#laurel tree tailors

[highlordofkrypton]

SUMMARY

The two strongest High Lords in Prythian are rarely in the same place at once, and when they are, they stay away from each other. When High Lord Celyddon and High Lord Sieffre arrive for the Autumn Equinox, young Beron Vanserra sees an opportunity to learn (or blackmail) greatness. He wants to be like them one day, but until then, he will do anything to get close to them. TL;DR - We all know getting topped would fix Beron, but what if it made him worse.

CHARACTERS: Beron Vanserra, Tamlin's Father and Rhysand's Father

AUTHOR'S NOTES

The first chapter of this fic is for @sjmvillainweek and focuses on Beron, and the two other High Lord's dynamics "Behind Closed Doors" leading up to the smut but there is technically no smut yet. The following two will be pure Kinktober. The tags will be added as the chapters go up!

TW: Blood, Violent Foreplay

READ BELOW THE CUT OR ON AO3.

“Ber, are you ready? ” The sigh from the other side of the wooden door is exasperated. “You’re going to be late! You know High Lord Sieffre never stays long. You’ll miss him.”

He looks himself in the mirror for another several minutes, adjusting his gemmed collar and his perfectly tailored coat. His shoulders have finally filled out after decades, and he swears he’s grown taller now. The notches are on the inside of the frame, and he can’t get to them to check without alerting his sister to his worries. She’ll go away sooner or later. The last thing he needs is her snooping.

His hair is tufts of close cropped auburn curls, dark red wine just like the rest of his family. He runs his pale fingers through them. I should cut it. He is not a child anymore, nearing his second century and still, the Courts won’t take him seriously. It’s hard to shine in his father’s shadow. His tail sways lazily behind him, rubies tucked into the fur and gold rings encircling the tip.

“Beeeeeeer, hurry up,” she complains in their autumnal tongue.

“Just fucking go!” Beron snaps in return.

The Fall faerie doesn’t need to see her to know that she rolls her eyes, mutters something twenty-shades of rude before storming on her way. Beatriz doesn’t have to worry. Not like he does. She has truly grown into her beauty, like when the trees that line Spring bleed into Autumn, their leaves maturing and taking on a certain richness. He’d watched her perfect her enchantments leading up to the Equinox, how to set her hair aflame without drawing directly on her magic. All eyes will be on her tonight, and he simply cannot allow that.

Beron loves her, he truly does. They were born from the same bud, but only one of them will ascend to the seat of High lord and it will not be her. Despite all beauty and showmanship, he must learn to command a room with his sheer presence.

Maybe I should grow a beard.

His reflection in the mirror quivers at the thought, and the ground beneath his feet follows. The distant sound of trees cracking and shifting, great oaks stepping aside for something greater. Beron abandons all thought, rushing to his window. The skies have begun to darken, like a storm coming, but there are no clouds. Rather, a tapestry of night crawls across his view, defying the day.

They’re coming. At the same time.

The flame in his chest flutters, kindled at the thought of entertaining both of them at once. Spring and Night—new life, and eternal darkness—always at odds, even with the passing of power. Even in the same room, they repel one another, keeping to edges and enemies, never overlapping. 

High Lord Celyddon arrives from the west, mounted upon a great elk. Emerald fabrics cascade off his shoulders, a dark canvas upon which his deep golden hair rests. Atop his head, laurels held together with gold sits between his curved horns. Beron has only ever seen him radiate power. Even in his approach, the ground seems to move instead of him, as if it doesn’t dare ask its King to waste any effort. His entourage follows him, dwarfed by the sheer regality of Spring’s chosen one.

What would I do? If I had to face him? Fire does not burn stone.

The young Lord’s mind is always calculating, preparing for his ascension. It will happen, sooner rather than later, Beron just needs to bide his time and wait for the right moment. Until then, he entertains the fantasy of standing on the same dais as the other High Lords—of speaking to them as equals and then, surpassing them. The thought has him biting his lip, hiding the smile creeping onto his face. Eagerness is good. It is necessary. Power requires hunger, and Beron finds himself starving.

To the North, the star-kissed king soars. He has no wings, unlike the barbarians that live in his lands, but the skies have deemed him worthy of being close to their gods. They carry him from Night to Autumn, like a comet dancing against the darkness. He spirals down towards the leaf-covered ground, his body enveloped in dark smoke. When he lands, it rolls off him, like a hungering cloak, looking to swallow the closest living soul. High Lord Sieffre arrives alone—always alone.

Beron knows that the Night Court boasts the largest military in Prythian, and he cannot help but think there is nothing else but Darkbringers and Illyrian warriors. He has never seen the High Lord take interest in anyone; Sieffre’s presence is transactional and scarce, at best. His absence is ignored, but his presence—oh, his presence is a sight to behold.

Violet eyes flick up towards his bedroom window, and Beron steps back into the shadows. Fuck. Children are not meant to be heard or seen, but he is not a child anymore. He is too damned used to the crushing weight of his father’s disdain, he forgets what it means to claim a seat at the Lord’s table. Beron watches the Lord of Nightmares, realizing that the shadows do the opposite in the face of this faerie. They make him easier to perceive. 

Sieffre’s face is made of porcelain, delicate and flawless—not a single scar or blemish, not even the grace of freckles or beauty marks—save for the purple spider of veins beneath his skin. His pallor surpasses that of the Autumn Court in leagues, so white his skin seems… translucent, and yet… and it does not take away from his beauty. His raven hair falls in waves, blending into his dark attire. He’s perfect.

