Coming to be aware of my repetitive and unhelpful thought patterns is liberating and enlightening, but getting out of those habits is difficult and takes time. It’s hard to keep my heart open, to not fall back into easier ways of being, but I know that on the other side of this discomfort, a better, truer me is waiting.
Repetition and practice makes pattern.
If your heart’s not in Salah and you drag yourself to it, just continue. Make it a habit. It’ll come naturally one day because someday you’ll feel like something’s missing. So carry on. You got this.
It may sound monotonous, tiresome to some, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Patterns are repetitive, predictable, safe—and Jimin needs to be kept safe, at all costs. Mother tells him so, every day.
jikook, soulmate!au (aka tokki tries to angst)
In a world of seven billion, it is easy to mistake things for what they are not, easy to throw oneself into a pit of disappointment, easy to simply stop looking for your other half.
(Unless you push onward, cradling a flame of belief to your heart)
“When will I find my soulmate?” The words leave tiny, plush lips at an age too tender, too curious, oh so eager.
“You will, dear one, you will,” comes the answer, always vague and unsure, but never suspicious to young ears, “If you never stop believing.”
namjin, aka tokki tries to angst 2.0, for @seokjinsfinger (currently 2nd most worked on fic atm ahhh sorry it’s taking so long my lovely ._.)
“It will be alright,” he promises, firmer this time.
Seokjin presses into his side, tired and broken, and it is only when the clock strikes three that his tears run dry, and his breath evens out. Namjoon lets himself be held, lets a cold, reddened nose press into his neck, as he feels his eyes droop with sleep as well. He doesn’t know what to do.
“It will be alright, hyung. We’ll fix you.”
jikook, non-au, a whole lotta ‘what scene are we’, ahAHA i’ve had this in my drafts for so long when will i finish :(
When the maknae finally stops, he
lets Jimin back down on his feet, but he doesn’t let go. Maybe it’s because of
the way Jeongguk’s eyes twinkle, or maybe it’s the giddiness from being
spun around, but he looks up and jokingly asks, “What scene are we?”
The younger blinks in surprise, but
“The congratulatory scene.” His laughter rumbles
through his entire body, still pressed up against Jimin’s own. He stares down
at him, all soft smiles and warm eyes, once again.
“How about I show you around
tomorrow?” the Code asks, blowing at a few lavender strands that have fallen
over his eyes. “When you’re free, of course.”
JUNG-94 isn’t sure if he should
take up on that offer. He gives the boy a glance. From the violet shade of his
hair to his golden skin, to the striped jeans he dons. He catches a tiny scar
on the male’s neck, and his brain tells him logically, ‘no’.
his brain says again, don’t say it.
“That would be nice,” he blurts out, and
Lilac-Hair gives him that shining grin again.
jikook, soulmate!au where u sneeze whenever ur soulmate is near lmao o god i gotta finish this
One more sneeze and his
hair is out of place again. Taehyung gives him a smug look.
“But Tae, you’re being ridiculous,”
Jimin states, sniffling a little bit when his nose starts to itch again.
His friend scoffs a little, then
points at him. “Right—I’m ridiculous
for wanting to help you find your destined significant other, your fated other
half, your honey-bun-sugar-plum—”
that’s all i got atm lol, i hope this satiates ur curiosity for a bit?
checkerboards eVERYWHERE… sorry for my clear lack of a reference image but. being an artist myself i start a repetitive pattern and it just keeps going, i’d probs get carried away if i were marking up my armor, too. maybe she paints over it all and leaves the few checkered bits to remind that it was a Thing™
aNYWAY I love sabine and it’s sad to see her leaving the ghost crew for a lil but but she’s still kicking ass 🙌🏻
Okay so I don’t write heaps but I did find it within myself to write a Feysand fic ages ago and thanks to people being persistent, that one shot is now getting another chapter, so thanks to anyone who reblogged, favourited, or messaged me because if not for you I would never have made my brain attempt to write again.
Feyre woke up early that morning, the cold air seeming to find her even underneath her mountain of quilts. She stretched out sleepily seeking Tamlin’s warmth, only to find his side of the bed stone cold empty. Again.
She didn’t know why she was surprised. Already knowing when she opened her eyes there would be new paint, or canvas, or painting references gifted for her at the end of the bed. This repetitive pattern had become her life, no matter how close it was to Christmas. Tamlin’s job was very important which Feyre knew all too well due to the constant lectures she'd received whenever she brought up to Tamlin her unease at him being away so much.
But Feyre could never push too hard. Complain too much. Because Tamlin was one of the most important people in her life, and he was also the man sending money back to her family a few towns over. Family who never came to visit, or ask where Feyre was getting all their money from, so long as she continued to send it. Even if her family wasn’t grateful for Tamlin, Feyre was. Which was why she was so sad about his constant disappearances.
Lying in bed all day left Feyre impatient and eventually she shrugged on an old hoodie of Tamlin’s and some fuzzy slippers, grabbing her car keys in search of some good coffee. Outside her old, but in surprisingly good condition, car sat waiting for her. Tamlin had gotten it for her from a “friend” he had claimed had no need of it and gave him a good price. Just another thing that Feyre was grateful for.
Driving slowly because of the recent snow, Feyre went looking for the closest Starbucks. Just a few blocks down she saw the line outside the coffee shop before the actual store. She parked nearby but the second Feyre stepped outside she knew it was too cold to wait around outside in line for a damn coffee, and she needed caffeine now.
