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Cosimo Galluzzi
No title available
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
ellievsbear
macklin celebrini has autism
hello vonnie
todays bird
Mike Driver
No title available
shark vs the universe
Love Begins
occasionally subtle
if i look back, i am lost
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
No title available
pixel skylines
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
RMH
oozey mess
seen from Germany
seen from Switzerland
seen from Ecuador
seen from Jamaica
seen from Chile
seen from Uruguay
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Vietnam
seen from Argentina
seen from Germany
seen from Portugal
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from Mexico
seen from Spain
seen from Türkiye
seen from Egypt
@astrifervs
#ASTRIFERVS ──── a tiny spark / a guide in the dark. a private, fandom unaffiliated, heavily headcanon-based, low-activity multimuse. incredibly slow replies, muse list subject to change as i see fit.
AN EXPLORATION IN ... a heart beating with the brilliance of the stars, a listless hero searching the cosmos, a spirit blazing like a fallen sun ──── looking towards a new dawn.
carrd underco.
a closed starter for @stellifrous <3
TIME HAS PROVEN TIME AND TIME AGAIN, ANTEROS. THE MORTALS KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO ──── CRADLE THEIR HEARTS IN YOUR HANDS [...] AND RAGE.
she dreams of 𝖇utterflies that night : of tapestries of burnt amber and smoldering obsidian, of a kaleidoscope of iridescence, and of a field of sunlit petals. in the warm glow of the sun, no harsh or cold tones were anywhere to be found painting the strands of her hair. instead, lily is found amongst the butterflies, following the twin black threads of their antennas with her wide eyes as they flutter into a murmuration. she knows this is a dream, it can only be a dream, and yet she feels every brush of the grass against her bare feet as she treads forward ──── following their given trail.
they swirl & twirl & unfurl to unveil an ever—changing figure.
“ it’s been a while, hasn’t it? oh, look at you lily! ” the voice is 𝓓issonant, its coo was something she had to try and not wince at. “ come closer, dearest. it’s so hard to see you when you’re so far. come now, i don’t bite. ”
the figure continues to change. it’s a whiplash of images, difficult to discern and even harder to follow. lily’s foot steps forward without a single hesitation.
the words compel her.
it called her by name, little whispers in her ears. its warm fingers pulled at her limbs, beckoning her to crawl ──── to fulfill whatever the voice wanted. those papilionoidea continue to fly, circling the figure’s face. their hand finally fall onto her shoulders, and lily is overwhelmed with a sense of ℒove, putty in that tender touch.
“ i haven’t much time, so listen well, dearest. ” belatedly, she thinks, oh… it’s mom. dazed in her own dream, lily tries hard to focus on the discordant voices becoming harmonious. “ you must find him. he’s gone 𝓜ad. zeus has forbade me to see him, a punishment for stealing his new nymph, i’m sure —— ah, off—track. but you need to do this, i’ve already bribed apollo to bring me a quest to give. now wake, lily, do me proud. ”
the press of soft lips ’pon her crown is a stark difference to the violent way she’s pulled out of sleep. papilionoidea wings bat against her visage, forcing pearly whites to bite down & eyes to squeeze shut. ( if you blink, you’ll miss! ) and just like that, the ground ’neath her feet give way to the unhinged maws of bottomless darkness.
she falls & falls & falls & falls & ────
“ oh gods … ” lily groans, body half—sprawled from bunk to pink fuzzy carpet. “ what just … ? i didn’t even get to catch a butterfly … ” she kicks off her blankets, fully committing to the floor when she sees lace—trimmed fabric hanging off the edge of the bed and yanks it down with her. soft, brown optics studied the embroidery and already, her mind’s spinning to try and decipher the cursive letters.
