PR's Tumblrdome
No title available
ellievsbear
Cosimo Galluzzi
Sade Olutola
sheepfilms
bliss lane
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
RMH
art blog(derogatory)
Cosmic Funnies
The Bowery Presents
Doug Jones
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Phantogram Three
@theartofmadeline
Noah Kahan
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Color Me Curious
Discoholic 🪩
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from Egypt
seen from United States
seen from Jordan
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
@crxeno-blog
Hello everyone! I will be on a short vacation, leaving tomorrow and coming back on August 18th. Until then I don’t think I will be on so I will place Xeno on a hiatus but I will resume plotting with everyone when I am back. Thank you for being so patient with me!
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟSTRANDED;
crxalice:
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ 🍓 ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
with the white of the cream slowly collapsing under its own weight mirrors alice’s shoulders in the hopelessness of the situation. she was never much of a standing person, let alone in such weather. her knees were threatening to buckle underneath her and she was not about to just let this perfectly good slice of pie go to waste.
her eyes trail from xeno’s reassuring expression to where he gestures, blinking the cold gust away. the boulders look comfortable enough, though with the amount of layers she’s wearing, just about anything would feel acceptable.
“oh, those look good!” she chirps happily, almost slipping on the ice as she tries to move towards it. her hand latches onto the nearby table just in time to catch herself, her heart thumping against her chest. “oh my god, that was close.”
with more cautious steps now, she finds herself next to the boulders soon enough, wondering if she should let xeno have first pick. she looks up at him and tilts her head questioningly. “i don’t mind either!”
winter is a shape-shifted form of beautiful white death, which once gambled on the mariner’s life. sublime in twisted purity, the layers which revealed offers a beguile softness that captures the eyes of people who sought for stars. only to fall for the deceit the coldness that lulls the innocent into a false comfort that drifts into eternal slumber. or the ice that lays beneath all inked with black.
( he is no stranger to the wicked deeds of either wintry wiles both more congenial to the extols of his emotions when he snubs it. )
frayed limbs may wrangle with the snow only as necessity dictates however xeno does not allow even a second to embed itself between alice and him when the girl stumbles. reflexes will not be the blight of a boy who uses it for survival for so long. it is the reticent hands that still involuntary curl back at the thought of a living warm within its grasp.
( things fall into place again this time but he wonders of a day when his own hesitation becomes a mark of cruelty. )
“be careful,” xeno warns, an arm still extended out towards her. it has also become his own form of balance, the handicap of the pie leaving the edges of nerves frayed.. cautiously, his vision alternates between his own feet and alice until they finally reach the area they sought.
“you should take the flatter one,” he responds immediately, motioning over. xeno settles himself down on the edge of the other rock, tweaking his posture until his bottom is at ease. “it is a bit cold but it’ll be more comfortable than this one.”
a little night music 🎹
@crxeno
Turning down an opportunity to munch on macarons is the true indicator of whenever Wallace Gothel is feeling ill. He doesn’t dare walk the halls without polished shoes and ironed robes, let alone a face that screams insomnia. The Metamorphmagus will polish his appearance like an artist retouching the paint on a porcelain doll; a peachy color airbrushed on his cheeks, the blurring of rough skin until it’s smooth as silk, the dissolving of dark circles with a few blinks, and a shine on his bottom lip from someone else’s lip balm. The facade drops only when he sleeps – and even then, the blankets are always pulled high overhead – for an hour or two before breakfast is scheduled to start. Then, he’s checking himself in the mirror to make sure his classmates will never wise up to his condition.
He does an excellent job. He’s gone two weeks like this.
But, he finally slipped up when he turned down a gift of macarons at host club. Immediately, he’s swarmed by guests who knows there’s no way a sweet tooth like himself would turn down his favorite treat. He’d played it off like he’d been teasing: “Oh darling, you know I can’t turn these down! I’m only kidding!”
