#fallen wings rising stars verse

[brokendreamscreation-moved]

Send me ¥ and a command! My muse must obey!

¥ Hop up and down on one leg while patting your head and rubbing your stomach. [From Lu @helluva-hazbins ]

“Eh? That is oddly specific, Lu. But alright~”

Lucid places a hand on his head and stomach, starting to get the rhythm going. Once he does he adds hopping on one leg, to which loses focus on patting head to rubbing.

“Wait! No! I can do this. HOLD UP!”

The blue seraphim is going to be hyper focused on perfecting this technique for the next 10 minutes~

[silverwingborn-moved]

That damn cane is pointing in her face again, Silver’s brow falling heavy with discontent. But she refrains from pushing it away this time, instead focusing at the welcomed change of subject. Seems there had indeed been a misunderstanding.

“Yes, that was my initial reason for coming here. I wished to speak to her and ask if she may have room for one more. …So you are Charlie’s father then?” Silver arched a brow in interest, looking down at the shorter man. While she was still new to Hell and learning of its hierarchy, the Nephil was aware of Charlie being Hells Princess. Thus, if what this apple wielding menace were true, that would make him a king. Admittedly, Silver was not very impressed.

@silverwingborn

"Wait a minute. Did you really think I wanted anything?" With an eyebrow arched, he clicked his tongue before laughing loudly.

"Nope, nuh uh. You approached me. I had assumed you had some reason but now, it's looking like a practical case of a simple misunderstanding." He attempting to make some sense out of the happenstance, cane back to being used as an extened form of his gestures while speaking.

"Sooo, with that in mind. Was there something you needed? Maybe you're actually here to see my daughter....about her program for sinners? You've heard of it, you must've by now."

[gribbo]

In the hands of another minstrel, it would make a triumphant theme: Thorm trounced, his captives freed, his curse lifted from the land. Let another minstrel write it. The one who struggled up from the bowels of Moonrise Tower would rather find an unobtrusive corner in which to curl up and die.

"Somebody knocks you on the head every tenday," grumbles Barcus, as though it's a character flaw. His hand on the minstrel's jaw is rough and cool. "Follow my finger."

He seems to be holding up two. Peculiar. The minstrel does his best to watch them instead of falling over. "Did you see the"—he wobbles, peering over Barcus's shoulder—"aasimar?"

The Nightsong, tracking bits of Thorm across the hall, wings to Isobel in a blaze of moonfire. Barcus fails to notice. "You're more addled than I thought."

The minstrel could kiss him. If either of them deserved that.

He reports to the High Harper, who stops him midway and orders him to bed. Where bed has gone eludes him; Vally, he thinks, had shouldered his bedroll. Karlach, his pack. He looks for them in the hushed bustle of the hall: teary farewells here, his niece Nimble frowning at him there, the dead laid out yonder for the living to grieve. Harpers weeping for their fallen softly, businesslike. Victims of the cult, too, lying far from their families and friends—and Alfira where he expects her to be, hunched alone with her lute, feeling out the first fumbling chords of a threnody for them all.

It all makes sense, all of a sudden. He still has his gittern. When he drops onto the bench beside her, her hands stumble on the strings.

“Let’s sing for our supper, then,” he rasps without preamble, tuning up.

Alfira stares at him—huge, stunned eyes in a hollow face. “Really?”

Magga cammara, the minstrel thinks, she’s gotten thin. She’s not even famous yet.

“Go on,” he says gruffly. He fiddles for a moment in A minor before settling on something suitable. “I’ll back you.”

A slow, weary smile staggers across Alfira’s face.

It’s a grueling task, to sing in tribute for so many, for so long. Few would ask it of a singer so untried. But when Alfira’s voice lifts in lamentation like a rusty bell’s chime, heads turn; when he joins her in the second verse, the stentorian echo of her high mourner’s cry, the hush that follows is a grim gratification. They play long after their voices fail. He’s nodding over the gittern, his fingers plodding across the strings, when a warm, heavy hand envelops his shoulder. “Silk?”

“Karlach.” His voice scrapes like an old hinge. He blinks up at her, wondering why she’s so blurry. “There you are.”

“Here I am, sangster.” She turns from him, speaking gently to someone else. “Get some rest, Fira, hey?”

Whoever’s leaning on him rises with a willing mumble, leaving him cold. There’s a head on his knee, he realizes; he gives Mirkon’s curls a drowsy pat, then nudges him awake. Someone lifts the boy and carries him away. Around the hall, the torches burn like drowning stars.

Karlach’s hand keeps him steady. “Can you walk?”

He wobbles up. To his consternation, the hall tilts. Around him, the torchlights stretch and spin—

“Whoops,” Karlach says—and whisks him off his feet, bearing him who-knows-where. Hellion. He should object, probably. Keep his eyes open, certainly. Beneath his head, the machinery in her chest—that horrid death-clock, ticking—rattles a radiator-cough.

She smiles grimly at it. “Will you play one of those for me?”

A funeral dirge. His own tired heart beats off-tempo. “Oh, Karlach.”

“It was beautiful,” she says in her plain, awful way. “Will you?”

He’d sooner cut off his hands. Milil, he thinks, help me play happier music for these people. That triumphant theme. It’s in me, somewhere.

“Sangster?”

A voice speaks up somewhere past his eyelids. “Is he all right?”

“Asleep.” An infernal yawn. “Hells. I’m beat, too.”

Not quite asleep, he thinks. There’s a space between sleep and wakefulness, now, where the Prism-bearers’ minds mingle and meet. Gale’s drifting off thinking about a real bed, with sheets and blankets and such, so all of them are thinking about real beds. Them, the minstrel thinks muzzily, who are we, who are us.

Karlach’s thoughts, blunt and amused, brush his. You sound like that brain-thing.

Shadowheart, ever the eavesdropper, dips in. Are we going to keep it?

That headcheese? asks Vally.

Whatever will it eat, thinks Wyll, in our company?

Tsk’va. Lae’zel pretends to miss his joke. The creature is an abomination.

So are we, darling.

We! cries the intellect-devourer, somewhere else. It’s skittering after a rat, its simple joy rippling through their minds in alien hues. Whee!

Not a theme, the minstrel thinks, absently. Not a theme. He blinks up at Karlach with some effort. “Odd little medley, ours.”

Karlach blinks back at him.

Then she grins, brushfire-bright. “Catchy."

[felice-jaganshi]

My Fallen Apple

Chapter 11

You woke up feeling warm.

“Baby, please, open your eyes. Come on, come on…” You recognize the voice, it's Lucifer. Why does he sound so scared? Did something happen?

Your eyes feel heavy.

 

“Hm… five more minutes…” you mutter, even the words feel heavy.

 

“Oh thank fuck! Sorry babe, I need you up asap. Need you to make sure nothing else is broken.” Relief fills his voice. You finally open your eyes, and see his beautiful, worried face. And Charlie! She's right next to you too! 

 

“Hey, what's going on?” You sit up in your lovers lap and as you look around, your eyes land on Adam's dead body. Suddenly the day's events come rushing back. “Oh… holy shit… he's dead. He tried to kill me.” You then look at where Lucifer's wings would be if he had them out. “No… you got hurt because of me…” 

 

He gave a nervous laugh, “Ah hah! Nah, that, everyone was just seeing things! I'm perfectly fine! Not a speck of blood anywhere, see?” He shifted you into Charlie's hold and did a quick spin for you to see. “Fit as a golden fiddle!”

You stood up, and Charlie gave you a tight hug before going to look for Keekee. 

 

Your legs were a little wobbly still as you made your way to Lucifer and pulled him in for a tight embrace and a passionate kiss. He hugged back just as tight and kissed you till you saw stars! He pulled back first and peppered more small kisses all over your face, until he heard Charlie begin a song. He then pulled away with one more kiss before going to her.

________

 

After the musical number and helping rebuild the hotel, Lucifer took you to his new room in the hotel. Once inside you confronted him while his back was to you.

 

“Lucifer… let me see your wings.” He flinched, you saw it. 

 

“Heh, why is that? I'm not really in the mood for wing play tonight.” He smiled over his shoulder at you, looking tired.

