ICONS... ACQUIRED...
i don't do bad sauce passes
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
we're not kids anymore.

çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation

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@scioneal
ICONS... ACQUIRED...

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I think Iâm getting the back-to-school blues, because Iâve been feeling pretty bummed latelyâŚ
But doodling Seliph always makes me happy again! ⥠(yay for 100th post :D)
     Dear Empire, I am confused each time I wake inside you.
    [âŚ]
     You wear a different face to each atrocity.      You are un-unified and tangled.             Are you just gluttony?             Are you civilizationâs slow grenade?
      I am confused each time Iâm swallowed by your doors.
â JesĂşs Castillo, from âUntitled,â published in Poem-a-Day
i wanted to find
the animal in my body & skin it. to find
the river in my body & lie in it. to let
the water render me like every other silent
glowing stone in the sky.
â Alfredo Aguilar, from âMount Erie,â published in The Collapsar
looking towards the future (~1.5 hours)
process video

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i am too young to live without holding my breath. the world is so much prettier in watercolour, the kind from inhaling underwater to wash away the back of the throat; i would lift a river to my lips and drain it speechless and diving headfirst into oncoming traffic doesnât sound like the absolute worst of ideas, to be completely honest, but hunger is something else altogether. they call it unforgiving, blot of ink on tissue-paper limbs. i say that irony is a starving thing, all bare ribs and wax-worn skin, but this age has rendered me incomprehensible and itâs a damn shame because really, i have so much to say beneath the pages of a paperweight mouth. what iâm trying to say is, I WRITE PRAYERS DOWN THE LENGTH OF MY SPINE IN THE HOPE THATÂ GOD WILL BREAK IT APART AND THROW ME THE BONES FOR SOMETHING TO CHEW ON.
psalms // t.e. (via prcserpina)
Super Smash Bros. Ultimate (OST) ~Â End of Despair (Fire Emblem: Geneology of the Holy War) New Remix
He gentle places a cloak around her shoulders. "It's colder than usual... and I'd prefer if you didn't catch a cold, Julia." He offers a smile too, patting down the wrinkles.
     It is not the cloak that warms her, but the gesture. Though Julia has always insisted on tending to herself, she thoughtful to perceive her brotherâs protectiveness as a sort of comfort for him, so she plays along. He is gentle as it drapes around her, careful, and she cannot help but smile. Though the action is sweet, she can see the weatherâs effect on him as well.
     âYouâre colder, Lord Brother,â she refutes, her voice a soft mutter of displeasure. Even so, there is no semblance of refusal to her voice. Rather, her hands selfishly tug at the fabric, pulling it snugly around her. The flush of her face betrays the cold nipping against her face. She has no intention of giving up the item now that she has it. Instead, she reaches out for his hands. Delicately clasping them together, she tries to warm them with her own. She can feel the chill through his gloves, but her hands fight valiantly against it. Though not much, the act is all she can provide, and she hopes it is well received.
      âThere,â she hums, satisfied. âIf youâre so worried, we can return home, the market can wait for another day.â
i laughed today. / for a second i was unhaunted. i was the sun, not light / from some dead star.
Danez Smith, from âit began right here,â Donât Call Us Dead (via lifeinpoetry)
primal source quiz !
OCEAN.
ocean magic draws on the depth of the oceans and tides, and its power connects through rivers and lakes that flow back to it. ocean mages can reflect the nature of their home: a swamp mage and a river mage would look different, though they both connect to the same primal source. ocean-connected creatures often forge strong connections to others, and can have hidden depths.
tagged by:Â @holytoem tagging:Â anyone who wants to take it up!! iâm a big lazyÂ

