𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑦 @saintplanetmoved - Tumblr Blog

i bet on losing dogs. ☽ — i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place by the ring. — where i'll be looking in their eyes, when they're down. ... i'll be there on their side (...) i'm ˡᵒˢⁱⁿᵍ by their side. a private multi-muse by 𝘣𝗼𝗇𝗇𝗂𝘣𝗲𝗹 low activity. mainly plot based. please do not follow first. extended rules found below. muse-list subject to changes as i see fit. overall, i'm just here to have fun with my friends. enjoy!

IN TANDEM WTIH MY SAINTS CREW: SAINTFIGHTS (HAMZA), SAINTKNIGHTS (DEMETRIUS), SAINTLOSS (LAYILIL), SAINTWON (ANOUK). OTHER AFFILIATES INCLUDE TEMPERORS & GOLDENZEL (AISHA), WOVETALES (KIM), WARPLANET (CHUCKLES), AND GRAVEDANGER (RIKA).

#bonnibel. 21+. graphics by chuckles. (warplanet)#queue: 0 #drafts: 3 #starters to be written: 9 #inbox: 6 #(also known as mara)

wait sorry. moving again

modelsof-color

Anok Yai at Ralph Lauren FW25

#STARTS SCREAMING #this is literally what. maya would wear to work. on the field #giving her dissertation #EEEEK #tbt *

alicecul

*‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ i light a candle and focus on your name ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ can you feel me from three thousand miles away?

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ---- an independent alice cullen blog, private & mutually exclusive. canon divergent & headcanon based. fortune told by aaiyah.

#p.#aaiyah is my fav always

the words linger, drip into the air like oil over flame. his eyes are dead, pupils dilated as if war itself is in front of him: if you want to kill an emperor, you strike at its heart. she hears it in his voice not as a threat — but a confession. a weapon laid bare between blood-bound siblings with nothing left to lose. ❝ is that what i am to you? ❞ the blade tucked behind the silk. the nail you drive into his chest because you’re too cowardly to wield it yourself. her voice doesn’t shake, not yet. [ it's always been this. politics dressed as poetry. ] violence disguised as devotion. the heart of an empire, she wears that crown like a noose. and caracalla, with his ragged breathing and red hands, dares to call it strategy. to kill an emperor is to strike at its heart

Q: WILL YOUR DEATH GIVE ME POWER? A: YOU WILL BE HAUNTED UNTIL YOU DIE.

❝ you're not hunting emperors, you're hunting your brother. ❞ she turns slowly, moonlight kissing the curve of her cheek. her gaze fixed beyond the chamber — to the rot beneath marble, to the ghosts already gathering. [ the heart. the throne. the girl wrapped in prophecy. ] her lips curve, barely. a smile not of mirth, but mourning. tigers and wolves are bred in royals, soldiers turned to ash before them. games turned to riots, circuses to bloodbaths this is his doing. his own downfall, to which she is the great spectator. the great oracle that no one dared to believe. clarissa spares him a single forlorn look, a glance as eyes gloss over. ❝ then strike, antoninus. but know this — if you pierce the heart, you damn the soul of rome itself. ❞

❝ if you want to kill an emperor you strike at its heart. ❞ @empcalla

#empcalla #[ * golden sun . ↷ : change the prophecy. * interaction. ]#then he kills her soooo slay. but ok i guess

the candlelight flickers too wildly for how still the room is. it dances against the curve of her cheek, painting shadows like secrets, like scars. clarissa doesn’t speak at first. she sits by the window where the cold leaks in, chin tilted as if listening to something only she can hear. daydreaming the days away. outside, the courtyard sleeps. inside, her hands are quiet in her lap, balled fists turned to open palms. she’s tired of fighting with ghosts. but hilda’s words settle in her like embers. ❝ you have all the power you need, if you dared to look for it. ❞ @lorulaen

such simple words. but clarissa feels them like the sound of a blade being drawn. her breath escapes, delicate. as if she were to speak louder, she'd disappear. ❝ you make it sound easy. ❞ a bitter laugh that barely leaves her throat. ❝ like it isn’t terrifying. like it doesn’t feel like a betrayal just to want more. ❞ the fire cracks behind her. a looming light in the darkness that has now come to pass. she turns her gaze from the frost-laced glass to her friend, to the one soul brave enough to say it aloud. ❝ what if i do look? ❞ her voice is softer now. a confession folded inside a question. ❝ what if i find something monstrous? ❞ she was once the great daughter, the roman heroine in a story of mars. acacius' eldest daughter, a pride. clarissa, more than just a lost lamb in the politics of a kingdom she never cared for.

