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@starlitwritings
hey!! how about same clothes different year for the tropes?
This has been sitting on my inbox FOREVER, and decided to clean up, but just so you know: I tried to write this drabble. I did.
...It ended up becoming a full blown story and my current big WIP oops 😂
the helladir chronicles deities ◇ herderäye, goddess of despair, hatred and vengeance
“Hope is dead. They murdered her in the Steps of Salvation, when a capricious King denied a desperate plea for justice. Hope is dead, Mercy with it, and Vengeance and Hatred have risen from her ruins. The Gods betrayed Laenalith— and she betrayed the world in turn. The Abyss has been breached, the skies are bleeding, and the world cries for salvation from the Unholy Host, but the Traitor has no mercy left in her to give.“
oc edits ◇ hastire casengrim, the horror of cördrant
"Who do you think stopped my hand for all those years? Who was it, Erys, that protected you from my wrath? My sister was my mercy— and you murdered her."
oc edits ◇ THE FOUR DAUGHTERS OF RHYDEN CASENGRIM
❝ Golden Fiera with her heavenly gift, blessed by the King of the Gods, the queen who would have returned the Kingdom to its glory but never could. Quiet Aurianne, always mindful of her place, who sought nothing but a lifetime of peace and found only ashes. Proud Erys, beloved by their father, whose hunger for power and reverence not even Fiera's robbed crown could satisfy. And dark, hated Hastire, the shadow to her beloved sister's sun, the warrior princess who left behind all she was to survive Cördrant and brought the Hyranser to its knees. ❞
oc moodboards ◇ ashera of syrden
“We have lingered in the chambers of the sea (…) Till human voices wake us, and we drown.” [x]
oc edits ◇ aselyn von nördhen, the grand duchess of terror
❝ If I am anything, I’m cruelty. ❞ [x]
Hᴀʀʀʏ Pᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ OCs — Aurora Lisithea Yaxley
❝ “This is the end, isn’t it? And you are here with me again, listening with me: the sea no longer torments me; the self I wished to be is the self I am.” ❞ [x]
◇ relationship aesthetics — myéne la veltasier & james d’orage
❝ Damn eternity. I don’t want eternity. I want you, and the present, forever and forever. ❞ [x]
writeblrs who follow me can you please like this?!
friends, woah! i’ve come back to 1k followers and haven’t managed to go through all my follow list! i’m afraid many followers might be spambots! so, if you’re a writeblr who follows me: i’d love to follow you back and connect with you!
vëlimir moodboards ◇ narcisa ashënnbert vi alstraim
"I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again” [x]
🖋️ !!
This has been on my drafts since forever and I admit: I forgot it was there. I picked Light is not Good + Dark is Not Evil, and this is kind of a concept for a wip of mine. Anyway, hope you like it! :)
They meet in a space between nowhere and everywhere, a gap between what is and what will never be again. Above them lies a realm of ash and dust and ruins, haunted by unspeakable horrors woven from a dead god’s blackest nightmares; below them, a land bursting with life and beauty, thriving in blissful ignorance, built by a dying god’s fragile hope.
Around them, reality is a fragile, fickle thing, making and remaking itself over and over again. The seams of the world lay exposed, the fabric of reality torn asunder, and their presence is enough to send its threads into utter disarray.
She is gold and life and the light of endless stars. Fiery flowers adorn her moonlit hair, and when she smiles, they bloom into small suns and supernovas. The world— reality itself— holds its breath; it awaits, eagerly, longingly, for her command.
“Life cannot be stopped,” she says, and the world answers. Life explodes around them, creation beginning anew, filling the gap with foreign colors. Flowers grow from nothingness and beings that never were before and never would again rise from the dust. “It’ll find a way back. It always does.”
She is beautiful— and lovely, and bright, and wrong.
Across from her, he stands, darkness and death and the sorrows of endless souls. Shadows embrace him like armor, snuffling out all the light; blood falls from his crimson hands, bleeding and bleeding without ever stopping. The world — reality itself— cries in terror of his existence and awaits, fearfully, anxiously, for his command.
They stand there, between nowhere and everywhere, a scion of life and a scion of death, gods-blessed children given powers none should ever have; mortals who had become something else, something more.
He remembers what they were before: a man blessed at war and bloodshed, a harbinger of death, destruction and misery; a woman with a gift for healing, a priestess full of love and life and simplistic wisdom. He remembers the feeling of falling, of rising again— their own mortality, long buried, desperately holding on to whatever it can.
She no longer remembers being human.
Now here they stand, equal and opposite, children of a dead world and gods of a new one.
“You are right,” he acknowledges, and the world screams. All around them, life turns to ash and bones and blood and nothingness. “But I shall hinder your progress, for as long as I can.”
She laughs, amused despite herself. Around them, reality is in chaos— equal and opposite, the pull of their forces, and it does not know whose will to heed.
“They’re lowly animals, flawed and imperfect to their core. Why protect that which is only a step to true perfection?” Her voice as melodious as a bird singing under the morning sun, as sharp as the wind and cold enough to burn. She has starlit eyes— distant and capricious and long past caring.
“Because you have forgotten how to,” he whispers, sadness and regret as cutting as obsidian shards. He stares deep into her eyes, those twin stars that once brought hope to the world— even his own. “Because you’re my sister.”
She just smiles, beautifully, brightly, emptily. There is nothing human left in her, only light and life and the mercilessness of existence.
They say nothing more. They do not have too.
A goddess of life, hungry for death— and a god of death, sworn to stop her.
Why is it that I always know what I want for an ending but never know how to begin? Goddammit
◇ relationship aesthetics — perseus hyperion & melisend arthëndain
❝ I never wanted a quiet, sensible sort of love. I wanted to be devoured. ❞ [x]
◇ relationship aesthetics — cheryl di’hérbzt & gavriel lantgrin
…all ended with her eyes, Hell, Purgatory, Paradise. [x]
oc moodboards ◇ liraen ain'sered venn, the singer queen
“I'm a Queen of Dissonance, ruling over a land of blood and song and nightmares” She smiled then, but there was nothing gentle in the red curve of her lips or the depthless dark of her eyes. “I paid for my crown with the lives of endless genertions and I'd so again.”
We want what a god wants: to own it, all.
Beth Bachmann, from ‘Oasis’, published in Guernica (via soracities)
