#saia

[followthebluebell]

fuck fine guess i'm not making my bed today because Saia looks like she wishes I was dead for even THINKING about taking her blankie away from her.

[anich17]

it's been almost three years since Finn accidentally made a baby in Sims 4 (the doodle is around 2-3 years old, too). Her name is Saia. I think one day I'll write more about her cuz I decided to keep the brat as an OC and gave her a huge development. By accident. She is a nice kid, really.

Btw Finn stans let's interact, I am feeling lonely

[icepandawarrior]

( @ghafahey )

( @kevinkellerprotectionsquad )

( @oceanssapart )

( @otpmoments-blog )

( @theoriginals-gifs )

( @fortheloveofdonnie )

DAY 17: ALL THAT WORK AND WHERE DID IT GET ME...

[the-mortal-incorrects]

Maia: Remember how I used to say I couldn’t get enough of you? Simon: Yes. Maia: That limit has now been reached.

[worldofsaia]

saia ; she/they. 24. traveller. unsundered. 

      “welcome, traveler of realms.”

BYF

◈ poc / black shifter.

◈ i don’t respond to dms from anyone under 18.

◈ be respectful or be removed.

◈ new posts might be queued. 

◈ mentally existing between realities—please bear with me on replies.

◈ english / some french and european spanish. unsundered: i do not belong to the waking world, but i speak its language.

◈ this is a space for cosmic rebellion, consciousness-expanding concepts, and unfiltered musings. topics include multidimensional thinking, and personal philosophy. proceed with caution if the unknown feels too vast.

ABOUT ME

hello; i’m saia, an emissary of thought and a reality shifter. 

this space is my diary and my codex: a reflection of the traveler, the weaver, and the god that resides within. i post about cosmic ideas, personal rambles, and the labyrinth of consciousness. reality isn’t fixed. it bends, rewrites, and reimagines itself under the weight of your will.

TAGS

#unsunderedsaia — core entries, foundational knowledge, and major revelations.

#voidborn — 4th dimensional thinking. 

#emissary — insights on sovereignty, limitless thinking, and mechanics of creation.

#starless – the darker side of exploration: dreams, fears, and existential wanderings.

#labyrinth – poetic or symbolic writings.

LINKS

✦ THE CODICES

      ╰ foundational knowledge and key insights.

the holographic universe

troubleshooter subliminal

pac i.

everyone can shift

the quickest way to shift

✦ THE TREATISES | [wip]

      ╰ essays on specific topics like manifestation mechanics, alien/divine knowledge, or multidimensional thinking.

✦ THE TREASURY

     ╰ a collective of my realities.

[duskmother]

I caught not-death knight AU Saia brainworms today.

[marcia-stronger]

[occasionally-good-authoring]

there are ghosts in these walls (but you won’t ever see them)

@indigothemuse @squishmallow36 surprise, it’s jace!

tw: blood, referenced child abuse

He tore down the walls first. It was a spur of the moment decision, him, Alec, and Magnus stuck in Alicante for some reason Jace can’t remember for the life of him. It was five AM, they were all exhausted, and walking past Wayland Manor. Maybe it was the insanity that comes with dealing with the Clave. Maybe it was the onslaught of memories that left a bitter taste. Maybe it was a million different things and a million different reasons Jace can’t name, but he walked into that damn house anyway. 

Dust covered every inch of the place, left undisturbed for years. He swears to god he can still taste the blood in the air. He stands in that entryway, front door hanging open. Something bubbles under his skin, itching and burning with memories. Alec and Magnus fall in place next to him. They don’t know what he’s going to do, but they’re waiting there anyway.

A million memories hang in just this hallway. Of violence and cruelty that no one deserves, let alone a child. Micheal’s—Valentine’s—blood wasn’t the only blood spilled in this hall. Valentine only bled when he wanted to. Jace bled when Valentine wanted him too. He clenches his hands into fists, stopping the memories. Jace’s eye look over the entry way, landing on the solid gold lamp, tall as Jace is. He used to think it giant when he was a child. 