and yet, even as she says it, her fingers are already moving, lifting the edges of herself she’s kept buried under silk and silence. not all at once. but enough to catch the flame. her eyes land squarely on her closest friend, the only ally in a court of vipers.

❝ stay with me, hilda. ❞ her eyes shimmer, not from tears, but from the sheer weight of choosing herself. if they're going to uproot a rebellion, it will be from the inside first. ❝ just long enough for me to remember what it feels like. ❞ to be powerful. to be unafraid. to belong to no one, not even the past.

#lorulaen #girlhood is godhood is doomed etc #[ * golden sun . ↷ : change the prophecy. * interaction. ]

riji-chn

Ight I wanted to post them separately but I forgor. 🙁

Enchantix designs by @chocofishy 💖

Which design do you like the most?

#winter aisha and i are up to Something....#in our winx era.....

the stars above shiver, scattered jewels on a velvet sky, but glinda barely sees them. the cold from the marble balcony floor seeps into her slippers. or maybe that chill comes from somewhere else, from someone. from them. elphaba’s voice still echoes. ❝ for once, could you please stop pretending? ❞

the words hang there, jagged, cruel only because they’re true. [ glinda has always known their truths hurt the most. ] her hands grip the railing, knuckles pale. curls fall loose from her crown. her smile [ the one she wore like armor ] slips. not shattered, just…set aside. they’re the only one she’s ever let see her like this. they don’t even know it. ❝ i’m not pretending now, ❞ she says quietly, not looking at them just yet. the city below is glowing, golden and oblivious. oz is hidden away from the depth of truth her elphaba has revealed. [ her elphaba. hers. ] they're up here, alone. ❝ it’s easier to be the glittering lie when you’re not around. easier to pretend things are fine when i know you're coming back! ❞

her voice catches on the word you. [ stars, why does it feel like a confession? why does the truth feel like falling? ] ❝ but when you look at me like that… ❞ glinda steps forward, slowly, as if the space between them might shatter beneath her feet. her fingers find theirs, hesitant, trembling. not a performance. not duty. just this. no longer friends, always more than roommates. just them. together. ❝ i’m not pretending now, elphaba. ❞ a beat. ❝ not with you. never with you. ❞ the wind shifts, sweet with the promise of rain. and still, glinda stays rooted to them, as if letting go would mean falling forever. as if the next time elphaba flies away, glinda is too afraid to be left behind.

@fabala

#fabala #glinda tag.#heyyyyy <3

vasilievnaarc

in erfurt she had brilliant success. napoleon himself, noticing her in the theater, asked who she was and praised her beauty. her success as a beautiful and elegant woman did not surprise pierre, because with the years she had become still more beautiful than before. but what did surprise him was that in these two years his wife had succeeded in acquiring a reputation ‘ D'UNE FEMME CHARMANTE, AUSSI SPIRITUELLE QUE BELLE . ‘ the famous prince de ligne wrote eight-page letters to her. bilibin saved up his mots so as to speak them for the first time in front of the countess bezukhova. to be received in the countess bezukhova’s salon was considered a diploma in intelligence; young men read books before hélène’s soirées so as to have something to talk about in her salon, and embassy secretaries, and even ambassadors, confided diplomatic secrets to her, so that hélène was a power in a certain sense. ( … ) the reputation of yelena vassilievna bezukhova as UNE FEMME CHARMANTE ET SPIRITUELLE was so firmly established that she could utter the greatest banalities and stupidities, and still they all admired her every word and sought for a deep meaning in them, which she herself never suspected.

#vasilievna : A PRIVATE WRITING BLOG FOR YELENA VASSILIEVNA KURAGINA BEZUKHOVA OF TOLSTOY’S WAR AND PEACE, as understood by alyssa ( any pronouns, twenty - six ) originally established in january of 2016. 18+. entirely book and headcanon based.