 

“Love, that's not why. I want to make sure you're really healed all the way.” You reach out to his back and he turns to face you quickly. Retreating like a scared animal… or an injured one.

 

You sigh, and try to reach out to him in a way he's more familiar with. Something he'll be more receptive to, you take his hands, and begin singing.

“Hands, put your empty hands in mine… and scars, show me all the scars you hide. And hey, if your wings are broken, please take mine till yours can open too. ‘Cause I'm gonna stand by you.”

 

He looks at you with shock, tears suddenly forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Tears, make Kaleidoscopes in your eyes. And hurt, I know you're hurting but so am I. And love, if your wings are broken, borrow mine till yours can open too. ‘Cause I'm gonna stand by you! Even if we can't find heaven, I'll walk through hell with you! Love you're not alone, because I'm gonna stand by you!”

 

The tears fell and he moved his hands to your face, taking over the next verse.

“You're all I never knew I needed. And my heart, sometimes it's unclear why it's beating… but love, if your wings are broken, we can brave through those emotions too, because I'm gonna stand by you.”

He let his wings out and held you close, and there it was, over his shoulder, you could see the hole he kept covered by his big fluffy feathers.

You then sang together, harmonizing as your hearts reached out and understood each other. 

 

“I'll be your eyes, till yours can shine. And I'll be your arms, I'll be your steady satellite. And when you can't rise, I'll crawl with you on hands and knees, cause I, I'm gonna stand by you! Even if we can't find heaven, I'll walk through hell with you! Love, you're not alone! I'm gonna stand by you…”

 

He sighed and pet your hair, “it'll heal on its own in time. I used my power to stop the bleeding, but healing my own wings takes a lot more energy than healing others. The price of being the strongest, when you do get hurt, no one's on your level to pick you up and carry you.” He smiled, but his voice was tired and sad.

 

You scoop him up into your arms, it's a little tricky with the wings throwing off his weight, but you make it work, and lay him on the bed. “Who says I can't carry you?” He was blushing. “Luci goosey, my lover, my king… I will always stand at your side and pick you up when you fall. Just like you do for me.” You smile and kiss his forehead, then each cheek, then his nose, before finally reaching his lips for a soft chaste kiss.

“I love you. And I always will.” 

 

He looked at you in awe, “Marry me?”

 

You blush, is this how he was going to propose?! “Are you serious?” 

He blushed, “I… um…” he took a slow deep breath. “Yes. Yes I do. I didn't mean to do it this way, but I'm not taking back my words, because I do mean them, and I don't want to hurt you with a misunderstanding.”

 

You can't help but smile. What a goof. What a good man. “I do! I mean, yes! Of course I want to be your wife!”

 

“Great! We'll tell everyone tomorrow and start planning then. For now, I just want to hold you. I… was really scared today. First for Charlie, then… You were just suddenly on the ground with so much blood around you… I thought I was about to lose you. Please, never do that to me again.” He pulled you to his chest and wrapped his wings around you.

You've never felt safer or warmer.

 

“I promise.”

[inyujidraws]

If my OC Creon Gilead were in the Helluva-verse. Blame Hazbin Hotel for this. Did 2 versions; one where she falls from heaven, and starting off as a sinner.

For context, the Earth has made radical leaps in technology up to 2080-ish, which led to the rise of meta-humans (bio-engineered mutants) and bio-terrorist sects.

Creon has committed a lot of horrible war crimes due to her time in the army and hired mercenary. But she strived to live as a better person after ending her service. Unfortunately the U.S. government blackmailed her into serving again to fight against another potential bio-terror sect. She died in the line of duty again, leaving behind a grieving community and friends. Not sure if this time she was briefly married or didn't meet a special someone.

Since she died as a fully-evolved mutant, she'll start off abnormally strong (not overlord level). This takes place during the so called 7-year absence of Lilith and the Radio Demon.

Fallen Angel

If she started off as a fallen angel, she'd definitely be picked up by Lucifer. He probably felt the disturbance of lots of exorcists being slaughtered, which is a first.

Most of the time Creon is making sure to bring him meals and reminding him to rest. At one point she gets stressed and extremely paranoid at Lucifer's spiraling mental state that she resorts to calling Charlie. Reconciliation takes place much faster, and Creon ends up splitting time helping at the hotel, and dragging Lucifer to said-hotel to spend time with his daughter.

Radio Demon's Assistant

If she started as a sinner in Hell (she figured that's where she'd go if Hell existed), she originally roughed it out near the edges of the city while killing and eating stray exorcists via ambush tactics. Eventually gave up on cave-dwelling and found low-entry job at Vox-tech. Eventually worked her way up due to taking initiative and Vox really valued how her work-ethic, adaptability, and genuine attitude.

It didn't take too long for Creon to be trusted with leading projects that had some success, and her influence to grow. Vox and Velvette were on board to make her a fellow Vee. Creon rejected the offer, but Vox didn't take that rejection well. Creon barely escaped Vox's brainwashing after injuring him and getting her wings. Creon was injured, mentally struggling, and bombarded from extreme visual and audio stimuli from all of the screens that surrounded the Vees territory.

Alastor found her and took her away so she could heal in peace. Alastor was able to persuade Creon into making a deal with him for her protection. It was icing on the top since he literally stole Vox's brand new "star." Alastor has found a new and exciting puzzle to solve and he relishes in poking and prodding his latest prey. Extra bonus since Creon's is a good chef and he gets to rub it in Vox's pathetic face.

Alastor likes to send Creon to go and kill whatever unlucky demon that pissed him off. All for the pure sadistic pleasure of chipping away at her humanity and morals. Thankfully she's really good friends with Husk. Nifty...she appreciates the little gremlin maid. Creon is always having to put up with Alastor's malicious pranks, chaotic antics, and mundane tasks. The one bright side is that Alastor has a co-star for his broadcasts. She'll join the Hazbin Hotel as the chef and give Charlie and Vaggie much needed advice with rehabilitating addicts.

[primroseprime2019]

Name: PrimrosePrime ❀❀❀❀❀

Nicknames: 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝐺𝑒𝑚，ᒪITTᒪᗴ ᑭᖇIᗰᗴ, 🅟🅡🅘🅜, 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢

Age: 22 years old

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual, Polyamory, Demisexual, Xenosexual

Favorite Tv Shows: Transformers (Prime, Animated, Cyberverse, Earthspark and 2015’s Robots in Disguise), Star Wars Rebels, Gravity Falls, My Little Pony, Steven Universe, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, The Owl House, Lucifer, All American, Pokemon, Star Vs. The Forces of Evil, Miraculous Ladybug, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Stranger Things, Dragons: Race of the Edge and Defenders of Berk, Tales of Arcadia, Sonic Boom, My Hero Academia, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Legend of Korra, Lego Monkie Kid, Young Justice, The Sandman, Obey Me, Death Note, A Centaur's Life, Bob's Burgers, Big Hero 6: The Series

Favorite Books: Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Alexandra Bracken’s The Darkest Minds, Lore, Divergent, Warriors, Chronicles of Narnia, A Monster Calls, Wings of Fire

Favorite Games: Five Nights at Freddy’s, Sky: Children of the Light, Switchcraft 3, Super Mario 3D World, Apex Legends, Bendy and the Ink Machine, Minecraft, Genshin Impact, Uncoven, Pokemon Go

Favorite Movies: Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief and Sea of Monsters, Avengers (Age of Ultron, Infinity War and Endgame), Godzilla and King of Monsters, Spider-Man: Into/Across the Spider-Verse, The Amazing Spider-Man 1 and 2, Spider-Man: No Way Home, Jigsaw/Spiral, Carrie, Shrek, The Last Unicorn, The Maze Runner, The Hunger Games, How To Train Your Dragon 1, 2 and 3, Rise of the Guardians, X-Men, Ghost Rider, Descendants, Jurassic World 1, Fallen Kingdom and Dominion, Nimona, Split, Glass, Candyman (2021), Nope, Us, Kong: Skull Island

Loves: writing, drawing, reading, taking naps, making friends, stargazing, watching movies, painting

I am autistic and I support LGBTQIA+

I am a writer and I’m working on 55 chapter stories called Transcendants.

