Flower Correspondences In Witchcraft

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: dad!steve, mom!reader, husband!steve, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established marriage, domestic fluff, mentions of parenting and child behavior, playful family banter, holiday traditions, mild chaos caused by kids, Steve being the ultimate dad, tender family moments, sweet kisses, references to Home Alone, soft nostalgia, and an abundance of Christmas warmth.

★ Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, 1995, and the Harrington family is in full holiday mode. Between their six-year-old son Ethan’s endless questions, their four-year-old daughter Sadie’s knack for causing adorable mischief, and Steve’s playful dad jokes, the night is full of warmth and laughter. 3k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” - Frank Sinatra (again)

★ Dividers: thank you to @bernardsbendystraws for the adorable divider, it’s greatly appreciated!

★ Author’s Note: husband and dad steve harrington. goodness. anyways this should be the last Christmas and overall fic of the year (be on the look out for new year’s day) unless i get inspiration again. this is horribly messy and terribly written but nonetheless enjoy!

Snow fell steadily outside the Harrington home, muffling the usual sounds of Hawkins under a thick, sparkling blanket.

The rooftops were capped in white, the snowdrifts shimmering under the glow of streetlamps. Icicles hung from the edges of the roof, catching the twinkle of the colorful Christmas lights that Steve had painstakingly strung up a week ago, with the help of 6 year old Ethan’s enthusiastic, yet, chaotic help.

Each light blinked in perfect rhythm, painting the snow below in shifting hues of red, green, and gold. Through the fogged-up windows, the warm golden light of the Christmas tree spilled onto the lawn, offering a glimpse of the cozy world within.

Inside, the kitchen was a war zone of holiday cheer. Flour clung to nearly every surface—the countertops, the floor, and even the stool where little 4 year old Sadie stood, perched like a determined little artist. It dusted the tip of her nose and her wild curls, making her look like a miniature mad scientist as she meticulously squeezed green frosting onto a gingerbread man.

Her tongue poked out in focused concentration, her small hands gripping the frosting tube as if her life depended on it. Beside her, an array of cookies lay half-finished on the counter, buried under uneven layers of sprinkles and frosting swirls. Each one was a testament to her boundless creativity, if not her precision.

“Santa loves sprinkles,” Sadie declared with absolute certainty, her little face scrunched in concentration as she scooped a generous handful of the colorful confetti-like decorations from the nearest bowl.

The sprinkles scattered across the gingerbread man with wild abandon, tumbling off the edges and onto the counter, onto the floor, and even into the air, as if they were little bursts of festive confetti.

“Santa doesn’t want to eat cookies that are all sprinkles,” Ethan countered from across the counter, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation only a six-year-old with a perfectionist streak could muster.

He was working on a star-shaped cookie, his movements precise, deliberate. The tiny silver balls he was placing on the edges of the cookie were perfectly symmetrical, each one spaced exactly the same distance apart, as though he were an engineer and this cookie was his blueprint.

Sadie, undeterred, shot her brother a sideways glance, her lips twisting into a defiant pout. “Santa loves all cookies!” she shot back, her voice high and firm, as if daring him to challenge her further. She grabbed another handful of sprinkles, her tiny fingers clumsily but lovingly adding them to her gingerbread creation with a look of pure determination in her eyes.

Steve, who had been quietly observing the sibling exchange from his spot leaning against the fridge, let out a low chuckle, his arms crossed loosely across his chest. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched his children, clearly entertained by the growing battle of wills between his two little ones. “You know, Sadie,” he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “I think Ethan might have a point. That gingerbread guy looks like he just survived an explosion at a sprinkle factory.”

Sadie gasped dramatically, clutching the cookie to her chest as if Steve had just insulted her entire artistic vision. “He’s festive, Daddy!” she protested, her eyes wide with faux horror. “Santa will think he’s beautiful!”

Steve raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, alright. Festive, got it. You win, kiddo,” he said, backing off, but his smile never faded.

