you were a heavenbound angel, wings, halo, and all

Here is a GiottoCozart freeverse chock full of angst that I spent too much time on. It’s about angels that weren’t quite all along. 

Inspired by OnceABlueMoon’s Hallelujah, which isn’t quite finished yet, and the HP freeverses of inkteardrops and our dancing days. Many of which you can find on my favorites list on ff.net. 

Dedicated to @onceabluemoonwrites and @i-w-p-chan​. 

I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2391

-.-.-.-

you were a heavenbound angel, wings, halo, and all

KHR freeverse poem

GiottoCozart

-.-.-.-

you used to ^soar^ among the clouds,

exalted with the angels constantly preaching love and tolerance and Christ’s charity all around you,

and you danced to their song while you decided it was the best thing in the world,

worth every sacrifice you had to offer

[what do you think now, fallen/golden/angel?]

(you remember your gleaming-golden wings, don’t you,

golden/boy-vigil/ante-sav/ior-lea/der-i/dol

with the sunlight glinting off your golden-spun hair and a kindfullofcharityandcare laugh to fell giants and cure black hearts)

but now, you think,

/maybe it wasn’t worth it/

-.-

listen, and I’ll describe in p.e.r.f.e.c.t detail everything that went awry.

just sit there, and I’ll pretend I don’t see you crying, infallible hero that you are (neverwere)

-.-

you were born Catholic,

like everybody in Italy

(it wasn’t a destiny that you could escape, no matter how much you denied it)

and you grew up on the Bible, gained i-den-ti-ty and nu-tri-ents from Catholicism and the priest

and you prayed every day, like a good little God-fearing, heavenbound-angel

(the one you were supposed to be, and, back then,

maybe you even fancied you were)

but you grew older, and everyone’s wings gain grey feathers,

and their halos gather d.u’s.t,

and it was no different for you,

golden-boy, heavenbound-angel.

the streets of your small little village were not made to thrive on gospel principles and Christ’s pure charity,

however much it’s large enough to boast a decent church

(that everyone attends every Sunday, no matter what,

must pretend you can all be saved and possess perfect:white:whole souls

smear on lipstick and don your mask of innocence for mass,

because for all that your town boasts a church,

it doesn’t boast a confessional readily attended

instead, it gathers ‘d.u*s.t’ like halos,

that illusion deemed too much effort to maintain)

your town is full of petty thievery, fights at the docks, and viciously guarding what is yours

else the nobles(/overseers) will take it away.

-.-

it sickens you,

it sickens everyone,

and it’s not living, it’s barely surviving,

but what can you do?

everyone decides they can’t change it, and keep their heads down.

they have plenty of incentive to do so

after all, every dissenter is killed brutally as an example.

the message is clear:

you cannot succeed in defying us::we will squash you like bugs

but you’ve always been a little >impulsive, and a little >hot-tempered (maybe a bit influenced by your best friend, there)

and maybe, in the end, a little bit too >reckless and >caring and >>possessive.

just enough to finally disregard that warning and rip yourself from the self-imposed restrictions that kept you, your family, and your friends safe

(but also suffocated you)

when Franco is threatened, when he dies, when one of  _y.o.u.r_o.w.n_ is taken from you

by careless, greedy nobles who only know how to be parasites,

you s~nap~

the world turns to fire, it’s engulfed in vivid-orange-burning flames

all that you can think of is justice idemandjustice i_will_not_stand_by!

{if no one will protect them, I will}

(and it’s glorious, darling, the best thing you’ve ever felt

your blood *sings* and you know you’ve found your calling

and you feel a~live~, not trapped and caged in by expectations and oppression

when you risk your life and your safety and all you hold dear for the worshipped Christ’s charity that no one seems to truly value except you)

-.-

the Vongola, you’re called,

that vigilante gang that you started.

you are comprised of yourself, and your best friends, one with (pink) hair and a brilliant red face tattoo, and the other with his equally brilliant red eyes (stunning, you think, beautiful, fascinating, and isn’t it weird you find yourself lost in his eyes for hours?)

and a few other of y.o.u.r.s that you’ve picked up along the way and insisted on joining your suicidal venture

but more and more, when you keep escaping punishment,

when you see the hope and relief and heartbreaking, unconditional t^r^u^s^t on their faces,

when you think I made him happy, I saved that little girl, they will keep hoping for a brighter day

it seems less suicidal and more natural, obvious 

it seems worth every sacrifice you have to throw on the alter

(this was back when you were full of passion,,power and invincibility,,naivete, wasn’t it?

a lot of anger and adrenaline to throw around and not many clear thoughts or plans)

[what do you think now?]