I ᵃᵐ 𝕒 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔣 ᙖY ᑎᗩTᙀᖇᙓ

☆☆☆ 𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒰𝓃𝒾𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 ℐ𝓉’𝓈 𝒫𝓇ℯ𝒸𝒾ℴ𝓊𝓈 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 ☆☆☆

♱

WIPS: Transcendants: A Light in the Darkness (55/55)

Transcendants: Starfall (55/55)

Transcendants: The Ghost's Curse (55/55)

Transcendants: Phoenix Rising (55/55)

[crownednight]

verse descriptions for the pinned post (a living post that will be added to as au's and other plots arise, under read more for length purposes)

main verses

v; fallen star (main)

covers the canon events of amaya's "death" in the acotar series, her arrival in midgard, life as the autumn king's concubine, and eventual return to prythian

aus

au; the sharpest weapon (asteri)

amaya's arrival in midgard gained the attention of the asteri in the worst way. rigelus discovered amaya's powers and sought to use her as a spy and enforcer for the asteri. she is eventually placed in einar's home to report on the dealings of the fae directly to rigelus himself. *i tend to lean on inspiration from the winter soldier story in marvel. can be combined with a corruption arc*

au; legend bound (survival)

amaya did not travel to midgard, but instead recovered in velaris and remains a member of the inner circle. she ruled velaris in rhys's absence during amarantha's reign sub au -- au; at what cost (utm) amaya joined rhys at amarantha's party and was subsequently imprisoned as he was under the mountain. amarantha does not know she holds two daemati in her grasp and amaya tries to do what she can to help her brother

au; this world is primal (beast)

tamlin could not save amaya from spring's plot, but instead tried to hide her until she was safe by transforming her into a dragon. however, magic is fickle and he could not break the curse after the ashes of the plot settled. now, amaya lives her days as a beast protecting the northern most reaches of the night court and her nights as her fae self. *inspired by swan lake*

au; stars burn as ancient (tog)

follows amaya's canon, except she appeared in wendlyn instead of midgard. aware of amaya's temendous power, maeve attempted to coerce her into a blood oath, but amaya escaped to erilea shortly after magic fell and has been hiding from the valg queen ever since.

au; most ardently (historical)

takes place in any historical context. amaya is typically the daughter of a titled lord and is highly educated despite the norms of society.

au; supernova (modern)

amaya is an aspiring astrophysicist with a penchant for daydreaming in the modern world

au; the nightingale (hollywood)

in the golden age of hollywood, amaya is a singer known as the “nightingale” for her haunting songs on life and love. she first gained notoriety after catching the attention of einar danaan, the self styled “king of music,” who financed her first album and has ties to the asteri mob family. now married to einar, amaya tours endlessly and has lost the joy singing once brought her

au; valhalla calling (viking)

amaya is a trained shield maiden and aspires to be as fierce as the valkyries of legend

au; from the blood of old (got)

covers any interactions that take place in the got timelines. amaya hails from house dayne and carries valyrian ancestry that is marked by her violet eyes and her family's affinity to the targaryens. in the hotd timeline, amaya is also a dragonseed who aids rhaenyra's claim to the throne; however, she loses her dragon in battle and is dealing with "losing her wings" in the got canon timeline, amaya is a younger cousin to ashara and arthur dayne. her brother, rhys, became lord of starfall after arthur's death at the tower of joy. *all other timelines, such as the conquest, will be plotted on a case by case basis*

au; we will rise (fbaa)

amaya is an atlantian of mixed draken bloodline descent. her blood gave her the ability to call wings at will and her family has been sworn in service to the consort. when the gods slept, so did she until she was woken and taken to the blood crown by ires. understanding the great power amaya held, isbeth experimented on her and created the first revenant, causing amaya to lose her wings in the process. she bows her head and obeys in the name of survival, but she has never given up her dreams of seeing atlantia once more.

[icy-saturday]

From Ashes to Stardust - Cygnus' Theme

Lyrics by Maulwurf

Story & Plush Concept by Maulwurf

(Verse 1)

In the heart of the scrapyard, a tale untold, A satellite named Cygnus, so brave and bold, Lost in the shadows, he fears the night, As the machines awaken with a sinister light.

(Pre-Chorus) On the cold, steel belt, he finds his place, Among the fallen brethren, a solemn space, The voices of the satellites, a haunting choir, Whispers of destruction, fueled by fire.

(Chorus) Sawed and melted, crushed and torn, In the belly of the beast, he's born, Voices screaming, a mournful wail, As Cygnus faces the machine's cruel tale.

(Verse 2) A captive in this nightmare, he tries to flee, But the humans' grip, it won't set him free, Piercing needles, they stab and sting, Innocence lost, an angel with broken wings.

(Pre-Chorus) On the cold, steel belt, he finds his place, Among the fallen brethren, a solemn space, The voices of the satellites, a haunting choir, Whispers of destruction, fueled by fire.

(Chorus) Sawed and melted, crushed and torn, In the belly of the beast, he's born, Voices screaming, a mournful wail, As Cygnus faces the machine's cruel tale.

(Bridge) The chorus of sorrow, it echoes loud, In the heart of the inferno, a tear is allowed, But from ashes, a spark of hope will rise, A cosmic phoenix, soaring the skies.

(Chorus) Sawed and melted, crushed and torn, In the belly of the beast, he's born, Voices screaming, a mournful wail, As Cygnus faces the machine's cruel tale.

(Outro) Through darkness and pain, he finds his way, To a new beginning, where stars hold sway, In the arms of compassion, he'll find his grace, In the tapestry of hope, he'll find his place.

[bugbreach-music]

I managed to write lyrics for this that I like, and that makes me proud!

You're free to use the lyrics, just please give credit!

[Verse 1]

No matter how much work and time i put in

the results are never anything but average

That's it.

I can't go on like this.

My brain's controlled by worth that they say is important

It is why i already hate life at my young age So, yeah.

I guess i'll just begin fresh from the start

[Hook]

My chest is filled up with “abnormality”.

Turning me into something that aint right.

askin myself over and over

"Is this it,

did i get a brand new me?"

[Chorus]

So Look at me now!

Go touch me right now.

I'll throw away clothes that i always wore!

Rise from my chrysalis,

I will adorn a pair of wings!

Show off everything

Alone on this stage

The star of the show

Dance 1,2,3

Being free for a change

Dance without any rules

Yes, Yes, yes

losing my mind!

[Verse 2]

"Normality", a curse that's been cast on me,

I craved, I yearned for something that is more strange

Don't care, no interest in your theories and ideals

please, Shut it already!

See, I have no more need for "liking and hating"

For I've fallen in love with abnormality!

Twisted feelings created what I thought impossible

Here, born, stands the brand new me!

[Chorus]

So Look at me now!

Go touch me right now.

I'll throw away clothes that i always wore!

Rise from my chrysalis,

I will adorn a pair of wings!

Show off all I have!

Alone on this stage

The star of the show

Dance 1,2,3

Being free for a change

Dance without any rules

Yes, Yes, yes

losing my mind!

[Bridge]

Now I stand in the dark,

in a room all alone

Reflection stares back as it starts to speak

It asks "Who are you?"

I ask "Who am I?"

But no answer will ever come to mind

Go crazy, go crazy, go crazy, go crazy, go crazy, go crazy, go crazy,

start dancing now.

Oh, this is it,

this is the new me!

[Chorus]

So Look at me now!

Go touch me right now.

Wearing beautiful clothes, revealing everything!

Rise from my chrysalis,

See my enchanting wings!

I've become a butterfly!

Show off all I am!

Alone on this stage the star of the show

Dance 1,2,3

Finally free for a change

Dance without any rules

Yes, Yes, yes

I lost my mind!

My chest is filled up with “abnormality”.

Turning me into something that aint right.

My chest is filled up with “abnormality”.

Turned me into something that aint right.

askin myself over and over "Is this it,

did i get a brand new me?"

[aripuppyistired]

FFXIV Endwalker Lyrics Breakdown

Hello all! As you might be aware, Yoshi-P recently did an interview where he mentioned that the Endwalker song was meant to represent Hydaelyn and Zodiark as each having their own voice. So, using this information, I wanted to go over each verse to determine what they might mean or refer to!

