Islands by Yvan Duque.
Artists on tumblr
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Three Goblin Art

Janaina Medeiros
Xuebing Du
No title available
trying on a metaphor
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
h
No title available
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

if i look back, i am lost
ojovivo
Sade Olutola

blake kathryn
Stranger Things
d e v o n
occasionally subtle
we're not kids anymore.
Acquired Stardust
Cosmic Funnies

⁂
seen from India
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seen from Malaysia
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@shemagickd
Islands by Yvan Duque.
Artists on tumblr
Lustik: twitter | pinterest | etsy
sylphanide:
she is dripping wet. her doublet is soaked through from passing the path of the storm & she feels as though she is freezing to the bone. she should have known it would rain on the only day when she was caught both unawares and unprepared. if she’d had time before she’d been banished she would’ve brought her things, an umbrella among them; if she’d had time she doubted she’d be in this position at all. ❛ that’s very kind of you. ❜ she surveys the other’s face, eyes glancing to her ears for tell-tale points only to find none. human, then. ❛ i won’t stay long—just until the storm passes. ❜
“stay as long as you need,” she moves towards the door, motioning with the hand not pushing the thing open for the other to follow her inside. there’s a cozy fire already burning cheerfully in the hearth and a kettle on for tea, a chipped plate of scones she had baked earlier in the week resting on the small circular table. honoria didn’t mind gloomy days like this one - they often meant curling up warm and happy indoors, “i don’t get many visitors, though, so i fear i might talk your ear off.”
fatherly:
“I am,” he admits, a lopsided little smile sparking at the corner of his lips. “Well, I can’t say that I’ve wandered really. Something DREW me here—-though,” a pensive finger rests against his upper lip, “I’m not too sure WHAT.” Perhaps it was something so SIMPLE as a yearning for the peace of being lost in another world, or an INSTINCTIVE venture off the dirt trail. Whatever had lead him here wasn’t something he entirely understood. “I mean—-I came here, but now, I am lost—-” easily distracted the elderly man shakes his head to clear his line of vision of stray silver strings & extends a wobbly hand, “Antonio.”
head tips - ah, she’s used to the idea of wandering, being pulled forwards by something she could not place or recognize. honoria wonders distantly what might have drawn him here, towards her small home and cheerful garden, here in this patch of green and light mingling together into something like home. “that’s alright,” she assures with a soft - edged smile and a tilt of the head. it really is. she quite likes visitors. “maybe we can figure out what it was,” his hand is accepted in her small, calloused one, “honoria. it is lovely to meet you, antonio.”
fantomese:
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 of a second, when the gleam of the white mask is hit by the low lights of the stage as they dim. when the darkness regains his composure, he sulks back into the shadows of the rafters, amber eyes almost burning like the flames of dying candles, to contrast the atmosphere to surround him. ❝ the word of importance there, mademoiselle, is nearly. and I did… not fall. ❞ ah, so the darkness is prone to lies, not that it is a sentiment that should surprise anyone. ❝ take this encounter as a warning, and that the garnier cannot rest if there are rats like you still scurrying about at this hour. ❞
“the garnier cannot rest if there are ghosts like you nearly - falling from the rafters at ... this hour.” something flatly unimpressed colors her words as she looks up at him, muffling the minor note of worry underpinning them. ghosts do not fall, or even nearly fall. it was an odd sort of thing to see. pale eyes squint at the bright eyes and pale image of the mask lingering in the dark. how odd. how horribly odd - though many say the same of her, in different ways and for different reasons, “what were you doing out here, if you did not - expect anyone to be about to torment?”
druidcss:
There is much about her to marvel at; Morgana does so discretely, as she follows her through the slender bodies of the trees. She has thought of running away before, like a child from home; she has thought of fleeing the widening eye of persecution that hangs upon Camelot and finding a hideaway in the wilderness. It always held a terror for her: a maiden weaned on the noble court. She had not thought anyone could make it look so easy — so comfortable.
