#claret rose

[see-arcane]

In which I can't stop making fantasy fashion for Doomed Bride of Death characters. This time going classical and giving Persephone a pomegranate punch and a lot of garnet glitter.

[writing-chats]

COLOURS in DESCRIPTION

colour is the lifeblood of a scene. here are ways not to over-use it.

Red: cardinal, coral, crimson, flaming, maroon, rose, wine, brick red, burgundy, carmine, cerise, cherry, chestnut, claret, copper, dahlia, fuschia, garnet, geranium, infrared, magenta, puce, ruby, russet, rust, salmon, sanguine, scarlet, tition, vermilion, roseate, rubicund, ruddy, rubescent, florid

Orange: apricot, tangerine, merigold, cider, ginger, bronze, cantaloupe orange, clay, honey, marmalade orange, amber

Yellow: blond, chrome, cream, gold, ivory, lemon, saffron, tawny, xanthous, sandy

Green: grassy, leafy, verdant, emerald, aquamarine, chartreuse, fir, forest green, jade, lime, malachite, mossy, pea green, pine, sage, sea green, verdigris, willow, spinach green, viridian

Blue: azure, beryl, cerulean, cobalt, indigo, navy, royal blue, sapphire, teal, turquoise, ultramarine

Purple: violet, indigo, lavender, lilac, mauve, periwinkle, plum, violet, amethyst, heliotrope, mulberry, orchid, pomegranate purple, wine, amaranthine, perse, violaceous, reddish-blue

[phntasmgoria-moved]

4/???

[lurkinginnernarrator]

“Shen Qingqiu! What is this nonsense about Qing Jing requisitioning a disguise for one of its members?! You would dare send one of your little disciples trussed up like a pretty young mistress! Even I thought you better than”–

Qi Qingqi’s voice cut off on an extremely strangled note. She and the other Peak Lords all seemed unable to capture an ounce of oxygen.

Cang Qiong’s finest were gathered in a elegant war room, massive tables shoved to the side, covered with maps and intelligence reports: A mind-numbing amount of information scattered across sheaves of paper and neatly written on large boards; they spanned the walls not open to the serene nature of Qing Jing’s outdoors.

The murmuring of focused and purposeful Qing Jing disciples hushed at Qi Qingqi’s outraged exclamation and the sudden appearance of a majority of their shibo.

In the midst of the room, Shen Qingqiu stood, hands frozen in the action of sheathing a dagger to his inner thigh. While normally, such a sight would be arresting enough, it paled in comparison to the vision Qing Jing’s Lord made currently.

His eyes caught wide and surprised were rimmed with coal and rouge, claret lips parted infinitesimally. Gentle strands of hair framed his face and cascaded down his curved back. Hair ornaments tinkled and glittered in the silken black waves.

Delicate, airy robes flirted with graceful wrists, red lacquered nails making a pleasing contrast. Carmine and the tones of blushing rose danced about Shen Qingqiu, gentle fabric draping from his shapely frame; soft skin of his collarbones an–and the rounded mound of his, hi-his bust? Exposed. As was the refined line of sinewy thigh.

S-sshink!

Shen Qingqiu’s hand leaves the handle of the blade, nebulous skirts falling back into place, his pale thighs veiled from sight once more.

“Qi-shimei, Liu-shidi, Zhangmen-shixiong?”– Shen Qingqiu's eyes quickly take in the numerous uninvited visitors, yet his lilting voice doesn’t quicken from its whiplike cadence –”To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Yue-shixiong and my shidimen?”

For some unknowable reason, Sect Master Yue and the Bai Zhan War God forsook courtesy for silence.

“Rather, to what does this Master owe my beloved sect siblings appearance,” the polished voice drawled, “ whose purpose is no doubt to meddle in the affairs of a Qing Jing operation? Without, may I add, any proper knowledge of the purpose of this operation to begin with?”

Mu Qingfang, who to this point was standing unobtrusively to the side, stepped forward, courteously greeting the Maste– Lady? Of Qing Jing.

His fellow peak lords prayed blessings, to be gifted such a level headed martial brother!

“These shidi apologize for the discourtesy, Shen-shixiong.” Mu Qingfang’s voice may have hesitated, or stuttered, and almost uttered ‘shijie’ but no one noticed because they were too caught up in their own lawless thoughts.

A Qing Jing disciple helpfully handed Shen Qinqqiu a fan. With a crack! It met his open palm, a gavel descrying doom.

Haloed in light, the Qing Jing Master stood like a wrathful goddess, a holy judge tired of the sullying presence of mortals.

Qing Jing’s Master, when garbed in his usual attire, was a sharp, intimidating figure. Graceful in his execution of masculinity, not unlike a dagger. Moreso, then, donning the mantle of femininity. Some intangible attributes changed, that when masculine, repelled, yet when feminine compelled. Those certain peak lords were unprepared to handle such a thing.

Shen Qingqiu tsked, turning his back he subsequently ignored them after hand-waving a disciple into acting as the hospitality.