-.-

(among nightmares

hide snapshots of your one secret desire. a secret you’ve never acknowledged in your mind, never mind breathed aloud

it started when you were young.

at first, you thought it was just curiosity.

then, you thought that perhaps you just really liked the way his red-compass eyes sparkled and glittered with light.

then, you thought that perhaps you were just noticing what a fine young man Cozart was growing into because he was just growing,

but then, you catch yourself sneaking glances. you find yourself making lame jokes that he nevertheless laughs at, and you find yourself longing to feel his arm slung over your shoulder and bask in his bright, louder-than-life laughter.

and you deny it.

you read and study the Bible harder and longer than ever before, and you pray more fervently.

this stirring in your chest and heat low in your stomach and blush on your face,

everything you’ve ever been taught says it’s wrong.

you deny it, until you no longer can, and then you accept it, as you have your role in this world, but crush it anyway.

you keep it close and never let it be known, and it ends up as just another sin to mask.)

-.-

but you can only be pushed so far up on a pedestal before you come tumbling down,

you can only climb your Tower of Babel so far.

your wings have greyed too fast, they’re fragile and weak

you haven’t devoted the necessary attention to them to keep you *flying* for soso long

(and your halo isn’t shiny gold now, it’s covered in polished, lookalike bronze)

but you didn’t notice before now, because everyone kept coming up to you and handing you peacock feathers to attach to your wings,

and you grew too proud of them, too assured by their praises and what you hear about Christ’s charity in mass every week,

to remember that peacocks can’t fly.

they’re pretty, but they’re weak.

and you might have danced with the angels once upon a time, darling,

and devoted your life to their song of lovecharitykindness,

but you’re not one of them.

you’re m:o/r:t/a:l.

you’re a p:e:a:c:o:c:k.

you’ve just mur~dered for the cause you pledged your life to,

and the blood on your hands feels so sticky. it won’t go away.

your wings are r.e.d now [what do you think now]

but you look into their hopeful, worshipping eyes,

and you can’t stop this.

this train w-r-e-c-k was set in motion years ago.

you’re not infallible, but they don’t know that.

[it would break their hearts to see it, and you know it.]

and the red s,t,a,i,n,s on your wings keep spreading,

spreading,

until crimson engulfs them wholly, and it spills over into steady d,r,i,p,s

and like an epidemic,

it spreads to those (|angels|) around you that obey your every word without question

it spreads every time your wings brush theirs

you want to call out to them stopidon’tmeanitpleasedon’tpoisonyourselfforme

but they meet your eyes with sure smiles and disintegrate others with steadier precision

and you can tell at this point your will has spread too far to be halted

(an epidemic, except only targeting _yours_)

you bow your head and accept it and keep on straining, pushing, forcing yourself to live up to their expectations of savior-leader-golden-angel

(you can’t tell any of them that you never were an angel to begin with)

and you begin to crack, and you begin to break, and your wilted grey feathers keep molting faster than you can paste new peacock ones on,

but they still need you.

and even if you’re not ^heaven^bound anymore,

you can ensure the ones you’re saving are.

_y.o.u.r.s_ can tell you’re beginning to falter under the weight of the world,

and they support you any way they can,

but it just becomes too much.

maybe you’ve already fallen off the Tower of Babel once, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen a second time.

and you… you can’t.

you can’t anymore.

you dissolve the fighting force you have.

-.-

Cozart keeps throwing you these increasingly worried, tender looks,

and you can’t stand it.

you know he’s trying to get you alone so he can talk with you, but you couldn’t stand it.

the temptation to smash him into a wall and kiss him is already overpowering enough with all of _y.o.u.r.s_ in the room with you, you couldn’t resist it alone.

but he catches you anyway, and he asks you if you’re alright,

in those pure, lovely tones of his that you can’t describe.

you look into his eyes and take a deep breath and say

{i’m sorry}

before kissing him slowly, sensually, and then bolting out of the room.

