#seashell snow dream

[mmmatchasims]

[chiming-bluebells]

LEXI’S REALITIES

⋆ ˚｡⋆ᨳ an ode to life itself.

heavy-eyed and drowsy, filled with mirth, cinnamon, and a certain night-born sweetness; she plants her fig tree with reverence. her lives. her realities. her self portrait.

THE MAZE RUNNER . . . main/home reality !!

where i’m the first and second-to-last girl to join group a. med-jack with a penchant for creating mischief and napping underneath swaying branches; if i’m not in the med-hut playing doctor, then i’m most likely in the kitchen together with frypan acting as his sous chef.

i. the maze runner masterlist

ii. introduction

iii. pin board

FANTASY / TERABITIA . . . main !!

on a cold winter night in 977 A.D., a single star fell from the heavens. it descended gently into the glade of edrasil, pulsing softly like a heart. when the light faded, a newborn lay in its place. a girl with the glow of the cosmos still clinging to her skin. i, the princess of terabitia, had been born.

i. introduction

ii. pin board

iii. the ancient land of terabitia

iv. fragrant balsam & redolence

v. what’s in my bag satchel?

vi. this little life ; ask game

MARAUDERS . . . wip; main !

where i’m a witch; a half-blood descendant of the scandinavian noble wizardry house of NATT (,,NIGHT”). 1970s groovy galore. a seer and a parrot/budgie animagus nicknamed chatty. ravenclaw with an appetite for creating mischief together with the marauders; giving newt the hufflepuff prefect regular headaches.

i. introduction

ii. pin board

MOUNTAIN GETAWAY . . . wip; potential main !

reality where i co-run a ski resort and gift shop together with my best friends (yes, my maze runner people are in the mix. surprise, surprise), and spend my days knitting sweaters and mittens. idyllic little mountain town covered in pine forests; cute little cafés and bookstores in the heart of it all. cold cold winters with lots of snow, woolen scarves, and hot cacao.

i. introduction

ii. pin board

FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER . . . wip !

the setting: norway, 1920s. think grand fjords, impressive mountains, and quaint villages.

the days on sea are defined by thick wool sweaters, sturdy boots, and mental pep-talks to brace against the cold and harsh weather. nets are cast. the crew works en masse. and seagulls cry overhead.

WAITING ROOM . . .

an introvert’s dream; where i live in a (literally) enchanted castle-like cottage. where warm summer rain and thunderstorms are the predominant weather, and sweet treats are in abundance. magical walk-in closet. access to edits of my dr selves. ginger the cat and bark the dog (of course). regular waiting room stuff.

FOR THE FUTURE . . . UNSCRIPTED / HALF-FINISHED REALITIES.

i. better cr ◞ author, artist & future screenwriter. lit. student at oxford. daughter to a world renowned film director and a celebrated novelist. nepo-baby dream and old money lifestyle.

ii. illustrator/band dr ◞ co-creator of GORILLAZ. set in the 90s. secret identity. artist, illustrator, guitarist & writer.

iii. mermaid dr ◞ dozing off in seashell beds and pulling pranks on sailors and pirates.

iv. house of anubis dr ◞ original het huis anubis…..but in swedish.

v. vampire / history dr ◞ experiencing historical events as an immortal blood-sucking being.

vi. traveller dr ◞ a reality solely for travelling around the globe and experiencing the world!

vii. pixie hollow dr ◞ i. have. wings.

[junoshifts]

𝓢HIFTING S/O ASK GAME !

reblog for asks !

🍵 strawberry matcha . . . what scents remind you of your relationship? maybe this is a perfume or cologne your lover wears, a candle scent that reminds you of the soothing energy you feel around them, or an essential oil you spritz on your pillow before shifting.

🍨 affogato . . . how does your s/o show love? does their love language align with one of the traditional 5 types, or is it something unique to them? do they have a special way of making you feel appreciated?

☕️ hot chocolate . . . what does the winter season look like for you two? are you two the type to stay cozy inside and order takeout, or would you rather go for a walk in the snow ? do you celebrate any holidays, birthdays, or anniversaries together during winter?

🍹 margarita . . . what do summers look like for you + your s/o? are you two the type to lounge in front of a pool, or do you prefer to be at the beach? would they play mermaids with you in the sea, or would they rather collect seashells with you as you walk along the shoreline? what would a “beach episode” in your lives look like?

🍒 cherry cola . . . when you think of them, what is the first song or lyric that sparkles into your mind? why does this remind you of them or your relationship?

🥂 morning mimosa . . . how do you celebrate your achievements together? what do you do to encourage each other to fulfill your dreams + goals: is it through words of affirmation? or perhaps having dinner ready for when you get home after a long day of work?

🧋 milk tea . . . how do you two spice up your relationship when things are feeling dull or monotonous in your lives? would you cook dinner together, have a game night in, buddy-read a new book together, or maybe just start a new show to bond over?

🫖 chamomile tea . . . how does your s/o help soothe or ground you when you’re feeling overwhelmed, stressed, or anxious? if you’re having a bad day, what do they do to help?

🧃 apple juice . . . how does your s/o make your inner child feel safe? what qualities about them make you feel free to be goofy, silly, frustrated, or vulnerable?

🍯 caramel latte . . . what makes you want to “stick” with your s/o for the rest of your lives? in other words, what makes you feel respected and secure around them? what are some of their most admirable qualities and aspects?

dividers by aquazero + ib layla !

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Masterlist 2

Key:

Fluff ☕️

Spice 🍵

Angst 🫖

Smut ✨

Requests: OPEN

Note: I do write for a lot of people, if you request something I will try to fulfill it! I'll also update this as I go, but please enjoy my work! 💜✨ dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 3

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Call of Duty

John “Bravo-6” Price

Underneath it All ☕️

The Captain’s Omega ☕️

Home Sweet Home ☕️

Steady As You ☕️

The Calm In Their Storm ☕️

Big Enough ☕️

A Kettle on the Stove and a Hand on Your Belly ☕️

The Softest Mission ☕️

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

"You’ve Got This, Love" ☕️🫖

Through His Eyes ☕️

Lazy Mornings with You ☕️

Just As You Are ☕️🫖

Where You Go, I Go ☕️🫖

Not Yours To Push ☕️🫖

Lazy Mornings and Love ☕️

Watch Over You ☕️🫖

Coming Home ☕️🫖

Nowhere to Run ☕️🫖

Nowhere to Run Part 2 ☕️🫖

A Perfectly Imperfect Love Story ☕️

Just Knock ☕️

Sparks to Garrick ☕️

Orders from the Heart ☕️

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish

Snowed In ☕️

Between Loyalty and Love ☕️🫖✨🍵

Sunlit Mornings ☕️

Bound by Instinct ☕️🫖

Bound by Love ☕️

The Regulars Should Have Known ☕️

Deadly Devotion ☕️🫖

Soft Spot ☕️🫖

Dead Stare, Loud Mouth ☕️

Didn’t Know, Never Forgot ☕️

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Whiskers and Kittens ☕️

A Cut Above ☕️

Carved into my Heart ☕️

Between Loyalty and Love ☕️🫖✨🍵

Bound by Instinct ☕️🫖

Always Asleep ☕️

Bound by Love ☕️

Deadly Devotion ☕️🫖

Special Delivery ☕️

“I’m So Proud Of You” ☕️🫖

First Date ☕️

The Threads to Something More ☕️

Safe With You, Always 🫖☕️

Far, Far Away ☕️

The Calm In Their Storm ☕️

Soft Spots ☕️

Soft Spots Part 2 ☕️

Forever and always ☕️✨🍵

Spoiled Rotten ☕️

Unexpected ☕️

Little Shadow ☕️

His Whole World ☕️✨🍵

You Said You’d Handcuff Me ☕️✨🍵

Boys On Their Worst Behavior ☕️

The Best Surprise ☕️🫖

Miles Between, Heartbeats Close ☕️✨🫖🍵

What Time Is It? ☕️

Seashells & Sparks ☕️

Right Here, Always ☕️🫖

Tell Me Without Saying It ☕️

The Boys

Parenthood Prep with the 141 ☕️

First Time Meetings ☕️

The Phantom of the 141 ☕️🫖

An Angel ☕️🫖

An Angel Part 2 ☕️🫖

The Phantom of the 141- Chosen by Love 🫖☕️

A Game Night to Remember ☕️

141 Movie Night of TERROR 🫖

Wherever I’m With You 🫖☕️

Night Owl ☕️

Arguments to I Love You’s ☕️🫖

Stolen Clothes, Stolen Hearts ☕️

The Coziest Night of Them All ☕️

Ocean’s Embrace ☕️

Operation: Prank Wars ☕️

Small but Mighty ☕️🫖

The Great Task Force 141 Hide-and-Seek Champion ☕️

Anxious No More ☕️🫖

Rolling for Romance ☕️

Achoo! ☕️

At Their Mercy ☕️🫖

When It Builds Up ☕️🫖

You Work For Me ☕️

Baby’s Bottle Brigade ☕️

Blue Shells and Pillow Fights ☕️

Dream Girl ☕️

König

About Damn Time! ☕️

Hold My Hand or I Will Fall (On Purpose) ☕️

Loud and Clear, Always Yours ☕️

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

Like It’s Nothing ☕️

The Walking Dead

Daryl Dixon

Safe Haven ☕️

Through the Ashes ☕️

A Firecracker’s Fury ☕️🫖

Never Been Safer ☕️

[lovehotelreservation]

Haunting You, I'm Onto You

Summary: The serpent in the Garden of Eden.

