#dark wings dark words

[ravewing]

do we fw the frutiger aero wof oc

[arta-enigmaticei]

It was in my flaws,

I found a much deeper truth -

and it is from them,

I bloom: a black rose.

Segovia Amil

[spookysalem13]

Going with the flow ✨️

[her-penetrating-soul]

🤍 ‿⚘It taunts you knowing you adore your angel, for she resides in your darkness. She breathes you in. She sings to your darkest gleam. She is you. You are her embedded into the realms of your own dark wicked abyss⚘⁀🤍

[y2kaee]

Time will heal everything.

But what if time is the illness?

Wings of Desire (1987)_ Whim Winders

[sanelyinsanemiss]

Time heals all, but what if time itself is the disease?

- wings of desire (1987)

[dark-twist-fairytales]

Felxi: I- I'm AWOL.

Iris: No, your name's Felix

[vilecemetery]

you might not think it’s hard to be a soc fan artist on tumblr, but let me tell you about the time I called someone out for drawing inej with light skin, so they blocked me and then wrote a long post about me that I couldn’t see, along with colour samples taken from my art as examples of how inej is “too dark” in them, and then they end the post with “I’m disappointed in you” 💀

[nini-dirthara-lothlenanas]

[symmetrycrypt]

i had Zelda 2 in mind while drawing this, but the design's probably off a bit and also i mixed in some OoT

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

[pickled-flowers]

Back on my edgy shit i guess

[saishuu-heiki]

a pin dropping would have been deafening ; a hair falling would have been audible. death was not a silent thing . . not when it involved the prodigal SOLDIER. even before desperate gunfire or screams of agony , there was the chorus of a rapidly beating heart and hot blood thudding loudly within ears like that was the orchestra of fear before death. every man and woman in the room was an uncomfortable witness. there were some humans who wished to witness something completely unique , but this was akin to watching a natural disaster. fear kept boots against ground. despite rumour , he couldn't smell fear nor feel a distant beating heart in the darkness , but the experience of being human gave him enough information to imagine sour everyone's dread must have smelled of. everyone? even the perpetrator?

it was not sephiroth's actions which prompted alarm after all , it was a spitefire's @gcldfanged rather inaccurate accurate kick which was at real fault. a man was a man , and no layer of clothing , especially as practical as sephiroth's attire , prevented the blow from hurting. it. did. hurt. the bones of his neck and jaw clicked as his neck tensed. head tilted to one side as the smallest of groans was forced to be trapped inside his mouth. people saw him as the infallible silver general. people spoke what they wanted to believe for myth was greater than reality. thick mass of silver hair dropped to one side as he craned his head while moving an ungloved hand to cover his groin. he did not yell nor did he fall , he reacted quite slowly — perhaps that was enough to continue the whispers of awe. with the groan dead inside the back of throat , sephiroth released a stream of hot breath to move the hairs of silk away from his eyeline.

❛ . . . and here i believed there were rules in the training rooms. ❜

as he spoke his brow was stitched into wrinkles of discomfort , but he moved his hand away from his groin.

❛ were you hoping to improving my tolerance for pain or do you have something you wish to say to me? ❜

sephiroth was not necessarily angry , but he did appear displeased as he took one step forward. two steps forward. chest , shoulders , and head above the rookie he certainly looked livid.

[landgraabbed]

today's ds1 summary! i've probably been terribly annoying during this run, but i just adore this game so much. it really is so special to me

yesterday i did defeat all of the darkroot garden bosses and hydra + the stray demon. today's casualties: bell gargoyles, pinwheel, four kings, iron golem, and priscila. sen's fortress, painted world, and anor londo remain goated levels. i haven't finished anor londo though, since i went to the painted world of ariamis as soon as i got the opportunity.

next time will be o&s, and then chipping away at the lord souls. i think i'll do bed of chaos - nito - seath. idk where i'll fit the dlc yet. i do want to defeat all of the bosses with this character.

some helms i like + leg:

[librathefangirl]

Libra's WIPs - Breath(e)

For @ficwip's Word Game Wednesday. This week's word was "breathe" but I only had one wip with that, so I'm gonna share a few with "breath" as well c:

Mel with tiny horns and wings (an AU that makes more sense with context?):

The water was relentless. It pushed and it pulled, and it made his wings feel like useless sacks of potatoes. They sprang to their full size, but it did little to help. They only felt heavier like that. Panic seized him, crawling up like bubbling acid from his gut, seizing his throat until he couldn’t have drawn a breath even if there had been air to breathe. The water kept pressing in on him. It pushed on every inch of his body and invaded his senses with the threat of death.

The Boy and the Rain:

Meliodas closed his eyes briefly, taking a slow careful breath. When he met Ban’s gaze it was with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I never thought I’d get to experience this again.”

The Dusk Before a New Dawn (aka the dark Melizabeth AU):

“Re-ally?” Despite the blood pooling under his body, despite his burst hearts, despite that he couldn’t take a normal breath, the Demon King sneered up at his son. “What a… failure. I never meant… to raise a naïve-”

Meliodas & King (aka the double beginnings fic):

He glanced at Meliodas again, feeling his unease growing. Meliodas had closed his eyes, seemingly without a care in the world – and here King was, crawling out of his skin. Taking a deep breath, King finally voiced what had been nagging on his mind for hours, “Why did you do it?”

Your Presence (A Comfort) (aka the Mel whump fic I add a little something to every time I get sick and need Mel to suffer with me):

Meliodas trembled where he lied. His eyelids were too heavy to open. His whole body felt numb. Like an unmoving mass of rocks. His lungs burned with every hitching breath. He curled in on himself, but it did nothing to ease the pain consuming his body.

[sysirauta]

I wanted to make this guy a reoccurring (side)character. He and his friend get to deliver mail to not-so-everyday people after the previous mail person disappeared, after serving a way longer than it could've been possible. He wants to do his job but he's not particularly excited of all the things that he needs to encounter for now on.

This must be the most normal character that I've created in many many years. He's perfectly normal average dragon person thing in his world, his parents are still alive and not mysteriously dead, he himself won't die dramatically or become eldritch something, his life has been perfectly fine so far, even his name is the most generic fantasy-esque name that I could think about. 'Young adult' is also probably the overusedest protagonist type ever.

This all came to be just because I drew this specific expression.

No worries Percy you get used to see weird people with no face and stuff. Maybe.