Curate, connect, and discover
i feel you
only i don't post my art
i both cant and won't post my own art
it makes me nervous so i don't plus i can't anyways my phone is broken to all hell
any who take your time! i bet your art looks awesome!
not that anybody cares but i havent been posting art much bc im trying really hard to actually grasp anatomy so i’ve just been doing more real life stuff than pokemon stuff
Child of the golden stars, how do you plead?
He peers around the ornate room, the heavy weight of a golden medallion on his chest as he breathes. He expects dust and ash falling to the ground, the laughter of someone he loves in his ears, but there is only silence where he stands. He does not have much to offer, but still, he raises a tattered dream with small, thin hands up to skies. Words spring from his lips, his hands unable to stifle the harrowing words: ■■■■■■
Child of the desolate sands, how do you plead?
There are faceless people around them, dripping red, red into the stands. The one before him raises his arms in surrender, letting cold shackles form around his wrists and tightening around his neck. A placid smile that looks eerie and wrong plastered on his face as he raises his chin up. The same echo in his voice as he answers: ■■■■■■
Child of the impious idols, how do you plead?
The silk that wraps so snugly around him feels like the cruel grip of a trap, a spider's web in which he thrashes. Hollow eyes scream and weep without tears as he brings himself to smile, a lie on his lips. He can feel the dread creeping in, the voice of death in his ears. He offers himself up, splaying out his hands as he welcomes all to peck and tear pieces from his shattered self. His truth is already blatant on his lips: ■■■■■■
Child of a fallen star, how do you plead?
Confessions of blood and pain spill from cracked lips, an empty gaze that stares through him as tears fall unbidden from their eyes. Palms upturned, waiting a blow that will punish them further, blackened skin on their neck, and they can not breathe. They speak, and they speak until their voice is raw and their throat is bleeding. Scorching sunflares on their skin, embers burning their bones, and smoke clogging their lungs. They gaze up at the face of their goddess, a gaze that closes upon them thrice over. They are a wretched thing, yet they are cradled ever so gently in the palm of the one who presses a blessing into their soul.
"Guilty."
@chococolte. I appear to be having issues with sending asks so I hope this format is alright. As you can tell, by the amount of poetry I've made, I am still very much enjoying your work.
Devoted followers
Shielded by steadfast earth
Cloaked by wandering winds
Guided by mournful lightning
Warded by boundless flora
Draped in shimmering ice
Crowned in flickering flames
Guarded in elegant dew
It is for their Holiness
That they unite
If their Grace demanded for their death
To rip open their chest
And hand deliver their heart
They would without hesitation
Displayed as glorious offerings
Nothing would please them more
Than the act of pleasing their God would be
If they were ordered to bare their soul
To let their Deity into their body
And puppet their every move
They would scramble to be the first
To be honored as a vessel
They would never deny their Creator
Their belongings
Their home
Their people
Nothing mattered
Not if their Beloved called for it
The Exalted One above all
Who were they to defy your will
When even the slightest praise
Fulfilled the very purpose
For which they were born for
Perhaps it is true
That they've fallen from grace
But they could never really care
Not when their Honored One holds them so
Blessing them with tender love
And keeping them ever close