#✿┆❛ sweet wildflower witch ━ aesthetic.

[youraveragetorturedpoet]

Taylor Swift Albums As: Aesthetics/Random Things

DEBUT: green meadows, wildflowers, sundresses with boots, car radios, back country roads, laughing so hard you cry, pickup trucks, butterflies, innocence, freckles, having all the time in the world, fireflies, moonlit lakes, old blue jeans, front porches, sweet tea, hot lazy summer days

FEARLESS: gold sparkles, rainfall/storms, high school years, fairy tales, schoolyards, princesses and princes, old books of ancient tales, waiting, clocks, knights in armor, prom, phone calls, broken promises, smiles, fighting for a cause, mutual pining, school gyms, band practice

SPEAK NOW: any and all shades of purple, trepidation in love, storybooks, fancy ballgowns, big cities, liars, awkward meetings, sparklers, crowded rooms, flames to embers, poetic endings, fighting dragons, castles, old antiques, summertime, fireworks, roses, using your voice, farewell to childhood

RED: classic red lipstick, foggy mornings, notes on pictures, trains, planes, autumn, things changing in the blink of an eye, lockets, distance, mosaics, busy streets, vintage, weeping alone, yearning, longing, the cost of fame, scarves, lattes, sleek hair, echoes, starlight, cafes, hoping against hope

1989: retro, blinding lights, vanilla ice cream, seagulls, daisies, carefree days, the beach/the ocean, tabloids, paper planes, rumors, sky blue, car rides at twilight, waves/water, wild parties, sequins, marquees, running, finding yourself, reinvention, recklessness, prime of life

REP: haunted by living ghosts, sexy, buried alive, black & crimson & white, illusions, hard liquor, snakes, "burn the witch", the perfect crime, revenge, trickery, love is a drug, cautiously optimistic, the girl you knew is dead, sleeping a lot, burning bridges, darkest nights with a starry sky

LOVER: pastels, summer nights, dirty jokes, star signs, cozy home, American classic, cheers, full moons, sunsets, rooftops, drunk in a car, new chapters, religious themes, pleading, any and all shades of pink, playing games, accepting someone fully, denial, kitchens, memories, apologies, bars, sunsets

FOLKLORE: grays & muted blacks, beginnings, spring, summer, stars, bleeding from old wounds, trains, a midnight sea, bus stops, old film reels, funeral for old self, braids, lies, pretending, rumors, waiting by the phone, malls, wishes, drowning, jewels, old tales of those who came before, August and July

EVERMORE: bronze & shades of brown, snow, endings, reunions, fall and winter, moving on, old friends, a weekend tryst, true crime podcasts, healing from deep wounds, ivy and greenery, stuck on repeat, crescent moons, November and December, willow trees, bubbling champagne, following dreams, watching from the sidelines

MIDNIGHTS: sultry, dark wine, hurt but not dead, friendship bracelets, navy blue and mustard yellow, moonstones, honey, cats, vulnerability, auroras, impossible things, growing up, rain and snow, time portals, politics, meteors, shimmering, recognizing your worth, simplicity, chess, emotional infidelity, glitches

TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT: quill pens, white, the scent of old books, denial & anger & bargaining & grief & acceptance, typewriters, exhaustion, profound sadness, mental institutions, the price of fame, refiners fire, childhood stories, nostalgia, ancient prophecies, hotel rooms, dolls, mental health issues, reading Aristotle just because, going in kicking and screaming but coming out alive

[ifyougochasingrabbits]

.fairy tale aesthetics: brothers grimm version

Bold what applies to your muse and REPOST !

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. long-handled hunting knives. sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from faraway lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

tagged by these loves: Don't remember. orz tagging more lovelies: @umbralsound-xiv, @hinganskies, @thefreelanceangel, @dumb-hat, @tiergan-vashir

Old prompt results below...

Because of several things that has happened to White since this was last done, I've been able to bold more things that fit! Still pretty similar at the end of the day.

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. long-handled hunting knives. sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from faraway lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

[outoftheirdifferences]

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION

rules :   bold what applies to your muse and repost

SNOW WHITE:

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron.  fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy.  long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window.  combs laced with pearls and poison. an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves.  frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS:

a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears.  hands tied behind back.  shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals.  blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST:

lukewarm bath water.  sapphire butterflies.   tiny milk snakes.  baskets of strawberries. fat toads.  sparkling snow. fur cloaks.  raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD:

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood.  stains that won’t rub away.  galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands.  dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS:

sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles.  white feathers.  refusing to smile.  needles and threads.  a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings.  birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn.  silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP:

wildflowers.  rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn.  a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts.  sunlight peeking through branches.  opening corks with a satisfying pop.  looking someone directly in the eye.

Tagged by: @thecaptainsxcrew Tagging: Anyone!!

[iputaspellonyoux]

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION

SNOW WHITE. jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy.  long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window.  combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves.  frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS. a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks.  sweet pears.  hands tied behind back.  shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver.  wax seals.  blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST. lukewarm bath water.  sapphire butterflies.   tiny milk snakes.  baskets of strawberries.  fat toads.  sparkling snow.  fur cloaks.  raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine.  a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD. a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away.  galloping hooves.  treasures from far away lands.  dragging by the hair.  dark and damp cellars. marble walls.  shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS. sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles.  white feathers.  refusing to smile.  needles and threads.  a castle in the forest.  sound of beating wings.  birthmarks. climbing trees.  balls of yarn.  silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP. wildflowers.  rich-tasting cake.  wicker baskets.  the path rarely trod. sharp teeth.  curtains drawn.  a dying fireplace.  grey pelts.  red velvet.  handmade quilts.  sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

tagged by.   tagging.  anybody who wants to do this, I say go for it! :)

[forestwitched]

remy o’bryan aesthetics! // 1/?