The wrong-footed peak lords were bundled off to the side and laden with tea and light victuals, being appeased into silence and unobtrusiveness by snacks. If some of the scholarly disciples secretly thought of it as the kiddie table, that's for them to know, isn’t it?

[starlingflight]

Priorities

A/N: I swear I'm going back to SEL now, but I sat down at my keyboard and this just came out of nowhere. Please accept this fluff filled HBP missing moment in penance for my procrastination:

Read on AO3

“Dean!” 

Harry's stomach dropped at the sound of Dean's name from a voice that was unmistakably Ginny's. He turned to find her hurrying towards them across the common room, her school bag hanging haphazardly from her shoulder, and her eyes bright despite the early hour. 

He wanted to keep walking. He'd thought he'd finally seen the last of her and Dean together since their break up a week ago, and he had no desire to witness more of it now, but Seamus stopped, and Harry had agreed to go to breakfast with both of them in place of Ron and Hermione, who were both busy with prefect duties. 

Reluctantly, Harry halted beside Seamus, trying to look at anything but the way the morning sunlight slanted through the common room's high windows and made Ginny's hair look like it was glowing where it framed her face. 

“I hoped I'd catch you before you left the common room,” she said. Harry tried not to listen, but it was impossible, it was like his ears were attuned to the exact, musical frequency of Ginny's voice. 

“Did you?” Dean asked sceptically. “We've not really spoken since we–” 

“Well, I've been busy with Quidditch, and OWL work,” Ginny said, and even without looking Harry knew she'd be waving a hand unconcernedly in front of her. “But I wanted to give you this back.” 

Beside Harry, Seamus sucked in a sharp breath. Harry’s neck moved without any permission from his brain, forcing him to look.

She was holding an article of claret coloured clothing out to Dean, one that Harry recognised immediately. Something integral inside him had taken great offence the first time he’d seen her wearing Dean's West Ham jumper; he'd not grown to appreciate it any more on any of the following, mercifully infrequent, occasions either. 

“You can keep it,” Dean said now, looking extremely caught off guard. “I didn’t expect you to give it back.” 

Ginny shook her head. “No, it's yours. I meant to give it you last week, but I've been–” 

“Busy,” Dean finished for her. “You said.” 

He took the jumper, clutching it awkwardly against his body. Harry looked away again. Seamus cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“I'll just put this in the dorm,” Dean said. “No point carrying it around all day.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Seamus offered. Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on a tapestry of a witch petting a unicorn hanging on the far wall. 

“Bye, Ginny.” 

“Bye, Dean.” 

Harry felt rather than saw Seamus move away from him. He heard the simultaneous footsteps of him and Dean making their way back to the dormitory. He didn't look away from the tapestry until he heard the door to the staircase open, when he did, it was to find Ginny looking at him apologetically.

“Did I just doom you to a solitary breakfast?” 

Harry shrugged, ignoring the flutter of butterflies rising in his stomach. “Not if you come with me?” 

Thankfully, Ginny grinned in response to this suggestion, meaning Harry was spared from dying of embarrassment that morning. 

“Come on then. I need to report back to Mum that you're eating properly.” 

“Why would I not be eating properly?” He followed her to the portrait hole. 

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know, it's Mum, she thinks everyone's not eating properly.” 

The corridor outside Gryffindor Tower was deserted. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way towards the staircase. 

“Sorry if that was really awkward,” Ginny said, throwing a glance over her shoulder, obviously checking for Dean, who did not appear to have come back down from the dormitory yet. “I've been carrying that bloody jumper around in my bag for days trying to find a time to give it back. I had to take the opportunity when it was presented to me.” 

“Honestly, I'm just glad it's gone,” Harry said, before his brain could engage his mouth. Ginny's eyebrows rose about as much as Harry's heart plummeted. “It's killed me to see you in West Ham colours,” he said quickly. 

Ginny frowned. “I didn't realise you were such a big football fan.” 

Well, he was going to have to pretend to be now. “I live with Muggles, don't I?”

“You've never mentioned a football team,” she pressed.

Harry could feel her eyes studying his face like a physical touch. His heart was hammering in his chest; his brain had conveniently chosen that moment to stop working; he couldn't name a single football team even with a wand to his head.

“I–” 

“Actually, I have a more important question!” Ginny announced, saving Harry from whatever stuttered nonsense had been about to come out of his mouth. “Do you even have a Quidditch team?” 

They were at the staircase now, Ginny was a few steps ahead of him, making their height difference even starker than usual as she looked up at him curiously. 

“Er, Gryffindor?” Harry tapped the Captain's badge pinned to his jumper. 

“No!” Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation. She paused, waiting for Harry to catch up to her. “An actual team – a professional team?” 

“Oh, I guess–” 

“Don't say it!” Ginny said, ending Harry's sentence once more. Her eyes narrowed. “If you tell me Ron's converted you to the Cannons, I'm going to disown you.” 

“Disown me?” he repeated, his smile growing in response to the one gracing Ginny's face. “I wasn't aware you owned me to begin with.” 

“Weren't you?” She looked away from him, taking the next flight of stairs two at a time. “Well, now you are.” 