Cozart is not going to want to look at you again, you know it, but…

…you really tried to not be caught alone.

[but how hard?]

and… it was totally worth it, you think, brushing your lips where his touched.

it was everything you thought it would be, warm and sweet and stolen.

-.-

he avoids you, just like you knew he would, and as much as you feel crushing disappointment and hurt,

you aren’t surprised.

(just glad he hasn’t told anyone else.)

but you /are/ when he finds you after a meeting

(another shouting match about how they don’t have the force to protect their territory any more,

and you are tired and threadbare to the bone)

and stares at you before bringing your lips together in an answer you never thought you’d get

-.-

it’s _wonderful_.

it’s absolutely amazing, and dazzling, and…

(wrong.)

his kisses are the best, cinnamon and apples and heady earth.

it’s astounding and still *sparkly *new that you can draw the man that makes your heart go crazy into a deserted corner and kiss him senseless.

you feel like you’ve sprouted new, secret °wings° that you can’t show anyone, but help you soar regardless,

and you dance to and swear by the melody of love.

nothing can ruin your mood, not even Daemon slowly drawing away from you and the gradual splintering of the unquestionable, unshakable alliance you all had Before.

-.-

except, you know, a massacre.

Elena is included in those dead, and as soon as you get a look at your Mist Guardian’s face,

you know he will never forgive you.

you /promised/ that no one would get hurt, that this would be the best solution.

and this, to him, is a very clearly broken-|-promise.

your wings are molted, and your halo is heavy and broken,

and now they can see you are not an angel.

you tried to show them before, and they realized sortof in the {back of their minds}

but it never “clicked”

you spend the night weeping with Cozart,

sharing kisses and finding mutual, much-needed comfort.

that’s the last time you see him.

soon after, Daemon recommends an heir.

you agree with his choice, though the flint in your Mist’s eyes doesn’t give you a good feeling.

you show him a few of the ropes, and leave for Japan, Asari, Knuckle, and Alaude behind you,

the rest left to take care of his life’s work,

the Vongola.

-.-

but maybe, just maybe

(and you think this to yourself every day, glancing around at the utopia that you have built yourself,

and \stabbing \yourself \inside, whittling away at your >unpuncturable< happiness a little more,

even while grasping [desperately] at the people you’ve decided to live on with instead)

(including your wife, and oh, that is a story best left for another day)

if you’d stayed out of the spotlight,

if you hadn’t been so noble,

(fullofuselessidealsthatwillneverbecomemore, unwilling-to-let-go-of-everything-you-have-worked-for-so-far, even~at~the~ultimate~cost~of~your~real~utopia)

you maybe could have slipped notice enough to have a real relationship

with the one you love,

could never stop loving,

though you neverever dare to voice that forbidden emotion

(for another *man*)

it’s just not done,

GIOTTO

{may 22, 1609}

-.-

there are a lot of things you regret

and chief among them are Cozart and corrupting _yours_.

you wish you could have had a happier ending,

but it was never to be.

the world isn’t kind and forgiving like that,

because no matter how many people claim they are Catholic,

only a few of their ×hearts× are actually Catholic.

you try,

and fail,

not to spend much time on the what-ifs.

but darling, you’re m:o/r:t/a:l.

you’re a p;e:a:c:o:c;k.

somehow, you were made to *fly*,

but not forever. and your time has come now.

your cracked, dulled imitation-gold-bronze halo rests pretty on your weary, tired head,

and your r,e,d-stained wings, truly grey,

can’t bear you up anymore.

you can’t fly to heaven.

and when you can’t fly, the only choice is to fall.

that’s life. you accepted this outcome the moment you accepted murdering to keep _y.o.u.r.s_ safe.

you face it with your head held high and your breath held,

and you f/all, f/all, f//all,

even longer than the fall from your Tower of Babel.

[what do you think now, of the choices you have made?]

-.-

(even as you plunge down,

the townspeople who revered you so raise their eyes and sing praises to you,

your name and savior in the same breath.