[alstroemeriadissonance]

Night Gladiolus ~ The Witching Hour (NSFW)

Submitted as entry for Tears of Themis NSFW subreddit here (Prompt #2)

Vyn x Rosa AU where they are new neighbors in a suburban town.

Warning: NSFW. Slight blood play. Also, this is horribly long and self-indulgent, consider yourself warned.

It has been one week since Rosa moved into the town of Stellis, a few minutes bus ride away from her university.

A week ago she managed to snag this cottage-style home with its own backyard, for only less than half of the average rental rates in the area.

While the house was indeed a more humble affair at fifty square meters including a small strip of backyard adorned with wildflowers, for Rosa this was a dream come true; the place was just enough for her to hole up in comfortable solitude with her daydreams, studies, books, lo-fi music, and certain darker thoughts.

Tonight, after putting down her textbooks for the day, she decided to unwind, sipping a cup of cocoa in her tiny yet cozy, cottage-core aesthetic backyard, losing herself in her musings.

The moon hung over the night sky, above the black strips of clouds edged with silver lining.

There was only a small amount of light pollution in this town, letting the stars twinkle brightly--and Rosa, thoroughly enjoying her alone time in her comfortable, homey lodgings, sighed in contentment.

I wish all nights would be peaceful and happy, just like this, came her fervent prayer as she sipped the creamy spiced cocoa. I wish nights for me will be as healing as this moment.

And then, it hit her: the heady smell of flowers carried by the night breeze--a medley of alluring scents, with hints of lemon, honey, vanilla, and certain spices.

Strange. I don't remember ever having night blooms in my garden. Unless...

Curious, Rosa slipped into her moccasins and padded over to the fence separating her backyard from the one next door.

Didn't Miss Taylor say that I have no next door neighbors? And so, armed with that knowledge that there shouldn't be any occupants in the lot behind the fence, Rosa did what she wouldn't normally do as a stickler for privacy: look over the fence and peek into the next door property.

What she saw confounds her: far from an abandoned lot, Rosa saw a carefully-tended garden filled with plants of floral bushes and vines; and from what she could tell so far--based on the rudimentary knowledge that she has on gardening--all of the plants that she could identify were of night variety: night gladiolus, moonflower, night phlox, among other kinds of flowers.

All of which bloom and release their sweet scents at night.

Incredible...the garden is well taken care of...then, how...?

And then she noticed a small gazebo set by the edge of this secret garden...and its occupant.

The person seemed to be a man with pale, pale hair that glinted silver in the moonlight.

He was sitting cross-legged on a garden chair, and--despite that it was nighttime and there was no light source about him except for the moonlight--reading a book.

Suddenly, he looked up, his strange gold cat-like eyes meeting her gaze.

Rosa gasped. Ah damn. Nothing to do but apologize. "Um, hi, neighbor--"

The man put a finger across his lips, as if telling her to be quiet. However it was not to admonish; the moonlight shone on his face brightly enough for Rosa to see that his lips have curled up in a friendly smile.

"I'm Rosa, by the way--ah--" she noticed the man's gesture for her to be quiet a bit too late, it seemed, as the man put his finger down and shook his head, still smiling, as if to say, whatever will I do with this silly person?

Overcome with embarrassment, Rosa ducked behind her side of the fence and, keeping her profile low she snuck back into her house, picking up her now cold cup of cocoa on the way inside.

Somehow, she could not figure out why she was blushing furiously, Was it out of embarrassment for having been caught peeking into his garden, or was it because the man was incredibly beautiful?

===

The witching hour.

Your bedside clock says it is exactly three in the morning. For some reason you stir awake in the stillness. There are no sounds to be heard, and yet--your heart is beating fast against your ribcage. There is something wrong, something amiss.

You try to sit up, but find that you cannot move. Your mind is lucid enough to realize that this may be one of those sleep paralysis dreams--

"Hello, neighbor." The voice comes softly, sweetly, as if it were a lover's whisper.

You can not move, but your eyes can: standing by your doorway is the very same man you spied upon in the next door garden. Clad in a white shirt, dress pants and a waistcoat, he seems to belong from a bygone era.

Moonlight shines upon him through your window; and his hair has absorbed its very color, shining brightly, as bright as the pale gold of his irises.

"Ah, I tried to tell you not to talk to me, but I guess you do not know the ways of my kind," he speaks casually, as if he were a close acquaintance, or even a friend. "You even foolishly told me your name. So now I am here."

Your mouth and throat are dry, but you find that you can still speak. "I--what are you doing here?" Your breathing comes hard and fast, as if about to hyperventilate. "Are you--"

The intruder smiles apologetically and approaches your bed, reaching out to you with his slender, cold, fingers; he gently closed your eyelids with those icy, icy fingertips.

The touch makes you gasp.

"Ssh. I am not here to do you harm. At least...not yet?" His voice is lightly teasing.

You cannot open your eyes any longer, not after your neighborly intruder has closed them shut. Yet oddly enough, you also start calming down...

"You have to forgive me. I find that your kind easily get used to my presence if all you could do is hear me--oh? This is quite an interesting book."