But here there is a sanctuary, a gate, a garden. There are flowers peering with cheerful faces at their passing. She is careful to tread lightly.
Beyond the green door, there is a home — a real home, one that reminds her, with all the force of a gloved fist, of childhood. Not the austere halls of the castle, but a smaller, richer kingdom. An open fire, a brace of rabbits tied alongside, herbs hung upon the walls, a mother’s singing. She stands a moment in the doorway, blinking.
“This is… beautiful.” She takes a step, finally, indoors. “I can see why you don’t miss the cities.” Where the common folk are thrust together, on top of each other, clamouring to breathe, and the streets are thick with the shouting of merchants and the smell of their wares, and every path is trodden by a hundred feet.
She turns around in the small hut, her smile stretching. A nervousness to her now, as she thinks what she might say next, some pleasantry, a diversion.
“It reminds me of my father’s— of my old home. He used to say my mother had a herb for every ailment. I don’t remember if she really did. Sometimes he would say things just to be infuriating.” A shaky laugh; a breath— “You read a lot?”
“thank you. i do try to keep it - friendly,” there are certain beliefs about witches - certain stereotypes. horrible, dark houses are among them, ones with cobwebs in the corners and rickety little chairs, ominous fires rumbling in the hearth with a questionable pot above it. honoria does her best to flout such ideas by opting for soft curtains and plush pillows, as much light as possible filtering into the space. magic is not evil. it does not have to be, anyways, and she would rather not have the sinister trappings of someone scheming something.
besides - there is something kinder about this place than any other she remembers. palaces were always lovely, yes, but something cold and impersonal always lingered just beneath the gilt edges of the finery. things can be beautiful and unkind, no matter their intentions. this little place, with pieces of herself scattered about in the flowers pressed beneath book pages and the smell of thyme in the air, is far more hers than anywhere else her feet have tread.
“it sounds like i might have gotten along with your mother,” honoria smiles, gentle, sensing some undercurrent of discomfort at the topic in her voice. hands motion to one of the cleared chairs, “please, sit. is there anything i can get you?” a stack of books is removed from the table top, carted to a shelf against a wall and filed away. “oh, yes. there was a time i - could not, so now i revel in every word.”
Hydrangeas on the road by Fernando-Campanella
…the honey-bearing chaos of high summer.
Kenneth Rexroth, from Sacramental Acts: The Love Poems; “On What Planet,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
fantomese:
@shemagickd liked.
❝ 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 ! and besides, you should be more careful. ❞
“i don’t like - being pestered by an opera ghost, so i ... i suppose we will both have to deal with it. i should be more careful? you ... nearly fell.”
quccnnorth:
yes ; celebrate . something much needed in winterfell . it had been so long since there was something to be happy about . it seems as if the world had possessed hardship after hardship for those in westeros , it was now the dawn of a new realm && perhaps the warmth of summer could bring with it promising && optimistic beginnings .
❝ winter is coming ; the words of my family —- && yet , here i am embracing the season changes . ❞ a glimmer of amusement flickers beneath her words , irony at its best . ❝ though a summer feast should be had , with the warmth comes the promise of new grain . ❞
“it will come again,” the seasons returning, a cycle, a wheel spinning beneath them and keeping the world on it’s axis. perhaps things will not circle out of control again - not for a little while, at least. she can hope. and in the meantime, spring and summer bring with them the promise of flowers, of honey, of warm air on her cheeks. there are things she remembers like those, things she has no business remembering. perhaps the newly blooming ground will bring with it clarity. “ - and you will be - we will - be ready, when it does.”
rebirth. that’s what the changing of the seasons is. something being brought into this place, something tender and fresh. hatching birds and stubborn seedlings. “i would ... everyone would like that, i believe.”
incrediblechange:
“y’know it’s not as interesting as all that- hang on. sorry, i might’ve misheard y’ there. did you say PIXIES?”