“Unless I tell you I'm a Cannons supporter?” Harry increased his pace to keep up with her. “And then you're going to disown me?” 

“Exactly.” 

Was she blushing or was that just in Harry's head? 

“I'd better not risk it then.” 

She was definitely blushing. Or, more likely, he had started with waking delusions to match the near constant ones he had about her in his dreams. 

Ginny stopped on the step directly below him. She turned, placing her hand lightly on Harry's chest, halting both his descent, and the beat of his heart. 

“Let me tell you why you should be a Holyhead Harpies fan.” 

“Is this your sales pitch?” It was a wonder he could speak at all when his lungs had stopped working. 

She nodded. She was so close, her head tilted up to look at him, and her hand on his chest spreading warmth throughout his entire body. It would be so easy to lean down and–

Ginny took a step backwards, letting her arm fall away from Harry as she continued down the stairs. Her eyes, however, never left his. 

“One.” She lifted a finger in the air beside her. “Choosing the only all-female team in the league will make you appear sensitive, and extremely attractive, to most girls.” 

“You want me to make a decision as important as this based on what girls might think?” 

Somehow, he managed to keep to himself that he was on the verge of doing just that, based on what one particular girl might think. 

Ginny shrugged. “It's a sales pitch, I'm trying to appeal to your top priorities.” 

“Well, the opinions of unknown girls isn't one of them.” 

“Good to know.” 

“Is it?” He hadn't meant for his voice to drop so low, but he definitely liked the way Ginny's smile grew in response. 

“Yes, it helps me figure out my angle.” She raised a second finger in the air. “Two: their colours are green and gold, which my mother would assure you are your colours too.” 

Harry laughed; the sound bounced off the ancient walls surrounding them. “So, upon hearing I'm not making this choice based on the opinion of girls I might, hypothetically, want to impress, your next thought was your mum?” 

“No!” Ginny protested through a laugh of her own. “My next thought was that you look good in green!”

Harry's laughter died as his breath was stolen from him once again. 

“Three,” Ginny said quickly, raising a third finger into the air. “This one is the most important.” 

“Go on,” he managed to say. 

They were almost at the marble staircase now. Ginny halted their progress by leaning against the balustrade that overlooked the entrance hall. Harry lingered beside her, finding nothing to complain about in spending longer in her company. 

“In a few years, when they sign me – which is definitely going to happen – you don't want the inner turmoil of choosing between your loyalty to another team and me.” 

“There would be no inner turmoil,” Harry said, acutely aware that he should shut up, but finding himself completely incapable of doing so when Ginny was looking at him like she currently was. “I would obviously choose you.” 

Her smile was almost too brilliant to look at, yet Harry couldn't look away. “Oh, so you'd say I'm quite high on your priority list?” 

He didn't know if she took a step closer, or he did, all he knew was that the gap between them had decreased significantly, and that his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. 

“Fairly high, yeah.” 

Ginny's eyes bored into his; Harry was transfixed. He waited, barely breathing, to see what her response would be. The corner of her mouth twitched– 

“There you are!” Ron's voice crashed into him with the force of a lightning bolt. 

Harry jumped back from Ginny, whipping his head around to see Ron and Hermione approaching, Ron grinning broadly, and Hermione looking almost as pained as Harry currently felt. 

“Have you eaten?” Ron asked. 

Harry glanced at Ginny to find her glaring at Ron. “We were just on our way to breakfast.” 

“Excellent,” Ron said obliviously. “We're done with rounds.” 

He continued walking, without stopping, in the direction of the marble staircase, apparently secure in the knowledge that Harry and Ginny would join him and Hermione. A fair assumption, Harry reminded himself, pushing off the balustrade. 

“I'm going to tell him,” Ginny said, quietly enough for only Harry to hear as she fell into step beside him. Harry's stomach sank, his brain leaping into overdrive, imagining Ginny informing Ron that he'd just spent the whole walk from the common room treacherously flirting with his sister. “...that you've betrayed the Cannons in favour of the Harpies.” 

“I don't think I actually agreed to that yet.” He hoped his shaking voice was only detectable to him. 

If Ginny noticed, she didn't show it. She was smiling again, her eye catching his. “You as good as did,” she said as they crossed the entrance hall. “But don't worry, it can be our secret for now.” 

[herpsandbirds]

What is your favorite species of fruit dove?? I just learned about them and they look so cool👀

I really cannot pick a favorite, I love this group of beautiful doves so much.

Some favorites are the Golden, Jambu, Yellow-bibbed, Superb, Orange, Rose-crowned, and Pink-headed.

Herps and Birds (and More) (Posts tagged fruit dove) (tumblr.com)

Do y'all have a favorite?

Here's one I haven't posted yet...

Claret-breasted Fruit Dove (Ptilinopus viridis), male, family Columbidae, order Columbiformes, Lihir Island, Papua New Guinea

photograph by Alexander Babych

[insane-brit]

Pray to me (Teaser!)

Priest!(Still Demon King) Muzan Kibutsuji x fem!reader

Tags/Warnings: Cunnilingus, begging, blood, saliva, compliments/praise, edging. 