#alyssa <3 ilysm #when i forceship my pitt characters with helene somehow

i need to write but i've been doing so many notes. i'm drowning in epic. i close my eyes and i see physicians yelling at me for not finishing my notes. the notes haunt me. i am surrounded by the horrors (of epic)

#[ * bonnibel . ↷ : irl lexie grey loading . * out of character. ]#HIIIIIIII #yes i am alive. totally disappeared this weekend? crazy #work is wild. HEY ceasefire in pakistan tho. yay #ok i need to sleep also ?#having fun (in the hospital) living (in the ED)

babyjapril

Grey's Anatomy 5.10

All By Myself

#i will ALWAYSSSSS love her sm #lexie grey tag.

saintsknight

His breath catches, not in shock, not in pride, but in something softer. Something rarer. Not even the harps he so often turned to could have crafted a moment like this. Her voice, steady but delicate, rang clearer than any verse ever written for him. Not a performance, not duty but just the plain truth. Her honesty slipped past his defenses with ease, leaving the prince vulnerable and bloody, baring his heart to her blindly. He looked down, not in embarrassment, but to watch the space where her fingers met his, that feather-light touch that had undone him more than a battlefield ever could. ❝ Then let’s go where the court can’t find us. ❞ His voice was quiet, almost conspiratorial, threaded with that rare spark that only surfaced when he let the weight of the realm fall from his shoulders. Rhaegar smiled before looking at her again, truly looking. At the woman who did not demand poetry, but offered something truer in return. A smile barely curved his mouth, not court-trained but unguarded. ❝ Come with me, Elia. Let’s not be prince and princess tonight. Just… two people beneath the stars. No crown. No audience. Only you and I. ❞

saintplanetmoved

As if mirroring him, Elia's breath caught in her throat, not from scandal, but from something far more dangerous. Hope. For a long moment, she said nothing, only looked at him, truly, really looked. At the prince, yes, but also at the boy beneath the silver, the burdened bard beneath the prophecy. The one who asked, not demanded. Who offered not a throne, but quiet. Her fingers, still barely grazing his, trembled. She’d been raised to be careful, to always measured, diplomatic, dutiful. And yet, in this space between their words, she felt something slip. A desire not to be good, or right, or the pride of Dorne. Perhaps, she wished just to be herself. Alongside him. ❛ The stars in Dorne shine brighter than anywhere in the realm, ❜ she murmured, voice soft as the night wind off the salt flats. ❛ But I’ve never looked up at them without thinking of what I owe them. ❜ She paused and then smiled, a thing so rare and unstudied it almost startled even her. A real smile. For him. ❛ Maybe just this once, I’d like to forget. ❜ Her hand closed around his now, not tentative but certain. ❛ Yes, Rhaegar. Just you and I. ❜

#saintknights #[ * sun princess . ↷ : soft hands do not make weak queens. * interaction. ]#when queue touched my hand and called me a flame.

The cockpit always smelled the same as always, the familiar twinge of hot metal, engine grease, and the faintest trace of ozone from altitude. But next to Hal, it felt different. Lighter. As if she were tethered to something reckless and brilliant and impossibly alive. She adjusted her headset, eyes flicking over the controls more out of habit than necessity. She wasn't technically flying (not today) but Hal always insisted on letting her sit in. "Company morale,” he’d said with that devil-may-care smirk that made Air Force command roll their eyes and her heart stutter like a faulty engine. The jet sliced clean through cloud cover, sunlight spilling across the windshield. Beside her, Hal leaned back with that maddening, infuriating calm he wore like a second flight suit. ❛ You know, ❜ she said over the comms, glancing sidelong at him, ❛ for someone with years of experience, you still get a little too cocky flying a tin can through the sky. Makes you look dreamy or stupid. I haven't decided yet. ❜

@br1ghtday

#br1ghtday #HIIIIII #when queue touched my hand and called me a flame.#carol ferris tag.

