#seashell snow dream

[mmmatchasims]

[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.

[solarpunkani]

I think one thing that would be nice to see explored a bit more in Solarpunk art/aesthetic posts is how Solarpunk will likely look different depending on where you are, what’s feasible in that area, weather patterns, etc.

Like its almost 5am so I’m gonna be rambly but like. A lot of the most common features of Solarpunk art so far are a bit of an art-noveau type look, with lots of stained glass. Heavy emphasis on solar power and windpower and trees. In no way, shape, or form am I going to pretend this is BAD! I love this look, I think its great and inspiring and I love the color green I just.

Maybe Solarpunk doesn’t mean ‘green’ for everyone everywhere. Solarpunk might be more… yellows, and reds, and oranges. If you live in a desert, where there aren’t a lot of trees. I’m thinking places like Arizona, New Mexico, Niger, Chad, Libya. What would solarpunk fashion look like in these places—I feel like embroidered jean overalls won’t be common here. Traditional wear from these places is GORGEOUS, and I’d love to see more of a highlight on it and these biomes in Solarpunk. What would the housing look like—how would you keep cool indoors and out? I’ve seen a few ideas put into practice, but what would you dream up? How would you make them fun?

Similarly, how about coastal communities? Sure there’d be lots of green—but green may stand for seaweed just as much as it would trees. Not to mention the vibrant blues of the sky and seas, and the rainbow of colors from coral and seashells and glittering scales. What would a solarpunk community look like along the coasts of places like Florida, Hawaii, Jamaica, etc.? How are some of these places already Solarpunk? Wind and solar power could be an option, but we can also use hydropower as well—what would a solarpunk hydropower system look like in your wildest dreams? Fish-shaped spinning turbines underwater, swimming like sharks? Would houses float and bob along the water? How would gardening be handled with mostly salt water around—rain water capture would be critical, I feel—or desalination of small amounts of salt water. What would the fashion look like HERE? What does it look like already?

What does solarpunk look like in snowy places—like Alaska, Canada, Greenland, Russia? When green comes around in spring and summer, but fall and winter brings expanses of snow and ice? Solarpunk fashion here would be a LOT cozier than the solarpunk fashion on a Florida beach. I’m imagining lots of furs and layers. How would traditional practices be used to stay safe and warm, how would energy be captured and stored during long and dark winters? Would communities here be more nomadic, traveling further south during the coldest months, or would they stay where they are and construct homes that easily stay warm with little output?

Its actively 5am now so if I don’t make sense by all means. I guess I don’t make sense. But this has been on my mind for a few days now and I guess as we get closer to Solarpunk Aesthetic Week, this can be a fun and interesting thing to keep in mind! Let this inspire your art, your music, your fashion, your stories, your musing, and how you reach out to others about the ideals of Solarpunk.

[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.

[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.

[jacks-genders]

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

[beomiracles]

txt as seasons

A/N ─ really inexplainable, I'm high idk, just read, it'll hopefully make a little sense :3 warnings: none <3

YEONJUN is late night drives with the windows down, it’s 9pm and the sun has yet to set. Music blasts through your ears as you lean out the window, the warm breeze caressing your skin. Yeonjun is the cold ice cream against your lips, he’s the long days spent at the beach, sunbathing and diving for seashells. Yeonjun is the lively barbeque in your parents backyard, surrounded by friends and family as you cook and eat together. Yeonjun is picking fresh strawberries, he’s the walks through the open fields and he’s reading a book in your hammock all afternoon. Yeonjun is summer. 

SOOBIN is the first snow, exciting, nostalgic, gentle and soft. Soobin is staying in, curled up by the fireplace, a book in your hand as you read to each other. Soobin is the kids seeing snow for the first time, he’s the snow angels, the snowmen, childish, innocent, pure, he’s rosy cheeks and pink noses. Soobin is hot chocolate after dinner, he’s cheesy holiday movies and playing santa for christmas. He’s the joy and love for family, even during the darkest part of the year. Soobin is winter. 

BEOMGYU is the warm oranges, shining like gold. Beomgyu is fuzzy sweaters because you refuse to wear a coat just yet. He’s jumping in leaf piles, getting the leaves everywhere, only to remake the pile and do it all over again. Beomgyu is scary movies, he’s trick or treating no matter how old you are. He’s the late afternoon walks, just in time to see the sun set, he’s warm beverages, preferably tea. Beomgyu is scarfs wrapped snugly around your neck, he’s the cool wind blowing your hair, he’s the music on the radio. Beomgyu is fall. 

