crumbling wall

She’s honestly the girl you don’t see coming at first.
She’s the only girl you find yourself wanting to try for.

You’ll find yourself remaining soft for her no matter how hard life gets.
Even when you’ve built your strong exterior she’ll be the one who can see right through it.
She knows exactly how to crumble every wall you build.

You’ll still find yourself craving her.
Even when she’s a chaotic storm herself.
You find yourself storm chasing into the unknown because she’s the one who makes you feel safe when your mind is raging and confused.
She’ll be your calm.
In her eyes, you’ll find beyond them lies a familiar soul.

And that’s why she’s different than every other girl.

I want nothing more than to be able to take her hand and guide her through showing her how to love again.
Just like she taught me to remain open and soft.
Good things do come to good people.
And I believe she’s one of them even if she’s not mine.

—  S.S. 
the signs as suburban haunts

ARIES: flattened paper boats scattered like the remains of a murdered animal along a dried up river, rundown motels with their blasted neon signs and smashed-in windows, pink streamers from some neighborhood child’s birthday party shuffling across the street like bright tumbleweed, a train rattling off into the breathless night & the trace remnants of a week old bonfire found in the middle of nowhere. 

TAURUS: chipped paint, shattered shot glasses lying across an abandoned pool table missing a few billiard balls, flyers rustling like autumn leaves against the tempestuous tides of the wind, advertising concerts & magic shows that took place in 2005, the sillage of old perfume clogging up the air, still thick as the scent of blood or wildflowers.

GEMINI: the corpse of a cigarette that hasn’t touched a mouth in months, a dilapidated playground where lost souls come out to play, threadbare curtains ripped like the wings of a dissected bird, strange red-brown stains across the hotel bedsheets, a gate grown weary with new-forming foliage & age, whining erroneously whenever maneuvered. 

CANCER: an empty casket, coffee rim imprints across hardwood tables, an old, tattered shoe lying haphazardly on the side of the road, a junkyard littered with ancient cars still soggy with stories, a pick-up with a broken windshield, a cadillac with a massacred paint job, someone’s motorcycle with blood staining the front tire, an askew portrait with eyes that follow you around the room.

LEO: a carnival horse with one eye scratched out, a daycare centre that shut down years ago, plagued with the colorful ghosts of children’s drawings still tacked to the crumbling walls, a spiral staircase that seems to shift direction when nobody’s paying attention, crunched up beer cans rolling across an empty rooftop & lichen kissing the concrete. 

VIRGO: the supermarket, flickering & eerie at night like the shadows unearthed beneath troubled eyes, owls stirring in between the murmuring trees, a single upturned grave in a cemetery that isn’t supposed to be notorious for hauntings, an old fountain still glistening with pennies that are no longer considered currency, a collapsed bottle of wine running the tiles red.

LIBRA: handprints imprinted onto fogged-up windows, red rooms crowded with developing photographs of people whose faces you recognize but cannot quite place, broken doll heads, a necklace that erupted into a sea of pearls, a deflated blow up kiddie pool collecting parched grass and critters, a busted arcade game & the laughter of people long gone still trapped inside the walls.

SCORPIO: books with grimacing yellow pages, someone attempting to sell you a cursed object on etsy, a leaky shower-head, a clock that’s stuck in time, a torn, unravelled couch sitting deserted in someone’s front lawn, candy stores that proclaim sales on expired sweets & ruddy patches of farmland. 

SAGITTARIUS: basements stacked with unwanted toys, a box of thin-mints, footsteps reverberating around the house when it’s 2 AM and you’re home alone, a burned down lemonade stand, that weird alien light in the third window of your neighbor’s house that never seems to get turned off, a certain rattling coming from the kitchen.

CAPRICORN: rain pummeling against damp ceilings, clothes ripped off the washing line, an empty aquarium, obscure little thrift stores that sell leather jackets from the eighties, gas station lights flirting with you from the distance, the alley where they say the vagabonds roam their night countries, sniffing up and dressing down and slitting the throats of angels.

