Since long before my birth, we were bound in blood.. It danced within your veins and sat upon your tongue, As it sang within my soul and fell cloaked upon my frame..
It drove us mad as Beasts before battle… Crazed and almost deranged as we felt its effects and followed its wiles.. Shadows and steel lay out our disposal, but simple instruments of war…
In blood we bathed and in hell we stalked… A Dragon beside a Knight as we basked beneath the carmine Moon Alive amidst the flames we moved in our eternal dance before the dead…
Will our dance ever end? Our claws ever clean? Our teeth never bared? No… For us, of thorns and thistles, sold and stained by the hands of Death, There is no end, the music always ringing, the Waltz ever ongoing…
Instead we stand, amidst the oceans thick and red, Masters before the Storm.. A King once fallen, your crown comprised of thorns; A Knight falsely holy, my scars forever branded..
Dear Count before the Knight, beneath shrouded veils.. I stand in your embrace, your Countess dressed in blood… Reach forth, take my hand, take my heart as they lie in sacrifice to you..
I hold yours as you hold mine while we dance upon the blade, Across the wilds of our domain, Ever are we bound in blood…
We all know Hunk is really warm, it’s those type of people that stay at a really sunny temperature even when it gets colder like in Autumn. So here’s a Hunk, just chilling with a fallen leaves CROWN and a nap pile of mice snuggling in his hand, keeping them really cozy. Not what most would think when “group hug” is mentioned :P
I was very busy for the first day of @hunkweek so I couldn’t make anything AND I WAS SO SAD so I sneaked a little bit of the first day theme in here.
He was still the person I had fallen in love with, crown prince or farmer. He was Rafe, and I was Lia, and everything else that we were to other didn’t matter to us. I didn’t need to fall in love with him again. I had never fallen out.
and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye—
corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb,
leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear,
Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!