*hallelujah,*

they sing,

*you’ve done so many things,

given us so much peace,

now it’s your turn.

rest in peace, Giotto di Vongola*)

-.-

I can’t say that the outcome wouldn’t be different if you hadn’t -fought -so -hard that you sacrificed everything and innocence,

or that it wouldn’t be the same if you’d chosen to openly love your red-eyed compass,

but perhaps you would have been happier.

-.-.-.-

A/N: and that wraps it up! 

Did I make you cry? How much do you hate me right now? Tell me down below!

I especially want to know what imagery/metaphor was your favorite and what segment!

~OperaEagle IcelynLacelett

I still can't believe my work inspired something as beautiful as this. The sheer brilliance of it! (Seriously, the way you picked Hallelujah's key scenes and tweaked them just so until it snowballed into such a different ending is awe-inspiring, @operaeagleicelynlacelett !)

I had to reblog it again! (I'm crying again too, Ara-chan! *sobs*)

A short comic about shipping and why I need to stop doing it

//This is honestly me.

I get what you mean with ship freeness (KHR's compatability options are endless, as is the friendship and it's awesome) but I cannot go back after Hallelujah. But they're so great as friends too!

ChromeKyoko is the sweetest and it rots my teeth with the need for fluff!

1. We mess around with our flames a lot.

2. My hair defies gravity by using gravity!

Okay, so I went: Wow, this feels so symbolic! And then I read your tags about the crashlanding and the grin and I just... I laughed and it’s just so Giotto.

So well done! Thank you! :3

you were a heavenbound angel, wings, halo, and all

Here is a GiottoCozart freeverse chock full of angst that I spent too much time on. It’s about angels that weren’t quite all along. 

Inspired by OnceABlueMoon’s Hallelujah, which isn’t quite finished yet, and the HP freeverses of inkteardrops and our dancing days. Many of which you can find on my favorites list on ff.net. 

Dedicated to @onceabluemoonwrites and @i-w-p-chan​. 

I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2391

-.-.-.-

you were a heavenbound angel, wings, halo, and all

KHR freeverse poem

GiottoCozart

-.-.-.-

you used to ^soar^ among the clouds,

exalted with the angels constantly preaching love and tolerance and Christ’s charity all around you,

and you danced to their song while you decided it was the best thing in the world,

worth every sacrifice you had to offer

[what do you think now, fallen/golden/angel?]

(you remember your gleaming-golden wings, don’t you,

golden/boy-vigil/ante-sav/ior-lea/der-i/dol

with the sunlight glinting off your golden-spun hair and a kindfullofcharityandcare laugh to fell giants and cure black hearts)

but now, you think,

/maybe it wasn’t worth it/

-.-

listen, and I’ll describe in p.e.r.f.e.c.t detail everything that went awry.

just sit there, and I’ll pretend I don’t see you crying, infallible hero that you are (neverwere)

-.-

you were born Catholic,

like everybody in Italy

(it wasn’t a destiny that you could escape, no matter how much you denied it)

and you grew up on the Bible, gained i-den-ti-ty and nu-tri-ents from Catholicism and the priest

and you prayed every day, like a good little God-fearing, heavenbound-angel

(the one you were supposed to be, and, back then,

maybe you even fancied you were)

but you grew older, and everyone’s wings gain grey feathers,

and their halos gather d.u’s.t,

and it was no different for you,

golden-boy, heavenbound-angel.

the streets of your small little village were not made to thrive on gospel principles and Christ’s pure charity,

however much it’s large enough to boast a decent church

(that everyone attends every Sunday, no matter what,

must pretend you can all be saved and possess perfect:white:whole souls

smear on lipstick and don your mask of innocence for mass,

because for all that your town boasts a church,

it doesn’t boast a confessional readily attended

instead, it gathers ‘d.u*s.t’ like halos,

that illusion deemed too much effort to maintain)

your town is full of petty thievery, fights at the docks, and viciously guarding what is yours

else the nobles(/overseers) will take it away.