[Sam Carter vocals] Heart of ember*, out of time Cooling swiftly, bleeding light Smoldering softly, biding time Marching forward, left behind

This is our introduction to the song, and I think it’s interesting that Zodiark is the main ‘speaker’ throughout the song. It should be noted that the “ember” here might also refer to “amber”. In both cases, I believe the first two lines are referring to Hydaelyn, and Zodiark’s view of the situation. We know that Hydaelyn had been significantly weakened after she protected us from the Ultima weapon, and that Zodiark’s seal has been weakening due to the calamities. There have been seven such calamities so far, which is over half of the seals broken.

The next two lyrics refer to Zodiark himself. After his defeat at the hands of Hydaelyn, he’s been biding time until his return: his essence never truly left. Since he was sealed, not truly defeated, I think this and the Ascian’s mentions about ‘re-writing the laws of this star’ might refer to Zodiark and Hydaelyn actually BEING the star and moon now, too, but I’m getting ahead of myself. In any case, Zodiark seems keen on making his debut soon.

Fire as shadows clash Forgotten footfalls engraved in ash Fire will be repaid ‘Fore our echos begin to fade

Fade away

Fade away

This section seems to refer to the End of Days that the Ascians suffered, and notably, begins playing before the narrator describes the End of Days occurring again. As we’ve defeated the last of the unsundered Ascians, I believe this refers to their last attempt to lash out at the world they tried so hard to protect, the world that had forgotten them.

Heart of ember*, out of time Burning brightly, all in white Kindred souls in a […] web Sorrow’s silence breeding there

Here the first two lyrics refer to Zodiark’s view of Hydaelyn again... or possibly you, the Warrior of Light. It’s a tough call. If it’s referring to Hydaelyn, she could be going through one last burst of energy before the final curtain call in their tale. If it’s the Warrior of Light, he could be referring to the idea that we’re out of time to stop his return. If we are out of time though, we’re still very powerful and are a beacon to those around us.

I personally lean a bit more to the WoL interpretation, especially with these last two lyrics. I have had the absolute worst time trying to figure out what the word in between “Kindred souls in a“ and “web”, but I believe the basic gist is being trapped and sad here. I unfortunately can’t figure out much more without that missing word.

[Amanda Archen vocals] Strum a song along the way Tales of loss and fire’s fate

This is the first time we here from Hydaelyn in this track. This part is interesting because it breaks from the sad, minor-key we’ve been in to something somewhat hopeful. I also think it’s important to remember that Hydaelyn was ALSO summoned by Ascians. Because of this, and because of how Hydaelyn tempers people, I think she very much does Not want the Ascians to be a forgotten people. I think maybe part of the reason why she’s had so much trouble with the calamities is that, at her core? She didn’t want to fight the other Ascians. She doesn’t really want to temper people, either. But she still wants the Ascians to be remembered, even if she wants to stop them from their goal of reviving Zodiark.

[chanting Heavensward lyrics]

Ok yea no idea about Heavensward dragon lyrics here other than I think we’re going to get an answer as to where the dragons were running from.

[Sam Carter vocals] Storm of blood, Born from blood, Of our fallen brothers Time stays still, oaths fulfilled, Now we yearn for freedom!

Switching back to Zodiark, we have the beginning of the Stormblood lyrics that takes on a new meaning with what we know about how the Ascians summoned Zodiark and Hydaelyn. It was half of their population sacrificed to stop the End of Days and another half to return life to the planet, and then another half to summon Hydaelyn... So I think that puts us at 87.5% of the Ascian population, gone. And since we know of no other primals using souls as their source instead of Crystals, there’s a non-zero chance that they’re still cognizant in there. Spooky!

(Side note: how messed up would it be if the crystals we mine are either the remnants of wounds from Zodiark/Hyadaelyn’s clash, or the remains of Ascians?)

In any case, it seems like these souls are now tired of this game, and long to be set free. Whether it’s through the dispersal of their soul back into the aetherial sea, or if it’s through the sacrifice of everything on this star to revive them, is anyone’s guess.

Born in blood, (Still we forge ahead) Stained in red, (Until tomorrow) Bound by blood, (Still we forge ahead) Hunger’s fed, (Until tomorrow) Cull these thieves, (Ever forge ahead) Hand-in-hand, (Until tomorrow) Souls aligned, (Ever forge ahead) Forge ahead, (Still we forge ahead) Forward- !

There’s a lot of anger here, and the Ascian’s hands are stained in blood. I vaguely remember something about a blood oath to restore Zodiark, and with the lyric about ‘Cull these thieves’ and ‘Hunger’s fed’... I’m thinking that Zodiark is powerful enough to start breaking his bounds himself, and is ready to set about restoring the star to their ‘rightful’ stewards.

[Amanda Archen vocals] Our song of hope, she dances on the wind Higher, oh higher 'Ere our boughs/foes endure Everything for better/ever, strong Standing tall in the dark do we carry on

Here we have Hydaelyn again, and she’s still hopeful. Knowing now that this represents Hydaelyn, I am leaning closer to the “boughs” interpretation for that third line. Despite how grim things look Hydaelyn seems confident that we can handle it. And that, at the end, we will come out better and stronger for it.

On wings of hope you rise up through the night, Higher, oh higher, Carrying a song, Made of voices in our hearts, That its chorus might ring for all!

This, she’s speaking to you, the Warrior of Light. You are a bastion of hope, made up of the people you’ve met along the way, and you carry their hopes and dreams with you as you press on. You are at the point where your story has inspired people to travel through time and space to save you, because you gave them something to rally around. You gave them hope for a better tomorrow. And it is that same hope that will carry everyone through the fight ahead.

[Background] One brings shadow, one brings light, Two-toned echoes tumbling through time,

Tumbling down, to! the! end!

This section, the speaker is not Zodiark or Hydaelyn, but the narrator. The speaker is referring to the fact that Zodiark and Hydaelyn are echoes of each other, and that perhaps their time is coming to an end. I think at the end of this expansion, we will see both primals return to the aetherial sea.

[Sam Carter vocals] There’s a step we take, Echoes in our wake, Went and [mount] our best, Forge ahead- !

This takes on an interesting meaning if we continue to take this as Zodiark speaking. Each step taken on this path to resurrection has left something behind. Whether that’s entire shards, the other Ascians, or referring to something else is hard to say. But no matter what, Zodiark is going to continue on this path forward.

Should we lose our way, Tire of our disgrace, We won’t be afraid, Forge ahead- !

Now this part is interesting. For a while I was torn between “disgrace” and “dismay” as the last line of the second lyric, but the idea that it’s Zodiark speaking has me leaning firmly to “disgrace”. As evidenced by Emet-Selch’s attempts to help you as much as he can despite his tempering, I do not think any of the Ascians really want to be doing this. They feel lost, disgraced, and are generally unhappy with how things have gone. But they’ve come too far, waited too long, to stop now. They still have their own people to save, after all.

There is not a place, Nor the time to wait, No it’s not too late, Forge ahead- !

Again, referring to the idea that the time to strike is now. It’s not worth waiting to see if this is really the time and place, the iron is hot! They still have a chance, even with the unsundered Ascians gone!

As we ride again, To another end, Where it all begins, Forge ahead- !

And finally, I believe we’ll be seeing the original site of the battle between Hydaelyn and Zodiark. Time has finally come full circle, and it’s time for these two to finish what was started oh so long ago.

---

Other notable things throughout the song are Zodiark’s propensity to speak in plural, I think referring to the fact that he is made up of so many souls. Just, so many. And I think part of Zodiark’s issue, why he was defeated the first time despite Hydaelyn being significantly weaker (Compare his roughly 75% of the population’s souls to Hydaelyn’s 12.5%) is that the souls are discordant with one another. Hydaelyn has never had a problem referring to only herself, and even here uses plurals to refer to both herself and the WoL. And we don’t know how many of that 75% were sacrificed knowing of the plan to sacrifice the new lifeforms to bring them, the Ascians, back. I can’t imagine many of them were happy about that. But, at this point, I think their will might be over-powered now by those that DO wish to complete the plan, or at the very least, that is the portion of Zodiark speaking in this song most strongly.

[brokendreamscreation-moved]

What's your happiest memory from your time exploring away from Heaven so far?

