happy birthday ida!!! 🥺 hope it’s as lovely as you are
it definitely has been very lovely, thank you my fellow aries babeyyy <3 love u.
happy birthday ida!!! 🥺 hope it’s as lovely as you are
it definitely has been very lovely, thank you my fellow aries babeyyy <3 love u.
🌿 “ 𝐢 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, um . . . ” the bowl of freshly cut strawberries is hastily placed on the surface closest to him. the demeter cabin seems smaller with another body in its walls. she can feel shift in the air, too ; nature adapting to having another piece of demeter. ( she isn’t particularly close with their siblings. andromeda suspects they think strangely of her —- for what reasons she can’t possibly figure out. is she not of earth and blood just like them ? ) she wonders if he will be different – if he will accept her offering, the bowl she so gently scoot forward once more, and allow the southern hospitality to claim him as victim. andromeda perches on the corner of her bed, idle smile clearly hoping for some kind of conversation. “ are you sleepin’ alright here ? i can help jessie quit snorin’ if it keeps you up at all. i think the rest of us got used to it pretty quickly . . . ” / @lorelast liked for a starter.
you put so much effort into every character you write and it shows ❤️ some muses are just cora-core!
HOW’S MY DRIVING ? ( soccer mom mini-van edition )
aura... the gal to my pal... the galinda to my elphaba... there is no higher praise from you than saying there are muses that are simply "cora-core" you just can't spell aura without caura nbejnbyn but really i ADORE you with ever fiber of my being you are one of my favorite people on this dumb site and not only are you so eternally lovely but you also are so eternally talented
remember when we made faerie oc's like we can fix him (acotar) ... and now we're actively writing muses from acotar
I'm gonna be honest, I was going to make a ' you're weak / I'm you ' meme for both those ships but that would imply that one of them is worse than the other
THIS IS A VERY OLD STORY, AND LIKE MANY OLD STORIES, IT REPEATS ITSELF like the blooming of moonflowers under the waning crescent ; the change of nature like the shedding of infinity. there is a fox, and it enters where it should not. it is a thief that slinks under a hood made of night - cloaks and dimming starlight where it filters between the trees like raining silver. here the leaves against the stark contrast of the moon curl inward like shy lovers and become sickles of blades. that is a kind of romance in itself, but the fox has never cared for such things ; he has lived lives longer than the bands of trees wrapping around themselves in embraces. his eyes have seen the breaking of the sun in half long before it will even begin. he continues, the padded boots of his feet working silently through the foliage. he is thankful enough too that his claws and sharp reflexes allow him to climb the boughs and brambles of the spring trees as easily as a rogue, though his mind is not far from mischief. in the dim evening, the peerless moon’s large white eye catches a glimpse of his sly form through the leaves, and beneath the tuft of hair that encloses his right ear lies a streak of solid and unmistakable silver.
they trees are rose coloured and temporary in their beauty, mortal lives dressed in the finery of the april months. they whisper ————— airgead - gruaig, you infringe in your greed. and his greed scoffs at them regardless of loveliness, their pistils like lips and parting mouths. he rushes past their teasing and childish immaturity until he comes across a small light burning in glass, fireflies and their essence in jars to illuminate however dimly the spectre of her room. the wind follows her even to her chambers, her skin fair like the bark of birch and just as the breaking before their summertimes. her hair, carnation hue ————— like the facsimile of his auburn.
keen - eyed and crosshair - gazed is the sight of @lorelast ( as ferelith ) that she spots the fox of them by the opening of the window into the night. try as they might to pass as too clever for their own good.
a sigh breaks through the fox’s snout and they step forward, their blackened and lithe boots disappearing under the ever expanding slim of their garb that falls before their body like a curtain. until his face recedes into itself and his red hair grows ever paler, the fireflies golden light rendering it grey. claws pull back into hands and the bones set into place, but the eyes dark and cunning remain ever the same. ❛ sharp eyes, huntress. are the vulpines the hunt now for your season ? ❜ their voice is not weak but it no longer boasts of the strength they once had. they still see the glint of their matching white hair sliding like a snake underneath the back of her neck. ❛ I … had come to check for your welfare yet do not ask pardon for my trespassing. our circumstances that demand correspondence, so easily intercepted, is not an option. ❜
trying to choose from our 500 ships like
dw I gotchu with the other one
i felt like the wine glass was on point so
I AM BEYOND WORDS WITH MY LOVE FOR YOU !!! happy valentine’s day to my fairytale rival and frenemy i shall cherish this card daily
A MICROCOSM OF EVERY POINT OF DIFFERENCE . the shared room seemed to breathe life into the contrast . red of rose mingling with the darkest part of the forest . her vanity is an arrangement of careful chemistry , as the magic is a live thing licking at her fingertips escaping at the most inopportune moments . whatever she touched could become either weapon or wonderment at the drop of a hat ( maddie had suggested gloves once ) but she already feared fate enough , why add her own power to the list ? the prospect of a potential hex or wayward poison did not halt the curiosity of her dorm mate . there is a touch of her in every corner of the room . THE BLACK WOOD FURNISHINGS HAD IN FACT BEEN A DESIGN DETAIL OF HER OWN MAKING . raven herself was not very taken with the obvious implications of the sinister flair to her belongings but she did not have the heart to change them either .