Caleb in your bedroom.

Sin would transpire.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: F!Reader/Caleb

**Warning: contains depictions/themes of non-con, somnophilia, and possessive behavior. Please take discretion before proceeding!**

the dlsite jumped out of me with that 3.0 livestream 🚬🚬

----------------

This was a sacred place that Caleb had no right to step into.

And yet here he was, standing right at the foot of your bed regardless.

He was supposed to be a precious memory, but he felt that a wretched ghost who refused to crawl to heaven or sink into hell suited him better.

Especially as the sight of you nestled peacefully in bed, the hem of your nightgown risen and askew, only made his throat feel painfully parched.

His hands, already curled into loose fists, tightened shut as his fingernails dug into his palms, all while his violet irises continued to behold you with sheer reverence.

The apple of his eye.

But as he took a step forward, his knee soon finding its way to the edge of your mattress, that piety turned sacrilegious.

Much like the serpent in Eden, Caleb began to slither his way up along your bed, big hands pressing into and long limbs dragging along the surface. It didn’t take long for him to be fully perched above you, hovering, near salivating at your slumbering serenity.

His fingers twitched as he gingerly brought them towards your face, letting them linger in the air before he slowly brought his thumb to your cheek.

The beginning of a trail of the lightest caress towards your lips.

The way you looked to lean, nuzzle even, into his touch only twisted whatever was left of his already mutilated self-restraint.

“Dreaming of me still…?”

It was a question that he didn’t need answering.

If at any point you were to open your eyes and see him, perceive him, especially when he was hunched over you like a dog, he would beg the gods above to be smote down again right at the spot.

Though, on that train of thought, he felt he could easily match the gods in their merciless wrath.

Just a glance over towards your vanity was enough to send him on a rampage.

Seashells along the wooden top from a recent trip to the beach, a chubby bunny plush from a night out at the arcade, a marked map noting highlights from a joy ride on a motorcycle a few nights ago, to the most infuriating of all: a miniature snow seal forever preserved to maintain its precious frozen shape as so designed by its maker.

All together, these trinkets of affection made for such a crowded look in your room.

So much clutter.

It was vandalism.

On his property.

Shoving away such thoughts before that simmering rage could spill forth, Caleb immediately return his focus to the far more important matter at hand:

You.

He swooped down, his face a breath away from yours, lips barely brushing over your own as he posed yet another question to you while his fingers reached for the hem of your nightgown, his voice hoarse and strained,

“Do you still have room for me in that pretty, splendid little world of yours?”

You were sacred and Caleb had no right to touch.

But he was there from the beginning, your keeper, your guardian.

Before all those other men.

Did any of them know how to truly care for you, to love you?

Once again, he didn’t expect for you to voice any question to his answer.

But he took the soft noise of your breath as a response.

He already trespassed the sanctity of Eden–his continuing presence in this universe alone was an affront to God.

And so, while you continued to slumber away in the depths of your dreams, he gorged himself on selfish indulgence, touching and kissing any inch of skin the moment it was exposed with every tug of your nightgown.

To feel you again after such a hellish period of separation.

It was gluttony, it was greed, it was sin.

But as he satiated his thirst with wet messy kisses on your lips, his hands memorizing every curve of your body from the soft weight of your breasts to the plushness of your thighs, his sturdy hips rutting against yours while he savored the hot wet velvet heat around his cock, only one mantra repeated endlessly in his mind:

This was fate, this was destiny, this was love.

While by morning he would be gone–shadows weren’t meant to stand within the warmth of daylight–he would spend all night long making sure that every bit of himself haunted your skin.

Because simply put, you were his and he was yours.

----------------

tfw i've been wanting to write something inspired by beyonce's "haunted" and le sserafim's "eve, psyche & the bluebeard's wife" for a while now so ty caleb for helping me tap into both wells of inspo you INSANEO PERIOD TRACKING YANDERE MF 😭😭

cannawt (but actually i can) believe my first og fic idea for lads wasn't even for sylus (who got me into the game) or rafayel (who became one of my top faves) 🫨🫨 that's the power of nojiken voicing a FREAK (lobelia) NII-SAN (natsuya) GAHHHHHH

[juniper-clan]

I think Amberbranch will die first 🤓☝️

He was born in the seafoam and a cat that looks similarly to how Heronstar dreamed Longstrike looked after his death “beckoned him” to the seafoam

He was the second/third cat to see the sea tiger

Prior to Longstrike’s death, he saw white seashells on the beach (which I assume foreshadowed him dying in the snow) and Amberbranch saw Longstrike floating above the sea

During Amberbranch’s full name ceremony, he was surrounded by oleanders. Oleanders are very poisonous to both cats and humans, as well as being white (similar to the shells Longstrike saw) and they represent danger/a signal to be cautious

+ the scene where Heronstar thinks about how Amberkit looks similar to Longkit

[imsogonesposts]

finnick odair masterlist

🩷 = favorites

Series

Not What I Thought (series masterlist): A Modern College AU🩷

One Shots

You Don't Feel Pretty, You Just Feel Used: You comfort Finnick after one of his trips to the Capitol🩷

I Would Wait Forever For You: After being kidnapped by the Capitol, you return with a loss of memories. Finnick visits you in hopes of you remembering him, or falling in love with him again. 🩷

After the Victor's Tour: Finnick tries to help you adjust after you win the Hunger Games

Chilly Morning: Finnick tries to convince you to go on a morning swim. You'd rather stay in your warm bed.🩷

A Little Help: You help Finnick recover after the injuries he sustained from his near death experience with the mutts.🩷

I Volunteer: You warn Finnick that you plan on volunteering for the Quarter Quell.

Real or Not Real?: A hijacked Finnick arrives at District 13 🩷

Am I Dreaming?: You and Finnick finally reunite after your capture by the Capitol

You're Here, You're Real: You and Finnick finally reunite after your capture by the Capitol (for real this time) (sequel to Am I Dreaming?)🩷

The Golden Boy: You discover bruises on Finnick's back. He's hesitant to tell you how he got them. 🩷

Ocean Blue Eyes, Looking in Mine: Finnick flirts with you at one of the Capitol parties. 🩷

May I Have This Dance?: Finnick and you slow dance at a Capitol party

The Odds are Never in Our Favor: Finnick worries that you may be reaped for the Hunger Games during your final year in the reaping bowl

Flowers and Seashells and Hearts: Finnick plans a Valentine's surprise for you🩷

My Hero: Finnick Odair was known for playing hero. That’s why he was always saving you, both metaphorically, and physically. (5 times Finnick saves you, and one time you can’t save him) 🩷

The World Ended When it Happened to Me: You and Finnick used to be best friends, until he disappeared after returning from his Hunger Games. Now, he has to mentor you as you prepare for your own games. 🩷

A Thousand Yeses: After your return from the Capitol, Finnick decides to propose. 🩷

Sidewalk Chalk, Covered in Snow: slowly falling in love with your childhood friend, finnick odair🩷

Let's Go for a Swim: finnick teaches you how to swim

The Last Two: In a horrible twist of events, you and Finnick are the last two victors left in the 75th Hunger Games.

Take Me Away, To You: When life in the Capitol gets to be too much, Finnick is there to help you through the hardships, and you with him.

I've Never Seen Someone Lit From Within: After the war, Finnick gets a moment of peace.🩷

Me and My Wild Boy, and All His Wild Joy: Finnick meets your parents who hate everything to do with The Hunger Games, including its victors.

Hospital Bound: you take care of finnick while he's in the hospital from his injuries from the mutt's attack.🩷

Swim, Swim, Swim, as Fast as You Can: Finnick has a nightmare where he can't save you. 🩷

Stumble Through It: Finnick comforts you after you get upset with yourself after stuttering through a commemoration speech for your fallen district partner.

Daisies: When a Capitol party becomes too suffocating, Finnick comes to your rescue, helping you to breathe a little easier.

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Wildest Dreams

You name was chosen during the Reaping. Finnick Odair is assigned as your mentor. Despite how wrong it is, there is something between the two of you. But it's doomed, isn't it? Your death is inevitable, yet somehow, your thoughts are consumed by your mentor.

Part 3 - final part

1,582 words

Finnick Odair x reader

Use of y/n

Warnings: trauma, implied sexual exploitation, mentions of death

Masterlist

Part 2 here

................................................................................................

An intense feeling of panic woke you. You tried to sit up but were unable. A bright light above you disorientated you and you couldn’t quite figure out where you were. Paper sheets were laid over your body and you could feel the sting of needles in your arms. You could hear a voice. It was angry and desperate. 