You glanced up from where you were carefully transferring a fresh batch of cookies onto the cooling rack. You’d been absorbed in your task, the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla filling the room, but the sounds of your kids’ banter had been too amusing to ignore. You shot a smirk over at Steve, catching the tail end of his playful exchange with Sadie. “Don’t encourage them, Steve,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and mock exasperation. “This kitchen already looks like a bomb went off in a bakery.”

Steve turned to you with that familiar, mischievous grin that always seemed to pull at your heartstrings. He pushed off the counter and sauntered over, his presence a comforting warmth that seemed to fill the space between you. As he reached you, he slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck, his lips soft against your skin.

“Oh, come on," he said, his voice a playful murmur, "It's Christmas. A little chaos is good for the soul."

The warmth of his touch and the affection in his kiss made your heart flutter, but before you could respond, you heard a chorus of groans from behind you.

"Eww, Daddy, gross!" Ethan wrinkled his nose, his six-year-old voice full of dramatic disapproval. Sadie was standing beside him, her eyes wide as she tugged at his sleeve, mimicking his disgust.

"Yeah, gross!" she added, her voice just as playful, though her face was scrunched in exaggerated annoyance. "Get a room!"

Steve pulled back slightly, his smile widening as he laughed. "Hey, you two can't appreciate true love yet," he teased, raising an eyebrow at them. "When you're older, you'll understand."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you met Ethan’s wide-eyed gaze, his expression a mix of surprise and genuine concern.

"They're right, Daddy," you teased. "We'll have to save the romance for later."

"Yeah, later!" Sadie agreed with a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself with one hand, as if the display of affection had been too much to handle.

Steve gave a mock sigh of defeat, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer for another kiss, this time to the top of your head. "Guess we'll have to keep it PG for a little while, huh?" he murmured with a playful grin, his voice soft but full of affection.

As you hold onto his arms that wrap around you, the warmth of his embrace grounding you, you couldn't help but smile at the chaotic love that surrounded you. The kids' teasing, the laughter, and the warmth in the room-all of it felt like exactly what you needed. It was chaotic, but it was perfect.

The kitchen was, indeed, a disaster—sprinkles everywhere, frosting streaked across the table, and flour footprints leading from the counter to the floor. And yet, in the midst of the mess, there was something so perfectly Christmas about it all. You couldn’t help but shake your head fondly at the sight of your two children, Sadie with her chaotic artistic flair and Ethan with his precision, both creating their own little pieces of holiday magic in their own ways.

You let out a soft sigh, your heart swelling with a mix of warmth and contentment. This was your life now—messy, loud, and filled to the brim with joy. The kind of joy that came from every moment spent together, it was imperfect, but it was yours. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

“I suppose a little chaos is good for the soul,” you muttered, leaning into Steve’s embrace, your back resting against his torso. “But we’ll have to clean it all up before Santa comes.”

Steve’s grin widened as he kissed the top of your head. “Deal,” he said softly, his voice warm, full of affection. “But for now, let’s just enjoy it.”

And in that moment, amidst the mess, the laughter of your kids, and the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, you truly did. You couldn’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Eve.

By the time the last batch of cookies had cooled, the kids had moved on to decorating with gusto. Sadie was a whirlwind of frosting and sprinkles, her hands sticky but her smile wide. Ethan’s creations, on the other hand, could have been featured in a magazine—each one neat, symmetrical, and perfect in its own way.

“Do you think Santa will like mine better?” Ethan asked as he placed a gingerbread snowman carefully on the plate.

“Santa loves everything,” you replied diplomatically, shooting Steve a look that warned him not to stir the pot.

“He’ll love Sadie’s too,” Steve added, crouching down to examine one of her creations. “Especially this one. It’s, uh… very colorful.”

Sadie beamed, clearly taking this as the highest of compliments.

Once the cookies were arranged on a plate, along with a glass of milk, the four of you moved into the living room. Ethan darted ahead to claim the best spot on the couch, while Sadie grabbed her stuffed reindeer and curled up in Steve’s lap.