Lucid flutters his wings, hands clasping together as he grins brightly. “I have lots of happy memories! And I hope many more to make. But I gotta say, learning to manifest things and practicing my magic with Lu? Those are really special. He was the angel of music you know, so we also have a lot of music sessions. Like instrument playing and singing! I enjoy those memories the most. And while I could totally replicate them into dreams to relive over and over with every detail in place…I like to just remember them from my heart.”

( @helluva-hazbins Lu mention~)

[brokendreamscreation-moved]

This was certainly a new dreamscape that Lucid had not walked before. He recognized the owners signature, naturally drawn to see him as the young angel normally would. But this, this was far different. The ominous surroundings of the circus tents status forewarned the dreamer that this place may very well be a nightmare, he’s seen them before. But just what kind of nightmares did Lucifer have? Lucid did not know. Slowly, he approached the kneeling man, concern etched on the younger’s features.

“…Lucifer? Are you alright?”

@brokendreamscreation

The view is heavily obscured, darkened with few places where light manages to cascade downward into the space, the source of that light being strung up yellowed bulbs, most burnt out, buzzing and flickering in no particular constant form. It's all difficult to make out, a tented interior, banners, tattered hanging, their former intention long since diminished as they hang listless. A figure is seated, no kneeling just center, muttering to himself. Glowing formations emerging before him from within his hands. The ringmaster.

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Arthur Rimbaud

A mysterious anthem falls from the golden stars.

A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessences. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed--and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and if, demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions, he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnamable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn

Against snow, a tall Beautiful Being. Whistlings of death and circles of muffled music make this adored body rise, swell and tremble like a ghost; scarlet and black wounds open in the magnificent flesh.

Along the open road on winter nights, homeless, cold, and hungry, one voice gripped my frozen heart: 'Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. You don't know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.' In the morning my eyes were so vacant and my face so dead, that the people I met may not even have seen me.

And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down

And the horizon runs away from an eternal flight

Aphrodite’s thirst was never quenched; it was cruel and dreamy. It was certainly the most splendid kind of thirst.

As of today, I rebel against death! Work seems frivolous; I'm a proud man, and a lifetime's work would be too brief an agony for me. At the last moment, I'd attack...to the right...to the left...And then—oh!—sweet old soul of mine, eternity would not have been wasted on us!

Blood was flowing – in Bluebeard’s house, in the abattoirs, in the circuses where God had set his seal to whiten the windows. Blood and Milk flowed together.

But, true, I’ve wept too much! Dawns break hearts.

But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

By being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.

Doubt, a dreary bird, strikes us with its wing

Every moon is brutal, every sun bitter.

From castles of bone unknown music comes

Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.

how full of flowers the world was that summer! Tunes and forms fading... ––A choir, to calm down impotence and absence! A choir of glass pieces, of nocturnal melodies... Soon, indeed, the nerves will slip their moorings.

I alone have the key to this wild parade.

I am hidden and I am not.

I believe I am in Hell, therefore I am

I could never throw Love out of the window.

I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.

I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Golden chains from star to star ... And I dance.

I have withered within me all human hope. With every silent leap of a sullen beast, I have downed and strangled every joy. I have called for executioners; I want to perish chewing on their gun butts. I have called for plagues, to suffocate in sand and blood. Unhappiness has been my god. I have lain down in the mud, and dried myself off in the crime-infested air. I have played the fool to the point of madness

I is another.

I ought to have a special hell for my anger, a hell for my pride, – and a hell for sex; a whole symphony of hells!

I saw myself before an infuriated mob, facing the firing squad, weeping out of pity for the evil they could not understand, and forgiving!

I shall ask forgiveness for having fed on lies.

I shed more tears than God could ever have required.

I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent

I will tear the veils from every mystery: mysteries of religion or of nature, death, birth, the future, the past, cosmogony, and nothingness. I am a master of phantasmagoria.

I've researched the magic shapes of the happiness no one escapes.

I've seen archipelagos of stars; islands whose feverish skies are spread above the traveller - are these the boundless nights in which you sleep?

In the dawn, armed with a burning patience, we shall enter the splendid Cities

In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.

It has been found again. What? – Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun

It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense

Let us desire The nothing of night

Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.

Monkeys of men fallen from the vulva of mothers

my heart, my heart betrayed me!

My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?

O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all

Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.

One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.

Our pale reason hides the infinite!

Pagan blood returns!

Satan, you clown, you want to dissolve me with your charms. Well, I want it. I want it! Stab me with a pitchfork, sprinkle me with fire!

Self interest exists, attachment based on personal gain exists, complacency exists. But not love. Love has to be reinvented, that’s certain.

Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!

ternity is the sun mixed with the sea

That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.

The first study for the man who wants to be a poet is knowledge of himself, complete: he searches for his soul, he inspects it, he puts it to the test, he learns it. As soon as he has learned it, he must cultivate it! I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences. Ineffable torture where he needs all his faith, all his superhuman strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed one--and the supreme Scholar! For he reaches the unknown! ....So the poet is actually a thief of Fire!

The flowering sweetness of the stars

The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea

The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.

The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought

The storm made bliss of my sea-borne awakenings.

The world progresses! Why shouldn’t it turn as well?

The World will vibrate like an immense lyre In the trembling of an infinite kiss!

These verses believe; they love; they hope; that is all.

They find me odd, and whisper behind hands... And my brutal desires sink hooks into their lips...

They seem to have fallen asleep in some rose-coloured paradise…

This lofty thought proves I dreamt it!

To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?

True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.

True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.

turn your face towards the lances of rain, the soul towards ancient wisdom

We are overwhelmed with a cloak of ignorance and narrow chimeras

What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death!

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?

Your strawberry-raspberry taste, your flowery flesh

[warlock-enthusiast]

running out of time

so, we had the first player character deaths last session and @kasiael asked for a little insight of what our resident God / friend / boyfriend thought while Kethra died

here you go!

------

They felt the earth rumble beneath their feet and heard people scream. Buildings crumbled; streets tore open. Rannok fell on his knees and held his head, lost to some unseen nightmares. Something had changed. Their friends had broken the barrier and unleashed magic. The whole city of Ostjoll seemed to be on its feet in an instant, ready to finally take back their home from the fallen Order of Bahamut.

“Zaos?” Hella got back on her feet, swords in hands and with sharp teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Be ready for a fight.”

Nodding, he stretched his shoulders and searched for his magic but found his heart missing a beat.

Sitting amidst hams, wheat and caskets of ales, Zaos felt her die.

Kethra.

With their connection severed, anger filled the sudden void in his chest.

“I need to go.” He gritted his teeth. “They’ll not take her from me.”

He’d not lose another love to the dark Queen and her little cult. They’d taken much from him throughout the millennials, love and hope, the best of him, forced him to hide and sleep and forget and lick his wounds like some wounded animal.

And Kethra was so young, so vulnerable, so wonderfully flawed and real. She deserved to live and witness the world change around her, with or without him at her side.

Zaos fought against the panic rising in his throat and the numbness, which made it so hard to move. He tasted blood in his mouth from biting his cheeks and tongue, while trying to control the urge to just withdraw again and sleep on the silver shores of his home.

A part of him was afraid of facing his old enemy, the giant black Dragon, which wings could hide the stars.

Hella looked into his direction, while pushing fallen crates out of her way. “We should have gone with them.”

“I know.”

But with the spell broken, Zaos felt more like himself, closer to his actual power. Magic sparkled around the edges of his mortal form and his eyes held a green glow. He would save her. Her soul still lingered close, not ready to part with her body.

He felt that her brother had fallen too and Zaos also saw Felicitas’ life dripping out. They’d faced an enemy too strong, too versed in her arts and with an army of undead at her side.

Selfishly, he’d always rescue Kethra first. She’d woken emotions long hidden and forgotten since seeing her face for the first time and hearing her pray at his temple. Her voice had called for him and lured him back into meddling with the world.

He'd not let go of her.

His fingers touched Rannok’s forehead and he let the man fall asleep, without dreams for once.

“I will tear them apart limb by limb.”

Hella smiled. “Be my guest.”

[heli0s-writes]

“I’ll wait.”