“I swear, if you -” 

Darkness began to overcome you again. It was Finnick’s voice. Despite the anger in his tone, it calmed you a little. 

~~~

When you awoke again, you were in a small, sterile-looking room. You lay atop a cold metal table. Slowly, you moved your neck, then your shoulders, then pushed yourself up to lean against your elbows. 

You were dressed in a lightweight sea-green gown. You pushed yourself up further and examined your arms and legs: no cuts, bruises, or even scars. The stubbly hair that had begun to regrow after being waxed from your body before the games had disappeared again. Your skin was smooth and seemed to shimmer under the light when you moved your limbs in a certain way. 

Carefully, you swung yourself around so that your legs dangled off the edge of the table. There was a mirror opposite you, and you stood and observed yourself in it. Your hair had been pinned back and fell in long tousled tresses down your back, adorned with pearls and seashells. Elaborate green and gold paint had been applied to your eyelids and your lashes were extended and painted a deep green. Your dress caught the light as you moved, giving the impression of sun reflecting on the imperfect surface of the ocean. 

You were mesmerised for a moment until you became consumed by utter disgust. Looking at yourself now, there was no indication that you had ever been in the arena. That final hour had surely left you with at least a few scars, but nothing showed. You had been dressed up like a doll. A doll that had killed two children. 

As you turned away from the mirror, A door in the corner of the room swung open. Wordlessly, you were guided out of the room, into an elevator, through various corridors, and finally backstage. Of course, your first interview as Victor. You almost gagged at the thought of having to take to the stage and continue your performance, but before you had time to kick up a fuss, you were being ushered onstage towards Caesar Flickerman. 

~~~

You barely remembered the interview. It was as if your brain was erasing its own memory every few seconds. You stared blankly at the large screen displaying the ‘highlights’ of your games, including the two murders which you had committed. It didn’t feel real. You barely recognised yourself. Numerous times, Caesar had to repeat a question. The only memorable moment was President snow approaching you to place the crown in your hair. He reeked of roses, and you had to conceal yourself retching as he walked away. 

Finally, you were ushered offstage, through yet more corridors, into a car, and onto the train. You were going home. Home to face the people who knew and loved the boy you had killed. 

“Oh my god, [y/n]!” 

A body collided with yours, arms wrapped around you, a hand pulled your head into the crook of a neck.  “Finnick!” You barely managed to choke out. Tears were rising so fast that you were powerless to stop them.  “Are you okay?” He asked, worry evident in his tone. He held your shoulders and pushed you away slightly, scanning your face. Large, hot tears began to fall down your cheeks.  “Yeah, I’m-” You were interrupted by a sob. Finnick pulled you into him again, holding you so tightly that you could barely breathe. 

Eventually, the train started to move, your sobs subsided, and your tears dried. Finnick refused to let go of you. Gripping your hand tightly, he led you into a living room area and sat opposite you on a sofa.  “They wouldn’t let me see you, [y/n]. Not after…” He paused and broke eye contact with you.  “Not after what?” You asked, suddenly concerned.  “It’s best you don’t know.” He decided, quietly.  “Finnick,” you began, somewhat more aggressively than you had intended, “I have a right to know what’s going on.”  Finnick sighed, defeatedly. He looked tired. “After my games, the Capitol took a liking to me. Practically the second I turned eighteen, my body was being sold to the highest bidder.” He laughed bitterly. “When they got you out of the arena, you were in a bad way. You needed a lot of surgery. I’d heard what people, what men in the Capitol had been saying about you. They weren’t going to just give you essential surgery, [y/n]. By the time I got into your room, they were marking up your breasts. I managed to kick up enough of a fuss that it got back to some pretty high up people. They decided that only lifesaving surgery was necessary after that.” 

You sat in silence for a long time. You felt sick. You had been on death’s doorstep, and whilst you were unconscious, the surgeons had been deciding how best to make you look appealing, rather than focussing on keeping you alive. Food and drink were brought to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to consume anything, you simply sat opposite Finnick, your mind racing. 

After hours of silence, you finally spoke, voicing your biggest concern. “Finnick, how am I supposed to go back to living like normal?” You practically whispered.  Finnick thought for a moment, before replying, “you’re not.”  Finally, you looked back up at him. “How are people going to react when I get back? I killed a boy I went to school with.” Again, Finnick took his time to reply. “Some people will be proud, others will be angry, and some will just be celebrating another District 4 Victor.”  “How do I deal with it?” You asked.  “Just like in the arena. You do what you must to survive.” 