Steve held up a VHS tape like it was a trophy. “Tonight’s pick: Home Alone.”

Ethan pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”

Sadie giggled, clutching her reindeer tightly. “Kevin’s so funny!”

You settled onto the couch next to Ethan, draping a blanket over your lap as Steve popped the tape into the VCR. The kids quieted as the familiar opening music began, their eyes glued to the screen.

The living room was warm and cozy, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The Christmas tree lights cast colorful patterns across the walls, and the faint scent of pine mingled with the sugary sweetness lingering from the kitchen.

As Kevin McCallister navigated his hijinks, Sadie giggled uncontrollably at the Wet Bandits’ antics, her laughter ringing through the room. Ethan, meanwhile, provided a running commentary.

“They’re so silly,” he said, shaking his head as Harry slipped on the icy stairs for the third time. “Why don’t they just give up?”

“That’s not the point, buddy,” Steve replied, chuckling. “They’re supposed to be silly. It’s funny.”

“Kevin’s really brave,” Sadie whispered, clutching her reindeer as Kevin faced off against the burglars. “He’s all alone, but he’s not scared.”

You smoothed her curls with a gentle hand. “He’s smart too, just like you.”

Steve caught your eye, his expression softening as he smiled at you. These moments—the quiet, ordinary ones—were the ones he cherished most.

By the time the credits rolled, Sadie was fast asleep in Steve’s lap, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his sweater. Ethan was valiantly trying to stay awake, but his head kept nodding forward, his stubbornness no match for his exhaustion.

Steve glanced down at Sadie, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Looks like it’s bedtime for these two.”

You nodded, sharing a glance with Steve as you both made your way toward the kids. Without a word, you reached down to gently lift Ethan into your arms. He squirmed slightly, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t protest as you settled him against your chest, his head resting on your shoulder. Steve, in turn, scooped up Sadie with ease, her small body curling instinctively into his hold. She mumbled something incoherent, her voice muffled by sleep, but didn’t wake as he cradled her against him.

The two of you made your way upstairs in comfortable silence, each step echoing softly through the house. It felt like a peaceful rhythm, this simple act of carrying your kids to bed, a reminder of how much you both cherished these little moments.

You reached Ethan’s room first, carefully lowering him into his bed. He groggily shifted under the covers, his sleepy eyes flicking up at you with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. You helped him into his pajamas, smoothing out the fabric with a practiced hand before tucking him under the covers.

“Do you think Santa’s gonna like the cookies?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep but still filled with that unmistakable childlike wonder.

Steve, who had followed you into the room, chuckled softly as he leaned against the doorframe. “He’s gonna love them. Especially that one with all the sprinkles,” he said, grinning.

Ethan let out a small giggle, his eyes already fluttering closed. “Good,” he mumbled, his face relaxing into sleep as he drifted off, his soft breathing the only sound in the room.

Meanwhile, Steve took Sadie to her room. As soon as he placed her on her bed, she curled up into her blankets, her little reindeer toy tucked under her arm. She sighed contentedly as he adjusted the covers around her, kissing her forehead gently.

“Goodnight, lovebug,” you whispered from the doorway, watching the tender moment unfold.

Sadie mumbled something sleepy and incoherent, her eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled deeper into her pillow. “Goodnight,” she whispered back, her voice already soft with sleep.

As you and Steve stood in the doorway for a moment, watching your kids drift off into peaceful slumber, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over you both. The house was still, the Christmas lights outside casting a gentle glow through the windows. Everything felt right. You turned to Steve, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “They’re going to be so excited when they wake up tomorrow.”

He nodded, his arm naturally finding its way around your waist as you both quietly left the room. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ll be up before the sun is,” he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and fondness.

You smiled up at him, leaning into his side as the two of you headed back downstairs, the soft hum of Christmas music filling the air around you. It was a quiet night, just the two of you, in the calm after the chaos. And as the two of you settled back into the warmth of the living room, the love and laughter of the night still lingering in the air, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Christmas was here, and your family was exactly where they belonged.

