spiriteddreams

[spiriteddreams]

hello hello friends! it's official, spirit is moving blogs!

@spiriteddreams -> @zephyrnes (18+ only.)

a farewell message

[spiriteddreams]

to my dear friends on this silly little app,

this decision was a long time coming. there are quite a few reasons for my decision to move, but i've been thinking a lot about this blog and the memories that i've made here. to be frank, i'm surprised i lasted this long here amidst my scattered semi-hiatuses and discourse that swept through the communities i’m apart of here. i've made so many friends, written a ridiculous amount of works, and have thoroughly enjoyed my time here. writing and rambling on @/spiriteddreams has helped me continue to grow as a young writer through finding joy and connections with so many over our interests. i can't help but feel as if this blog is so deeply attached to my college years and i'm ready to start something new.

everything here on this blog will remain as it is. consider it an archive—or even a portfolio of sorts—of these silly works that i indulged in between writing papers and cramming in homework and readings. i imagined stupid scenarios as i prepared for classes and wrote fragmented sentences in my notes app while crossing campus. the collection that i leave here brings me much joy to look back upon, and i feel proud of some of the works i've poured my love into writing.

i will absolutely continue to write in this new blog. i don't think i could live a life where i'm not a writer of sorts. but it's the chance for a fresh start and to perhaps unlock a new era of storytelling to share.

so without further ado, thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far, to everyone who listened to my mindless rambles and made me feel like a valued friend on this silly little app. i'll see you on the other side, any way the wind blows!

all my love, spirit

[spiriteddreams]

enemies to lovers with alhaitham, where you're paired up as research partners for a project at the akademiya.

working sessions with him are hell: frigid glares thrown your way, cups of coffee strategically spilled on your notes, and carefully aimed kicks at your shins. you swear he was sent by the devil.

you're not any better, though. you show up to the library thirty minutes late every time and "accidentally" break your pens over his textbooks. in your defense, it's revenge for your bruised shins. two can play at this game, and only one will come out crowned as the victor.

except you don't think you'll win. because one tuesday, you provoke him too much and he snaps, grabbing the collar of your uniform and hauling you out of your chair. you're pinned against the library desk while papers fly around you, watching his stupidly toned chest heave up and down. there's ice-cold anger in his teal eyes, his death grip on your shirt is starting to hurt, and you're convinced he might actually kill you today.

and maybe it's the lack of sleep or the stress of working with him that's finally made you insane, because you can't help but blush at the close proximity between the two of you, eyes briefly admiring his lips before glancing away. you hope he didn't notice.

but judging by the rising flush of his cheeks and the softening of his brow, he definitely saw.

[spiriteddreams]

[spiriteddreams]

my dear sweet anon who sent me a letter, i am sending you flowers and warm hugs.. thank you!!! this made me smile so silly and giddy and make me feel so much better today, i truly appreciate it! i hope you have the most wonderful day ever, wishing you all the best <3

➺ knock knock, @spiriteddreams ! there's a letter awaiting you!

hi spirit ୧(๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭ i'm here to say thank you for taking the time to chat with me! i'm really glad we became friends and i wouldn't trade you for anyone in the world. not even my faves . even through just interacting online i can tell that you're super intelligent and capable of doing many great things. i hope your future brings you everything you wish for (and beyond that) !!

sincerely, anonymous

[spiriteddreams]

what it means to love...

part one with: neuvillette, kaedehara kazuha & al-haitham notes: smidges of angst with happy endings tagging! @pixelcafe-network wc: 0.9k total

…someone who holds justice to the highest standard and yet neuvillette carves time away from work to spend time with you. despite his tendency to overwork himself, he’s gotten into a better habit of taking time off for himself. whether that’s to enjoy a cup of fresh water with you in his office or to take a stroll with you during his break, he’s content to spend as much time as he can by your side. he’s seen how beautiful justice is in the courtroom, but he also knows how cruel she is, carved from centuries of suffering that strikes with no remorse. so when doubt begins to seep into his thoughts, he finds the skies darkening, questioning his own position as the iudex. but you tear him from these drowning thoughts, placing one hand over his as you trace over his gloved fingers, swirling shapes and patterns unique with every soft touch until you lace your fingers with his.