Across the road she noticed a small and dark café advertising “hot coffee, better than those jerks at Starbucks” on a small chalkboard outside. The sign made Feyre laugh but more than anything, the lack of an outside line lured her in.
The shop was called ‘Coffee For Mor’ and Feyre wasn’t sure if there was a secret meaning she was missing out on but all of that was forgotten when she went inside. The place was dark with just enough lighting on each table for reading and plenty of concealed booths and couches plagued with a healthy amount of young people. The entire back wall had been painted with a chalkboard like substance and had been decorated by customers with everything from cute little doodles, to crude drawings of… well doodles.
But best of all it was warm and smelt amazing.
Feyre was greeted by a beautiful and chirpy blonde haired woman at the counter.
“Morning! Bit cold today, hey? Felt like my nipples were gonna put holes in my shirt just walking to work!” The woman laughed.
Feyre’s taken aback look just made the woman laugh more.
“Haven’t seen you around in here before. What’s your order, and what’s your name?” She said sweetly, maybe trying to not scare Feyre out of the shop altogether.
“Um, I’m Feyre. And I’ll grab a large anything, as long as it’s got caffeine in it.”
“Feyre huh? You look like you could grab a large anything hey?” The woman said with a wink before outstretching her arm for a handshake, “I’m Mor. Nice to meet a new face.”
Feyre had to hold back her laugh as she shook Mor’s hand.
“so are you the owner of this place then?” Feyre said, noting the familiar name.
“Yes Mam. Started this place with the help of my cousin although he never sticks around to actually help, the bastard,” Mor laughed. “Anyway, I’ll make you one of the house specials, just because I like you. It’ll be $5.”
Feyre started scrounging through her purse counting out small change, and recounting it. $4.95 was all she had. She looked up to tell Mor to change her order but to her horror the drink was already in front of her in a take away cup, name on it and all, surrounded by a love heart.
“Uhm, I’m so sorry but I’m 5 cents short. Is it too late to ask for a medium?”
Mor looked her over, “No card?”
“Um no. My boyfriend normally just gives me cash when I need it, but he’s out of town right now.”
Mor looked her over once more. A hard gleam in her gaze. Feyre felt like she was about to be chased out of the coffee shop.
“Tell your boyfriend to let you have access to your own money whenever you want it. This one’s on the house. Don’t sweat it hun.”
“Oh my god are you sure? You can take all the change. It’s not my money anyway, it’s all my boyfriend’s,” Feyre said, pushing the heap of coins at Mor, only to have it pushed back into her hands.
“Seriously Feyre it’s fine. Consider it my condolences for your piss weak boyfriend. You shouldn’t have to rely on someone else for money, that’s when you lose your control,” Mor smiled sweetly.
Feyre accepted the money sheepishly, before taking a sip of her coffee. It was so good she actually moaned. Mor laughed.
“Now there’s a girl who loves her coffee. Say, why don’t you come work for me a couple times a week? Then you can have your own money,” She beamed.
“Oh. Uhh. Thank you so much! It’s just I don’t think Tamlin would like that.”
At Tamlin’s name Mor’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Do, do you know Tamlin?” Feyre stammered.
“Not really. Just heard of him. Now I really think you should take the job, just to piss off that tool.”
Feyre bristled slightly. If Mor didn’t really know Tamlin she had no right to make fun of him like that, especially with all that he had done for Feyre’s family. But it would be nice for Feyre to get out of the house and have her own money. She knew Tamlin loved buying her things. He would never deny her anything, money wise. but it wasn’t the same as having her own money.
Mor seemed to sense her hesitation, “All employees get free coffee,” she teased.
The two shook hands again, as the door was blasted open and a tall man shouldered his way inside, shaking snow off his boots. Feyre froze when violet eyes met hers from the open doorway.
After many months I am finally finished with this scarf.
It is such a relief to be done.
Don’t get me wrong, it is beautiful and I love it. But it was a pain to work on. Scarves are always a test of patience. Knitting any long repetitive pattern is tough. I persevered thought, and I got something lovely out of it. This scarf also got me super pumped to make a fisherman’s sweater.
So remember, hard work can pay off ;)
JATA Logistics + Auxiliary | José Miguel García Pérez
This Logistics and Auxiliary Services centre was designed for JATA, a manufacturer of household appliances. Designed by José Miguel García Pérez, the new centre houses production lines, a laboratory, and administrative areas. The building was designed to reflect the philosophy of the forward-thinking appliance brand.
The façade is decorated with a repetitive pattern of concrete panels and glass windows. The angled forms add visual interest to the exterior while providing a perfect plane for the sun to hit. Upon entry, one is greeted by a double height space with a unique grand staircase. The white staircase is the centrepiece of the room and provides a nice contrast to the strict shapes of the façade. The interior spaces are all naturally illuminated by skylights and the openings in the exterior structure.
It is not often you see a structure of such architectural value housing manufacturing services. This space establishes the brand as one that cares about beauty as much as their bottom line.
Start listening to the voice in your head as often as you can. Pay particular attention to any repetitive thought patterns, those old gramophone records that have been playing in your head perhaps for many years. This is what I mean by “watching the thinker,” which is another way of saying: listen to the voice in your head, *be* there as the witnessing presence.
When you listen to that voice, listen to it impartially. That is to say, do not judge. Do not judge or condemn what you hear, for doing so would mean that the same voice has come in again through the back door. You’ll soon realize: *there* is the voice, and here *I am* listening to it, watching it. This *I am* realization, this sense of your own presence, is not a thought. It arises from beyond the mind.