#BECAUSE THAT'S FUN

[praetorqueenreyna]

Some Tamlin/Rhysand fluff for Rhysand Week Day 4: Court of Dreams.

@officialrhysandweek

********************

“Hurry up!” Rhysand called over his shoulder. 

“It’s a lot harder when you aren’t cheating,” Tamlin panted. He moved forward doggedly, each step sending his foot crashing through the powdery snow until it hit the rock a foot down. His boots and the bottoms of his pants were soaking wet.

“It’s not cheating. I’m just using my natural advantages,” Rhysand replied loftily. With each step, he flapped his wings, giving him just enough lift that his feet didn’t break through the thin crust on the top of the snow. His light, almost non-existent footprints were a sharp contrast to the trough that Tamlin was creating. “Do you need a break?”

“No,” Tamlin answered, clearly annoyed by Rhysand’s mocking tone. “You said we’re almost there, right?”

“Almost.”

They were hiking up the tallest mountain in the Night Court. Up here, the air was thin and frigid. It burned the lungs and set fire to the skin. Few dared to venture up this far. The mountainside was a barren white field except for small patches of crystal snowflowers. The flowers grew on the surface of the snow, their roots stretching to the bare rock and extracting minerals from it. They were sharp and transparent, and appeared to be completely inorganic. However, once picked, they wilted away into nothing in seconds. 

Finally, Rhysand reached the peak. A few minutes later, Tamlin reached it as well. He flopped down in the snow next to Rhysand, creating a fae-shaped crater that faintly steamed. Rhysand grinned. “Are you okay?” he teased as he sat down.

“No, I hate you,” Tamlin grumbled, eliciting a laugh from Rhysand. It constantly amazed him, how charming Tamlin was when he wasn’t trying. 

Once recovered, Tamlin sat upright and took in his surroundings. Rhysand watched him, a fond smile breaking through his sardonic exterior, as Tamlin’s eyes widened and he gasped in awe. From here, one could see the harsh mountains and dark forests that made up the land of perpetual night. Here and there, glittering lights from cities and villages announced themselves, betraying that the gloomy land was active and bustling. In front of them, the ocean lapped at the distant shoreline of the Night Court. Behind them was the distant glow of Day.

“It’s beautiful,” Tamlin breathed. 

“Yes, it is.” Rhysand was not looking at the view.

Tamlin shivered; now that he was no longer straining himself, the cold was leeching into him. Rhysand splayed out an arm and a wing, inviting Tamlin to huddle against his side. The Spring prince obliged, tucking himself against Rhysand and sighing in relief when the warm bat wing closed around him. Even here, as far from his home as possible, Tamlin smelled like sunshine and roses. 

“I wish I could stay here forever,” Tamlin mumbled. His cold nose was pressed to Rhysand’s throat, his words a soft puff of warm air on his collarbone. 

I wish you could too, Rhysand thought, but it was impossible. Tamlin was too brash, too honest, too impulsive to survive here. The Night Court would eat him alive. 

“Nobody wants to stay here,” he said instead. “You belong in Spring.” 

Tamlin fell silent. A thought probed at the edge of Rhysand’s mind. He usually didn’t bother trying to read Tamlin’s mind; it felt like an invasion of privacy, especially since Tamlin’s mental shields were so poor. Curious, Rhysand let the thought through. He smiled and pressed his lips against the top of Tamlin’s head. 

“I belong with you.”

[heartofspells]

Embers Like Teeth

They call him to the forest, ghostly images of thick, skeletal tree trunks flashing behind his eyelids before they open in the dark and the quiet. They're never the same, those dreams – nightmares – that haunt him now, new things but not new, always present in some way yet curved and raised around the edges where they hadn't been before, shimmering like objects displaced from time and space, shining outside of reality.

He's always had them, those dreams, for as long as he can remember, half-formed visions he can only partially remember upon waking, but the parts that remain are vivid, colorless for all their colors, washed grey like areas bathed in moonlight, bleached away from existence into negative space. Old worlds come to him in sleep, times long lost, times that are fantastical for all their darkness and oppression, worlds too bathed in riches and blood alike to truly place belief in.

And there is blood, so much of it, flooding the ground, drowning the grass, decaying the earth until nothing will ever grow again. It comes to his mind nectar-thick and gleaming like black jasper, flowing so smoothly that it cascades over barren land, leaving thirst behind, lips smacking when he wakes, begging for the sweetness he knows must exist inside it.