“ - yes, pixies. though they may be a bit busy today, we may have a better likelihood of running across a sylph. they like the warmer weather.”
druidcss:
Excitement and dismay and now the fresh kernels of hope all bloom across her face before she extinguishes each one like a snuffed candle. This is treason; that word alone hammers in her throat, as if on an anvil. Consorting with witches. Consorting; aiding; associating — all words that could lead to the pyre. Honoria has made no admittance, not yet; Morgana could plead ignorance, if it came to it — but ignorance was never an excuse for those who dallied before.
Besides. This girl has opened her hearth to her. This girl, who she’d found barely an hour ago, bent scrupulously over a hawthorn. She has the greater reason to flinch. One word breathed to the wrong ears could summon a phalanx of men marching for her blood.
“That is — you are — kind to offer.” Her hospitality is more than kind; it is brave. “I think I would like to see your home.” She is a girl again, stumbling the first time a knight approached her in the lists and asked for her favour. She stumbles here, too, her breath hot in her throat, shallow and tangled around her pattering heart. Pattering: like the footsteps of mice. Skittish, darting in different directions.
“You’ve— always lived alone?” She follows, past the leaning shoulders of the oak, the fresh bloom of lilac, past the downcast caps of the mushrooms. She can imagine a life tucked away here, an existence nestled between the trees and the bend of the river. She cannot imagine a child, unprotected, without family. “There must have been dangers…” She knows: the dangers have been repeated to her until she sees them lurking behind every shrub. Beasts. Bandits. Mercenaries. She envies Honoria her fearlessness.
But then, even bandits fear a witch’s open door.
she starts towards the cottage, serene smile on her face as calloused hands press to the sun - warmed bark of the trees. home is just as much this path - these woods - as it is the interior of her modest house and it’s slanting roof and stone walls, the window - boxes filled to overflowing with green plants that spill over their confines. as the two draw closer she shakes her head with a smile, “oh - not really. you’re doing me a favor, really - as much as the fae are friends, they are not good company.” there’s a laugh snaked through her voice, light and happy.
wards are greeted quietly as the pair cross them. words of hello and friend and safe and guest, warm and cordial. the wards keep her safe, keep her little home harder to find if you are not welcome, harder still to approach if ill intent colors your heart coldly. “here? yes, i’ve been alone while out here,” there was a before, of course. two befores - three befores - feather beds and dirt ground and the little room in the servant’s quarters. this is her favorite so far, though. truly hers.
shoulders rise and fall in a shrug as honoria picks across the garden and towards the front door of her home. “not horrible ones. the woods - like me, as i like them. we understand each other,” smile is a little impish now, “the bandits are not fond of pestering me.” she has not hurt them, never, but - frightened with illusions and bursts of bright light. they do not bother her too horribly.
“here, come in,” the door is painted a chipping green, and she pulls it open to reveal the warm and friendly inside. a small table is piled with candles, books, and plants - drying herbs are hung up by the windows - small and crooked chairs litter the space. honoria does her best to keep it cozy.
i . let’s take off the masks. give me good lighting and warm hands, outline of a lily - freckled hillscape, some soft place where i can bury my heart instead. ii . yes, there is blood, the earth split open, our grecian souls pressing hard against our ribcages to escape the tides and tides of thunder inside us. yes, there is thunder outside us. but so too is there laughter, songs, poetry. we declare our beautiful names, we shout our strong promises, we make loud declarations of our passions. iii . we’re not made for weeping. love endures more than the augury, more than the bones, more than the catastrophes too.
druidcss:
It is not a confession, but it’s what she hoped for; relief breaks across her brow a moment before she thinks to compose herself. Honoria’s tone is mild, displeasured; it suggests both familiarity and condemnation. A simple peasant girl would gasp — dreadful! How did you escape! But there is a calmness about her; Morgana cannot shock her.