You hear him pick up a book from your nearby desk, where all of your university text books are piled along with your essay paper, or what is supposed to be your essay paper, if only you knew what to write on it. You were so embarrassed earlier that you cannot absorb anything about de Tocqueville...

Despite your lack of eyesight you know he is reading through your materials, with the sound of fingers rifling through pages, pausing every so often as he reads silently...

"Dear neighbor, if I offer you my thoughts on de Tocqueville, will you accept it?" he asks suddenly.

And, without thinking, your answer comes fast--"Yes, I don't know what to write in my essay."

"Yes, I can see that." His small laughter is pleasant as a cool night breeze in the summer. "You are in luck; I have read his books quite...extensively.

"Well then," he begins, "First, keep in mind that his two most seminal works are those that discuss his thoughts on the newly-founded democracy in America during his time, and the other is about his opinion on the so-called French Revolution."

The scraping of chair legs across wooden floor. He has made himself comfortable; you may be in for a long lecture...

Then, comes his voice, still honeyed yet talking with an unmistakable authority on the subject:

"You have to understand that as a Frenchman, Alexis de Tocqueville has put American democracy of early 1800s on a pedestal as a shining example of what he termed as equality in action."

You wonder, as he talks--is this man a teacher, or a professor? In any case, he was more engaging than the professor in your politics class...

"This is somewhat in contrast with his reserved views on French attempts at putting power in the hands of the common people, where they unseated the royal elite, but according to de Tocqueville--only replaced the royals with another group of elites, under Robespierre, whose Reign of Terror..."

You listen intently to your night intruder--now, elevated to the status of visitor--talk animatedly about individualism, democracy, and de Tocqueville's disheartened views on French politics. You do not know how much time has passed, yet you are listening to the man's easy-to-follow lecture and are mentally taking notes on what your thesis statement would be...

"It will also do you good to keep in mind that as you write your essay, remember that de Tocqueville still has a high opinion of humanity in general despite of what he believes to be their mediocrity and fallibility."

His lecture is punctuated with the audible closing of your textbook.

"Well, do you find my thoughts on the matter acceptable, my new neighbor?"

"Wow. Um. Yeah," you say despite your initial panic at having an intruder in your room, in the very house that you live alone. "That was way easier to understand than the lecture in university..."

It is as this moment that you realize you no longer are afraid of his presence. Even if you cannot see him, even as you feel him draw closer to you...

"Dear neighbor, Rosa," he finally calls you by name, your name rolling off sweetly from his tongue. "Now that I have offered you my gift, and you have accepted it, I shall take my share..."

You are not afraid, not like earlier when you first saw him standing by the threshold of your bedroom. Even as you feel his presence looming over your prone body, even as you feel him tonguing the side of your neck slowly, coating that spot where the artery is located with his saliva...

The cold touch of his lips.

"I shall take only a little bit, you still need to wake up early tomorrow to write your essay," he murmurs softly against your neck, the movement of his lips raising goosebumps all across your skin...

Then pinpricks...

===

A week passed by.

Rosa's paper, hastily typed one morning a week ago, has received full marks, earning her a rare praise from the instructor and bumped up her grades enough that (she thinks) she can afford slacking off on the upcoming test.

She only has vague, hazy recollection of what transpired the night before she crammed on that very paper, the paper that she almost gave up on, only to find herself oddly inspired the morning of its deadline, typing like a madman possessed.

All she knew was that she had a strange dream, but was it really a dream if everything discussed about de Tocqueville actually was spot on and earned her the highest score among the class?

She even wrote in things that were not even covered in the chapters assigned as required reading--it was impossible for her to have read them prior to writing the essay. She was not studious enough to use her me time in polishing a paper...

When she tried to catch a glimpse of him again, he was nowhere to be found; not during the past nights--even the lush night bloom garden from her fuzzy memory was nowhere to be found in the property next door. There were only a few nondescript hardy shrubs, certainly nothing as delicate nor beautiful as what she thought she saw that night...

And so, was the beautiful visitor who spoke of de Tocqueville even real?

This very question hung over her head, occupying most of her thoughts so much that she was out of it for most part ever since.

"Hey, Rosa, are you listening to me?" The dark haired boy sighed despondently, tired of having to struggle to keep her attention from flitting away every so often.

He tried to reach out for her hand across the cafeteria table where they were taking their lunch together, but Rosa was too far into her daydream to notice.

"Mm? Oh, sorry Marius," Rosa shook her head, willing herself back to pay attention to the physical plane. "I guess I'm just lacking sleep...haha..."

The boy called Marius crossed his arms, clearly not convinced with her answer. "I don't know, Rosa, I don't think this is working out," he shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "If I can't even have a proper conversation with you for more than five minutes, I think we're just wasting each other's time."

"I'm sorry," was all she could say.

"That's it? I'm sorry?" Marius said, voice heavy with misgiving. "You wouldn't even tell me what it is that is bothering you. You're not telling me what you're thinking of--ever since you moved out of your boarding house..."

He then looked at Rosa straight in the eye, after finally having gotten a response from her. "Tell me, is it another guy?"

Rosa's head snaps up, and she found herself looking at Marius in surprise. "What...?"

Her reaction was so sudden, and it made her look like she was caught.

"I knew it," Marius muttered as he gathered his things. "I knew something was up when you suddenly wanted your own place."

Rosa only looked on as he left, not making any effort to correct his misunderstanding.