But now he’s slumped in his seat at the library with a fancy gift box staring him in the face, an ice pick headache hacking at his skull, and scribblings of a chamber ensemble that’s been bugging his brain for weeks. It won’t get him work or prestige, but it’s a very fun piece. He’s certain it’ll be an earworm that everyone will be humming for weeks – he even hums it himself.
And throws down his quill. And taps on the shoulder of the person next to him.
“You can have one of what’s in the box if you guess what country it’s from,” he says, pushing the gift box towards Xeno. There’s a big, playful smile on the Hufflepuff’s face, despite him feeling under the weather. “And if you know what’s in the box, I’ll let you have the whole thing. France or Italy? Your hint is: it can’t be Italian without the i.”
as long as eyes are kept open the world gradually pivots around something he can’t quite place his fingers on. must do not notice the trickle of pieces falling in and out of places yet hackneyed eyes perceive the kaleidoscope with ease. listen closely and there is a small tinkling sound that calms weathered ears.
( if eyes close there is a roaring storm that offers him a wave of nausea instead. )
in the library there are many strangers. colleagues too, a mutual wavelength of the mind that resonates with the high strung allegro that plays itself out on fevered fingers of school. a few housemates tread even further in distinguish, faces. small features a bit more memorable from a world otherwise plastered in the decays of yellow and grey. with a few more seconds ticking on a distant clock, some faces also receive names.
( memories have a tendency to be evanescent. beauty shall be ephemeral but here, fleeting is nothing that should be cherished. )
xeno has long acknowledged the floundering boy beside him. thoughts differ, both for a boy who wonders if it’s time to extend willowy digits and also for the housemate whose features speak of ashes coating under the eyes and grooves on skin that comes from a mental strain. there is no vigor in languid limbs.
( it is better not to embrace a being besieged by bedlam, but for once clemency speaks its charms. )
“can you offer me one other hint?” he inquires gently, a soft plead bleeding between the words. “is it an object? or is it edible? that’s all i want to know.”
👂
( nostalgia Send 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours. )
“are you looking for him? i’m sorry we’re not close at all, just classmates. he’s currently not here yet. it’s half an hour early anyways, i would assume like most he would still be enjoying his break. i did hear that he has a girlfriend. maybe he’s with her? if not, if you know what she looks like maybe find her and ask where he is.”
✔️
( nostalgia Send ✔️ for a daydream my muse has had about/involving yours. )
xeno catches a glimpse of the stranger, the younger boy walking through the hallway between his readings. it is simply as if an untitled cycle is unfolding between his eyes for counting the amount of time he actually acknowledges the boy makes it thrice. thrice the same boy has passed the hallway, expression unreadable but he must be searching. there is no other answer. searching for someone, his head quickly sketches a friend onto the blank tablet of his mind. that must be it, with the robe he leaps upon the idea it may be another slytherin.
he hopes that the person may be found soon.
👋👂😍
( nostalgia Send 👋 for three things that describe our muses relationship. )
the first thing is that one specific ring of nostalgic laughter which echoes with the summer cicadas and vanishing crows at the final kisses of the sun disappearing into the slips of night. the next would be a young golden retriever barking as it dashes up to the porch to where a senile man sits on his rocking chair, silence falling naturally through a telepathic message as the dog lays down by his feet. the last would be a dolphin rising to the surface of a nearby harbor, clicking as it gently bumps its head against the back of a little child it has befriended over the days.
( Send 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours. )
“miguel is a good child. he has his moments of mischief like all boys his age but i don’t think he would be the one who would have done this to you. i can vouch for him and i will continue to do so even if you don’t believe me.”
( Send 😍 for my muse to tell yours three things they love about them. )
“ i love how positive you are miguel, it brings a smile to my lips. that optimism is what draws people to you. you also have this certain boyish youthfulness to you that many people tend to lose, keep it. don’t ever lose it. if i can, i would like to protect it too.what was it that was once mentioned to me by your cousin? stay gold. lastly, i do know you hear this often but i love your smile. i suppose this all ends up being one thing. don’t they say you’re sunshine in human form? truly. i wouldn’t argue that.”