Affirmation aches in her throat. She can hear herself saying all the things she has wanted to shout at Uther Pendragon, guardian, tyrant. It’s not magic that’s to blame, only those who use it for ill. Magic is not wrong, it’s not — evil. How she wants to hear someone else say it. She catches the hunger in her own gaze, quickly averts it.
“Then, do you live here…?”
She has already anticipated the answer, yes. It must be yes, it must all be true, everything, even the druids. That they live here, hidden from the king’s men; a peaceful, nonviolent people. Magic running through them like ore: natural, inseparable. Perhaps, if she is deemed harmless, she will be permitted to some secret grove, a camp, a settlement ripe with people, and they will look at her with understanding, with acceptance, they will tell her, you are welcome, Morgana——
“Surely,” A little breathless with impatience; her eyes pick at the basket, cornucopia of herbs and salves, then cling again to the girl’s face. “Surely, there are others…”
something tender lingers in her gaze, the way morgana struggles between some mixture of elation and hunger, excitement and the need to stomp out the flames of happiness and interest; it’s familiar. gaze follows down to the basket and then upward again. magic is - is honoria, now. it has been since she severed the spell, cleared her muddled mind, chose to embrace freedom rather than position. she still wonders, sometimes, if her predecessor is happy. wed to a prince, with all the pretty baubles and gowns and fine dinners she would dream of. it had always felt wonderful, but now it just feels hollow. fool’s gold.
“oh - yes, a little ways away,” her home is a little cottage, rich soil and small garden, a brook that branches off this river babbling and leaves casting dancing shadows across the grass. it is only a few minute’s walk from here, though difficult to find if one does not know the path of landmarks - the looming, twisted oak, the spattering of lilacs, the faerie circle and sparrow’s nest. others has her pausing, though. “i live on my own, though -” ah.
she knows of the druids more than truly knowing them. honoria is something - different than them, but the spattering of times she has met their group it had been amicable, if not wary on both ends. “there are ... others, though. i only see them on occasion. it is safer to remain in small numbers.” a pause, considering for a long moment, “would you like to come to my home? these things are easier to talk about over tea.”
it is a risk, but a calculated one. those who wish to stunt magic are never so amicable, so interested.
incrediblechange:
@shemagickd said: ‘ you’re welcome here, there is room for everyone. ’ bonnie & clyde ! / accepting !
“BRILLIANT. love that. you’d be surprised how many people hear the word ALIEN an’ decide t’ change their minds.”
“i’ve heard far worse. not to worry, i think the pixies will be quite interested in an alien.”
bonnie & clyde: the musical sentence starters.
picture show.
‘ can’t you see me in the middle of a dance floor? ’
‘ these are things you take a chance for! ’
‘ i wanna live the life of an outlaw. ’
‘ i’m gonna shoot my way out. ’
‘ bang bang, you’re dead! ’
‘ i’m gonna be the guy kids look up to. ’
this world will remember me.
‘ i don’t intend to waste my life ‘round here. ’
‘ yes, this world will remember me! ’
‘ every kid will idolize [name]. ’
‘ your face should be up on that silver screen. ’
‘ we are wasted ‘round here, we’re too good for this place. ’
‘ you && this world will remember me! ’
you’re going back to jail.
‘ it is time to wipe the slate clean. ’
‘ now pull yourself together because you’ve gone pale. ’
‘ baby, you don’t know what it’s like in there! ’
‘ ain’t had time to change my shirt. ’
‘ i don’t want her comin’ ‘round here no more. ’
‘ i can’t believe what you are askin’ me to do! ’
how ‘bout a dance?
‘ how ‘bout a dance? what do you say? ’
‘ i’ve got some moves that i’d love to show you. ’
‘ let’s find a spot && dance the night away. ’
‘ come over here, let me get to know you. ’
‘ you look so handsome. ’
‘ music like this can really throw ya. ’
when i drive.