✱ apple ( @lorelast ) appears behind her , reflected in the mirror's surface ━ a marriage of platinum and porcelain , ❛ your things are so well arranged . ❜ she gazes down at the bottles of fragrances and the tubes of lipstick arranged by hue .
❛ they have to be . ❜ with a sigh the princess concedes pushing back from the polished tabletop , suddenly caught in the curtain of pale hair that fell over her in waves . the daughter of snow , aromatic as her namesake though a tinge further saccharine ━ she would have known her without the aid of a looking glass before her . ❛ i accidentally mixed my potions with my perfumes the other day and gave briar warts for a whole afternoon by accident . ❜ the situation seemed almost humorous now yet the sorceress only felt shame in causing the misery of another ( too much like the handiwork of her mother ) there was nothing she loathed more than living up to expectation . ❛ i think it's safe to say you shouldn't borrow things without asking , especially from me . ❜ a cautionary tale in every facet , it rang out too close to retribution ━ a punishment she had no intention of doling out .
love your blog big fan.. been watching from a distance for awhile and i think we should interact
sorry I don't accept rp requests from asks try again next time
❛ if you came here to gloat, ❜ gabriel doesn’t look up at first, he would know the annoying presence of will herondale anywhere. but tonight he has no snark. the energy has been drained from his corpse after his father’s death. everyone at the institute hated his father, some of them hated him too. at least he was sure of it. lips press together into a thin line. maybe if he says the right thing, the other person would leave the room and he’d be alone again. just as he felt.
❛ i’m certain there is someone in this institute there’d be more thrilled to see you than me. perhaps your sister. ❜ the better herondale. cecily, she strikes his mind every now and then. maybe she didn’t hate him yet, but she probably would. gabriel finally looks up at the other. ❛ seriously, @lorelast . don’t you have something better to do than stand around and gloat ? ❜
THERE IS A CERTAIN WAY THE STARS DANCE ABOUT THE FIRMAMENT, AND A GREAT LENGTH of study at the college of kingsbury dictated that they too are a kind of peoples, with their own language and concept of togetherness in what they would have called constellations. their lack of a heart burns their chest in that way, where it sits in the hearth of the home instead and takes a consciousness and another name as a kind of curse. there were lovers who had said that they were quite like celestial bodies ( and such is the laugh like a birdsong in the morning, barely flushing under the weight of many a compliment like so ) but it does not sound the same from her lips. something possesses them much like a spirit crawling into the spectre of their body : the urge to kiss her lips, and how it is so easy to surrender against it !
they are dancing like lovers should be doing when @lorelast ( as sophie ) becomes quite the remarkable poet : you were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen.
❛ really, now ————— a compliment ? you must have cast a spell on me when no one was looking ! ❜ the night on the deck of the castle climbs high upon the turrets like a graceful gymnast ; in the distance the phonograph swells into a waltz as michael snoozes soundly on the porch armchair. this is what peace should feel like ————— perhaps he had been so unlucky to never have had it for as long as he so believed. the greatest trick a wizard can pull is believing that he himself is without vulnerability, yet here is his own heart swaying under the sky with her hair in a silvery sheen like the glaze of winter upon water, swirling mist with the clumsiness of a young woman at her first may dance.