The air shimmered strangely in the throne room of Dragonstone, with salt and smoke curling along the ancient stone floors like memories that refused to fade. Elia was not sure how she had come to stand in this place, only that something had drawn her. A pull from across time, across death, across flame. She took a breath that did not burn her lungs, and walked forward, silent as seafoam, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone. There, seated not quite like a queen and not quite like a girl, was her. So much of Rhaegar in the eyes, Elia thought. And yet none of the fire that scorched. No, Daenerys’s fire was her own; forged in exile, hardened by loss. A silver crown of burden, not vanity. Elia stepped closer, unsure if she was seen. For a moment, she was only a whisper in the corner of the room, the kind that made the flame of a candle bend. She wanted to speak. She wanted to say, I knew your name before you had one. I begged the gods for your safety when Viserys was still in the cradle. I loved you before I ever saw you. Elia smiled, soft and aching. ❛ You are not alone. ❜ A beat. ❛ You never were. ❜ @kaerinio

#kaerinio #[ * sun princess . ↷ : soft hands do not make weak queens. * interaction. ]#I MADE THIS SUPER VAGUE ON PURPOSE.#when queue touched my hand and called me a flame.

aydahare

"In Dorne, she walked among vipers and none would bite her. In King's Landing, she found herself surrounded by lions."

[Princess Elia Martell of Dorne]

#my baby #[ * sun princess . ↷ : soft hands do not make weak queens. * vis. ]

[ REED RICHARDS. ] to his wife. | oh, i love you. @fntstic

He had said it so softly, she could have sworn it almost disappeared beneath the hum of the lab equipment. Oh, I love you. Just that. No grand announcement. No flourish. Just truth, distilled. Poured from a beaker like acid before her, a flame ignited in their laboratory. Susan stilled, the words soaking into her like warm sunlight after a long, gray winter. It was absurd, truly absurd, how three little words, spoken in Reed Richards’ careful voice, could undo the quiet armor she’d worn around her heart for so long. She had faced galaxies, monsters, fractures in time itself, but this? This cracked something deeper. To be loved by Reed Richards is to be worth more than a galaxy.

She turned slowly, her gaze finding his across the sterile glow of the room. There was no mask of intellect shielding him now. No complex theory to explain away what he felt. Just Reed, looking at her like she was the answer he’d been trying to solve his entire life. Her breath caught, a delicate stutter of realization. He meant it. He meant it! The man who charted stars and reshaped matter had unraveled himself in three words. To be loved by Reed Richards is to be his greatest discovery.

Susan stepped toward him, drawn not by gravity, but by something more ancient, more human, more intimate. A tether of shared years, silent glances, unspoken longing. The spaces between them evaporated, the ache of waiting finally dulled. ❛ You’re impossible,❜ she murmured, though her smile betrayed her affection. ❛ Brilliant, frustrating, completely impossible…❜ She touched his chest, fingers resting just over his heart, the steady and human beneath her hand. To be loved by Reed Richards. ❛. . . and I love you too. I think, I’ve loved you since the first time you explained string theory and forgot to take your goggles off. Since you looked at the universe and still remembered to look at me.❜

#fntstic #[ * stormifys . ↷ : hold the world together quietly. * interaction. ]#wish i was normal and could queue this but immediately i needed to post it #reedsue brainrot. real

It’s ridiculous, really, the way her heart skips even as she’s pressing gauze to a cut across his arm. Johnny Storm is grinning. He's half-singed, shirtless [of course] skin scraped from whatever flaming stunt he pulled this time. There’s blood, there’s ash, and he’s flirting like he doesn’t have a gash down his side that needs stitching. Typical. Lexie sighs, more to herself than to him. ❛ You know, most boyfriends bring flowers. You bring smoke damage and secondhand embarrassment.❜ She doesn’t look up when she says it — she's too focused on the delicate angle of his collarbone, the way the burn tapers just shy of his shoulder. But she can feel his grin widen like a sunrise. He winces [ more theatrical than pained ] and she finally looks up at him. There’s soot along his jaw. He smells like ozone and adrenaline. And still, somehow, he's looking at her like she’s the miracle. ❛ Hold still, ❜ she murmurs, quieter now. Her hands are steady as she threads the first suture. His skin is warm beneath her fingers. Too warm. @saintknights

#saintknights #lexie grey tag.#when queue touched my hand and called me a flame.#hey <3

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