-.-

it sickens you,

it sickens everyone,

and it’s not living, it’s barely surviving,

but what can you do?

everyone decides they can’t change it, and keep their heads down.

they have plenty of incentive to do so

after all, every dissenter is killed brutally as an example.

the message is clear:

you cannot succeed in defying us::we will squash you like bugs

but you’ve always been a little >impulsive, and a little >hot-tempered (maybe a bit influenced by your best friend, there)

and maybe, in the end, a little bit too >reckless and >caring and >>possessive.

just enough to finally disregard that warning and rip yourself from the self-imposed restrictions that kept you, your family, and your friends safe

(but also suffocated you)

when Franco is threatened, when he dies, when one of  _y.o.u.r_o.w.n_ is taken from you

by careless, greedy nobles who only know how to be parasites,

you s~nap~

the world turns to fire, it’s engulfed in vivid-orange-burning flames

all that you can think of is justice idemandjustice i_will_not_stand_by!

{if no one will protect them, I will}

(and it’s glorious, darling, the best thing you’ve ever felt

your blood *sings* and you know you’ve found your calling

and you feel a~live~, not trapped and caged in by expectations and oppression

when you risk your life and your safety and all you hold dear for the worshipped Christ’s charity that no one seems to truly value except you)

-.-

the Vongola, you’re called,

that vigilante gang that you started.

you are comprised of yourself, and your best friends, one with (pink) hair and a brilliant red face tattoo, and the other with his equally brilliant red eyes (stunning, you think, beautiful, fascinating, and isn’t it weird you find yourself lost in his eyes for hours?)

and a few other of y.o.u.r.s that you’ve picked up along the way and insisted on joining your suicidal venture

but more and more, when you keep escaping punishment,

when you see the hope and relief and heartbreaking, unconditional t^r^u^s^t on their faces,

when you think I made him happy, I saved that little girl, they will keep hoping for a brighter day

it seems less suicidal and more natural, obvious 

it seems worth every sacrifice you have to throw on the alter

(this was back when you were full of passion,,power and invincibility,,naivete, wasn’t it?

a lot of anger and adrenaline to throw around and not many clear thoughts or plans)

[what do you think now?]

-.-

(among nightmares

hide snapshots of your one secret desire. a secret you’ve never acknowledged in your mind, never mind breathed aloud

it started when you were young.

at first, you thought it was just curiosity.

then, you thought that perhaps you just really liked the way his red-compass eyes sparkled and glittered with light.

then, you thought that perhaps you were just noticing what a fine young man Cozart was growing into because he was just growing,

but then, you catch yourself sneaking glances. you find yourself making lame jokes that he nevertheless laughs at, and you find yourself longing to feel his arm slung over your shoulder and bask in his bright, louder-than-life laughter.

and you deny it.

you read and study the Bible harder and longer than ever before, and you pray more fervently.

this stirring in your chest and heat low in your stomach and blush on your face,

everything you’ve ever been taught says it’s wrong.

you deny it, until you no longer can, and then you accept it, as you have your role in this world, but crush it anyway.

you keep it close and never let it be known, and it ends up as just another sin to mask.)

-.-

but you can only be pushed so far up on a pedestal before you come tumbling down,

you can only climb your Tower of Babel so far.

your wings have greyed too fast, they’re fragile and weak

you haven’t devoted the necessary attention to them to keep you *flying* for soso long

(and your halo isn’t shiny gold now, it’s covered in polished, lookalike bronze)

but you didn’t notice before now, because everyone kept coming up to you and handing you peacock feathers to attach to your wings,

and you grew too proud of them, too assured by their praises and what you hear about Christ’s charity in mass every week,

to remember that peacocks can’t fly.

they’re pretty, but they’re weak.

and you might have danced with the angels once upon a time, darling,

and devoted your life to their song of lovecharitykindness,

but you’re not one of them.

you’re m:o/r:t/a:l.

you’re a p:e:a:c:o:c:k.

you’ve just mur~dered for the cause you pledged your life to,

and the blood on your hands feels so sticky. it won’t go away.

your wings are r.e.d now [what do you think now]

but you look into their hopeful, worshipping eyes,

and you can’t stop this.

this train w-r-e-c-k was set in motion years ago.

you’re not infallible, but they don’t know that.

