He shot up from bed, propping himself up the mattress almost immediately once he finally got himself to wake up from the thought; the thought that was more than a nightmare to begin with.
He’s visibly breathing heavily, the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead as he didn’t even bother to wipe it off, his focus concentrated on the rapid rising of his chest and on how he could dispose such images in his mind that won’t leave him.
“Please — please tell me you’re there.”
Harry mumbled under his breath, his head turning over to see your figure still laid beside him that just stirred, being woke up from the excessive movements he possessed from the sheer panic he had.
He’s trying to compose himself as the pit in his stomach won’t leave him instantly, trying to calm himself too that it’s getting too much, seeing for a moment that it’s 2 A.M. that made him realize how much it kept hin up, on how much he thought of it as he went to bed with it.
Harry turned to you, his fingers fiddling with the rings he kept on as the words to say are already on the tip of his tongue waiting to be said, knowing that he really isn’t clear in the tides as your voice is distant.
It’s from the yells from the fight awhile ago and he knows it. It’s from the tiredness within you that made him doubt why you aren’t even mad at him anymore since he thinks you’re so used to being let down.
It’s because of him and he knows it.
“S'nothing — go back to sleep, love.”
Harry thinks it’s pathetic of why he even said the words he did while ago, especially his recent statement that even you wouldn’t buy, a reason clearly prevailing that made you awake suddenly in the wee hours of morning.
It was only a tilt of your head that confirmed your thoughts, your eyes set on him softly as he felt his voice go little, his heart sinking as he thought of it more.
“Had the dream that you left.”
He corrected himself, seeing to it as more of a nightmare that made him glad he woke up before it even continued, looking at you as he awaited your reaction.
Harry wanted to observe every bit of what’s beside him; the one on his bed, the one inside his house, and the one that’s his home.
He’s looking at you whose mouth is slightly agape and whose figure is rested delicately against a pillow propped to the headboard, fazed by the happening.
And dear God, he isn’t kidding.
Harry’s afraid to lose you.
He watched you look down on the comforter that’s covering your lap, the lump on your throat being swallowed as a little sleepy smile appeared on your face that made his heart warm and the uneasiness in his chest being slowly lifted up.
He didn’t know how he got so lucky to deserve someone who’s sticked with him even if there were instances that made you feel on rock bottom, being there as someone he’d look up to in adoration.
They were two simple words that Harry heard but he was extremly comforted and gratified by it, letting his hand envelope yours that reached out to him in consolation.
Hello! It's great to see another scenario blog so I wish you all the luck! May I have a scenario where Sanji and shy his s/o are flirting in the kitchen? Thank you!
Hi! And thank you so much!
“Guess what?” You hummed lightly while fiddling with the bottom hem of your shirt, not paying attention to your lover, who was currently cooking, as usual.
“I’m making your favorite cake, just for you.” Your eyes opened a little wider, and you shuffled your feet in the air, the chair just a bit to tall for you.
“An…entire cake? For me?” Sanji chuckled, internally screaming with how cute you were. Bless your heart; such a beautiful, shy soul you were.
The blonde hummed in the positive.
“Yes, all for you. Unless…” You looked up at him in confusion as he suddenly stopped mixing the batter. Swiveling around with ease, he advanced towards you. He only stopped when he leaned over the counter, noses touching.
“…You would like to share it with me tonight, my love…?~”
You squeaked in surprise, burying your face into your hands. Sanji chuckled with adoration.
“Hmm?” He replied smoothly. You tried your best to dispose of the…certain images dancing around in your head, which only worsened your blush.
“That’s d-dirty!” The other smiled, his eyes flickering over your smaller form. He found it absolutely adorable how your body tended to scrunch up when flustered, as if you wanted the floor to swallow you up with embarrassment. No matter how many times you’ve done this, never once did it become old. And never once did he regret making such a fetching young lady such as yourself his officially.