With Bucky, for an anonymous request. I love pining, dreamy landscapes, and soft Bucky. 1.4k words. 🌻🌱🌷🍃

[28 WAYS Masterlist // Prompts]

The path through the woods is overrun. Heat of a thawed winter warms his determined steps as wild grass stems flick his shins. Speckled seed heads bow when he parts them with ease. His destination is sharper each passing second and he feels it shudder awake and alive, rocking him with anticipation.

Nestled inside the verdant greenery even maps couldn’t mark is the safehouse cabin, a sanctuary of dappled sunlight and unspoiled earth. A secret you keep close to your heart, allowing only few to know.

Bucky would never have come to your hideaway uninvited.

But it had been a week without you and the ache grew restless.

Inside, the imprint of your shadow reveals furtive observations his heart collects when you’re around: half-finished mugs of coffee, abandoned papers by the dining table showcasing scenery in skillful marks, its accompanying array of chalk pastels to the side. Bucky investigates your traces like footsteps of a trail, eyes reaching stems of wilderness collected and pressed between journals. Novels piled in stacks on the counter with fondly dogeared pages of tender quotes.

Faithful habits of chasing escapism he knows all too well.

The bedroom door is slightly ajar, but empty still. Pillows are pushed down in careless piles, blankets and sheets crumpled against each other. How did you look this morning, he wonders. Hair mussed prettily in disarray? Long lashes fluttering, heavy-lidded for a few blessed seconds?

A glance at the softly indented spot where your cheek laid just hours prior and he exhales.

Probably lovely. Like always.

There.

Bucky spots the familiar hue of your crown deep in wild grass. Buzzing wings land on your bicep, crawl to your elbow. Wildflowers are entangled sweetly in your hair.

Ethereal and finally found like the recollection of a wayward dream.

A delicately molded face with rounded chin regards his figure. You are resplendent like spring itself, yet the corner of your bottom lip is pulled inside your mouth, tongue holding back the tide of a million thoughts.  

Bucky swallows drily when a pained smile shifts your eyes downward, but neither of you are ready to address your isolation or his arrival. Instead, one hand reaches forward over the blades, palm faced at a slant, eyes imploring him closer.

Effortless steps lead him past tall trunks. He’s close behind your graceful weaving, hand over yours carefully, keeping you close as if he might lose you again.

Trees finally give way to a small clearing where fallen logs lie haphazardly, adorned by worms and beetles that loiter about in ridges of the bark. Dandelions rise from the earth between tufts of grass and droop gently in the breeze. Patches of dirt pattern the forest floor, quickly becoming overcrowded with seeds and remnants of the nature all around.

He’s awestruck by how you find these pockets of splendor where time fades and surroundings suddenly seem to be glazed over by a painter’s brush. Delicate phthalo emerald leaves, linseed glaze of the highest shine, gold-grained flecks over blades of grass, and it’s like he’s entered a Rococo rendering. A pastoral Arcadian landscape, fragrant and idyllic and sublime. Steve would weep at the sight if he were here.

You shift into the scenery— all light-footed with buoyant step until you pause, distracted by a ring of chanterelles. Half-shaded by the canopy, half-illuminated by the streaming and stubborn sun, their soft caps looking like thick marshmallow brushwork.

“Better not step in or fairies will take you.”

A mischievous peek at him before you turn back around. Intrigued blue admire the collection of buds falling apart in your hair, lavender and orange petals crumbling down your back and he thinks for a moment perhaps fairies have already taken hold of him.

  At a stream of water, you kneel and invite Bucky to your side with earnest pats. Tilting forward on elbows and knees, you press your body to the ground and gaze at the trickle as it runs, mouth curving into a smile. The wide neck of your top slips when you duck to smell a blossom, exposing a broad line of collar and shoulder. Strips of baby-fresh skin cord down your arm like vines, strangling the moment.

Six days with your advanced healing and you’re practically brand new again in all ways but one.

“Buck? I’m glad you’re here.” Your mouth opens after a second of mulling over a thought, breath on the pinnacle of a confession before a snap and pop alerts both your heads over the water to where something emerges from behind a tree. He’s already up on his feet, poised to protect, drawing laughter from your throat when you spot the intruder.

Tawny grey and absurdly harmless, the bunny’s nose is frantically twitching, cheek full of sweet berries but alert with wild panic. One tall ear quirks Bucky’s way and the moment grows quiet as the three of you watch each other earnestly, before finally, as if it’s had enough of his shadow, it takes off into the deeper woods behind.

“Sorry,” he offers, sitting back down on his haunches.

A swat to his knee—mouth still cheerful, “Nah, just in its nature to run.” Then, suddenly, you avert your gaze. “Keeping itself safe.”

One hand wraps around the other shoulder and you begin to cave, folding inward like those bedsheets, pulling yourself smaller and smaller. “Maybe it’s in my nature to run, too.”

The quiver of your voice wounds him. The ache, the tremble, the silent lament when you duck your head down, hiding. Bucky waits for now, lets you have a few seconds because he knows you need this: the silence and comfort of nothing sentient. The balm of meandering wind prose. The consoling ebb of water. The midnight song of crickets because sometimes the human world is too loud, too painful, violent, and unfair. Indiscriminately vicious. Because sometimes, people hurt, and hurt, and hurt.  

And despite your best efforts—you hurt, too.

Your heart behaves in ways he’s well-versed in. He knows it. Knows you.

  You remain on the forest floor, face buried into the crook of your elbow and it reminds him of how you lie supine across the couch after sunset, feet propped in his lap, watching the warm sherbet gradient, patient for the curtain of night when all things rest. Aglow and warmed by the disappearing sunlight. Painted blue-gold. A little shattered. Still lovely.

Deeper in the woods, birds begin to sing.

Bucky reaches forward tentatively, slowly, until he’s holding your arm, fingers gently curling. “Hey,” he whispers when you rise from the curve of your elbow to look at him. “I’m not in a hurry to leave. I’ll wait.”

He points to the tepid rivulet, a trickle of it going sideways and cutting through a patch of dirt. “Bit of running water, nice sunshine. Looks like our day’s booked full.”

It’s enough to make you grin even if your smile is a little swollen around the edges.

A breath as you trace the slope of his touch all the way back up to his face. Another breath as you watch him watching you, lips slightly parted, eyes searching, knowing, seeing you. Caring for you.

And then you’re up, closest hand gripping his, other one reaching with haste to find his neck, or chest, something to support your weight when you pitch forward.

Even though he wasn’t expecting it, but because he’s fast, Bucky meets you halfway, pulling you flush into his lap, letting your damp cheeks rest on his collar. Like he’s done it all his life, his arms arrange themselves without another thought, locked tightly over your back, fingers stroking lightly down your spine.

  A gentle breeze blows through and ruffles his eyelashes under the canopy, scattered sunlight falls on his chestnut head, lighting up stray hairs. He’s warm daylight and sugary sunshine. Soothing meadow brook music and butterfly wing caresses. Your heart bumps along in time with his, chest on chest when you turn and look up at him, nose tip rubbing against his chin. Bucky chances a smile at you, sincere and concerned and doting.

Lovely, you think. Like always.

You graze your cheek over his, eyelashes kissing along the path, feeling emboldened nestled like this, wanting to tell him—show him—feel him, too.

But instead, like that little rabbit, you tuck yourself back and away, not yet ready.

Bucky hums to the tune of your breath when you shyly press your brow against his collar, cutting off the start of an apology with a promise. “It’s okay.”

And it is.

Birdsongs echo through the trees and he feels it in his bones the way you sink into his hold. Trembling and warm and perfect. Heartbeat dancing along with his. 

He’s waited hundred years for a love like this. 

He’d be happy to wait a hundred more.

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya​ @geeksareunique​ @wildefire​ @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​

[dantesinfcrno]

trigger warnings !!  suicide, suicidal thoughts, drug use / overdose, body horror, death, blood, violence, self harm, abusive relationships. most importantly, bad writing!

                                𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈  ：𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀 .

frigidity, heartlessness ╱ the absence of love ╱ virgin mary, corrupted .

winter child with shards on its mouth –– the snow quivers before khione, goddess whose lips do not tremble. cataclysm upon birth, no life to be seen as monster opens its eyes. before words could be uttered, before a name could be given to beast, untamed, it knew of fate. worthless creature, undeserving of shedding a tear. void big enough to fill any mansion, all touch lost –– who would cradle an interrupted demon, a fallen angel?  who would wipe the anguish that never created roots inside tiny body, broken?  

