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Fanart from short series - Sauria by Deadsound

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Bound to be

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Mahmoud Darwish - “Memory for Forgetfulness” 

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champagne problems - taylor swift

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the prophecy - taylor swift

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btw the gods love you. It's okay to feel loved by the gods.

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Yuri

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Cain's daughter.

≋ And so she held him down into the river, shaking hands and all. For one moment of her wretched life, she felt truly alive. ≋

≋ Camilla Macaulay. ≋

≋ Word count: 1071 words.

≋ TW: Dead dove do not eat, mentions and description of inc*st scene.

≋ CW: Misogyny, mentions of body horror, allusions to sexual themes and actions, mentions of "sins" and therefore catholic guilt. Please note that this is not a "x Charles" or "x Henry" by any means, despite the characters being portrayed in it. This is simply Camilla Macaulay.

≋ Hello, my heroes. I have not written in some time and this work was originally going to be discarded, but I thought some of you might enjoy it. I do love Camilla with all my heart. No reader needed for this one.

Sometimes Camilla wishes she weren’t a woman. 

Womanhood feels like a fleshy cage: tight, throbbing and unwilling to ever let her go. When a stranger calls her “sweetheart” or “honey” she curses the gold that frames her face. When the men that are supposed to be her friends trail their hungry eyes over her body in a not so subtle way she curses the subtle curves that were gifted to her by the universe. When her brother pins her onto her soft bed sheets she curses her angelic reflection. When she finds herself enjoying his touch more than she should, she curses the way her arms slot so nicely around his neck; it’s a habit, she tells herself, it’s just routine.

Sometimes, during those nights where Charles falls asleep by her side she sneaks glances at him and, if she’s lucky, she can pretend she’s looking in a mirror instead of another living and breathing human being. Their hair falls on their forehead in the exact same way, the slope of their noses were built from the same mold, the gentle downward tilt of their pouty lips is identical. While the blunt nail of her index trails down the delicate curve of his neck she swears she can feel it, the beating of his heart. It would all be so much easier, if she could climb into his ribcage and pretend she never existed in the first place.

What a dream it would be, and only a dream it is at the end of the day. How disappointing, that she is indeed Cain’s daughter.

She could not even begin to count the amount of times Bunny has ignored her words simply because he could. Her lips, painted by a pretty nude lipstick, could move and speak irrefutable facts until they fell off and he would not dare even acknowledge her truths because well, women talk too much. Camilla, though, has never considered herself to be a chatterbox. She’s a profiler, an analyzer. She’d rather sit back and evaluate how to behave rather than speak with just anyone. There are some people, out there in the world, that quite frankly do not deserve to hear her voice.

When the sky is bathing in midnight ink she has to turn over, tug the blankets over her body, tune out her brother’s soft sleepy breaths to avoid thinking about it.

Less rare are the times where during class her eye falls to Richard. The way he uncomfortably snaps his gaze away the instant she makes eye contact with him should feel like flattery, it only makes her tense up and cross her arms over her chest, overtly aware of her femininity. His flushed cheeks, the way he rearranges his seating position, his slender fingers twirling a pencil around and Adam's apple bobbing in his throat are all pretty obvious signs. He wants her, badly, and she’s not so naive a girl to be oblivious to it. He’s not worthy of her fear, however. 

Even Francis takes advantage of her kisses and hugs, whenever he can. He just can’t help himself after all, bless him. His lack of attraction to women, alas, does not change that he is indeed a man.

One night she sits in Henry’s bathtub, knees brought up to her chest with the moonlight filtering through the window, the freezing water sending shivers down her pale naked body. She can’t bring herself to step out, wrapping a towel around her drenched self would mean acknowledging the gentle slopes of her figure - the very same that trustworthy hands have caressed what felt like forever ago but was in truth only mere moments- and she doesn’t know if she’s strong enough for that. 

She slides further down the pale ceramic, her thin pale legs stretch out in front of her. Twin tails of wishing stars that lead up to a gift from the sky. Down, down, down until she can feel the waters’ embrace all around her, until she’s enveloped by the stillness of the artificial lake. It’s like being back in her mother’s womb, only this time, she’s alone. No one to share her space with, or her air, or her body, or her mind. She wishes this could count as a second baptism and for just a second she convinces herself that it can be, despite the unholy bruises that litter her thighs.

There’s not little guilt to be found in how much she enjoys it. She could spend an eternity like this.

That night in the dead silence of Henry’s bathroom, when a blond girl is reborn, it’s not with a sharp cry or with a scream, but with a gasp and her head thrown back as her empty lungs gulp in as much air as they can, wrinkled fingertips grasping onto the edge of the tub .

The bathroom floor almost floods when she stands in a hurry, wanting nothing else than to find solace in sleep. The droplets sliding down her face blend in with her tears, trailing along the crook of her neck, down her breasts, her waist until they reunite with the ripples by her shins.

It’s not enough, trying to wash away her sins can only do so much. It’s not enough and she knows it. It will never be enough. No matter how many times Henry’s kiss marks cover Charles’, no matter how many times she pretends not to spot Richard’s hungry gaze. It’s no use. 

And so, on this night, where Henry has long fallen asleep by her side, she sneaks glances at him and she wants to want him. While the short manicured nail of her index trails down the strong curve of his jaw she swears she can feel it, the beating of his heart. It would all be so much easier, if she could climb into his ribcage and pretend she never existed in the first place.

Sometimes Camilla wishes she weren’t a woman.

She doesn’t even know what she’d like to be. 

An erupting volcano, destroying one civilization after the other. An earthshaking tsunami dragging cities down to the sea with her touch. A gentle shower of rain to hydrate the poppies. A leaf big enough to have a snail take a nap on it. That one breeze of cool air when the summer is in full swing. 

A beautiful butterfly, with her hours counted and a whole world to explore.

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its that time of the year

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Feeding the community this fine snack.

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If I ever were to lose you,

Id surely lose myself...

Tw. Blood and MAJOR SPOILERS

I already played the game but it didn't hurt any less, a zaddy has left us (again)

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🌳🏹🌊✨️

"𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞"

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Aftermath of a Rough Arrival

Featuring my Sauria oc!! This is Devoye, she’s a pachisaurian who meets Captain Ornithicera when he first arrives, and I am extremely mentally ill abt her 💕💕💕

Color pallet reference and name inspo below the cut lol