She was acutely aware that she was supposed to be upset, having been abandoned by one of her very few precious friends--her boyfriend, to be exact.

But somehow, she wasn't. There was a pang that touched her heart, sure, but it was nothing that she could shrug off.

Maybe it was because the one who she truly longed for was him, who currently occupied most of her thoughts. Her heart swelled only for him, and she could not wait for night time to fall once again.

I am really, really done for, Rosa told herself.

I don't even know if he's real.

===

It is the witching hour once again.

The moment your eyes open you already know what time it is, even before you look at your bedside clock. It is three in the morning.

You know this especially since your room is now slightly perfumed with hints of fruit and spice, hallmark of the scent of night gladiolus.

He is here.

"Hello, little neighbor," comes his voice.

The voice that you have longed to prove that it actually exists, that soft, honeyed, sultry voice that once spoke of individualism and democracy as if they were treatises on how to capture your heart and soul in such a way that you do not want to think of anything else but him, only him.

He of the moonlight hair and golden cat-like eyes stands by your doorway, and this time he is not empty handed; in his arms are spikes of night gladiolus--yellow and green blooms adorn the flowering spikes cradled in his arm.

"You came." Your words come breathlessly, and you try to move to receive him--but you are once again immobile.

He smiles genially, eyes crinkling in a friendly smile overcast with a certain darkness to it. "Of course I will. It is rare for me to find..."

The corners of his mouth curl into a predatory grin. "...food who so willingly present themselves to me."

"Food," you repeat his word, yet the implication does not register in your head. It will, eventually, but it will come much later along with the sunrise.

"But of course, we have to play by the rules." He walks over to you, presenting the flowers that he has brought along to your side. "Do you accept these flowers, Rosa, as my gift to you?"

It is then that you realize, keeping in mind the interaction from the last time; this is their game: they gift you with a boon, like flowers, or knowledge, and if you accept, you are essentially giving them permission to take something from you.

The night gladiolus presented to you are beautiful, and well-tended to...but you know in your heart of hearts that you desire something else entirely.

"I'm sorry. I could not receive these lovely flowers," you whisper to him, a little bit sorry for neglecting the flowers being offered. You sincerely want them in your room, for their scent to permeate your room and remind you of his nightly presence.

"I see, that is too bad," he looks disappointed, but recovers himself quickly. "Do you need, or desire something else, then?" His eyes look at you, piercing you with such a gaze that makes you think he is reading your very thoughts.

"If you let me move, you may know the answer," you dare say to him, never minding that you are unsure if you do have the upper hand over him in this situation--you have something he wants, yes, but who is to say you are the only one who could give it to him?

"Ah. I generally find it unnecessary, but for my lovely neighbor I may consider an exemption." He bends over, just enough to allow the lightest of touches from his fingertips to land on your forehead.

You feel the quagmire holding you in place dissipate, and your can now freely move your limbs, your body...

And the very first thing you do, after sitting up, is to throw your arms around your visitor's neck, pulling him down to your lips for a kiss.

His lips are cold, as are the rest of him, it seems, but the temperature difference does not deter you from wanting a taste. Instead, you find yourself craving the way it cools down the heat of your own skin.

He slightly parts his lips in response to your brash approach; he neither welcomes nor pushes you away, yet he allows you to slip your tongue past his lips to find his, he allows your hands to roam his body as you try to confirm his physical presence--yes, he is here with you. Yes, he is real and not a figment of your imagination.

Then your hands slide upwards to let your fingers thread through his wispy silver hair, pulling you ever closer to deepen your kiss--

And you feel something sharp poke your tongue, iron-tasting fluid starting to trickle into both your mouths.

It is then that you decide to pull away from your kiss, blood dribbling from the edge of your mouth. You notice his gaze directed at it.

"There, that is the gift that I want. Your kiss." You blush, somehow sobering up a little after realizing how brazen your act is. "What is the price I have to pay?"

"This," he says, and this time it is he who pulls you closer to him and kisses you deeply, with his mouth sucking the blood trickling from the puncture wound on the side of your tongue.

The way his sucking keeps going, and going for some time makes you remember how people in certain cultures threaten suicide by biting their own tongue, if threatened under duress...

You wonder if this is your death, blood loss through a kiss. Somehow, you do not find the idea so repulsive, and you welcome it, even.

"No, of course not, little girl," he laughs softly against your lips, before surfacing. "The idea may be alluring, but trust me when I say it is more excruciating than how you think it is."

You blink at him, slightly confused. Did he just--

"Yes, I can skim surface thoughts," he helpfully fills in the blanks for you. "And yes, I am real; yes, I am not a figment of your imagination," he said, echoing your thoughts from earlier.

You feel terribly exposed; for the very first time you feel fear tinged with humiliation. You absolutely have no cards to hold to your chest. He has everything in his hands, and you have nothing to bargain with.

You are trapped in his arms, and it is you who willingly put yourself in that position.

"Do not be afraid; it only means I can see glimpses of your thoughts, but not your heart," he smiles, trying to reassure you. "I do not like playing games, in any case. I am not a faerie.

"For me it is all give and take. The law of conservation of energy." You feel his arms encircling your waist, holding you firmly close to his. "And yes, you walked right into this, but that is already neither here nor there.

"I am feeling very generous now, my pet," he regards you with a smile that makes you feel like you are a specimen that happens to capture his interest at the moment. "So, ask. Ask another boon. It will not be free, of course, but I feel like spending more time with you."

