bittersweet embrace

Flint didn’t feel the blistering heat of the sun as it bore into his back. He didn’t notice the faint breeze that swept across the plantation, hot and dry, and carrying with it dust from the freshly-toiled land.He wasn’t even aware of the earth beneath his feet. He felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing, was nothing but Thomas. In this moment his entire existence was centered on the man that now stood before him. The ghost –the blessed specter– that had haunted his nightmares, soothed his dreams, and provided his strength and determination for the past ten years. His relentless drive had been fueled by him and him alone. Taking up a life of piracy, tracking down the Maria Aylene, hunting the Urca gold, starting this accursed war with England… It had all been done in his name. And now, as if by some miracle, he was here. Flesh and bone and blood, he was here. He was alive.

Flint could feel the jump in his jaw as he searched vainly for words that didn’t exist. He couldn’t speak; he couldn’t even think beneath the torrent of emotions that flooded through him, dragging him down like an anchor. Instead, all could do was sink into that bittersweet embrace. Not only was it the farewell he had never been granted, but the reunion he thought he would never receive, either in this lifetime or the next. For if there was a god, if there was a heaven and a hell, he was certain they were not fated for the same destination. But now, he was here. They were here, together, and the world be damned if it ever so much as dared to separate them again.

Despite the hard muscle that thickened Thomas’ arms and the rough beard that scraped against his neck, that embrace rung familiar nonetheless. Thomas held him close in the same way he had done so many years ago. Like a gentle lover. Soothing, warm, and with a tenderness that had gone unmatched by any other. They wrapped around him tightly, calloused hands cradling the back of his neck as Flint pressed himself impossibly close. He wanted to sink into him, to curl up into his chest where he could feel the beat of his heart as if it were his very own. He breathed in the scent of him, sweat and dirt and sunlight. He heard his soft words as they were whispered into his ear, felt his breath as it huffed out against his skin.

Flint clutched at Thomas blindly, hands searching for the comfort of his skin, seeking purchase to better keep him close. With each breath that left him it felt like a gust of wind wracking through his lungs. He couldn’t breath. Not until those hands cupped his cheeks, a thumb stroking over a scabbed wound that would soon scar, and guided their mouths together. The kiss was everything he had ever desired, yet at the same time nothing he had every expected. It was soft and loving. Full of remorse and longing, desperation, anger and heartbreak, as well as overwhelming relief and happiness. It was enough to both bring him to his knees, and breathe the air back into his lungs. More than that, it awakened something deep within himself. Some faded remnants of James McGraw that he had thought perished long ago, shattered beneath the weight of his anger and heartbreak.

While Flint felt the dampness against his cheek, it wasn’t until Thomas wiped it away with the pad of his thumb that he realized he was crying. That these tears were his. But more than that they were Miranda’s as well, evidence of the past ten years they had believed Thomas to be dead, struck down by his own hand. But god, he was here. As he heard the lilt of his voice and felt the touch of his skin, he knew it to be true. That this was real, that it wasn’t a cruel trick or a mirage. That he was alive. And so the tears that were shed were done so freely and without shame. Even as Thomas held him close and massaged the base of his skull, whispering comforting words of “I love you” and “I’m here” in his ear, he cried. And Thomas let him.

“On Turning Eighteen”

I know these days will not last
calendar pages flip quickly
while we near a day of blue robes,
hanging tassels, and neatly folded memories.

you are to me
a home cooked meal
to a to a university student
warm with love
made with care
with a succulent smile
and a satisfying snicker

the comforting feeling
of my mother’s call from the kitchen
becomes the beeping of an alarm clock
The glare of sun forces the ripping off of covers

a freezing snowfall and a cup of joe
accompanies the stroll
to this lecture and that lab
casual conversation of alcohol
drowns out the stresses of 8 AMs

the intimidation of leaving home
causes a pained independence
and a widely met confusion

They continue to utter the phrase
“real world”
the fake reality takes over
an actual life experience is lost
because we remain trapped,
surrounded by four walls
in cold blue chairs and the piling up of assignments
there is not a moment left for good times to build

a mess of contradictions
leads us out
among an alphabetized line of acquaintances

a plague of promises
brings the sickening disease
of empty friendships

bright exit signs light the highway
and are passed carelessly
because the music is turned up

After a four year deadline,
bittersweet goodbyes
and soft embraces follow 

hope hugs the wishes that are released
with the smoke from 18 birthday candles

the second hand has several ticks
to go until we begin
and we turn textbook pages to
a brand new start

—  Adulthood. 

