hello :p officially moving blogs now! trying my best to follow everyone here but just in case, the new blog is over at @shekofeh <3

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Keni

JVL
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Three Goblin Art

Product Placement
art blog(derogatory)
noise dept.
styofa doing anything
trying on a metaphor

@theartofmadeline
todays bird

tannertan36

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Cosmic Funnies

Kiana Khansmith
Misplaced Lens Cap
Show & Tell

★
Stranger Things
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@adamanteine
hello :p officially moving blogs now! trying my best to follow everyone here but just in case, the new blog is over at @shekofeh <3
going to be working on my drafts for the next few days so i can finally move to the new blog <3 i just had to work again on bank holiday but trust nothing will stop me
need to properly go into this one day but there is no verse where shams is not getting exploited and used by her family (minus khabib). she's exploited through her suffering, through the simple act of wanting to do good, through her connections with other people, and it shows in many different ways in different verses, but the fact remains the same. in her main verse her relationship with them may be decent, but it doesn't change the fact that she was a young woman who had the one thing, that ties her to both her ancestors and the mythical beings that they regain their energy from, taken from her (her wings and thus her connection to the dragons) + the aspect of having a substance infused in her that almost acted like a parasite and instead of her family looking into helping this young woman out through her healing process, they used her pain to get where they wish to be politically.
her father (and the rest of the lords) start a war based on this one event and sure, shams may have been part of said war, but there was heavy gaslighting and manipulation involved here. her mother parades her around the common folk for the first few weeks as a statement to show how the royal family needs to pay for what they have done, not because there was true care but because she saw the gain she would get from this politically. and throughout her life, this continues until she is able to take a stand, because even her choice of changing things around with her brother is used against them in a way they wouldn't be able to tell. it was a cycle that repeated itself in the first moments of her life that should have been vital for her. and this just gets repeated into different verses no matter whether it's modern or fantasy based because she was never a child but a shield trained to withstand whatever is thrown at her so her family can showcase how said shield is stronger than the rest
❝ perhaps you think that i am something i’m not. ❞ lansseax
it has been a very long time since last she scaled these heights. flying into the eye of the eternal storm, through the clouds of mortal dragons, parting in reverence. there is a heaviness to the ancient dragon's heart when she looks upon the crumbling stone. the signs of time eroding the very last remnants of a bygone age. it is perhaps too human a sentiment, this melancholy that stirs within her. it has been a very long time indeed.
in these temple halls, she trades stone for flesh. the silks of her garment are as illusiory and real both as her human form. such are the magicks that form the fabrics of reality, falling from her towering form in ivory pools lined by gilded threads. she traces with her palm the stone of what once was a lantern, its light long lost. the intricate engravings surrounding it, hewn by the hands of beastmen in reverence of the dragons, have chipped and their gold plating faded. not even stone can last forever.
like everything that remains of farum azula, this is a tomb.
"perhaps," lansseax answers idly, and the piercing gold of her eyes turns to the figure in front of her. perhaps we have all become something new, for we have been forgotten. how many souls are lost in the storm?
"tell me then, what it is you are, if you believe i have misjudged you."
she asks not in provocation.
"there are so few of us now. let us speak as sisters."
THE GREEN KNIGHT & @adamanteine
it's in moments like these where her her circuits burst to life, unravelling like a tapestry from her nerve ends to her fingertips, like parchment burning in a straight line. her existence is a play on memorabilia: a forceful puppetry of sentiments that gather in particular locations, in the objects surrounding it, short bursts of lighting and particularly strong wavers of the soul. powerful memories leave their mark. she can dig them out and breathe them to life, speak with eye accounts that would otherwise be lost. the dead, the living, witnesses just moments after the sighting, their memories still fresh. a life proficient in existing for a mere purpose. to use it to mend a grief that is not her own is frowned upon. unheard of, really. beings matter until they die, after which they don’t, they are better left forgotten. but what if they are reborn again? and what if the soul is anything but the body's? she's not quite sure if it's her own thoughts that keep her thinking of this reality now.
the word sisters repeats itself in her head now, forming a twitch of her lips. funnily enough, it's a surprise to hear her voice, like a single bloom in an eternity. ❛ i shall only speak the truth here. i am not quite sure. ❜ but she supposes none of them are anymore. her head tilts, her eyes burning with something she dare not speak aloud. ❛ it seems my body and soul aren't quite fond of each other. one wishes for me to stay here and the other wishes for a life where it does not belong anymore. ❜ a hum. ❛ what would you make of that, then? ❜ this is a tomb indeed. and it is hers. she cannot help it, after all. when she closes her eyes sometimes, it feels like she is being spoken to by the very stone surrounding her, calling her closer day by day. perhaps it is a promise or merely a warning, but why does it matter now, anyhow? ❛ do you still believe you've judged me correctly? ❜ it is now that she truly speaks as a sister: ❛ how silly, whatever am i awaiting? ❜ she stares in lansseax's eyes now. ❛ was it you? ❜