TAEHYUN is the flowers that take the longest to bloom, yet still outshine the rest. He’s the sound of birds chirping in the early morning sun. Taehyun is getting excited over the smallest signs of the seasons changing, he’s the trees regaining their leaves. Taehyun is the birds returning home after the long winter. He’s morning walks, he’s picking the first few flowers to bloom. Taehyun is the days getting longer, he’s the sun getting warmer and he’s the animals softly waking up from their hibernation. Taehyun is spring.

HUENINGKAI is waving goodbye to the birds as they leave for the winter, he’s greeting them again in spring. Hueningkai is picnics under the sun, he’s the snowball fight at school. Hueningkai is not being able to pick your favorite holiday, he’s excited over the first snow, he’s looking for the first signs of spring, he’s planning your summer four months in advance, he’s taking your halloween very seriously. Hueningkai is changing like the seasons, he’s the warm summer breeze, he’s the sounds of birds chirping, he’s the chants of christmas songs, he’s rewatching your favorite horror movies. Hueningkai is all seasons. 

→ want to get notified whenever a new dream is published? join my TAGLIST ★ all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[iwachansfavoritealien]

Satosugu One-Shot

Rating - T💛

"GOOOOD MOOOORNINGGGG!!!"

A high pitched scream jolts Suguru awake. Really, being woken up by Satoru's screeching is practically routine at this point, but it still startles him every single time. His demons deciding to taint his dreams with Satoru dying, bleeding out and screaming definitely do not help the situation. Still, the screeching means that they were all just bad dreams, nightmares, and nothing more. Satoru is alive. He is alive. They are okay. Fushiguro Toji is dead. He can't come back and kill Satoru. Satoru is okay.

And Satoru is currently stomping into his room, grin too wide and eyes too bright for 7.00 AM in the morning. How is a lazy idiot like Satoru a morning person, Suguru will never understand. He himself is a wake-up-at-11-AM-person, and he's proud of it. Always been.

"SUGURUUUU, WAKE UP!"

And here starts another day of Suguru Geto's life.

Suguru groans and covers his face with his pillow. "Go away." His voice is muffled by the pillow, and he can smell the sweat on it. Ugh. He'll have to strip the beddingd and do laundry this weekend. He sighs.

Satoru grabs his pillow and throws it away. Suguru winces when the pillow hits the windowsill and topples the plastic tin where he keeps his seashell collection -he collected them with Satoru back when they went to Okinawa, and YES, he still keeps them, it might sound cringy but those are precious to him, sue him- and scatters seashells all over the floor, but Satoru doesn't even look back. "CMONNN, GET UP! IT'S 7.30 ALREADY! LET'S GO PISS UTAHIME OFF! I ALREADY STOLE HER HAIR TIES! CMONN SUGURUUUU," He grabs Suguru's leg and pulls him out of the bed. Suguru kicks his hands and goes back to cuddling his other pillow -oh, his amazing bed. His smelly but precious pillow. True, he loves Satoru, but his love for his bed is overriding everything else and he wants to sleep forever and he loves to sleep and why doesn't this fucker of a best friend shut the fuck up and leave him alone he's so sleepy and-

Satoru pulls the blinds, and the sunlight nearly blinds Suguru.

Help me. It's my day-off goddamn it I wanna sleep-

Satoru stands next to the window, his features ethereal, touched by the golden rays just the right way- his white hair fluffy and slightly unkempt, his light skin seems to turn to gold, and his upturned nose- spoiled little shit, Suguru wants to kiss the tip of his nose.

And his proud smile, triumphant at the fact that Suguru got up, he's so cute. Annoying, sure. But he loves how annoying Satoru is. It's pathetic, but he's so weak for this boy, so weak when he bats his snow white lashes, blue, blue eyes, bluer that the clearest sky, shining brighter than anything else God -if they exist- has to offer.

Yes, He's in love with his best friend. Yes, he's having a hard time suppressing it. Yes, he's a pathetic loser. Who cares.

Because he's weak for Satoru, Suguru gets up at 7.30 AM.

The things he does for this boy.

Hi! Ummm... so this is my first ever tumblr post.. this takes place after Gojo killed Toji and before Suguru and him started going on separate missions. hope you like it :)

[familyvideostevie]

🐚 SEASHELL: I'm not sure why but I'm drawn to the line "What if this storm ends and I don't see you as you are now ever again?" from the song What If This Storm Ends by Snow Patrol for Eddie if possible please?

omg you guys kill me with the angst!!!! but you ask i answer, so let's go hard w this one and have some rockstar!eddie and you being a bit worried before he goes on tour -- a little angsty! fluff as always, though <3

--

"I'm not going to tell you not to go," you say matter of factly.