He doesn’t realize he’s grabbed it until it crashes into the wall. Right through the plaster—or is it wood? Drywall? Jace doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing—over and over again. Dust flies everywhere, painting tumble to the floor, denting the wood and breaking the frames. When the wall is nothing more than flimsy pieces hanging to the frames, he drops the lamp. The lightbulb is long broken, the shade a few feet away in tatters. 

He’s panting, he notices halfheartedly. Alec walks next to him, placing a hand softly on his shoulder. 

“Jace?” 

He doesn’t need to ask anything else, a million questions sitting in his name alone. Are you okay? What do you need? Is there anything I can do?

“I’m making something of this place, Alec,” he says. The dust hasn’t settled yet. Jace won’t give it the chance to. “Something without him.”

Magnus steps past the pair of them, kneeling down to pick up a painting. It’s a good one, objectively, it probably cost a lot. Magnus tosses it back down to the floor. He looks back to Jace.

“Then we’ll come back later, with everything you need and a plan.”

…

They come back with everyone. Simon, Maia, Izzy, Clary, Raphael. They spend weeks destroying the house, tearing everything down. Except for the library. Jace refuses to step foot in the library. His fingers ache when he reaches for the door handle. He should let them open the door, but the piano reeks of memories. Blood may still be on the keys. 

Now, it’s midnight. Everyone long gone besides Simon and Maia. The library is the only place left to tear down. The bones of the house are the only thing left, the only walls still up. It’s a warm night, the stars looking down on them. Jace stands in what used to be the hallway to the library. It’s only wood now. No more walls left up except for the ones in front of him.

“Hey, Sunshine, it’s getting late,” Simon says softly. Jace didn’t even notice he was there. He’s to Jace’s left. Maia is on his right. 

“Or early,” Maia says.

Jace takes a disastrous step towards the library door. His fingers begin to ache again. Simon and Maia take it with him, Maia intertwining her fingers with his. The ache doesn’t lessen, but Maia and Simon make it easier to bear. Jace reaches for the doorknob, fingers shaking with an phantom ache. Simon and Maia wait for him to open the door. 

The door swings open. Jace nearly chokes on the dust the falls out. The smell of blood slips out of the dark room, whether or not it’s truly there, Jace doesn’t know. Maia squeezes his hand, Simon presses his shoulder against Jace’s. He takes a shaky breath and stares into the dark room. The ghostly shape of the piano stares back at him. The books he was never allowed to read unless he was told to laugh at him.

He steps inside slowly. Simon and Maia follow him. The dust collects in his lungs. Maia rubs circles on Jace’s hand with her thumb. There’s blood on the piano keys. Jace can feel his breathing get quicker, shallower. Simon wraps his arm around Jace’s waist and starts to hum, one of the songs he wrote for Jace and Maia, just like he always does. Jace focuses on it, on Maia’s hand, Simon’s arm. 

He lets it pulls him back. The piano keys are white, the dust can be cleaned, the books can be read. This library is Jace’s now, not Valentine’s. 

“We keep this room,” he says. His voice is shaking just a little bit, but it will never be small again in this house. Valentine isn’t here. He doesn’t have to ever be small in Wayland Manor again. 

“Are you sure, lovely?” Simon asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Jace stares at the piano, feeling the break of his fingers. He can see himself at that bench, nine years old with broken fingers. He can see Valentine holding Jace’s only remaining finger in his hand while a nine year old tries not to cry out as it breaks. Then, with broken bones, he sees himself start La Campanella again. 

“I know what to make of this house,” he says. 

…

When the new walls go up, Jace paints them a million different colors. Sky blue, emerald, pink, lilac. Clary decorates them, flowers and clouds and sunsets. Magnus and Alec help him paint the outside, a nice soft yellow that Valentine would’ve hated. But it isn’t his house anymore. Hell, it never was. It was Michael Wayland’s and now it’s Jace’s. 

Now, it’ll be a place of solace. A place where when a child sits down at the piano, their fingers won’t be broken for a wrong note. They’ll be corrected softly and encouraged. No more children will be broken down in Wayland Manor. 

No more children like Jace will be within those colorful walls. For weeks, Jace ends the day with yellow paint up to his elbows. The Manor is covered in a month. Simon and Maia are the ones to hold him when he cries. And for once, tears in Wayland Manor are happy. 