" mm. i don't do these types of things for free these days. have you any coin? " / @adamanteine, sc.
she stares blankly at him, meets his expression head on. she's not sure what to say at first, but she chooses otherwise, however, and opts for a gentle smile. ❛ ah. ❜ she hums. ❛ you are a funny man, i'll admit. perhaps one thing the rumors say about you might be true. ❜ her hand moves slowly. she's not used to being in her physical form for this long, making it feel like she's a set of illusions sputtering out, one after the other. shams looks at her palms, furls her fingers inwards, unfurls them again, her eyes flickering with thought. she doesn't mind it, though. her eyebrow raises slowly. ❛ sure, i have coin. ❜ humankind is always interesting, she likes to tell herself. ❛ how thrilling, truly. i expected something different. ❜
they hold on to their secrets with clenched fists, the two of them in a curated silence, where they notice, the princess slips into a meandering thought, and all leitha can do is stare. they watch, momentarily, as she brews the tea, meticulous, methodical in movements, one never out of place, trained, delicate, a reminder of a higher place, something stirring back home. causes remembrance, a recollection of the type of person they used to be around, someone aware, someone disciplined, someone careful, a lump swallowed harshly down their throat. it makes them sink lower in their chair, faintly, only when it's ensured the other cannot see, when her back is turned to them does their shoulders slide out from their tension, does their back rest against the chair. the first semblance of relaxation hits the lunar mage, a furrowed brow and tense jaw falls slack ━ for they are never safe, but here, with her, is this facade able to ever so bravely, slip. the moons gleaming &. unclouded face smiles in encouragement, peaking through silken sheets in obstruction, as their meeting, forbidden and secluded.
SLEEP IS A WARY COMPANION. perked upright at the mere passing thought of violence, jumping to its full height at the sound of cracking timber, shivering when a gust of wind blows an iota harsher than most. it is ready to pounce, always aware and heightened, moving onto the next sleepless second &. forgetting about the present and its importance: sleep had always loved to be chased. and chase leitha did not, rather, encourage the mage always had, to slip further and further into a settled, familiar paranoia. the deciding factor for many thousands of dreamless nights, for the fear that the mystic seer would find them in this trance filled void, speak her visions for the starred elf to prophesize. and they are no prophet. ❛ merely, restless? you have much on your mind? ❜ the other does not need to speak for leitha to understand, the turmoils of these lands they have seen with their own eyes. but continue they do, to crack away at the presented ice sculpture, tactfully chipping at its elusive exterior.
a tentative pause when she glances at their hands, and when she does, leitha stares at the simmering tea cup, as if it was the most interesting thing in her royals room. to be perceived, like this, analyzed and doctored, it makes the lump form heavier in their throat. ❛ no, i - i can explain. ❜ the hot liquid forces the silence down their chest, a shrug given, an attempt at indifference. ❛ it was ... during a war. long ago. a plague struck, and i became sick. it gave me, abilities. different ones than i already had. it made me stronger in some ways, but ... sick. sometimes, something will happen and it makes it worse, i get really, desperately, disordered. disoriented. it hurts, a lot. as it does now. ❜ they rub their palms together, their fingers ache when they do so. ❛ it itches. when it is, inflamed like this. i know you can not truly fix it. but i wish for your aid. in whatever way you think it best. i just ... ❜ their voice, small it is, softened it is, hidden from its usual cadence dips into a place of ineptness. ❛ you are my only option. ❜
the weight of sleep always presses against her mind like a fog. she would sit up, the silence around her thick and unnatural, and there would be no sound, not even the faint stir of wind or the hum of life that usually filled the palace. when she awakes, she always ignores how foreign her own room felt, how cold, and pulls herself out of bed, her bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. she will manage to dress herself with the clothes in her closet before she will leave the confines of her quarters. when she thinks of it, it almost sounds like a nightmare. or perhaps, it is simply the reality she finds herself in now. ever since she left the home her family has built, the halls felt different, unfamiliar. the once gleaming floors were dulled, figures passing her and in her head, it was followed by a mocking laugh that echoed behind. at her, that is. she knows her lack of sleep here has more to do with where she sleeps and why she isn't sleeping. her head shakes softly at them, smile evident. ❛ ah, nothing quite appeases the mind like a thought after the other. ❜ she hums. ❛ but it is nothing to worry about. ❜
her head tilts at leitha's answer, a flicker of a memory playing in her mind. i became sick. it gave me abilities. what was history if not an event repeating itself over and over? it's hilarious, truly. it reminds her of the days when she would hide away in her chambers, too afraid of the new magic she had received. she remembers how she looked nothing like the woman she is now. no, some had called her disheveled, unhinged even. the sinister gleam in her eyes used to be an omen for something that will never change, something so sharp and so erratic. and as untethered as it made her feel, she remembers that where there is a will, there is a way. centuries later she is still standing here, her eyes no more teetering on the edge of sorrow. and she vows to make sure they get to speak of the same tale. it is truly when they look at them, that she feels a specific sense of peace that seemed to settle among everyone as the sun gave over to the power of the moon, a peace that almost felt tangible on her skin. ❛ i understand, more than what you might think. ❜
