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forgiveness is a knife — War’s capacity for it is nonexistent being spun from the abyss into an abomination that is set to bring the apocalypse; because if the horsemen had been birthed instead of made the change in their fundamental understanding of humanity would make them unable to accomplish their task.

And she, having spilled onto the asphalt like napalm and risen from the burning fields with a sword, has a job to do.

                                                                      —neon church—

A prophet prays inside a neon church with the Antichrist at her side, her eyes are fixed on the roof of this cheap Vegas chapel that promises elicit lovers a legitimacy to their feelings; a contract that is impulsively signed, and too soon taken back.

A long time ago her hand was forced onto sand, she signed away: her tongue, her heart, her mind, her soul; became the mouthpiece of an absent God that returns to chew on her tongue until it bleeds.

She kisses him the first time beneath these neon lights, her mouth tastes like copper. His

childhood grasped
                              between her spindle and stars, she threads his past, present, future with hers — precise even promises with each incision. These hastily made oaths have no unstitching. Haven’t you heard? It’s the end of days.

The horsemen are coming. Unveiled eldritch monstrosities that have been starved for eons in their sleeping coffins beneath the throne of God, where their mouths had opened and closed with infinite rows of teeth; choirs of angels watching these tools slumber.

Now that they are awake they need:
                                                         broken promises,
                                                         closeted sins,

                                                                                      as sustenance.

The honey-veined pattern of the church’s floor glows neon yellow, the prophet on the tips of her toes whispering words that fall like jigsaw puzzles. He gathers each piece for later, suppressing a shudder when she lets him know War is waiting for them outside.

The Antichrist is awake, and God’s tools have come to pay their respects.

Horsemen & Archangels || Eliot C. ©

Tagged by @ragsy

Rules: We’re snooping on your playlist. Set your entire music library on shuffle and report the first 10 songs that pop up. Then choose 10 victims.

1. On the Wagon - Green Day
2. No Cheap Thrill - Suzanne Vega
3. Together Or Alone - Sebadoh
4. Rollin’ (Air Raid Vehicle) - Limp Bizkit
5. We Are Sex Bob-omb - Sex Bob-omb
6. Skankin - Sublime With Rome
7. Moving Forward - Hoobastank
8. 4th of July - Soundgarden
9. Nature Boy - David Bowie (Moulin Rouge OST)
10. (You Can Still) Rock in America - Night Ranger

I guess it could be weirder…

I tag @thejackalopegirl @straitwaistcoat @honorarybigsister @fangirl-who-dreams @fellfromfiction @crispycannibal @timeladyforscience @sonofahurricane 

Back in the arcade in New Milford, Ct, even using “throws” in Street Fighter was generally considered cheap. I assume Deadpool’s tactic, illustrated below, probably wouldn’t have gone over very well, either. It is very practical, though. And I mean, if you’re gonna go into a street fight with a giant floating bar full of life hanging over your head, you should probably be aware of what a great target it makes.

Lyla had gone radio silent since they had all gotten back in New York. Something about being home, being back to reality, made everything she had said and done in Vegas feel cheap. A lot of things had surfaced in that last night that Lyla wasn’t exactly ready to confront, at least not right now. As she pulled out her phone, her finger floated over her contacts. She knew she should’ve hit Nate, called him up and attempted to talk about where they stood but instead her finger pawed at Sebastian’s name. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she brought the phone to her ear and found comfort in the dial tone. Maybe he wouldn’t answer– maybe it was a sign, she thought to herself. She was well aware that she shouldn’t be running to him, yet here she was trying to find peace in a person who was just as chaotic has her.


darthsaader  asked:

A, F, or U for Bittyparse bc you love Kent, or if you're not chill with that then Zimbits??

It somehow became both??? A zimbits fic, but Bitty also gets married to Parse in Vegas??? Admittedly, I’m not really a Bittyparse fan (I am hardcore Zimbits) but I do really love writing about Kent, so I ended up with this hybrid. I was going to write just Zimbits, but 1. How could I set it in Vegas and not include Parse in some way? And 2. Bitty canonically fantasizes about his dream wedding and I couldn’t reconcile that with “Zimbits drunk in Vegas” because I want my baby to have his real dream wedding.

Jack and Parse have mended their friendship, but he’s hoping that Bitty can get along better with Kent after a little bonding. This was not the sort of bond he had in mind. Enjoy!

F: “We accidentally got married in Vegas. Oops!”

Bitty looked down at the ring on his finger. Oh no. This was not supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. He could barely remember a thing from last night, after they had left the restaurant.

His mama was going to be so disappointed. Heck, Bitty was disappointed. He had been picturing his dream wedding since he was a teenager – the food! The food was going to be incredible! What did they eat as their wedding meal? Some cheap Vegas buffet? “Jack, sweetheart, wake up.” He patted frantically at the bare shoulder beside him in bed, not taking his eyes off of the small gold band on his finger.

“Jack’s here?”

Bitty tensed. He jerked his hand away from the other man’s shoulder and hopped out of the bed. He looked down to make sure he was not naked. Bitty was still fully clothed, small blessings. “Kent?!”

“Good morning, Sunshine.” Kent rolled over and sat up. Bitty shielded his eyes when Kent threw off his  blankets. “Relax. I have pants on.”

“We didn’t…?” Bitty could not bring himself to even say the words.

“Consummate the marriage? Nah. You passed out as soon as I got you in the room. What’s up with this place, anyway? Zimms couldn’t set you up with nicer suite? This is such a shit hotel. What time is his flight getting in again?” Kent paced the bedroom in search of his shirt. He picked it up off the floor with a frown. “Damn. I should’ve hung this up or something. All wrinkled.”

As Kent threaded his left arm through his sleeve, Bitty noticed the ring on his finger when his hand emerged through the cuff. “Your ring…”

Our rings, you mean.” Kent corrected him. “Come on, when’s his flight land?”

“At eleven o'clock…” Any minute now. This had to be a mistake. This was just supposed to be a fun trip to celebrate his graduation. Bitty had flown out the previous evening from Georgia, having gone home for a week after graduation day. Jack was due to arrive late the next morning, and they were going to spend the weekend together. Once his post-season was over, Bitty would be moving in with Jack. This was not supposed to happen.

Kent grinned. “He’s going to be pretty surprised, huh?”

(More after the cut)

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