the little 𝓓ove will work in two
to find the maze that leaves hearts askew,
with storm in hand, don’t waste your breath,
𝒜venger’s truth will seal your ────
the last word evades her, the silken fabric pulled out her hands. “ oh, this is so cute!! i’ll trade you my ribbon for this, i know you’ve been eyeing it. ” corina giggles, body laid across her own bed with the strange handkerchief in hand. she waves it, almost taunting. ugh. why’d she have to be such an early bird? “ there’s hand stitching in this too! where’d you even get this? ”
vigor ʳᵉignites her sleep addled muscles, bringing lily to her feet as she shrieked and pulled the silk back. “ you can’t just take my stuff like that! we’ve talked about this, ’rina!! ”
“ you said next time we’d trade! ”
“ well, i didn’t agree ──── !! ”
“ girls. it’s too early for this nonsense, ” drew grumbles loud enough to cut in, pulling the soft pillow over her face. “ give back that stupid scrap and shut the fuck up. go back to sleep or get out. ”
the handkerchief is kept tucked away in her pocket. out of 𝓼ight & out of mind. it stays with her the entire day, up until the sun’s peak worries her skin with UV rays and as always, her presence is found next to summer at the pavilion.
“ okay, so let’s say you get like a really weird dream and then you wake up with something you’ve never owned before with words stitched into it and it rhymes? ” she asked, words spilling faster than she can take it back or rethink another way to ask. lily digs it out of her pocket, slamming it onto the table.
( she doesn’t tell summer that the sewn in vermillion strand was tampered with, that she pulled the last two lines out. )
“ it’s gotta be a quest, right? ” she continued, looking for affirmation. “ and it even calls for two!! i don’t trust anyone half as much as i do you, so … what do you think? you'll come with me, won't you? i—i'll handle everything else, i just need someone to have my back. ”
that voice did not belong to the tent . it slipped into the dim like something carried on memory rather than air , soft enough that he thought it might have risen from his own thoughts . the canvas above him sagged in tired folds , shadows pooling in the seams where lamplight had once been . without the maesters bustling , without hands prodding and cloth tightening , the silence felt thick . almost watchful .
' ser … ? '
his good eye lifted slowly , dragging against the stiffness of dried blood and swelling . the other remained sealed shut , a dark weight that pulsed in time with his heartbeat . the world was halved . light on one side . nothing on the other . depth uncertain . edges wavering . for a moment , he did not see her . he saw instead the field as it had been hours before──── … churned earth , torn grass , banners snapping against a merciless sky . he remembered the first time he thought he’d seen her that day . near the edge of the stands . cloth drawn low over her hair . too still amongst the shifting bodies and bright silks . he had blinked once … a single blink to clear sweat from his lashes . she vanished .
the second time had been worse . steel had rung against steel , helm had glanced hard against his temple , and the world had narrowed to noise and heat and breath torn from his lungs . through the blur he had seen her again──── walnut eyes across chaos , fixed on him as though she could hold him upright by sheer will . and then another blow had fallen , and white had swallowed everything whole .
he had told himself it was the strike . men saw ghosts when their skulls were struck hard enough──── ser arlan told him as much .
the tent rustled faintly now , the flap shifting as if nudged by wind … or by someone stepping through it . his gaze struggled to focus , swimming before settling on a shape that did not dissolve this time . familiar . far too close to be memory . she moved nearer . the scent of iron lingered in the tent , stubborn . mingling with dried herbs and stale canvas . he became aware of his own breathing again──── ... shallow , tight , bound by linen wrapped too firmly around cracked ribs . each inhale scraped . each exhale trembled slightly before leaving him .
when her thumb brushed his cheek , it was so light he almost mistook it for the ghost of another thought . but it was warm . warm enough that the sensation travelled through him slower than pain , deeper than the ache in his bones . his brow furrowed faintly , pulling at fresh stitches . if this was a fevered imagining , it was cruel in its gentleness . if his mind had splintered beneath steel , it had chosen her voice to haunt him . he hoped the seven were kinder than that …
oh , you fool ...