You closed your eyes. You had hoped that the Games being over would mean that you could stop being a tribute, and Finnick your mentor, but you understood now that that wouldn’t be the case for a very long time. The Games weren’t ever really over. This time next year, it would be you mentoring a fresh set of tributes, and you would still need Finnick’s advice. The opportunity to have a normal relationship with him had been torn away from you. There were plenty of things to be angry about, but in that moment, the one that outweighed them all was the fact that you would never know if the spark between the two of you was real, or just a result of your shared trauma. 

~~~

Finnick had been right about District 4’s reaction to you. Stepping off the train, you were greeted by a roar of cheers and applause. It was overwhelming. Your district seemed, on the whole, to be revelling in your victory and had spared no expense in their celebratory efforts. Everywhere you looked were streamers, posters, fireworks, and pictures of you dressed in your opening ceremony costume. 

Back home, however, was a vastly different affair. Practically as soon as you reached the front door you were enveloped in a hug by both of your parents, your cheeks wet with a combination of both your tears and theirs, but they seemed reluctant to allow you fully inside. Slipping through their grasp, you discovered why: the window had been broken, and the words ‘justice will be served’ painted in black letters stained the living room wall. 

“We know you only did what you did in order to survive,” your father began, his voice measured and careful, “but a lot of people aren’t pleased about Cove.”  Cove. That was his name - the boy from your district who you had killed. It wasn’t easy to think about him before you knew his name, but now that his name had come out of your father’s mouth, it was even more difficult. “We don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here with us.” Your mother stated softly. “You have a house in Victor’s Village. You’ll have more protection there. We’ll come and visit.” 

You couldn’t speak. There were a thousand things to say, but not a single one seemed worth voicing. Your life would never be normal again. All you could do was nod before turning and heading in the direction of the sea. 

You walked until your feet were in the water. Cool water lapped around your ankles and you forced yourself to breathe in time with the gently breaking waves. After a while, you became aware of a presence behind you. Arms wrapped around your waist and held you tightly.  “Finnick.” You whispered, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder. “I’ve got you.” He assured, placing a soft kiss to the side of your temple. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears threatened to spill out. 

You took a few more deep breaths. Finnick’s scent was almost indistinguishable from the salty sea air. It felt like home. You were so confused about so many things, but the one thing you felt utterly sure of in that moment was that Finnick was the one safe and constant thing in your life. You would be okay because Finnick would make sure of it.

................................................................................................

A/N - I'm SO SORRY the final part took so long! Life got in the way! Thank you for the patience my lovelies, I hope you enjoyed!

Taglist - @chelseyyouraverageluigi

[lilianasgrimoire]

Witches & Witchcraft: Types & Definitions

There is an abundance of types of witches, some being more common than others, for example, death witch or hedge witch. I have provided the different types of witches with a brief description/definition of what they study, believe and tools most commonly used for each.

The types of witchcraft is entirely up to the individual which they prefer to do. One person may only follow on type of magick whereas another may follow several. Listed are a handful of the many kinds, but I'm listing the most common/known types of magick/witchcraft that people fall into.

I have grouped some witches together as they fit together under the same or similar definitions.

Types of Witches

Religious witches;

Christian, Satanic (Theistic), Laveyan Satanic, Hellenic, Celtic and Wiccan, etc. are witches that follow a primary belief system and incorporate their religion into the craft.

Non-Religious witches;

Secular - doesn't work with [a] deity(ies).

Science - (also a craft type), uses metaphysical and scientific fads and theories mixed together.

Other types of witches;

Solitary - works alone and is not part of a coven. Won't typically work with other witches for spell work or any part of their practice.

Eclectic - a practice that includes multiple practises from different areas. A mixture of all practices, may practise one more than another, or all equally.

Hereditary/Generational - a witch who is born into a family whom practice the craft. The term 'Blood witch' is often a hot topic of controversy as to whether it makes one a more powerful witch.

Traditional - a type that is based on honouring the traditional ways of magick, which also ties in nicely with generational/hereditary witches.

Chaotic/Chaos - a witch who utilizes new, non-traditional and unorthodox methods. It's still relatively new and highly individualistic practice while still drawing from common forms of magick.

Types of Witchcraft/Magick

Green Witch; A witch who uses natural magick, such as creating blends of different plants, or primarily using herbs and/or crystals spells in their craft. Tools mostly consist of herbs, crystals, stones, flowers, soil or other greenery.

Hedge Witch; Also know as an astral witch, this type of magick is orientated around spiritual work such as astral projection, lucid dreaming, spirit work, healing and out-of-body magick. Tools mostly consist tarot cards, runes, pendulum, stones, crystal ball, mirrors & candles.

Dream Witch; Mindful and internal magickal practice mainly based from interpreting dreams and/or engaging in lucid dreaming. Practises used to 'de-code' symbols and messages in the dream world can be used similarly to how one would use divination techniques. Tools mostly consist of dream catchers, candles, books of glossaries of symbols.

Sea/Ocean; Derived from materials and abstract ideas involving ocean and the oceanic world. Sea or ocean magick can be worked with by using things found on or relating to a beach/lagoon. A sea witch might draw their energy from such tools. Tools commonly consist of driftwood, pebbles/stones, seashells, ocean water, bones, seaweed, candles.

Storm/Weather; magick used through combining one's energy with the weather; most commonly rain. Weather witches will collect different ingredients provided by the weather, absorb energy from storms, manipulate winnds, or perhaps predict the weather. Tools most commonly consist of rain/snow water, symbols/weather maps, crystals.

Cottage/Hearth; Magick that is weaved and worked or embedded into mundane tasks around the house or for loved ones. Cottage magick is usually worked into cleaning, hobbies or cooking. Tools commonly consist of essential oils, incense, bells, flowers, cleaning utensils, spices and herbs.

Tea Witch; Creating blends of teas for protection, remedies or even to use for tea-leaf divination. Tools commonly consist of tea, herbs, waters, spices.

Tech Witch; Use of technology in the craft, mostly based through phones or computers. Mostly used for storing of information, grimoires, spell books and Book of Shadows/diaries. Tools consist of apps on the phone, digital sigils, online blogs and pages.

Garden/Flora; Mostly (if not all) focused on herbal and botanical measures. Many garden witches have their own garden and plant flowers and herbs to draw in energy for their home and to include in rituals and spells. Tools commonly consist of flowers, soil, seeds, greenery, twigs/tree branches, leaves.

Elemental; Using all 4 (or 5) elements in an honouring or acknowledging form. A witch can choose to work with all, or singular elements. One may have a dedicated area on their alters to a particular elements. Tools consist of anything related to said element.

Faery/Fae; Magick for those who communicate with, and/or work with the Fae. Those whom work with fae may also leave offerings regularly as thanks for the assistance of a faery in their spell work. Tools commonly consist of anything sweet, sigils, offerings.

Spirit; A practice which an individual will perform spell work in conjunction with (or the help of) any manner of spirit, including Ouija, demon spirits, spiritual contact of any kind, working with ancestors. Tools commonly consist of crystals, bells, incense, Ouija boards, tarot cards, pendulums, sigils.

Draconian: The use of dragons and dragon imagery; whether it be trough astral matters or in spells and rituals. May also be connected with dragon spirits on their journey. Tools commonly consist of dragons art, statues, candles.

Seasonal; Utilizing and drawing energy from specific time periods of the year for their magick. One individual may feel more powerful at a particular time of year. It can also be spread out into the 4 seasons. Tools commonly consist of herbs related to certain seasons, stones, ruins and the weather.

Music; Can be through singing, humming, playing an instrument, creating music or having it on during spell work to add energies. Tools consist of speakers, instruments, voice, chimes, lyrics & sheet music.

Art & Craft; Anything from painting to knitting to building something. Tools consist of anything you can craft with.

Sigils; Working majorly with sigils and the intent that can be put into them to activate their power. Tools commonly used are pens, paper, makeup, candles.

Astronomy/Space/Luna; Correlates their belief in conjunction with the planets, stars and/or moon. Versed in moon phases and tend to do spell work at night rather than day time. Tools commonly used are horoscopes, calendars, charts, moonlight, moon water.

Energy; Those who prefer to do magick through energy exercises and manipulation rather than many physical tools or materials. This may also include aura work. The only tools needed for this type is yourself.

Crystal; Magick that is worked commonly with stones and crystals. The practise may include chakra balancing, crystal meditation and even spell work or rituals. Extensive knowledge of stone, including how to identify them. Tools most commonly used are crystals, books, grimoires and stones.

Literacy; Those who practise through books and literature - studying the craft after the 'beginner' phase of learning. Tools are books, poems, written work.

[simsinlowspace]

Mosaic Dreams & Seashells on the Seashore - Two 4t2 Base Game Wall Conversions

Snow day! ❄️ We didn't open the library today, so instead I'm working on CC. Two sets of 4t2 walls below!

Two sets of coordinating tile walls from TS4 base game - Mosaic Dreams and Seashells on the Seashore. They both come in the same eight colors, with full and one-third tile variations:

A numbered swatch is included, and the files are separated into folders so you can easily keep just what you like.

DOWNLOAD (SFS) Wall are just over 1MB

Lots of love, Spacey

@sims4t2bb

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met

Part 1/? | Ao3

I was momentarily and violently possessed by the spirit of Taylor Swift to write this Feysand

Biggest thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher @cauldronblssd and @rosanna-writer for the best betas a gal could ask for!

[In a world where the Archerons never lost their fortune, fate finds Feyre on the night of a masquerade ball.]

The sun was setting low and bright over the horizon of the lake while Feyre brushed out her hair, her hips leaned casually against the side of the stone railing of the balcony to keep her balance. Before too long, the nights would begin to bring a chill into the air and it wouldn’t be as easy to stand out here and marvel at the colors in the sky. But here at the end of September, the breeze was still balmy enough to skirt over her exposed shoulders like a soft blanket.