a hand reaches above her and twirls her in a circle before returning her to their embrace, the braid tied neatly around her hair surrounding her as a baton ribbon. ❛ I’ll do you one better. you are incomparable to every star in the sky, and I’ve studied them all. ❜ the texture of her hands is still marked with needle calluses and the scuffs of maid work that had permeated everything about her lineage but they loved it all the same. his head shakes in a raven’s disagreement, a smile only an ( alleged, or so she loved to correct ) heart - eater could give his beloved. ❛ my sophie, my darling. my guiding moonlight. ❜
you have a lot of audacity writing as good as you do
IT CONJURES UP THE IMAGE OF INFINITY, THE SNAKE EATING ITS OWN TAIL in a descent that never ceases ; a whirlpool of a shape. she remembers every step and shelf and crevice as a memory, a crease in her hands or the fold in her fingers, and they carefully reach up to slot a book in its proper place like the world breathing in order. the candlelight burns low here in the land of night, where it is most beautiful. ( and the women of the temple would have looked up at these stars and wondered where they had been sculpted, for sangravah never had such evenings like this. )
she does not allow her sorrow to dig its sharp teeth into her heart, the features of her face stilling as she was taught to do for ceremonies or banquets. but the shadows shift in the form of a man by the corner, though it is a thing of mystery that he does not escape her notice where his own presence eludes everything else as water does. the light seems to touch his face kindly in a kind of caress, and she smiles sweetly to tuck the remaining books under her arm. she did find herself fond of the lightning scar shapes that traced rivers over the skin of his hands.
the shadows dream of the silhouette of @lorelast ( as azriel ) , a distant memory they sketch with fondness. perhaps what she sees now is an ouroboros of it.
❛ are you looking for something in particular ? though I must say, it’s a little late for midnight reading. ❜
∗ 21﹕ what is one thing you love about your muse , & one thing you dislike ?
replied to this earlier but i'm going to give you a new answer. i love ishtar's dumb accent and getting to invent really obscure expressions. just her being a weird little swamp lady who likes rocks and still manages to charm people because she is Like That, charming and weird and mesmerizing. i do hate the way she tends to treat people because it's often evident she doesn't care about them and well. it makes me feel bad because i don't want people to think i don't like their muse. it's just that ishtar is an asshole sometimes. but this is a hate/love situation. i love her being an asshole, i just hate having to convey it through my writing agsbhsj
coming back home had been an experience itself. tricking the darkling, helping out alina, getting her back to ravka, back behind palace walls. and now they were here, and he was growing fond of her. more and more every day. he had found an ally in her, a trusted friend. it had been time for them both to dine with his family, including his insufferable older brother. he made nikolai feels angry and embarrassed more often than not, but he had learned through the years to accept it. to play nice and diplomatic. that way no one got hurt. except sometimes his patience. vasily’s ignorance didn’t wound him anymore. nikolai was no longer the little child that looked for his brother’s affection or attention.
@lorelast : ❛ we were not made to please princes. ❜
the dinner finishes and he insists on walking alina back to her chambers in the little palace. even if tolya and tamar had been just as capable of doing so. he smiles when she speaks, the urge to remind her that he too is a prince appears. ❛ is that why you agree to all the dinners at the little palace ? ❜ he taunts her back, there’s a smile on his features. a hand runs through his blonde hair, brushing back a couple of curls. ❛ i do not think you were made to please anyone, alina. you were made differently. that’s what i like about you. ❜ but he certainly hadn’t been made to please his brother, he had to build himself that way.
his head had been buried within the books. he needed a way to make the new machines work without exploding. the king, nikolai had dragged him out of the laboratory and back to the little palace. back to his wife’s sweet embrace. he liked working there too, even if the scent of her perfume was distracting the tip of his nose.
@lorelast : ❛ you are brilliant , and that’s the truth . ❜
words are spoken and they snap him out of his working frown. brown eyes look up, seeing her beautiful form, face ever so gracefully framed by her burning red locks. enough to make his heart do something funny inside of his chest. hand reaches out for her, gently brushing his fingertips down the sleeves of her kefta. ❛ you, genya, are brilliant. and beautiful. but so smart. i’m lucky to be yours. ❜ he wasn’t a man of many words, but he knew she was worth every single word, he knew no paragraph would ever hold his love. there would be no words in the world that could wrap around the feelings he had for her, the great respect and love he held in his heart for this one woman. ❛ is this you telling me to come to bed ? ❜ it’s a blunt and honest question. he wouldn’t take the hint if it had been meant as one.
16, 18, 24...39! is that enough are we good
✱ welcome to my kitchen: toss me a number
𝟏𝟔 . is there a recognizable pattern in your taste in characters ? witch girls . did someone say witch girls ? i feel like at this point it is physically impossible for me to write a female muse that doesn't have a power of some sort or a supernatural affinity towards nature . there are so many ways to interpret a witch and it is such a loaded word and classification . witch shifts with cultural context , time period , region it is such a broad term and it begs to be defined . i like the possibility of witch characters and the opportunity to draw the lines for where their capabilities begin and end and how much of their personality is their power or , more interestingly , how their power is their personality . aside from my broad assortment of witch girls i can't say there is another common thread on this blog . i used to say i only write Good Boys but i enjoy writing cardan too much to claim that anymore lol
𝟏𝟖 . which of your verses or arcs is your favorite to write about ? i love faerie verses , please just sue me . i think they can work for most muses especially since , as i stated above , many of my muses are already magically inclined so placing them beyond the veil in some capacity is never too difficult . as for broader arcs i'm all about narratives of self-acceptance . a close second to my witch girl agenda is my monster girl agenda and i cannot get away from constantly writing threads that force my muse to confront their true nature and learn to live with it … or perhaps wrestle with that process for years to come until it eventually eats away at them .