“Think they’ll notice if we eat one?” Steve asked, breaking off a corner of a gingerbread man with a playful grin. He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly as if savoring the moment.

You looked at him over the top of the cookie jar, raising an eyebrow. “Not unless you want to explain why there are bites taken out of the cookies they spent hours decorating.”

Steve shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for another cookie. “Eh, they’ll never know. Besides, Santa can always come up with his own cookies.”

You smirked, swatting his hand away as you grabbed one for yourself. “I’m pretty sure Santa’s going to have a sugar high with how much we’ve put out for him.”

He laughed, popping a piece of cookie into his mouth. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I mean, we’ve done all the hard work, haven’t we?”

You took a bite of your own cookie, sighing in contentment. “True. These are way better than store-bought.”

Steve’s grin widened as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I think we’ve officially earned it. We’re doing all the Christmas magic around here.”

You laughed as Steve pulled you into his arms as the fire crackled softly behind you. The glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in warmth, and Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played faintly in the background.

As you leaned against him, the quiet of the moment settled over you like a blanket.

"This is it, you know," Steve said suddenly, his voice low and serious. His eyes were soft, distant in a way, as if he were taking in the entire scene-the glowing lights, the quiet of the house, the warmth of it all.

You looked up at him, your eyebrows furrowing slightly. "What is?" you asked, curious but not entirely sure what he meant.

"This," he said again, his gaze sweeping across the room, lingering for a moment on the kids' cookies on the counter, the half-empty mugs of hot chocolate, the soft Christmas lights casting a warm glow over the space. Then, his gaze landed back on you, his expression tender.

“The kids, the house, you. Everything I ever wanted. It's right here."

The way he said it-so genuine, so full of admiration-caught you off guard. Your chest tightened with emotion, and for a moment, you couldn't find the right words.

You reached up instinctively, cupping his cheek, feeling the stubble there beneath your palm, the warmth of him as you held him close.

"You deserve it, Steve," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. "Every bit of it." You didn't need to elaborate. You knew what he meant.

Steve's gaze softened even further, a look in his eyes you could only describe as reverent.

Slowly, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as if savoring the feeling of being with you in this quiet, perfect moment. When he pulled back, he looked at you, his eyes filled with something deeper, something that made your heart swell.

"I don't know how I got so lucky," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"But I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for this. For us." His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you gently against him. He didn't rush it, just held you there, his lips grazing against yours in a kiss that was soft, slow-like he was trying to memorize the feeling of being close to you.

You smiled, your chest tight with affection. "I love you.”

There was a quiet stillness between you both, a peacefulness that wrapped around you like the softest blanket. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of Christmas music drifting from the speakers and the distant sound of snow falling outside. But in this moment, nothing else mattered.

You were together. The life you had, the love you shared-it was everything, and it was yours.

Steve's hand gently brushed the back of your neck, and he kissed you again, his lips soft, lingering. It was a kiss that said more than words ever could-more than any ‘thank you' or 'I love you' could ever express.

You had everything. And you wouldn't change a single thing.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day and a happy holidays!!

If you think overturning Roe vs Wade was a win today, from the bottom of my heart, go fuck yourself.

Tonight I write about mercury. It is by far my favourite planet.

Mercury is the smallest planet in our solar system, (but is a little bit bigger than earths moon.) It has no rings, nor any moons.

It is the closest planet to our sun, and on Mercury the sun would appear three times as large. The closer the planet is to the sun, the faster it is, making Mercury the fastest planet in our solar system, travelling through space at 47 kilometres per second. Due to this, it also has the shortest year of all the planets, only lasting 88 days.