AQUARIUS: those tiny coffee shops that fill you with nostalgia for places you’ll never visit, ‘JESUS LOVES YOU’ spray-painted across the sides of ramshackle buildings, an antique almirah scratched to high hell, a monster in the closet, the tunnel beneath the bridge that half the town believes is a gateway to hell, smoking up in trip mall parking lots. 

PISCES: halloween decor presented in shop windows a couple months early, visiting that lake where you heard that one kid drowned, the garage door slamming without cause or notice, storing fireflies in jars, drugstore makeup, birthday cake flavored oreos, a wheeled desk chair that seems to turn on its own when nobody’s in the office, a candle snuffed out on a windless evening.

I have loved you in your dark places, in your twilights, in your crumbling walls and quiet death throes. I will always wear your blood like a perfume, as a reminder of what happens when I get too close.
—  abby, day 300
After the Parade

“Hush,” he says.

Above them, Cabal ships drag thick black smoke across the flickering twilight, and flames rise from the Tower. Legionnaires scour the streets, seeking out the cries of the wounded and afraid.

“Hush,” he says again, as the child starts to sniffle, and he pulls her into the shadows cast by an apartment block as a patrol makes its laborious way past. He was made to protect, made to serve, but he feels clumsy now; the hand on her shoulder is almost larger than her head and she has no armor to protect her bruised and burned skin from his rough gauntlets. When he tries to wipe the tears from her face he worries that he will be the one to break her.

He followed her screams, just as the Cabal did. He had no rifle to kill the Legionnaires that would have silenced her; dispatched the first one with his boot-knife but was not quick enough to catch the second unaware. It is dead, but his chest-plate is cracked and burned and the thing that eats the Traveler has also eaten his Light.

She is wearing yellow. A summer dress, for a celebration. When he offered her his gore-spattered hand she took it at once, and did not look back at the splayed and broken limbs visible beneath the rubble around her as though she knew there was no one left to wait for. He brushed dust and chips of concrete from the tight black curls on her head, and when she tried to smile her gap-toothed smile at him despite it all he knew that he would die the second death to save her.

They pick their way through dust-covered streets and alleys, one grimy hand holding his armored fingers, the other wrapped around the silent shell of his Ghost. He told her to keep it safe, and she clutches it to her chest with an intensity that would do any Titan proud.

To those behind the Wall, love and service. To those outside it, fury and fire. He is young: the Order’s maxim has never meant much to him, but here at the end of an Age he feels each word burning in his chest and he wraps his Mark around her shoulders like a cloak, like a little Hunter, to keep the nearness of the night from her as best he can.

When they hear the distant bursts of gunfire he waits until the chatter fades, then leads them in a different direction even though it gives him hope to know the City is still fighting. Perhaps if he ran to the violence he would find weapons or more Guardians, but he will not risk it. And so hours pass as they slink across the city, and as slowly as his wounds force him to move she still takes ten strides for every one of his. She has only one sandal, silver leather wrapped around a tiny leg, but he thinks that a single piece of armor is better than no armor at all.

He finds a battered pulse rifle in a street that leads to a square, tries not to wonder where its owner went. The magazine is full, but it is all he has and there is no Ghost at his shoulder to synthesize ammo. He bends to pick it up, never letting go of the hand that holds his own, just as a troop of Legionnaires turn the corner in front of them.

He pulls the child behind a crumbled wall. Waits one heartbeat, two; no slug throwers roar in response. Even so, they are between him and the direction he has lead, and he doubts he has the strength to cross the City again.

Love and service to those within. Fire and fury to those without.

The Legionnaires do not notice, but neither do they move on. More join them, and they begin to spiral out in all directions, continuing their search. It will not be long before they find him and the child. A narrow street, once hung with banners but now collapsing from the rooftops down, will lead her west, to the walls, away from Cabal patrols - as long as there is a distraction.

He lifts her chin as gently as he can.

“You have to run,” he whispers. He is bad at whispering. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“That way,” he says when she stares at him in silence, pointing with his outsized hand down the shadowed street.