A/N: I couldn't help myself. I have to share a bit of this one shot. Full piece will include religious imagery/symbolism, degrading, and possibly rough sex. 

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word count: 293

The tips of his fingers dug into her thighs. The pads leaving imprints behind as he gripped them fiercely, holding her in place. Her hands entangled themselves in his hair, gripping and tugging. Blissfully unaware of her nails digging into his scalp. Scratching and drawing beads of blood that trickled down the back of his skull and down his nape. Her chest rose rapidly, pulse straining against the indulgent activity. Extremities shook and her legs ventured to tighten around his head, but to no avail. Gasps left her slightly parted lips, complexion flushed, as his tongue raked through her. Entry breached, she could feel the fluid mixed with his saliva trail down the bridge of her thigh and ass.

“Please,” a tear rolled down her face. “Please.”

His claret eyes gazed up at her euphoric expression. Those teary eyes glazed over with desire. It was enough to send a jolt to his core. Warmth spreading like fire throughout him. It was intoxicating. Releasing her, he raised himself up. Spit and her arousal ran down his chin as he leaned over her body. He pushed her legs until her knees were by her head. A sob caught in her throat and the quickly growing coil in her abdomen dissipated at the loss of contact. His breath ghosted over her lips.

“Speak up pretty girl.”

Her hands grasped his upper arms, and she clenched her jaw. A choked noise escaped the confines of her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She needed him. He was a necessity, and he was denying her.

“Use your words.” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. Pulling it down briefly before letting it bounce back. His hand trailed down her thigh towards her slick. Caressing her, toying with her.

[beaft]

october 13th

happy friday the thirteenth, everyone! and to celebrate, here's that poem you probably read at school that one time! today's spooky poem is "the highwayman", a delightfully melodramatic ballad by alfred noyes. there's an analysis of it here and a sung version by loreena mckennit here. and once you've listened to that you can watch this, if you're so inclined.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Part I

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.  the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,    And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there    But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,    But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter. Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,    Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part II He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching Marching—marching— King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

—Alfred Noyes

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ take a frickin' shower. [new 11/7]

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 1,359. read more on ao3 | ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | main masterlist

sometimes a shower takes too much energy, but the captain is here to coerce you. sure, there are other ways to keep yourself clean in a pinch, but everyone knows you just feel better after a shower. and right now many of us could do with feeling a little better.

so sorry this has been so long in coming, nonnie-love. i hope you find it useful and comforting. honestly, you're not alone. showers take a lot of spoons sometimes but they are almost always worth it. imo, it is as hard to get out of a shower as it is to get in. (go take one anyway. right now, if you can.)

You stare up at the ceiling of your Knowhere apartment. Something like sunlight filters in, pearly and gossamer across the bone-plaster. It’s lovely outside, you know — not too warm, and not too cold. The skull has been parked the perfect distance from a protostar wreathed in emerald and claret diamond-dust — a favorite peace-time location for your fellow Knowhere locals, who’ve taken to calling the star Gamora. It casts a mint-and-rose glow across the fabricated atmospheric shield, creating the illusion of a cotton-candy sky from the ocular and occipital observation decks. The colors blend with the manufactured wake-shift lights inside the skull, and it all creates a pretty, springlike effect that you haven’t seen anywhere else. And still, it’s hard to make yourself do anything. Right now is an excellent example. You haven’t been able to shower in days — barely scraping up the energy to splash water on your face in the morning. You’d barely managed to take your clothes down to the laundromat a few hours earlier, and now getting up to go retrieve them seems impossible. You lift your head — only to thump it back down into the downy pillow. Then you do it again. And again. Except on the final soft thump, there’s a new sound: a thud. It takes you a puzzled second to place it: the toe of a rubber-soled shoe, bouncing off the door. Welp. Only one asshole who knocks with his foot.

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

eat somethin. (wc: 576)

go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)

get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925)

take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)

leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)

take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020)

drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)

stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609)

just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271)

it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923)

get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614)

did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288)

schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222)

do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994)

brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774)

nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231)

stop biting your goddamn nails (wc: 2,920)

take a frickin' shower (wc: 1,359 ) for nonnie ♡

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

banners & dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto taglist ✩ @suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips

total word-count: 24,667.

[violettduchess]

for the angst ask (thanks for opening them btw) vlad and illness? he waited so long for his mc (gn) just to watch them slowly dying in front of him, their last moments and what that entails? I want to be crushed haha

A/N: Hello anon! I took a little bit of artistic liberty here because I had an idea so its not illness, but rather an accident. The rest of the request is still honored.

CW: death, loss

Vlad x gn reader

Word Count: 1783

A Pureblood vampire has nothing but time. It becomes their only constant, the one fixed thing they can depend on as the world around them evolves and changes. The flow of time brings mighty mountains to their knees and changes the course of rivers. It has seen man crawl, then walk and now, in the late 19th century, begin to run as technology makes leaps and bounds within shorter and shorter time spans. And one sure thing about time: it never stops.