𝟐𝟒 . is there a specific song that gets you in the mood for writing ? i actually find it super difficult to focus on my writing while i listen to music . i can manage sometimes if it's instrumental music but besides that i usually can't get my thoughts down unless i am sitting in silence . it sucks because in theory i would like to be able to blast some mood music while i type through drafts but it usually ends up distracting me in the long run . this isn't to say that i don't have plenty of character playlists because i do !! i just listen to them before i start writing to hype myself up or even just for inspiration if i'm not exactly sure how i want to tackle a certain reply yet .
𝟑𝟗 . what would you say is the best faceclaim decision you’ve ever made ? faceclaims are actually something i don't really harp on much at all . i've never really seen the point in centering certain faceclaims as cornerstones of my portrayals . even for muses i do have faceclaims for i wouldn't say whoever i've picked is 100% how an envision said muse , especially since a lot of my muses do not have an actor portraying them in their respective pieces of media it is just my opinion on their visuals versus the internet lol . honestly this is a roundabout way of me saying i care more about writing a character well than picking a good faceclaim for them . that being said , i really enjoy dylan wan.g as cardan he simply has all the right vibes for my terrible son .
ok but 7, 17 and 35
send me stuff and I'll answer your questions with the best of my dumbass ability.
7 : WHAT CHARACTER / S DO YOU RELATE TO THE MOST ? uh, maybe eleanor because Mood if I’m honest. or zuko because aren’t we all just zuko inside.
16 : IS THERE A RECOGNISABLE PATTERN IN YOUR TASTE IN CHARACTERS ? well, [ opens my notes and checks them for an unecessarily long amount of time ] edgelords. or just, really intense but subtle characters. I like things like themes, and narratives.
35 : IS THERE A CHARACTER YOU CONSISTENTLY HAVE MUSE FOR ? it’s kind of dumb to say since I really am a bit of an idiot and can’t write smart characters to save my life, but sherlock is the easiest voice to emulate out of most of the roster that I have. his voice is so distinct and clear and his verbose vocabulary makes his dialogue pretty fun to write. a clear second is zuko, who just sounds like dante basco in my head permanently.
5 : what character have you never written , but have wanted to ?
there's a few that i've planned to write, but never actually gotten the chance to plot or sit down and Actually Write. dinah lance, harley quinn, yennefer of vengerberg, cirilla fiona elen riannon, padmé amidala, and i have an ungodly amount of muse for loba andrade and absolutely nowhere to put it
THE DARK SKY IS A FRIGHTENINGLY CLEAR MEMORY, WHERE THE ONLY SUN WAS A STREAK of fire that cut through the atmosphere like the sharpest of blades, slicing through the fabric of peace as easy as gossamer. how could he explain the rush of blood in his hands, a fire that burned within as without ? there are warning signs enough to brand it a dangerous weapon by itself, and that the crown that he now must wear upon his head in the wake of these cruel and wartime circumstances is half a pyrrhic victory. sunlight streams gently through the sloping clay roofs and sculpted tiles of the capital, its stones still marred and scorched by the black day before it. war ————— a blink of sparks and suddenly every memory is corrupted by some sick and blighted touch.
he remembers clear water in the shape of @lorelast ( as katara ) , a torrent and vulnerable if only for a moment.
his hand trembles as it pushes the folds of his zhiduo carefully aside, his ribcage still gripping his lungs painfully like the talons of a beast where his fingers brush the wrappings over his lightning wound. beneath the bandages and taut hold they have over his shoulders, the pain in his chest is one that permeates deeper than his heart. somewhere deep in the earth now sleeps a blue dragon that shares the name of his sister, while a red dragon curls up gently around his collarbones, snoring soundly and thinking on tea. somewhere a question is pinpoint and deadly like the shot of an arrow. but the sound of the doors rumbling quietly open does not escape his notice, nor does his shame. ( she will wish to ask why he did it. this is not a question they can both answer. )
❛ katara. ❜ the birds outside long to sing the name back. ❛ … how’s aang ? ❜