He gives her a delicate push, points again. She blinks, once, then toddles into the dark, Ghost held close as though it will protect her. Perhaps, if there is a way to undo this disaster, it someday will.

He props the rifle atop the ledge, lifts his visor and sights with naked eye. There are so many, he thinks, and then bites back a laugh - there are only eight.

Love within. Fury without.

The rifle barks. One Legionnaire dies and the others spin in confusion, firing in the direction of his cover. He ignores them, squeezes the trigger again. And again. And again.

Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within -

Something tugs his arm. He looks down into the eyes of the little girl, and pure terror finds him.

“I said run,” he growls, but she does not, her face set in a scowl. He shakes his arm and she does not let go.

A micro-rocket bursts against the barricade and he ducks, throws his body over her, sprays the rest of his bullets in response. The child buries her head in his cracked armor, her frail body shaking.

Never has he been so afraid to die.

He feels a fool. He tosses the rifle down, wraps one arm around the child and pulls her close. With the other he slams his visor shut. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and when at last there is a break in the constant fire he lurches to his feet, lifts the child to his chest, and runs.

It is hard, so hard, to move full Titan-plate without his Light to drive it. His body aches. Something inside is probably broken, and he does not know how long it takes a body to heal without a Ghost.

A slug hits him in the back and he stumbles but his armor holds, and he sprints down the street where he tried to send the child, the sound of jump-packs following behind. He ducks his head and cups himself around his charge, makes himself as big as he can, plows across the debris-choked pavement. The girl begins to cry again, though to his ears it is not the sound of fear but of fury, and before long he is roaring with it, and the two of them roar together down the long, narrow street as explosions scatter bits of ruins that once were homes. He does not know where he is going, knows only that he must go somewhere, that he will not stop until the child is safe or his legs no longer work; that when he has nothing left he will throw her from him and tear the Cabal apart with fists alone, Light or no.

He has stopped counting the impacts. Every step is a knife in his chest. The Legionnaires must be close but he does not turn, lest the shield that is his body fail. He can feel himself slowing, a sensation that fills him both with wonder and despair, but he cannot force himself to let her go despite his promise. Something cracks against the back of his leg, and he is too tired and too hurt to correct. He lands heavily on one shoulder, slides ten grinding yards, arms still wrapped around the child. At the very least, they will have to rip him apart to get to her. Maybe, if he dies quickly, they will not notice her at all.

Gunfire interrupts his thoughts, along with the sound of footsteps and the roar of Cabal. Hands grab him, drag him out of the street, but still he does not uncurl. He sees Hunter cloaks, Warlock robes, a Titan mark.

“Hush,” he tells the child, head still tucked close, while they cower in a doorway and around them Guardians fight.

“Hush,” he tells her, over their surprised cries of pain.

“Hush,” he tells her, over and over, until at last all is silent and he dares to lift his head and stand.

He helps the child to her feet, and though he leans against the doorway it is her tiny hand in his that keeps him upright. He looks around at their saviors: most are near as bruised as he is. They nod their heads, pat him on the back, and he opens his mouth to ask for forgiveness, for leading the Legionnaires here, but a Hunter shakes her head as though she knows what he will say.

Two Guardians lie dead. Truly dead. One Hunter, one Titan wearing the Mark of the Gatewatch. He waits the half-second for their Ghosts to revive them, feels sick when they do not rise. He swears that he will learn their names and add them to the Order of the Pilgrim Guard.

Someone makes cooing sounds and tries to take the child, tries to give her water, but she refuses to let go of his hand, refuses to surrender his Ghost. For a moment they stand there, all seven of them in a circle around her, and it is as though a different light has risen to bond them all.

They need ships. Weapons. Food, maybe. The child, at least, must eat. The Hunter offers water again, and he wonders how many new scraps of fabric she has taken for her cloak. A different Titan, this one wearing the Mark of the Six Fronts, hands him the dead Hunter’s rifle - then looks down at the child, still clinging to his hand, and passes him a sidearm instead.