How does one bear the weight of years and decades and centuries? Vlad has found a way. Something that fascinates him. 

People. 

He has loved them with a ferocity sharp and deadly. That their lives are so fleeting, rising like sparks from a fire only to blink out of existence and return to darkness within mere decades, is what makes them precious. Worth fighting for. And he has never loved a human, or any other being, as much as he loves you.

You were the one he waited for. The one who imprinted yourself upon him like a brand, your essence burned into his soul with a heat that never subsided as he waited all those long years for you. And when the time came, when you understood who he was and what you meant to him, when you returned those extraordinary feelings of love and desire, he understood the words Shakespeare had penned when writing his greatest love story: 

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea 

My love as deep. 

The more I give to thee,

The more I have, 

for both are infinite.” 

You gave his world a beauty far beyond that field of roses he holds so dear. Vlad’s heart holds entire universes of love only for you. 

Which is why, when you told him you did not want to be turned, despite the consequence of death, he never once questioned it. He had simply raised your hands to his lips, his claret eyes closing as he pressed a kiss into your skin, accepting your decision. 

And decided then and there he would dedicate every moment you had together to bringing you joy. He would show you the world and in return, give the world the gift of your smile.

Which is why you were in London, exploring the world’s largest city and breathtaking capital of the British Empire. You were staying at Claridge’s, one of the grandest hotels London had to offer, and swept up in the whirlwind of pleasures Vlad had arranged: an outfit tailored just for you at London’s most exclusive boutique, high tea at one of the oldest tea houses in the city, a boat ride on the Thames. As you disembarked, hand in hand, a young boy was waiting with a message for Vlad. A mystery item he had commissioned was finished and would he care to come pick it up or have it delivered to the hotel? His rose-colored eyes had gleamed, his excitement dancing within their depths and along the curve of his lips. He would come right away. When you had asked what this mysterious item was, he had simply smiled softly. You would see soon, beloved. Go, the carriage that would take you back to the hotel was waiting just across the street. He would meet you in the hotel’s salon for supper.

You parted, his smile still warming your heart against the misty London air and you took the time to watch his tall figure grow smaller and smaller as he walked with the young boy down the street, eventually disappearing from view as they rounded a corner. Your heart could not be any fuller, your soul could not be more content. Vlad was the key that unlocked the truth about love: it mattered, more than anything. He mattered more than anything. Loving him had transformed your world into something so perfect it could be called heaven. You were so lost in your starry-eyed thoughts, your mind floating in the clouds on a breeze of affection and anticipation, you did not pay attention as you stepped onto the street.

You did not see the carriage with its spooked horse barreling towards you.

You did not hear the shout of warning.

You stepped out into the street.

And your world went black.

It’s tucked safely into the inside pocket of his jacket, carefully wrapped in the softest black velvet. One look at the pin, a detailed red rose made from the purest rubies with its emerald leaves and curving stem, made by one of the finest jewelers in Europe, and he knew it was worth every cent. It was a work of art and he was proud of the design he had created. He wanted something unique, something custom-made that no one else the world over could have, a symbol of his feelings for you and a sign to all who saw it that you, like the rose, are a rarity worth remembering, a beautiful spirit worth marveling at.

He turns the corner onto the street where you had gone ashore after your boat tour, his mind running through the way he imagines you will smile when he presents his gift, a smile that rivals the sun in all its brightness. All thought however screeches to a halt as he notices the crowd gathered, blocking most of the way. There are police wagons and officers doing their best to keep people away from something on the road. Vlad passes an elderly man sitting on the filthy flat pavement meant for pedestrians, his dirt-streaked face blanched with shock, hands shaking as he tries to drink from a flask. He hears the mumbled words, repeated over and over to no one in particular:

“The horse stepped on a nail. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t stop it. It stepped on a nail. I couldn’t stop it. They came out of nowhere. I couldn’t stop it-”

Uneasiness begins to slowly creep down Vlad’s spine like a spider descending on its silken thread. He was planning to walk around the crowd, his long legs swiftly taking him away from the buzzing and gawking of the crowd so he could get to you, his light, his love, and make sure you were ok. He will never be able to answer why he didn’t stick with this. Why instead of walking around the crowd, his feet begin taking him through it. 

Each step feels like the earth is trying to stop him, gravity is desperately pulling at his legs, trying to slow him. His feet feel like they are made of granite, dragging along as he shoulders his way through the dense, foul-smelling mass. Each beat of his heart becomes louder, the crowd’s murmuring becomes distorted. Fate has wrapped his heartstrings around her cruel fingers and pulls, forcing him to shamble his way toward a truth that will sunder his very soul.

He breaks through the throng. 

And sees you lying there, your soft hair touching the filth of the street, your head pillowed by hard, uneven cobblestones. 

Someone has thrown what looks like a shabby picnic blanket over your body, but Vlad can smell the blood through the fibers, through the grime of a London street. Your eyes are open, blinking rapidly, your lips trembling as you mouth one word. He recognizes the shape of his name.