                                                         ( … )

one vivid memory: it sitting down in the floor a living room ( no house is ever the same: all empty in a pantheon of different ways ). it is invisible, as Father dreams of his own tales, as Mother unravels the world. no one holds it up. –––– galatea?  –––– it calls for Her, voice too firm for a child, first words incisive ╱ poignant knife. She stares into its eyes, peering at the chaos She created –– and turns Her back.

                                                         ( … )

verses wrote themselves against its skin, fairies would whisper secrets into its heart. before it could walk, small deity devoured books –– in search of a love he did not know of, this powerful feeling it could never obtain. the titans who gave birth to lucifer ╱ lilith, anew, could spare it no sweet nothings. the tutors brought in could not hold down treacherous creature, could not embrace it, could not understand it. oh, the gentle kiss that would break the curse. oh, the sweet princess that would awake humanity inside tainted guts. the choirs sang of redemption, absolution –– but they also snarled at child born with a target on its back, holy water falling at its feet. you were never meant to receive tenderness ; you shall not know what love entails. it all echoed inside this fortitude: melancholy the only tune beast ever knew ╱ maddening: to never be touched ; to never be loved without worship, without loathing.

                                                         ( … )

poignant claws would drag themselves over a violin, and he interrogated the stars. who else, who else. can famine become savior?  can ferocious teeth learn to taste another’s core without devouring it whole?  i can try, i can try. boy, blizzard –– locking itself in the garden of eden, mortality discovered as fingers bleed, as thorns find home in the anatomy of god, interrupted. –––– you can be anything you desire, vessel. –––– serpent hisses, crawling up its core. –––– i choose to live. i choose to love all monsters, made out of darkness & concrete alike. –––– dante replies, half-smothered, half-breathing, apple tasting sanguine on his lips. ophidian smiles, knowing this end will be self-made. –––– you can’t be helped, child, you can’t be helped.

                  –––––– 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 . ––––––

                               𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈  ：𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐀 .

resentment, anger ╱ agape ╱ your presence soothes me .

to seize the adoration one was never deserving of: a sin, an addiction. bringer of nightmares, a king crowned with madness –– and all he wants is all he can never have, prince amongst commoners, crawling through cobbled streets in search of scraps. there is relief in the tender stares he receives from older women, insisting him to turn back and find home. i don’t have one, i never had one. bones of a boy, muscles of a boy, but he –– savage, feral, bleeding life into a world that despises him.

                                                         ( … )

this is what he knows of love: he must give it, even when it hurts –– somebody must be willing to rip their own flash, gift it away, and remain lacking forever. with hate, he learns this: puncture your flesh in order to feed the mouths that bite your legs ; turn your head to receive double the punishment, as it might turn you palatable ( they all want to break you, and if you shatter prettily enough, you might find gilded dregs to store inside your ribs ) ; swallow what no one wants to hear &  drown in it.

                                                        ( … )

being made entirely of open wounds, there is no deity capable of dragging him back to the fiery pits that gifted him life ╱ gifted him curse. lucky vessel, so close to a heart of his own. he rips one off a deer ( unfortunate as all that cross his path ) ; does not recall his face as he becomes other. the horror of inevitability is the only beauty he knows of, as he undresses, carrying only skin &  blood. summer child ╱ crooked teeth, crooked smile. eris lies underneath ophelia: sweet, poisoned honey. there is an empty space, and there is laughter by its side. lord shiva, this is all i have, this is all i am. is there any other way to love, but to turn into madness?  dante’s shrines are always filled with silence –– but he still brings limbs, lungs, livers as offerings to friends, lovers, foes.

                                                         ( … )

light quivers through the cracks –– through the smile always perched on his lips, meaningless. he embraces the world: atlas, knee-deep in dirt, bound to shackles rooted in tartarus. he bears the weight with joyous laughter, bullet-wound on his throat. unconditional love to all but himself. –––– this is how my salvation will come. –––– he mumbles, wine-drunk, licking aphrodite’s mouth. oracle, foolish in his hopefulness. –––– i will love, love, love, until the point of murder. i will love the unlovable ; and i won’t ask for anything in return. –––– as he kisses madness into a stranger’s lips, as his body becomes a one night miracle for those who need it most. –––– i can give, and give, and give, and you won’t hear my voice begging for anything else. –––– as he lays in a bed that is not his own, as he wraps his tongue against quickened pulse, as he becomes one with a galaxy that had long disowned him. dante holds the unknown in his arms, and promises to adore it ( sweet, inescapable destiny ╱ ouroboros: we therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, beast to beast ).

            –––––– 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟                  𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐛. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟,                               𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 . ––––––

                               𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈  ：𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄 .

withering hope, abandonment ╱ philautia ╱ unfading love .

there is a limit to what forsaken hands can do. dante has picked stars, reached burning celestial bodies, cut his palms while tending to flowers with more thorns than petals. maybe i will encounter the lacking piece ; maybe there is half a soul to be found. a possibility is all that drives him forward, as skies turn grey and greyer. death is served, and young piece of sunshine ╱ corrupted shard of blood moon refuses to take it. i will keep on living –– i refuse to pass, i will not become more ghost than i already am. he moves around life, life runs right through him –– a sword lodged below his collarbone, forcing him to cough up blood. he is not a memory anyone can have. dante thinks about his absence in a world that already feels much like nothing: everchanging figure with a thousand names, an opaque face, a hidden mouth.

                                                        ( … )

merciless crow weighs heavily on his shoulder –– that, a haunting dante can’t run away from. he pledged the remnants of his tortured soul ; promised to bloom flowers inside of his guts ; swore he would not howl when the thorns slayed him. –––– how do i love without feeling it flow in my body, how do i love without receiving it in my bloodstream?  –––– fallen next to thanatos, locked away in a luxurious bathroom, he wonders and wonders. foolish messenger, victim of hubris ╱ icarus, aware the sun would burn his wings, but taking the leap of faith &  crashing, drowning in saltwater. –––– who am i to challenge the gods? –––– he murmured, anguish sorrow rising and falling in the rhythm of his chest. dante remembers rain falling endlessly –– but, most of all, he remembers silence. –––– oh, dear. i am alone, aren’t i?  –––– he questions a ghost, tears rupturing his flesh. what he tried to hide meets sunlight in its last breaths. miserable boy, crestfallen human –– he discovers himself once he uncovers death. soothsayer full of shame, guts filled with medicine, wrists torn by ache. what prophecy could he utter with such a defiled existence?  no one will come for him, is his last rational thought. no one will remember him. dante: nothing, no one, infinitesimal. –––– all i have tried to give is all i do not have. –––– the veil falls from his face and the earth quiets.

                                                        ( … )

he wakes up, bittersweet taste lingering in his body. my bones have finally shattered, he muses, not entirely awake, i have nothing else to give. his tutor does not spend the night by the side of his hospital bed ( white, everything pearlescent, pristine, sickening ), and dante doesn’t expect his parents to come –– and they don’t. ordinary, meaningless existence. he should have passed to another realm, but he had vowed to keep on living. –––– fate is anything but forgiving. –––– is what he mumbles to a kind nurse: the one individual worried for him, but only because it is her job. he holds her by the wrist one day, mouth opening and then closing. can you stay with me?  can you let me go?  –––– thank you. –––– and there are no other words he is able of uttering throughout his stay. alone, is all he’ll ever be, no pink hues to enlighten his days. he notices his age in a file, wrong by two years, but does not say anything about it. who cares?  who cares but you?  do you at all?  

                                                         ( … )

his scars do not turn into bird wings. what should i fear, if not death, if not desolation?  the torment of being devoured –– no, that is what he loves the most. in one of many nights ( lustful, adoring, fickle ), basile fast asleep by his side, dante’s fingertips caress exposed skin –– brutal tenderness, a blade he could never inflict upon himself. –––– i think i can only ever love whatever part of me when i find it mirrored in you, mon cher. –––– he confesses, obsidian irises shining. to hold on, to make room for fragile things, to fracture in the same crevices, even with leaden bones. –––– dragons and butterflies are one in the same, aren’t they?  –––– dante whispers, cherry lips dragging across basile’s ears as emerald cradles carnelian closer, closer.

