𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯 w̴̠͂̀e̶̖̎͊͋͜ ̸̛̬͇̿̕

@ARTHISAN : a vintage + sci - fi oc that is primarily based in the 1950s / 1960s . written by sav [ 27 , she / they , est ] . this blog is based on a historical timeline that explores loneliness , trauma , and mental rehabilitation through the lens of space travel . while there are historical elements brought into the context of the story , most of it will be made up of fictional elements . therefore , famous dates , events , locations will not always be accurate . sideblog : @ofmabees .

bold what applies and italicize what applies sometimes .      please repost ,     don’t reblog !

SUMMER .     cold drinks after a long day ,     hiking in the woods just outside the city ,     swimming in a lake ,     spontaneous picnics ,     the warmth of the sun making you drowsy ,     the buzz of insects flying by ,     blooming wildflowers ,     the scent of bark and leaves ,     snapping twigs in half ,     a blade of grass between your teeth ,     light sunburn on the tip of your nose ,     barking dogs ,     rosy cheeks ,     children laughing in the distance ,     sunflowers reaching for the sun ,     fresh ice tea ,     resting your head on someone’s lap ,     warm yellow ,     the sound of waves crashing .

AUTUMN .     cool breezes that feel just right ,     piles of leaves ,     rust red ,     oversized sweaters ,     knitted blankets ,     pumpkin spice ,     the scent of freshly baked goods ,     open windows letting the fresh air in ,     cold cheeks and hands ,     rain boots ,     carving pumpkins ,     soft scarves ,     a comforting embrace from an old friend ,     the scent right before a storm ,     wild mushrooms ,      ripening berries ,     a cup of hot tea ,     purring cats ,     blueberry muffins ,     braided hair ,     wearing your partner’s shirts ,      an alarm pulling you from slumber ,     burning candles .

WINTER .     the crackling of a fireplace ,     hot chocolate with marshmallows ,     the smell of fresh cookies ,     fuzzy socks ,     beanies pulled over your ears ,     a strong pot of coffee ,     dark clouds gathering on the horizon ,     the sound of wind shaking the house ,     melting ice ,     snowflakes in your hair ,     melancholy afternoons ,     curling up with a book while the world stands still ,     cough drops on the nightstand ,     excitedly giving gifts ,     long coats with deep pockets ,     pale blues ,     flour on the tip of your nose ,     warm soup ,     stubble turning into a beard ,     the scent of leather .

SPRING .     the smell after it rains ,     waking to the sound of birds singing ,     the crack of thunder ,     soft pinks ,     energy drinks or protein shakes ,     the scent of fabric softener ,     tidying up ,     the sweet taste of fresh fruit ,     competitive spark in eyes ,     sand beneath your feet ,     sweat on your brow ,     catching your breath after running ,     light green ,     frosted cupcakes ,     electricity in the air ,     forbidden kisses ,     the sharp hunger after a work out ,     daring romances ,     high ponytails ,     unexpected storms ,     picking flowers ,     running barefoot in the grass ,     iced coffee .

that voice cuts deep into silence ,    gentle and steady ,     yet heavy enough to sometimes sound louder than a crash or thud .    down to the very first syllable ,    his head prompts up before it can finish dipping back ,     arms stretched out and legs crossed ,     meaning to languish    —    until a shadow makes himself known .    glancing back ,    he quickly shifts ,    sitting forward to appear more awake ,    the surprise flickering round - eyed and expectant on his face .    as if he meant to anticipate his presence ,    just not right now .    but among his drowsiness ,    boy     —    is he happy to see him .    quietly ,    wordlessly .    no apparentness besides eyelids ,    falling halfway shut .    a dopey smile ,    soft and subtle ,    like he could already be dreaming .

his features glow in the illuminance of rain clouds    that have yet to erupt just outside .    it's dark ,    even for this early in the afternoon .    but it's also comfy ,    quiet ,    peaceful .    arthur imagines out here is far better than whatever is going over there ,    down towards the pith of the house ,    or the pit    —    what arthur likes to call it these days .    harsh to say ,    but michael is walking evidence that proves the nature of such a name ,    walking in     and walking out     and always looking a year older than the day he did before .    though ,    against those rain clouds ,    the wear and tear glows too .    even the most finite wrinkles harbor pain ,    but also glory ,     tiny little painstrokes ,    making up the telling of one man's story .    despite everything ,    arthur admires it .

shut the hell up i haven't forgotten what you did to fredo