“I’m here, beloved.” How he manages to speak through a throat full of thorns is a miracle, another question with no answer. He sinks to his knees beside you, feeling the dampness soak through his trousers, the hard stone biting at him. “I’m here.” You turn your head and the effort that costs you is evident in the flickering light of your beautiful eyes. He reaches out with a shaking hand, the movement slow as if underwater, and manages to brush your hair off of your forehead with infinite tenderness. His fingers are stained red with the blood trickling down your temple. He repeats the motion anyway.

Your breathing is labored and erratic but you refuse to look away, holding his gaze for as long as you can.

“I’m…..sorry.” Your voice wheezes, rough with strain.

His heart shatters into a thousand pieces. Tiny shards that embed themselves into his own lungs, that twist his stomach into a Gordian knot, that pierce his very soul and cling, barb-like and heavy.

“No, my love. My dearest one. No.” He smiles. It is a reflex, a gesture of comfort. His lips shift without him even conscious of it. Words continue to find a way through his blocked throat. Because he knows you need them. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His hand, still trembling lightly, slides down, cupping your face, the one he has loved for ages, the one white as bone and red with blood. “I love you.”

A shudder wracks your body and your eyes close. For a moment you don’t breathe and panic seizes him, gripping his mind with hands of steel. No, no. Just another moment. No.

And then you manage another breath. Your eyes open again, seeking his. Your lips part and he leans down to catch your labored, whispered words.

“I’m….scared.”

The truth of it bears down on him. He has seen death so often that it had become as innocuous as the changing of the seasons. Spring follows winter, autumn follows summer. People are born, live out the time they are given, and then die. 

And yet your words have turned the world upside down. Death is no longer an abstract, cyclical idea. It is real. It is on that grimy cobblestone street, leaning over you, reaching down, seconds away from taking you away from him forever. Stealing every place you never went. Every kiss you haven’t shared. Every declaration of love yet to be spoken.

Vlad presses his lips to your cold forehead, his hand still cupping your face.

“I’m here, beloved. I promise, it will be okay. I’m with you.”

Your eyes are on him, but they are no longer focused. The flame of life inside of them is sputtering as the curtains slowly close on your mortality. Your breathing becomes rapid, uneven, louder. The sound forever burns itself into his memory. 

You draw one breath.

His soul quakes. Don’t go, beloved.

And then another.

Beloved……I’m scared.

And then you are still, sightless eyes gazing into nothingness.

……..beloved?......

And his world goes black.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

[aaronburrdaily]

November 18, 1809

Glückstadt, November 18, 1809. Forever in some trouble about the day of the month, but am never more than one or two days out. Our amiable friend le Commandant Donsur took us this morning to see le haut Chancellier de Holstein,¹ le Baron de quelque chose² which shall be found out and told anon. It seems he had already announced us, for his Excellency knew all about us. Received us very courteously and understanding that we are to leave town to-morrow, asked us to dine to-day en famille; agreed. Went at 1/2 p. 2. Y: Madame ———; M———, the third Judge, and ———, a literary man of modest, intelligent appearance whose name I regret to have lost. The Chancellier appears about 47; small, maigre,³ but sprightly, courteous, and sensible; something like Madison⁴ in appearance. A la Soedoise, we all stood and said our grace; and after dinner all rose at once, and after returning thanks, bowed, &c, adjourned to the drawing-room. The dinner was of several courses. Each dish served in succession, first being carved by Madame, and then handed round by the servant. At each two plates a bottle of wine (claret), tumblers and glasses; each drank as he pleased. Some choice wines were sent round, a glass to each. Madame has four lovely children, the three youngest particularly; the two eldest, girls. Home at 7. Snow and hail. The house at which I lodge is the rendezvous of the Club. The noblesse⁵ of the town meet every Saturday evening for conversation, cards, and supper. (The ladies' club assemble at the same house every Tuesday evening.) I went in a few minutes, but I declined to join at cards, as well from an aversion to lose as because I must pack up, and so adieu, Madame, till that labour be gone through. Minuit.⁶ Done, even the picture; all, all packed, ready for starting at sunrise. I bid you bon soir a dozen times before I shut you up in that dark case. I can never do it without regret. It seems as if I were burying you alive.

1 The High Chancellor of Holstein 2 The Baron of something. 3 Thin, spare. 4 James Madison, at this time President of the United States. 5 The nobility. 6 Midnight.

[see-arcane]

(The poem is "Title divine - is mine!" by Emily Dickinson.)

Meet Claret. They are definitely inspired design-wise by this and this. I'm always a sucker for a pomegranate palette and plenty of gauzy glitter.

But they rose in my head as a figure deeply unhappy at being bejeweled and displayed as they are.

There's a hazy vision in my head of them formerly living in content masculinity or androgyny. I can't pin them as strictly female or male, I only know that they have a wife they love and that they were working in dangerously close proximity to a tyrant with particularly ugly opinions and mandates regarding women. They take pains to present exclusively as a young man in that company.

One day, after ages of enduring him, Claret's secret of being biologically female is outed. The tyrant is both very weird and very pleased about this. He has gone so very long without a wife, because what woman could aspire to his level? The solution is so clear now: There is no better woman for the job than a 'man,' ha ha.