🌀
( nostalgia Send 🌀 for my muse’s reaction to getting stuck in a storm with yours. )
twisted metal. battered by rust left out cruelly to nature’s wrath. skin soaked with the frigidity that pummels with water. storms were once a nightmare for bone kissed skin. free now, yet a small roar of thunder causes shoulders to quake. conceal it.
“at least we’re inside,” hinged words echo through the rain, a quiet reminder more to a witless boy than the girl. “it’s a good weather for something warm. do you want some hot cocoa?”
snafu
@crpenelope noun. a confused or chaotic state; a mess.
his eyes become a reflection of old sepia photographs from decades before. locked by hackneyed memories, but still emanating warmth like the sunlit soil they have been trekking on in a repetitive cycle the past few days. insouciant gaze stagger across the wooden table to the half-empty cup. one simple second for sentience iis all that is needed to file a conclusion in the storage of xeno’s mind.
( how strange it is the mind seems to become sluggish during moments of need. )
the chronicle begins half an hour earlier when adolescents dawdle in the mysteries of mischief. a potion, one had called it as they overlook the older male nestling himself into the couch. words that should’ve been spoken lay like rocks in a dry throat bed, not wanting to be flouted. in random junctures the only semblance f interest is a gaze up when something unusual wrenches at his vision.
( but this is where his first an most important mistake comes to play in this story. )
taciturn steps go undetected when xeno’s mind dips itself beneath the ocean of words. the resonance of bubbles saturate his ears, a singular loud explosion drags a lost soul into reality.. by then it’s to late, the girl has already drank some of the emulsion.
“that wasn’t juice,” xeno speaks carefully, a makeshift knell resounding in the distance as he leaves the couch to walk towards her. “i don’t know what it was...it may not be the best thing to ask right now but how are you feeling?”
phantasm
@crxliam noun. an illusion.
xeno has often watched as it seeps up through the joints in the floorboards and snakes out from dark corners and crevices. the blackness formed from some primeval hatred and the collective despair of all those it’s taken before. bleeding into the shadows cast by the candlelight of the innocent. eerie, however, there is the sublime which lays in the black. often neglected by those who seek the light or remembered wrongly as a monster. misunderstood often but that is the power of being something unknown.
( something that can only be grasped by someone who once lived inside. )
thestrals. creatures who truly flirt with the concept of death. to view something as majestic and haunting as these horses means understanding the cruelty of mortality. a gift for some, but xeno etches it into him as a curse. a reminder of the people whose lives have slipped from his cracking knuckles. people who have yet to reach the end of their film reel before it came crashing down onto the ground, broken and unable to be played any longer.
( he knows he can't save them but he would have hoped that fate wasn't so cruel in its pickings from the garden of earth. )
"we have to keep quiet," xeno surmises as they walk ever the closer towards the edge of a world of vibrant green held up towards the sky by copper-colored towers. memories still slip his mind, however, this one he's managed to pin onto himself before it decided to grow its own wings and fly far away from the weed-infested garden which lived in him. "they usually march along the outskirts of this area during the daytime. i've seen it a couple of times and i've asked the professors about it too."
👂
( nostalgiaSend 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours. )
“vincent ko is a good person,” xeno informs the inquiring girl. words are spoken from a sterling soul, though the thread which ties the two of them together speaks of another story. “he may seem intimidating but his heart is in the right place. i’m sorry i can’t be of any further help here. we’re on speaking terms but nothing close. so i can offer you this much.i hope it helps.”
👂📱⭐⭐
( nostalgiaSend 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours. )
“instead of trying to run away from rowan i started to make the first step recently. we’re awkward. i don’t think we’ll ever reach that stage where everything can be normal. there’s been too much between us for that but...i think we can talk again. and that means a lot. she’s been a lot happier recently, it’s nice to see again.”
