People Who Know Gansey Is Going To Die: Me, You, Gansey, Adam, Blue, The Women Of 300 Fox Way, Millions

Water Spirits

Nereids: nymphs of the Agean sea, the 50 daughters of Nereus and Doris. Depicted as beautiful girls crowned with branches of red coral and dressed in white silk robes trimmed with gold, but who went barefoot

Kelpie: shape-shifting water spirit inhabiting the lochs and pools of Scotland. Depicted as a melancholy dark-haired maiden balanced on a rock

Naiad : nymph, presiding over fountains, wells, springs, streams, brooks and other bodies of fresh water. Distinct from very ancient spirits that inhabited the still waters of marshes, ponds and lagoon-lakes

Rusalka: water spirit in Slavic folklore. Depicted as a young woman who lures young men, seduced by either her looks or her voice, into the depths of said waterways where she would entangle their feet with her long red hair and submerge them

Swan Maidens: mythical creature who shapeshifts from human form to swan form. key to the transformation is usually a swan skin, or a garment with swan feathers attached.

Selkies: maighdeann-mhara (“maiden of the sea),mythological creatures found in Scottish, Irish, and Faroese folklore. Said to live as seals in the sea but shed their skin to become human on land.

the idea of fame is like the greatest tragedy, the human soul was never meant to be consumed & the old stories warned us about what demons eat. anyways

A Madonna with neon halo in Naples, Italy.

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he has a voice eerie like a haunted lake and he wears a white shirt that reads DARK VICTORY and sometimes when i sleep he curls up beside me this dark thin boy from the island every time he opens his mouth i hear sounds from deep within the forest

holy, holy, holy. these are the words he murmurs into your skin, language of prayer, language of divinity, language of worship. holy, holy, holy. he whispers it into your crook of your neck, rolls the words into the hollow of your throat, into your bones, into your sharp edges. holy, holy, holy. a mantra. a litany. a prayer. holy, holy, holy. the way he looks at you, it’s like he wants to take you apart and study each piece of you, and then maybe he’ll put you back together when he’s done. maybe. holy, holy, holy. he stares at you, so hard you can feel it burning your skin, and you think maybe he’ll kiss you, or maybe he’ll eat you alive. you haven’t decided yet. holy, holy, holy. in the end, it’s a kiss, real as a punch and twice as hard, and it hurts like a bullet pearling into flesh, hurts like his eyes on the back of your neck, on your collarbones, on your lips. holy. holy, holy, holy.

on loving a god | m.c.p (via ara-ne-um)

weird noises: happen in the wee hours

me, unaffected: the only supernatural and ominous force in this place is me and i was here first, so whatever and whoever you are you need to Go

           Her body had never known what to do. Now it knew.                                          Her mouth didn’t care that it was cursed.