“my dear, the clouds are beginning to gather,” you say softly during one of his breaks with you, moving to stand in front of him as your other hand raises to cup his face, thumb running across his cheek as if brushing away invisible tears.

“come on, let’s enjoy the sunny days ahead.” he can feel the weight on his shoulders slip away, captivated by that understanding smile on your lips. he sets aside the work clouding his mind, for justice can be saved for the grand spectacle that is the courtroom. outside, with your arm wrapped around his, he basks in the warmth found in both the sun and you.

��someone who knows grief all too well and yet kaedehara kazuha copes with it the best he can. he puts pen to paper and closes his eyes, asking the wind to grace him with temporary companionship. he sits alone in his room, asking to be disturbed by none as he lets himself sink into memory and silence. but he doesn’t realize how long he can become caught up in his labyrinth of words until he hears soft knocks on his door. it’s only when he straightens up that he feels the ache from hunching over. the paper in front of him is scribbled with a mix of stanzas and smudged ink, a reflection of his mind.

“you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” your voice draws him from his lingering thoughts. you wonder how long he’s been sitting like this, hand cramping around his pen and hair growing messier with each time he runs his hands through it in frustration. kazuha offers you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and it’s clear that he’s still half-caught in the memory of thunder striking before his eyes.

you gently run your hand across his shoulders, “come on, let’s go take a walk.” kazuha nods silently as he stands, gathering his items to be stacked neatly on his desk. you wait patiently, listening only to the sounds of suffering papers and kazuha’s occasional hums. and when he finally turns to face you, ready to walk through the city, he already looks more relaxed with his eyes less clouded and his smile more genuine.

“thank you, my dear.”

…someone who values rationality above (most) else and yet al-haitham knows that there are times when he must set aside his own pride. he will hold onto it for as long as he can, silent gaze challenging you across the room, chin held high, unwavering eyes refusing to back down first. you’re just as stubborn as he is, unwilling to let his words slide by. you understand that being acting grand sage is hard work, but it’s no excuse for his snippy attitude to come tearing through your home when he walks in. the silence that stretches across your home threatens to tear at both of your resolves, the picture-frame covered walls waiting with baited breath to see who breaks first. he blames his exhaustion for prompting him to move first, walking past you and heading to your shared room. he runs a hand over his face and sighs loudly, already feeling regret sink into his bones. he hears the front door slam shut and he feels like crumbling.

“you’re here?” al-haitham’s voice sounds cracked and dry as approaches you. you sit at the dining table, alone, fiddling with something in your hands. you hide it away before he can get a glimpse of what it might be and turn to face him.

“why wouldn’t i be here?” you ask softly. he hates that you offer him such kindness when he hasn’t even apologized yet, but he sinks into your words, relieved to find that you still choose to be here. “look, i understand you’re stressed and—“

“it’s no excuse, i’m sorry, my love,” he takes a hesitant step forward. you don’t move to send him away so he moves again until he’s in front of you and sinks down to his knees. your eyes widen in surprise, but he takes your hands in his before you can protest and presses a kiss to your knuckles. you think he’s about to wax poetic about how much he adores you (which of course always comes sincerely from him), but you can see a hint of mischief in his eyes that makes you hesitate as he tries to joke, “next time, throw me out first instead, okay?”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! note: so much work to do and yet here i am...... back again.....

[spiriteddreams]

what it means to love...

part one with: neuvillette, kaedehara kazuha & al-haitham notes: smidges of angst with happy endings tagging! @pixelcafe-network wc: 0.9k total

…someone who holds justice to the highest standard and yet neuvillette carves time away from work to spend time with you. despite his tendency to overwork himself, he’s gotten into a better habit of taking time off for himself. whether that’s to enjoy a cup of fresh water with you in his office or to take a stroll with you during his break, he’s content to spend as much time as he can by your side. he’s seen how beautiful justice is in the courtroom, but he also knows how cruel she is, carved from centuries of suffering that strikes with no remorse. so when doubt begins to seep into his thoughts, he finds the skies darkening, questioning his own position as the iudex. but you tear him from these drowning thoughts, placing one hand over his as you trace over his gloved fingers, swirling shapes and patterns unique with every soft touch until you lace your fingers with his.

“my dear, the clouds are beginning to gather,” you say softly during one of his breaks with you, moving to stand in front of him as your other hand raises to cup his face, thumb running across his cheek as if brushing away invisible tears.

