I DON’T WANT TO BE LOVED, I DON’T WANT TO BE FORGIVEN, LET ME REDEFINE GOD INTO SOMETHING I CAN BECOME.
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you loved her and you were lost to her at once. you adored her with everything in your heart and everything in the mythological concept, the discussion of the soul. you will love her long after she remains and the universe is long gone. you will love the body she leaves behind, untouched and familiar, laid to rest in the royal crypt beside mother and father, beside drake, beside gwyneth, so long ago crowned and dead at the hands of the one just silenced. you see their blood on your hands. you see it soaked bright red. you hear them still. you remember them well.
when you took her life you snipped your own thread. it was a willing separation, tearing free. the blood trickling and trickling until it had drained and was no more. until your desperate, sobbing hysteria subdued to weak whimpers. you loved her and she was lost to you.
with her death, so too was your bond severed. you do not have another. you cannot. but this pull she speaks of feels familiar. it feels— unwanted. you do not wish to revisit, to recreate what was several lifetimes of love now tainted by death. you wish to leave it where it was, and besides, it is impossible. it is completely impossible. she is gone, and so, too, are you. losing her also meant losing you.
you do not and cannot imagine it. so she extends a hand and you glance at it with your head cocked, curious and anxious at once. “nuh,” it’s gruff and quiet. your head shakes, swift, and your voice settles into a low, calm purr, “what would yeh have me do, princess?” it is reverent. it is appreciative. you are a dog to royalty. you are collared about the throat. you are less than she, and always will.
your posture is straight, heavy, speaks of a knight’s gait. this place sparks your discomfort. this place creates a sense of tingling fear within you, as all things do, but her calm blankets you and somehow you feel at war with yourself. you push the feeling away when an eye closes for a moment, opens.
“i’on’ unnerstand.”
♡ / godblooded
your claws were buried in the soft skin of her throat. you remember the way it had opened, rubies spilling and clattering to the floor, spilling. you had wished so dearly that you could hear them– had desired so truly for it to be anything else. so truly for it to be anything besides the small puddle edging to lap against your boots, to lightly touch leather. you kept your eyes on her face and her own expression. you watched the peaceful calm, felt all that pain flow through you, and she spoke to you so quietly, i waited for you. oh, i waited so long for you.
she speaks to you and you look at her– you cannot hide your face, nor can you hide the eye you no longer have. it is but scar tissue, and you do not deceive royalty. it would be against your nature. it would be indecent. it would be an offense worthy of your death. (and what death?)
the feeling of her calm is flowing through your veins. it tingles in your fingertips, runs along your spine. you growl softly under your breath, an animal instinctively goaded into discomfort. her tenderness causes you nothing but discomfort. you avoid eye contact pointedly, even if you should have only one eye to cause the contact with.
“i inter-rude on y’kingdom. yeh had’uh right.”
�� violence should never be the first answer. ❜ a rule the amazon sticks by. always willing to give multiple chances / keeping faith in people despite the worst she faces. extend a hand first before a fist. she cannot blame defense or the actions of the other. and diana is not above admitting she is wrong / that her first actions were unnecessary. an apology heavy on her features.
fingers unconsciously make their way to her neck , the indents of the other’s claws are still there , healing / but not quite there yet. not the best of introductions but not all of them could go as well as diana hopes. but her kingdom is a welcoming one , though hardly diana’s kingdom. she will still uphold the values all amazons do. and diana more than most. openly caring for others , her emotions worn on her sleeve alongside her heart.
her hand reaches out though does not initiate contact. for it is quite clear that kitty herself is avoiding it. but the amazon herself is a physical being , her intentions quite clear she might as well have been shouting them. as is , her voice is quiet. ❛ we get very few visitors , it was wrong of me to react like that. if i may —– ❜ and now she really does pause / though it would be incorrect to assume that the amazon is embarrassed. ❛ you seem so familiar , like an old friend. yet i know we have never met before. ❜
perhaps confirming something kitty already felt but diana does not have an exact name for. there were people destined to be together / a whole body separated into two. four legs , four arms , two heads , but one heart. women on themyscira who found their souls connected. but diana had never experienced that herself. had no baseline to compare the feeling too.
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With deliberation she stood on her back, paws between her shoulder blades. It took a painfully long amount of time before she finally sat down, and her feet no longer dug into her back. When Kitty refused to wake, Glinda decided to go back to bed, too, and lay down on top of her, vibrating as she purred.
the creature yet slumbers, chest rising silent and soundless. the feline bothers the feline, in turn, though one is, perhaps, not feline at all. kitty valentine, in spite of her name, is barely a kitten at all. and then the soft touch of warmth, the tiny places it brushes across flesh. the creature yet sleeps, and the cat settles on deeply tanned skin. sleep is so elusive and so quiet, creeps on as it does. the touches turn into buzzes, and finally the beast stirs, mouth wide open in a sharp-toothed, kittenish yawn.
“uh h-- highness.” she’s swift in speech, clear and garbled all at the very same time, roughly brushed with sand. and dares not move, of course. still.
