lotus flower ୭ ׂ 𓈒 ·˚ 🪷

ojovivo

Love Begins
Game of Thrones Daily
Show & Tell
todays bird

JBB: An Artblog!
Cosmic Funnies
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
YOU ARE THE REASON
Jules of Nature

titsay

★
RMH
occasionally subtle
Three Goblin Art
AnasAbdin

Product Placement
will byers stan first human second
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@gentlekami
lotus flower ୭ ׂ 𓈒 ·˚ 🪷

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三重県 志摩市 大慈寺 てんけい桜 Mie Daijiji Cherryblossom
Autumn has come!
Philosopher's Path, Kyoto, Japan by Melissa
Sixteen Miles Out

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“You, Beloved,… are all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, from “[You who never arrived] in Selected Poems, trans. Stephen Mitchell
Vita Sackville-West, from her poem "In Memoriam: Virginia Woolf" published in The Observer on 6 April 1941
.insatiable
These grotesque constructs were infantile in appearance, he admitted to himself, molded to life from the discarded parts of toys that appeared stitched together to create colorful monstrosities. She did not see them as mere creations, even those before him now, the ones that would soon become tools for his conquest.
Having such a connection to them was pointless in his eyes. As quickly as they are made, they are to be discarded. She did not share the same views as him - how curious. He observed how much she cared for each one molded by her magic, that even calling them minions struck a chord with her.
They were loyal to a fault, hardly falling in line under his command unless she ordered them to serve under their new Lord. These grisly creatures understood who their maker was, and no matter the threat, or intimidation tactics, had worked to the benefit of the lumbering voidsent stalking her halls and marching to her chambers.
Leathery wings blanket his form, creating a weathered cloak upon his broad shoulders to avoid knocking over the macabre decor of carnivorous plants hanging dangerously low from her vaulted ceilings. In his passing, the candelabras pulse into life and coil their flames enough to send his monumental shadows to scale along the walls as if made of liquid themselves.
Heavy doors gave part for him in anticipation of his arrival, but Diabolos, the Lord of Dreams, did not find her waiting. He was received by a quiet room where the only light provided was made of amethyst shards with residue of aether trapped within. A numerous amount bobbed around her chambers, casting their dreamy hues to an otherwise dreary interior. The moon's glow was tucked behind heavy velvet curtains, which unfortunately concealed the stained glass that adorned the window.
Such a masterpiece was unveiled with a languid sweep of his claws, allowing the vibrant colors to flood the room, peeling away the remaining shadows over her coffin, where she lay. Immediately, the air grew heavy with energy and soft murmurs stirred around him, he ignored their objections and
The otherworldly glow settled upon her, this Queen who remained unshakable to his own might and presence. This thorn in his side. She was cocooned neatly with the iridescent tendrils protruding from her back, and nestled in the scarlet lining of her coffin. Her hair was made undone from its ribbons and free from its crown, spread over her face and shoulders. Underneath her soft exterior, he knew well the kind of serpent she was, how quickly she would strike if threatened, yet that did not dissuade him from reaching.
His wings whip away from his form, shielding the colorful arrangement of light from falling upon her stilled form, so all her body would know was the cool caress of his shadow. Again the protests from the canopy above. His retaliation to them came in the form of a guttural snarl as his attention abruptly shifted to the unseen forces around him. His chest rumbled and appeared broader as he made sure his presence would not be questioned, and when all but a few whispers remained, he turned his gaze back to her.
To the curve of her cheek, the part of her lips, and knew the moment he touched her, he would become undone --
Cherry Blossoms in full bloom at Onda river, Tokyo ♡
"I was always conscious of a / possibility of silence falling like the / lid of a tomb and engulfing me / for ever and ever."
— Louise Bourgeois

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@Childish-like
Quiescent (n.) — a hush between heartbeats, the moment the wind stills and the earth sighs. Quiescent is the quiet presence of being-the softness of morning mist, the hush of twilight, the deep breath before something new begins. it is the kind of stillness that isn't empty, but full-of rest, of waiting, of quiet becoming.
Cemeteries and Snow 🪦❄️
Cherry blossoms in a palace garden. Ukiyo-e woodblock print, about 1840’s, Japan, by artist Kikugawa Eizan.
Sara Teasdale, from “The Kiss”

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