They build all the furniture by hand. And when the attic is done, a simple bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen Jace stays there. It’s odd, living in the Manor again. He makes dinner for him, Simon, and Maia in a blur. The walls still smell like new paint. 

He doesn’t fall out of it until he’s in bed with them. Simon and Maia have stuck him in the middle of their bed, Simon’s head on Jace’s chest, Maia’s leg wrapped around his. 

“How’re you doing, Sunshine?” Simon asks. 

Jace stares up at the ceiling. “I feel like I’m dreaming. For so long, this house was a nightmare. It was full of memories I didn’t want to have, things I didn’t want to experience. But it’s mine now. It doesn’t seem real yet.”

Maia props herself up on her elbows. She leans down and kisses Jace softly. “That seem real, Pretty Boy?” she asks with a smile. 

“It does.”

Maia kisses Simon’s forehead and drops back onto her stomach. 

“I love you both,” he says softly. It might just be the first time those words have been spoken in this house in Jace’s lifetime. He really has made something new here, hasn’t he?

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

“Love you too, Herondale.”

And when he wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating and panicked, they wake up with him. Maia and Simon hold him when they make sure he’s okay with it. The panic of openly crying in Wayland Manor never truly leaves Jace, not yet, but it’s faded. 

It’s faded and there’s something new here. Something without Valentine.

…

When the children arrive, Jace makes Simon and Maia promise him something. 

“If I ever hurt any of them, make me leave and never let me come back in.”

“You won’t, Jace,” Maia says. Two children, a pixie, Lizabet, and a Shadowhunter, Marie, play together in the garden, the three of them on the porch. 

“Promise me. Please. I—I don’t—I need this, please,” he says quietly. The children are laughing, Lizabet tackling Marie. Simon intertwines his fingers with Jace’s. 

“I promise, Jace. And I promise we won’t need this promise,” he says. 

And they never do. Children come and go, Jace throwing himself into being what he never had. He holds them when they cry. He reads them the books he was never allowed to touch. And when they want to learn piano, he teaches them gently. 

It’s love. It’s love when he teaches them La Campanella. It’s healing, when he comforts them, when he builds the playset in the backyard, when he loves them with everything he has. Valentine’s fingers may ghost on his in that library, and he may still see blood on the piano; but these children never will. 

There’s something new in Wayland Manor now, and Jace’s fingers don’t break.

[redbubblebuy7]

(via minissaia "Arte digital linda floresta" à venda pela Kaisergame )

[followthebluebell]

Oh? Are you eepy? A little tired, perhaps? :)

maybe if you didn't wake everyone up at 2 in the morning threatening bloody murder because you saw a bobcat outside, you would have gotten some sleep :)

[icepandawarrior]

DAELAENA >>>

BAMON >>>

RICHONNE >>>

GILIJAH >>>

KANEJ >>>

BRAVEN >>>

JIARA >>>

SAIA >>>

ROLO >>>

DRAEDEN >>>

THORKYRIE >>>

[reinolirico]

SONETO A ANA LUIZA GUIMARÃES!

Com o seu Bom Dia ao Rio e Brasil! Linda Vênus de um mar da Zona Sul! Elegante naquela saia azul…! Sei que vai concordar que já a assistiu!

Com notícias locais ou de 'Cabul'! Hemera cedo, e Nix pra quem não 'viu'! E só perco se alguém substituiu! Tão linda pra esse mundo tão 'nu e cru'!

Ó bela Ana Luiza Guimarães…! Se surges nessa tela o amor tá no ar! Se só a 'metade', resta a imaginar…!

Vênus dourada como um desses pães! Quem idolatro já há tantas manhãs, Cair da tarde, noite… quando 'entrar'!

[lucialmeida]

Saia de viscose alfaiataria com bolso bege

[guiajato-line]

Dê uma olhada em conjunto kimono short saia e kimono duas peças moda praia estampado e liso

[vendooquenaouso]

[Saia Plissada Colegial Curta] [Usada] - R$30 + frete [Fantasy Sheep]

Tecido: Prada bem fino. Importada do Japão.

(Medidas serão adicionadas no futuro)