But one thing he loved the most was the dark scarlet blanketing the tips of your ears when you blushed. You almost looked a rosy elf that way, which, when he called you that, caused you to perform the origin of the nickname every time. Again, never once did it become old.
Stalking around behind you, you didn’t seem to notice his incredibly agile feet move him away from you. Peaking between your fingers, your gaze was met with anything but your partner. Ripping your hands from your face, you looked around frantically for him.
“H-hey, where’d you go?” A pair of slender arms circled around your fragile frame, squeezing you so very carefully to a strong chest. Hot breath was felt down your neck.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m right here~” Sanji hummed, nuzzling the warm skin of your neck. Your body tensed as you felt his nose prod the flesh, then his lips. He worked his way up, planting ghosts of kisses to your ears; his target.
“Oh, my my (F/n), you’re ears are so warm. Are you feeling okay?” You puffed out your cheeks in a childish pout as you felt soft lips run over the shell of your ear. Even though he did this every chance he got, and even though your outer demeanor showed irritance for it, you were secretly a blushing mess inside. The way he flirted with you was so physical. Anything with flesh to flesh contact. As long as he got to touch you. However, for the majority of the time, he did give you your space. Sanji treated you like a queen, showering you with affection every day. You thought it was cute how clingy he could be sometimes, and how he constantly reminded you that he’d do anything to keep your, “beautiful blossom of an angel” body safe. But when Sanji and you were alone, or with the rest of the crew, he never hesitated to show others that your were his through his version of flirting. It was times like these that reminded you of how…sexy…your lover could be when not showering you with compliments, complete with beating hearts in his eyes.
“S-Sanji-kun…c-cut it out…” You whined softly, too shy to assert dominance for once.
Said male smiled against your skin, and, surprisingly, instead of hugging you tighter like he usually did, he let go completely. You suddenly missed his body against yours, but with you being quite stubborn, you’d never admit it.
“Okay,” he replied smoothly. You were shocked, to say the least. However, you caught onto his little game, as his casual tone didn’t last much longer. Once he strode past you, you felt a soft slap to your behind.
I’ve been thinking a while about this thing. Since I lost my father, it has been heavily on my mind that I haven’t got a handwritten letter from him. I know friends forgot their mother’s and father’s voices, and we all wish we had something more to hold on to. So this is for people who still have their parents and are afraid of this unspeakable idea that one day they’ll be gone and there’s not much to hold on to:
Ask them to write you a letter. If you have a big event (graduation, marriage, first move away from home…) coming up, ask them to write a letter to you. They can also write a letter and keep it safe for you to read in the future.
Film them. Maybe just put a phone up for a dinner and film or record the conversations for a while. It doesn’t have to be anything special – in fact, that will make it better one day in the future.
Don’t wait for a reason. I had a reason to ask, and I still didn’t, and I was still surprised by the number of things I’d still wanted to do with my father. I have a cassette on which we recorded a dinner conversation in 2001, and a ten seconds video, and I can’t tell you how much this means to me.
Here are some of the winners from Science’s annual Visualization Challenge - you can see lots more here.
Top image: “Invisible Coral Flows” by Vicente I. Fernandez, Orr H. Shapiro, Melissa S. Garren, Assaf Vardi, Roman Stocker (MIT). The cilia of coral polyps stir up the water, helping them get food and dispose of nutrients.
Bottom image: “Cortex in Metallic Pastels” by Greg Dunn, Brian Edwards (Greg Dunn Design), Marty Saggese (SfN), Tracy Bale (UPenn), and Rick Huganir (Johns Hopkins University). Dunn used gold leaf, aluminum and acrylic dye to show the layered cellular structure of the cerebral cortex. Dunn: “The neurons are painted by a technique wherein pigments are blown across the canvas using jets of air, a technique that closely emulates the spontaneous, random branching patterns of actual neurons.”