‘ ain’t no car too smart for me. ’
‘ put me behind the wheel && stand well back. ’
‘ i’ll get your heart pumpin’. ’
‘ won’t pay the law no mind. ’
‘ will you stop tugging at my sleeve? ’
‘ we are the heroes who the people look up to! ’
god’s arms are always open.
‘ your voice is always heard. ’
‘ you’re gonna feel things that will astound you. ’
‘ you’re welcome here, there is room for everyone. ’
‘ you are one lucky fella. i mean , you know , ‘til now. ’
‘ hey, you got a gift card? ’
‘ finger off the trigger, son. ’
you can do better than him.
‘ he’s wild && he’s reckless. ’
‘ you’re better without him. ’
‘ for a while i thought you would fly away. ’
‘ you could find someone that people respect. ’
‘ you won’t do better than me, no. ’
‘ there’s no man who could love you like i do. ’
you love who you love.
‘ i know my heart don’t care what people say. ’
‘ all i know is that i’ve never felt like this. ’
‘ you don’t have no say, your heart decides. ’
‘ most girls would hate to be standing in my shoes. ’
‘ true love’s something you don’t choose. ’
‘ maybe that’s what made you love him all along. ’
raise a little hell.
‘ i can’t take no more of this. ’
‘ this nightmare has to end. ’
‘ i’ve been broken by the devil. ’
‘ justice is a waste of time. ’
‘ i won’t get to heaven; why not raise a little hell? ’
‘ never killed, but now i have to. ’
this world will remember us.
‘ my name is gonna make the history books. ’
‘ bye, baby. ’
‘ see you soon, sugar. ’
‘ but after that we will be done for good. ’
‘ two living legends, that’s what we’ll be! ’
‘ we are the pair that we’ll discuss! ’
made in america.
‘ no one has the right to steal. ’
‘ we must all do what is right. ’
‘ we were made in america. ’
‘ ain’t their fault they turned to crime. ’
‘ they stole! wouldn’t you? ’
‘ fill your heart with kindness. ’
too late to turn back now.
‘ i gotta get out now while i still can! ’
‘ it ain’t my fault, i had no choice. ’
‘ with that bullet you shot him && you shot me! ’
‘ i wouldn’t hurt you for the world, babe. ’
‘ you ain’t goin’ nowhere! ’
‘ it’s too late to turn back now! ’
that’s what you call a dream.
‘ these dreams of yours make no sense at all. ’
‘ we could both have a perfect life. ’
‘ you miss a lot when you ask too much. ’
‘ all i ever wanted is on this side of the door. ’
‘ in the house the candles gleam. ’
‘ now that’s what you call a dream. ’
what was good enough for you.
‘ prayin’ for rain, without rain there’s no crop. ’
‘ this ain’t no way to live. ’
‘ that’s how the west was won. ’
‘ writing a diary is tough around here. ’
‘ i don’t wanna miss my chance. ’
‘ we deserve what we are gonna get. ’
bonnie.
‘ i must be in love or else i’m goin’ mad. ’
‘ that girl’s got somethin’. ’
‘ nothin’ scares her. ’
‘ only piece of luck that’s ever come my way. ’
‘ can’t wait to tell her how much i’ve missed her. ’
‘ got a feelin’ there are good times up ahead. ’
raise a little hell (reprise).
‘ now our dreams are so much bigger. ’
‘ these are gonna change our lives. ’
‘ why do folks wanna be heroes? ’
‘ all i wanna do is save her. ’
‘ we are gonna be more famous. ’
‘ we won’t get to heaven, so let’s raise a little hell! ’
dyin’ ain’t so bad.
‘ only when one’s left behind does it get sad. ’
‘ i couldn’t live on memories. ’
‘ a love like ours don’t happen twice. ’
‘ i’d rather breathe in life than dusty air. ’
‘ dyin’ ain’t so bad; not if you both go together. ’
‘ a short && lovin’ life, that ain’t so bad. ’
Badly describe my muse in my inbox.