Claret refuses. Tyrant refuses said refusal in violent fashion, taking aim at Claret's wife--an illegality in itself, naturally, such a union being a deprivation of potential husbands--and through this and sundry other guarantees of reprisal, Claret finds themselves here. Stripped of their life and slipped into the finely-tailored noose of this new existence.

A note jabbed at me as I pictured them; that the one request they made regarding this debut ensemble was that they 'be covered from the neck down.' Above we see the tyrant's idea of compromise.

I don't know where Claret's story goes or how it ends. I feel the edges of something hopeful with the wife's coming to their rescue or Claret themselves managing a vicious escape. But in the idea-nightmare they sprang from all I really saw was murk in their future. I want it to end happily for them, but the shape of it isn't sketched out.

In the meantime, I felt so sour about not knowing how to save them that I made this too in apology:

Nothing fancy. Just them in their stays, happy.

[marcmarcmomarc]

RWBY Volume 10 Prediction

Ruby’s Solidarity/The Remnant Alliance

Founded by Qrow Branwen and Robyn Hill

Main members: Team RWBY, Team JNPR plus Oscar Pine/Professor Ozpin and Emerald Sustrai, Team STRQ plus Zwei, the Ace-Ops, the Happy Huntresses, Winter Schnee, Team SSSNN, Team CFVY, Whitley Schnee, Willow Schnee, Klein Sieben, Maria Calavera, Dr. Pietro Polendina, Ghira Belladonna, Kali Belladonna, Ilia Amitola, Bartholomew Oobleck, Peter Port, Glynda Goodwitch, Professor Theodore, and Xanthe Rumpole

In honor of Penny Polendina, Pyrrha Nikos, Hazel Rainart, Clover Ebi, Vine Zeki, Summer Rose, and Vernal

Additional members: Rowena Sunnybrook, Thumbelina Peach, Ann Greene, Harold Mulberry, Olive Gashley, Rae Noire, Ariadne Guimet, Elektra Fury, Iris Marilla, Saphron Cotta-Arc, Terra Cotta-Arc, Adrian Cotta-Arc, Caroline Cordovin and the Atlas Military, Team FNKI, Team CRDL, Shopkeep, Ciel Soleil, Olive Harper, Team BRIR, Shay D. Mann and the Branwen Tribe, Henry Marigold, Saber Rodentia, the White Fang, Fiona’s uncle, Oscar’s aunt, the red haired woman at Pyrrha’s memorial (if she’s even a real person), Hei “Junior” Xiong and his henchmen, Lil’ Miss Malachite and her bodyguards, Miltia and Melanie Malachite, Carmella Lindt, Starr Sanzang, Finn Asturias, Lily and her younger sister, Bertilak Celadon, Edward Caspian, August Caspian, Slate, Green, Team NDGO, Team ABRN, Dudley, the shovel mom, the female fox Faunus the shovel mom was hugging in the crater in 8x11, both women’s respective sons, the disgruntled grandmother, their fellow Faunus refugees from the Mantle crater, Crimson, the captain and crew of the ship Blake Belladonna and Sun Wukong rode to Menagerie on, the Higanbana waitress, Lisa Lavender, Mikado Lem, Russet Ka, Cerise Claire, Zure and Cye Ayu, Mossius and Claret Berbere, the merchant from RWBY: Arrowfell, Cyril lan, Team SAFR, Councilwoman Camilla, Drunk Mann, Drinking Buddy, Roch Szalt, Kandi Floss, the blacksmith who gave Jaune his new shield, and the mayor who congratulated Team RNJR

[naranjapetrificada]

WIP Wednesday!

Here we are again, and I'm pleased to say that I feel like I'm getting to that point I sometimes do where I'm low on snippets that can be shared context-free (something that's usually the harbinger of drafts nearing completion). So here's a little taste from the feast in Chapter 3 to hold you over while I finish things up:

Scarlet. Carmine. Vermillion. Ed would never call himself a poet, but tonight his mind is flush with words to describe the color red. The wines flow claret and ruby. The lamps glow bleeding amber. Stede's cheeks are sanguine; Stede's cheeks are ruddy; Stede's cheeks are blooming rose.

(poor tipsy little guy. Stede is probably gonna have a rough morning.)

[digitalgirlguide]

Kimmy’s Digital Diary: I owe it to myself to be the best version of me possible

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

As we step into the new year of 2024, I think to myself ‘what can I do differently in 2024?’ I’m not one to sit on my hands and wait until a new year started to make changes to my life but I would be lying if I didn't say that the sparkle surrounding the prospect of being an entirely new person in january while reflecting on the year in december didn’t excite me. I’ve been taking my vitamins, getting my ass in the gym, solidifying my beauty routines and trying to become an all around ‘it girl’. BUT it's time to wholeheartedly embrace the essence of the 'it girl era' with even more aggression and tenacity than before. Being mediocre has never been in my cards and I want so much out of this life that I have to do more.