dunk did not answer at once . his heart could not bare accepting this without another one of his senses to confirm , he had no more blind faith to spare . so , he watched her as one might watch a distant shoreline through fog , unsure if it would hold shape or fade with the shifting of light . he felt detached from his own limbs , as though he occupied his body only partially . as though some part of him remained out there on the field still , kneeling in the dirt with a dying prince in his arms .
slowly , he lifted one hand from his knee . the movement was clumsy . heavy . his shoulder protested with a dull grind , and he nearly stopped there . halfway between doubt and need . his fingers hovered in the air between them , suspended . because if he reached and found nothing … if his hand closed on emptiness , if she flickered out the way she had before──── then he would know that the blow had taken something from him that could not be bound with linen . and he was not certain he could bear another loss tonight .
his fingers moved the rest of the way , brushing against the sleeve of her dress . cloth met skin . there was resistance . weight . warmth beneath it . he stilled immediately , as though any sudden motion might frighten the moment into dissolving . his hand did not grasp . it rested there , tentative , testing the truth of her existence . his good eye lifted to her face again , searching with quiet intensity .
when he finally spoke , his voice was low and hoarse , roughened by dust and restraint . “ … i saw you . ” the words scraped out of him slowly . he paused to draw another shallow breath , wincing as the binding bit into his ribs . “ thought i did . ” his gaze did not leave her now . “ twice . ” a faint swallow . dry . uncertain . “ or maybe i was … seein' things . i don't know wish i'd prefer , i hope you saw the good . and turned away for the bad . ”
there was no accusation in him . no demand for explanation . only confusion laid bare . if she had been there , then she had seen everything ; the blood , the fall , the way baelor had sagged in his grasp like a felled oak . and if she had not … then perhaps it was The Mother making herself known amidst knightly bloodshed . his fingers remained against her sleeve , unmoving , as if he feared the slightest shift would prove him a fool .
his voice caught on the first word , dry and fractured , as though unused for something so gentle . “ how────how is your finger , my lady . “
the question lingered strangely between them , small and misplaced in a tent that still smelled faintly of iron and bruised flesh . of princes and consequences . it would have made more sense to ask why she had come . or why she had watched . or why she had not fled with the rest of her kin . instead , this was what rose to the surface of him . her finger . the memory returned in pieces ; her hand bloodied , struck for daring to ' mock ' the dragon . he remembered the sound of it more than the sight . the sound of shared panic . the careless cruelty . he had stepped forward then without thinking . simple as that . a wrong done in front of him … he defeneded the innocent , as any true knight must . if such a thing even existed .
HEART CAUGHT IN HER THROAT, tanselle’s woolen sleeve, half an inch too long in the hastiness of a disguise, conducted the impossible task of pulling away from him. it was an effort valiantly fought, however lost in the end; and she is coalesced into ser dunk’s orbit, and in this new space, there is a remarkable dilation in time. he does not coax her, no pull on the fabric to close the sliver of air between them, yet ensnared she was by sapphiric hues.
rarely was anyone truly at her eye level, and she preferred it that way. the quickest way to command a room was to stand tall with confidence after all, and what kind of performer was she if she didn’t add in a few extra inches to her costuming?
but from their few encounters, she noticed he was not like that.
for a man of his stature, he shied away from space ──── shrank into it. even now as he laid on the cot did he seem small. but it was a man like this who stood firm not too unlike a tree rooted in place when coming to her aid & it was a man like this who had gotten a targaryen to rescind his accusations.
smaller when it came to himself, taller when it came to others.
on the crimson soaked field, she first met his eyes before the blow. he stood tall ──── like he did when he came into the performance tent swinging ──── sitting ’pon his horse, a spitting image of a fairy tale knight. it juxtaposed the awkward image of his lanky height next to his tiny squire the small prince from all the times before. here, his eyes were a piercing blue, pinning down the nobles and peasants alike; she was not the target of his pleading, but the tide pulls her in regardless. the second time was after the crowd was so certain that death had come for him. had her hand not been injured, it would’ve been balled up with her knuckles tightly wound.
