i guess )#( anyways i am obsessed with them )#immobiliter #immobiliter / giselle .#/ * tagged — 💋 queue .

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hyperannotation · 1 year

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HYPER-ANNOTATION #001

from glitch writing to posthuman porno

contributors: wayne mason, alan sondheim, d.m. mitchell, ellie chou, made in dna, francisco borges, giselle bolotin, bec lambert, n.casio poe, sophia yung, tom bland, dan mcneil, kirill azernny, hallidonto, hister grant, tod foley, cæla Ⓥ, david roden, zak ferguson, andrew c. wenaus, kristine snodgrass, akua, miyazaki tatsuya, charles thomas carter, david kuhnlein, julio aliseda, alvin tung, pharmakustik, timothy burns, matt burns, shaun lawton

cover artwork: akua

publisher: kenji siratori

ISBN: 978-1-387-30578-0

#literature #magazine #kenji siratori #posthuman

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yumiscx · 2 months

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𝗔𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗮 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝘁

001-Giselle can’t cook

002-??

003-??

More to add….

Masterlist

#aespa #aespa group chat #aespa reader #chaos #aespa giselle #aespa ningning #aespa winter #aespa karina #aespa x reader

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limalatina · 3 months

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:: all's fair in love & carnival games ➢ f2f 001.

❝ ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕕, 𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕖…𝔾𝕠 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝, 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦. ❞ ❤️

Of all the cringeworthy ideas attributed to the university, this one by far had to be the worst. Heart-shaped knickknacks, pink tinsel, and fairy lights lined the stalls along the pathway. Students acted like lovesick idiots while posing for cheesy couple photos. The whole thing made Santana feel tacky by association. She hated herself for even agreeing to come, instead of denying Rachel as usual. The two had spent over an hour meandering around, taking in the sights and the attractions. Her friend made several attempts to get her to crack a smile and have fun, most of which Santana ignored. She took the opportunity when Rachel seemed distracted to slip away. She would text her later explaining she wasn't feeling well and she'd be off the hook.

Santana had been in a funk for a few weeks now. She'd thrown herself into schoolwork instead of socializing with friends. Not even an impromptu trip to the nail salon had the same desired effect it used to. She didn't know why her mood change was so drastic, but it all started when her ex showed back up in town. Something about Giselle avoiding her got under her skin. Call her a spoiled brat or whatever — she wasn't used to not getting what she wanted. She'd tried to swallow her pride and temper that big ego of hers for the sake of holding a conversation; Giselle wouldn't let up, though. It felt like it was time for a new approach.

Santana messaged Giselle asking if she'd like to meet up, only to get shot down again. This time, by a not-so-nicely-worded poem. She could've called her mom and asked her to ping her location, but that seemed excessive, even for a madwoman like her. After some time passed with no response, she was content to give up and go home. The black Dior boots she had on weren't very functional, and while her look was stylish, it failed to withstand the dipping temperatures. She decided to seek refuge indoors and warm herself up with some hot chocolate instead. Santana hadn't expected to stay long, not with that shrill carnival music making her want to commit murder, but as fate would have it, she spotted Giselle sitting alone at one of the tables.

In that moment, she wished for something stronger in her cup to calm her nerves. It'd been three years since they'd spoken directly, having severed all ties following their breakup. Santana didn't know what sort of reaction she was in for. She'd intended to find out, though. Despite that nagging voice in her head that told her not to get caught back up in this whirlwind.

Santana ordered another hot chocolate before making her way over. She placed the cup down gently enough to not spill it, then propped an arm up on the table so she was hovering on one side of Giselle. "I took the liberty of adding sugar since you obviously don't like to play nice these days. All I ask is if you don't like it, please refrain from throwing it in my face. It took me forever to do my hair this morning." Her tone was playful while still rife with sarcasm: a Santana Lopez specialty. She switched positions then and slid into the bench on the opposite side of the table. When she finally made eye contact with Giselle, that overabundance of confidence faltered for just a moment. The realization hit her like a freight train. The woman sitting across from her was still the most beautiful thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

It took her a minute to recover, but she played it off the best she could. Complimenting Giselle now would only sound disingenuous and make her look like a sap. "When you didn't message me back, I figured you were busy. It's good to know you're still just dodging my texts. Old habits die hard, I guess." Communication had never been either of their strong suits, but they were fools to think not talking would solve any of their problems. "So, are you here alone or...?"