[it would break their hearts to see it, and you know it.]

and the red s,t,a,i,n,s on your wings keep spreading,

spreading,

until crimson engulfs them wholly, and it spills over into steady d,r,i,p,s

and like an epidemic,

it spreads to those (|angels|) around you that obey your every word without question

it spreads every time your wings brush theirs

you want to call out to them stopidon’tmeanitpleasedon’tpoisonyourselfforme

but they meet your eyes with sure smiles and disintegrate others with steadier precision

and you can tell at this point your will has spread too far to be halted

(an epidemic, except only targeting _yours_)

you bow your head and accept it and keep on straining, pushing, forcing yourself to live up to their expectations of savior-leader-golden-angel

(you can’t tell any of them that you never were an angel to begin with)

and you begin to crack, and you begin to break, and your wilted grey feathers keep molting faster than you can paste new peacock ones on,

but they still need you.

and even if you’re not ^heaven^bound anymore,

you can ensure the ones you’re saving are.

_y.o.u.r.s_ can tell you’re beginning to falter under the weight of the world,

and they support you any way they can,

but it just becomes too much.

maybe you’ve already fallen off the Tower of Babel once, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen a second time.

and you… you can’t.

you can’t anymore.

you dissolve the fighting force you have.

-.-

Cozart keeps throwing you these increasingly worried, tender looks,

and you can’t stand it.

you know he’s trying to get you alone so he can talk with you, but you couldn’t stand it.

the temptation to smash him into a wall and kiss him is already overpowering enough with all of _y.o.u.r.s_ in the room with you, you couldn’t resist it alone.

but he catches you anyway, and he asks you if you’re alright,

in those pure, lovely tones of his that you can’t describe.

you look into his eyes and take a deep breath and say

{i’m sorry}

before kissing him slowly, sensually, and then bolting out of the room.

Cozart is not going to want to look at you again, you know it, but…

…you really tried to not be caught alone.

[but how hard?]

and… it was totally worth it, you think, brushing your lips where his touched.

it was everything you thought it would be, warm and sweet and stolen.

-.-

he avoids you, just like you knew he would, and as much as you feel crushing disappointment and hurt,

you aren’t surprised.

(just glad he hasn’t told anyone else.)

but you /are/ when he finds you after a meeting

(another shouting match about how they don’t have the force to protect their territory any more,

and you are tired and threadbare to the bone)

and stares at you before bringing your lips together in an answer you never thought you’d get

-.-

it’s _wonderful_.

it’s absolutely amazing, and dazzling, and…

(wrong.)

his kisses are the best, cinnamon and apples and heady earth.

it’s astounding and still *sparkly *new that you can draw the man that makes your heart go crazy into a deserted corner and kiss him senseless.

you feel like you’ve sprouted new, secret °wings° that you can’t show anyone, but help you soar regardless,

and you dance to and swear by the melody of love.

nothing can ruin your mood, not even Daemon slowly drawing away from you and the gradual splintering of the unquestionable, unshakable alliance you all had Before.

-.-

except, you know, a massacre.

Elena is included in those dead, and as soon as you get a look at your Mist Guardian’s face,

you know he will never forgive you.

you /promised/ that no one would get hurt, that this would be the best solution.

and this, to him, is a very clearly broken-|-promise.

your wings are molted, and your halo is heavy and broken,

and now they can see you are not an angel.

you tried to show them before, and they realized sortof in the {back of their minds}

but it never “clicked”

you spend the night weeping with Cozart,

sharing kisses and finding mutual, much-needed comfort.

that’s the last time you see him.

soon after, Daemon recommends an heir.

you agree with his choice, though the flint in your Mist’s eyes doesn’t give you a good feeling.

you show him a few of the ropes, and leave for Japan, Asari, Knuckle, and Alaude behind you,

the rest left to take care of his life’s work,

the Vongola.

-.-

but maybe, just maybe

(and you think this to yourself every day, glancing around at the utopia that you have built yourself,

and \stabbing \yourself \inside, whittling away at your >unpuncturable< happiness a little more,

even while grasping [desperately] at the people you’ve decided to live on with instead)

(including your wife, and oh, that is a story best left for another day)

if you’d stayed out of the spotlight,

if you hadn’t been so noble,

(fullofuselessidealsthatwillneverbecomemore, unwilling-to-let-go-of-everything-you-have-worked-for-so-far, even~at~the~ultimate~cost~of~your~real~utopia)

you maybe could have slipped notice enough to have a real relationship

with the one you love,

could never stop loving,

though you neverever dare to voice that forbidden emotion

(for another *man*)

it’s just not done,

GIOTTO

{may 22, 1609}

-.-

there are a lot of things you regret

and chief among them are Cozart and corrupting _yours_.