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sireneiaâ:
⌠ââ â you⌠havenât ? â iucharâs smile drops in an instant as he takes in this news. he finds the news troublingâ he was certain asking the swordswomanâs childhood friend would yield him the answer he sought out yet he found himself no better than he was a few minutes ago. damn his misfortune! he heaves a sigh, running his free hand through his locks of hair as his other hand fastens his rose to his attire. â i see⌠âtis a pity. if not even you know of her whereabouts, i am finished ! thank you regardless, sir seliph. â
      he was ready to leave to look elsewhere until the young lord urged him to stay put and enjoy the campfire. he quirks an eyebrow, a bit frazzled by the topic. â you mean me ? youâre gracious, milord, but i donât expect the other members of your army here to look kindly upon me taking up a second longer of your time. you would do well to seek better company⌠time by the campfire is best enjoyed by kindred spirits to talk freely of the stars, the moon, the heavens beyond ! â
   âDo you not consider yourself a âkindred spiritâ, then?â The smile doesnât leave, but instead, settles in soft features; thereâs patience in his eyes as he picks up a stick to stoke the fire some more. âIf youâre worried for my reputation, Iuchar, Iâll tell you now that itâs needless.â Surely, what with the infamy of their small ragtag army, the last thing Seliph was worried about was rumors -- their cause started from one anyhow. He looks up then, his eyes shining with clarity.
   âTrust in yourself a bit more,â he says, before his gaze falls just as easy as he held it. Thereâs a small smile on his face then, poking at the wood once more. âAfter all, I trust your loyalty -- no matter how simple it may be. Itâs better than being untrue to yourself.â He giggles then, thinking of the scene as clear as day. Seliph couldnât remember the last time heâd seen Larcei so flustered.
âi tell him weâre going to be in legends and he says heâs tired of rewriting history with our tongues tied together, my mouth is a soft thing with feathers for teeth so every time i try to speak to him my words take flight instead, the sky has never looked so blue, i call myself icarus, i want to be a lost boy with a pair of wings in place of lungs but the sun burns too bright and i think i prefer to wish on stars when they donât exist.â
â THE FLIGHT / the fall // t.e.
Smile I want to protect from all the drama of fe4
doors: silhouettes of trees that are more like people than dead wood the colour of my skin, i am starting to find it difficult to tell the difference between being alive & not. i think i am a little of both. walls: someoneâs always listening & iâm starting to hear shadows and see ghosts at night but somehow itâs still better than sleeping alone.  windows: itâs unsettling, belonging everywhere and nowhere all at once. lonely, too.
home // t.e. (via prcserpina)
vyndictateâ:
there would never be numbness; never would i grow tired or used to witnessing such absurd displays of violence; acts that rebel against what chivalry and pride really was. with my nose upturned, i scorned the sorry sight before us, my anger spilling through shallow breaths. every step was taken with reluctance; dread. my boots stepped upon the broken bits of ruin and gravel, the mild air sweeping dust, collecting in mini whirlpools at my feet. my right hand was placed upon the handle of my sword, the other, moving debris. at seliphâs words, my face scrunched. â perhaps far ⌠take a look at the vile and rotten ruin that surrounds us. â it felt wrong that seliph was crossing this path, like a warm light trying to make its way through the clutches of hell, alongside one of its abandoned children. i looked at my own hands for a brief moment, viewing the scarring, the cracks in my armor, however small, and the stained blood that had since gone a murky brown. it was a sight i had become so accustomed to, that otherwise felt unnatural.
when the noise of seliphâs footsteps stopped, i halted and turned to see his expression, first and foremost, my eyes falling then to the toy in his hands. this sadness was different. it was the sort that pin-pricked your heart every so often; a finger poking at your chest, leaving it stinging, as if the godsâ touch was enough to leave a bruise. this ache i felt was something i couldnât swallow, unlike the everlasting hurt that war left you; a gift which is left unopened, ribbon still tied. i made my way to seliph, my movement slow, my frown still complacent upon my face. there wasnât much to say, other than a hand on his shoulder. i couldnât say anything that wasnât already horribly displayed before us; fate was offering us its torment in both hands.
â ⌠thereâs no point in standing around here, seliph, â i said. my hand fell then, back to the handle of my sword. â swallow your grief too early, and it could make it worse for us later. â i offered my sorrow through the truth. i wanted to help, but couldnât deny, too, the falling of my stomach. i felt sick.
There was truth in Aresâ words, and Seliph finds that in the end, he cannot push back the grief that welled in his chest anyway. Though against them, time demands that they press onward. Silence takes any sort of voice Seliph may have had, as a knee dips into the dirt once more. Calloused hands set the toy back onto the floor -- fingers brushing against the dried blood with a quiet agony. Seliph sighs then, deep and pained, and he pushes himself back to a stand.
   â...Youâre right, Ares.â His voice almost lost -- it was so hard to keep it steady, all of a sudden. Authority, as it always had, does eventually find its way back into the bearer of the worldâs hope. But there was only so much said world could show him -- so much innocence it could take from a heart that bleeds so easily for others. Seliph keeps his face turned from Ares -- his back strong, shoulders steady despite the weight pressing into his bones. His eyes find the sky, welled and misty. All it takes is a breath, and a barrier breaks -- grief pours in steady streams down Seliphâs cheeks.Â
    âI musnât forget this pain,â Seliph says, âotherwise Iâll forget what weâre fighting for.â Then, as Ares suggested, Seliph steps forward. The wind bellows and beckons him forth, and now, he looks ahead as the world demands of him. â...This grief -- itâs never been just my own.â

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game over
i. atlas wears his skin like it is golden to hide how black his insides are. ii. the boy is a god who fights wars in his dreams because he has grown tired of spilling his own blood in his nightmares. iii. it begins like this: rotting heart grows into an apple tree and plants decaying roots deep in his shoulders. it ends like this: he begs to be cut down and nobody dares to bring him a knife. iv. irony tastes sharp and sweet; this grief is heavier than the weight of the world. v. at night a sky full of stars promises that one day he will burn too.
why love a boy who is destined to fall? // t.e. (via prcserpina)