Even though the planet is so close to the sun, it has water ice. Ice was discovered in permanently shadowed creators that don’t receive any sunlight. Mercury doesn’t have enough atmosphere and is way too hot for life, but organics were also found on the planet! Finding these organics demonstrates how these compounds were distributed throughout our solar system. There’s also a large amount of Sulfur on the planet, something in which scientists are still trying to figure out as no other planet in our solar system has it in such high concentrations.

Mercury rises or sets very close to when the Sun does, which means amateur astronomers are often fighting against twilight to observe the tiny planet, because it rises and sets very close to the time the sun does. With that said, the ancients had darker skies than we did, and were able to see Mercury pretty well. Even despite us having some trouble looking for the little planet, it’s been known of for Millenia, and was linked to some of the gods in ancient cultures.

Despite Mercury being the smallest planet, it has a large spot in our creative conscious, inspiring many science-fiction authors such as; Isaac Asimov, C. S. Lewis, Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clark, and H.P. Lovecraft.

until next time <3

Dream Of Me | tasm!p.p

summary: this is something I thought of writing for @agnesamarantheastwood after I saw a personal post about her suffering from insomnia. V, you are the sweetest person ever, I really hope this makes you feel somehow happy and so very hugged, you're also a part of what made me come back to writing in here, so this is also a thank you.

In which Peter comforts reader after waking up to a panic attack caused by a heavy insomnia episode coming from his girlfriend.

pairing: Peter Parker (tasm!) x reader

genre: fluffy, comfort

involves: crying, cuddling, disney, top tier boyfriend!peter, a clueless author trying her best to write about insomnia

word count: 1,9k

Peter and you were dating for four months now, and you got to tell him once or twice about your troubled sleep schedule. He knew how melatonin pills and other meds usually helped you sleep and that you never got to the point of running out from those, either carrying them in your purse for nights at his house or travels or keeping a tidy mini stock of them on your bathroom counter.

However, Peter failed to notice how, even with the pills still there –though the stock remained untouched–, you were not really functioning to the best of your capacity. You kept yawning and the bags you usually already had under your eyes were now a deeper color each day, but you didn't mind running out of concealer sooner as long as it kept you from having that conversation with a worried Peter.

The truth is; for the four months-time you were dating, your boyfriend never got to see when insomnia got the worse of you. Peter never met the really sleep-deprived y/n, and that encounter kinda scared you. You knew that it wouldn't take long for it to get harder and harder for you to sleep, –you even though this time it was taking too long for another crisis–, but gosh it felt so good how you weren't taking longer than usual to fall in a deep slumber, so you decided to just enjoy that.

You were scared that the minute Parker met with the harsher consequences of you not having proper sleep, the second he caught you unfocused, zoning out and forgetting so many things like you knew you ended up doing on your worst cases, he'd realize it could be maybe a little too much, and maybe he'd leave.

You had to give Peter some credit, he has been nothing but a sweetheart to you, but the tiniest possibility of overwhelming your boyfriend –who was already busy with his own problems that felt like the weight of the whole city– left you feeling like you were too much work to him and it was unfair.

So this thought just added up to your anxiety as you tossed and turned in bed a little after two in the morning trying to find a good position for your body to just rest and sinfully thinking nonstop about how much sleep-time you already lost and everything you'll have to do tomorrow as your eyelids were firmly shut. gosh, you had to wake up at six.

You didn't even realize your body was shaking. Peter did though, –even if he was lucky to have already dozed off, he always noticed the breakdown of things, claiming that it was like he had an exclusive spidey-sense just for you.– Your boyfriend rolled up in the bed hugging you from behind, still lightly asleep, but that didn't help. Instead, you felt trapped and uneasy and you didn't know how to approach that in the absolute middle of the night.

You sighed, throat burning as you gulped, finally taking your phone out of under the pillow and putting it on the bedside desk, you had to try it one more time, you had to sleep.

You felt so absolutely conscious about everything around you and about your tucked body forming almost a ball of limbs under Peter's left arm, –which felt heavier than ever–. Peter cleared his throat as he opened his eyes, waking up alarmed by your troubled atmosphere. You were shaking.