you wish you could have had a happier ending,

but it was never to be.

the world isn’t kind and forgiving like that,

because no matter how many people claim they are Catholic,

only a few of their ×hearts× are actually Catholic.

you try,

and fail,

not to spend much time on the what-ifs.

but darling, you’re m:o/r:t/a:l.

you’re a p;e:a:c:o:c;k.

somehow, you were made to *fly*,

but not forever. and your time has come now.

your cracked, dulled imitation-gold-bronze halo rests pretty on your weary, tired head,

and your r,e,d-stained wings, truly grey,

can’t bear you up anymore.

you can’t fly to heaven.

and when you can’t fly, the only choice is to fall.

that’s life. you accepted this outcome the moment you accepted murdering to keep _y.o.u.r.s_ safe.

you face it with your head held high and your breath held,

and you f/all, f/all, f//all,

even longer than the fall from your Tower of Babel.

[what do you think now, of the choices you have made?]

-.-

(even as you plunge down,

the townspeople who revered you so raise their eyes and sing praises to you,

your name and savior in the same breath.

*hallelujah,*

they sing,

*you’ve done so many things,

given us so much peace,

now it’s your turn.

rest in peace, Giotto di Vongola*)

-.-

I can’t say that the outcome wouldn’t be different if you hadn’t -fought -so -hard that you sacrificed everything and innocence,

or that it wouldn’t be the same if you’d chosen to openly love your red-eyed compass,

but perhaps you would have been happier.

-.-.-.-

A/N: and that wraps it up! 

Did I make you cry? How much do you hate me right now? Tell me down below!

I especially want to know what imagery/metaphor was your favorite and what segment!

~OperaEagle IcelynLacelett

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL!

Okay, before I lose all coherence: It is so fascinating what you did with this story line! Like, the beginning was like Hallelujah and it deals with the same themes, but by removing the chapel scene with Knuckle, and a lot of self-acceptance consequently, the snow-ball movement was so incredible! Like, how Giotto kept resenting himself, how it turned into him exploding in the end (with kissing Cozart)- how it doesn’t truly happen on his terms, and how it is such a desperation that made my heart ache! 

Honestly, I think your rendition of it is more realistic to the time period than Hallelujah actually is. Because it’s really hard to break free from ideas like the homophobia Giotto encountered all his life- and to see it like this, that that one difference makes it not end in a conclusion of love, but of love and regret makes it bittersweet and so, so incredibly good. 

The opening is brilliant! The way you immediately suck me in with the ‘’Maybe it wasn’t worth it,’’ after that absolutely gorgeous piece of poetry (Starting with ‘’you used to,’’ was such a great choice as well!).

And this. Oh gosh, this! I love how you started with the end and then took the role of the story teller! Oh, so, so lovely! 

*whispers* KHR reincarnation AU where Giotto and Cozart reincarnate as Enma and Tsuna.

respectively.

*screams from the rooftops* OH MY GOD YES!

dang it, onceabluemoon

You have planted ideas in my head! Well, you and the hp freeverse poetry I’ve been reading by inkteardrops and our dancing days over on ff.net, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I’m now working on a GiottoCozart freeverse poem and I have been for the past few hours and I can’t get it out of my head. 

/Have this./ Before it explodes my brain.

I won’t get done with it tonight, but it will probably be completed and posted tomorrow or the day after. Here’s a tiny sneak peek.

-.-.-.-

(still don’t have a title)

-.-.-.-

you used to ^soar^ among the clouds,

exalted with the angels constantly preaching love and tolerance and Christ’s charity all around you,

and you danced to their song while you decided it was the best thing in the world,

worth every sacrifice you had to offer

[what do you think now, fallen/golden/angel?]

(you remember your wings, don’t you,

golden-boy-vigilante-savior-leader-idol

with the sunlight glinting off your golden-spun hair and a kindfullofcharityandcare laugh to fell giants and cure black hearts)

but now, you think,

/maybe it wasn’t worth it/

-.-

listen, and i’ll describe in p.e.r.f.e.c.t detail everything that went awry.

just sit there, and i’ll pretend i don’t see you crying, infallible hero that you are (neverwere)

-.-.-.-

Oh. My. Gosh.

