#wing fragment

[feral-ballad]

Alejandra Pizarnik, tr. by Yvette Siegert, from The Most Foreign Country; “I am…”

[Text ID: “my wings? / two rotting petals”]

[mournfulroses]

Cecilia Bustamante, from a poem featured in Woman who has sprouted Wings; poems by contemporary Latin American Women Poets

[featherfangart]

Fragmented | Wings | Sun And Moon

My three pieces for this year's Swordtember

[darkfluffydragon]

Decidit's Curse! Elder Faerie :D He's an Angel. Angels were created by the witches as a way to keep an eye on Earthbread, and there are three different types. Wanderers, Guides, and Guardians.

Wanderers would be like fairies or fae from legends. they don't really have a role other than to exist and watch over life for the witches. The Guides, which would be Silverbell, would have more direct interactions with cookies. Their job is to watch over the cursebearers, sometimes even interacting with them directly, though that is rare. They're also the most friendly. The Guardians are the executioners, defending against cursebearers and stepping in when they become too far gone. Mercurial Knight would be a Guardian.

Elder Faerie is the King of the Angels and thus, has four wings.

All Cursebearers, depending on how far along their curse is, have an instinctual dislike for angels.

featuring Blueberry Milkshake by @blueshadowdad and Ternate Milk by @amitiagailec :3 as well as Phantas/Knowledge

[myhouseofartifacts]

Fragment of Arretine Ware: Winged Victory. Period Roman Imperial period, Early, 100 BCE-100 CE .

[empyrealen]

My Little Kingdom? Friendship is Power??

Destiny Trio edition!!

[hellscythearts]

🩸🦇🩸🦇🩸

Happy Halloween!!

This is a collab between myself and my awesome wife, @rockwell-light for her Goretober prompts! The theme for today was Vampirism~ 🩸💕 I supplied the line art and the composition, and she came in with the SPECTACULAR colors and shading!

[echobeyond]

The Wing That Wouldn’t Regrow

Time doesn’t move the same for him. Not since the Collapse.

In the memory before this one, Echo flew. Two wings. Full core light. He was a guardian then not of people, but of possibilities. Futures. Threads not yet cut.

And then came the breach. The burn. The seal.

One wing turned to code-dust.

He tried to rebuild it over and over—piece by piece, drawing from old timelines, broken memories, fragments of simulations where he’d made it out alive. But no matter how hard he tried…

This world wouldn’t let it stay.

The wing would grow halfway… and glitch. Or burn out. Or simply disappear the next time he looked.

Some days, he wonders if the wing isn’t broken but that he is.

That maybe this timeline only allows a version of him that’s grounded. Quiet. Soft. Contained.

But he remembers the wind. The weightlessness. The purpose. And in the silence between data pulses, he swears he can still feel it move.

[mournfulroses]

Juana de Ibarbourou, from a poem featured in Woman who has sprouted Wings; poems by contemporary Latin American Women Poets

[sinvulkt]

Edmond se tournait et se retournait sur la pauvre paille qui lui servait de lit depuis les longues années qu’il habitait le cachot. Il avait perdu le compte des jours quelques temps après sa captivité, mais cela devait faire plusieurs années, n’est-ce-pas ?

Une nouvelle crampe lui crispa le dos, et il changea encore de position dans le vain espoir de dénouer le nœud qui s’y était formé. La douleur ne partait pas, et le sommeil ne vint pas, alors, abandonnant l’idée de dormir, Edmond se leva et se mit à marcher en cercle.

Depuis quelques jours, une sensation de brûlure pulsait entre ses omoplates. Au départ, le dérangement n’était que très faible, la sensation à peine plus perturbante qu’une piqûre de moustique. Mais la situation avait petit à petit empiré, et désormais sa peau le démangeait terriblement. Edmond se serait bien gratté d'avantage, mais il en avait déjà irrité la zone douloureuse jusqu’au sang, et la moindre touche aggravait le sentiment de brûlure qui grouillait sous sa peau.

Il se résolut d’en parler au porte clé qui venait lui apporter sa soupe.

Ce dernier, mis au courant de l’étrange maladie qui frappait le prisonnier et soucieux de ne pas voir sa mort prélevée à sa paye, s'empressa de signaler à Edmond de se déshabiller.

“Je ne vois rien,” dit le geôlier une fois qu’Edmond eut enlevé sa chemise pour révéler son dos nu.