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"Can you, uh..." Glinda pursed her lips and frowned in concentration. This was hard enough as it was. It had been two weeks now, and still she hadn't put away Pearl's things. "Could you please... put that in the attic?" Glinda gestured vaguely at the bowls still standing where they always stood. Her gaze rested on them for only seconds before she looked away again.
you think a lot about how the two of you are so different but so the same. you’re siblings, yeah, and you grew up with her-- with your other sister-- but you’ve seen so much more death, heartbreak, chaos. you feel, feel that sense of empathy. it breaks your heart. (you loved pearl. she was a member of your family, too. you’ll tell glinda eventually when she accidentally stumbles across your painting you’re making-- you know, because you were ducking out for hours to wok on it-- to immortalize your long lost feline.) you hold the porcelain beneath your chin and you don’t let that tear slip out of your eye and slide soundlessly down the smooth surface.
“yeah, of course, i sure can,” you grab the bowls, turn them over a couple times as you stand, “um. can i hang onto these? like. would you-- would it be-- okay if i did? i just.. i have an idea. is that okay?” you’re fucking baleful when you look at her, hopeful. let her do the right thing. let her do a good thing.
it’s all she wants. to prove that to you.
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this is good. this is important.
a soft growl beneath your voice, a tender sound that is perhaps curious and also interested. good. important. you don’t understand this. the princess wraps softest satin around your palm, five deep gashes of ruby red blood where claws cut in unwittingly. the air bites against the wounds and you imagine, of course, that is your punishment for your foolishness. but she keeps softening you yet more, dabbing blood away and sealing it safely. your next sound is a curious twist of a noise, high and soft, the noise a lemur makes in inquisition, and your nose twitches. you are silent, but only to listen to her further, to beckon her words.
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‘ your failures are just what happened — they don’t have to be who you are ’
“an’ whattya know’uh ‘at?!”
you do not yell because perhaps you cannot. your voice is great when it shouts, is not a bellow but is full of the exact violence you can enact. your hands shake. you want nothing more than to peel these gloves off and dig your hands into everything you can-- you wish to scratch, tear with claws. you turn instead, each stride a stalk of movement. you taste copper in your mouth, hot and terrible and familiar, though when you swallow it is gone.
“’ey AH who y’ah. weaknesses’re in-ex-cusable,” you could strike anything within your grasp, but you remain contained, instead. creeping discomfort crawls up your spine and suddenly a brilliant glimmer of electric blue spirals around an arm-- you watch it hop, skip, and then jump. it bites into your jacket as it might a length of barbed wire, thorns slicing into flesh and then fleeing into thin air. you make no move to inform you have been affected. you have not. you turn swift, viper-fast. you are all sharp, small teeth, made for gnashing, made for shredding. they seem kittenish, to the unassuming.
you fall into her shadow naturally-- she is near two heads taller than you, after all, though you are short for your race. she dwarfs you in her might. she cradles you in the cool blanket of her shade, and all you can feel is resentment toward her kindness. you want to bite into your own flesh again, and the repercussion of your magicks do not follow in the boom of your temper.
a hand waves idly. your motion is a glove shifting in a ripple. your motions are elegant, and they have been taught as such. you are nothing but wave kissing shore, wind across meadow, warm murmur of flame, lowest purr of sand. it’s her weapon that comes to her, then, and you intend her to catch it. you, unmoving, allow a boot sole to come down and you wait.
a gloved hand raises. you beckon inward, and your words slice swiftly, “c’mon ‘en.”
#deifrm diana v tba#[......she really doesn't understand how to talk out problems#or solve them#without just fucking going for it#where she's from the entire outlook is militaristic and violent#and she's been expected to uphold a certain attitude#and it's expectantly vicious#i love her but also quit it kitty.]#deifrm
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a deal is a promise, and a promise is unbreakable. / all of these are from diana
a promise is unbreakable. you wonder if she believes that, but you have not known many promise-keepers. you, yourself, are a liar. it is carved deep into your flesh. the word witch burns at your flesh. you feel it beneath the sleeve of your leather jacket. it tingles on your skin.
you shake your head with a low purr of a growl, silent and rasped, forget to chase it also with words. speech so often escapes you.
“‘t’s not true.”
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new.
cannot help herself from eyeing the other woman with continued curiosity. there is a pull at the back of her mind / can feel it all the way down to the nape of her neck. a curious feeling. as if there is a pressure there and yet also relieved. like she has found something the amazon did not know she was missing. the amazons on themyscira spoke often of a bond between people / one that bound their very souls. and while diana had been with others , it was never the bond that was spoken of. never quite the right feeling.
so she is inexperienced in many ways to this world and the people that inhabit it. this one in particular / an oddity , but one diana appreciates. she enjoys and celebrates those that are different.