Eddie looks concerned. "Well, I hope not, since I'm about to get on the bus," he says. The rest of the band is busy loading their endless cases of shit into the huge bus behind him. He's going away for six weeks. You feel miserable.

"I just...I finally figured out how to say what I've been trying to say for ages." Ever since the band announced their tour, you'd had a pit in your stomach that you didn't know what to do with. It stayed as you and Eddie had small spats about his absence, as you spent long nights memorizing each other, as you cried a few times wondering what it would be like without him.

"Good timing," he says dryly, though his hand on your cheek is tender. You know that he's excited but also a bit stressed to be leaving you for so long. It's the longest you've ever been apart and it's scary.

"I think I'm scared that so much life is going to happen that when you come back we won't know each other." You can't look at him as you say it, instead fiddling with a button on his jean vest. "You're going to be having the time of your life and I'm going to be here working and doing whatever I do and you are going to live your dreams and --"

"And I'll be missing you," he gently interjects. "Every second, sweetheart."

You sigh and step forward, pressing yourself to him and burying your nose in his neck. He smells like he always does -- cigarettes and musk and his lightly scented shampoo. "I'm sorry for being so... like this." You're not sorry, not really. You're just a bit sorry for yourself.

"Means you love me, doesn't it?" Eddie asks. He rubs his hand up and down your spine. "You'll miss me because you love me and I'll miss you because I love you. And you'll love me a little less when I call you every day for the next six weeks to annoy you."

That gets a laugh out of you. "You wish." He pushes you away, hands on your shoulders, so he can look you in the eyes.

"When it's over we'll have so much to tell each other, yeah? Stuff that won't make it into the nightly phone calls. And then when we make it big and I get rich you won't have to work anymore if you don't want to and you can come on tour and get your own league of adoring fans."

"You dream big, Munson," you tell him. He leans in.

"You taught me how," he says against your lips.

join the celebration!

[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...

[diamondcrownacademy]

DCA Info Part 7: Magic Rings and Gem Colors

The art used is from this post from August 4th 2020

Magic Rings

For Diamond Crown Academy, the students use rings to conjure magic instead of the pens the students of Night Raven College use. Students wear a magic ring on their of choice hand on their index/pointer finger (As wearing a ring on a pointer means leadership, confidence and authority) and the girls have to trace a sigil or sign in the air to cast strong spells, small spells just require pointing. Phoenix jokingly stated that the rings symbolize the happy endings that the OG princesses (with the exception of Alice) got with their princes. The students get to make their own choices and reap the rewards of their efforts, kind of symbolism. The design of the rings are gold with a simple round gem on it following the color gems on the student's dorms.

Gem Colors

Each stained glass portrait of the heroines are placed in the hallway of the main college building, lining the hallway with a plaque at the bottom describing the virtue they represented. The students of DCA follow their example to become a true princess. The 10 dorms are built on their image and like the gemstones that you see on the uniforms of the Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy students.

The gem colors and virtues are shown below, with my personal theories on why the colors and virtues were chosen.

Snow White, Cinderella and Aurora

🍎 Pommeneige

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Pommeneige dorm is red, which matches the color of Snow White's hair ribbon, the red cloth on her puff sleeves and the interior of her cape. Red was also the color the poison apple took the appearance of in order to trick Snow White into eating it. Snow White represented the virtue of innocence. In this case, kindness and a bit of naivety. Snow White was known for being kind but also naïve, which made her fall for Queen Grimhilde's trap easily.

👠 Glastanzerin

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Glastanzerin dorm is white, which matches the color of Cinderella's iconic gown in the original 1950 film, which was a silver white in color. Cinderella represented the virtue of hope, always know to keep being hopeful. This feeling of hope can be shown in "A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes" where she encourages her animal friends to never stop dreaming and the entire theme of the song which carries out throughout the film is to keeping believing in your dreams.

🌹 Rosadormienti

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Rosadormienti dorm is pink, which matches the color of Aurora's dress that is mostly used for merchandise. Aurora represented the virtue of determination, never lose the drive to reach your dreams. While Aurora herself doesn't show signs of determination in her debut film, this is shown in later media.