@wmu-giselle

#𝐯𝐢.⠀ ⸻⠀ ❝⠀interaction!#( w/ giselle clarke. )#( f2f: giselle c. )#( valentine's day 2024. )#this got longer than i expected so no need to match length lol

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za-baransu · 1 year

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LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. repost & tag away !

tagged by: stole it from another one of my blogs ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) tagging: @holyfated | @huntiburon - @quirofiliac | @mortul | @pwophet - @zombiigrl | @fenixias - @tatarfora - @kenpxchi - @maskierd - @barzh - @destructivour - @cinghialefedele - @biskael - @lunarscaled - @despairforme - @semplicementerojuro - @baishouqijia - @hakuteiken - @ichigokurosaki [ and whoever wants to, just say i tagged you/hit me over the head with a tag leading here, this post is already long a f ]

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. alienation / isolation.

002. stoical / serious.

003. self-confident.

004. pride.

005. reverence / faith.

GREETINGS / LANGUAGE PATTERNS:

001. outsiders. it depends on who they are, but usually he will be polite, distanced and nuanced. will introduce himself completely and then proceed, within consideration of the surrounding and what they want from his Majesty.

002. enemies / opposites. here he has the polite behaviour to introduce himself completely as well, but only if the person is actually worth the trouble, otherwise, he will not spare a single thought or more than a few remarks, more or less only regard them with provocations, with manipulations.

003. comrades. he usually, if not for a very few exception, addresses comrades with their full name and, in specific cases, also with titles and reminders of hierarchy: specifically with Yhwach Bach. A few exceptions from the ‘rule’ when it comes to the full name would be ( as per my own development as well ): Bazz-B, Giselle/Gigi and Cang, but those are development specific for this blog.

004. he does have a very accentuate speech pattern, and will not talk around a topic even if some would want that from him. he is blunt, no matter with who, even including His Majesty (Ch. 514: Yhwach: “Haschwalth. Why didn’t you tell me, if you realized?” - Jugram: “I knew that trying to stop you would be useless.”) and will speak his mind on any occasion given.

005. depending on who he is talking to, he will make to lecture them, to question their wisdom, pull out their flaws and make sure that they realise the error of their ways. what could be regarded as ‘friendly’ behaviour with his comrades, is nought else but a manipulation tactic and at times sheer cruelty, taking off a person’s fighting morale with a few words. (Ch. 496: Hidetomo: “Are you mocking the Gotei 13!? I’m telling you to stop!!” - Jugram: “Don’t you realize? You’re so scared that you’ve been talking about “stopping” me, and not “killing” me. But this war has already started.” & Ch. 551: Jugram to Nanao: “You shouldn’t have just created this technique. You should have perfected it so that everyone else could master it too. If you had done so, the other captains would have died in a fight instead of just being executed like this.”)

COLORS:

001. white, especially depending on his attire and general look

002. black, in small contrasting highlights, also he owns capes that are in deep black

003. green, very light in colour, as his eyes are a pale green.

004. accents of gold throughout his whole attire with the belt and sash being the most obvious.

005. red, for distinctive reasons.

SCENTS:

001. smoke, the way it would stay after a big fire, the way it would linger in someone’s clothes, in their hair, in the walls of their homes, impossible to get out. but it is fine, nearly a scent imperceptible if people aren’t really attentive.

002. the heavy metallic scent of blood.

003. freshly fallen snow, due to Silbern always being coated by a thin layer of ice and snow. it kind of mixes naturally with the other ones.

004. the fine scent of tanned leather.

005. petrichor.

CLOTHING:

001. the usual Vandenreich attire, a slight change to the Sternritter’s typical overcoat with additional accents in green and gold all over it.

002. a long floorlength cloak with a hood and a mask he used when they invaded Soul Society for the first time and he confronted Yamamoto in the beginning of the war, albeit the mask is overall absent after this encounter and was only meant to be used in that instance.

003. he does however, besides his cloak own a signature deep black cape that is a stark contrast to the rest of his white attire and is, apparently, only owned by him and also seen later only on Uryu Ishida.

004. private: he often wears normal dress shirts and dress pants, usually because they are fitted and have a soft material to them, due to higher quality. they are in lighter colours, not much different from his general outfit, but lack the heaviness and the officiality of his actual Sternritter outfit

005. as a child and teenager: practical clothing, easy to hunt in, in colours that would hide him from the ‘prey’ [ dark greens, browns ], usually, especially when he was a child, a bit too big for him, showing that he likely just took them from someone else [ i.e. his uncle ].

OBJECTS:

001. his broadsword as well as his Freundesschild

002. one of the Sternritter medaillons. he likely wouldn’t need nor really use it if not ordered to take a specific Captain’s bankai, but he has it with him sole for the fact that it is a part of the Sternritter attire.

003. the button Bazz gave him when they were still children, he does have it on the hilt of his sword.

