~Poseidon, who was equal to his brother Zeus in place but not in power, and who had a surly, defiant character, he set straight to build his underwater palace where the sea of Aiges (aiga, αίγα stands for goat in greece, and the goat is one of Poseidon’s totemic representations) lies, in Euboea. In his spacious stables Poseidon’s white horses for his chariot reside, with bronze hooves and golden manes, and a golden chariot that when approaches the storms cease, and sea monsters emerge thrilling around it.~ Robert Graves
Poseidon, the primary force of the element of water, feared in his unpredictable nature and yet abundant. Poseidon’s waters are no different than those lurking inside our unconscious mind, the storms ready to emerge as we’re examining our emotional wounds, as we’re confronting the mystery of our origins and consciousness levels. Poseidon’s power is underwater, where many treasures as much as wrecks and ruins hide. We should approach Poseidon with great care and sensitivity in order not to awaken the “sea monsters” but to gain a meaningful access to inner realities.
A/N: The final part to this Bucky x reader series! Hope you guys like it.
Mood music: At Last by Martin Landh
It’s three in the morning and you’re still awake, staring at the man who shared your bed. His head rests in his hands as he sleeps peacefully for the first time in seventy years and you smile as you think about how much you truly loved him. The pain he’d suffered melted away when he was with you and he looked entirely at peace and content as he slept, a welcome change to the guilt ridden hours he spent awake.
You shift against him, leaning into him as he sleeps and you curl your fingers in his soft hair; it was shorter since he cut it a few weeks ago. It suits him, you think as you study the face you fell in love with. You trace the contour of his cheek before traveling down to caress the hard edge of his jaw. You move down to his left shoulder and stroked the scars that joined his flesh to metal. Your fingers continue down to the curve of back, stroking down his spine. Then, as if a spell is broken, his eyes open to find yours gazing into them.
IS BACKSTORY TO THIS BUT I COULDN’T FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET IT FROM MY BRAIN TO
THE PAGE. So I started this off really shitty because I’m still trying to get
used to writing again and this was a real pain to try to start. Harry’s just
basically lowkey in love with you and you’ve never noticed*** Anyway, this is
my first time writing smut in almost two years because my first attempt was
such a disaster that I was too embarrassed to try again. I don’t know if it’s
any good but I worked on it for a while so I wanted to post it. Enjoy, friends.
It was a cold, rainy evening when
Harry shows up at your door unexpectedly.
You almost convince yourself you’re
imagining things when you swing your front door open to reveal him. It makes
your heart hurt a little. The thought that seeing your own best friend is so
rare that you almost think it’s a dream. He’d been so distant lately, you
weren’t sure if you’d ever talk to him again.
But there he is, standing silently in
your doorway. You don’t say anything in greeting, waiting for him to say
whatever he has to. He’s come all this way, you figure he has something
important he needs to get off his chest.
If he does, he doesn’t seem to be in a
rush to get it out. His mouth opens slightly and then quickly shuts again, like
he wants to explain himself but thinks better of it. A sigh of annoyance,
seemingly with himself, escapes his lips, and his eyes slide shut.
“I need to tell yeh somethin’,” he
admits, eyes still shut. They open to your inviting features, nodding to
encourage him to go on. It doesn’t seem like a conversation to have in the
communal hallway of your complex so you move to give him space to come in.
Once inside, he seems to lose his
voice again. His eyes stay trained on the floor, not coming to look at you even
as you step closer to him.
“You can tell me anything, you know,”
you remind him. He nods but still doesn’t offer much of an explanation. “So
Please, don’t murder the flowers
only for the sake of smelling
dead miasmas in your vase.
A hummingbird told me
that even memorial flowers
and musical souls like us, muggle brains.
God creatures are beautiful
when they’re fidgeting in the sun
not when they’re gobbling famished vampires.
Or you imagine your corpse
will surpass the beauty competition
that takes place every bad ass summer in hell.
Grow a secret garden buddies and you’ll dance fox trot
eternally amongst stoned eyed angels. I promise you!
SOOO I’ve literally come back from the depths of Hell… I HAD LIKE NO MOTIVATION TO WRITE, IM SO VERY SORRY Y’ALL. Hope you enjoy! :DD
Sherlock stood in front of the wall in his flat. His hands were held behind his back, while his eyes scanned over all his notes and pictures and maps.
He was having a particularly hard time with this case, and it frustrated him to absolutely no ends. And it enough for him to snap at poor Mrs. Hudson… Although that isn’t totally out of the ordinary for Sherlock. Because he was so focused on what was in front of him, it was only now had he realised that you were standing behind him staring at the wall with him, his focus was starting to slip away from the gory, gruesome pictures and instead to the fact that her hair was tickling his back. He could feel your breath fanning his shoulder, making him painfully ever aware of your presence.
