timecall - Tumblr blog

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(thinks about byleth’s mom) :C

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Wislawa Szymborska, from “The Century’s Decline”, View with a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems

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hey everybody. tau here. in true baloney-head fashion i deleted my entire fucking blog w/o meaning to. this is the new one. pls rb to help me find my mutuals (sobs) thaaaaaanks

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@crestid: the dark feathers of her lashes stand out in sharp contrast against the smooth skin of her cheek. he worries them with his lips, gentle hands caressing sleep-weighted limbs. thin white sheets are a poor shield against the biting cold air of northern mornings, but with her gracious warmth against him it’s enough to soldier through. “i have to leave soon,” he murmurs and he *does.* he’s due in teutates on the morrow and so really he should have left the bed *already* but a weakened will and the rhythm of her breathing has had him yet to stir.

She wishes to be selfish—that should be allowed, shouldn’t it, for someone called hero and revered as some sort of savior?—and for a moment, she is, with the way her arms don’t slacken their hold in the slightest and her head remains firmly on his chest. Maybe on a different day, she would be telling him to hurry; that he’ll be late, that he has duties, maybe that the sooner he goes the sooner he can come back ( in general, obviously, but—to her, specifically ). But her eyes are still closed, and she feels more than anything the press of his lips to her face and his words against her scalp, and for a moment, Byleth almost asks for him to stay because it’s always so much colder without him.                                                                            Almost.                    Asking him of that would be unfair to the both of them, really, because goddess knows he would actually try to stay a little longer and only prolong the inevitable of being forced to go. Better for him to leave now than to only exacerbate the already present reluctance. She allows herself a small compromise, though, barely peeking one eye open to look up at him as she scoots herself just a bit closer despite her thoughts, pressing a kiss to his chin before resting on him again with a sigh.                   “Then you should,” she says regardless of the contradiction with her actions, words muffled slightly against him. Her hand remains curled over his heart as the slow thump, thump nearly lulls her back to sleep.                                      “... It isn’t for very long.” Or, it shouldn’t be, in theory—so he should go now, while she's settling with another small peck near his collar and before she changes her mind.

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wait. smooch please 🥺

morning cool creeps in from the windows—draft-like, through the jambs. white linen panels swaying down like moss off a willow do little to keep out the nibbling spring air nor the rays of burgeoning sunlight still too weak to warm.

Keep reading

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tau is making me come back to tumblr :florsh:

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pst...... pssssssstttt....... byleth my love.... hi 🥺🥺🥺

(waves) hello sylvain. why are you in the bushes like that. 

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miss byleth why r you so sexy

it’s the fishing. ladies LOVE fishing. look at this form, this technique, how could you NOT fu

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(wakes up after 5 years) whoa where am i 

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She’s been staring at the same page for a few minutes now, maybe—not that she noticed until the silence is broken by the other’s calm voice. Byleth doesn’t tend to startle, but there’s a moment where she blinks idly at the book in her hands ( another much too long and lofty text about the teachings of seiros, or ... something on those lines ), gazing blankly at the ink before actually looking up across from her.                                                        “I suppose.” Another beat passes before she tilts her head.

                                                     “Yours ... as a student?” 

   he’s  midway  turning  a  page  when  the  thought  provokes  a  frown  on  him.  and  after  careful  consideration,  lukas  simply  says  it  aloud:   ‘‘   it  seems  there’s  already  a  role  we’re  expected  to  fill  at  the  academy,  doesn’t  it  ?  more  overtly  in  your  case.   ’’    a  professor.  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙  𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙  𝙤𝙛  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙡𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨.  he  shifts  under  his  seat,  as  if  he  can’t  shrug  off  the  discomfort.

   ‘‘   truth  be  told,  𝘪’𝘮  𝘯𝘰𝘵  𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦  𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦  𝘩𝘰𝘸  𝘪  𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭  𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵  𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦.   ’’  the  book  closes  with a  thud.   @timecall​.

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MARI,

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the universe is daring me to fall in love with you and, darling, I’ve never met a dare I didn’t take but I never could have expected how deeply I fell how quickly my heart flew out of my chest and into your hands and yet, loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done because you see me, my scars and all, and still you believe in me and I’ve always been a little bit terrified of the song in my heart the way it overpowers everything else, a pounding war drum  but with you, the fear fades away into something softer  and after all these years, I’m finally alright with believing  because when I’m able to hear your heart beating in time with mine this black earth feels golden

because of you by Abby S (via fireandsteelofangels)

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you didn’t simply kiss me you pressed your lips against my skin your body molding itself into mine until the universe couldn’t tell where you ended and I began  what you did was breathe the words the world has made you too afraid to say what you did was call me worthy with the gentleness of the way your hands trace my skin and I’m sure of this, of you and my heart  I don’t remember when or how but my heart placed itself in your hands and I’m never getting it back

I wouldn’t want to anyway by Abby S (via fireandsteelofangels)

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Albert Camus, from a notebook entry featured in Notebooks (1951-1959)

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Intelligent, reserved, emotionally strong,

Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius, from Selections; “Finally, The Party At Rach,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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I like hearing the chirping of cravings and the sea-rustle of dreams. I like hearing you talk about your love and your future. You possess what is needed for success in this world: hope.

Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to Andonis Anemoyannis c. Dec. 1903 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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Sometimes my soul is flooded, flooded by strange feelings. Today, too, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to Harilaos Stefanidis wr. c. March 1903 (via violentwavesofemotion)