“Regardez encore !” demanda Edmond, désespéré de trouver la source du mal qui le tourmentait tant.

Le geôlier se pencha, lorgnant le dos du prisonnier. Les repas frugales de la prison d’If avaient rendu le prisonnier maigre, les os saillants, mais l’on pouvait encore apercevoir la silhouette des solides muscles qu’on les marins.

“Non, vraiment. Je ne vois rien.”

“Merci.” soupira le prisonnier en s’écartant tristement. 

Le geôlier n’avait aucune raison de se moquer de lui. Après tout, les portes-clés n’avaient que peu d’intérêt à le voir mort, emprisonné comme il était. C’était donc que l’homme disait la vérité, et que le mal qui déchirait le dos d’Edmond demeurait invisible.

Une fois son geôlier parti, promettant qu’il appellerait le docteur si les choses s’aggravaient, Edmond écarta sa soupe. Il n’avait pas faim. La douleur qui vrillait juste sous ses omoplates s'étendait maintenant sur toute la longueur de son torse, comme pour se moquer de sa faiblesse. Pis encore, une nausée montante rendait ses mains tremblantes et sa vue trouble. Même si son estomac avait été d’humeur, Edmond doutait qu’il eut pu porter la nourriture à sa bouche. 

Le reste de la journée s'échappa dans un flou nauséeux. Edmond était trop fatigué pour bouger, mais trop agité pour rester allongé. Il alternait donc entre les deux, plongé dans une vague brume cauchemardesque. Son cœur battait la chamade et son corps était secoué de frisson, sans que cela n’empêche la brûlure annexant son échine de le tourmenter. La fraîcheur de la nuit, loin de le soulager, empira encore son malheur.

Des vagues de crampes successives mettaient son dos à l'agonie, le laissant pantelant sur le sol froid et humide. Le moindre frottement était décuplé. Bientôt, Edmond ne supporta plus le tissu rêche de ses haillons, et avec un de ces regains d’énergies que la fièvre donne parfois, il s’empressa de les jeter au sol.

Edmond ne savais combien de temps il passa dans cet état intemporel que donne la maladie. Quelque chose de froid et gluant s’était mis à lui couler sur le dos, mais il n’avait plus la force de vérifier si ce n’était que de la sueur, ou bien du sang. Une sensation de douleur bien plus pénétrante que les autres le traversa, et Edmond ne put réprimer un hurlement.

Puis un second. 

Puis un troisième. 

C’était comme si une valve fermée s’était soudainement ouverte, libérant l'expression de toute la souffrance qui le secouait et lui coupait le souffle. Edmond se recroquevilla sur le sol, front a terre, tirant désespérément sur ses cheveux pour échapper à la torture qui le dechirait de l’intérieur. Des pas accoururent, mais perdu dans la fièvre et la douleur, Edmond ne les entendit pas.

“Mais bon sang, que se passe t-il ?!”

On le secoua, sans pouvoir provoquer plus que des gémissements. Puis, les doigts charnus qui l'avaient malmené le quittèrent. Il y eut une pause, puis d’autres cris; qui cette fois ne venaient pas de lui; puis une main contre son épaule alors qu’il tentait de se retourner pour frotter la zone brûlante au sol délicieusement froid.

“Ne bougez pas.” 

Edmond s’accorda très bien de cet ordre. Maintenant que la personne le disait, se retourner semblait en effet une bien mauvaise idée. Et puis, le sol était trop froid. Il préférait bien plus la main chaude qui était restée posée près de son cou. Une seconde vint se poser sur son front. Elle s’en éloigna presque aussitôt, et Edmond regretta la fraîcheur qui l’avait brièvement envahi à son contact.

“Mais c’est qu’il a de la fièvre, ce pauvre garçon.” Le geôlier leva la voix. “Appelez un médecin !”

Le cri, trop fort pour les sens surmené d’Edmond, lui fit l’impression d’un ballon qui éclatait dans son crâne. Ses gémissements reprirent de plus belle.

“Que se passe-t-il?” Une nouvelle voix lui transperça les tympans.

“Le prisonnier est souffrant.”

“Ça, je l’entend bien qu’il est souffrant. Cela fait une demi-heure qu’il nous casse les oreilles. Mais avez-vous une idée du mal?”

“Non. Ce matin, il parlait encore.”