They turn their backs to the Tower, and continue their slow march to the western wall. Perhaps they will find supplies along the way. If not, so be it - they are still Guardians, and they will save what light they can.

Love within. Fury without.

The Cabal have no word for ‘retreat.’ Soon, they will learn that the Guardians have none for ‘mercy.’


Words: @themothyards

Art: @artdailybykitty

Closet Softie

Or, How Bucky Barnes Nearly Ruined His Tough-Guy Rep

(On AO3)


The trail mix was gone. 

The nice, expensive trail mix, with twelve kinds of nuts and the big sunflower seeds and dried fruits, the kind Tony only rarely left sitting on the common floors for everyone to get at, was gone. 

Clint had been looking forward to that stuff all morning

All the way through a hellish morning “jog” with Steve, all through Nat handing him his ass on the training mats, all through firing the same batch of misweighted arrows over and over so Tony could take scans and fix the design, he’d been thinking, when this is done I get to go upstairs and hang out on the couch and watch Dog Cops and eat the good trail mix, guilt-free. 

And it was gone.

Clint was gonna shoot somebody.

Just as soon as he figured out who’d taken the trail mix.


kingofmemes posted:

yesterday i saw a sad duck in the park who kept getting picked on by the other ducks so today i brought some trail mix and we had a nice lunch together. also i think he might be the duck who pooped on sam last week. if so, he is officially my new best friend. 

Posted at 3:29 PM, 24379 notes

(Read More Below)


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turncoat: in defense of andromeda tonks nee black

The day after Andromeda’s world ended, she woke to a house full of life.

She rolled out of bed in soft pajamas, bare feet. One pillow was mussed and crumpled. The other was untouched, plumped just the way Ted liked it. She leaned against the headboard, pale fingers gone paler from squeezing the wood.

Her knees were creaking, her joints aching. She was forty three and she felt like she had at least a century brittling her bones. Morning light, grey and dim, dropped through the crack in the curtains, shattered to the floor. There was a sniffle. There was a crescendo of an infant’s cry. Andromeda wrapped an old blanket around her shoulders and went to her grandson.

If she had picked up the newspaper on her front step (she wouldn’t) she would have seen the garbled headlines first trying to make sense of the smoldering remains of the Battle of Hogwarts. THE END OF OUR TERROR? the Prophet screamed.

When Andromeda went out into the rest of the house with Teddy nestled into her shoulder, she had to step cautiously over sleeping bodies. In one corner, a boy with disheveled hair and crooked glasses was passed out on her living room floor, wrapped around a lithe redhead. Harry had insisted on coming to tell her about Nymphadora and Remus in person. The rest of the snorers on her floor had insisted on coming with him. Andromeda had insisted that if they tried to leave again in that state, exhausted and unfed, they’d end up passed out in a ditch somewhere and not just because she’d send a curse after them.

She didn’t know them yet. She didn’t know Harry would spend hours on all fours when Teddy was learning to crawl, demonstrating proper form, while Ginny laughed and cheered them both on with Lee Jordan-style commentary. She didn’t know Molly Weasley would fold herself bossily, comfortably, into Andromeda’s Saturday afternoons with teacakes and preserves, her mending and her sharpest gossip, kindest words.

Andromeda didn’t know that the bushy haired girl curled up on the couch would teach Teddy to read, buy him Muggle science books and help him make a potato battery for a lightbulb, that the lanky redhead bent like a long-limbed question mark at the foot of the couch would become Andromeda’s newest, brightest chess arch nemesis.

Little Teddy on one shoulder, Andromeda went barefoot into the kitchen to get down her daughter’s favorite mug and fill it full of steaming tea. Andromeda let it overbrew, watching sleeping chests, backs, ribs, stomachs rise and fall, breathe, shake. When she finally rolled the bitter liquid over her tongue, she clung to the mug, didn’t let it break the silence.

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It wasn’t meant to be this way.

It never meant to be this way.

Crowley sacrificing himself, he could deal with. Losing Mom after just getting her back will take a shit ton of time and about an entire store in whiskey.