she moves towards them, steps careful and calculated. ❛ very well. like i said, i cannot fully remove it but i can change the energy so the itchiness no longer remains. ❜ a pause. ❛ but perhaps it is not something that needs to be fixed. perhaps it is now part of you and your body, used to a specific set of abilities, is trying to adapt to this change. our bodies are never our enemies, after all. ❜ she sighs softly, leaning against the chair, when suddenly she feels it— a presence behind her. she knows it is no person, but a ripple of heat, a familiar energy brushing against the edge of her awareness. it was unmistakable. for something so vibrant, so impossible for her to ignore, there was a certain energy that moved around her like a ghost, like a spirit waiting to be awakened. stealthy, quiet, as though the fire in its essence had learned how to hide in the shadows. this was the energy she felt around leitha. she knows it quite well. ❛ let's start with the pain first, shall we? that is my main priority at the moment. ❜ she extends her arm. ❛ will you give me your hand? whenever you're ready. ❜
“ in truth, i may have been frightened... scared to confront my own father. ”
@adamanteine, sc.
her smile is a careful thing. the words are an echo in the state of decay. there is an endless ringing in her ears. it must have been an act of cruelty and mercy in one and perhaps that is simply the justification of violence. it doesn't matter, either way, the difference between both. ❛ it seems that you were afraid to confront yourself as well, then. ❜ the last of her humanity floods through her veins. it is storming somewhere, but not here. she can hear it, somehow, the thunder a distant sign of what is to come. she tilts her head, fingers laced together. ❛ but death is not the end. the air around you still carries something. perhaps not a soul, but another closeness that means something to you. that ties you together. ❜ a pause. ❛ when the morrow will pass, the gray skies shall twist into black and even the stars will not grant you his presence. ❜ her eyes drift away for a mere moment. ❛ you ought to hold on to it. ❜
food as shams' love language is very important to me. they all come in the form of: here, i washed these strawberries for you. i made you rice and chicken. eat more, eat until full. here’s a little pastry i picked up for you. here, i'll make you some tea. i picked up your favorite snacks. each is intertwined with an i love you. to me <3
this look from marina sena? exactly
wanna do something controversial (remake) but i will choose peace first
thinking about this for a while now but i think shams’ ability to enter parallel universes through the portals in mount qaf is perfect for crossovers
𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙎𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙇𝙔 𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙈𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙈𝙔 𝘼𝙋𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙔. a selective and independent portrayal of WEDNESDAY ADDAMS as resurrected by 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖆.
just wanted to publicly drool over your pinned my friend, IT IS STUNNING! SHAMS IS STUNNING! YOUR SKILLS ARE OFF THE ROOF!!
DEAXXXX stop it thank you that means so much to me :( you’re always the sweetest!!! but so true shams is stunning my pretty princess
need everyone to know that this is how insane i am about finishing up my lore carrd
in the cluster of woods behind the borders of where everyone else might be, right by a slow - flowing creek, stands a bellowing chestnut tree. it's where she'd go on mornings following particularly grueling days, seeking its soothing seclusion: the branches and their leaves offering coverage for the rainfall the lower city is so prone to in the summer, prickly fruits dropping to the ground with the coming of each autumn. her head turns slowly, eyes focusing on lae'zel. it almost makes her laugh. ❛ calm yourself. you're not here so i may kill you. ❜ a hum. ❛ although, if the thought excites you this much, we can figure a way to make it happen. ❜ it's all said in jest, of course, but she says it nonetheless. they're here for a different reason. the air smells of rain, earthy and thick, something uprooted and on the cusp of ripening. the leaves of the chestnut tree are weighty with droplets, branches swaying with the breeze and dropping the hard - shelled fruits of its labor towards the ground, some of them breaking open upon impact and revealing sunset - brown chestnuts.
on her right is the creek, close to overflowing, streams of water sloshing against the rocks barely peeking up from the surface— her shoes wet with dirt and moss. her heart feels heavy with memories, the sun obscured by clusters of clouds and the whole world's dyed in monochrome, like a flickering, slow - playing story. Then her gaze shifts and she's looking her up and down, no hint of anything hound in her gaze, only ample curiosity and something more respectful. she looks her in the eyes when she speaks, her voice the picture of the sun: ❛ the picture is getting clearer now, but it doesn't mean it's easy to look at. ❜ it must have been difficult to stare her lich - queen in the eyes and make the choice she did. the branches of the chestnut tree sway lazily behind her, like sweet - smelling corpses hung out to dry, the air thick with the scent of wet wood. the times is coming soon, for both the party and for her. ❛ i figured it would be a nice idea to bring you here. it's a lovely view. ❜ she pauses. ❛ i used to come here oft before i was placed into the statis. i have to say i'm grateful it hasn't changed much. ❜
starter call, @chmarva.
often times i like to say shams’ eyes are big and brown but in the sense that unless she controls her expression she just looks like an owl with an intense focus
head exploding at the possibilities of the extended thoughts i have for the urban fantasy verse….. coming for you all soon