Delirious Warmth

Heat pools between
Flesh of molten gold
Wet and warm and wild
Soft and pliant with a caress
Delirious under pale cotton
This straining wanton heart
Longs for a glide, slipping
Circling with delight love lingers
Tart promise of flirtation
Like a bittersweet embrace
For comfort and rejection
Traces of scorching passion
Like shootings stars it fell
Beautiful but fleeting

- Ainski, Prose Series

some playlists

listening to records with your cat, while sitting on your floor painting. the windows are open, and the fresh smell of tbe portland rain oozes from outside. you feel safe, and at peace

sitting at a red light, the itching feeling of melancholy finally settles in. it’s not enough to be actively upset, but the rest of the ride home feels a little off-kilter. you have no choice but to embrace the bittersweet feeling, smiling a little– its a darker kind of bliss

you and your best friends enjoy a day off in that special hidden spot at the park. white puffy clouds smile back as you take the first sip of your grapefruit soda. your shoulder is tapped, and you are handed the bowl of strawberries. you trade for the fruit with the joint. the day is still very young and bright

My Favorite Season

Request: requesting hobi fluff, you’re sad bc you can’t make it home for the holidays bc of bad weather and he sets up a really cute day for you with lots of cuddling and movies     

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader     

A/N: I hope it met the requester’s expectations. Enjoy!

Keep reading

Everyone is saying how sad Clara’s departure will be, and how both Jenna and Peter were really emotional, but if I don’t get a Bbc extra video of the day and i don’t get to see Peter and Jenna crying in a bittersweet embrace and comforting each other, I’m gonna march on the BBC and scream like a damn woman until they give me all the b-rolls and behind-the-scenes.

Jenna Ushkowitz could be working on the movie adaptation of the musical ‘Hello Again’

According to IMDb, Jenna will play Marie in a film version of Michael John LaChiusa’s Hello Again. Tom Gustafson is directing a screenplay by Cory Krueckeberg

Storyline: Ten lost souls slip in and out of one another’s arms in a daisy-chained musical exploration of love’s bittersweet embrace. It’s a film adaptation of LaChiusa’s celebrated musical, originally based on Schnitzler’s play La Ronde.

The cast also include six-time Tony winner Audra McDonald, Al Calderon, Adam Davenport and Ben Monk.

There is no official confirmation yet.

  • Kid: Can I use the restroom
  • Teacher: I don't know CAN you?
  • Kid: ...May I use the restroom
  • Teacher: I don't know MAY you?
  • Kid:
  • Teacher:
  • Kid:
  • Teacher: I long for Death's cold and bittersweet embrace often
Where the Hell is Cas?

Based on this artwork

Sam entered the bunker’s dungeon, flicking on the lights to reveal his brother, caught in a devil’s trap. Unlike with Crowley, the trap was furnished with an armchair and a nightstand. Sam couldn’t bring himself to treat Dean like a complete prisoner. As he entered, Dean stood, walking to the edge of the trap.