Ariel, Belle, and Jasmine

🐚 Coquille

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Coquille dorm is purple, which matches the color of Ariel's seashell bikini top. Ariel represented the virtue of freedom, never forgetting that you can't be bound by anyone. Ariel herself desired freedom from her overprotective father and this is expressed by her fascination with humans and their world.

📚 Chateau Beastiale

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Chateau Beastiale dorm is yellow, which matches the color of Belle's iconic golden ball gown. Belle represented the virtue of loyalty and intelligence, standing by someone's side and never forgetting that knowledge is sharper than any sword. Belle stayed by the Beast's side and helped him to better himself. Belle was also famous for her intelligence.

🏝️ Magiaoasis

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Magiaoasis dorm is blue, which matches the color of Jasmine's sky blue casuals (although in later media and merchandise, it's colored turquoise). Jasmine represented the virtue of wittiness, using your wits to your advantage and to solve problems. Jasmine is shown to use her seductive cunning to her advantage. An example of this occurred when she faked being under the genie's influence in order to distract Jafar.

Mulan, Pocahontas and Tiana

🐲 Dragonstone

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Dragonstone dorm is dark red, which matches the details on the outfit Mulan wore during the climax of the original 1998 film. Mulan represented the virtue of honor and bravery, finding the courage to stand up against your fears and insecurities. Mulan disguised herself as a man to take her father's place in the war and she wanted to stay true to herself, all while bringing honor to her family.

🍂 Sagamore

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Sagamore dorm is orange, which is a very earthy color and Pocahontas herself has a fondness for nature. Pocahontas represented the virtue of will and wisdom, learn from others as how they learn from you. Pocahontas expressed wisdom and offered kindness and guidance to those around her.

🐸 Lagniappe

The color of the gemstone on the brooch worn by students affiliated with the Lagniappe dorm is green, matching the color of Tiana's frog form and her initial wedding dress. Tiana represented the virtue of diligence, hard work goes a long way. Tiana herself was known to be a hard worker and hoped that this would lead her to opening her own restaurant.

Alice

🐰 Futterwacken

Alice is a special case, she represents young girls growing up finding their identity. And being true to yourself is a golden lesson in the academy so that's why her stained glass is kept near the Futterwacken Dormitory built on the hill overlooking the other dormitories. This gem doesn't appear on the Futterwacken brooches because instead of brooches, they have keys of various colors.

[strawbubbysugar]

For some reason I had a dream in Goodbye's perspective but in a different world. He had his usual behavior but was getting used to living in a rundown house with two women, one similar to him (sassy, a bit of a bitch) and one who was softer and gentler? He went outside into the snow and when followed, threw snow at them, then was amazed by the sassy girl's ability to make snowballs look like seashells. I figured since it's your guy you'd want to know that somehow he snuck into my dreams

That is so intriguing... I wonder what the dream means??? Also yes, he would be very interested in being in someone else's dreams hsdfdhs

[iphigeniainaulis]

Moon of the Sleeping

@flash-exchange is probably one of the best things that ever happened to me. I’ve met so many talented people who proceed to go above and beyond with their passion for art, writing and beauty.  @ikemendood, I know how much you love Dazai, and I hope that this work captures his spirit even a little bit 💜 I’ve put the references I used under the cut. The sea divider belongs to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

Character: Dazai

Promt: Midnight sun

That night the moon was as bright as the midnight sun. Somewhere  close behind you the ship was cracking in the agony, sinking in the dark foam of the furious ocean. Black waters stretched their ugly tentacles, and your lungs were burning from the lack of air. Cold star flames merged into Phoenix, the night sky was on fire.  

There was no art, no poetry in the endless fabric of black silk. Melanydros. That’s how Greeks called it. The ocean roar had  deafened you, yet when your tired body found peace in the abyss,  your heart’s beat was loud and clear. The requiem of the soul. 

How unfair. 

Life was cruel to you, but that was the reason why you cherished it so much. The light of other days flushed in your head, but its rays were too powerless to warm you*. Deep waters catched your last breath, as well as laughter, pain and will.  

Somebody’s strong arms tightened around your waist, but the complete darkness of the mad ocean did not allow you to see whether it was the Angel of Life or Death. Amber stars broke into flames, their melancholy reflected in the eyes in front of you.

And then you woke up. 

Ocean waves, those waves that had resembled merciless snakes in Medusa’s hair only a few hours ago, now were softly caressing your toes. The sun was white at its Zenith, and the sand felt so very real with its salty smell. Hydrangea petals in your palm were whispering secrets, but the ocean wind swallowed those sounds.

My soul is blessed with your presence.