The Enchantment of Your Signature Beauty Routine

The first thing I had to get right was my natural look. My go-to ‘If i have 5 minutes to be outside can I I do it?’ signature makeup look. And this is from someone who just started learning about makeup in 2016…where we did full faces and the thickest eyebrows possible. I had to think about what I wanted my staples to be that would always be in my collection. Now I’m a girl who likes a nice dewy look and whenever I wear makeup people don't even know I’m wearing it!

Think of makeup not merely as a beauty enhancer, but as a canvas for self-expression. Whether you resonate with the 'less is more' philosophy, cherishing a dewy no-makeup makeup look, or you're a glamour enthusiast who wouldn't part with her winged eyeliner for anything, your makeup style is an extension of your identity.

My personal go-tos for my 10 minute routine

FOUNDATION:

Sacha Cosmetics Cream to Powder Foundation- Perfect Spice

e.l.f halow glow liquid filter - 6 tan/deep warm

CONCEALER

e.l.f hydrating camo concealer - medium peach

BLUSH

sacha cosmetics powder blush - claret

SETTING POWDER

sacha cosmetics buttercup setting powder

SETTING SPRAY

urban decay all nighter

Yet, the magic doesn't end there. Scents have an enchanting ability to stir emotions and weave memories. Do you find joy in the freshness of citrus, the elegance of roses, or does the warm, comforting aroma of vanilla speak to your soul? Discovering your signature scent is like leaving traces of your personal brand in every room you enter.

And do not forget to LAYER YOUR FRAGRANCES GIRL.

From the shower gel, to the body lotion to the perfume combinations. Make sure your notes match to create a custom signature scent that will have everybody asking you what fragrance you’re wearing. But we all know, pretty girls don’t share those combinations.

And then, there's your unique style. Whether it aligns with classic chic, boho vibes, or the boldness of street style, your fashion choices should resonate with your personality and instill a sense of empowerment within you.

You don’t have to conform to Tiktok niches but you can mix and match those styles until you get one that feels authentic to YOU. Remember, it’s better to have your own aesthetic than trying to keep up with trends that don't match your personality.

Goal-Getting: Your Moment is Now

Let's shift gears and talk about pursuing your aspirations with unyielding determination. It's the perfect time to outline major goals for the first quarter of the year. Dreaming of launching your own business? Let's sketch out the plan. Eyeing that well-deserved promotion? Let's craft the path towards it. This is undeniably your year, your time to radiate brilliance. Always remember, every achievement begins with the courage to take that first step.

Here are a few tips to staying on top of your studies in 2024:

Use the pomodoro method - its much easier to break things down into smaller chunks than sitting down for hours studying

Invest in cute study supplies (trust me it makes a difference)

Set a study schedule and stick to it

Practice ‘recall’

Have a study scent - to help with recall. Memories are triggered by scent!

Mind and Body Wellness: Embrace Strength Training and Pilates

Exercise is more than sculpting the perfect physique; it's about decluttering your mind and discovering the incredible strength within. Introducing workouts like strength training and Pilates into your routine can be truly transformative.

Strength training empowers you, fostering a sense of strength and capability, and guess what? It contributes to maintaining a harmonious metabolism. On the other hand, Pilates transcends physical fitness; it's an intricate dance between mind and body. Improving flexibility, posture, and even mental wellness, Pilates is a holistic embrace of your well-being.

Let's get into it, The Action Steps

Here's your glow-up game plan:

Curate a beauty regimen that is an authentic reflection of YOU. Remember, it's not about following trends; it's about celebrating what makes YOU feel stunning.

Chart out ambitious goals for Q1. Break them down into manageable tasks and start the journey towards realizing them. Your dreams are deserving of your pursuit.

Infuse strength training and Pilates into your fitness routine. Your body and mind will express gratitude for the nurturing care.

Remember, the path to becoming the best version of yourself is a steady journey, not a hurried sprint. Take each step with intention, celebrate every small victory, and, most importantly, embrace your unique beauty and strength. Here's to a luminous and confident 2024 ✨

[emelinecormier]

— dylan westwick misty days flowers, downtown.

The dinner rush was over and Emmy was able to pass along closing duties to other employees in favor of making it out of the restaurant with decent time to get to the flower shop just a few blocks away before they closed too. She didn't always show up at Verda's during her nights in Claret Park, instead of her apartment downtown, with flowers, but that night she'd got it in her head that the other woman needed a fresh bouquet for her kitchen island and there was no alternative once she was stuck on it. Thankfully, she'd managed to squeeze in just half an hour before closing and spent the next ten minutes mulling about in the shop, trying to figure out which flowers would look best next to each other and which colors didn't completely clash together. The art of flowers was definitely never something she'd thought about and not her forte in the slightest. In the end, she reached forward to grab a premade bouquet of Ver's favorite roses, knowing the woman would love them, and turned the corner when her eyes caught sight of a familiar face near the checkout line. "Dylan?" Emmy questioned as she approached, brows furrowed curiously as her gaze dropped slightly lower on the woman's body before quickly bouncing back up, offering a joke with a soft chuckle, "I swear that isn't mine."

@dylan-westwick