004. as he does indulge in sketching and taking notes here and there; in private he can be found with even all he needs for that [ always a notebook and various drawing utensils ], mostly also taking notes depending on a hobby of his that has to do with studying old fighting styles [ japanese and european ]. he takes notes and makes sketches depending on that, but he’s actually rather skilled

005. for a pastime he would do with very few people and I would also say, in a timeline quite a bit before the events leading to the war, he would have different kinds of liqueurs in his quarters [ mostly all from over europe and in kind: brandy, gin, rum, vodka and whiskeys ], as well as a nice set of engraved glasses to go with it [ up to 4 ]. he would only drink in company and very rarely and mostly with the likes of Bazz, Cang and Quilge.

VICES / BAD HABITS:

001. mental sadism / cruelty. as simple as it may be, as I described above, Jugram is perfectly capable of taking a situation and turning it into a living nightmare for another person, pulling out the information as he needs it. lecturing them, bringing up distress, using everything in his way to make them fall apart and falter. it doesn’t even need to be physical [ even tho he truly does not shy away from that as well ], his intellect is enough to break near to everybody. and it also does not matter who it is, if he feels that it is needed, he will deliberatly and remorselessly go about his way, no matter if with friend or foe.

002. a form of fanaticism. Yhwach is his God, the Vandenreich his religion, he will make sure that everybody follows it the same way as he does, going as far as to have it indoctrinated into everybody around that they are nothing else but sacrifices for his Majesty

003. wrath / ire. even tho rare, when it happens, it turns out to be [ nearly ] a problem for him, as his attention and mind can get clouded from the sheer force of this emotion. on the other hand, it makes it even worse to engage with him, as he is brutally powerful and having him on the brink or even beyond anger will make it nearly impossible to stand up against him in a fight

004. callousness. due to his upbringing, he is often shown with little to no concern to those around him, also with no real regard to what is happening once he steps onto the battlefield. if orders are given, they will be fulfilled, consequences [ specifically for those around him ] are to be damned. while he can show compassion for those in his closer care [ aka the Sternritter ] even they will need to live with the fact that he will appear detached and nearly as cold as the ice around them

005. arrogance / pride. he is fully aware of his potential. of his worth inside the organisation and moves as well as shows himself accordingly. his pride can be alarming and while he is not someone to boast, he still will outright say and confirm what the other person expects from him, easily to be read by outsiders as hubris (Ch. 547: Shunsui, talking about his new position of as the Captain Commander: “I just took up the post, so maybe you didn’t know yet. ...Or you did know and that’s why you came here?” - Jugram: “I did. I came here first for that that reason.”)

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. standing very straight, hands usually relaxed at his side, he doesn’t have anything to hide and his overall posture shows that.

002. near to no facial movement, except for very extreme situations (like being called back towards Silbern, Ch. 559 or his attempt to stop Bazz, Ch. 634), it is hard to bring him out of his nearly upsetting calm

003. he does have, albeit, a tendency to fiddle with small things, like tracing the engravings in his sword hilt, or just placing his hand on the hilt in general to feel the structure there. it is incredibly minor and only those who know him on a very personal level will even realise it

004. crossing his legs while sitting, it never depends on who he is talking to, this is a very normal habit for him, due to being relaxed and knowing what he can do, albeit it’s just a leisurely gesture.

005. an addition that is not body language but, to his voice: he speaks particularly low and nearly too soft, it can be seen as gentle for some and as monotonous or disinterested for others, what pretty much depends on the situation and the people he is with.

AESTHETICS:

001. minimalist. very simple and very clean, he usually likes to keep everything in order too, keeping it practical for him to use

002. architecture. as a stark opposite to minimalist, when it comes to architecture and his enjoyment of such, the more ornaments, the more intrigue around it, the better for him, as long as he can let his eyes wander and rest for a while, his interest will be piqued, he is particularly fond of european architecture around the 19th century [ see: Sagrada Familia ]

003. clean and aesthetically pleasing looks, but still with a bit more. he likes to watch people, even if he seems uninterested in their behaviours, likes to have his eyes follow something, maybe being a bit too scrutinising. it’s just a habit to read what is given to him.

004. a good conversation. it doesn’t matter what it is about, it also, at times, doesn’t matter with who it is [ allies and enemies alike ], as long as he finds his mind suitably entertained, he is willing to engage.

005. seasons. as much as the Vandenreich is not a Kingdom where the seasons would officially change, what with it being clad in a neverending winter, he finds the concept change of seasons appealing and interesting enough to ‘chase’ them, when he knows they happen and he has the time to do so. his favourite would be, aside from winter, autumn.

SONGS:

001. Ammunition - Krewella.

002. Play with Fire - Sam Tinnesz.

003. Petrichor - Koven.

004. Time is Running Out - Muse.

005. Revolution - Unsecret.

#☆ [ headcanon ]#[ this is a lot but i still love this thing a lot #done it on nearly every blog i ever owned LMAO #no pressure tho :) if people don't want to do it #it's all good too! ]#[ hello my name is ramona and i do have a few more of these LMAO #albeit this here is like the longest one ]

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