"Hey..." His voice sounded raspy but firm. Peter took his hand away from your waist. "y/n, turn over, look at me... look at me," Peter cooed. As you turned over, he stared at your wide-eyed, distressed form and frowned just a little bit. "Hi," Peter said, you sniffled in response.

"It's okay, I'm here, look at me," He kept staring deep into your eyes, giving instructions so you would calm down "It's okay baby, I'm here now," Peter finally decided to touch you again, aiming his hand towards your shoulder, you hiccuped for air, still feeling that burning sensation on your throat. "Wow, you're sweating- breathe for me, okay? slowly... We need to slow this down, nice and soft."

Even if your boyfriend was the only one doing the talking, he didn't demand an immediate response from you as he noticed you slowly coming back to your senses and following his directions, eyes piercing through his as well, letting out long, shaky breaths. "Attagirl, you're doing amazing!", As your breathing pace came slowly back to normal, Peter's concealed fear was subsided, relief taking over. Of course, he has done it before, calming people down after rescuing some of them during building fires and other situations, he has never, though, calmed someone he deeply cared for during a situation he didn't know the reason. To see you cooling down meant to Peter that he was doing a good job, and, most importantly, that you'll be fine.

"Hold on to me, okay? Everything is okay, it's just me and you...," when you finally looked a bit more present, you were lying on top of him, holding onto him with both arms and an apologetic look on your face, "panic attack?" Peter finally asked, trying to understand what brought you to that previous state, you shook your head lightly, showing a thin smile, "I can't sleep." You stated simply but sighed deeply avoiding to stress over it again.

"Aww babe, I'm sorry; I just woke up and I felt something was wrong and then I heard your heart beating..."

"Sorry I woke you up, Pete." Guilt washed over a part of you, either you woke him up or he really did feel like something was going on and you disturbed his sleep.

Peter smiled reassuringly; "There's nothing to be sorry about, it's a good thing I'm here." You noticed how his features still looked sleepy, he ran a hand through your hair. "Keep breathing deep and slow. It's all good, beautiful, you're doing very good."

He chuckled under you, "You know, you should really consider keeping me around, I'm gonna have my uses..." He joked. When he woke up, feeling you shaking and listening to your loud heartbeat, his train of thought didn't fail to give him a lot of terrible-case scenarios and then some. He had yet to know if the lack of sleep you mentioned was caused by anything, or if he was experiencing the first time you had an insomnia case by his side. The possibility that his presence gave you anxiety made his heart feel small.

"Yeah? So I can use you?" You chuckled, giving a little twist to his joke. It was weird how cozy you felt right now even though your mind kept racing with different outcomes of Peter understanding the whole of your condition.

"Yeah you can use me anytime you want!" Peter's laugh probably would be considered too loud for the late hour as he blinked an eye at you. For a few moments, the both of you fell in silence, and the boy could still hear your rapid heartbeat. "Oh, wow! Your heart is still racing!" he whispered; as you frowned, he placed one of his hands over yours on top of your chest, waiting for a few seconds so you could feel the rhythm yourself. "See, that's crazy!" As you admired his surprise, Peter fell quiet for a short moment, before he could continue:

"Haering your heartbeat like this... feeling it, so fast... I don't like it, you know?" He rhetorically asked, chuckling a bit, "It makes me think like, I don't know like you're so fragile... I wanna take care of you" Peter concluded, preventing himself from rambling as he made his way to getting up, offering you some water. You stopped him by grabbing his arm, shaking your head slightly, "No, no, no I want you here."

"It's okay," He smiled, relaxing "I can stay, I'm not going anywhere- oh wait let me get a candle." Peter used of his already lifted torso and reached for your bedside table across from you. While he lit the candle with an electric lighter, you appreciated his caring aura, looking at his beautiful traces.