❛ i mean you no harm. i apologize that we clashed in such a way. you surprised me. ❜ there it is again / the odd feeling at the base of her skull , emotions that she cannot distinguish from her own , but finds it odd to be experiencing. on instinct / for she has felt these emotions before , diana seeks to soothe the confusing emotions. pushing calm. / @godblooded
your claws were buried in the soft skin of her throat. you remember the way it had opened, rubies spilling and clattering to the floor, spilling. you had wished so dearly that you could hear them-- had desired so truly for it to be anything else. so truly for it to be anything besides the small puddle edging to lap against your boots, to lightly touch leather. you kept your eyes on her face and her own expression. you watched the peaceful calm, felt all that pain flow through you, and she spoke to you so quietly, i waited for you. oh, i waited so long for you.
she speaks to you and you look at her-- you cannot hide your face, nor can you hide the eye you no longer have. it is but scar tissue, and you do not deceive royalty. it would be against your nature. it would be indecent. it would be an offense worthy of your death. (and what death?)
the feeling of her calm is flowing through your veins. it tingles in your fingertips, runs along your spine. you growl softly under your breath, an animal instinctively goaded into discomfort. her tenderness causes you nothing but discomfort. you avoid eye contact pointedly, even if you should have only one eye to cause the contact with.
“i inter-rude on y’kingdom. yeh had’uh right.”
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@kryptonianbcrn (x)
she is far kinder than a person should have any right to be, to have suffered as she has, to have felt that pain and yet, to still speak to you so warmly. you think at the very consideration your cheeks may flush a deeper shade of red, though you are unsure if that is embarrassment or just an overwhelm of feeling. the sensation itself is very strange, and it falls easily into your silence. you watch her sometimes and wish you had the words to express your emotional capacity. you do not, so you stay quiet.
she touches your hand, as she is so often wont to do, and you feel yourself-- somehow seem to hesitate only a bit. it startles you, the way she speaks. there is a fealty in her heart you may have known in your own when you were very young.
how clearly you remember something so long gone.
you feel your chest pitter and then patter and lean forward to press a kiss to her forehead and that, too, lingers. you will do all things possible to keep her safe. you will harm whoever you must to do so.
“yuh ver’ brave.”
#kryptonianbcrn#╳┌ i think it is beautiful how the moon glows using the sun’s light: kryptonianbcrn ┘#kryptonianbcrn royal v tba#[HI KRIS.]
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bloop.
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“‘m’sorr’. Wasn’t listenin’. Was thinkin’ ‘bout ice cream.”
At least she’s honest.
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@kryptonianbcrn
you, frightful dark creature, the very embodiment of original sin, the very personification of all that is wrong, just that, you walking along the floor with a little blonde toddler stumbling between her legs, little hands held in your own gloved ones. the bouncy child trips and almost hurls forth, but it is your grip that keeps her up. this is your child, your daughter, the newest love of your life, a little one you will keep far safer than any other you have before.
and you are more than what you had been, are you not? you are more than a god or a creature, now, more than merely an animal. it feels and is still strange. it is a massive difference from who yo have been, or what kind of beast you were before.
and the moment kara comes in, you’re scooping up this giggling little girl, depositing her gently into the other’s arms with a grin. no words needed, not when you communicate best in the happy, gleeful little sounds emerging from this ecstatic infant. she may speak for you, so much in this way.
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YOU; THE RADIANT SUN.
indie. private. selective. kara danvers from dctv’s supergirl. written by kristen.
AND I; POOR ICARUS.
indie. selective. original character. kitty valentine. loved by kat valentine.
#pending promo tag#pending self promo tag#[HI KRISTEN AND I ARE HERE#tf charlie you're too good to me.]
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New meme. What’s ur characters ice cream truck ice cream / gas station / liquor store freezer ice cream of choice and why.
#the ice cream truck stresses her out because it's too loud and she's too sensitive to loud noise so fuck that.#canon kitty prefers the gas station ice cream and usually she buys like three flavors and then she mixes them together#like vanilla and chocolate and strawberry and melts them in the microwave.#human kitty loves ALL the really sugary superhero ice pops. ALL of them.#though she really loves the spiderman one.#back in beijing she had an ice cream that was roasted sweet potato with vanilla on the inside of the crispy outer#purple shell and she misses it like no other.
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everyone’s writing choices are different because creativity is a varied exercise and if you’re gross enough to give a negative, unwarranted opinion you should probably remember no one in the world ever ever ever is even in a place of completely informed correction.
#╳┌ lesbian in a snapback: OOC ┘╳#[You can be fyodor dostoevsky you can be virginia woolf you can be charles fucking dickens#no one's advice or discussion on writing is concrete and 'right' that's why english is a creative and expansive exercise#i'm a fucking english teacher and i'm still not the authority i'm just the person who happens to#give out the grades and grade off a traditional system out of necessity#so basically bye.]
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bios written in second person are cringe
i comprehend your opinion but also choose to acknowledge that it’s definitely wrong because a) bios in second person feel like reading a choose your own adventure and b) have you ever tried second person because it’s hella fun.
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DELANIE:
aw. that makes her smile softly, gaze flickering to the finger and then back up to her face. “thank you very much.”
“yuh silly pup,” it is not patronizing, nor is it anything but fond, “ya welcome. ‘ough i think y’knew ‘at all-ready.”
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DELANIE:
“doesn’t hurt to be reminded every now and then, right?” delanie says with a light cant of her head. “always good for the ego.”
she’s reaching up to tap a cheek with a gloved fingertip, sharp teeth pleasantly hidden behind her lips, voice a casual purr, “yuh cute.”
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