Context : my party and I are facing a marilith and in the next room is a very large vrock and other high demons facing the NPCs. One of the NPCs opens the ground beneath the biggest vrock and he is being sucked into who knows where.
Une histoire de narcissisme numérique et d'attention whores
J'adore les selfies.
J'adore, j'adore, J'ADORE les selfies, putain. Pas spécialement les miens, d'ailleurs. Je préfère ceux des autres.
J'adore traquer les tags #me et #selfie sur Tumblr et Instagram, j'adore voir d'autres visages, d'autres corps, d'autres physiques, d'autres genres, d'autres styles, d'autres vies, d'autres cultures, d'autres couleurs.
J'adore ce qui s'en dégage. Ces petits instants de bonheur et d'appréciation de soi et de l'endroit où on se trouve dans sa vie au moment où la photo a été prise. Ce petit élan d'amour, d'acceptation, de réappropriation de son corps.
Les selfies qui disent “regardez-moi, comme je décide d'être vu-e”, “confirmez ce que je pense de moi-même à cet instant précis”. Ouais c'est nombriliste et narcissique, ouais c'est une demande d'attention, mais putain, j'aime tellement ça. Vous l'avez, mon attention. Je vous la donne avec le plus grand des plaisirs.
J'aime vous voir vous aimer, vous exposer, vous dévoiler. J'aime que vous puissiez le faire selon vos propres termes. J'aime qu'on puisse vous renvoyer une image positive de vous-même quand c'est pas la grande forme.
Les selfies m'inspirent, me donnent des idées, me motivent, m'intriguent. Je peux y trouver une nouvelle idée de coupe ou de tenue. Une envie culinaire soudaine. Une idée de truc à faire, de bouquin à lire, de film à voir. Un message positif. Un message rassurant, même s'il est négatif, qui rappelle qu'on est pas seul-e. Des trucs à acheter, aussi, parce que je ne suis pas que nombriliste, je suis aussi matérialiste.
Ça nous permet de voir des corps et des styles et des personnalités qu'on ne voit pas beaucoup ailleurs.
J'aime cette option de partage. Alors oui, c'est assez fermé comme circuit, et ça change pas grand chose au monde, ça guérit pas les maladies et ça loge pas les pauvres, nan, c'est sûr. Mais ça ouvre des fenêtres sur le monde et ses citoyens (il n'y a pas que les blancs occidentaux qui sont adeptes des selfies, y en a PARTOUT, ça touche toutes les classes sociales et toutes les religions).
J'aime voir comment les femmes voilées s'expriment sur leur foi et leur rapport aux vêtements religieux. Comment elles incorporent leur hijab à leur tenue, et comment elles le subliment avec leur maquillage.
J'aime voir comment les adolescentes blanches américaines vivent leur vie, et gèrent leur rapport au corps.
J'aime voir comment les passionnées de yoga contorsionnent leur corps devant un objectif.
J'aime voir comment les femmes noires documentent leur retour au cheveu naturel et tentent de convaincre d'autres femmes de les suivre dans cette aventure.
J'aime voir comment les transexuel-les documentent leur transition et s'approchent un peu plus de leur but à chaque cliché.
J'aime suivre le quotidien des cam girls et des strip-teaseuses.
C'est une autre façon de “lire” des histoires. Et j'adore ça. Et ça m'emmerde qu'on ne parle de cette pratique que sous le filtre de la duckface et des “attention whores”. Je déteste ce putain de terme, soi dit en passant.
Je vois pas le problème dans le fait de vouloir un peu d'attention et de le demander publiquement. Je vois pas le problème dans le fait de documenter une tenue parfaite, une coupe impeccable, un maquillage réussi. Je vois pas le problème dans le fait de montrer à tout le monde qu'à ce moment précis on se trouve mortel-le et classe et badass et sexy et stylé-e. Ou même de montrer sa sale gueule de lendemain de fête. Peu importe.
J'aime le fait qu'on puisse disposer de notre image.