"You're staring." you smiled after hearing that, your boyfriend was back at your side, hugging you a bit. Deciding that you were silent for too long, you started to explain how you felt, trying your best to find the right words. "It just that, like, when it reaches a point when I'm really not sleeping, I get so out of it Pete, really, plus I could just black out anywhere sometimes because I'm so tired but my body won't accept proper sleep at the right time and-"

Peter sighed, using his tongue to wet his lips a little, "You know, when you're awake in the middle of the night, especially when going through a phase like that or when these things are on your mind, I wanna be awake too." You turned your head to look at him as if he had just said the craziest thing.

"I don't want you to be alone when you're in a moment like this... Come here, wait." It was as if he just thought of something really fast; Peter got up from bed, throwing his blanket a little, and you were onto doing the same when he quickly grabbed you bridal style, cooing something like "Come here my baby", he carried you two through the small hallway that divided the rooms on his suit, it felt messy as you kept the fluffy cover on your hands, and you giggled, asking him "What are you doing?" in a low tone.

As he got to the living room, Peter placed you on the couch and turned to the tv, looking for the remote. You sat comfortably with the blanket over you and legs tucked close to your upper body. Peter had put on Disney+, he knew a little about your comfort movies and tales, stuff that felt like small talk as you shared them on your first dates, but that he actually did remember.

"You know, If you don't sleep through this one we can put on Sleeping Beauty," Peter gave you a side smile while going to sit beside you, remote in hand and the old animation story of Robin Hood loading on the TV screen. "Ironically I know it's one of your faves." Peter continued as he made himself comfortable.

As the Rooster started to sing the Whistle Stop, barely a minute into the movie, your boyfriend started scratching your neck, feeling content when you hummed. "You remember the first time you told me you suffered from insomnia..? We were, like, two months in and you were having a little trouble to sleep?" You put your head on his shoulder, "I told you I'm okay with that. 100%, beautiful. I'm lucky to be with you regardless," His hand now caressed the place in between your ear and the nape of your neck and you closed your eyes, both enjoying the sensation of his touch, the song, and the feeling of relief that washed over you knowing that Peter would stick around, through heaven or high water.

"I love every itty bit of you", he hushed, you smiled, slowly turning your head to look at him again, "everything?"

"Yeah, even your toes, even your weird big one." Peter provoked, taking a loud cackle from you as he failed on shushing through his giggles. "Oh, no... that was bad." He could sense your smile through your voice as you moved your head back to his shoulder, scootching a bit so you were cuddling.

"I'm always at your service, m'kay? Babe, I love you." You felt completely relaxed as Peter murmured, eyes finally closing again as you now drifted off, finally, to the sound of your boyfriend's breathing and a comfort movie.

i love reader. idc if she’s a bimbo or a crybaby or a little unhinged. good for her tbh. i love her in all shapes and forms. she is barbie. she is a doctor and a student and a barista and she can take five dicks at the same time. what a beautiful world we live in.

What's really in that witch's cauldron?