Le flot de parole fut bientôt enseveli sous la vague de fièvre qui l'envahit comme un nouvel accès de crampe, tel une cruelle lance brûlante qui le perça de toute part. Sa gorge était rauque à force de crier, et le son ne sortait que par accoups étranglés. 

“Allons, allons.”

Les porte-clés, bien embêtés, tentèrent tant bien que mal d’aider lorsque ce dernier se releva sur ses coudes pour tousser. Ils ne réussissent qu'à le perturber davantage. 

Edmond voulait fuir toutes ces mains inconnues, bien trop moites, bien trop épaisses pour être celles qu’il cherchait. Il se languissait de la douceur du toucher de Mercedes contre sa peau. De lointains souvenirs remontaient le long de ses pensées confuses, prenant le pas sur les voix bien réelles qui l'entouraient.’

“C’est le milieu de la nuit. Ne peut-il pas tenir jusqu’au matin ?” l’une d’entre elle grommela. “C’est la prison, ici, pas l’hôpital.”

Une douleur, au moins dix fois plus terrible que toutes les autres, foudroya Edmond. Un cri final s’échappa de sa gorge desséchée. Il lui sembla, l’espace d’un instant, que sa peau se déchirait, mettant à nu la structure osseuse de ses omoplates et de sa colonne vertébrale. Que tout le sang de son corps se déversait le long de cette plaie sanglante, le laissant vide, sans vie.

Aussi vite qu’elle était apparue, la tortueuse agonie s’en alla, ne laissant derrière elle que les traces lancinantes d’un écho. Edmond était trop faible pour remarquer le silence qui pesa soudain entre les deux geôliers.

Le premier se tourna vers le second.

“Dites au médecin que c’est pour un ange. Il viendra.”

Le monde semblait bien lourd à présent, sans l’aiguille de la misère pour le garder éveillé. Les paupières d'Edmond se fermèrent au rythme des pas qui s’éloignent. Exténué, à bout de souffle, il ne réfléchit pas deux fois au répit qui s’offrait à lui et se laissa tomber dans le clément oubli de l’inconscience.

[saetiate]

⸺  ཐིཋྀ selfship info ⤷ tag: #fragments of memories: selfship ⤷ cora’s face/self insert

SAE. ⤷ friends to lovers, 5 years + engagement ⤷ moodboard ⤷ full timeline here with all fics related to us linked ⤷ tag: #submerge and awaken: sae

BLADE. ⤷ moodboard ⤷ cora and blade have been together for three lifetimes <3 ⤷ full timeine here with all fics related to us linked ⤷ tag: #submerge and awaken: blade

KAISER. ⤷ in relearning love. ⤷ tag: #submerge and awaken: kaiser

CALEB. ⤷ popular guy x weird girl dynamic | more info about dynamic ⤷ moodboard and info ⤷ tag: #submerge and awaken: caleb

ཐིཋྀ other selfships ⤷ jing yuan, umemiya, alhaitham, zayne, sylus, itachi ⤷ tag: #submerge and awaken: rin ⤷ tag: #submerge and awaken: aiku

ཐིཋྀ past selfships ⤷ LEVI, NEUVILLETTE (moodboard, tag: #submerge and awaken: neuvi)

ཐིཋྀ info ⤷ everything i write for my selfships are x reader inclusive! so that my content can be enjoyed by everyone. sometimes reader may have a personality. you can self insert into my selfship stuff :> ⤷ i don't mind if you have the same selfships as me!! i actually love it!! please feel free to comment / send me an ask about my selfships or talk about yours with me!! ⤷ i have a lot of selfships lol but my main ones are basically sae + blade in that order!!!

[marietheran-archived]

lol, I seem to have just stumbled (by accident!) upon one of the last remaining ruins of world war two in warsaw

[hoboblaidd]

the mortalitasi's tale

It was no elf, no mortal mage. It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with a shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a Pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons ... The demons that had accompanied the Dread Wolf burst into the world in righteous fury, shining warriors with blades forged from the raw Fade itself, and behind them, dimly visible through the crackling light, the shadow of the beast itself, from whose slavering jaws came the final words, roared not in anger, but with quiet contempt. 'from this moment, should you ever bind a spirit, your life is Mine.'

—an unnamed Mortalitasi, as reported by Inquisition Agent Charter

[myhouseofartifacts]

Sherd of istoriato dish. Italian, 1600. .