Your fear and your pluck coalesces into something that stirs the suicidal in you so you ask, "You mention the law of conservation of energy. Does this mean as long as I ask for something, you will ask something of equal value in return?"

"That is the spirit of the law, yes. So as long as you keep it in mind, you will see the sunrise."

"I see. Well then, I am going to go ahead and ask a gift."

"Go ahead, I am listening."

He probably already knows what you want. But you now have a grasp of how they play--they need it verbally said, as a form of contract.

"I want you."

Once again, his laugh comes out gentle, soothing, kind, but with the undertone of a little cruelty. "I will pretend I did not hear it. Just this once. You need to consider the wording of your request carefully, if you want to live."

He touches your lips with a finger, idly tracing the outline of your lips. "Now, speak, what do you desire of me?"

"I..." You close your eyes, willing your brain to work overtime, a hard feat when you feel your night visitor's hands languidly roam your body: you feel his hands run across your back; your sides; even cresting your breasts.

"I want your...companionship for the remainder of the night," you say.

"Companionship means many things, little girl," he drawled. "Speak clearly. You need not hide behind euphemisms."

"Then." You take a deep breath, and say it: "I want to fuck you."

"Perfectly worded."

"What is the price I have to pay?" You ask as your fingers start to fumble with his clothing. He wears more layers than the average person, but you are not in any hurry. Sunrise will come late in this month approaching the winter solstice: you have a little over three hours, at least.

"The transaction can be simply put as, you take your pleasure, and I will then take mine," he says as he passively watches you hungrily get him into a state of undress. "Keep in mind, of course, that my idea of pleasure may differ from yours."

Then, he bends ever so slightly so his lips tickle your ear: "I will be gentle," comes his whisper, erotic and sultry.

Your breath hitches at this, and you lose it--you find yourself grabbing your visitor by the arms to push him onto your bed.

He lets himself be led, clearly amused by the turn of events, lets you straddle his waist, lets you take his kiss once again as your fingers and hands struggle with his clothing--why isn't he helping you, you think frustratingly--parting his waistcoat as soon as you are done with all of its buttons.

"Fine," He smiles teasingly as he put his hands to work alongside yours: he unclasps his sleeve garters, loosen and slips off his necktie. "I will allow this much as an...extra service." He then proceeds to unbuckle his belt for you.

"Do your kind always have to do everything in such a transactional manner?"

"Of course. It is you humans who take too many things for granted."

Eventually with his help you manage to shed off most of his clothing, exposing his bare pale skin to your scrutiny. He watches you as you tentatively run your hands across his chest, his belly, to his cock still flaccid; you clearly have work to do, so you--

"Ah, about that," he cuts you off from going down on him. Instead, he pulls you to him down on the bed, his mouth trailing kisses from your lower jawline to that tender spot on your neck where the artery could be accessed.

You feel him tonguing that particular place on your neck, the tiny, wet massaging so erotic that it sends heat rushing to your groin. A low moan escapes your lips, worked up so much that you feel your nipples hardening already at his slow licks.

Then you feel tiny pinpricks as his fangs sink into your flesh, his cold lips latching on to your skin as he helps himself so your blood. A groan rises from his throat as he holds you to him even closer while he is drinking, his tongue still working on your skin as he sucks more of your lifeblood.

"Mm.." His lips unlatches from your neck, and he gives the puncture wounds he made one last languorous lick to heal them closed. "Hahh. That...that should be enough."

He takes one of your hands, and guides it to his cock, now fully erect. "Well? All ripe for your taking."

You blush as you touch his shaft, groping it, feeling it stand proud against your palm.

You're used to being led during foreplay, but now with a partner who absolutely does not want to lead you to keep the division of pleasure clear--you are forced to come up with your own ways to alleviate your lust.

Swiftly you remove your nightclothes, and start to slip off your panties--already wet, a thin trail of wetness connecting the crotch of your panties to your mound stretching out until it breaks into nothingness once your panties reach your ankle.

"Excuse me," your voice comes out strangled with desire as your ride one of his thighs, rubbing your hardened, sensitive clit against his cold skin. Your breaths come ragged as you shamelessly gyrate your hips to grind your arousal against him, your juices leaving a trail of your moist lust on his cold skin, marking him.

Oh god. I want to fuck him so bad, comes your thought as you move from his thigh and prepare to mount him--his cock still standing, waiting to be tended to.

"I'll do it now," you say breathlessly as you rub the cockhead against the entrance of your slit. No longer able to hold yourself back you lower yourself on him, burying his entire length into you, letting yourself be filled...

The sensation of being filled alone turns you on so much that you had to bite your finger to stifle your moaning, but you feel him take hold of your hand, pulling it away from your lips.

"I want to hear your voice," he says. "It has been such a long time since someone has wanted me this way."

You start to move your hips, leaning your body a little bit forward and planting your palms on his chest. His cock slips in and out of your pussy, solely with only your movements, the sensations sending you to such a frenzy that you do not care that he is not moving at all.

Ah shit, you exclaim inwardly. Do I really have the capacity to be this horny? You could not put this into spoken words--your mouth is too busy moaning every time his cock hits your inner walls.

"It looks like it, yes you do," your visitor chuckles, yet his voice comes out strained--he is also worked up. He licks his lips as he looks at your deliciously lewd grinding with pure lust.

Your breasts bounce as you fuck him with abandon, and thankfully he decides to lend you help by running his cold palms against your sensitive nipples. The exquisite sensations run through your body and gather to your aroused slit, now exceedingly wet and dribbling your cream around his shaft.

