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thank you @leonzhng !! you’re such a sweetheart for tagging me
also i dunno if it’s against the rules but i edited them to match, even tho the colors were those already. Dang autumn + blue is hard!! there’s not much to choose from ahha

Rules: Google “[your favourite season] + [your favourite color] + aesthetic,” select 4+ images and create a personalised mood-board. 

as I said I don’t have many mutuals on here so if you follow me and see this consider yourself tagged! @sillyfanturtle if you haven’t done this already, do ! it’s fun!

drownjngindreams
drownjngindreams
drownjngindreams
drownjngindreams
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Lol, I keep loving how someone tells me “I just woke up”, while it’s 8pm or tells “I go to sleep” at 10 in the morning. Timezones may be bi*ches, but they’re also very funny.

The song itself is very nice and I really like it too! But I’m not sure how it would fit the dark sides. Personally, I felt it more like something Thomas may sing to all his sides. Maybe it’s because this song has such a dreamy, warm feeling. Or maybe because of this part:

‘Cause I’d get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance

I don’t know, it just sounds so nice. As if every Side is a firefly and they all want to hug Thomas.

I know that the song is about longing for the past and a simpler time, but this feeling isn’t shown as something sad. It’s more like a gentle desire to keep part of that past within, to not leave it entirely behind.

To ten million fireflies
I’m weird cause I hate goodbyes
I got misty eyes as they said farewell (said farewell)

But I’ll know where several are
If my dreams get real bizarre
'Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar (jar, jar)

Like this part: it can hint that some sides come and go, parts of Thomas he saw disappear within to leave space for others. But this can also be a metaphor of his past: parts of his childhood that left forever.

But even if part of that past is gone, he still “saved” part of it. There’s part of that past that exists within him, in his good heart, in the morals he keeps following, in the lessons he learned, in the person he is today. And in the Sides that accompanies him.

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Yes, I’ve seen it so it’s there! It made its way to me safely, my blossom!

Also, I like your application, a lot. 🥺 I guess I know who’s going to be a new mod. 👀

Don’t forget to take care of yourself and stay hydrated!!! - mod Chiaki

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neonghxstAnswer

White Silence - TK

couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library | it’s a very calm song and seems good for mornings

Taisetsuna Hito - FUKI

couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library | i’m really sad i can’t find it on spotify :((

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ok not to be that person but one of my most popular posts was this haechan drabble that took me like 5 mins to write and my new ten fic that hasn’t even been posted is making me nervous that it’ll flop but i’ve been working on it since september so if it does

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Wei Wuxian has been dead for over a month when Lan Xichen hears music coming from the Jingshi.

Wangji is still too ill to move, the thin scabs across his back sometimes breaking and bleeding anew if he breathes too deeply. The playing is too tentative and uncertain to be his even if he could force himself to sit up straight for long enough to play the chords. It’s Healing, the music rough and uncertain but unmistakable, and he feels a rush of affection for whichever disciple has risked being thrown from their sect to sneak into his brother’s room as he sleeps to try to help him.

For a moment he considers turning around, pretending he never heard anything, but doesn’t. He is willing to overlook this. Uncle and the clan elders won’t be. Wangji is in seclusion and he has to heal on his own, under his own spiritual power, which he will. He’ll live and he’ll heal.

The thirty three lashes hadn’t killed him. He’ll live. He’ll heal. But he has to do it on his own.

He pushes open the door and freezes.

His brother’s guqin is playing itself. The strings are plucked slowly and carefully, but no one is there except his brother who lays unconscious on his stomach. He breathes in through his teeth, too quickly and too loudly, and the playing cuts off with a discordant twang.

The door closes on his face, nearly slamming except softening at the last second. He rushes to yank the door open again, but it doesn’t budge. Healing starts up again, and he bangs on the door, trying to rip it open with brute strength when talismans prove useless. There is something in there with injured baby brother. He tries a window next, which won’t move, won’t be shattered, but at least now he can see.

He should call for help, call for Uncle and the other disciples, but as he reaches for the talisman he sees something that makes him pause.  

Rippling across the strings of the guqin are whisps of red spiritual energy.  

Lan Xichen passes the night standing at the window, watching. Healing is played again and again, for hours, until the sky turns grey with morning, until it’s nearly but not quite five. The song is stronger and smoother at the end of the night than at the beginning.

When the song doesn’t start up again, he pushes the window. It opens easily. The door is the same, opening with no resistance.

He sits next to his brother, watching as his eyes slowly slide open. “Wangji,” he greets quietly, “how are you?”

Wangji looks at him. It doesn’t feel like he’s seeing him.

Lan Xichen leans forward and carefully lifts the sheet off of his brother’s back. His brother is a strong cultivator, one of the strongest of their generation, of course. Anything less and thirty three lashes would have killed him. But the thick scabs covering his skin are so much more than he’d had even when Lan Xichen saw him a week ago. There’s not even any blood on the sheet.

“You’re healing well,” he says, trying to keep his voice even.

Wangji’s face doesn’t so much as twitch.

He doesn’t know, then.

Lan Xichen can’t decide if Wei Wuxian’s ghost is acting out of kindness or cruelty by hiding itself from Wangji.

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