His little puzzle. A puzzle wrapped in an enigma, that reeked of mystery. The greatest conundrum of his entire life, and probably the only thing more infuriating than this case. It was something about you, something that made you special. Okay, yeah, sure, you were smart, incredibly smart, and far too clever for your own good. You’re confident, but not cocky like Sherlock. You know where your limits stand, you were kind too, even thought at times you could be a pain in the arse. Any one who would meet you, would be guaranteed to fall in love with you.
And it drives him absolutely mad.
Everything about you-it was just so alluring. And your amazing personality made it especially difficult on Sherlock, he was trying so hard no to fall prey to sentiment… Perhaps in a perfect world, he would’ve done something about it. But this was not a perfect world, and Sherlock was not a perfect person.
“Ya having trouble, Shirley?”
Sherlock, now snapped out of his dazed trance, shook his head slightly. It always baffled him out how fuzzy his head would become whenever you were around, making it hard to focus at all.
“I thought I told you to stop calling me that?”
You gave him a lazy grin, “you did, I just didn’t give a shit.”
“Charming as ever, (Y/L/N).” Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“You know it, Holmes,” you smirked, “Oh, almost forgot, John said he’ll be out today. Guess it’s just you and me…”
You gave him a wink and clicked your tongue. You stepped back, and went about your morning making breakfast, but not before turning the radio on.
With his silence now disturbed, Sherlock took a deep breathe in, the lingering familiar scent of your strawberry shampoo filled his lungs, strangely relaxing him and giving him almost a high similar to nicotine. He misses his cigars, but he had promised you to lay off. But this was good too, he had always felt at ease with the particular smell. Hmm.
He turned around and watched as you made your way gracefully around the kitchen. The scene could’ve been described as a dance. You were light on your feet, making many turns and spins, the quick smooth movements made, all whilst humming along to a song Sherlock had never heard of.
It made Sherlock’s heart swell.
And also throb with pain.
It was pain he had not experienced before. Most of his emotions were suppressed deep inside him, for so long he even know why they were popping back up again. Sherlock had hesitated, but headed over to the kitchen and stood behind you. Just far away enough not to be noticed. Maybe he could just…?
His mind was yelling at him, all his rules, all the terrible things sentiment would do, his promises of never surrendering to love.
Love. It was a horrendous little thing, he felt sorry those who suffer it. All the crying and the moaning and the heartbreak, couldn’t people see that it was all just unnecessary, unneeded emotion baggage that they brought upon themselves? And for no absolute reason?! The facts were there and he had been over this a million times, what had changed?
Had Sherlock Holmes really fallen for (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?
The thought was laughable.
Him? Of all people, in love? It left a bad taste in his mouth. The word felt so foreign to him, it felt like a disease. Infecting everything in its path, leaving it’s victims helpless. He pitied them if anything…or at least if he could feel pity.
But with you, he it seemed that you were the exception. He could see himself with you, doing ordinary couple things, like going on dates, or even cuddling on the couch together. It was a nice thought.
He kept thinking, perhaps this was just his head fucking up, and if he resists for long enough, maybe he’ll return back to his normal state. The cold, stone-hearted, sociopath of detective.
Sherlock had ended up just staring at the back of your head, blinking and standing there like an idiot. He sighed internally. Maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll tell you.
So I was Catholic as a kid, and I would always hear people saying that they see God in others. Okay, beautiful sentiment.
But I didn’t really understand what it meant until today, when I was walking down the hall at school and saw a tall blonde girl wearing hiking boots and a green kaki jacket talking to a freshman. I didn’t mean to eves drop, but I heard the tall girl say “you text that boy and tell him you do not want to date him. You don’t owe him shit if this is how he treats you!” The freshman looked like she had been crying, and it didn’t take much to put two and two together.
And in that tall girl, I saw Artemis, protector of maidens. I don’t mean in the sense that I think this girl is actually Artemis, but I saw her grace shining through her to help this poor kid. I felt Artemis present in that moment, and it was beautiful. I want to follow her example and live in the spirit of the theoi, to do their work on earth and serve them as this girl did Artemis, whether she knew it or not.
I haven’t really contacted Artemis at all, but tonight, I am going to give her an offering and say thanks.
Omg Irene is gay!! Like, okay she had some sort of sentiment for Sherlock, but it doesn't make her less of a lesbian, for God's sake!
the sentiment was that she’s gay and he’s gay so they relate except she sees he’s sad & pining and is like “boi” so that’s why they start texting (so she can give him tips on how to flirt & encourage him to go for it)