#AESTHETICS.

[armorangels]

lucien victor guirand de scévola, head of a lady in medieval costume, details (1900)

[gwah--ren]

ELETHEA + GWAREN + HEALING

[mystakors]

bellas artes, santiago de chile.

[satellitecrater]

din, aesthetics.

[rebelcongeriem]

FANFICTION ALERT     ▴━━      introducing creature agendas !

Hermione’s startled gasp draws his attention, and Harry turns to find her standing frozen with fear, metal clenched tightly in shaking hands, as the shackled beast opens its great maw and an orange glow starts from within, growing brighter and brighter until, with one hoarse roar, it unleashes a jet of fire at them.

Harry’s mind goes blank, his body moving before his brain has the chance to process what is happening. He wastes no time at all in throwing himself at Hermione who hasn’t budged from her spot, Ron’s frantic, “‘Mione!” sounding in the background. But in his haste to reach her, Harry stumbles over a loose rock in the ground and lands hard on his knee, ripping a hole into the knee of his pants and scraping the skin, even as his hands unerringly find Hermione’s shoulders to push her out of the way of the flames.

She hits the ground with a groan, her fearful gaze locked on Harry just as the flames reach him, swallowing him whole, her piercing scream echoing off the rocky walls, matching Ron’s cry of shock.

Orangish red fills Harry’s vision, the stifling wave of heat settling around him like a cloak set aflame, blurring the edges of his vision until it finally whites out. He blinks rapidly, trying to relieve the stinging in his eyes. (It hurts.) Merlin does it hurt, the feel of the flames licking at his skin a blistering sensation teasing his nerve endings into a frenzy of tingles and itches and stings, a hint of the pain and destruction to come—pain that soon turns excruciating.

It radiates through him, not unlike the Cruciatus he was once subjected to, threatening to cripple him as a shroud of inky blackness lurks at the edges of his mind, so thick he can barely tell his up from his down.

Until, between breaths, the black spots flickering in his eyes finally dissolve, and he’s suddenly met with the awe-inspiring sight of a gargantuan skeletal dragon looming over him like some great, insurmountable mountain, with thick, bony wings stretched as far as the eye can see, pitch-black and tipped with a pair of sickles, from whence coils of shadows writhe around them, beckoning him forward.

“Greetings, Harry James Potter,” says the being, several voices overlapping Their unearthly, whispery-soft tone as They lower Their head until They are at eye-level with him.

Harry stares in stupefied astonishment at the sheer size of the thing, hardly able to hold Their opaque gaze without flinching. Their eyesockets are twice the size of dinner plates, as black as the skeletal frame They don proudly—and just as unnerving, the ancient intelligence in Their gaze as unfathomable as the deepest, most unexplored parts of space humankind yearns to touch but never will. Shadows lovingly cling to Them, all but sinking into Their bones with every minute shift of Their body as They continue to regard him with some foreign emotion akin to familiarity, an aura of fondness surrounding Them that is as surprising as it is compelling.

TO READ MORE about harry’s adventures in westeros, click here.

[maidmythics]

remicore . 🫶

[grlsav1ored]

𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗦𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗛 : 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀 / 𝟬𝟬𝟭.         personals  do  not  interact  ;  mutuals  may  interact.      ©  

     you  are  a  born  saviour.      the  daughter  of  the  once  most  feared  and  hated  man  in  the  whole  of  alexandria,  but  you  are  also  the  daughter  of  the  woman  that  he  loved  more  than  anyone.      you  are  strong  and  fearless,  brave  and  a  little  bit  reckless.      you’re  father’s  daughter  through  and  through.      everyone  always  tells  you  how  much  you  look  like  your  mom,  but  you’ve  got  your  dad’s  eyes  and  his  temperament.      you  grew  up  in  a  world  that  was  ruled  by  the  survivors  of  the  dead,  the  dead  that  continue  to  walk  the  earth  in  search  for  their  next  meal.    raised  to  fight  and  survive,  and  yet  you  dislike  killing,  you  find  it  difficult  and  don’t  want  to  be  seen  as  the  monster.      you  know  what  some  people  used  to  say  about  your  dad,  you  know  that  he  was  once  viewed  as  the  monster  that  haunted  nightmares.      you  don’t  want  to  be  seen  like  that.      you  want  to  be  someone  useful,  someone  who  could  be  relied  on  and  someone  who  would  do  anything  to  protect  what  they  have  in  alexandria.      you  are  a  natural  born  leader,  someone  who  knows  how  to  take  charge  and  get  yourself  and  others  out  of  situations.      you  may  be  a  weapon,  but  you  always  think  before  you  act.      you  are  a  survivor  and  you  are  proud  to  be  your  father’s  daughter,  no  matter  what  anyone  says.