But Cas…

Dean stared at the body before him, at the man that had shown up in his life in sparks and earth shattering sound. He was so silent now. Everything was silent. It wasn’t meant to be this way. 

They were going to all go back to the bunker. They were going to figure out what to do with Lucifer’s lovechild and try to siphon out the grace. They were going to hunt alongside Mary and start over. He was going to sit Cas down and make sure he knew he was wanted. They were going to fix things, like they always did. They were going to be something more. Everyone was going to be together.

They were going to be a family. One big happily ever after in a world that never thought to give him that.

It wasn’t meant to be this way.

“…N-No,” Dean’s voice was silenced by the walls finally crumbling down around him. Castiel’s body only lay there, all promise of that life Dean dared to have as silent as the world around him.

It wasn’t meant to be this way.

damn the delivery boy.

Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk / Reader.

Genre: Expecting Parents AU / Fluff and Non-explicit smut.

Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.

Count: 9,656 words.


month one.

Two lines.

The second is a little faint, but it is there, undeniably there, growing stronger by the second as your heart sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach and suddenly you are keeling over the sink, throwing up a combination of panic and regret. You wipe your mouth, sit back on the closed lid of the toilet, shut your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it until your lungs burn and your lashes fly back apart to look at the test still shaking between your fingertips.

There, right before your eyes, two fucking blue lines protruding like two middle fingers, poking up at you and saying – Congratulations sucker, you are pregnant!

Twenty-three years old and pregnant.

You throw up again.

This has got to be the biggest mistake of your life.

Keep reading

The party was talking about a hypnosis show that they witnessed that day, and the conspiracy behind it.

Fighter: “..but I’m sure they were just mind-controlled!”
Druid: “But do you ever just think how we all might be mind-controlled by some sort of sick gods, just playthings, something on a sheet of paper and our actions purely determined on symmetric pieces of plastic?
DM: “Roll a dexterity check to dodge the 4th wall that crumbles upon you.”

M A S T E R L I S T

A V E N G E R S 

Avengers 

        ~ Lonely Hearts and Sad Bars: A bartender’s observations of the Avengers. 

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

Wise Fools Series:  When Hydra hires an agent of SHIELD to bring down an none other than the Captain himself, chaos ensues.

~ Fool Me Once ~ Shame On You ~ Fool Me Twice  ~ Shame On Me

~ One Last Dance (drabble):  Walking away from the venue, his jaw clenched, he knows he should’ve asked her for one last dance.

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

        ~ Love (drabble): Never had the words ‘I love you’ been shared between the two, but perhaps, it wasn’t necessary.

        ~ StardustKnight! Bucky X Castle Maid! Reader AU; A maid loves a lord. A lord loves a maid. Surely, a union between the two will never come to be. 

        ~ All the Things Left Unsaid: He loved her. A woman of hope, ambition, of joy. There’d been so much that he’d wanted to say to her and so much that he hadn’t.

        ~ Safe (drabble): Another nightmare, another hopeless day. He feels helpless, broken. Will he ever be safe?

        ~ Mercy: Everyone has secrets. The only question that differs is who shows mercy when those secrets tear at crumbling walls built to contain them?

        ~ The Girl in the Flower Dress (drabble): There’s this girl. There’s this guy. The guy’s in love with the girl but he’s too big of an idiot to even talk to her.

        ~ Answers (drabble): Some questions don’t need to be asked. 

        ~ Their Story: Moulin Rouge AU; What happens when an oh-so-talented, charmingly bohemian, tragically impoverished protege falls in love with a courtesan?

       ~ Storm (drabble): Storms do, after all, leave clear skies to marvel at.

       ~ Roses: Is it possible to win a girl’s heart in a day? 

       ~ First Kiss (drabble) (ask)

       ~ Little Tricks: Unseelie Fae AU; They say love is beautiful and yet - after love, no one is what they were before. It’s what happens to all things beautiful.

        ~ A Change of Routine: Bucky finds what he’s looking for without even knowing it’s what he needs.