I’ve been jumping up and down for FIVE MINUTES STRAIGHT (not kidding here!) because I can’t believe someone was inspired by me! It’s SO AWESOME! 

Also, GIOTTOCOZART! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! And Hallelujah. Only you and @i-w-p-chan have read Hallelujah yet, but it’s my baby and just *warbling noises of speechlessness*

(I’m also definitely going to check out the other inspirations, because they sound so cool!)

Have I ever told you you’ve got this incredible talent for putting down words in a way that makes the cadence of the words very clear even when not reading it aloud? It’s so musical, even when just reading it silently! (And you know how much of a poetry nut I am- and this talent you have is far from common, believe me!)

And I know you’re going to post the final product later, so I’ll just point out my favourite line, because I can’t contian my squealing entirely until then because this is SO FREAKIN’ BEAUTIFUL! 

Especially the ‘’kindfullofcharityandcare,’’ hit me hard, because it was all of it at once- Giotto’s character, the cadence, the beauty of the words, and the emotion in it fell all into place at one point and it was a BUS RUNNING OVER ME, I’m telling you! 

And that LAST PART Oh my GOSH! 

i went into the tag of a rarepair on ao3, and 25 out of 26 of the works were made by one author. if that isn’t dedication, i don’t know what is. 

#goals

@onceabluemoonwrites is this us a few years in the future?

Definitely!

Also, I did the math, and of the current 0027 fanfiction on AO3, you created 3,06%. Together, we are 4,07% of the 0027 content. 

Then I went onto our pages and searched more rare pairs (both romantic and friendship) that we’d written because I was curious. 

Turns out I’m the only one who ever used the tags Bianchi & Sawada Tsunayoshi, Chrome Dokuro & Xanxus, Ricardo & Giotto and Reborn (Reborn) & Daniela | Vongola Ottavo is so unknown that it isn’t even a proper tag yet. Keep in mind, many people only tag the romantic relationships, because I know several of your fics also feature Ricardo & Giotto. 

You have written the ONLY 001827 work EVER (I really need to finish Fergalicious so there will be two fics in that tag- you’re a trendsetter, M-chan)

You are two of 13 works in Kozato Enma & Sawada Tsunayoshi. Also, one out of two fics in the tag Byakuran & Sawada Tsunayoshi & Yuni.

I’m one of the FOURTEEN fics which used the character tag ‘’Bermuda Von Veckenschtein

I’m one of SEVEN in the Giotto/Cozart tag (THIS INJUSTICE WILL NOT BE LET GO! And I already have like 6 WIP’s featuring the pairing well underway, so I WILL INCREASE THIS! MY OTP DESERVES BETTER!)

Of the 32 Dino/Xanxus works (only 6 in English), I wrote two. 

Keep in mind, this is only our KHR fics, and no crossover pairings have been taken into account. Everything is, of course, on AO3. 

Also, now we’re talking about rare pairs, this is the perfect time to promoto the 0027 Population Project! Anyone who wants to join @i-w-p-chan and I in our quest to populate the 0027 fandom, or just wants to read, be welcome! 

when you see fanart of your otp

:3

muahahahaha 

so much references making me coo, BUT DID YOU HAVE TO MENTION THE ONE ABOUT WAITING?! THAT’S GIOTTO’S AND COZART’S WELL-EARNED HAPPINESS!!! GOD. THAT. ONE. AU.

you just want payback by ripping my heart to pieces, don’t you?

I’m sorry

, no, I’m not

It honestly hadn’t occurred to me as payback XD (Apologies in advance for reminding you of the Dark Period before the happy ending) As it originally ended badly (or, well, the “together in heaven” stuff I’m so fond of since I’m not good at bad endings- my feels can’t take it), but I succumbed after the third interrupted confession and the nth time of Giotto’s-self-esteem-taking-a-beat-down-he’s-too-pure-for-the-mafia and in order not to ruin my AU I gave them a happy ending after much suffering. So I kinda feel really relieved every time I think about it? Like, I can forgive myself for torturing them now.

reasons we need a khr reboot

Okay, so I had this entire kick ass post that would be my first post on Tumblr ever, but then you crashed my dash with my ALL TIME OTP’s 0027 and GiottpCozart and just YES TAT