dark bronze

Harry Potter House Aesthetics

Gryffindor: fast decisions, impulsivity, temperament. A sparkle in the eyes. The will to fight for everything you want. Ambition. Bonfires and drunk words. Dragons and knights and swords. Loud voices in a hallway. Always saying what they’re thinking. Laying outside with the sun shining on their face. Heavily breathing. Running. Wide grins. Falling in love not easily, but when they do, they’re falling hard and love deeply and fiercely. Making other people laugh so hard their sides hurt. Long car rides and singing along loudly with the windows down. Peace signs for a photo. Fierce eyeliner and red lipstick combined with colourful clothing and golden accessories.

Ravenclaw: overthinking things. Worrying. Not handing in homework because they were to busy working on their latest project. Not finishing something and already starting something new. Ink stained fingertips. Instrumental music. Posting a quote under every picture. Creativity. Self-made birthday gifts. Staring at the rain pouring down the windowpane. Sitting in the car and acting like a movie star when a sad song is playing. Earphones on the table. Holding a hot cup of tea. Art journals. Notebooks with half the words stroked. Messy hair. Bringing books to school. Hugging someone when they’re upset without saying a word. Bucket lists full of things they didn’t do yet. Bronze eyeshadow. Dark lipstick.

Hufflepuff: always trying to smile even though they might not be feeling well. Long hugs when they see their friends. The smell of freshly baked cakes and muffins. Sandcastles. Trusting. Understanding. Running home under an umbrella when it’s raining but still smiling. Holding hands with your best friend in public. Laughs in the middle of the night on a sleepover. Daisy chains in your hair. Always sending a good night message to the people they love. Wool socks. Rubber boots. Making compliments. Decorating notebooks with stickers. Marshmallows. Rosé and orange lipstick.

Slytherin: mysterious, reserved. Competitive. Silent whispers in the hallway. Black coffee. Planning out things. Always afraid they’re not who they’re supposed to be. High expectations for themselves. Clean rooms. Emo lyrics on exercise book papers. City lights. Watching the stars appear with a glass of red wine. Smirks, raising one eyebrow. Being careful not to leave marks in the books they read. Moonlight through a window. Sharp retorts. The smell of cologne and brand new books. Dark chocolate. Black and white photography. Mint leaves in a cup of hot tea. Keeping a diary. Winged eyeliner and silver bracelets and necklaces.

9

@carryon-valentines day one: friendship day


a quick edit for the gang (based off of what their magic feels like):

  • agatha: “it’s ballet. it’s like i just hold position as long as i can.”
  • penny: “i suppose it feels like a well inside me. so deep that i can’t see or even imagine the bottom.”
  • baz: “it’s like lighting a match. or pulling a trigger.”
  • simon: “it goes off like a bomb.”


(also i know this is a day late pls forgive me)

Dorian Havilliard had the hots for Fenrys.

1. “But the dark-eyed, bronze-skinned male-so handsome that Dorian blinked-smirked at the dagger shivering beside his head.” Chapter 22, pg. 187.

2. “At the mention of lover, Rowan gave Fenrys a lethal stare. The beautiful male-really, there was no way to describe him other than that-just shrugged.” Chapter 22, pg. 191.

A Roman sestertius of the emperor Vespasian commemorating his conquest of Judea, with the Roman numeral LXXXIII scratched into the front—probably repurposed by the Vandals in North Africa.

Cast out of bronze.

Originally made in the 1st century at Rome. Reused in the 5th century by the Vandals at Carthage.

Currently held at the British Museum.

Things that make me think of INTJs

• Puzzles
• The night
• Chess
• Rain
• Condensation
• Fires
• The deep, dark ocean
• Sirens (the mythical kind)
• Gloves
• Equations and formulae
• Messy handwriting
• Perfectly preserved skeletons
• Books
• Ravens
• Ravines and cliffs
• Fortresses surrounded by snow
• Space, the moon, stars
• Perfectly packed suitcases
• Ordered shelves (only that INTJ understands the order)
• Dark chocolate with spices and salt
• Pens that run out moments before your last sentence
• Dark circles under the eye
• Computers and laptops
• Synapses
• Broken glass
• Sarcasm
• The London Underground Map
• Chemical experiments
• The wind
• Neon
• Tall, leafless trees
• Circuits and motherboards
• Bitter coffee
• Herbal teas
• Browns
• Simple but elegant crowns
• Dark green and bronze

Creepypasta #1040: The Anglerfish

Length: Long

I am beautiful in ways men shouldn’t be.

Pretty boy, lovely boy, with his flaxen curls framing a sweet face and big blue eyes with big black lashes. My mother, when she was in our run-down trailer and not at the bar, would say such looks were wasted on a boy and that she wished I was born a girl. I’m certain she wished I had never been born at all.

School was hellish from the start. Girls viewed me as a living doll to play dress-up with, and boys hated me because I made them confused. My third grade teacher once made a comment about my cherry red mouth, the gym coach complimented my porcelain skin. The computer teacher got fired after cornering me alone. I did not understand it – I wore run down charity store clothes, spent most of my time with my nose buried in a book, and barely brushed my hair. And yet, here was the whole school bearing down on me.

Puberty made it worse. All my classmates grew and stretched, flushed with hormones and lust. I grew some, yet no straggly hairs or bright red pimples popped on my china doll face. Instead, the star quarterback would torment me so he could grope at my long legs and graceful hips. My teachers would compliment my academic achievements and then mention that someone like me being so aloof was a shame. The theater teacher asked if I was “interested in boys” in hushed, hopeful whispers.

I was not gay or straight. I was Uninterested. Why would I waste time chasing after shallow and petty girls who were jealous of my appearance? Why would I let one of those testosterone-hopped jocks paw at my body and call me a faggot afterwards? Why would I want my fat, balding English teacher to bend me over for an easy A? They called me frigid, uptight, bitchy, rude, prudish. I wore it with pride all the way to the top of my class.

I left my little Midwest town for a college in the big city. I thought it would be easier there, full of beautiful people to blend into. Towards the end of November, my roommate tried to roofie my water bottle, and the double room became a single room very quickly. For sophomore year, I got a studio apartment on my own.

That fall quarter was beautiful, the trees like brilliant fire throughout campus, and I took a communications class required for my major. It was about giving presentations and speeches, and the school website said Professor O'Malley was to teach it – classmates had described him as a jolly old man, a little longwinded but excellent at teaching discourse and rhetoric.

I sat towards the front, my empty notebook neatly dated, and my classmates chattered all around me. I paid them no heed, eyes casted downwards, but I looked up when the door to the lecture hall opened right before class was to begin. The man who strode in was not Professor O'Malley.

He burnt white hot, reality dimming around his gravity. Everyone seemed so tarnished compared to him, dark-haired bronze-skinned Adonis among the gray and listless dead. Square-jawed and towering, his presence was so thick it was sweltering, smothering, suffocating. My classmates all gasped as his eyes swept across the class.

Keep reading

Undress You.

Can I, undress you?
Undress your mind, undress your thoughts,
I know, its not what you thought.
Although physically I wouldn’t hesitate to,
undress you,
give you a helping hand to
remove the boundaries
that are stopping these
honey like words from pouring over your lips onto your deep, dark, bronze skin.
Say it
from your mind
Say it
from your heart
Say it
from your soul.
Don’t stop, keep it going keep it warm,
I’m listening,
drowning in your words,
the rhythm,
the depth in your voice,
the soul in your story,
the pain in your throat,
So raw
So organic
So pure
So
You.
I’m glad this is what we came here to do,
Thank you, for letting me undress you.