The upper register of the sky was turning a deep navy, the stars already sparkling like diamonds. They felt familiar and comforting to her, as they always did. Lower, the blues bled into a menagerie of lavenders, periwinkles, and the lightest, brightest pinks. She wanted to paint the colors so badly, lay them one by one onto a canvas until they merged together seamlessly. The colors reminded her of the smooth interior of a seashell her father had brought home once from a trip. Feyre kept it on her dresser, touching the glossy bridge of it every so often, holding it up to her ear to hear the sounds of the waves lapping the shore, though she’d never actually been to a beach herself.

She sighed, letting the arm with the brush fall to her side and flipping her hair back over a freckled shoulder.

The moon was going to be large in the sky tonight–a good omen for the masquerade in honor of Elain’s twenty-first birthday. If Feyre leaned far enough over the edge of the balcony, she could see the twinkling lights that spread across the entryway to the estate, glowing brightly and welcoming the already-surging crowds of nobles. Though she couldn’t see them from where she was standing, she knew from careful preparation how magical the lights looked, reaching criss-crossed over the main pathway up to the massive oak front doors, though Feyre couldn’t see them from here.

Despite all the shining luster, she felt her elation ebbing like the tide in her chest.

These hosted events were nothing new, but Feyre had trouble getting excited for them anymore. Something about them felt so shallow and empty–forced laughter, fake smiles–it was always the same. The same people, the same conversations, and the same…nothingness that followed.

Elain and Nesta enjoyed them well enough, though you might not know it by Nesta’s face or attitude. The two were born and bred for high society. In theory, Feyre had been too, but something had always been different. She’d taken the same lessons, been born of the same bloodline, suffered the same teachers, and fumbled through the same etiquette courses. But, still, something felt different about her.

A half-wild beast.

Nesta’s favorite insult. Yet, in the quiet privacy of her room, Feyre wore it like a badge of honor.

She would sit on her balcony often, long after the manor was asleep, and stare up at those same smiling stars, dreaming about the stories in her books, and wondering if, in some other lifetime, she was the one slaying dragons, riding horses, and falling in love. She dreamed of wielding the weapons that the guards tossed around so effortlessly in the yard, her fists clenching and unclenching with the want to hold them in her hand. She dreamed of the bow and arrows so vividly that sometimes she woke up feeling as though her arm had been drawn back at the ready, the golden eyes of some animal in the snow flashing brightly in her mind.

But, at the end of the day, Feyre understood her role. She knew her place here, even if she hated it. She’d have gone down swinging and fighting if it weren’t for her sisters, but she knew she’d never forgive herself if she ruined their chances at a life they wanted for her own selfish wants.

So, she allowed the soft dress to be pulled up her body, the corset laced so tightly she could barely breathe. She let the long, golden tresses of her hair be pulled into a braid–nothing efficient or practical, but wispy and loose and lovely. She let them apply powder and blush to her cheekbones, only to roll her eyes to herself knowing she’d be wearing a mask anyway.

Her mask was a glittering mass of crystals inlaid on the softest navy fabric, the tops of the gems twinkling brightly as she turned it in the light. She’d seen the mask in a shop in town and couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It had reminded her of the silent nights spent outside, and she hadn’t been able to leave without it. She may have hated getting dressed and paraded for these events, but at least she’d have chosen one aspect of her presence this evening.

She slipped into the satin shoes, and she listened to them click, click, click down the stone and marble of the halls on her way to the foyer.

The manor smelled magical, the air filled with sweet, sharp, and savory spices from across the world. Her father always returned from his expeditions with barrels of the best foods, cans of spices, and wooden boxes of the loveliest, most exotic teas. Their house regularly smelled of some beautiful delicacy or another, but on nights where events like this took place, the whole manor was awash in the smells, and Feyre always liked that best.

The loud rise of voices became nearly deafening as she reached the massive set of stairs in the entryway.

As she looked down, she could see Elain and Nesta already socializing and doing their duty. Elain was floating like a butterfly around the room, twirling her skirts without even meaning to and catching the wandering eyes of every eligible–and ineligible–man in the room. Elain was effortlessly beautiful and charming–a perfect fit in this life–all soft, rounded edges and sweet sighs. Her mask was a soft, brushed suede in a light brown, the gems rounded up and shaped to mimic the face of a doe. Fitting, for every bit of Elain was that beautiful, gentle, cushioned etiquette that high society expected of her.

If Elain was the cushion, though, Nesta was the pin.

Nesta had dressed in black and red tonight, the ruby gemstones of her mask catching the light and reaching out like the wings of a great creature around her face. Her silver eyes cut across the room, daring any man to come closer. She looked as though she was ready for war, and in truth, she might be. The expectation weighed heavily on Nesta to marry, and soon.

Even Nesta’s calculated coldness couldn’t combat the pressures of society for much longer. She may be cold, but with money and a noble name came the burden of responsibility. Even with her reputation, the men had been lining up for her for nearly two years already. The time she had left was running out. While Feyre knew Nesta did not care one bit for the implications of being an unmarried noble, Nesta knew the consequences for her family and her name were she to be labeled as unmarriageable, and she wouldn’t dare harm Elain’s reputation in such a way. And, in addition, Elain had been breathing down her neck, anxious for her turn and knowing that she could not step forward for a marriage offer until Nesta had accepted one herself.

Feyre sighed as she reached the bottom of the steps, turning immediately to the back walls behind the circle of pillars surrounding the foyer and leading out into the main ballroom. The estate was absurdly large–so large, in fact, that as a child, Feyre had spent years discovering rooms she’d never even seen before. It was a gross misuse of money, from her point of view, but it’s not exactly like they could give rooms to the needy. She had suggested it once as a child, and her mother had their governess strike her for it. Their mother might be long dead, but her lessons lingered into their lives.

As Feyre passed the great doors, the strung-up lights again caught her eye, glowing against the backdrop of the now deep-black sky with the woods behind them. Something stirred within her.

Go. Go see.

But she’d long felt that pull to the woods. She’d also long learned to ignore it for the sake of propriety.

She ribbed at Nesta and Elain often for their expectations, but she knew someday they would fall to her, too. She was nineteen now, and once her sisters had been paired off, it would be her turn to find a nobleman who she’d be handed off to and expected to run his home and birth his children until she died.

The thought was almost enough to send her running to the woods.

Feyre could barely hold a conversation with any of the insufferable, pompous pricks for more than five minutes; she wasn’t sure how she would ever be able to warm one’s bed long term. But she saw her life for what it was: a gilded prison where her options had been predestined, planned, and chosen for her the minute she was placed as a squealing babe in her mother’s arms and declared a girl.

Feyre grabbed a drink from a passing server, sipping it delicately and letting the bubbles settle on her tongue and in her spirit, calming her as she walked into the wide open ballroom and began to skirt around the walls. She’d need to limit it to just the one–she had a tendency to drink too much at these events, and she notoriously could not handle her drink well.

If Feyre was honest with herself, she had wondered more than once what it might be like to meet a handsome young man who was more than the surface-level idiots of the rich families. Not that she was one for a vulnerable moment, but as beautiful as these parties were, they were just the same, old, tired faces again and again. In her bed in the dark, she’d thought more than once what it might be like for a handsome prince like the ones in the books she’d hid away from her governess by shoving them in her mattress to come and whisk her away for something more–something wonderful. Not just for the love story, but for the adventure, too. They’d run off arm in arm, him setting her on a horse by his side to roam the wide world beside him, never behind.

She continued along the curved wall, watching the crowd of twirling bodies embellished in jewels and brightly embroidered threads. She could be in her room, painting the colors swirling together across a canvas, instead of being here and watching it all pass her by.

Abruptly, Feyre stopped in her tracks, the air stolen from her lungs as though by force. She’d been hiding in the near-shadows as the others danced in the light. But across the room, almost entirely encased in shadows of his own, a pair of violet eyes met hers.

Feyre felt as though she’d been punched in the chest, her entire world narrowing in on the singular raised brow attached to those beautiful eyes, staring directly into her soul as though asking have we met? He seemed to hesitate, to recognize her almost, his hand raising nearly imperceptibly as though to wave.

Had she imagined it?

She could almost hear the voice now as she took a tentative step in that direction, closing the gap as she made her way around the room.

Come. Come see.

Silky and smooth and low, like warm honey in a cup of tea, like the burn of whiskey in the swigs she’d stolen in her father’s office. He pushed off the wall and walked towards her, looking quickly to the sides as though to check if anyone else was watching. His approach caused her heart to thunder wildly in her chest.

Come see.

As they approached each other, the gap closing with each step, she was taken aback by his overwhelming beauty. His hair was the color of raven’s wings, softly catching the light of the chandeliers above. The rest of him that wasn’t covered by his mask appeared to be carved out of stone, his chiseled features sharp, but kind. Those beautiful violet eyes up close sparked like they held a galaxy within them, the glittering reminding her of the patterns of the gems in her mask.

This is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

His lips arched up at the corners as though he’d heard her.

Impossible.

He looked familiar as he passed behind each of the marble pillars lining the room, the swirling and twirling of dancers in her periphery not breaking her focus for even a moment. She was a woman possessed, all her energy focused entirely on this beautiful stranger, only steps away. She felt a strangely familiar comfort as they closed the last few feet between them. She was sure she’d have remembered someone like him.

“Hello, darling.” His voice nearly knocked her breathless again as he took her hand in his, sketching a bow as he pressed his lips to her knuckles delicately. The touch of his skin to hers was electric, the currents coursing through her veins like lightning and fire and shooting straight to her chest where they swarmed and tore like bees in a nest.

She must have gasped, her body reacting before her mind could catch up, because his lovely twilight eyes locked on hers, a brow quirking up again as he stared at her. There was something unidentifiable in his expression–something so wide open and unguarded and vulnerable that didn’t match his raised brows or rakish smirk at all.

Underneath all that, there was something like wonder.

Every so often, his carefully curated expression would tic just the tiniest bit, a strain of his jaw, a twitch of his brow, and Feyre could see something different hiding beneath. Something almost nervous.

“Hello.” Her voice was a curious whisper, full of awe and jittery trepidation, but the smile she was granted in return was as bright as the full moon over the lake outside the manor, and it felt especially reserved for her.