the memory hurts, but does her no harm ──── and yet, yet …
“ i hope you saw the good, and turned away for the bad … ” but there was no curtains drawn for his performance. NO TRICKS ／ NO GIMMICKS: only the honest, brutal violence a trial could bring. a raven’s cry carried overtop the held breath of the crowd, and part of her thought him a good thespian. their attention, her attention, was solely monopolized by him. to look away would be to ignore injustice. they had already done it once with her, and tanselle would be no better than them if she did the same to him. and so she watched. no matter the amount of strikes, no matter the battering, he never yielded. his figure tremored under the force of his own blows; an angered bull denied its charge, all forward and no grace. the cracks of bone heard even from the back of the crowd.
“ my finger? you ought to worry about yourself first, ser. ” footsteps as quaint as a tomcat’s, she closed the distance with little hesitance now. she did not pull away, and from here, she could see the firelight flicker orange across his bruised face, across the tightness in his jaw, across fingers that looked not all too dissimilar to her own.
his voice was rough, and his concern was heard the way one hears the cracked string of a lute ──── not loud, but unmistakable. “ i told myself, ” she began, voice low, steady, as though she was placing something fragile between them. “ just one look. one glance. i needed to see you before i── … i left. i could not walk to dorne with your sentencing looming over my mind. ” a shift & her fingers curl around his this time, fabric slipping away from him and replaced by flesh, deliberate & warm.
violence did not look comfortable on him, he did not carry it with the same arrogance other knights did. she recognized it though. recognized the way survival, when repeated too often, begins to look like guilt. had it been any other knight of the realm, tanselle was sure the first words from their mouths would not be so selfless like his. she’d be pushed to compensate, to pay back for the righteous deed.
but he only asked if she was well.
“ i am fine, thankfully only one broke. ” her throat felt dry, and words were left unspoken. it broke by the joint, on her good hand too. she wouldn’t be able to man her puppets or paint or so much as step on stage until it heals. her finger did not hurt as much as her pride. “ gods, they broke you to pieces. ” her free hand reached down, gently cupping the side of his face as her thumb traced under the dagger cut eye.
all men are fools, and all men are knights. so where does that leave her?
“ the maesters will take care of you, ” of this, she was sure. she had to give special care as to not be caught coming in. “ i should leave before they come back. if they see me with you, you’ll only suffer more. you’ve just cleared your name, i won’t risk you sullying it by being here. ” she should’ve left earlier, but seeing him, being here with him, was shaking her resolve.
ROLEPLAY HISTORY: the rules are simple ish! post ten characters you’d like to roleplay as, have roleplayed as, and might bring back. then tag ten people to do the same ( if you can’t think of ten characters, just write down however many you can )
TAGGED BY: @prtntious
TAGGING: @stellifrous x 10 bc other than gravy, i only know you <33
10 characters i would LIKE to roleplay as
(01.) koriand’r / dc (02.) jessica drew / marvel (03.) phainon / honkai star rail (04.) fan changyu / pursuit of jade (05.) lucy gray baird / hunger games (06.) aerith gainsborough / final fantasy (07.) felicia hardy / marvel (08.) qifrey / witch hat atelier (09.) angel devil / chainsawman (10.) gregor samsa / limbus company
10 characters i HAVE roleplayed as ( excluding ones listed on this blog lol )
(01.) diana of themyscira / dc (02.) ada wong / resident evil (03.) bruce wayne / dc (04.) xina kwan / marvel (05.) merlin / merlin lolol (06.) khione / greek myth (07.) blossom / powerpuff girls (08.) padme amidala / star wars (09.) chen kitay / the poppy war (10.) sasuke uchiha / naruto
10 characters i might bring BACK
(01.) erm idk ill post all the muses ive rped before on twt so if june or gravy wanna rp smth, they can lmk lol
prtntious ...