"Mnh...I can't take it anymore--ah..."

And then, as if out of the blue, you realize that all these time you still do not know his name, and you would like to moan his name out loud as you orgasm--

"Call me Vyn," he pants, his hands finally sliding to your hips. "Will you call out my name when you come?" he groans softly as you now feel him meet your movements with his own thrusts, holding you in place by your hips.

"Yes, oh, oh damn--" You moan as one of your hands now slip to your sex, being pummeled by Vyn's hard length; your fingertips now strum your now sensitive, hungry clit with urgency. "Vyn," his name comes first as a whimper through your lips, and then you repeat his name, over and over, as impending pleasure builds up until you come undone, your sex quivering around his shaft. "Vyn!" you finally shout his name, whose owner is still not letting up with his pumping inside you until you slump over his chest.

You almost black out with sheer pleasure--and so you remain draped over his cool body as you catch your breath.

You feel his lips graze the top of your head. "Well, was that satisfactory?" comes his question. "This gift of pleasure?"

"Mmm. Hell yeah," your crude humor surfaces in his presence somehow, especially in such a lewd situation. "So good."

"Then I shall take what is rightfully mine," Vyn declares, and he sits up on your bed. "Sit on my lap, pet."

Still a bit lightheaded, you comply and plant yourself onto his lap. His erection is still poking at your ass, making it hard to ignore.

"Never mind that for now," he says as his teeth lightly graze random spots on your skin: your cheek, the side of your neck, a shoulder, your collarbone, a breast, among many other spots.

You think he is merely tickling you, until you feel a slight sting from the night breeze coming through your open window, making you look down on your body...

And see several rivulets of your blood flowing down your skin, the dark red trickling downwards from the sliver-thin wounds made by his fangs, running their course down your body; finally settling at the folds at edges of your thighs.

Finally satisfied with his handiwork, he laps up your blood off your skin, humming as his tongue runs the length of your belly upwards between your breasts.

"Delicious," he murmurs against your skin. "Like fine wine."

He continues lapping up the blood off your skin, the wet caresses of his tongue slowly working you up again, prompting you to touch yourself....but Vyn takes away your hand that was about to provide relief.

"Not yet." His lips let go of your nipple to say those words. "That comes after. Have patience."

You whimper at his words, then let out a soft moan as you feel his fang graze your areola, only to be soothed by his lips and tongue.

This goes on for several minutes, until your skin is licked clean of your blood and all wounds healed.

"Hahh...delicious," he murmurs as he licks his lips. "But I am not done yet..."

Your world suddenly turns as he pushes you onto the bed, lying on your back. "Ah--what are you doing?" you exclaim as he grabs you by the thighs, draping them over his shoulders so that your pussy is lifted to his lips.

The rest of your body is hiked up, making blood flow directly to your head, causing you to feel lightheaded.

"Eating you out, Rosa. Could you not see?" he says after a flick of his tongue at your slit.

This elicits a loud moan out of you, and you thank all gods who could be listening in that the landlady rented you a detached housing unit with no neighbors--with the exception of Vyn--so there is no one to hear your wanton, lewd mewling.

And then, once again, pinpricks this time on your labia.

Vyn hums as his tongue laps up the blood, the tip of his tongue running the length of your slit and making sure to flick at your clitoris every so often. His ministrations fill the room with lewd slurping sounds, sounds that make you cream yourself once again, sounds that make you want to touch and rub your clit until you come senseless under his tongue and lips...

"Oh shit, oh shit," you moan as your hands now grip your sheets. "Tell me, Vyn, are you also going to do the same with menstrual blood?"

He laughs at this question. "Only if I'm drinking from the source and not off the pad, silly girl." Then he resumes eating you out with abandon.

"Please, Vyn, I want to come," you eventually cry out, almost sobbing. "I want to come again."

"It will cost you," he murmurs in between slurps.

"Ugh, just take what you will, dammit!"

You then feel him take your clit in between his lips, and, with his tongue flicking at the same time he lightly sucks on your bud, throwing you over the edge of sheer pleasure.

And you shout his name, once again, into the night.

"That is the second time that you have reached your climax," Vyn reminds you as he puts your thighs down, stretching your entire body down your bedsheets. "That will be extra, and I will be taking even more. Do you understand?"

You nod weakly. At this point you do not care whatever Vyn has in store for you.

"Well then," he wraps your thighs around his waist, his erection effortlessly slipping once again into your still-hungry sex. "I shall take it now."

He starts railing your pussy hard, hard and fast.

Vyn reaches out to pull you towards him in a straddling position, so that he can easily access your artery at the neck. Once again, he licks that spot on your neck; once again, his fangs pierce your skin and your artery.

Once again, he drinks. As he relentlessly fucks you, making you bounce on his lap with abandon, his lips latched to your neck as he feeds.

He must have been feeding on your blood so much that you feel your consciousness slip away, slowly...

Your sight blurs, the heated and erotic sensation of him fucking you hard overtaking the rest of your senses.

And, as you start blacking out, your thought is

I am dead.

That's fine.

===

By the time Rosa opened her eyes her room is already bathed a bright orange. Disoriented, not knowing if it was sunrise, or if it was the beginnings of sunset, she peeked at her bedside clock: five-thirty four PM.

She had slept in so much that she missed the entire day's worth of classes.

Rosa tried to sit up, but felt too lightheaded to move, and so she flopped back onto her pillows and sheets, and that was when she noticed the flowering spikes laid out onto her pillow: night gladiolus flowers.