“come on, let’s enjoy the sunny days ahead.” he can feel the weight on his shoulders slip away, captivated by that understanding smile on your lips. he sets aside the work clouding his mind, for justice can be saved for the grand spectacle that is the courtroom. outside, with your arm wrapped around his, he basks in the warmth found in both the sun and you.

…someone who knows grief all too well and yet kaedehara kazuha copes with it the best he can. he puts pen to paper and closes his eyes, asking the wind to grace him with temporary companionship. he sits alone in his room, asking to be disturbed by none as he lets himself sink into memory and silence. but he doesn’t realize how long he can become caught up in his labyrinth of words until he hears soft knocks on his door. it’s only when he straightens up that he feels the ache from hunching over. the paper in front of him is scribbled with a mix of stanzas and smudged ink, a reflection of his mind.

“you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” your voice draws him from his lingering thoughts. you wonder how long he’s been sitting like this, hand cramping around his pen and hair growing messier with each time he runs his hands through it in frustration. kazuha offers you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and it’s clear that he’s still half-caught in the memory of thunder striking before his eyes.

you gently run your hand across his shoulders, “come on, let’s go take a walk.” kazuha nods silently as he stands, gathering his items to be stacked neatly on his desk. you wait patiently, listening only to the sounds of suffering papers and kazuha’s occasional hums. and when he finally turns to face you, ready to walk through the city, he already looks more relaxed with his eyes less clouded and his smile more genuine.

“thank you, my dear.”

…someone who values rationality above (most) else and yet al-haitham knows that there are times when he must set aside his own pride. he will hold onto it for as long as he can, silent gaze challenging you across the room, chin held high, unwavering eyes refusing to back down first. you’re just as stubborn as he is, unwilling to let his words slide by. you understand that being acting grand sage is hard work, but it’s no excuse for his snippy attitude to come tearing through your home when he walks in. the silence that stretches across your home threatens to tear at both of your resolves, the picture-frame covered walls waiting with baited breath to see who breaks first. he blames his exhaustion for prompting him to move first, walking past you and heading to your shared room. he runs a hand over his face and sighs loudly, already feeling regret sink into his bones. he hears the front door slam shut and he feels like crumbling.

“you’re here?” al-haitham’s voice sounds cracked and dry as approaches you. you sit at the dining table, alone, fiddling with something in your hands. you hide it away before he can get a glimpse of what it might be and turn to face him.

“why wouldn’t i be here?” you ask softly. he hates that you offer him such kindness when he hasn’t even apologized yet, but he sinks into your words, relieved to find that you still choose to be here. “look, i understand you’re stressed and—“

“it’s no excuse, i’m sorry, my love,” he takes a hesitant step forward. you don’t move to send him away so he moves again until he’s in front of you and sinks down to his knees. your eyes widen in surprise, but he takes your hands in his before you can protest and presses a kiss to your knuckles. you think he’s about to wax poetic about how much he adores you (which of course always comes sincerely from him), but you can see a hint of mischief in his eyes that makes you hesitate as he tries to joke, “next time, throw me out first instead, okay?”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! note: so much work to do and yet here i am...... back again.....

[spiriteddreams]

sunny!! looking gorgeous as always ty for the tag!

tagging! @mewnbuns @tetzoro @wriokitty (i’m blanking on people just like i’m blanking on how to write this research paper)

okay guys i’m in a picrew funk after the itsv spidersona one, look at me (this is luna but bimbo killer version)

not planning to make this into a tagalong thingy but here’s the link if anyone wants to try it out !! i love the artstyle on this omgomg

[spiriteddreams]

I PASSED MY EXAM ….. KAY NURSE PRACTITIONER REAL NOT CLICKBAIT

[spiriteddreams]

strawberry fields

ᡣ𐭩 feat. wriothesley

ᡣ𐭩 premise. when his daughter catches sight of his little crush on you.

ᡣ𐭩 cw. GN reader, modern AU, single father!wriothesley, reader is a primary school teacher, fluff

Wriothesley is acting weird.

Or at least that's what Sigewinne thinks.

He had been late picking her up from school today, a meeting unexpectedly running overtime and leaving him to step on the gas pedal a little more than he should have. But instead of finding his daughter waiting alone, you were sitting on the stairs with her, retying her hair into her two signature pigtails.