( Send📱for a voicemail my muse left yours. )
“hello you...i don’t know if you still have my number or if you deleted it but i think you can tell who it is. if you can’t tell it’s xeno. i don’t know why i’m calling you, i just dialed it out of habit...make sure to eat and get some proper sleep. although you don’t need me to tell you that haha. i need the reminder more. anyways...take care. bye.”
( Send ⭐️ (or multiple) for a headcanon about our muses. )
1. xeno rarely calls her by her name. he did it before they got together, but he didn’t do it when they were together and even now in the present he finds it almost peculiar to start calling her by her name again. he feels as if he should, he just needs some time. xeno had always thought that calling her name would make her disappear from his life much as many of the important people in his life have gone. as if letting someone knew her name would curse her. , so he had settled for roundabout things but it was easy to tell it was directed towards her by the shift in tone. she always answered him.
2. otis and zucker are two different species, but they are both flying rodents. xeno never told her, but he adopted zucker around the same time as she obtained otis because he found the flying creatures cute after watching her excitedly talk about acquiring one. he also wanted a reason to converse with her and another reason to hang out, as back then they were still simply friends. previously, like many others, xeno simply had a cat. the cat resides with his aunt and uncle back at home, and he showers it with a lot of love during the holidays. otis and zucker are also still close friends and get along well when they see each other, it is simply a question of when.
"You always seem to be thinking. Tell me, if there is anything you could turn back time to redo, what would it be?"
there is a husk of a child curled in the corner of a world tarnished by peeling yellow and grey. only hours earlier there was a mellow bed in a house warmed by tender partiality. if the little boy could take small steps back into time, perhaps he should have let out a depressed wail instead of dozing under the vivaciousness of night. kept clinging tightly to his parents as if the monsters of his nightmare would reach through the walls and devour him whole.
( this is blissful yearning. he knows that fate would yank him forcibly down into the same ending. )
a boy lost in the pleasures and iniquity of juvenile essence. he fell in love with the sun when she was still a will o’wisp dazzling with orange, gold and red. called her his. watched how her eyes would capture stars each time he spoke those three precious words. but he drowned her flames in fear that others would be mesmerized by her charming flare. drowned himself too. watched with regret the painful hissing of their charred skin no longer touching.
( someone had rekindled her flames but he still sits awaiting a cataclysmic black dwarf. )
“nothing. it’s better this way.”
empathy
@crxjoon noun. the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.
a fanaticism of whimpers become the soundtrack of the indigo evening. xeno closes his eyes and on cue the callous harmony amplifies until it drowns him. noxious miasma manacles him as words howl until they inundate his senses. indoctrinating, hypnosis. yes snap open again. the maestro lowers his baton and the snore of the taunting beast stifles into a silence.
( it knows it will have a chance again to rise even from purgatory to haunt his senses. )
gone are the noises replaced by another curse. the vision. over and over again it scratches itself so severely into his that pledging secrecy would be a sin. pleading ignorance would be a peccadillo. so xeno watches. even in the shadows of a rusty street lamp flickering in the last ember of its life, he traces the skin that stretches over jutting ribs. famine truly rises as a horseman, one glance bringing bile stinging his mouth.
( there once was a boy who too only lived as a walking skeleton learning to sew his skin together onto himself every morning. )
“orphaned and abandoned. you poor things,” xeno murmurs. he crouches downwards until he is closer in level to the stray puppies. they don’t fear humans. not yet. innocent a psyche still seeks the chicanery of companionship. he offers them a devotion brought only by the language of kindred. however, he freezes when he notices another presence.
( friend or foe, the grey line between them becomes ever the thicker. )
“they’re strays,” xeno turns his head to explain. the figure looks familiar even in the penumbra of dusk. another hogwarts student for his mind to parse. “do you have anything to feed them? any scraps? bones?”