“Hey, Sammy boy!” Dean leered, watching as Sam approached a nearby table covered in vials. “Back for your lost cause?” Sam didn’t speak, but carefully selected a syringe. Carefully, he inserted the needle into one of his veins, filling the vial with his blood. He swapped the vial with a clean needle, then turned to Dean. “Where’s the angel?” Dean asked, flippantly extending his arm, “It’s the best part of my day, making him squirm.” Still silent, Sam carefully injected Dean, emptying the fluids into the body of his brother. “You know this is pointless, right?” Dean nodded towards the table of syringes, “How many times have you tried to make me human? I’m telling you. Mark of Cain. Your cures aren’t going to work on it. Probably better just to let me go and have done with it.” “I’m not giving up,” Sam replied quietly. “Don’t you usually say we’re not giving up?” Dean grinned, “By the way, where is Cas? It’s not like him to miss one of my treatments.” Just then, the door swung open. A man walked in. He was the same build as Cas, same dark hair and bright blue eyes, same clothes, even, but even from a distance, Dean could tell he wasn’t Cas. “Where is he?” Dean asked sharply. "Uh, Sam,” the man said, wandering towards the two of them, “About the airline ticket…” Sam tried to reach out, to keep the man from getting too close to the devil’s trap, but it was too late. Dean lunged forwards, grabbing the man by his jacket collar and pulling him close, eyes flicking black in the process. “Where the hell is Cas?” Dean demanded, giving the man a shake. “Dean!” Sam said, stepping into the circle and pushing Dean away, “Cas is dead.” Dean stumbled backwards a few paces, releasing the other man. “What?” “His grace burned out last night,” Sam explained, “And Cas burned out with it. What’s left is Jimmy. Jimmy Novak.” Dean shook his head. “You knew Cas had a grace problem, why didn’t you try and fix it?” “We were trying to save you. Cas was willing  to set his own issues aside and he made me promise to do the same.” There was a long silence. Then Dean spoke, his dark bravado gone. In fact, for the first time, he actually sounded human. “This is my fault.” “What?” Dean averted his gaze. “Look, the treatments were working,” he admitted softly, “I mean, not all the way, I still don’t think I could ever be fully cured, but I felt…human.” “How long?” Sam asked, sharply. “A while.” “Then why the hell didn’t you tell us?” Sam shouted, “We’ve been worried sick about you! I’ve been up all night for weeks trying to find a way to save you!” "I’m a monster, Sammy,” Dean said quietly, “And no matter how hard you tried, I’d always be a monster. I was ashamed, I was scared and I figured if I pretended long enough, you’d give up and let me leave your life. I wouldn’t have to be a burden screwing everything up anymore.” He sat onto the armchair, burying his head in his hands. It was then Sam realized, if Dean could feel, then he knew the full extent of the pain of losing Cas. “Dean…” Sam walked over to the armchair, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He could feel the sick irony of it all. Sam had always thought the day Dean could feel would be a happy one. “I’m sorry.” “I’m going to get him back,” Dean said. “You can’t. Cas didn’t die in the way that normal humans do, he’s gone. For good.” "Maybe not,” Jimmy piped up. Unlike Sam, Jimmy had moved far outside the devil’s trap, though he furtively made his way back to the edge as Dean and Sam looked up at him.  “What do you mean?” Sam asked. “It’s hard to explain,” Jimmy said, “Castiel had me in a dream world most of the time, but I could still feel his presence. Until one day, a couple months ago, I think, when,” Jimmy shrugged, “I just couldn’t anymore. I could feel a presence, but unlike the angel, it was smaller. Familiar. Human. Last night was when I felt the other human presence leave, and I emerged from my dream state.” “What are you saying?” Dean asked. “If Jimmy’s right, Dean,” Sam said slowly, “I think that means Cas got a soul when he became human. And if he had a soul…” “…the soul went somewhere when he flashed out,” Dean finished. He looked at Sam, “Knowing everything Cas did, I think his soul’s in Hell. Which means I can save him.” “What?” Dean stood, excited. “Look, I’m a demon. Who better to infiltrate Hell and pull the little dork out?” “Absolutely not,” Sam said, “You’re barely human now, and we’ve had you away from violence and on a steady stream of human blood. What’ll happen once you’re down there?” “I have to try,” Dean replied, stubbornly, “It’s the only way we’re gonna get Cas and you know that.” “But—” “It’s worth the risk,” Dean shrugged, “Besides, I’m stronger than you give me credit for.” “It might work,” Sam admitted, but he sighed when he glanced over at Jimmy. “But we’d need to find a new vessel.” “Actually,” Jimmy said sadly, “You wouldn’t.” “But your family!” “My family’s moved on,” Jimmy replied quietly, “Amelia remarried. Claire’s in high school. If I come back, it’ll only tear their lives apart and, worse, it’ll put them in danger, just like before.” “There are ways you can protect yourselves,” Sam insisted. “But not without turning their lives upside down,” Jimmy shook his head, “It’s better for all of us if I don’t return.  I’ll be Castiel’s vessel once more, but he has to promise to look out for them. Watch over my wife and child.” “Are you sure?” Sam asked, quietly, “Because there’s no going back.” “I made the choice once, and I’ll make it again,” Jimmy replied. Not long after, Sam freed Dean from the devil’s trap. It was a bittersweet moment as he embraced his brother for the first time in months—and maybe the last time. “Hey, no chick flick moments, remember?” Dean joked quietly, but, all the same, he didn’t let go of his younger brother. And then, in an instant, Dean was gone. Dean had forgotten just how bad Hell was. The screams rang in his ears like a constant ringing and the smell was awful; a mix between sweat, sulfur and decomposing bodies. To Dean’s credit, he tried. He searched for ages, wandering the racks calling Cas’ name. But Hell was so big and so full that it didn’t take long for Dean to get lost. Alone, surrounded by demons and his greatest temptation, Dean eventually gave in. He joined the ranks of the torturers once again, climbing quickly until he was at the head. Dean tortured for weeks, months, years, it all started to blur together. His humanity drained, Dean was all but unrecognizable. Then, came the impossible. “Dean?” a voice croaked. Odd. His victims never knew him by name. Dean, sharpening his knife, blinked. He looked down at the man curiously. “Who are you?” “Dean, it’s me. Castiel."  The sharpening stopped. “You’re lying,” Dean hissed, lifting the knife to make the first cut of the day. Black eyes were met with blue. Despite his weakened state, Cas’ gaze was still intense. Familiar. The hint of a memory tickled at Dean from the back of his mind. “Cas?” "Dean, what are you doing here?” Cas’ voice was barely a whisper. “I…” Dean shook his head. More memories were streaming in, memories of humanity, and his demonic blood was fighting back. It was madness in his mind. “I…” his hand clenched around the knife, his hand moving out of habit until the cool metal was against Cas’ bare chest. The incision wasn’t entirely on purpose, but Dean couldn’t stop. Even with Cas’ screams ringing in his ears, Dean was so far seeped in habit the torture came anyway. Conflicting memories tugged at his consciousness. “I’m a monster,” he whispered. “No,” Cas choked, his chest heaving in pain. His eyes caught Dean’s, “You’re…my…friend…” The words were like a hook, pulling something out of Dean’s heart. Memories clicked into place as the knife tumbled from Dean’s fingers. “I…I came to save you,” Dean murmured. Dazed, he undid Cas’ bindings, wrapping an arm around his friend to help him to his feet.  “Dean…” Cas mumbled weakly, leaning heavily on Dean to stay up, “You came…” For the first time in years, Dean found himself smiling softly. A real smile, not the dark twisted grin he would get. “Well, you gripped me tight and raised me from perdition,” Dean joked quietly, “It’s only fair I return the favor.” As he lifted them up to return to Earth, Dean closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were no longer the lifeless black he’d been clinging to, but green. Blinking, Dean took in his surroundings. He felt out of place, dirty and bloodied in the neatness of the bunker. Cas was no longer clinging to him, his soul returned to wherever his body was. “Dean?"  Dean turned to see his brother watching him warily. Dean didn’t move, still afraid of what he’d become while in Hell, but it didn’t matter. Sam was across the room in moments, wrapping his brother in a tight embrace. "I really hope you’re not going to kill me when I do this,” Sam muttered. Wordlessly, Dean shook his head. When there was no violent reaction, Sam refused to let go. Slowly, carefully, Dean lifted his own arms and softly wrapped them around his brother. “Cas, did he…?” Sam asked softly. “Sam?” a voice asked from the doorway. Cas stood, awkwardly watching the brothers. Sam, a wide smile spreading across his face, let go of Dean to embrace Cas just as enthusiastically. Dean, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done. Ashamed, he backed away, trying to find a way out of the room. Cas looked up from Sam’s hug. “Dean?” Dean shook his head. “I’m, uh, gonna leave you to it,” he said, making his way to the doorway, “And find my room in the dungeon.” Cas’ hand shot out, gripping Dean’s shoulder as he stopped him from walking out the door. Letting go of Sam, Cas pulled Dean into a hug. “You’re not going anywhere.” “But, I—” “You saved me,” Cas said quietly, “End of story.” “I’m dangerous, Cas. I’m a demon.” “Dean Winchester,” Cas said firmly, looking him in the eyes, “You were human in the place where humanity wasn’t an option. You’ve done the impossible before, you’ll do it again. I know it.” Sam placed a soft hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ve already lost you enough. This time, you’re not going anywhere.” Surrounded by the people he loved, Dean finally gave in, softly tucking his head onto Cas’ shoulder in a silent acceptance of his own humanity. “I missed you,” he admitted, to no one in particular. Dean still had his doubts and self loathing, but in the warmth of the embrace, this time it was Dean who didn’t let go.