“What’s your name?” His voice was deep and rumbling, the timbre of it shooting to her ribs and tugging briefly, so visceral and real that she nearly stepped forward with the ghost of it.

“Feyre.” There was no use playing coy. She wanted to hear her name off his lips–had never wanted anything more than she wanted it.

She swore she could hear his thoughts twirling the name around in his mind, likening it to the tolling of bells. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“Feyre,” he murmured, eyes still full of stars and staring at her. “Fey-ruh,” he mouthed wordlessly this time, as though tasting it on his tongue and savoring it. She shivered to the tips of her toes, her eyes tracking the shape of his plush lips as they moved around the syllables.

“Yes,” she said, embarrassingly breathless. “What’s yours? I don’t recognize you.” The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. Feyre had never been good at the rules of high society, failing even the most basic points of etiquette repeatedly and fantastically. But he seemed delighted, and the thrill of it all kept her heart threatening to pound out of her chest.

“Rhysand. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feyre.” She loved the way he said her name; she loved the way it fit with hers. Feyre and Rhysand.

Rhysand. Rhysand. Rhysand.

He still held her hand in his.

“Would you honor me with a dance, Feyre darling?” She nodded mutely, still struggling to find words in the wake of meeting this familiar stranger, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

He took her hand in his, his midnight black suit with silver embroidery glinting in the light and catching the reflections like beams of light. Rhysand. She tried the name in her mind over and over again until it felt like home on her tongue.

I could see myself calling him Rhys, warm on a couch, his lips on mine.

The thought came out of nowhere, startling her and making a blush race across her cheeks and up her ears. She must have physically flinched, because she could feel Rhysand almost shudder beneath her hand.

At long last, they reached the dance floor right as a new song queued up from the musicians, a light and sturdy waltz that would allow for space to talk between them. She placed her hands on his shoulder and arms, beginning the steps that she knew by heart. He kept time immediately, almost as though the dance was something he’d also grown up knowing.

“You’re not from around here.” Not a question.

“No, I am not.” He offered nothing more. She scrunched her nose, studying him, and he grinned down at her, his hair tumbling down across his forehead.

“Where are you from?”

“Somewhere further north of here. I’m here for business.” She wasn’t one to ask family names, lest she seem like she was throwing herself at his feet. But his words were so vague she couldn’t help but cock a brow at him. He smiled, a laugh on his lips.

“Hmm, family business. Sounds very serious.” The mocking in her voice was not lost on him, and his smile widened.

“It’s all a bit dicey right now. I’m a little out of my element.” She could surely understand what that felt like, nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement.

“Well, what part of business requires you attending a masquerade in the forest?” She couldn’t help but tease him. the words flit off her tongue before she could bite them down, but she relished his surprise. He seemed to enjoy the teasing.

“Just an errant invite to a nobleman passing through. I make it a habit to know the people in the important families when I travel. You never know what you may find.”

“Or whom.” The words were coy, and his eyes flashed momentarily with something akin to hunger before it cleared.

“This is your manor, is it not?” Perhaps he cared more for propriety than her.

“Yes. I’m Feyre, the youngest. The ball is for my sister, Elain. She just turned twenty-one.”

“Ah, and you?”

“Nineteen. Yourself?”

“A bit older, not in spirit, though.” His grin was heart-stopping, her breath catching in her chest at the sight of it. He was stunningly gorgeous, a work of art. Her fingers itched to paint his face embraced by the night sky, the stars humming and shooting past behind him as though they were alive…

Her thoughts were interrupted by his hands on her waist lifting her into the air as though she weighed nothing, her small yelp bringing yet another flush to her face. She’d lost her place in the dance while her thoughts had wandered, but he just chuckled lightly as he set her back down and they resumed. The music slowed to a quieter number and they readjusted their holds on each other to fit the new tempo, stepping close enough to feel his breath flit across her neck.

“You’re not at all how I imagined you’d be.”

“How you imagined?”

“Just the daughter of a noble family. You don’t act like them.”

She scoffed, then raised herself up a bit on her toes, arching her neck to place her lips closer to his ear, never breaking the slow rhythm of the dance. “Can I tell you a secret, Rhysand?” He shuddered lightly beneath her touch as they swayed.

“Anything.”

“I hate it here.” He laughed, something warm and welcoming blooming in her at the sound.

“I can see you somewhere different,” he said, voice still filled with amusement.

“Hmm, where?”

He pulled back a bit and pretended to think about it while she took in his face again, the mask doing nothing to hide the lovely strong jaw and high cheekbones, his dark golden skin nearly glowing beneath the chandelier lights. He looked like he belonged in the galaxies above them, flying through the night sky like some sort of Angel of Darkness in a painting. The thought brought a thrill to Feyre’s lower stomach that she’d only ever felt in the dark of her bedroom alone at night.

“I can see you outside, somewhere beneath the stars with a clear view of the sky.” Feyre could hear her own sharp intake of breath as she felt it, so she was sure he could too. Perhaps, it should be strange that someone she didn’t know at all could guess something so easily about her, something so intimate.

But instead of fear, the only feeling she could summon was comfort. Had anyone ever really known her? It was nice to be seen. It was nice to be known.

“I’d like that.”

The song came to an abrupt end, spooling immediately into another, more fast-paced dance. Feyre let the mischief flare to life behind her eyes as she grabbed his hand in hers.

“Can you keep up?”

His smile could rival the sun, and suddenly it was all she cared to see again.

He grabbed her hand, his skin warm and comforting against hers, and they launched into the steps for the dance, holding each other–perhaps a bit closer than was expected.

Song after song, dance after dance, the two twirled around the room. Feyre could sense time was passing, but she couldn’t find it in herself to track it or care, the world and people an inconsequential blur around them. They weren’t speaking with words, but it all felt like a conversation in and of itself, their bodies and minds somehow in step with each other, learning one another as his starry, violet eyes met blue. His smile crinkled around his lips, and left the smallest, almost unnoticeable dimples in its wake. Feyre grinned to behold it, and something told her it wasn’t a smile most were lucky enough to see.

She felt breathless, bubbly, intoxicated–and she knew that it was unrealistic to fall for someone so suddenly. It was something she expected of Elain, ever the romantic, but for the first time in her entire life, she imagined what it would be like if someone did make a bid for her hand.

For the first time, she thought about what it might be like to accept.

Please don’t be in love with someone else.

After what could have been hours, the songs began to slow again as the night began to wind down, the lights lower and the people quieter. Their hands regrettably dropped off the other, but Feyre wasn’t ready to let this go, not just yet. She leaned in almost imperceptibly, her whisper just barely a breath on her lips.

“Meet me in the garden? The back side of the house with the lake view.” Then, before she could view his expression or regret her actions, she walked off, very audibly complaining to her sisters that her feet hurt and she was off to bed.

Feyre sprinted down the halls, cutting corners so closely she almost slammed into the walls. She rushed across the marble floors, crashed into her bedroom doors, and flung them open and back shut with an intensity of which she didn’t believe herself capable. She shut and locked them behind her, kicking off her uncomfortable heels, ripping off the beautiful mask, and pushing her loose hair off her face as she strode to the balcony. She’d gone out this way in the night so many times it was like second nature to her now, the light breeze smelling of flowers and earth. She crept down the trellis, feet expertly catching on all the holds until she jumped the last few feet. Feyre skittered to the large stone wall to the garden, avoiding the gate in favor of scaling up the thick, twisted vines, swinging a leg over, and dropping wildly down to the other side.

Nesta’s words once again rang in her head, but if she could see Rhys again, even for a moment, then propriety be damned.

She turned to run but pulled up short with a gasp when she found him already there, nearly running into his chest.

“Hi.” The word was a breathy exhale on her tongue.

“I’ve been looking for you.” His words were soft and quiet in the night, a kind smile already on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners in what appeared to be delight. Without his mask, she could see his lovely face in full, somehow even more beautiful than before.

“Would you like to walk? I can show you the lake.” It was one of her favorite places on the property. Elain favored the gardens, Nesta the copse of old oak trees that were older than the manor itself, but Feyre had always loved the lake. More times than she could count, as a child and even older, she’d had to be dragged from its murky depths. She loved to play in it, the time slipping away as she swam around, played with the fish, and even laid on her back just watching the clouds. Nesta called her a swamp monster, but she hadn’t minded.

Under the light of the moon, she led Rhysand to her favorite lakeside view, a small stone bench beneath the curtain of a weeping willow. Here, she couldn’t be seen from the house, and it was often she’d come here to paint, or relax, or just be left alone.

“Is this your favorite spot then?” He asked coyly, almost as though he’d heard her think it, as she grabbed her skirts up and sat down.

“I like to be alone, more often than not, and it’s easy to come here and buy some time unseen.”

“Unseen, hmm.” He sat beside her, the warmth of his thigh brushing against her own. “Did you take me here to kill me then, Feyre?” A laugh burst out of Feyre before she could stop it, loud and unrestrained as she raised a hand to her mouth. He was so funny; men were never funny. She should have been embarrassed that she’d guffawed like a goat in front of him, but when she looked up, his face was lit with an intangible sense of joy that stopped her short.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” The words weighed heavy in the air around them, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I hope to hear it again.”

“You could.” She wasn’t sure what had come over her, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them with any sense.

“If I make you laugh too often, I think they require a proposal in these parts.” A grin split his face, but something about his tone felt serious to Feyre.

“Would that be so terrible?” His responding smile was sad, almost pained, as he grabbed her hand in his.

“Please believe me, Feyre, when I tell you nothing would please me more than to ask for your hand in marriage this very second. If I was able, I would have already asked your father.” The words froze and ached in her chest, making it hard to swallow, but she couldn’t look away.

“I wouldn’t say no.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to fight with himself over something. “In my current home, I am unable to make any propositions, and it would kill me to make you a promise I couldn’t fulfill. You deserve more than that. More than me.” It was the first true crack she’d seen in his mask, the first real show of that vulnerability that she’d sensed immediately. He huffed a mirthless laugh.