Suddenly, everything rushed back to her, every steamy detail, every lewd sensation.

Didn't I refuse these? Why are these here?

And then, something clicked in her mind: He left it here, as a gift.

And Vyn will come back once again to collect his due.

Rosa smiled at the realization, and, immensely turned on with anticipation, she reached down to touch herself.

[greenhousegrandpa]

Who would you say are like the elite blogs right now in the community? Or blogs you think are pretty popular

This is a super hard question. I’m fully unqualified to talk about who’s “elite” or “popular.”  Mostly because I don’t really feel as plugged into the AC community as I want to be, and partly because my preferences are very whimsical, foresty, woodsy, cottagecore, basically make me feel cozy and I’ll love u forever. of course, everyone has different and valid aesthetic preferences

so instead of actually answering your question i’m gonna give u a long, long, long list (seriously omg this got so long) of some of my favorite AC bloggers. Really, this is just some. There are so many talented AC bloggers on Tumblr and boy oh boy they’re all angels

@caterpillow – this village actually feels like a town where people live and exist, which is so hard to achieve and caterpillow has nailed it

@colin-crossing – funny, unique, incredible artist, island is so sweet and i want to live there and for it to rain 24/7 always

@electracnh – looking for an island where u might get hexed by a witch? ok well u found it. forest forest forest beauty

@iltacatact – an incredible creator with a breezy village. truly talented at decorating interiors

@leifstump – i luv skyrim, and leifstump is working on a cottagecore/skyrim-esque island which is so fun to follow

@mayorbrewster – u want wood? u want stone? u want perfect cozy forest/orchard vibes? u got it

@mirkwoodmoth – literally NAILSSSS the LOTR/Mirkwood/forest aesthetic. Everything they do is *chef’s kiss*

@mjcrossing – when i become a wildflower/honey bee farmer, this island is what i want my 1,000-acre farm to look like

@mochi-moss – beach decorating PERFECTION. like... no competition

@mochmint – art is adorable, town is adorable, is probably adorable. They post a lot of villager interactions and I love.

@moonbell-cottage – some people are pretty good with the designer tool. moonbell-cottage is an expert and will make u want triple the number of design slots. and that’s before mentioning their gorg island

@nettleisland – a super colorful island that uses lots of cliffs to create amazing horizons. also IS NOT GETTING ENOUGH ATTENTION FOLKS

@oakins – if u love towns with more overgrown/foresty vibes rather than lived-in town vibes, here’s ur spot. So lovely and utilizes weeds in my favorite way ever, so deliciously weedy. plus the way they edit their pictures… so good

@pasteliapeaches – posts 100% fire content 100% of the time. so amazing at decorating indoors and outdoors. like 1/3 of this island is dedicated to a rainbow flower field and that’s not even the most impressive part. 10/10

@pigeoncoffee – i love this island sfm. it looks like an old town that’s been lived in and loved for generations and gives me lots of nostalgic feels

@pigeoncreamer – medieval witchy cozy goodness. amazing. i want to spend the rest of my days in this island as the resident old weirdo lady that drinks tea and has 25 cats and wants for nothing. plus posts regular YouTube updates and it takes everything in me not to copy everything!!!!

@poppyhilldreams – i don’t know how to use flowers that aren’t white or black. poppyhilldreams does not have this problem. whimsical af

@poppypier – an incredible artist whose island is perfectly moody and broody with lots of really well-utilized unique paths!

@puretopia – this village is where i want to sit and read a book and listen to the nature sounds and no one bothers me because it’s BEAUTIFUL and so calm

@setlettie – there’s a real calmness and coziness about their island and their home. and an EXPERT terraformer. friggin inspiring

@skwivr – witchcore/cottagecore deliciousness. also her talent with the design tool is unreal. i designed my entire picnic area around her blanket design

@sproids – uses trees so beautifully to separate spaces and create unique landscapes!

@venvs-comb – everything u want. a witchy and skillfully terraformed town, an expertly curated blog, yes siree

[hefzyisback]

♡ FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION  ♡

Rules: Bold what applies to your muse and repost

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other. white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

tagged by : @amaidasfairassummer

tagging you

[heathenousflxme]

Meet Feyre

《  Hailee Steinfeld. female, she/her. Swan Song - Dua Lipa 》 oh my, there goes FEYRE HEIDEN. the 22 year old WITCH  is currently working at THE WITCH’S BREW CAFE. they’ve been in salem, ma for 1 YEAR. they are known around town as THE FLEDGELING. i have a feeling they AREN’T aware of what’s going on in town, and they are NEUTRAL. hopefully, because they are known to be COMPASSIONATE and STRONG-WILLED while also being IMPULSIVE and DIFFIDENT, they will survive. i guess only time will tell. ( Devin. she/her. 23. PST. )

Aesthetics: A raging fire in a fireplace on a rainy fall night, a ray of light at golden hour, bones cushioned by a bed of wildflowers, leaves caught on the wind, and dancing in the kitchen by the light above the stove. 

After she graduated from college, Feyre was thumbing through apartment listing from nearby towns. She never wanted to stay in her hometown, as much as her parents tried to keep her there. Their reasoning was that the outside world was “too dangerous for their sweet baby.” On the second page of the listings, she saw what would be her future home. The town seemed to call to her, it would have felt wrong to stay. Once she was approved, she was packed and on the road before dinner. 