[dustwereturn]

REPOST AND LIST 6 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE:

i. chapel, by nicole dollangager

i'm going to get married today / the chapel is full of crosses and bouquets / we pray to the wax bride and her violet varicose veins / kiss me with forever where only death remains / i can be good, I can be true / you know I don't love anyone, but i love you / i can be good, i can be true / you know I don't love anyone, but I love you

ii. he hit me (and it felt like a kiss), by the chordettes

yes, he hit me / and it felt like a kiss / he hit me / and i knew i loved him / and then he took me in his arms / with all the tenderness there is / and when he kissed me / he made me his

iii. i will wait for you, by connie francis

if it takes forever i will wait for you / for a thousand summers i will wait for you / 'till you're back beside me, 'till I'm holding you / 'till I hear you sigh here in my arms

iv. what's the use of wond'rin'?, from carousel

common sense may tell you / that the ending will be sad / and now's the time to break and run away / but whats the use of wondrin' / if the ending will be sad? / he's your fella and you love him / there's nothing more to say

v. me and my husband, by mitski

and i am the idiot with the painted face / in the corner, taking up space / but when he walks in, i am loved, i am loved / me and my husband / we're doing better / it's always been just him and me together

vi. cellophane, by fka twigs

and i, just want to feel you're there / and i don't want to have to share our love / i try, but i get overwhelmed / when you're gone I have no one to tell / and i, just want to feel you're there / and i don't want to have to share our love / i try but I get overwhelmed / all wrapped in cellophane, the feelings that we had

& LIST 6 QUOTES THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE:

i. ghosts are real, this much I know. there are things that tie them to a place, very much like they do to us. some remain tethered to a patch of land, a time and date, the spilling of blood, a terrible crime ... there are others, others that hold onto an emotion, a drive, loss, revenge, or love. those, they never go away. / crimson peak, dir guillermo del toro

ii. as long as i can remember, i've wanted you. i've made a monument of this loving. / rumi

iii. another thing that she is thinking is this: she is going to die. antigone is young. she would much rather live than die. but there is no help for it. when your name is antigone, there is only one part you can play, and she will have to play hers through to the end. / jean anouilh (trans. lewis galantiere)

iv. i saw love disfigure me into something i am not recognizing. / song for zula, by phosphorescent

v. i want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love. / sylvia plath

vi. i'll tell you what real love is. it is blind devotion, unquestioning self humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter — as i did." / charles dickens, as in great expectations

TAGGED BY: @jokethur, thank you!! <3 TAGGING: @hiveruled, @cathydoll, @heygutlcss, @maskacre, @infernalrampage, @firstsorrow

[armorangels]

[gwah--ren]

GWAREN + AESTHETICS. 1/?

[kotaerukoto]

[highevara]

ELETHEA COUSLAND + WHITE.

[rebelcongeriem]

FANFICTION ALERT     ▴━━      introducing fight for tomorrow !                                                                ( we can start today )

Harry taps his wand against his bottom lip, deliberating on what to tell them when sparks erupt from the still-lit tip in a rendition of a mini-firework display. He rolls his eyes at its theatrics. “Oh, hush you...Sorry about that.” He sends Eddie a cheeky wink. “She likes to show off sometimes. But to answer your question...that bloody clock of mine is off about fifteen years, so yeah, suppose you can say that...Or maybe there is no future, and we’re just lost in the sands of time, stuck between here and there.”

In the ensuing quiet between admiration and rumination, a lone tendril wiggles after them like a fish caught on a hook, just barely grazing the heels of their shoes before Harry is pointing his wand at the wannabe Devil’s Snare and casting silently, to the childlike awe and wonder of his captivated audience.

A small cluster of flames shoots from the wand tip, igniting the tendril and sending it into a quivering frenzy, a terrible, inhuman shriek renting the mildly toxic air. (Uh, nope. Not going to inhale any unidentifiable toxins today, thank you very much.) So without missing a beat, Harry swishes his wand in a downward, complicated spiral, an enormous bubble saturated in clean, breathable oxygen emerging to surround their heads.

“Whoa,” Eddie whispers and pokes at the bubble, his expression revealing just how startled he is to find it as effervescent and as soft as it looks. “Get a load of this, Henderson.” He exchanges a look with Dustin, evidently on the same wavelength because, in the next moment, they’re sporting the same kind of grin, a smug curl of a thing that might’ve rankled if Harry didn’t find it so damn adorable.

“We’re going to rock this campaign, dude,” Eddie declares, exuding confidence as he strums at the air like he’s in the middle of a guitar solo. (It’s actually kind of sexy.

Damnit. No.

Not again, brain.)

TO READ MORE about harry’s adventures in stranger things, click here.

[skysteppe]

are we doing moodboards? *poses*

[carvedinitials]

𝖉𝖚𝖓𝖈𝖆𝖓  𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖊𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙  𝖆𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘      /      𝟎𝟎𝟒.    FT. NEVERMORE AU.      © personals do not reblog / mutuals may interact.

[womensgloat]

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR LOVE?

warm burnt orange

riding off into the sunset, the hope of a happy ending, the bitter after taste that still in it's own way smells kinda great. your love is all bitter hopefulness, all about a broken heart that refuses to quit, all about the unshakable knowledge that a burning fire has a great comforting warm and a soft glowing light, all about the way when the sun comes down there's a beautiful starry night. it's stubbornness, it's the refusal to give up, the clutching of broken shards despite the searing pain and being adamant that dammit you can still make a beautiful stained glass window out of it. yours is a screaming heart, a pleading love, a bitter and almost belligerent hopefulness that things will still work out even if you have to roll up your sleeves and make them. and god, aren't you tired? isn't your heart heavy? is all your hard work worth it? don't you just want to curl up and let it be? let the fire turn to ashes and the sky turn dark and let love die down and watch people leave? but you don't, do you? you're the bravest out of all of us, so you pick up the pieces and you keep going, you keep believing and you keep your heart full of hope because some day. some day you know you'll get it. you keep riding off into the sunset and you keep filling my heart with hope as you go because god, how do i wish you finally get it too.

tagged by: @xx--savemysoul, thank you! tagging: you!