“What if I waited?” His eyes shot back to hers. “My sisters are not yet wed, and I cannot go before them anyway. What if we waited until your circumstances changed? We have time.” The hope and awe and wonder in his eyes was almost enough to unseat her entirely. His hand came to touch her jaw delicately, softly, as though she was something precious in his hands.

“I can’t ask you to–”

“I want to. Rhysand, I want to. This is crazy, I’m never this way. Truly, Nesta likens me to a beast more often than anything else. I don’t get along with others, but…” When she looked up again, he was staring at her like she’d hung the stars and moon. “You see me. I don’t know how I know, but I can tell. You see all that I am, here, now.” He nodded, brows deeply furrowed, as though thinking before he spoke.

“You would wait?”

“I would, unfailingly.” Something cracked wide open in her chest at the admission she hadn’t quite even felt herself deciding to make. Who was this man who had enthralled her so completely and utterly? And why did it feel more right than anything ever had before?

His eyes searched her face, as if looking for any reason to say no and failing.

“Would it be wildly improper of me to ask to kiss you?” His voice was as breathless as hers, as though they were speaking on sacred ground. She’d tipped forward a bit, leaning her face into his hand.

“It would, but do it anyway.”

“Can I kiss–” She didn’t let him finish as she surged up, pressing her lips to his.

The effect was immediate, sparks shooting off in her mind like a cracking piece of firewood. The tug in her chest became overwhelming as she wrapped her arms around his neck, his tongue moving against the seam of her lips as though asking for permission. She let him in, the smooth caress of his tongue against her own drawing a sound out of her that she’d never heard before. He smelled like jasmine and lilac as she ran her hands through his silky, inky hair, the motion drawing him closer as he ran his hands down her sides to hold her waist. It felt monumental, world-shifting, right.

The kiss deepened as he shifted her into his lap, his hands pulling, gripping, grabbing at every inch of her as they slid up her thighs to cup her ass. She ground down against him, feeling him against her and losing the fight against tipping her head back as his mouth left hers to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck. She gasped as she felt his teeth, feeling sharper and more dangerous than they were, skirting lightly over her pulse point, something deep and primal thrumming within her at the action.

He murmured against her, “Feyre, you’re my–” And she would have given him anything he asked of her in that moment. A kiss, herself, the entire world.

But, abruptly, the sound of laughter and shattering glass broke them apart. Someone at the party had dropped something on their way out, but Feyre and Rhysand stared at each other, eyes wide and wild, chests heaving for air as they broke free of the spell.

“Feyre.” The word was a prayer on his lips as he licked them, as though he were tasting her one more time.

She pressed another, more chaste, kiss to the corner of his mouth, smiling as he sighed against her.

“Will you write to me, when your circumstances change?” She asked. His face was full of such wide, open hope. She would wait, and she’d do so happily if there was even a chance of this being the future that awaited her.

“Yes, of course. I’ll call on you when all is settled. I will see you again.” It sounded like a promise, an oath. She believed him as she felt the surge of joy and anticipation welling within her, the feelings stronger and more potent than she had ever felt before.

They stood, so unwilling to untangle their limbs and let go. He walked her back to the stone wall, offering to give her a hand and help her up. She sat atop it, gazing upon him a final time.

“I am very glad to have met you tonight, Rhysand.”

“Rhys.” He sketched a bow. “Call me Rhys. I was enchanted to meet you, Feyre.”

“Goodnight, Rhys.” He smiled, and as she turned to quietly dismount the other side, she looked back a final time to find him already gone.

+++

Rhys stood on the stone wall surrounding the manor as the moon dipped low in the sky. The colors of the sun on the horizon would be coming soon, but he hadn’t been quite ready to go yet. Instead, he stood, shrouded in the dark, hands in his pockets and the entirety of his focus on a single balcony. The wall was large and sturdy, at least two feet across and spanning the entire estate.

Good, Rhys thought. There are predators here.

Through the balcony window, the gossamer curtains flowed in the breeze, the low, golden light inside highlighting the fuzzy shapes within. He could see movement, the motion he’d been waiting for since she left the lakeside bench. His breath caught in his chest as she appeared, her hair down from her braid, loosely flowing over her shoulders and back as she spun around the room in her nightgown.

Dancing. She was dancing.

For the first time in decades, Rhys felt something like tears burning behind his eyes. She was so incredibly beautiful there in the window, holding her arms out and mimicking the moves that they had completed together only hours before. He’d have stayed a lifetime if only to see her dance again, to see that beautiful smile light up her face when she looked at him.

He’d been a fool to accept her offer, but it had been so long since Rhys had felt hope. He’d been an idiot to come here in the first place, considering the circumstances, but he had to see her, touch her, know that there was something worth fighting for. If he was going to make it out alive, he needed hope.

Mate. My mate.

He’d heard her thoughts all night long, so open and honest and forthright, not even second guessing herself. She fit him so thoroughly, her thoughts often matching his as they flitted through his own mind.

She was perfect.

It had been years since the first time he’d seen her in his dreams, just snips and flashes of her running through the woods, sloshing through the lake, then more detailed pictures of her pranking her sisters and governess, painting the undersides of furniture and the trees of the forest so no one would see. It had been a particularly horrible day when he’d finally broken and gone to see her, the lights of the ball providing a convenient ruse.

He’d told himself to be aloof, just a visiting guest, only there to observe.

Then he saw her. The pull nearly painful and he was pushing off the walls to look for her the second their eyes met.

If he had suspected the mating bond before, he was certain now, the tether alive and glowing in his chest, though unsnapped. He wondered how it felt to her, a human, but they’d been sharing thoughts and emotions all night, to his great joy.

Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.

Half of that promise he could fulfill–he would never love anyone but her, his mate, the female from his dreams. He would always belong to her, the visual of her pressed against his chest as they danced, her smile bright and warm and eyes happy to see him. There would never be anyone else for him but the human girl who was a dreamer, who wanted more for herself in this life than the pretentious, materialistic world of a nobleman’s daughter. He watched as she threw herself back onto her fluffy bed with a sigh, kicking her feet against it as he smiled.

It was time for him to go, to flee back beneath the mountain before Amarantha looked too closely into his absence. He wouldn’t risk Feyre, no matter how much his heart ached to be near her. Just this glimpse would get him through, get him one step closer, one move further into a future where he might fulfill his promise, might be able to come to her again. Might even be able to bring her back home with him. Home, to his family.

He gave her a final look, smelling that pear and lilac scent on the breeze and filling his lungs with it.

“I’ll come back for you. I promise.” And then he was gone.

[mmmatchasims]

Peach: ...I don't even want to be a data scientist! I picked CompSci as my major because it made dad so happy and then it kind of.. snowballed from there. My internship this fall was a nightmare, you know. I wanted to tell you about it the last time we we spoke but you ignored my texts.

Seashell: But... You've been interested in programming since we were kids...

Peach: I guess undergrad was fun, but going for a pHD was a mistake. Nobody in my cohort is passionate about it anymore. It's just a means to a salary for a job I don't want. At least you're passionate about art. I only applied to this program to make Dad happy and to piss Mom off.

Seashell: ...But what about DSV? Your girlfriend? You have so much going for you! You're not some leech that still lives at home and can't even sell her paintings at the high school art fair on Sundays...

[triscribeaucollection]

More Old Guard!Avengers heartache

Nat

There was one, before her.

A man who sailed oceans vast and wide, with only the stars for company and direction. He hailed from a realm of scattered islands and warm water, spent his long years traveling between tribes, sharing stories, news, and gifts. A demigod, those people called him, born mortal but blessed by higher powers, loved and honored.

And yet, when he dreamed of a woman’s first death, realized another like him had been blessed, he left his home behind without a second thought to sail beyond the horizon. It took nearly a century, as he knew nothing of her part of the world - nor did she realize her dreams of wind and water meant another was out there, so the searching was only on his part. When they did eventually meet, it of course happened upon a battlefield.

She fought against men riding horses, something new enough that the fight was going poorly for her. And then, up from the shoreline came a massive warrior like no other, who wore little clothing, carried odd weapons, hollered in a strange tongue and half won just by scaring the horsemen away. When she saw him, the woman realized what her dreams had truly meant.

She wasn’t alone.

Even without words, the two of them looked at one another and understood.

Wandering a land occupied by the descendants of those who’d moved in and replaced her long-dead tribe, present without purpose, that in and of itself finally felt like a true blessing from the gods.

...it lasted less than forty years.

The sailor never again returned to the waters of his birth. He and she learned enough of each other’s words to converse, learned to fight in tandem as they slowly traveled away from her native forests, down the coastline back the way he’d first come. But then, they happened across a village burning. Somewhere in the following chaos, as they put a stop to the raid, the sailor’s wounds ceased closing. His blood kept pouring. And he continued laughing. She didn’t realize anything was wrong until after they’d won, when she turned with a smirk, only to cry out in horror.

Her friend slowly sank down to the ground, smiling even as he died.

Your turn, now, he told her, in a final whisper. Find... next one.

After her tears dried, the remaining villagers helped move his body back onto the little log and sail vessel that carried him across the world. She took a few supplies, and a single magnificent seashell, before she set the entire thing ablaze.

(Another three thousand years passed before she dreamed of the man with a bow.)

---

Clint

They lived in the center of a farming region.

Every harvest, families brought their grain and livestock to the market, which tripled in size from all the tents and carts and merchant stalls. The barely town, everyone called it. Never truly permanent, but never really gone, either.

He wasn’t much of a farmer. His wife kept a garden, a few sheep for wool, but when they went to town to trade, it was with the pelts of the animals he hunted all year long. His arrows always struck clean, taking prey through the eye and brain, leaving the hide intact to be skinned, cured, and sold at a good price. Keener eyes than a hawk, others would say of him, impressed and pleased by the quality of the pelts. 

The best furs he kept back, though, to clothe his wife and children in the depths of winter, when they’d all snuggle together by the fire in their small house, safe from the howling wind and snow monsters.

