#artiewrites

Wrapped Around

@eunoiadream ’s OC Meme | Flora ❧ Rosalyn Casengrim & Black Roses

omg THANK YOU GUYS so much for 1.9k!! i’m truly honored i have no idea why you guys think i’m worthy but ily all so much. 

so i really wanted to do another fandom fam, but i don’t really want to do a general one? and the only one i could think of that most of my followers have some stake in is marvel, so i hope this is okay!

rules

mbf me who is probably dust in the mcu rn 

reblog this post

send me an ask with three characters, a quote, and your name (if you choose a quote from the mcu i would love you forever but it doesn’t have to be!) 

what you get

a spot on the page  (pls check it before sending in characters!!) 

an edit of your character (at some point) 

my eternal love

a tag if you guys want to use it! #livsmarvelfam

Wren feels his entire body ache with pain when he looks up. The act alone is a defiance against the rest of his broken system; every part of him is sundered and burning. Every part of him has been ruined beyond repair. Even if Lysithea chooses to put him back together again, well. 

That in of itself would be an act of revival. Once Marek had asked him if he knew how Jesus had felt those three days he’d been dead; Wren hadn’t known the answer then, but he knew his own now.

God, he’d wished they’d left him in the ground.

Lysithea lounges just in front of him, leaning back with her head tilted to one side. The dress that she wears strobes out over the chaise lounge she occupies in colors that stretch through midnight into an infinite, bloody dawn. She has one leg crossed and her expression is effortless in how cruel it is. 

“What is?” Wren asks, his voice raw in his throat. There’s a quick joke somewhere in the back of his head; he hurts too much to say it out loud. 

Lysithea smiles and uncrosses her legs. Leaning forward, she reaches out and pulls Wren’s chin between her claws. The movement is languid and slow; the intention is harm. Wren feels his body unbalance. For a blinding moment he thinks he has a hand to keep himself stable with, and the shock that comes with the fall isn’t for the pain but the act of something missing. 

Something he has lost.

Wren gasps out of a black out to the weight of Lysithea’s heel on his chest. He lunges upward and she forces him back down. Her silk dress falls around him like a curtain. Wren thinks, senselessly, what a goddamn waste of a good look. 

“That they made a god out of you,” Lysithea says softly. “And when that didn’t work for morale they made a martyr out of you too. And aren’t you tired of it, little bird? Don’t you want rest? Haven’t you grown weary of being a hero just to bleed? You do not have to return to the universe beyond my court. I could make you something tragic.” 

She knelt and held his head in her hands. Beneath her soft touch, he shuddered and went limp, his pulse beating a frantic rhythm beneath her talons. 

For every 💬 I get in my inbox, I’ll post a quote from my own writing that I’m proud of!

       The cursive, usually so neat, became shakier at the start of the next paragraph. As he read on, it was easy to see why -- Tragedy pooled in Theodore’s words. Ink distorted around the remnants of teardrops on the page, and he had to hold back tears himself as he read the end of this final note.

moodboard for @artiewrites - loi

“I hope you come back soon,” she said, her elbows resting against the edge of the dock. 

a known heathen brilliant author has appeared! and they have informed me that an amazing new character will be joining the group! let’s get hyped!

Lestappen

1k~ words