        ~ Mishaps: When Bucky receives a message from a barista, he figures it’d be rude not to respond. 

        ~ By Chance: Bucky falls in love with a stranger.

        ~ Adopting a dog with Bucky (headcanons)

        ~ Teach Me Happy (series): In which someone who fixes hearts and someone who breaks hearts fall in love. 

she touches you like you’re fragile, and if you break, you won’t be able to put yourself together again

Tony Stark (Ironman)

       ~ Almost (drabble): Almost is the saddest word in the entire vernacular. It’s just there but no quite. So close to something that could be. But sometimes, almost can be happy. 

       ~ Home (drabble): Sometimes, home isn’t a place. It’s a person. 

T’Challa Udaku (Black Panther)

        ~ Snowfall: She’s never seen snow before. She’d do anything to see it.

_____________________________________________________________

X - M E N

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) 

         ~ Helpless (drabble): He’s been through a lot. He’ll never change. 

         ~ Worst Timing (drabble): Logan finds the worst time to tell you that he loves you.

         ~ Card Towers (drabble): It’s almost funny how easy it is to destroy hope.

_____________________________________________________________

D A R E D E V I L 

Matthew Murdock (Daredevil)

         ~ The Fall Of An Angel: He loved to hear her sing, but he never knew the reason behind her heartbreaking tunes.

Frank Castle (The Punisher)

         ~ Remember (poetic drabble??): Frank’s recollection of his memories.

_____________________________________________________________

R E A L  P E R S O N 

Sebastian Stan

       ~ Forbidden: Unseelie Fae! Sebastian Stan X Reader AU; A human has entered the realm of the fairies, a land forbidden. What good can come of it?

Flawed Words Series (Sebastian X OC): tba

      ~ Part I 

Chris Evans

      ~ Midnight: Does love mean that you’re meant to be?

_____________________________________________________________

Smut masterlist

anonymous asked:

Maybe Dark!Annabeth fighting a child of the big three and she knows that defeating them with physical, raw power isn't possible, so she attacks mentally. She defeats them with words, something Annabeth constantly does throughout the books to her enemies. Making them so angry, distracted, and/or sad that they lose focus and she easily takes the victory.

Annabeth feels him coming before she sees him.

There’s a charge in the air. A gathering static that threatens to strike with every movement she makes, but never quite gets the guts to do so.

That’s Jason Grace for you. Son of Jupiter, chosen of Juno, and just a touch too soft to do what needs to be done. Oh sure, he’ll kill monsters if he needs to, but when the monsters are gods, his solution is to become a priest.

It’s about finding a compromise, he’d said. And making sure that we’re heard.

Annabeth’s finding there are better ways of making noise.

“You got here faster than I expected,” she remarks as he touches down in front of her. She’s perched on the crumbling remnants of a wall that’s thousands of years old. Some small, distant part of her regrets what is about to happen here, but not enough to change course.

“Your pattern’s getting old,” he says. His gladius is out and he holds it warily between them. Annabeth keeps her drakonbone sword at her side. “The others can hold Percy off long enough for me to stop what you’re doing.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re the only one coming?”

He tries to hide his grimace, but that’s the danger with fighting your friends. They can read you too well, and a smile curls over Annabeth’s mouth at the confirmation. She hops off the wall, landing lightly on the dirt.

“What made you think I’d be at Pompeii?”

Lightning crackles in the sky overhead, raising the small hairs at the back of her neck. He nods at the scaffolding in the distance, empty of workers this early in the morning. It’s a grim dawn, about to get darker.

“No tourists today. You might’ve turned against the gods, Annabeth, but you’re not a murderer.”

Isn’t she? Annabeth has lost count of the number of monsters she’s put in the ground (under the ground). How many demigods died in the war with Kronos? They bleed red the same as mortals, and her hands are as stained as anyone’s.

So are Jason’s, and irritation pricks at her face. She smooths it away with a cool smile, carefully tracking him as he starts to circle her. She has a certain amount of faith in Jason’s willingness to ‘save’ his friends, but she’s not an idiot.