Today I ordered a dress for my best friend’s wedding in June, I attended a friend’s dad’s funeral service, and some other close friends told me they’re expecting a baby. Life is so utterly bittersweet - a perfect balance of weird, sad, good, hard, amazing, hilarious, peaceful, unfair, breathtaking and lovely all at once. 

Jesus, please grant me the grace and ability to embrace this bittersweetness with my hands wide open, however scarred they may be. Help me to see past the bitter to the sweet. Please be Yourself through my heart and hands and words as I walk between these life seasons, these new adventures, these confusing scenarios, these hard days, these beautiful moments.

Isadora,

Embrace life’s bittersweet challenge, meet destiny and fate head-on in your own whirlwind journey, filled with both tragedy and ecstasy.

Home (Part 2)

Here is part 2! Thank you for the notes for part 1! It’s up in my blog if you wanna check it out :)


After a couple of songs, which feels like decades to me, I still can’t breathe. It’s a good thing there’s no light on me. He can’t possibly see me. All of the lights are focused on the stage.

“Before the last song…” He trails off. The crowds begin to chant “we want more” repeatedly. He just smirks.

“Before the last song,” he begins again. “I just want to let you know that I am forever grateful for your support. This last couple of months I have been braving myself to face my past. I began to write songs, painful songs. I began to embrace the bittersweet pain.”

The crowd hollers and claps.

“This next, and final, song is about a boy.”

Keep reading