His scarred hands, usually so gentle, fumble with the straps of her pink backpack as he pulls them up her shoulders. She winces as her hair gets caught in one of the baubles hanging from the zippers.

"Papa, that hurts," she whines, but Wriothesley only briefly smoothes an apologetic hand down her hair. Frowning, she glances up at him, curious fuschia eyes peering at his face. Her papa's face is red, flushed like the strawberry earrings that swing back and forth from your ears.

"—Sigewinne's a stellar student in all her classes," you're telling him as he helps her with her backpack, and she bounces against Wriothesley's legs at the praise. "She gets along well with her peers and would be ready to enroll in the more advanced classes next year if you'd like."

Wriothesley's lips quirk up at the feedback, pale eyes tracing the features of your face. Sigewinne once mentioned at dinner that her teacher was pretty, and he now knows she hadn't been lying. You're like a prism, casting polychromatic light on everything around you. From your dangling strawberry earrings to the gentle but radiant curve of your smile, Wriothesley understands why his daughter is quite taken with you.

"That's great news," he sighs. "I hope she hasn't been too disruptive during class—she's quite the troublemaker at home". Sigewinne swats away the playful pinch to her cheek, pouting at him.

You stare at the two of them fondly. "She's quite well-mannered, actually. I suppose she takes after her father?" you muse, and Sigewinne silently watches as Wriothesley flushes even further at your comment.

A knowing smile inches onto her face.

She's figured it out by now—the reason why her usually poised and confident father is currently a blushing mess is because of you. She's never seen him like this before, and the oddity of it all intrigues her. The smile on his face is a little too wide—almost wolfish—and his eyes are fully focused on you, carefully absorbing your gilded words. There's an unfamiliar stutter in his voice as the two of you discuss her grades, and she's grateful her papa's been too distracted by you to notice the shark stickers she's been putting on his pants this entire time.

Another sticker is placed on Wriothesley's backside while he chats, and Sigewinne allows her mind to wander. She thinks about dinner dates with three instead of two, a stick figure with strawberry earrings scribbled onto a crayon drawing of her family, and an extra shoulder to cry on when she scrapes her knee at the playground. She loves her papa, really, but despite the love he's smothered her in for her entire life, she can't help but feel the empty echo in her heart.

Wistful daydreams come to a halt when you suddenly giggle, and Sigewinne knows she's been caught.

"I should let you go now. Your daughter's been quite busy," you tease, gesturing towards his pants.

Wriothesley glances down and swears under his breath, taking in the stickers scattered across his lower half. He lets out an amused huff.

"Like I said—a troublemaker." Sigewinne doesn't find his remark particularly funny, but you titter, looking strangely bashful.

The rosy flush of Wriothesley's ears remains as he hastily bids you goodbye, scooping Sigewinne up and walking towards the parking lot while she waves at you over his shoulder. And the blush still lingers when he's helping her fasten her seatbelt in the car, catching sight of her mischievous grin.

"Papa," she sings, drawing the last syllable out, but she's cut off by a large hand covering her mouth.

"Not a word from you, Miss Sigewinne," he warns.

Her laughter fills the car on the drive home.

[spiriteddreams]

ᡣ𐭩 𝐊𝐄𝐐𝐈𝐒𝐌 → 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐙 .ᐟ

[spiriteddreams]

sneezed so much today my throat hurts like. tf??

[spiriteddreams]

ugh i need to drink with post-graduate suga i just know it would fix me >_>

[spiriteddreams]

just destroying Tighnari with puns once again 👌

[spiriteddreams]

greens — ft. wriothesley

includes: hints at wrio’s past and his mother that he reflects on ; established relationship ; gender neutral reader ; reader force feeds him veggies because i hc he hates them ; based kind of on this post

“Wriothesley,” you warn. He pauses, glancing at you cautiously at your tone.

“You sound…not happy,” he points out.

You raise a brow, unimpressed and unamused as you say, “Very astute observation.”

“What’d I do this time?” He pouts, slumping in his chair as he tries to sift through his brain for what he’s possibly done. He doesn’t have to think for too long, though—you answer for him instantly.

He almost wishes you never did.

“Finish your vegetables, Wriothesley,” you scold firmly, “you’re not leaving this table until you finish your greens—they’re good for you.”