“So I should start picking locations with people if I don’t want you to interfere, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s obviously not what I’m saying.” His gaze flickers over the ruins stretching behind her. “So this is all rigged to blow, huh?”

“Leo does good work.”

He winces. He can play on whatever friendship the two of them might have had all he likes, but that betrayal is the real knife in the guts and they both know it. Annabeth coerces her expression into concern, the cogs of her brain turning the right muscles to give it the realism it needs. She takes a half step forward, and Jason doesn’t step away.

“He misses you, you know.” Her voice is a soft thing. Caring. “Misses both of you.”

“If he misses us so bad, he should come and see us.”

“You really think we’re going to be welcome at Camp after all this?

“You haven’t killed anyone.”

The yet sits between us, and it doesn’t matter anyway. The gods would be more likely to forgive her if she had killed someone. They could have murdered thousands of mortals and not been struck down, if they’d just done it far away from the last vestiges of godly power in this world.

Gaea had plotted to bring down Mt Olympus, and that’s definitely on Annabeth’s list. But she’s always been a methodical sort of girl, and divine power runs deep. Best to stamp out all traces of it, one relic at a time.

She sighs. “We don’t plan to. You know that.”

“You’re trying to kill the gods!” Lightning cracks again, closer now. It takes more strength than Annabeth wants to admit to to avoid reaching for her weapon.

“And how many times have they tried to kill us? At best they don’t give a shit, Jason, you know that.”

But he’s shaking his head. They’ve had this fight before, all of them, enough times that she could probably just record it for him to save energy. He’s long since stopped listening to sense, and she doesn’t bother with more than a cursory attempt to convince him.

“You’re too late for this one,” she says. “I’m proud of you for getting here before it blows, but you were right. It’s ready to go.”

His grip shifts on his sword. And - there’s something in his expression that prompts her to brace for an attack, because it’s not defeat. This time, she thinks. This time might be the one where I push too far.

It’s sad, sort of, but relief swamps that soon enough. It’s not that she wants to fight old friends, but it would make everything a lot simpler. To just be able to fight, without caring what happens to them anymore. To draw battlelines instead of blurring them

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growls. “But even if the rest of your team is ready to destroy this place, they’ll stop once you’re a hostage.”

Annabeth laughs. It’s a miscalculation, but she can’t help herself. “The others might. But hell itself couldn’t keep Percy Jackson from me, Jason, and you’re no Tartarus.”

“I can deal with Percy.”

He can’t. She wonders idly if he knows that. Everyone’s aware of Percy’s power these days, but that’s what he’s like with her at his side. Jason, she suspects, still has a little too much optimism left about what Percy’s self control would be like without her. What it would be like if he even thought she was in danger.

“Right, well, that’ll be your mistake to live with.” She squints up at the sky, trying to judge her next play. Being a hostage would accelerate certain things that she’s not ready to set into motion just yet. Most of all, she doesn’t think that Percy is quite as ready to fight the others as she is.

Not yet.

“You made a miscalculation,” she said finally. “You always want to go for the biggest player, Jason. It’s one of your biggest weaknesses.”

“You can’t talk your way out of this, Annabeth.” His body moves, and she can almost trace the lines in the air, the familiar forms he’s about to slide into. “You’re coming back to Camp wth me.”

He lifts his blade, wreathed in lightning. She smells ozone on the air, the threat of violence wafting in behind it. She clasps her hands behind her back, and lays down her hand.

“Where’s Piper, Jason?”

Everything stops. Nature itself holds its breath as those too-blue eyes widen in sheer panic, before narrowing at her.

“Piper’s your friend. You wouldn’t hurt her.”

Annabeth waits. She doesn’t need to say anything. The silence between them does it for her. The even sound of her breathing. The shroud of absolute confidence holding her shoulders straight.

You are not going to take me, her body says, like it’s all a foregone conclusion.

“She can handle herself,” he tries again, and there’s the edge of desperation that she’s been waiting for. Enough to cloud his thinking. He might not think she’s a murderer, but there are other atrocities. Things she hasn’t held back from in the opening numbers of this new war.