But also

I wish I could forget these feelings.   

From that time you acquired a habit of coming to the shore every single day. Perhaps, that night was a dream, but then you strove for the dream to be night. Because that was the only way you could meet your savior with a hydrangea flower blooming in his chest.  

At some point, anger conquered your mind. Why should kindness  always exist in secret? Your helplessness was irritating, and it was irritation that made you kick that tiny seashell. Instead of a loud bump, however, you heard soft chuckles.  

“Where are you?” you cried while shaking like a sail in the storm.

The laughter repeated, although there was no joy in it. Putting your ear to the seashell, you could hardly sense a wave splash, and then there was that voice that held all the sadness of the world. 

“My soul is empty, and my life carries no hope. You’d better leave me.” 

“If your soul is empty, then take what my soul is full of. If your life carries no hope, then find it in me.”

“...when the moon turns as bright as the sun.”

Withered hydrangea in your pocket turned into a golden dash. 

That night the moon was as bright as the midnight sun. The sand crunched under somebody’s feet. Counting your heart’s every beat, you turned around only to sink into the cerise glare of the setting sun. The man in front of you smiled, and it felt cruel. 

“My name is Charles-Henry. Are you waiting for me? ” 

His POV

Legend has it that nobody in the world can be more beautiful than mermaids. Their voices are sweet as honey, their gaze reflects the wisdom of eternity. And yet among all creations of the Heavens it is hard to find a creature more horrible and hideous than a mermaid. Sea runs through their veins, flowers bloom in their chests. With the last petal a mermaid’s soul leaves its body, turning into snow foam.

Pathetic creatures.

Meeting with you was written in the stars, but dear Gods, oh how he prayed to never see your face. You, weak little human who fought against ancient nature. Silly, brave, beautiful creature. There was more honor in your defeat than in his entire being.  

Dazai, that’s how the creature called himself, pressed your tiny body to his chest, knowing full well that the blooming flower in it was already shedding its petals. 

Your stubbornness touched Dazai but at the same time worried him. His efforts to push you back were all in vain. Warm ocean waves  that drenched your clothes. Baby jellyfish, they didn't even know how to sting properly. Slimy water plants. Nothing worked.

One day you almost fell into the ocean, slipping on the slippery pier. He had to let it happen. To make you give up on him. But Dazai raised his arm, forcing waves to catch you and push to the shore. 

What if you were still afraid of the ocean?

Creatures like him deserved neither love nor compassion. They were Gods’ first Galatea, only a mere resemblance of the true perfection. That was the law he thought he was ready to defend. 

“If your soul is empty, then take what my soul is full of. If your life carries no hope, then find it in me.”

Bade farewell to any roots of hope within your sorrow. For as it is the sibling of the grief. 

Evening clouds locked the sky in the gray cell, hiding the moonlight from the shore. Watching you from the boulder, Dazai was ready to join you in the anxious dance of walking back and forth, counting seconds before his revelation. Amber stars in his eyes were wavering with unspoken emotions, too deep to describe, too personal to share.  

Soon he would show himself to you. Leaving fears behind, bathing in your kindness and beauty. Maybe, even a creature like him was worth the chance? The clouds began to move. He was getting closer to the shore, holding in his hands a treasure. Splash of water. You signed. Dazai raised his hands, palms open. The treasure in them turned silver with the moon finally reining the night. 

“My name is Charles-Henry. Are you waiting for me? ” 

You didn't notice him, and your leaving shadow darkened Dazai’s soul**. The Hydrangea flower in his hand dropped its last petal, and the void in the creature’s chest suddenly was hurting. The ocean waves screamed, covering the silence of the lonely clown’s heart***.

“Wait, a clown?”

“My, but this is another story, right? Toshiko-chan…”

You raised your head, watching fire from the mansion’s fireplace throwing shadows on the writer’s face. Amber stars broke into flames, their melancholy reflected in the eyes in front of you.

*“So gleams the past, the light of other days,

Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays”

(Lord Byron Sun of the Sleepless!)

**“For quickly comes such knowledge — that his heart

Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw

That he was wretched, but. she saw not all.”

(Lord Byron The Dream)

***“But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart

The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.”

(Lord Byron I Speak Not)

[lost-in-reveriie]

you are pretty like; seashells, summer bike rides, statues, beach trips, snow angels, lace, butterflies in stomaches, messy buns, handwritten letters, lemonade, diaries, and dream catchers

ANON ILYSM PLEASE REVEAL WHO YOU ARE SO I CAN MARRY YOU <33333