Finish your vegetables, Wriothesley.

They’re good for you.

You’re not leaving this table until you finish.

There’s something eerily familiar about the words. He thinks he may have swallowed his vision—a chill seeps along his esophagus as he swallows thickly, the frost mixing with his blood as it runs cold and makes him stiffen. There’s ice in his veins. Frigid, harsh, cruel, and sharp.

He plays with his fork, not meeting your stare as he moves the leftover dinner on his plate around with a dazed look.

“Not hungry,” he mutters. “I’m full.”

“You never finish your vegetables,” you huff, “honestly, Wrio, you’re an adult, you know. Don’t be difficult about eating healthy.”

Everything you say sounds devastatingly familiar. His mother’s words take shape in your voice, molding in your throat and waltzing past your lips to haunt him. It’s your voice, sure, but they’re her words. Something about it makes him feel young again—but it’s not rooted in nostalgia. Not fond memories or amusing moments he can look back at and smile.

They taunt him, he thinks. The sweet smile and kind eyes, the firm tone and gentle strictness. His mother’s love was easy to believe. So painfully simple, it felt like she did it just as she breathed. Inhaling his presence and exhaling her care for him in a steady rhythm between expansion and contraction in her lungs.

Eat your vegetables, Wriothesley, she’d tell him. If you want to grow big and strong, you have to eat them.

He wonders now, as he stares at the remnants of dinner, if she’d ever cared for his growth because she cherished his wellbeing. If the thought of him being older, stronger, and maybe even wiser was something she was proud of. (He knows the answer. Deep, in the gaping hole of his chest, the knife twists into the raw edges of a still-healing wound.

He knows. Better than anyone, he knows she never cared. Not for anything other than growing him big and desirable so she could sell him off, offer him up like she saw him as though he was marketable. Like an animal, maybe. An item. A luxury, even.

But not a child. He was never a child in her eyes—simply always just a person who wasn’t grown yet.)

“Hey,” you snap your fingers in front of his face, pulling him out of his daze. Something in your face is softer now, flooded with concern, dripping with anxiety. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” he blinks, staring past your head and at the wall. His voice is soft and barely-there as he all but whispers, “just haven’t heard that in a while. I guess some things never change, huh? I was a handful then, and now, too.”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke. You see right through it—you always do. Some form of recognition and realization and maybe even heartbreak flashes in your eyes, and he hates it. Hates that he can never escape something as mundane as dinner being tainted with demons that make everything unholy. Past demons that shape shift into his present. His future.

His everything.

They reach to grab him, to drag him back into that dark, unforgiving hole in his mind where he can’t climb out. Can’t reach for any sort of leverage to pull himself out and find the light. But just before they can reach out and touch him, you get to him first—one hand grabbing his across the table as you smile softly.

“Well, there’s only one way to handle a stubborn child who doesn’t eat his vegetables.”

“What? Punish me?” He raises a brow. You pretend you don’t hear the underlying bitterness in his tone.

Instead, you reach your fork across the table and onto his plate, stabbing at the broccoli head left untouched before bringing it up to his lips and waving the fork in circular motions.

He scrunches his brows in distaste. You smile and fight back a giggle as you sing, “here comes the plane! Ready for landing in three, two, one…”

“Are you serious?” He snorts, equal parts amused and equal parts in disbelief.

You huff, glaring. “The plane is waiting to land, y’know.”

“Fine,” he sighs in defeat, letting you push the broccoli past his lips and into his mouth. He grumbles, chewing against his will as you watch him intently. “This is gross.”

“Well, one day, when you’re big and strong, you’ll thank me.”

“I’m already big and strong,” he insists, looking a little dramatically wounded.

“Bigger and stronger,” you correct. “You’ll thank me eventually.”

He already has plenty to thank you for, he thinks, eyes trained on you as the light casts over your features like heaven resides in your skin. But adding one more thing to the list is more than okay.

Better than okay, in fact.

So umm….idk. I’m sad about him :( also it’s 2 am and I’m sleepy and this is not proof read I’m sorry. It could be written better but I’m tiredddf

[spiriteddreams]

“be an academic weapon” they said, completely forgetting that i have been academic weapon-ing for the past 3 years and i am actively fighting demons to make it to graduation

[spiriteddreams]

She gives Wonder Woman