Folk names for herbs

Ass' Ear- Comfrey

Bat's Wing- Holly Leaves

Beard Of Monk- Chicory

Bear's Foot- Lady's Mantle

Bird's Eye- Germander or Speedwell

Blind Eyes- Poppy

Blood From a Head- Lupine

Blood Of Ares- Purslane

Blood Of Hestia- Chamomile

Bloody Fingers- Foxglove

Calf's Snout- Snapdragon

Cat's Foot- Ground Ivy

Crow's Foot- Wood Anemone

Devil's Ear- Jack In The Pulpit

Devil's Plaything- Yarrow

Dew Of the Sea- Rosemary

Dog's Mouth- Snapdragon

Dragon's Teeth- Vervain

Elf Leaf- Lavender

Englishman's Foot- Common Plantain

Fairy Eggs- Nutmeg

Flower Of Death- Vinca

Goose Tongue- Lemon Balm

Graveyard Dust- Mullein

Hawk's Heart- Wormwood

Juno's Tears- Vervain

Jupiter's Beard- Sempervivums

Lion's Foot- Lady's Mantle

Little Faces- Viola

Man's Bile- Turnip Sap

Mortification Root- Rose of Sharyn

Nose Of Turtle- Turtlehead, Chelone

Nosebleed- Yarrow

Our Lady's Tears- Lily Of The Valley

Old Man's Flannel- Mullein

Ram's Head- Valerian

Scale Of Dragon- Tarragon

Semen Of Ares- White Clover

Semen Of Hermes- Dill

Serpent's Tongue- Dog's Tooth Violet

Sparrow's Tongue- Knotweed

Tree Of Doom- Elder

Unicorn Root- Boneset

Weasel Snout- Yellow Archangel

Wool Of Bat- Moss

Body Parts as Plants:

Eye- Blossom or Seed

Heart- Bud or Seed

Beak, Bill or Nose- Seed, Bud or Bloom

Tongue or Teeth- Petal or Leaf

Head- Blossom

Tail- Stem

Hair- Dried Herbs or Stringy Parts Of Herbs

Privates, Genitals Or Semen- Seeds Or Sap

Blood- Sap

Guts- Roots or Stalk

Paw, Foot, Leg, Wing or Toe- Leaves

Animals as Plants:

Toad- Sage

Cat- Catmint

Dog- Grasses, Specifically Couchgrass

Frog- Cinquefoil

Eagle- Wild Garlic

Blue Jay- Laurel

Hawk- Hawkweed

Lamb-Wild Lettuce

Nightengale- Hops

Rat- Valerian

Weasel- Rue

Woodpecker- Peony

I borrowed this from:

When you just want to read some fluff or angst but the only thing you can find is smut:

"When people say impossible they usually mean improbable"

- Nikolai Lantsov

Nikolai lanstov aesthetic

Pics from pinterest

Things only maladaptive daydreamers know

Spending literal days in certain situations in your own reality. Nights even.

Making faces and moving lips when imagining stuff, then realising and hoping no one saw it

Having heated arguments by yourself in your room.

Spicing up everything you do with your imagination. Learning? Your suddenly a professor and have to explain that stuff to your students. Cleaning? Your comfort character is watching you while you hum songs while doing it.

h o r n y

Either not being able to watch the show/movie your reality is based of without stopping every five minutes and acting out a scene or obsessively watching this and nothing else.

Trauma

Creating whole musicals and music videos to your favourite songs in your mind

Watching something from the show/movie your reality is based on and thinking "this is so wrong. This happend differently. I live here, I should know"

Either sleeping in with your comfort character next to you every night or just imagining scenes.

Sudden conversations that make no sense to anyone but you

Weird or really violent imagination (torture, being captured and abused ect.)

Not often dreaming about your own reality even though you practically live there every day (or is it just me?)

Googling "imaginary friends at age [...] normal?" in your teenage years

Thinking they be gone soon but here you are, maladaptivly daydreaming your problems away.

Improving your character and your story so often that it's now so detailed you could write literally about ten to twelve books about it. Fuck.

Orbitational Pull

peter is disastrously bad at talking about how he feels. friends to lovers!

NOTE: tysm @gotkindabored for helping me post this, and also being all-around lovely! pls go easy on me, im VERY rusty :)

“Hey you,”

She hears it from the familiar corner of her bedroom, one that she’s used to. He sounds hoarse and out of breath, and his suit is slick with rainwater. She looks beautiful, of course. There isn’t a moment of the day she doesn’t steal his breath.

“Peter,” she says, voice low and careful, but even still- he can hear the honey-sweet affection his name is spoken through, “You’re early tonight, huh?”

He cracks a smile, and looks her over- he can’t help it.

He fell on her fire escape, one night. Her crappy college apartment, a shared place with her own room. It was months ago, feels like decades now. Of course, he knew who she was before that night. He knew she was the kind girl, who smiled at him every time she passed him in the hallways. He’s had a crush on her since was ten, when she offered him a chocolate bar the day after Halloween, when Aunt May had just packed a granola bar.

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