          –––––– 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 . ––––––

                       𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐕  ：𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 .

unfortunate attachment ╱ philia ╱ i have lost all .

grief supposedly works like this: denial ; anger ; bargain ; depression ; acceptance. dante has never fell into the latter –– there was not a day he felt his mother’s absence as an axiom. galatea died in his arms, no last breath redemption gifted to her only heir, but her number remains his emergency contact. perhaps–– this is the closest he will get to love: half-ghost, half-illusion ; one he can confess all his sins to ; one that will not reprimand him no more ; one hollow image ╱ sacrilegious saint he can pour his most selfish desires onto. once her body is laid five feet underground, dante kneels. –––– i would have done you a favour, mother, had i died before you.

                                                         ( … )

dante’s dismay is always reminiscent of a forest, petrichor, and a bonfire put out during the night. galatea by his side, barely addressing his existence. miles deep into the woods, birds were singing once he heard mother, titaness, whimper. dante reached for her, cradled her, hugged her –– for the first time, for the first time, for the last time. intact arrows were lodged on her throat, on her chest. what could he do? –––– stay with me, please. –––– dante begged and begged, but galatea’s eyes were no more. trembling hand holding cold fingers, desperate cries as he forced himself to walk, to search for an exit he knew no longer existed. his feet were cursed with blisters once he found a small village, his cheeks marred by dried tears, his arms covered in matriarchal blood. catatonic emptiness –– and each new fracture of his soul was a new explosion, sharp, dangerous, lost. he remained by her side, acute desperation as the reality crashed upon him, a rogue wave. –––– come back to me. –––– as he curled his body next to hers. always freezing, you were always this cold anyway. –––– come back. you have to come back. –––– as he clung to her limbs, as his eyes sunk in sorrow. does this pain have a name?  

                                                        ( … )

poppy’s empty room and the vacant space left by galatea were one in the same. dante lingered around her bed, head throbbing –– grief never leaves, it only evolves into smothering shadow. dante places a small bouquet atop her pillows, mumbles a prayer in a faint voice. –––– i never had much. –––– he whispers, and hopes poppy can hear him, feel him. –––– but i had you. and i will find you, baby girl. i promise i will. –––– there are no smiles to brighten up his complexion, no light shining through his ribs. this night, like many others, is spent entirely on research. who can i reach next?  what can i sell of my soul to have you back?  

                                   –––––– 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . ––––––

                           𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕  ：𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍 .

departure, resignation ╱ pragma ╱ all good things come to an end .

spring child, full of heartache. oh, how he wishes he could give it back: so many lives lost as he aimed for a pulse of his own, and dante now chases numbness. bodies become a blur, just in time for him to turn into a ghost. cheap whiskey and smoke mix themselves in his tongue, there are pills dissolving in his mouth, there is a stranger pressing him up against a wall. why is it not enough?  why must i crave what i can never have?  oh, to grow yourself a heart only for a friend to pull it out, for a friend to crush it beneath their feet. foolish boy. you should’ve been grateful for the void i gifted you, is the echo growing inside his brain, his mother’s voice a tortured ghost. to believe one could truly love him –– the most reckless of all behaviours, the pain that could extinguish him into dust. what is heavier than this emptiness?  what is more consuming than this void? –––– she … she told me she was going to find someone else to go home with. –––– hollis’ words can’t be erased from his mind, and dante finally crumbles beneath their weight.

                                                        ( … )

his eyes are swelled up once he reaches london. perhaps, there is a limit –– even for a demon, even for a grotesque creature. perhaps, as he crawls atop galatea’s grave, he meets his end. knife wound, love wound: it bleeds all the same. his body is freezing, even when the night is still –– there is an image replaying in an infinite cycle behind his eyelids, frozen tears clinging to reddened cheeks. –––– was saying ❝ i love you ❞ my undoing?  –––– he murmurs into the night, the claws of a demon resting upon his shoulders, smothering and lukewarm, and shivers caress his spine ( tiny spiders, nails across a chalkboard, vermins crawling through a corpse ). –––– he asked me to find him, and i did. –––– there is no humour in his laughter. such unforgivable stupidity, and he can only punish himself for it. unsheathed talons lacerate his scalp: apathy as a life-threatening poison, as he sinks rotten nails inside of his flesh and hopes to come up with a crown, reborn. there is no rage as perished daisies become his halo, as dead mother becomes dead son, on his knees, forehead to the ground. cold rain soaks up his bones: a preferable fate to succumbing to loneliness –– suffering, but religious ( i am only holy when broken, i can only adore as a morgue does with a corpse ). can rose taste him in basile, he wonders?  is he too fleeting to be felt, even by a tourmaline angel?  –– the one that loves him, loved him, somehow. melinoe whispers in his ear ( mother of madness, but he trusts her –– who else does he have? ) : that was a lie. what does one gain from worshipping you?  –– hell, fervent kisses, languid hands, consuming touch, everything, too much, nothing at all.

                                                        ( … )

jester, conquering his way through pleasing his majesty’s body, filling his bed. oh, to be aware of one’s low worth –– never good enough, even when it came down to being used. tiring illusionist, shuffling the same cards, over and over and over… could he blame anyone for forsaking him?  ares, begging to be forgotten. no more pain, no more. the heavens are deaf, however, and it continues: plague in his bones ; hunger in his chest ; torture in his skull. if he stays down for long enough, perhaps no one will bother to look for him. pitiful dead boy turns blind man, hearing his last heartbeat, moonlight on his tongue, constellations on his lips. what is there to be said at his tombstone?  unknown, unloved, unmissed. this, the only way he’d ever be able to go. you may have broken my heart, but only i hold the power of shattering my own soul. water springs from his eyes: weeping angel, at home in a cemetery. –––– not even your ghost is capable of loving me, mother. and still, you’re all i have. –––– he whispers, restless, plunging prayers down the earth. love me, you should’ve loved me, love me, please.

                 –––––– 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞: 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐭                                          𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 . ––––––

                            𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈  ：𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 .

you will be my death ╱ eros ╱ poisonous calamity .

eros finds him –– no mercy, no mercy. mercutio picks him up from the ground, dirty and paralyzed, says nothing. dante wakes up in his bed, undressed, filthy, sore. –––– you always come back, don’t you?  –––– the emerald’s voice reverberates in his head, each syllable another nail on his coffin. phobos &  deimos are also children of aphrodite, is what he learns with mercutio –– standing tall, smile of a hunter, canines of a wolf. –––– i am really everything you have, huh? –––– his laughter is haunting, and the desai becomes child, forgotten –– once more, once more. 

–––– i never had you. –––– dante mumbles, looking out the window. the abyss stares back, offers no answers, vanishes. –––– never had anyone at all.

                                                        ( … )

when the morning comes, mercutio presses dante against a wall –– hand around his neck, vicious. dante does not blink as breaths become shallow, as lights seem to fade. –––– i’m not scared of you, fool. –––– melancholy in defiance, tone dripping in dark blue. –––– kill me. I’m all yours. –––– and he smiles only after his feet touch the ground, a slap across his cheek. bitter glory. thanatos is always lingering in his spine, never daring to break him. untouchable, even by death. sobriety in nothingness, in madness: mercutio looks inside his soul, and realizes he is messing with a demon with nothing to lose. –––– you have stepped over my guts and claimed the beast inside of me as yours. you have more reasons to fear me than anyone else, and you better start acting like it. –––– dante bows, and leaves. always an actor leaving a stage –– trickster, villain or tragedy?  he doesn’t know anymore.

                    –––––– 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚) 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐛) 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫, 𝐜) 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 ?  ––––––

                            𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈 ：𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 .

my regrets follow you to the grave ╱ memento mori ╱ remembered beyond the tomb .

dante comes back at midnight, after four long days. there are finger marks against his trachea, there are new quicksilver lines against his body, there is new darkness pressed underneath his eyes. quiet –– inside his heart, white noise. inside his mind, an ocean in which he’s drowning. for poppy, he muses, for poppy: he must move onward for her, if not for anyone else. he can barely hear his own heart, beating, struggling. just until i find her, and then...