Ever since she arrived, she has been having the strangest dreams. Terrifying dreams of nooses, water, and fire. What is even more strange is how she feels when she jolts awake in the middle of the night. Her hair is plastered to her neck and the room is suffocatingly warm. It feels like she is on fire. She blames it on her exhaustion, but sometimes it looks like her hands are glowing like the embers of a campfire that wasn’t entirely put out. 

Basics: 

Name: Feyre (Fae-ruh) Heiden

Birthdate: 06/21/1999

Age: 22

Height: 5′7″

Hometown: Stockbridge, MA

Favorite food: Bagels with cream cheese or spaghetti and garlic bread. 

Favorite dessert: Dark chocolate.

Favorite movie: Lord of the Rings

Zodiac: Sun- Gemini/Cancer Cusp Moon-Libra

Headcanons:

Feyre’s mother was also a witch whose coven was disbanded. They were attacked by people they’d known their whole lives once their powers were discovered. When Feyre’s mother discovered she was pregnant with a baby girl, she and her husband decided to flee to the small town of Stockbridge and build a life there. A life where Feyre wouldn’t grow into her powers, so she wouldn’t be a target. 

Feyre is a solar witch. Being born on the summer solstice, she had always felt a connection to the sun. Her favorite season might be fall for the cozy vibes, but she also feels truly at home sitting outside, taking in the sunlight. 

[goldenidiotpass]

♡ FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION  ♡

Rules: Bold what applies to your muse and repost

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other. white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

Tagged by: @hefzyisback

Tagging: This one’s on me, steal it!

[reddevil-xiv]

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy. long-handled hunting knives. sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragged by the hair.  dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles.  white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees.  balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts.  red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye

[ironharvests]

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION.

Rules: Bold what applies to your muse and reblog

MUSE: RYOGI.

SNOW WHITE: jade trinket boxes.  taste of iron.  fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy.  long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window.  combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves.  frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS:  a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks.  sweet pears.  hands tied behind back.  shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days.  flowing gowns.  liquid silver.  wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST: lukewarm bath water.  sapphire butterflies.   tiny milk snakes.  baskets of strawberries.  fat toads.  sparkling snow.  fur cloaks.  raw gemstones.  kettles made of copper.  red wine.  a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD:  a tiny key made of gold.  pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away.  galloping hooves.  treasures from far away lands.  dragged by the hair.  dark and damp cellars. marble walls.  shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS: sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles.  white feathers.  refusing to smile.  needles and threads.  a castle in the forest.  sound of beating wings.  birthmarks. climbing trees.  balls of yarn.  silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP:  wildflowers.  rich-tasting cake.  wicker baskets.  the path rarely trod. sharp teeth.  curtains drawn.  a dying fireplace.  grey pelts.  red velvet.  handmade quilts.  sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop.  looking someone directly in the eye.

[lingeringscars]

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION / & Mariana Adams Foster Bold what applies to your muse and REPOST ! SNOW WHITE. jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy.  long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison. an apple white one side and red the other. white doves. frosted glass. THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS. a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears.  hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver.  wax seals.  blinding lights. THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST. lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes.  baskets of strawberries.  fat toads. sparkling snow.  fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere. BLUE BEARD. a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs. THE SIX SWANS. sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest.  sound of beating wings. birthmarks.  climbing trees. balls of yarn.  silver crowns. LITTLE RED CAP. wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth.  curtains drawn. a dying fireplace.  grey pelts. red velvet.  handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches.  opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

[raichoose-moved]

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION.

Rules: Bold what applies to your muse and reblog

MUSE: KABUTO.

SNOW WHITE: jade trinket boxes. taste of iron.  fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy. long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window.  combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS:  a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears.  hands tied behind back.  shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days.  flowing gowns.  liquid silver.  wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST: lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies.   tiny milk snakes.  baskets of strawberries.  fat toads.  sparkling snow.  fur cloaks.  raw gemstones.  kettles made of copper.  red wine.  a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD:  a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away.  galloping hooves.  treasures from far away lands.  dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS: sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles.  white feathers.  refusing to smile.  needles and threads. a castle in the forest.  sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn.  silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP:  wildflowers.  rich-tasting cake.  wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth.  curtains drawn. a dying fireplace.  grey pelts.  red velvet.  handmade quilts.  sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

[blightenda]

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy. long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window.  combs laced with pearls and poison. an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet. walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries.  fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper.  red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragging by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS.

sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads.  a castle in the forest.  sound of beating wings. birthmarks.  climbing trees. balls of yarn.  silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers.  rich-tasting cake.  wicker baskets. the path rarely trod.  sharp teeth. curtains drawn.  a dying fireplace. grey pelts.  red velvet.  handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

[forestwitched]

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

honey & lemon or milk & sugar // musicals or plays // lemonade or iced tea // strawberries or raspberries // winter or summer // beaches or forests // diners or cafés // unicorns or dragons // gemstones or crystals // hummingbirds or owls // fireworks or sparklers // brunch or happy hour // sweet or sour // rome or amsterdam // classic or modern art // sushi or ramen // sun or moon // polka dots or stripes // macaroons or croissants // glitter or matte // degas or seurat // aquariums or planetariums // road trip or camping trip // colouring books or watercolour // fairy lights or candles

TAGGED BY: stolen from @jbnder ! TAGGING: @angerbuilt, @blockbustertm, @pussywinks, & i’m tired and lazy, so --- if you wanna do it, just yoink it from me !