#here's this garbage

[ripetogether]

CLOSED STARTER. @leftlipstick​

MINERVA: i’m queen of bookshelves, right? MINERVA: i know you’re probably busy researching but i’m furniture shopping and trying to pick out a new couch for the library MINERVA: and i’ve looked at like fifteen at this point, it’s so hard MINERVA: so i’m sitting here thinking MINERVA: but LOOK at this bookshelf behind me it’s so cool and weird 

[bridoesotherjunk]

Sidlink Enchanted Au in which Link was all set to marry a wonderful woman named Mipha until a strange, overly optimistic shark man sang his way into his heart?

Yes, Please.

[suffcring]

[ SEDUCTION ] ― my muse whispers dirty nothings into their ear. [+ reverse, Rabbit and the Serpent. it whispers to her as it eats her dreams, praising her loyalty, hurting her, its form intangible, untouchable, beyond comprehension. do not ask me.]

Body a stranger she does not know -- body a house in a dream, almost like a home hardly remembered but different in the way that architecture only achieves in unconsciousness. Rabbit drifts in and out; sleep is harder since it's arrival, despite the countless pieces of lepidolite and howlite she hoards by her bed, and yet she cannot bring herself not to lay offerings about. No altar needed; The Serpent knows what is left for it, and takes more, besides.

Counts to ten, counts to thirty, counts to two hundred twenty six. A few minutes snatched from it's unhinged jaw, effusive pleasure come and gone like nothing, replaced with a headache that throbs at the back of her neck and a pulsing unnameable ache under her lower ribs.

Is this what it means to worship? Ritual madness accomplished not through drink and poison, but the tidal nature of sleep?

Does she feel it beneath her bed, writhing in it's consumption, or is that a waking dream?

Is there a difference, a demarcation point, when it comes to a creature of it's nature?

--There are no creatures of it's nature. Simply itself.

Too hot.

She tosses the blanket from her body like death's shroud.

Too cold.

Her toes bleed with the warmth leeching from her body.

And always, the whisper. Is it the house settling? Or does it tell her of her power, her potential? Secrets about herself she does not know.

Dawn is grim and gray, beyond.

[akselhaddock]

@jacks-onian;

aksel was completely focused. he hadn’t realized he’d started drawing in the corner of the page of his notes. it didn’t register to him that he was drawing two anatomically correct dragons — one that looked strikingly like a sand wraith, and the other that strongly resembled a monstrous nightmare. it wasn’t until a pair of feet appeared before him that he jumped out of his daze with a mumble of “fuck–” he glared up at jackson, curling his notebook closer to his chest. “jesus fuck, dude. what the hell are you, a cat? make some damn noise when you walk.”