Until a spring when different monsters appeared.

Dark smoke and distant screams brought him racing back to his family’s home, just in time to shoot three snarling men trying to get inside. Clean shots, like always. Through the eyes, into the brain. He told his wife to leave everything, to just grab the baby while he carried their older son and daughter, and they hurried away into the woods, along the hidden trails he knew by heart. But when he finally judged them far enough away to be safe...

He told his family to stay put for at least two days.

And then he went back.

More smoke. More screams. More men with arrows in their eyes.

But eventually, he ran out of arrows. And fighting, true fighting in close quarters... that, he wasn’t nearly so skilled with.

He woke after dark, facedown in a ravaged field. Unhurt, despite the wounds he remembered gaining. Despite the jagged holes and blood stains in his clothing. Quietly, he found a new, unbroken bow, scavenged arrows from dead bodies. Went and found the last few remaining invaders, and killed them one by one. When the sun returned, he found a place to hide, and slept.

His family obeyed, and didn’t creep out of the forest until another day passed. By then, other survivors also began to emerge from the soot and mud, to gather in the field where barley town stood every harvest season. Resources were shared, plans made, a new longhouse and rough wall erected.

All during that process, he kept his distance. Stayed hidden.

Whatever caused him to come back from being dead, he didn’t dare risk bringing near anyone else. Especially not his family. Surely it could only be the work of some dark, evil power, something that jumped from one of the invaders into his body instead, or perhaps a divine punishment for using his hunter’s gift upon other men. Whatever the reason, he never let himself be seen.

Years passed. The former seasonal market became a true town, houses and watchtowers and communal buildings surrounded by a wall that grew taller and thicker. From a distance, he watched his baby boy begin to walk and run; saw the grey begin to creep into his wife’s hair. Dreams haunted him every night, visions of what could have been mixed with flashes of battle, of bright red hair against darker splashes of blood, glinting weapons and changing landscapes.

His skin never wrinkled, his hair never turned white.

His children grew up. Married. Began families of their own.

His wife never took another husband.

More than twenty years of watching over them, of harrying away other groups of invaders, of hunting extra game in winter and leaving dead animals at the gate, he finally received something of an explanation.

From a woman with bright red hair. Who spoke slowly, in a thick accent. Who carried an ax he’d seen cutting through flesh and bone in his dreams.

We guard, she told him. Not bless. Not curse. Duty.

Guard.

That... felt right.

He stood guard for his family, for barley town as a whole.

And he’d keep doing it, until his duty ended, and he could go down into the grave waiting for him, someday.

(Over the decades, ‘Barley Town’ became ‘Barton’. He couldn’t hold onto all the names of his wife, his daughter, his sons, or his grandchildren. But he held onto that, if nothing else.)

[bittersweetresilience]

how do you think aromanticism can be expressed visually? im not talking flags or anything else as an ID, i mean the experience through art // an aro asking an aro

like.. can you think of the symbol or trope or metaphor of how aromanticism can be expressed? im an artist who has the opposite of artblock rn so i think of such questions a lot sometimes :D i can think of anatomically gorey correct heart or the lack of attraction/"pull" like an anchor

its interesting to hear a writer's pov of the same question :]

before i say anything else i would like to say the idea of aromanticism as an anatomically correct heart is so fucking sick and i love this.

to me the first thing i thought of was... aromanticism as seeing the world through a slightly different color palette? almost like looking at things from behind a pane of vaguely tinted glass. you can see things happening, but they don't appeal to you the same way they do to everyone else. you can imitate it but it sort of feels like you're miming.

other images that came to mind (depressing)...

the center of mass in a binary system. the two stars are doomed to orbit closer and closer until they collide and go supernova, and despite being in the middle you are sort of just there, invisibly.

a black hole.

a knife.

a train where each passenger keeps getting off until you are the only one left sitting.

snow. a wintry landscape.

a dream.

other images that came to mind (less depressing)...

a plant!! maybe a tree. maybe a full canopy.

a notebook.

a rope used for rappelling.

pandas. i don't know why but they seem so aromantic to me.

a long drive at night on the way to pick up a friend.

the beach in the evening. if you listen to a seashell you can hear the ocean of your identity inside, just as sure as the waves that wash over your feet.

[cherliin]

🌿 The Sims 4: Elemental Legacy Challenge 🌿

changelog: 5/14/25 revamped descriptions, added some minor goals.

This challenge supports mods, packs, and custom content. Specific ones are recommended, but you can always adapt based on what you have.

All heirs must be biologically related to the previous heir unless otherwise specified.

Each gen’s goals must be completed before the next heir ages into a Young Adult.

🔵 Generation 1: Water 🌊🪸🦈

You were born beneath the surface, raised on stories of the dangers of dry land. But curiosity has a current of its own, and when you washed ashore in Sulani, you discovered a whole new world, and a brand new body.

Required Mod(s): Expanded Mermaids 2.0

Traits: Child of the Ocean, Vegetarian, Socially Awkward

Aspiration: Soulmate

World: Sulani

Goals:

Must be a mermaid.

Fall in love with a human conservationist.

Earn 3 mermaid perks and reach mermaid rank 5.

Make all income through diving or any ocean-based activity.

Complete the buried treasure and seashells collections.

Get married in a beach ceremony.

First child must be conceived at the Sulani waterfall.

Have three children.

❄️ Generation 2: Ice 🧊⛸️🗻

Your family always felt...off. Cold. Distant. So you left. You didn't understand their secrets until you found your own element: snow. Where others see winter, you see a playground. Risk and adrenaline are your love language, and you're not afraid to fall.

Required Mod(s): Figure Skater Career

Traits: Wiggly (infant), Insider, Adventurous

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast

World: Mt. Komorebi

Goals:

Earn the Adrenaline Seeker lifestyle.

Max out Snowboarding, Skiing, and Rock Climbing skills.

Reach level 5 in the Figure Skating career.

Earn the Iceproof reward trait.

Become an expert skater by frequenting ice rinks (Link).

Have three serious relationships, each ending dramatically.

In one of those relationships: get engaged, conceive a child in the Ice Cave, then break off the engagement.

Raise your child alone.

🔥 Generation 3: Fire 🍲🔥🍷

You’re the simmering aftermath of your parents’ chaos: angry, intense, and done with the cold. Food is your therapy and your weapon. You don’t care about love stories or icy slopes. You want control, heat, and maybe a Michelin star.

Traits: Intense (infant), Neat, Hot-Headed

Aspiration: Master Chef / Restauranteur

World: Oasis Springs

Goals:

Start cooking as early as you can and max the Cooking skill before adulthood.

Max out Gourmet Cooking and Baking.

Earn the Heatproof reward trait.

Open a 5-star restaurant.

Marry one of your employees.

Have two children.

Cheat, get caught, and divorce.

Remarry as an elder.

🌱 Generation 4: Earth 🐓🌾📷

You witnessed too much violence as a kid. You ran. Now, you live in the countryside, surrounded by animals, plants, and peace. No drama. Just dirt, roots, and the slow, steady joy of growing something that lasts.

Traits: Sensitive (infant), Animal Enthusiast, Loves Outdoors, Peaceful

Aspiration: Freelance Botanist

World: Henford-on-Bagley

Goals:

Move out as a teen and start on an empty 50x40 lot.

Befriend birds and rabbits.

Max out Gardening skill.

Raise cows, chickens, llamas, and mini goats.

Own a large-breed dog (always have a dog on the lot).

Make all money from crops, animals, or flower arranging.

Find love as a teen; marry as a young adult.

Have four children.

End your life in a grand farmhouse with a glass greenhouse.

🌪️ Generation 5: Wind 💨📚✈️

The farm bored you. You wanted fast-paced, noisy, unpredictable. The city called, and you answered. Now you’re a broke writer chasing dreams in high-rise apartments and crowded bars. It’s messy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Traits: Creative, Outgoing

Aspiration: Archaeology Scholar

World: San Myshuno

Goals:

Graduate high school early and attend university for Language & Literature.

Go out at least twice a week with friends.

Max out the Writing and Archaeology skills.

Visit Selvadorada multiple times and uncover ancient ruins.

Become a freelance writer with at least 10 published books (2 must be bestsellers).

Marry a Sim from Selvadorada.

Have one child.

⚡ Generation 6: Lightning 🎭⚡🖼️

You were spoiled. Still, somehow, you want more. You live for attention, aesthetics, and excess. Fame isn’t optional. It’s inevitable. And if your parents wasted their potential digging in the dirt, you’ll make up for it with money and flash.

Required Mod(s): Actor Overhaul

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Art Lover

Aspiration: World-Famous Celebrity

World: Del Sol Valley

Goals:

Max out Painting and Acting skills.

Make money through art and acting.

Open a luxury art gallery and sell paintings for max value.

Become a 5-star celebrity.

Get engaged to another 5-star celebrity but never marry.

Have two children with your fiancé.

Adopt two small dogs and name them after gemstones.

Die rich in a massive mansion.

✨ Generation 7: Aether 🪄☁️💫

Your parents were famous. But you were raised by someone else. Someone strange. They whispered of magic, spirits, and old gods. You followed them one day...and never looked back. You were never meant to be normal. You were meant to be beyond.

Required Mod(s): Untamed Magic Is Untamed

Traits: Loner, Ambitious

Aspiration: Spellcraft & Sorcery

World: Glimmerbrook

Goals:

Become a spellcaster as a young adult.

Collect all magic artifacts.

Learn all spells and potions.

Have a child with one of your teachers.

Kill said teacher using magic.

Become a medium and make money through spirit exorcisms.

Resurrect an evil spirit and have a child with them.

Marry the spirit.

[freakgendered]

Zyexadic

plain text: Zyexadic (pronunciation: sy-sza-dic)

Note: Zyexadic was heavily inspired by Kenochoric, @gender-mailman's Gorture, along with @begendered-queer's Scudcoric; the term is NOT a mix of all three but rather similar to them. It is a non-xenine label, but it might be mixed with other xenine terms or just felt / present in a xenine way.

Zyexadic is an umbrella/neogender term that is heavily tied to the following: gore/blood, liminal space, exo-planets, beaches and the ocean, vintagecore, yandere/yangire/yandeguire, graveyards and cemeteries, horror, other aesthetics, space and the stars, witchcraft and sigils, dead dove themes, weapons, eldritch abominations, mushrooms/fungi, forests and nature, canines, goregrind album covers, decay/rotting, dead bodies and corpses, crystals and gemstones, sad and melodic feelings, computers, different hues of color, abandoned/runned-down places, other-worldly creatures, astrology, astronomy, seashells, poisons, chemicals, hospitals, demons, snow and/or cold weather, Halloween aesthetics, dark love/romance, edgy/emo/punk/goth/grunge fashion, scarecrows, farms, robots, aliens, monsters, bioluminescent plants, candy and other confections, baking and desserts, herbs and spices, coffee, nostalgia, needles and syringes, parasites and symbiotes, arcades, retro-futurism, camping, meat/flesh, skeletons, surrealism, dreams/nightmares, creepy videos and pictures, and the comfort of your bed at night.

The Zyexadic symbol (which I am very proud of)

ZYEXIN: Zyexadic-In-Nature

Zyexic: Zyexadic alignment

Tagging @mogai-sunflowers @kiruliom @genderstarbucks @epikulupu @acetrappolaswife @jiiamp @crying-roses @the-pangender-lesbian-shehulkfan