Wants to exist in domed cathedrals, running down marbled halls, wearing delicious ballgowns of tulle and lace. Quaint cottages in the British countryside, surrounded by farm animals and climbing roses, wearing homemade fabrics of sweet tunics and braided hairstyles. Tall, crumbling manor houses, sprawling hills and horse rides, gorgeous boys with thick accents and cheeky smiles, parties in ballrooms wearing beaded dresses and feathered headbands, caught breaths in candelit alcoves, behind velvet curtains. Scottish highlands, a massive, ancient castle, wooden schooldesks, sun streaming through stained-glass windows, naughty schoolboys, stolen kisses in abandoned classrooms, running your hands along stone walls, libraries full of books, lunch in the great hall, magic in every corner. Quiet, cobbled backstreets, bookstores filled with books, gloved hands nursing cups of tea, scarves pulled around necks, muffled voices, breath misting on the air, tights with socks and boots, quaint tea dresses, a notebook tucked under one arm and a pen tucked behind an ear, or through a mussed bun of hair.
i made this for my about page but i think it’s too pretty for that // h.b
We are nothing but golden youths, in the wrong time and the wrong place, with fear and love beating down upon us in glinting arrows, bloody spears, tender glances, and swollen kisses. There is nothing we can do. We can only wait for the mysterious singing strings of fate, as the muses decide how our future will play out. We can only hold on to each other and wait for the plans to fall into place, but we will be together won’t we? Two balanced souls, buried under silver stones, and wrapped in each other’s ashes: in our own eternal embrace. We will rest won’t we? Side by side and hand in hand. You and I, we will bring the gods glory and hate, but darling I would risk their wraith for you. Yes, I would die for you any day. So let’s meet again when the sun stains the sky with red. Let’s dance upon death’s empty shore with open hands. My shadow and yours will combine like dusk upon the water. Never again will we have to pretend to be something we never wanted to be a part of. We will create our own stars in the sky. I will stain your cheeks with the light of the sun. I will kiss you bare in the crest of the moon. I will love you longer than any amount of time. Dead will be our bodies, but alive will be our souls. We will never grow tired and have to fall into place. We will be nothing but tarnished youths in early graves, but at least we will be happy, free, and most of all…you will be safe. You will be warm with me always like figs in the sun and of course my dear, I would gladly let the world burn, so that there is nothing but me and you: My dearly beloved, Pa-tro-clus.
so consider this, alexander lightwood farmers market organizer and apple enthusiast, who raises chickens in his backyard, is wildly in love with magnus bane, the king of apples and who boats, keeps bees and could build you a cabin. they are going to get married. this alexander lightwood would absolutely take magnus’s name.
now imagine it’s a sunday morning in the cabin, the light all soft, sunlight catching little bits of dust as it filters through the curtains and onto crisp white sheets. it’s warm, so warm, though outside spring frost is still clinging to the window panes and the buds on the trees. alec’s head is filled with fuzzy warmth, fingers curling in dark strands of hair as magnus’s mouth drags over his chest, the soft sound of kisses echoing in the air. his eyelids would fall shut, sun staining them, overwhelming him, like the warmth of magnus’s fingers over his thigh and the slightly cool bite of metal around one of those fingers.
“mr. bane…” softly, like a prayer, a whisper into skin, sending little shivers through alec’s body, sunlight turning his hair red gold as his lips spread into one of those euphoric smiles. there’s been too many of those and yet not enough, making his cheeks burn, making his eyes crinkle, making his chest fill with that warm winter fire feeling. when he blinks his eyes open, magnus’s face is framed by sun. it occurs to alec distantly that they haven’t left this room in days and it occurs to him again that they don’t have to for many more days to come. “yes?” alec replies, nothing giving either of them more pleasure than that fact, that simple god damn fact. they’re married, their wedding has come and gone in a flurry of laughter and smiles and family and sweet apple flavored cake. it’s come and gone and left this fact in it’s wake. they’re married.
magnus repeats it as his mouth kisses a soft wet line down alec’s chest. his fingers are still in magnus’s hair, the band of gold on his left hand glinting in the morning light as magnus disappears under the sheets. soft gasps mingle with splintered sunlight and cedar and mr. alexander bane has never been happier.
Dragon Ball! (I’m the sun,) Dragon Ball! (You’re the moon,) And if we meld our miraculous powers together… Dragon Ball! (Join your fingers,) Dragon Ball! (Hearts united,) Change the history of battle…the mightiest fusion!
Rewatched Fusion Reborn and I just can’t get enough of the Theme Song for this movie “Saikyo no wa Fusion” sung by the awesome Hironobu Kageyama.
My cousin who was watching me draw this said that I was drawing “Umbra” and “Lumen” Saiyans referencing Bayonetta.
Maybe one day, I’ll draw them as Umbra and Lumen Sages but today is not that day.
hux. red wine. black leather-bound books. gold embroidery. the smell of shoe polish; the dizziness, the burning in your throat that comes with breathing in too much of it. tailored suits. a headless statue, weathered by time. ballet dancers’ feet: pain for beauty’s sake.
kylo. split lips, blood on teeth. blue bruises. bumpy spines. picking at a new scab. painting over chipped nail polish to hide where it’s gone wrong. bare feet. the taste of pomegranates, fresh and sweet, and their scarlet juice trailing down your wrist.
phasma. engine grease, sweat stains, eyeliner sharp enough to kill. heavy military boots: knee-high, black leather, polished to a shine. storm clouds, collecting in the distance, lined with silver by the sun. lipstick stains on whiskey glasses. heavy artillery.
rey. peeling sunburnt skin. a too-quick heartbeat. mud between the toes. the mouths of wolves: teeth and void. held hands and a shaking voice and the words i love you said for the first time. new foods. drumbeats. campfire smoke, drifting slowly towards you.
finn. autumn leaves: trees in full color, hanging heavy over a fork in a country road. a lion’s mane. cold beer, shared with good friends, and burning the breakfast you were trying to bring to your partner(s) in bed. red roses, purple nightshade, white lilies. golden crowns.
poe. wind-tangled hair. smiling until your cheeks hurt; refusing to let that stop you. volume turned up high on the radio, singing to a song you don’t know. renaissance sculpture. a man on a stage lit by a single spotlight, hung from above. kiss-bruised lips. cool desert nights.