――――― [ … ] independent multi-muse .
featuring DC Comics , fandomless , fantasy , and horror verses . an exploration of creation and collapse ; of wills that build , destroy , and rebuild again . semi new to the platform but eager to writer with you all .
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written by gravy , 21 + , gmt timezone . guidelines , roster , and inquiry info available via carrd . personal blogs and minors please do not interact . i don't own any of the media used . AMAZING character graphic template by the talented @yearnstarved . ( thank you sm again )
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. ˚ . ✦ ﹙⠀ some become stories. ⠀﹚
independent roleplay account, imagined by #𝑗𝑢𝑛𝑒. multimuse, crafted from headcanons & inspired by associated media. writer is 23, & goes by she / her. minors dni.
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𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ( 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐. )
percy jackson and the olympians ┈┈┈ percy jackson, nico di angelo, summer holt (oc)
*** to be edited.ᐟ
a closed starter for @astrifervs < 3
the maesters had come and gone , fussing over him with their old , vinegar stiff hands . they had prodded at cracked ribs and split skin , bound him tight with linen where it was needed , pressed poultices on bruises that throbbed like drums in his bones . they had offered milk of the poppy . he had refused . he wanted to feel it all . every ache . every bruise . every failure . now the tent was quiet . their lanterns had been snuffed or carried away , leaving shadows pooling in corners where the canvas sagged low . dunk sat on the hard cot , one arm draped over his knees , his body too riddled with pain to move . the adrenaline of the trial had burned out hours ago , leaving him raw , trembling , and heavy with a weight that no sword or shield had prepared him for .
baelor breakspear had died in his arms .
the thought came first as shock . then as guilt . then as a quiet , gnawing certainty : this was his doing , no matter how intricate the dominos of fate were set up ... this started with a lowly hedge knight . he had wanted to be better than flea bottom . better than hungry hands , broken backs , scraped knees , and fists . he had wanted to be a knight who remembered the small , who lifted them where he could . and now a prince was dead . a kingdom grieved . and for all his striving , all his clumsy , earnest attempts at honour, he had caused more pain than he had ever helped .
he tried to straighten . his ribs cried out . his shoulder ached with every tiny shift . his head throbbed where the helmet had pressed into bruised skin and engorged eye . his hands , wide and calloused , rested on his knees , trembling with a mix of fatigue and shame . he could almost feel the prince’s warmth still there , a ghost pressing into his palms .
ser duncan the tall , this chosen identity ... he had been called it plenty today . by lords . by knights . by whispering men whose eyes had widened at the sight of him standing in the trial . but the name felt hollow . knighted in name only ... not knighted at all . ' ser dunk ' did not think in poetry . he thought in simple terms , in concrete measures . baelor died . he stood . . all else was words . all else was meaningless .
the pain pressed into him , sharp ... and he let it . he did not flinch . he did not curse . he did not cry . he simply sat there , aware of every ache , every pulse , every hollow space where adrenaline had once made him feel larger than life .
time passed . or perhaps it did not . perhaps he existed now only in fragments , steel bashed against skull in ways that will never heal ... in that daze , his thoughts drifted , uninvited . to her . tanselle . the memory of her voice , the curve of her smile , the way she had looked at him when he had thought himself a fool , a hedge knight among lords . he imagined her here , and for a moment , the pain seemed to recede , or perhaps it simply became background to the pulse of her presence in his mind ... and then the canvas of the tent shifted slightly in a breeze . the flaps parted . a sliver of light . a presence .