RELATIONSHIP BUILDING
Send ⭐️ (or multiple) for a headcanon about our muses. Send ☎ for your muse’s info in my muses phone (name, ringtone, picture, last text received/sent). Send 🎼 for a song that reminds me of our muses. Send 👋 for three things that describe our muses relationship. Send 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours. Send 👤+ a muse name for my muse’s opinion on that muse (with the other muse/mun’s permission). Send 😍 for my muse to tell yours three things they love about them. Send 💤 for my muse to say something about yours in their sleep. Send 📖 for my muse to read out an entry in their journal/diary about yours. Send ✉ for a written letter from my muse. Send📱for a voicemail my muse left yours. Send 🌀 for my muse’s reaction to getting stuck in a storm with yours. Send 🍺 for my muses drunk reaction around yours. Send 💰 for your muse to ask mine for money. Send ✔️ for a daydream my muse has had about/involving yours. Send 👀 for my muse to compliment yours Send 💋 for how my muse would seduce/flirt with yours. Send 👏 and what your muse will do to fluster mine. Send 😙 for my muse’s reaction to yours being super affectionate. Send 🍵 and my muse will reveal one of their biggest regrets involving yours. Send 😶 and my muse will confess to something they wish they didn’t do that affected your muse.
apricity
@crjon noun. the warmth of the sun in winter
the rain is oblivious to the life it gives. washing the world, it quenches the soil. a percussion to the birdsong and the bringer of brightness to every hue of bark and leaf. however for all that it has been raining, today the sunlight decides to peak itself. unfettered golden rays, conjuring the most brilliant of mosaics, reflecting from each verdigris leaf and wisp of cloud. so sweet, a nectar bestowed to the bees by each fragrant bloom.
( there is a metallic taste in his mouth, misplaced amusement from finding winter again. )
but interest beads onto cracked skin like dew on spring grass slowly soothing the dryness and sinking into his blood.. if forms such perfect spheres, each one a tiny world of its own. perhaps, it is not the right season when the temperature dances so close to the lower numbers but nonetheless it is only befitting in all the tinkles of irony for two members of the house of badgers to wander into a public garden. apollo is kind today they should make use of it.
( before zeus brings his hands down to disperse the forming crowd of mortals. )
“truly a city befitting the nickname garden city. there are so many around i think it would be difficult even to chose one,” xeno says softly. carefully, they take a step forward into a world of pastel and soft florals. “but the botanic garden must be famous for a reason. it’s so...wide. is there anything specific you are seeking?”
serpent
@crxalex noun. a noxious creature that creeps, hisses, or stings.
the house of serpents. venomous fangs coated with rancorous intent. muscles rippling beneath leather skin, coarsened since the early steps of childhood. the conundrum of the snakes of emerald and silver is that evolution has edified them in the language of obscurity. nothing rattles when steps are taken closer and closer. the tail has lost its warning. it’s hypnosis, cloying until a precipitous invasion. some learn the language and slither their way around the massacre. some are the osprey, talons outstretched to cling on the weaker. some are the rabbit. xeno is none.
( he spent the first few years learning the snake charmers ways however he soon learns it is not befitting for this badger. ) “so we’re partners,” xeno states after he finds his partner in the humming heard of humans. nobody knows but he’s long written out a tacit ploy. first impressions on soft clay kneaded by the pupils of a different slytherin. a paradox, xneo reads the eyes of a person who sends his hair raising on his neck in order to learn the nature of strangers.
( but this is how survival works, even if they are not roaming the safaris of nature. )
rumors of the boy before him are proverbial. however, for now xeno leaves them the lone flute playing in the summer night breeze. classmates. group mates. a new word to bind them and he will see it until the end. he must. xeno offers a soft polite smile.
“do you have experience finding doxy eggs?”
