Different Ways To Describe Eye Colors

#releasethetimebombcut

Guys - Jinx thought Ekko was dead. She didn’t know he was alive.

So when he came to save her - she thought he was a hallucination just like Silco. She even says the same thing.

To silco when he appears when she’s in prison: “You’re too late.”

To Ekko when he stops her from killing herself: “You’re too late Ekko”

She only realised he was real when she saw him bleeding and when he said “blow us both up.” And when she realised he was actually there, and that setting the bomb off would kill him too, she jumped off the ledge instead.

coconut girl 🥥 🍹 🐚 🌺 🏖

やよさーん ig yayosaan

Hero had the two criminals cornered in the alleyway. Surrounded on three sides by large towering brick walls, there was nowhere to run.

"I got you now, nowhere to escape." Hero gloated with a grin and watched as they cowered further. Usually, criminals and the like weren't intimidated by Hero, and they had to work hard to even be taken seriously.

"Now, if you surrender willingly, no harm will come to you." Hero's grin widened as they spoke in an overly confident tone. Even earlier in this fight, these two criminals had no problem trying to fight Hero, even managing to get some good hits in. Now, here they were, seemingly scared frozen.

Hero found it to be very validated until they noticed that their eyes were looking slightly past Hero. Frown instantly forming and face falling, Hero spoke again.

"There's something terrifying behind me, isn't there?"

The two nodded slowly, still not moving. Hero's frown deepened. They felt a sudden rise of anxiety twisting in their gut.

"How terrifying?" Hero couldn't bring themselves to look, but as soon as they asked, they felt strong hands fall atop their shoulders, pulling them close.

Villain's familiar voice sounded mischievously in their ear, breath fanning across Hero's neck.

"Extremely terrifying."

the duality of self.

when neville was referring to us humans as gods of our realities, he meant it. not only was he referring to our abilities — which are god-like — he was also talking about our existence as god.

human in reality.

in this outer world, this physical place, you are human — god in the human body. the reason why you are a human in physical form is the same reason why everything around you is physical as well. it’s because you are CONSCIOUS of it. your consciousness creates… everything. pretty much everything. therefore, the reason why you experience life as a human is because you are CONSCIOUS of being human. we could take a step further and say that the same goes for your entire 3D. it is also a byproduct of your imagination, just like your physical body. perceiving the world with your senses, having these senses in the first place is all possible due to imagination.

god in imagination.

if the five senses — smelling, tasting, touching, hearing, seeing — are your natural human senses, what about god's natural sense? god's sense is IMAGINING. for god, there is only one sense and it’s the ability to create. to have the power to create the world according to your imaginative acts in your own imagination is your most natural sense. it’s in your nature to create. all because IMAGINATION is your true reality, just like GOD is your true self.

the god and human self.

so, when neville calls you the GOD of your reality, he is pointing at your imagination. yourself, in imagination, is god. your imagination is god. your consciousness is god. your awareness of being is god. it’s not your human body in flesh and blood. you don’t need to convince yourself that your human self possesses the same qualities as your god self. your body, if you like it or not, isn’t your true self. it is a creation of you, god in imagination. it’s a conception of the conceiver. and the conceiver is forever greater than its conception.

you are god. and besides you, there is no other.

with love, ella.

Why did drawing this feel freaky

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

me after telling myself this morning that i shifted to a reality where my mom let me skip school, and she let me skip school! 😭🙏

This fucking reality is lame. Ain't nobody casting spells, flying, or nothing. ALL Y'ALL WANNA DO IS COMPLAIN AND WORK

3d vs 4d

This is one of the big epiphanies I've had recently, and it's going to sound questionable. Or not. Ig many other LOA blogs have thought of this before but I'm still figuring out the logic of things lmfao

SO

nothing you do in the 3D has any impact whatsoever. It has no consequences. Nothing comes out of it, good or bad.

YOU CAN'T CHANGE THE 3D BY ACTING IN THE 3D

babes, the 3d is dead. Like legit. It's a fire gone out, you can't do anything with it. It holds no power, none whatsoever

That might seem daunting at first, but it's actually freeing: it doesn't matter!!! It doesn't matter if you saw bad grades on your last few exams, it doesn't matter what the reflection in the mirror is like, it's DEAD!!!!!

Even more, you don't have to force yourself to do anything you dislike out of hope of changing your circumstances: you don't have to study 9 hours a day, you don't have to workout religiously, you don't have to diet, because nothing done in the 3D has consequences to the REAL world

Which, finally means, that ALL CHANGE must be achieved in the 4d

Aka in your mind

Now's the part where you cry from joy and say "oh my god I'm so relieved" bc baby changing things in your mind is literally the easiest thing in the world

Going through class after class thinking "no I can't sleep I need to study more" is depressing, so instead of it you can retreat to your mind and tell yourself all you want to hear

"I've already passed my exams"

"My past grades were all A's"

"I am the perfect student"

And that's it. It's done. The minute you tell yourself these things, you've done not only everything you could—you've done everything you HAD to

You don't need to do anything in the 3d

You've changed your perception of things and now your outer world will reflect it

By retreating into your mind and telling yourself all you want to hear, you are effectively shaping your reality

And there are NO bad consequences associated with it, unless you think there are

Meaning; you won't fail your exams bc instead of studying you meditated and changed your state

...except if you obsess over that possibility and give it power

Then it might happens

But if it does, no panic, continue denying everything you don't like about the 3d, and it is BOUND to change

Nothing's ever a lost cause, nothing's set in stone

You are safe from everything in your mind

Your only job is to change your inner world. That's it