redid my altar last night (~:
❣️ one of my favorite pieces up here is the fortune teller i made to ask my partner out officially which is in the right corner with the angel numbers on it! ❣️
✨ a lot of these pieces and the art above (not pictured) have been gifts from my friends and fellow practitioners and it has been so healing to be held and cherished by my community, always makes me feel so warm reflecting on all the memories this lil vanity holds ✨
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Obsessed with Lloyd never mentioning his grandfather is the First Spinjitsu Master, apparently to the point even Arin didn't seem to know, because "eh, it never came up". Cause like, yeah, sure, my grandfather is God, what of it? Normal day for me. Shit happens. My dad is also evil, you wanna talk about that? I sure don't.
It's also funny from a character arc perspective. Here's itty bitty baby first season Lloyd, loudly proclaiming he's the son of Garmadon, and probably also making sure everyone knows he's God part 3 electric boogaloo. And then one Tomorrow's Tea and a few more years later and he's doing everything physically possible to NOT care about his heritage. In fact he'd probably rather his parentage was literally anyone else. Dude could care so less he forgets about it most of the time. King behavior.
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I think the biggest part about being in a relationship with Nikto is that you help him relearn things about himself, about his body and his mind. It takes a bit, but somehow, you convince him to let you touch him. It would have been easier if it had been for sex. That's mindless and instinctual enough for him not to worry about. He could have sex with you, no problem (lie).
But no. This was a different touch. Instead of pushing his pants down, your hands carefully push his shirt up, just under his chest. You don't make any moves to pull it off, just keeps it there as your fingers trace along his torso. The pads of your fingers feel each dip and muscle and he tries not to shiver when your nails ghost over his scars.
It's about the sensations. It's about finding all the latches and hooks that hold him together and letting you pull him apart. You pull back his layers and teach yourself about every gear and wire, every muscle and tendon. Then you put him back together exactly as he was. You didn't want to fix him. You wanted to know him
Your deft hands cradle his head, lips kiss across his mangled face as you whisper the most foreign, loving, painful words to him.
Something about the way you hold him makes him feel small. Sometimes, he doesn't want to be big. Sometimes, he'll humor you and let you pull him into your lap. He's such a behemoth, but the way your hands squeeze his hips as you grin up at him makes him feel precious, like a prized pet to be pampered.
It'll take a while, but he'll be a lapdog if you want him to be. Do you want him to bark? Beg on his knees? You've worshipped him, let him worship you more.
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