The two of them, Spring and Night, are the closest thing to male divinity on this mortal plane.

His father would have his tongue for that thought, and Beron finds that he doesn’t care very much. He’ll die. Sooner than these two Lords before him.

Their eyes meet, down in the courtyard, emerald against violet, and Beron watches them carefully. His breath catches, eager to see if he will be privy to a single moment of interaction between them. It will be his precious secret, shared with them. He is a part of this moment. The High Lord of Spring dismounts, and his entourage follows suit. Beside his Great Elk, a smaller white stag carries a fail-looking Lady. Attendants help his wife down, and she takes her place beside him. Celyddon engulfs the nape of her neck with his immense hand; one wrong move, and he could snap it out of sheer entertainment. He tilts her head up forcefully, and tears a kiss from her lips, all while mocking the Night with his eyes.

The Lady of Spring simply stands there, taking what’s given—a passive tool. To stand by his side is to revel in his power, and were it Beron—

He bites his tongue. Lady Margret is his mate, a title that stands above all, except for that of a High Lord. He must tread carefully with his disdain, lest Celyddon have his tongue for the indiscretion. Mates are a fairy tale, a political ruse, he’s sure of it. A stupid ruse that binds them to weakness. What good are females, aside from their child-bearing hips? The males carry power, and were it up to him, he wouldn’t bother with the risk of power passing to the lesser sex.

No, no, were it him —whether Spring, Autumn of Night—he would elevate them to new heights. They would have to carry the burden of power alone, he would alleviate them of their woes. All they need is to choose him. His fists clench around the unspoken desire, and it tightens until the thought is gone.

High Lord Sieffre simply glances away, no additional moment wasted on the show Celyddon has put on for all Prythian, and disappears inside Beron’s home. 

Beron doesn’t wait; he’s late.

***

The Equinox celebration is dizzying. Beron is sent to and fro, attending to his father’s demand of a good impression. He talks up the wives of Day, pours spiced wine for the Summer delegate and pretends to care about Dawn’s famed Tinkerer with his useless inventions. What is the use of machinery when magic exists? All he hears are crutches fabricated for the weak.

His sister has it easier, twirling in her ember dress that lights up with the proper partner. High Lord Sieffre’s impassive face never changes, even as he leads her with graceful expertise. Beatriz knows exactly when to laugh, and chooses all the perfect moments to run her fingers across his broad shoulders, or tighten her hold on his arm. Her warm brown eyes flicker to Beron’s, a perfect mirror to his. When they were young, their father couldn’t tell them apart, and they’d play tricks, letting the other take the beating on the other’s behalf. 

She smiles, and his coiled tail tightens around his waist. He needs to get better at hiding his emotions, at least until he can divest himself of them completely, just like Sieffre. He’ll take all the pieces from stronger lords, and rebuild himself not in their image, but as their better.

“Beron,” his father’s voice rumbles, and Beron straightens his spine.

“Yes, father.”

“Summon, Sieffre to my study. I wish to speak to him.”

“Yes, father.”

There can only be one reason why his father would want a private discussion with the Lord of Night. Beatriz is of marrying age, still ripe, but not too young that she is a burden to her husband. High Lord Sieffre would be honoured to have someone with a flame as bright as hers, but… the love for his sister does nothing to temper his anger. When she leaves, what will he have? Nothing but a long con without the support of his twin. How dare she move on without him; their paths must branch at the same time.

Beron worries at his lip, his emotions spilling onto his face rather than his tail. Her ambition will get her killed. Father has allowed her to want more than her station. He should have been first, if only to remind Beatriz where she belongs.

He approaches his sister and the beautiful Lord. “My Lord, my father requests an audience with you. I will escort you to his study.”

Even with his eyes downcast, he can feel the weight of Sieffre’s attention on him. A shiver snakes down his spine, and he thinks nothing except hiding his eagerness. He wants more, but he is a loyal son and attends to his task.

“Very well,” answers Sieffre, his voice smooth as silk in his ears.

“I’ll join you,” Beatriz smiles at her brother, hooking her arm around Sieffre’s.

“Father did not ask for you.”

“Fortunately for you, I know where I am needed.” She tips her head. “And wanted.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you to stop listening to the voices? They aren’t real, Bea.”

If the High Lord is put off by their rivalry, he doesn’t show it. He has never s shown interest in anything. If Beatriz thinks their little dance means anything, that’s her own fault. Everything High lord Sieffre does is transactional. His attendance requires him to pay attention to her, nothing more and nothing less.

His sister talks the entire way through the Forest House, recounting its history and sparkling interesting tidbits about herself. Beatriz is smarter than most females, making sure that anything High Lord Sieffre learns about her is impressive, clever or a display of her skill. He doesn’t seem to care, and yet that does not deter her. Beron falls in step with her while leading them, amending her embellishments to include himself. The charm that has her beautiful crimson hair glowing at its tip was only finished because of him. The two of them push and pull, subtly vying for the High Lord’s attention, but Sieffre does not look at them again.

They arrive at his father’s study, and Beron announces High Lord Sieffre’s arrival. He steps aside, letting the impossibly tall high faerie past him.

“Bea,” he hisses, as she breezes into the room as well. Beatriz winks at him, then gives him a look that’s meant to reassure him. She knows what she’s doing, but he thinks she is treading a very fine line that her father would not enjoy. Beron may compete with her, but he does not wish her harm.

“You may leave, Beron.” His father drones.

The last time he’d argued against his father, the High Lord of Autumn had smacked his mouth so hard, he’d lost a tooth. It has since grown, and Beron has since learned. He nods, pulling the door shut behind him. Beatriz wiggles her fingers at him, and he bares his teeth at her. Fucking bitch.

Voices slip beneath the door, muffled by magic. Beron has long learned not to listen for words, but for tone. He leans against the wall, battling between anger and curiosity. How can he find the upper hand? Which part of his father should he twist to make him yield under his will? Could he find something on Sieffre ?

He hears nothing from the Night, only the drone of his father, and the soft song of his sister’s voice when she wants something. The discussion bounces between even-keeled and slowly builds into his father’s anger. His father’s voice booms, rattling the house, and heat seeps from the room. Palms presses against the wall, Beron can gauge the exact level of disrespect his father has experienced. Too much, but not enough to start a fight.

Even father knows when he’s outclassed, he smiles to himself.

The door opens, and Beron adjusts his posture. “Good evening,” he mumbles under his breath. Beatriz was right. High Lord Sieffre never stays long.

Beron waits a moment, then darts down a different hallway while his sister manages their father’s temper. He slips into a hidden passage, steps that deposit him directly at the foot of the Forest House. It would take Sieffre twice the time to follow the formal pathway out the House, and down the winding steps. Enemies can winnow into their territory, the problem is getting out.

He pushes the entrance open ever so slightly, peering through a crack in the stone wall.

“Aw, look who’s got his feelings hurt.” The deep baritone of Celyddon’s voice carries easily across the courtyard. He exhales a thick waft of green smoke out the corner of his mouth, and takes a drag of his cigar. “You should be happy, See. Someone wants you. You should take what you can get.”

This— this is the private interaction Beron wants to see. He hopes secrets will be spilled for him to gobble up greedily.

The High Lord of Night does not rise to the bait; he is truly a wonder, not even to waver in the face of Celyddon. He simply carries on, storming past Spring’s mocking perch, towards the edge of the grounds where he can winnow for freedom. Beron expects more mockery, and he blinks several times, when he sees the grin on High Lord Celyddon’s face. That fae does not smile. Neither of them do, yet he bares his teeth, extinguishing his cigar on his own tongue before popping it into his mouth. He chews the dried herbs, swallowing it and then follows Sieffre into the thick line of trees.

Oh, this is good. This is exactly what he wanted—to unveil a card that no one else knows.

Beron waits a few heart-flickers before pushing out of his secret hideaway, and begins to trail them.

While they make no sounds, creatures of such vast power are never fully concealed—it’s why High Lords rarely take matters into their own hands. Emissaries and spymasters are put to work; for a High Lord to move is to ask the earth itself (in Celyddon’s case) to move. His magic is easier to follow; Beron has come to recognize its flavour lingering in the air, as if the greenish tint on autumn leaves wasn’t telling enough as to where he’s been.

“You fucking disgust me,” Celyddon rumbles under the cover of the forest.

The two Lords keep moving, and Beron glances behind him. The trees—the trees are closing in. He can’t fall behind, lest they swallow him up. He stops only when they do, in a small clearing where the Priestesses perform their rituals. At the centre, a bloodstained altar awaits a sacrifice for the Mother, or any of her lesser gods.

Sieffre whirls on Celyddon, clawed hand outstretched. The Spring Lord, despite his size, sidesteps with ease, bringing both his fists down towards the Night Lord’s spine. Sieffre vanishes, like a dark cloud, and Beron has to crane his neck to try and find him. His clothes are too dark to see beneath the lightless canopy of trees, but the High Lord’s pale face is like the moon in the darkness.

The Hewnian reappears behind Celyddon, and the latter dips his head to try and gore his opponent with his horns. Neither draw blood, neither can quite put their hands on each other. Sieffre is far too agile, too slippery in his shadowy domain, and Celyddon is a bull. Those who fear his size forget his calculating mind, and those who have been terrorized by his brilliance assume he won’t rely on simple force if it pleases him.

Beron’s tail wags with muted anticipation, like a cat with vested interest. He doesn’t know who will gain the upper hand, he doesn’t know which outcome would be more terrifying. Fingers dig into the bark of a birch tree, admiring the contrast in style and in anger. Celyddon’s emotions are like battering rams, punched into the air when his rival vanishes again. Sieffre’s hate is like a dagger knife slipped easily between ribs—quiet, unexpected and efficient.

“Sieffre!” The Spring regent roars, and both the trees and the night scramble to swallow the sound. 

They crash into one another, and Beron can’t see —what happened? What happened ? He leans further and further in, drinking in every move and every snap of magic whipped in each other’s direction.

Celyddon straddles Sieffre, his strong hands wrapped around that slender column of a neck. He squeezes, and yet, the Lord beneath him only laughs, a cool foreign sound.

“Tired of that docile cunt already, C?”

Lithe fingers curl around Celyddon’s ornate robes, hiking them up to reveal thick thighs—thicker than both of Beron’s legs put together. The Spring Lord shrugs the layers off with a swear; he only wears this damned outfit in the name of tradition. Beron’s breath catches, and he nearly chokes at the sight of Celyddon in all his glory. A monster of a male, with muscles rippling down his wide back, and his abdomen. He is made of earth and stone, and he is the epitome of power.

A flush colours Beron’s cheeks, and he nearly looks away,  but he forces himself to focus. He might never see a sight like this again.

Sieffre digs his claws into the perfect musculature padding his ribs, and uses the new wounds as leverage to pull him down for the violence of a kiss. Beron’s not sure if he can call it kissing; it is made of teeth and growl. Crimson colours Sieffre’s thin, pale lips, and trickles down the corner of his lips. They favour devouring one another over breathing, and Celyddon is the first to break contact; Sieffre bares his teeth with a hiss, his elongated fangs glimmering in the low light.

There’s an ache between Beron’s legs, and the fire in the cage of his chest rages. He has never felt so alive, standing so close to death. Should they find him, they will tear him apart. He stands here, on the cusp of annihilation and the fear becomes inseparable from his anticipation. He palms his hardness, willing it to go down lest they scent his arousal, but… he wants to get closer. He wants to be a part of this, any way he can. Perhaps, by proximity, greatness will spill onto him. Perhaps, by virtue of what they are doing, he can drink up errant flecks of their sheer dominion.

He spots a lower bush, just three easy steps forward. The High Lords are too caught up to notice him, surely.

“Turn over,” Celyddon orders.

“Fucking coward,” Sieffre spits. “We both know you’d thrive bent over and speared onto my cock.” He curls his bloodied fingers into Celyddon’s blonde hair, pulling him in the same way Celyddon had done his wife. “ That is why you cannot be satisfied, even with your mate.” His laughter echoes around them, coming from the shadows rather than his chest.

The taunt gives Beron his opportunity to move, stepping forward—

Crack.

Beron stills.

No.

Maybe—

Maybe they didn’t hear the split of a branch beneath his all-too-heavy weight. Maybe they really are too caught up in one another to notice him. He raises his head, and Celyddon is getting to his feet, eyes searching the darkness in his direction. Sieffre is nowhere to be found.

Beron is yanked back suddenly, and slammed into the birch tree he’d hidden behind. A whimper escapes him before he can stop it. He feels the line of Sieffre’s body against his back, and his face burns with shame at getting caught. What a stupid, stupid mistake. It was a simple task: be fucking quiet. His eyes burn, but Vanserras do not cry. The tears are likely to burn up before getting anywhere significant.

“Do you like what you see?” Sieffre’s cool breath curls around Beron’s ear, warring against his natural heat. He fists Beron’s hair and makes him look. Celyddon has turned to face them now, no longer the elegant ruler that had ridden into his lands, but a brutal warrior. Blood trickles from his sides, courtesy of Sieffre, and without the clothes to mask his size, he is impossibly large. Beron’s gaze lands on his erection, just as thick as the rest of him, and standing proud against his muscular belly. 

That—That can’t possibly fit in anyone.

The Night Lord huffs his amusement, and breathes in deeply. “You smell like cinnamon,” he scoffs. “Is that what I should expect with your sister? Sugar, spice and everything nice? ”

“No,” Beron breathes, his chest crushed between Sieffre and the tree trunk. “I’m—I’m better.”

Sieffre exhales from his nose, concealed laughter as he drags Beron by the hair and tosses him into the clearing.

“The fuck is this,” Celyddon demands, folding his monstrous arms over one another as he looks down at Beron. 

Between the two old lords—lords who have been shaped by their Courts—Beron is tiny. They tower over him, and he realizes his mistake. He can’t reach them, he never was. It was never a question of time, or training. They are the chosen ones of their Courts, the avatars of their elements. They are so much more than rulers; they are distilled divinity. He refuses to back down; if this is as close as he will ever get to the goddess, then so be it.

“He believes Arroyo has made a mistake in his proposal.”

“Does he also think water is wet?”

“I am. I’m better than my sister, and your mate too. Anything a female can do, I can do better.”

Celyddon is much more open with his mocking, laughing at his face. There is no amusement in the sound, just booming, wordless condescension. “Go home, kindling. You’re out of your depth. I’m in a good mood. Fuck off.”

“I can prove it!” Beron says quickly before they send him off; they can winnow him away without moving from their spots, an easy feat for one such as them. He keeps his eyes tilted upwards, riveted on Celyddon who exchanges a glance with Sieffre.

“Alright. Prove it. If we disagree, I’ll kill you and fuck your corpse.”

[blorbologist]

I AM HERE WITH A 🌟🌟 TO HEAR ABOUT SOMETHING YOU'VE BEEN DYING TO GUSH ABOUT IN YOUR WRITINGS.

EXANDRIAN 👏 WEDDING 👏 CELEBRATION👏 WORLDBUILDING👏

- Wedding rings convergently evolved in a lot of contexts due to some divine events/recurrences (ex: halos of some aasimar and divine casters). Though how they're used varies (some cultures have many, with rings being added as the couple has children or for other life events; some wear them in their hair or as body piercings; some insist the couple or someone close to them make the rings themselves; sometimes they're made as a chain that's ceremonially broken during the wedding and reforged).

- I love the common HC that elven weddings involve ceremonial knots and rope/string tying the couple together! Drow use white-silver threads (heated debate rage as to if this is nods to Loloth or the Luxon in the Dynasty), wood elves will use plant-based fibers grown from each family's land/plants that grow near their home, and all elves will use fancier material to indicate wealth. A common practice for half-elves, especially from societies where they’re more common and can share this knowledge, is to intersperse the weaving and knots with rings, or save the threads to make into necklaces or armbands.

- many Ashari wedding practices (a little different for each tribe) have their roots in Drashari & Age of Arcanum customs that survived. For Zephrah in particular, I like the idea of the couple writing their vows, folding the paper into a bird or flower or something specific to Them (Vaxleth would 100% do a raven) and sending it flying from the cliffs. I'm undecided if they're supposed to use wind spells/cantrips to keep them aloft or trust in the air to carry them and their hopes for the relationship. (The people living downwind think it's good luck to catch Ashari wedding vows, and sometimes make the trek up to return them to the happy couple.) They don't know this is adapted from the spell kites of Cathmoíra.

- Several parts of Wildemount include planting something Important as part of the ceremony. Either something that will grow (a tree, a vital crop, a favorite flower) or not (a memory capsule, an offering, or something meant to decay). If the planting doesn't go well, or if the plant/burried thing gets damaged down the line, it's seen as a terrible omen. Couples living in cities will keep theirs on windowsills or roofs to ensure they get enough light, and it’s a common source of gossip if a neighbor's plant is unwell or if the pot of soil tips during a storm, spilling out the gifts within.

- I've thought. So much. About Whitestone weddings. The city-state was very isolated for years, so their practices are very tailored to their home. Laurels are made out of the Sun Tree's shed leaves, which are also scattered around their feet. Weddings are usually held at dawn or midday for Pelor reasons, and the rings are weighed in scales blessed by Erathis to ensure the partnership is equal. The ceremony is usually held in front of the Sun Tree, and if the couple is very lucky or of high status a fallen bough will be brought with them into their marital home to keep them safe and blessed by its shade (and it's meant to be burnt as firewood should they face a challenge they feel they can't surmount, be it a terrible winter or awful fight). Most couples only get a twig or small branch though. Actually, you'll see soon ;3

- Vex's wedding ring is 100% forged from melted down gold pieces from her own person. Because there's a chance, however small, that one or two pieces used were among those Percy gave her when they first met. Percy includes some residuum in his, partially because he wanted to make sure their rings could both be used as Resurrection components should anything happen... and partially because he still remembers the Sunken Tomb and how his offering of residuum then was not accepted. He doesn’t want to forget what his mistake cost them, a reminder to be careful (what if he had succeeded? would Vax not have - then he might - fuck.).

[berylcluster]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬.

rules: bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes or sort-of applies, strike through what’s antithetical to your muse. repost, don’t reblog, and have fun !warnings: mentions of alcohol. credit.

𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐚: a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐬: being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬: the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬: the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

tagged by: @cam1na (ty lovely!!!) tagging: @thanksbarton , @zoomingupthathill , @evilstalks , @grcccvy , @hoovedrycal , @godkillersblood , @kxllerblond , @scinglives (sofia or hannah) , @theweredrifter , @sheldoney , @lieshot , @elementalartisan & YOU!!! if you see this, do it!

[ltnsingh]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒

rules : bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes or sort-of applies, strike through what’s antithetical to your muse. repost, don’t reblog, & have fun! warnings : mentions of alcohol.

𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐚 : a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐬 : being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 : the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 : the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

tagged by: stolen from the dash ! tagging: @owedfavors, @nursc, @entriprises, @ensnchekov and anyone else who wants to do this

[rotten-pest]

from x, with some edits

muse aesthetics, tarot edition. bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes or sort-of applies, strike through what’s antithetical to your muse.  repost, don’t reblog, and have fun!  tw: mentions of alcohol.

Major Arcana:  a long journey  -  a feeling of raw energy  -  putting a name to something unknown  -  an elaborate patchwork  -  unexpected catastrophes  -  unexpected blessings  -  vivid dreams  -  sudden awakenings  -  the feeling of shedding your skin  -  the echoes in holy places  -  bright lights  -  deep shadows  -  feeling the earth move beneath your feet  -  wandering in museums  -  the strange clarity of moonlight  -  thunder and lightning  -  an unfamiliar road  -  coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person

Cups:  being overwhelmed by emotion  -  finding something to celebrate every day  -  finding something to mourn every day  -  connecting with others  -  the scent of ocean air  -  giving comfort to friends in need  -  the remembrance of something lost  -  sublime confusion  -  cool colors  -  a cozy place -  a bustling bar  -  calm waters, hidden depths  -  getting tipsy in the afternoon  -  summer rain  -  comfortable clothing -  flowing skirts  -  a place by the sea  -  deep conversations after midnight

Wands:  the scent of spices and dark wood  -  making something just for the sake of creation  -  dry heat  -  crackling fire  -  a bolt of inspiration  -  refusing to apologize for your passion  -  stubborn optimism  -  taking on more than you can handle  -  hot tea  -  warm colors  -  getting up early  -  staying up late  -  bright fire, fast burnout  -  -  the thrill of starting a new project  -  spring storms  -  perpetual restlessness

Pentacles:  the scent of rich soil after a rain  -  hard and diligent work  -  solid ground, strong foundations  -  the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff  -  generosity that comes with a catch  -  sturdy clothing -  silk and jewels  -  resting on your laurels  -  seeing your work through to the end  -  harvest time  -  fresh bread and rich soup  -  earth tones  -  jewel tones  -  a lush garden  -  sunlight through the trees  -  dark chocolate  -  a home in the farmlands  -  a sprawling house in the old part of the city

Swords:  the scent of fresh air  -  focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional  -  freshly fallen snow  -  burying yourself in action  -  tending to your own wounds  -  a foreseeable disaster  -  crisply tailored suits  -  starkly elegant dresses  -  refusing to admit defeat  -  cold air, clear thoughts  -  old hurts  -  fresh starts  -  over-analyzing -  the harsh glow of street lamps  -  black coffee  -  a cabin in the mountains  -  an apartment downtown  -  the quiet before the dawn

tagging: @izar-tarazed, @derjaegermonds, @yellowfingcr, @fishermcn, and you!

[sanatoris]

THE MUSE AS TAROT CARDS

rules : bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes or sort-of applies, strike through what’s antithetical to your muse. repost, don’t reblog, & have fun!

warnings : mentions of alcohol. credit.

𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐚 : a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐬 : being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 :  the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 :  the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

tagged: @danversiism ilu <3 tagging: @halfdent , @bruz3r , @pu1itzer , @cartelheir , @vulpesse , @afterdeaths (xander) , @hebled , @svpe, @nightmdic , @ofwealthandtaste , @catfcng (roman) , @helldwells , @foxtaeil , @batcaller , @medicbled , @doctordonovan , @wildskissed , @rogaire , @nightmdic , @darehearts + you

[rockerb0y]

THE MUSE AS TAROT CARDS

RULES: BOLD WHAT APPLIES TO YOUR MUSE, ITALICIZE WHAT SOMETIMES OR SORT OF APPLIES, STRIKE THROUGH WHAT’S ANTITHETICAL TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST DON’T REBLOG, AND HAVE FUN! . . . WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL. * CREDIT

MAJOR ARCANA: a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

CUPS: being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

WANDS: the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

PENTACLES: the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

SWORDS: the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

TAGGED BY: @4ger ( thank you! ) TAGGING: @asteritm @praynot @helldwells + you ! yes you! ( if you haven't done it )

[miercolaes]

  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️  ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶

bold   what   applies   to   your   muse,   italicize   what   sometimes   or   sort-of   applies,   strike   through   what’s   antithetical   to   your   muse.      repost,   don’t   reblog,   and   have   fun!      tw:   mentions   of   alcohol.

𝙼𝙰𝙹𝙾𝚁 𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙰. a long journey - a feeling of raw energy - putting a name to something unknown - an elaborate patchwork - expected catastrophes - unexpected blessings - vivid dreams - sudden awakenings - the feeling of shredding your skin - the echoes in holy places - bright lights - deep shadows - feeling the earth move beneath your feet - wandering in museums - the strange clarity of moonlight - thunder and lightning - an unfamiliar road - coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

𝙲𝚄𝙿𝚂. being overwhelmed by emotion - finding something to celebrate every day - finding something to mourn every day - connecting with others - the scent of ocean air - making food for your friends when they're stressed - the remembrance of something lost - sublime confusion - cool colors - a cozy cafe - a bustling bar - calm waters, hidden depths - getting tipsy in the afternoon - summer rain - comfy sweaters - flowing skirts - a house by the sea - deep conversations after midnight.

𝚆𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂. the scent of spices and dark wood - making something just for the sake of creation - dry heat - crackling fire - a bolt of inspiration - refusing to apologize for your passion - stubborn optimism - taking on more than you can handle - hot tea - warm colors - getting up early - staying up late - bright fire, fast burnout - tack thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence - the thrill of starting a new project - spring storms - hotel rooms - perpetual restlessness.

𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚂. the scent of rich soil after rain - hard and diligent work - solid ground, strong foundations - the satisfaction of a long awaited payoff - generosity that comes with a catch - work boots and heavy jeans - silk and jewels - resting on your laurels - seeing your work through to the end - harvest time - fresh bread and rich soup - earth tones - jewel tones - a lush garden - sunlight through the trees - dark chocolate - a home in the farmlands - a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

𝚂𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂. the scent of fresh air - focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional - freshly fallen snow - burying yourself in action - tending to your own wounds - a foreseeable disaster - crisply tailored suits - starkly elegant dresses - refusing to admit defeat - cold air, clear thoughts - old hurts - fresh starts - overthinking your overthinking - the harsh flow of street laps - black coffee - a cabin in the mountains - an apartment downtown - the quiet before the dawn.

tagged by wednesdays cousin @endlss-voiid

tagging you, obviously, please do tag me so i can learn more about ur muse's aesthetic!

[endlss-voiid]

bold   what   applies   to   your   muse,   italicize   what   sometimes   or   sort-of   applies,   strike   through   what’s   antithetical   to   your   muse.      repost,   don’t   reblog,   and   have   fun!      tw:   mentions   of   alcohol.

𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑  𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐀 . A LONG JOURNEY - a feeling of raw energy - putting a name to something unknown - an elaborate patchwork - unexpected catastrophes - unexpected blessings - vivid dreams - SUDDEN AWAKENINGS - THE FEELING OF SHEDDING YOUR SKIN - THE ECHOES IN HOLY PLACES - bright lights - deep shadows - FEELING THE EARTH MOVE BENEATH YOUR FEET - wandering in museums - the strange clarity of moonlight - THUNDER AND LIGHTNING - an unfamiliar road - COMING BACK TO THE PLACE YOU STARTED AS AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT PERSON

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒 . being overwhelmed by emotion - finding something to celebrate every day - finding something to mourn every day - connecting with others - THE SCENT OF OCEAN AIR - making food for your friends when they’re stressed - THE REMEMBRANCE OF SOMETHING LOST - sublime confusion - cool colors - a cozy café - a bustling bar - CALM WATERS, HIDDEN DEPTHS - getting tipsy in the afternoon - summer rain - comfy sweaters - flowing skirts - A HOUSE BY THE SEA - DEEP CONVERSATIONS AFTER MIDNIGHT

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 .       THE SCENT OF SPICES AND DARK WOOD - making something just for the sake of creation - dry heat - CRACKLING FIRE - a bolt of inspiration - refusing to apologize for your passion - stubborn optimism - taking on more than you can handle - hot tea - warm colors - GETTING UP EARLY - STAYING UP LATE - bright fire, fast burnout - tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence - the thrill of starting a new project - SPRING STORMS - HOTEL ROOMS - PERPETUAL RESTLESSNESS

𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 .     the scent of rich soil after a rain - HARD AND DILIGENT WORK - solid ground, strong foundations - the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff - GENEROSITY THAT COMES WITH A CATCH - work boots and heavy jeans - SILK AND JEWELS - resting on your laurels - seeing your work through to the end - HARVEST TIME - fresh bread and rich soup - earth tones - jewel tones - A LUSH GARDEN - SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE TREES - dark chocolate - A HOME IN THE FARMLANDS - a sprawling house in the old part of the city

𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 . the scent of fresh air - FOCUSING ON THE INTELLECTUAL AT THE EXPENSE OF THE EMOTIONAL - freshly fallen snow - BURYING YOURSELF IN ACTION - tending to your own wounds - a foreseeable disaster - CRISPLY TAILORED SUITS - starkly elegant dresses - REFUSING TO ADMIT DEFEAT - cold air, clear thoughts - old hurts - fresh starts - overthinking your overthinking - the harsh glow of street lamps - black coffee - A CABIN IN THE MOUNTAINS - an apartment downtown - THE QUIET BEFORE THE DAWN

TAGGED BY. No one.

TAGGING. @wickedslip @miercolaes @chrislaplante @ripgray and anyone else who sees this.

[cyberpawn]

muse aesthetics, tarot edition.

Major Arcana:  a long journey  -  a feeling of raw energy  -  putting a name to something unknown  -  an elaborate patchwork  -  unexpected catastrophes  -  unexpected blessings  -  vivid dreams  -  sudden awakenings  -  the feeling of shedding your skin  -  the echoes in holy places  -  bright lights  -  deep shadows  -  feeling the earth move beneath your feet  -  wandering in museums  -  the strange clarity of moonlight  -  thunder and lightning  -  an unfamiliar road  -  coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person

Cups:  being overwhelmed by emotion  -  finding something to celebrate every day  -  finding something to mourn every day  -  connecting with others  -  the scent of ocean air  -  making food for your friends when they’re stressed  -  the remembrance of something lost  -  sublime confusion  -  cool colors  -  a cozy cafe  -  a bustling bar  -  calm waters, hidden depths  -  getting tipsy in the afternoon  -  summer rain  -  comfy sweaters  -  flowing skirts  -  a house by the sea  -  deep conversations after midnight

Wands:  the scent of spices and dark wood  -  making something just for the sake of creation  -  dry heat  -  crackling fire  -  a bolt of inspiration  -  refusing to apologize for your passion  -  stubborn optimism  -  taking on more than you can handle  -  hot tea  -  warm colors  -  getting up early  -  staying up late  -  bright fire, fast burnout  -  tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence  -  the thrill of starting a new project  -  spring storms  -  hotel rooms  -  perpetual restlessness

Pentacles:  the scent of rich soil after a rain  -  hard and diligent work  -  solid ground, strong foundations  -  the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff  -  generosity that comes with a catch  -  work boots and heavy jeans  -  silk and jewels  -  resting on your laurels  -  seeing your work through to the end  -  harvest time  -  fresh bread and rich soup  -  earth tones  -  jewel tones  -  a lush garden  -  sunlight through the trees  -  dark chocolate  -  a home in the farmlands  -  a sprawling house in the old part of the city

Swords:  the scent of fresh air  -  focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional  -  freshly fallen snow  -  burying yourself in action  -  tending to your own wounds  -  a foreseeable disaster  -  crisply tailored suits  -  starkly elegant dresses  -  refusing to admit defeat  -  cold air, clear thoughts  -  old hurts  -  fresh starts  -  overthinking your overthinking  -  the harsh glow of street lamps  -  black coffee  -  a cabin in the mountains  -  an apartment downtown  -  the quiet before the dawn

Tagged by: @prvtocol Tagging: BE GAY DO CRIME GET A READING DONE STEAL THIS

[lifeforms]

THE MUSE AS TAROT CARDS.

RULES: BOLD WHAT APPLIES TO YOUR MUSE, ITALICIZE WHAT SOMETIMES OR SORT OF APPLIES, STRIKE THROUGH WHAT’S ANTITHETICAL TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST DON’T REBLOG, AND HAVE FUN! / WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL. CREDIT

MAJOR ARCANA: a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

CUPS: being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others (it's very important to her! and also, she's not great at it!), the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

WANDS: the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

PENTACLES: the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

SWORDS: the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

[absensia]

THE MUSE AS TAROT CARDS

BOLD WHAT APPLIES TO YOUR MUSE, ITALICIZE WHAT SOMETIMES OR SORT OF APPLIES, STRIKE-THROUGH WHAT’S ANTITHETICAL TO YOUR MUSE. (CONTAINS MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL.)

MAJOR ARCANA a long journey . a feeling of raw energy . putting a name to something unknown . an elaborate patchwork . unexpected catastrophes . unexpected blessings . vivid dreams . sudden awakenings . the feeling of shedding your skin . the echoes in holy places . bright lights . deep shadows . feeling the earth move beneath your feet . wandering in museums . the strange clarity of moonlight . thunder and lightning . an unfamiliar road . coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person .

CUPS being overwhelmed by emotion . finding something to celebrate every day . finding something to mourn every day . connecting with others . the scent of ocean air . making food for your friends when they’re stressed . the remembrance of something lost . sublime confusion . cool colors . a cozy cafe . a bustling bar . calm waters - hidden depths . getting tipsy in the afternoon . summer rain . comfy sweaters . flowing skirts . a house by the sea . deep conversations after midnight .

WANDS the scent of spices and dark wood . making something just for the sake of creation . dry heat . crackling fire . a bolt of inspiration . refusing to apologize for your passion . stubborn optimism . taking on more than you can handle . hot tea . warm colors . getting up early . staying up late . bright fire - fast burnout . tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence . the thrill of starting a new project . spring storms . hotel rooms . perpetual restlessness .

PENTACLES the scent of rich soil after a rain . hard and diligent work . solid ground - strong foundations . the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff . generosity that comes with a catch . work boots and heavy jeans . silk and jewels . resting on your laurels . seeing your work through to the end . harvest time . fresh bread and rich soup . earth tones . jewel tones . a lush garden . sunlight through the trees . dark chocolate . a home in the farmlands . a sprawling house in the old part of the city .

SWORDS the scent of fresh air . focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional . freshly fallen snow . burying yourself in action . tending to your own wounds . a foreseeable disaster . crisply tailored suits . starkly elegant dresses . refusing to admit defeat . cold air - clear thoughts . old hurts . fresh starts . overthinking your overthinking . the harsh glow of street lamps . black coffee . a cabin in the mountains . an apartment downtown . the quiet before the dawn .

STOLE IT FROM @letemoin / YOU SHOULD STEAL IT TOO 💛

[flmed]

THE MUSE AS TAROT CARDS

RULES: BOLD WHAT APPLIES TO YOUR MUSE, ITALICIZE WHAT SOMETIMES OR SORT OF APPLIES, STRIKE THROUGH WHAT’S ANTITHETICAL TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST DON’T REBLOG, AND HAVE FUN! . . . WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL. * CREDIT

MAJOR ARCANA: a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

CUPS: being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

WANDS: the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

PENTACLES: the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

SWORDS: the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

tagged by @letemoin . tagging @4ger / @crimeclean ; @g0dwill ; @accruing ; @nguyetvan ; @wellfell &. you!

[enrogued]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒.

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 : bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes or sort-of applies, strike through what’s antithetical to your muse. repost, don’t reblog, & have fun!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : mentions of alcohol. credit.

𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐀 ,a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒 , being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 , the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 , the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 , the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

tagged by @magnetic-regent-magneto tagging: anyone who hasn't already been tagged! say i tagged you!

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒.

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 : bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes or sort-of applies, strike through what’s antithetical to your muse. repost, don’t reblog, & have fun!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : mentions of alcohol. credit.

𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐀 , a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐒 , being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 , the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 , the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 , the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

Stolen from: , @matryochka <3

Tagging: @hexsreality @cyberno @onlyarogue @enrogued @down-home-charm @mutantmuses @emmatriarchy @zirkuskriechtier @snkts and whoever else wants <3

[danviers]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒

rules : bold what applies to your muse, italicize what sometimes or sort-of applies, strike through what’s antithetical to your muse. repost, don’t reblog, & have fun!

warnings : mentions of alcohol. credit.

𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐚 : a long journey, a feeling of raw energy, putting a name to something unknown, an elaborate patchwork, unexpected catastrophes, unexpected blessings, vivid dreams, sudden awakenings, the feeling of shedding your skin, the echoes in holy places, bright lights, deep shadows, feeling the earth move beneath your feet, wandering in museums, the strange clarity of moonlight, thunder and lightning, an unfamiliar road, coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐬 : being overwhelmed by emotion, finding something to celebrate every day, finding something to mourn every day, connecting with others, the scent of ocean air, making food for your friends when they’re stressed, the remembrance of something lost, sublime confusion, cool colors, a cozy cafe, a bustling bar, calm waters - hidden depths, getting tipsy in the afternoon, summer rain, comfy sweaters, flowing skirts, a house by the sea, deep conversations after midnight.

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 :  the scent of spices and dark wood, making something just for the sake of creation, dry heat, crackling fire, a bolt of inspiration, refusing to apologize for your passion, stubborn optimism, taking on more than you can handle, hot tea, warm colors, getting up early, staying up late, bright fire - fast burnout, tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence, the thrill of starting a new project, spring storms, hotel rooms, perpetual restlessness.

𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 :  the scent of rich soil after a rain, hard and diligent work, solid ground - strong foundations, the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff, generosity that comes with a catch, work boots and heavy jeans, silk and jewels, resting on your laurels, seeing your work through to the end, harvest time, fresh bread and rich soup, earth tones, jewel tones, a lush garden, sunlight through the trees, dark chocolate, a home in the farmlands, a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : the scent of fresh air, focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional, freshly fallen snow, burying yourself in action, tending to your own wounds, a foreseeable disaster, crisply tailored suits, starkly elegant dresses, refusing to admit defeat, cold air - clear thoughts, old hurts, fresh starts, overthinking your overthinking, the harsh glow of street lamps, black coffee, a cabin in the mountains, an apartment downtown, the quiet before the dawn.

tagged by: stolen from @hopefuture ! tagging: @vo1dborn, @creagantuiree, @am4zon, @kryptonfuture, @rubycaped