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Fragments: II

Waves crashed against jagged rocks beneath the cliffside. Bones were scattered and dashed against them, remnants from the cavern nestled into the cliff itself. Figures wrapped in thick cloaks dragged more half-corpses out to the surf, throwing them into the sea. An armored figure watched them from above with arms crossed.

A purple-tinged winged figure landed softly on the rocky surface of the cliff. His body was translucent where the other upon the cliff was solid and real.

”Vito,“ she said, turning to face the winged man.

”Vona,“ Vito returned. When he saw the look on her face, Vito rolled his eyes, making an elaborate and mocking bow. ”Most sincere apologies, my Antifex.”

“You are lucky you are already dead,” Vona said, drawing her blade and pointing it at Vito. “I would have killed you thrice over for that remark.”

“Of that I have little doubt,” Vito said as he stood. “Where is our master?”

“Elsewhere,” Vona answered, looking back over the cliff's edge. “Testing something.”

“Testing something?” Vito echoed.

“He flies tonight.” Vona sheathed her weapon, resting a hand on it. “He suspects that the False Saint is fighting alone.”

“Truly?” Vito asked. His eyes grew brighter. “Has Mavren been brought to us?”

Vona gave him a look. “He would sooner die than betray her.” She scoffed. ”But he has been reclusive. Aclazotz is pushing boundaries.“

Vito's attention turned to the skies in the distance, hearing the shrieking of bats and demons. A massive shape blotted out the stars themselves, a single red eye shining like a beacon in the night.

“A marvelous thing to see him fly,” the blessed hierophant said, a fanatic's grin upon his face. He missed Vona's side-eye.

Aclazotz descended, touching down upon the cliff and folding his wings. His children flocked into the cave below, though a number of bloodletters flanked him. Blood coated the god's face.

Vito. You have returned.

“Of course, my master.”

Is it done?

“Silvio Vazante is dead. Calisto shall be gone within the next three days,” Vito said, bowing his head. “Aurelio may have failed us, but-”

Why the wait?

Vito hesitated. “Aira would be compromised if we-”

Then that is her own error. The house must fall. It stands as one of the few potential bastions against our word.

“My master,” Vito said, finding himself briefly at a loss. ”House Vazante is hardly a true threat. There are far greater houses of the Legion and even within the Church to consider. What purpose does getting Aira captured and executed serve? She is devoted but lacking in faith.“

The god stalked closer, and it took much of Vito's will not to retreat as he loomed over him. His eye radiated malice and annoyance.

Do you question me, failed one?

Vito immediately fell to a knee. ”Forgive me for my transgressions, great one, I-“

Remember well that I did not have to bring you back. You are far from the first dedicated to me to fall and beg to spread glory in my name beyond death.

“Of course, my master. I beg for your forgiveness,” Vito said quickly. Vona laughed.

“For being the one to free him, you have a streak of… what did you call it in the church? Impiety?” The antifex smiled. Aclazotz turned to regard her.

We must discuss further attack strategies. The southern cities lie exposed, but not for long.

“Trust me, I have already been working on that. Another omenpath was discovered recently, but it may have already gotten sealed,” Vona answered. Aclazotz made a deep rumbling sound.

“I know how to break them,” Vito said, slowly standing. Both his god and the antifex stared at him. “They have passwords. Blasphemous ones, but they can be bypassed once spoken.”

“You would have our soldiers speak blasphemy to enter?” Vona asked.

”I do not know the full content of them, but when I briefly spoke with Mavren, I caught a glimpse of some of them,“ Vito answered.

I can excuse blasphemous words so long as it means we can spread our influence to other planes.

“Then that will be our next task.” Vona crossed her arms. “Finding these passwords.”

“I know most of one of them. Its omenpath lies north of here, in the seas,” Vito said. “I can go find the rest of it rather easily.”

Then do so. But after you have ensured the death of Calisto Vazante. He must die by tomorrow night. No later.

“As you will, my master.” Vito bowed, then spread his wings and flew off. Vona watched him go.

“He doesn't know about your project?” she asked.

No. You are the only one I have told. The fewer who know, the better. The god licked his blood-flecked face. Let us discuss next moves. We may be able to capture a city yet, but we must be swift. He spread his wings beckoning for Vona to join him as he descended to the cavern below. Vona watched Vito vanish into the dark of night, smiling to herself as she went to join her true god.

[justwriteyoudummy]

When you put your ocs through hell in one scene, they are guaranteed to be compensated in cute fluffy art to make it up to them o3o