His mother – odd, the neighbors say as they watch her with her herbs and her fluttery nature, too spiritual, connected to the earth in ways they don't understand – tells him the dreams mean destiny, predetermined pathways set into motion long before their days had ever been anticipated by mere mortals like themselves. Gods but not gods, she says. The energy of the world, of life itself, interwoven into them all, but to him more. Stars aligning at the perfect time, blinking out, reforming, bursting into being in the wrong way yet so right, all for him and what each footstep of his journey holds.

Keep reading on AO3

[wetbloodworm]

i’m so fucking tired but i drew this this morning and did some finishing touches so i’m posting it now. because i don’t like to wait to post things.

but first context. thinking about how souls work, thinking that they’re tied to memories? if a spirit or ghost or whatever can remember who they were in life, that just makes sense to me. and like a person’s thoughts and feelings and experiences are what makes them Them, in a way, so it just! makes sense to me! which makes me think that 1) having part of your soul eaten would result in losing some memories, maybe just like the last hour if you’re lucky but more if you’re not, and 2) it’d naturally follow imo that eating someone’s soul results in absorbing some or all of those memories.

so now i’m playing around with the idea of achlys only figuring out that asim is a monster hunter when he has a soul snack and gets a flash of some hunter-y thing asim just got back from doing. so:

the face of a person who’s realized they fucked up. because if asim is a hunter he might figure out what happened here even if he forgets the interaction, and also hunters tend to group up so there’s going to be a bunch of them on his ass if they figure out he attacked one of them, and also the dude he has a crush on is a hunter and that’s just really bad luck?? what the fuck??

(why attack the dude you have a crush on in the first place? well. mostly because you’re hungry and he’s there. and also because you don’t really conceptualize what you do as all that harmful or bad most of the time. and also because you wanted just. just a peek at his brain. thoughts and feelings.. not enough to destroy his soul entirely! just a little peek!! souls are resilient he’ll bounce back it’s fine!!!)

bonus featuring one of my favorite reaction pics:

[puppyeared]

filipina miku!! my mom helped me with her outfit ^_^

[brainrotcharacters]

When irl pisses me off, I rewatch the Honda Odyssey scene to relax

[forgetbeam]

why do i keep seeing whole videos on advice for artfight from “veterans” or whatever. here’s all the advice you need:

you don’t need to draw every day

you don’t need to fully render every drawing, sketches still count and the person receiving it will still love it

you don’t need a fully polished ref sheet for every single character, having a basic one or even just a colour palette along with whatever other art you’ve done works fine in most cases

you don’t need to draw a fully rendered piece every single day do not burn yourself out or injure yourself for funny little internet points good lord

boom done there’s your 15 minute video

[crookedtines]

I finally took the time to photograph my vintage dip pen nib collection, and I need to share with you all how wonderful and diverse their designs are.

These two are my favorite. Just look at them! One of them is named Gorille and the other Mephisto, but to me they're little pumpkins.

And of course you gotta love the Pinocchio nib. You get to write with the nose of a tiny guy! Just not something you get to do anymore.

[paintedcrows]

Nooo little Stanley watch out! Your striped shirt, bandage, and sad backstory are too Fallen Human Coded!! The Undertale narrative is going to get you!!!

[doctorsiren]

Gravity Falls AU where everything is exactly the same except Bill’s parents are alive and well, and they’re just so proud of their chaotic dream demon son

[mroddmod]

they are like puppies. 2 me

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[butchjesus]

alright friends. you have to rename yourself using the NATO phonetic alphabet. which one are you choosing?

[boybecoming]

an ode to testosterone weight gain

[eggwishing]

I ONCE TRIED TO WASH THAT SCUFFED OLD THING WHILE HE WAS TAKING ONE OF HIS NAPS, BUT WHEN I TOOK IT OFF HE WAS WEARING ANOTHER IDENTICAL ONE UNDERNEATH! AND ANOTHER! I GOT THROUGH TEN MORE LAYERS OF THE SAME THING BEFORE HE WOKE UP. I WAS SO FRUSTRATED! WHERE DID HE EVEN GET THOSE FROM? THEY ALL EVEN HAD THE SAME STAINS!!

[artkaninchenbau]

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus: