#maybe i'll find something to do with it

[hannah-heartstrings]

            The last of the rain stops dripping and for a moment the world feels too quiet and still.

[always-a-king-or-queen]

The ache will go away, eventually. 

That was what the Professor told them, the day they got back. When they tumbled from the wardrobe in a heap of tangled limbs, and found that the world had been torn from under their feet with all the kindness of a serpent. 

They picked themselves off of the floorboards with smiles plastered on child faces, and sat with the Professor in his study drinking cup after cup of tea. 

But the smiles were fake. The tea was like ash on their tongues. And when they went to bed that night, none of them could sleep in beds that were too foreign, in bodies that had not been their own for years. Instead they grouped into one room and sat on the floor and whispered, late into the night. 

When morning came, Mrs. Macready discovered the four of them asleep in Peter and Edmund’s bedroom, tangled in a heap of pillows and blankets with their arms looped across one another. They woke a few moments after her entry and seemed confused, lost even, staring around the room with pale faces, eyes raking over each framed painting on the wall and across every bit of furniture as if it was foreign to them. “Come to breakfast,” Mrs. Macready said as she turned to go, but inside she wondered. 

For the children’s faces had held the same sadness that she saw sometimes in the Professor’s. A yearning, a shock, a numbness, as if their very hearts had been ripped from their chests.

At breakfast Lucy sat huddled between her brothers, wrapped in a shawl that was much too big for her as she warmed her hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Edmund fidgeted in his seat and kept reaching up to his hair as if to feel for something that was no longer there. Susan pushed her food idly around on her plate with her fork and hummed a strange melody under her breath. And Peter folded his hands beneath his chin and stared at the wall with eyes that seemed much too old for his face. 

It chilled Mrs. Macready to see their silence, their strangeness, when only yesterday they had been running all over the house, pounding through the halls, shouting and laughing in the bedrooms. It was as if something, something terrible and mysterious and lengthy, had occurred yesterday, but surely that could not be. 

She remarked upon it to the Professor, but he only smiled sadly at her and shook his head. “They’ll be all right,” he said, but she wasn’t so sure. 

They seemed so lost. 

Lucy disappeared into one of the rooms later that day, a room that Mrs. Macready knew was bare save for an old wardrobe of the professor’s. She couldn’t imagine what the child would want to go in there for, but children were strange and perhaps she was just playing some game. When Lucy came out again a few minutes later, sobbing and stumbling back down the hall with her hair askew, Mrs. Macready tried to console her, but Lucy found no comfort in her arms. “It wasn’t there,” she kept saying, inconsolable, and wouldn’t stop crying until her siblings came and gathered her in their arms and said in soothing voices, “Perhaps we’ll go back someday, Lu.” 

Go back where, Mrs. Macready wondered? She stepped into the room Lucy had been in later on in the evening and looked around, but there was nothing but dust and an empty space where coats used to hang in the wardrobe. The children must have taken them recently and forgotten to return them, not that it really mattered. They were so old and musty and the Professor had probably forgotten them long ago. But what could have made the child cry so? Try as she might, Mrs. Macready could find no answer, and she left the room dissatisfied and covered in dust. 

Lucy and Edmund and Peter and Susan took tea in the Professor’s room again that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. They slept in Peter and Edmund’s room, then Susan and Lucy’s, then Peter and Edmund’s again and so on, swapping every night till Mrs. Macready wondered how they could possibly get any sleep. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but it was where she found them, morning after morning. 

Each morning they looked sadder than before, and breakfast was silent. Each afternoon Lucy went into the room with the wardrobe, carrying a little lion figurine Edmund had carved her, and came out crying a little while later. And then one day she didn’t, and went wandering in the woods and fields around the Professor’s house instead. She came back with grassy fingers and a scratch on one cheek and a crown of flowers on her head, but she seemed content. Happy, even. Mrs. Macready heard her singing to herself in a language she’d never heard before as Lucy skipped past her in the hall, leaving flower petals on the floor in her wake. Mrs. Macready couldn’t bring herself to tell the child to pick them up, and instead just left them where they were. 

More days and nights went by. One day it was Peter who went into the room with the wardrobe, bringing with him an old cloak of the Professor’s, and he was gone for quite a while. Thirty or forty minutes, Mrs. Macready would guess. When he came out, his shoulders were straighter and his chin lifted higher, but tears were dried upon his cheeks and his eyes were frightening. Noble and fierce, like the eyes of a king. The cloak still hung about his shoulders and made him seem almost like an adult. 

Peter never went into the wardrobe room again, but Susan did, a few weeks later. She took a dried flower crown inside with her and sat in there at least an hour, and when she came out her hair was so elaborately braided that Mrs. Macready wondered where on earth she had learned it. The flower crown was perched atop her head as she went back down the hall, and she walked so gracefully that she seemed to be floating on the air itself. In spite of her red eyes, she smiled, and seemed content to wander the mansion afterwards, reading or sketching or making delicate jewelry out of little pebbles and dried flowers Lucy brought her from the woods. 

More weeks went by. The children still took tea in the Professor’s study on occasion, but not as often as before. Lucy now went on her daily walks outdoors, and sometimes Peter or Susan, or both of them at once, accompanied her. Edmund stayed upstairs for the most part, reading or writing, keeping quiet and looking paler and sadder by the day. 

Finally he, too, went into the wardrobe room. 

He stayed for hours, hours upon hours. He took nothing in save for a wooden sword he had carved from a stick Lucy brought him from outside, and he didn’t come out again. The shadows lengthened across the hall and the sun sank lower in the sky and finally Mrs. Macready made herself speak quietly to Peter as the boy came out of the Professor’s study. “Your brother has been gone for hours,” she told him crisply, but she was privately alarmed, because Peter’s face shifted into panic and he disappeared upstairs without a word. 

Mrs. Macready followed him silently after around thirty minutes and pressed an ear to the door of the wardrobe room. Voices drifted from beyond. Edmund’s and Peter’s, yes, but she could also hear the soft tones of Lucy and Susan. 

“Why did he send us back?” Edmund was saying. It sounded as if he had been crying.  

Mrs. Macready couldn’t catch the answer, but when the siblings trickled out of the room an hour later, Edmund’s wooden sword was missing, and the flower crown Susan had been wearing lately was gone, and Peter no longer had his old cloak, and Lucy wasn’t carrying her lion figurine, and the four of them had clasped hands and sad, but smiling, faces. 

Mrs. Macready slipped into the room once they were gone and opened the wardrobe, and there at the bottom were the sword and the crown and the cloak and the lion. An offering of sorts, almost, or perhaps just items left there for future use, for whenever they next went into the wardrobe room.  

But they never did, and one day they were gone for good, off home, and the mansion was silent again. And it had been a long time since that morning that Mrs. Macready had found them all piled together in one bedroom, but ever since then they hadn’t quite been children, and she wanted to know why.

She climbed the steps again to the floor of the house where the old wardrobe was, and then went into the room and crossed the floor to the opposite wall. 

When she pulled the wardrobe door open, the four items the Pevensie children had left inside of it were missing. 

And just for a moment, it seemed to her that a cool gust of air brushed her face, coming from the darkness beyond where the missing coats used to hang.

[kantpattanawat]

I just want to spend some alone time with you at the place we first met. Khaotung Thanawat as Bison; First Kanaphan as Kant (The Heart Killers, 2024-2025)

[raayllum]

thinking about runaan's arc being about three doorways (or thresholds). the first is the door out to king harrow's balcony, injured and wounded with a half-completed mission. the second is coming back from the dead re: his family home, and coming back to ethari and his family. and the third is walking through the door of the banther lodge to make his amends to ezran, linking the first two—the family he destroyed, and the one he seeks to maintain—and allowing them to likewise be joined: ezran is rayla's family as much as he is, and both he and ezran are able to be cognizant of it now. the doorway is closed. his journey (or this part of it at least) is complete.

[sergle]

I think I'm going to make a temperature blanket this year

[silusvesuius]

in drawing heads purgatory

[emile-hides]

As I was going to bed last night I realized I designed three costumes and there are three Frankies.. And then this is all I thought about literally all day

[mariesbee]

why can't i enjoy things like a normal person? casually, just a few episodes/chapters here and there, then move on with my life. but no, whatever it is, it worms its way into my brain, consumes my thoughts and it slowly drives me insane. i am unable to think about anything else but the Thing of the week, or month, sometimes year(s) if it gets that bad.

[grimmweepers]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ 𝓻𝔂𝓾𝓱𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓶

there was an ache in my heart when i awoke in a strange, beautiful world that wasn’t my own. even as months turned to years, i still missed the familiar skies, the voice of loved ones and the home i had left behind. i wrote letters that went nowhere and whispered silent prayers that reached no one. it was like i was plucked from my own reality and placed in a world where i didn’t quite belong.

yet, as much as i longed for home, i was determined to learn in this new life. sumeru became my sanctuary and the akademiya, my solace. i learned their languages, customs, and secrets while sharing stories of the stars, landmarks, and beauty of my own world. the scholars listened, fascinated by the similarities and differences, but none more than al-haitham—a student assigned to guide me through this foreign land. he was a quiet presence. thoughtful and curious. he did not pity me.

and over time, he went from guide to peer to something more. over time, i wasn’t just seeking knowledge but also him. but what was the point? what was the point of falling for him if one day, i could just disappear—vanish back to my world, leaving him and teyvat behind? this could slip away at any moment. this might be as fleeting as a dream.

despite all reason, i still found myself loving him deeply. in a world that wasn’t my own, he had become my home.

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬: very slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐒: 22.10.22 | playlist | genshinverse ryu | home for christmas (fic) | moodboards

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐒: modern au | akademiya days | season of love | minecraft |

[covertblizzard]

jaykyle au where they're theatre kids in the same school but they're not the actors jason's the scriptwriter/director and kyle is the prop manager (i don't know the official terms sorry) and they'd probably do an amazing job on the backstage setting if they could stop arguing for 5 whole seconds about their artistic visions and ideas and how "this would obviously work better this way"

[usagifuyusummer]

I think they are supposed to be twins???

(maybe originally in the concept art, but in canon it seems they aren't anymore? dion has been stated to be the oldest, but my thoughts are maybe like he's the older twin lmao. i will probably be 100% wrong if there is ever a future installment in this series.)

Funny story, I originally wanted to color these sketches, but I found that most of my traditional art supplies are unusable (the pencil colors has a very faded color, and most of my markers have a diluted yellow coloring lmaoooo ToT). I haven't been using them from 2019 and it really shows.

Oh yeah, here's a full page sketch.

[tj-crochets]

I don't have crafting updates but I do have my new desk/workbench more than half assembled and also I got sidetracked and ordered some stickers to put on it That did not help in the assembling of the desk but is vital to my process lol

[cobaltfluff]

happy april fools' from your big brothers, dumbass (affectionate)

[daily-pilby]

Can we all give Pilby a hug? Like a group hug! :3

day 17

group hug!

oh no

[polygone-moi]

Rook character development: trinkets & decorations

@galedekarios tagged me in this wonderful endeavour, thank you so much!

Rules: share what trinkets and decorations your Rook has in their room in the Lighthouse. If you'd like, you can add explanations and headcanons for their chosen keepsakes. Tag as many people as you like!

My Rook, Qamil, led a nomad life, so having furniture where to put trinkets on is a whole experience to her, one she finds weird and fun. I can see her keeping all sorts of objects (those valuables she should sell), whether they mean something to her or not. But among the trinkets that do mean something:

1. Elven Bass 2. Elven Artifact Fragment 3. Glittering Mosaic

As a Qunari raised by an elven mother who herself doesn't know much about elven culture, Qamil's life is one of fragments that don't make a coherent mosaic. But elven trinkets are the ones that bring comfort, since she spent most of her life in Arlathan Forest. The elven bass, specifically, reminds her of her 'father', a man she never knew and who wasn't even her father, but a man her mother loved and lost, and who had allegedly the most wonderful singing voice.

4. Varric's Shaving Mirror

She usually laughs off Varric's praises, but she never realised how lonely she felt until she met him. Like he saw right through her.

5. Exquisite Serpentine Hookah

Qamil is an occasional smoker and is glad to be able to share some quiet moments with Neve.

6. Brona's Bloom Bouquet

Against the overwhelming odds, Qamil just takes the fight one step at a time, never really thinking about the end goal. Those flowers from Hossberg Wetlands, they're the first time she believed they could actually make it.

7. Azure Crow Mask

She just likes the shape and the colour… nothing else to see here.

8. Qunari Face Paint

Qamil finally sought out knowledge about Qunari culture as a young adult. She's still learning, picking and choosing things about the Qun. She's passionate about applying vitaar.

9. Sketches: Horns

She lost her right horn in the Veil Jumper debacle and thought she would just wait for it to grow back, until a wild conversation with Taash and Davrin one night. Why would I necessarily replace it with an identical one, she asked. She kept Davrin's sketch about possible replacement designs.

10. Griffon Lantern

What's not to like about a griffon lantern? There's the proverbial fight of the light against the dark, and also, griffons are so cool.

Not tagging anyone because posting all this already feels too scary, but as always, I'd like to say that I absolutely love learning about others' OCs — especially Rooks — so I'd be very interested in everyone's takes on this.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

Imagine after Molly leaves and time has passed for Lorelai to go through the stages of their about that fact, when she really and truly faces the consequences of her and her father's actions there's something about the image of Lorelai just not KNOWING how to do anything that would fix the mess around her.

The chores that Molly knew how to do that she doesn't in comparison. The volume of everything that has piled up in Molly's absence. And I think Lorelai would feel resentment to Molly for a time, for leaving them, she's not gonna realize the full extent of everything immediately. It would only be a matter of time, I THINK, where she'd start thinking "shit Molly had to deal with this much..." It would take a while longer to actually say that out loud ofc

Then when she HAS to get up and DO things, there's something just AGONIZING to imagine for me to imagine 17, nearly an Adult Lorelai, crying from being overwhelmed and having to look up YouTube videos on how to do these chores

The stuff where you look up "Mom how do I..." "Dad how do I..." That's the brutal kicker I'm thinking about