AND THUS, THE BRAVE KNIGHT LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER [ ... ] or so the stories goes. a myriad of tales, all passed down from generation to generation, and yet somehow, it remains unchanged. how is it possible for knighthood to be upheld as a proponent of justice ──── as a champion of righteous honour ──── when hypocrisy speaks so easily from their tongues? she’s known one too many knights who served themselves rather than the people. mere emblem & sword being enough to grant them pardon of atrocities committed under the name of their so─called lady justice.
the princeling’s voice was snarling in her ear, its grating tone muffled by the sound of her own cries ──── ripped and torn from her lungs. her fingers bent abnormally & the pain was beyond her recent memories ; a sudden emptiness that comes as death draws near. was this just? what law of the realm dictated this censorship of art? a dragon killed. a treasonous act. a crowd that gawked at her for the wrong reasons. she’d have laid her life for her art ──── would’ve done so with a trembling heart and a curse on her tongue. naivety was the right for the young to exploit, but she lived long enough to know times of peace meant nothing. for this was not justice served by a beloved prince, this was tyranny done by rotting hands that sought to cure its boredom. and who was she to deny a prince? salvation found itself in the shape of a figure bursting through the crowd. despite herself, the verses weave together in her pain dazed mind ──── AND NO QUARRELL A KNIGHT OUGHT TO TAKE ／ BUT FOR A TRUTH, OR FOR THE COMMON’S SAKE. what had driven him to step forward, to shield her, to give himself over to near-certain death by striking a prince with his bare fists. she wondered if aerion’s rank had even crossed his mind before he acted, perhaps he had seen only a man hurting her. perhaps he only saw someone in need. in the end, it mattered little.
her aunt and uncle had already left for dorne. “ people like us are better off well forgotten. ” her uncle had hissed, packing their belongings. “ you’d be doing him a disservice in staying. what if they catch you? you’d be hanged without a second glance. ” but she couldn’t leave. the tent abandoned & deserted, troupe torn between staying & leaving, tanselle stood at a crossroads. it was the memory of the towering figure who had approached without frightening her, the pale blue eyes alight with fury, the bent back driving blow after blow downward that solidified her choice.
the shield was left in soot—stained hands, steely pate’s gruff acceptance buying her time. she’s known him for only a few days, but peasants kept a silent understanding amongst each other. he strengthened her alibi. tanselle, as far as the kingsguard knew, was marching alongside her aunt and uncle down the winding road ──── tall grass kissing the hem of her tattered dress as the wind rustled trees’ leaves.
cloth wrapped over her head, standing far from the stands, she dons a new role: becoming a part of the audience. it took just one glance into the field to spot him. there he sat ’pon a stallion, so far from looking like a hedge knight and more like a land knight. dressed in silver glinting armour, it appeared as though he too took on a new role. his trial had been a bloody massacre ──── & guilt festered, had this not begun because of her? she swears she caught his eyes ( singular, after the nasty cut dug into his tarsal plate ) some time during the trial, crystalline blue meeting walnut. her own wrapped hand ached while watching ; biting down on her lip as to not speak up.
stand up. why didn’t you look the other way when you could? stand up. do not let them beat you, stand up.
his triumph had been overshadowed by a pall of grief; little egg had been the messenger of his whereabouts. it took a promise of privacy to convince her. no maesters, no guardsmen walking the grounds, just him.
“ ser ... ? ” her voice lingers in the air, soft as budding spring. she comes closer, a glimpse of knuckles against fabric ──── it’s open, rustling ’neath the weight of her push. “ i heard you’d be here. ” it closes behind, a fluttering sound akin to a foreboding omen and in a way, it was. the tent was barren, less somewhere to recover and more so somewhere to die. the faint scent of ichor lingered, clinging to the air & became more clear as she steps closer.
her touch is gentle, feather—light & faint as uninjured thumb runs over his cheek before it’s quickly pulled away. “ oh, you fool … ” she murmurs, eyes tracing each battered bruise, each sword—struck cut, and feels her heart squeeze. perhaps she was seeking closure, for an answer as to why he had done all this, but one look & her questions die in her throat.