“Against Percy?”

That’s a risk. Because they both know that Percy isn’t steady, isn’t stable, that his relationship with Piper had been tenuous at best and that without Annabeth there, his temper might just get away with him. Piper has her Charmspeak, but there are ways around everything if you have enough power.

It’s a risk, because Jason’s anger could always outweigh his fear. He could always take it out on her rather than fly off for Piper. Annabeth is confident in her ability to take him with a sword, but Jason comes with all those bonus add-ons that children of Athena just aren’t privy to.

So she gives him one last push. Just to make sure.

“Tartarus has so many doors,” she says softly. That same quiet concern from before, turned deadly now. “You know we found all of them, right Jason?”

He spits a curse, something in Latin about the gods and what he hopes they’ll do to her. She watches him leap into the sky, shading her eyes against the rising sun until he’s no more than a dot in the distance.

“You say that like they haven’t already done their worst,” she murmurs, before turning back to the ruins.

There’s work to be done.

Bygones of the Sun | 04 (M)

Originally posted by hobismole

Genre: Angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

Pairing: Reader x Hoseok

Length: 4.8k

Summary: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

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epikegster 2k14 “Oh” au
  • in an au where parse never showed up to epikegster, i like to think jack had his “oh” moment in the hazy dark of that cold, loud winter night
  • (like, what could be more different than graduation? in the warm, bright day, scared but certain of his immediate future, speaking to his father in soft french while bells and birds sing overhead?)
  • it’s a different kind of “oh” – it’s not one last shot before everything changes, it’s one more layer of confusion and uncertainty as he enters his final semester at samwell
  • but it’s also…comforting.

Keep reading

Call It Suicide

A/N: Well, it’s been a full month since my last fic that I posted and I felt like it was time for a new one. Another Harry Styles fic because he’s such a legend and I love him so deal with it. This took me a good few days to finally finish, hence why it’s legit the longest thing I’ve ever written, because I wanted to get this really good because I literally write my fics in one night normally so enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it x.

Based on: ‘Suicide’ by James Arthur

Dedicated to: @twerkit-hxrry, and TheHSquad: @17-blackaf, @harryxmac, @snlhaz, @spectralstyles, @wishfulharrie, @stylishmuser, @hes-writings94, @the2k17harry, @roseonhissleeve, @hs-1dfan, @soloharrles, @mizpahes, @hcrrystyles, @hes-a-rainbow, @lovingstyles87, @namelesspops, @gemmadorrego, @ever-since-kiwi, @harry-writings, @harrywavycurly, @harryslittlekiwis, @hotmessharry

Warning(s): Cheater!Harry, sad themes, swearing, a section of smut with very minimal Daddy kink

Word count: 8,005

Pairing(s): Harry Styles x Reader / Harry Styles x OC (Original Character)



It ain’t the gun,
It’s the man behind the trigger.
Gets blood on his fingers and runs.
It ain’t the lie,
It’s the way that the truth is denied.


Four years.

A relationship that had withstood all trying odds thrown at it, time and time again. A relationship that, from the outside, never once seemed anything short of miraculous. Four years of that relationship had been a blessing and to her, nothing and no one could ever give her the satisfaction nor sensation of pure love and dedication, she feared she may never find something quite like it again.

It’s funny how certain situations arise, that are unexpected in the worst way possible, which make the mere thought of carrying on with the toxicity of a failed relationship unbearable.

It had taken a whole three months for her to coax a confession out of her tattooed lover which, during that time, almost made her physically ill to think about him, not only being sexually (but possibly also romantically) inclined with another woman, but lying so blatantly to her face about the multiple occasions he had, ‘ran out to get some deodorant’, during the dead of night, only to come back to their shared home in the morning with a different type of exuberant smell catching in the air from his body and clothing.

When confronted about this, however, the long-legged man stood in front of her, but yet, no eye-contact was maintained, and shook his head, pushing past the fragile woman he claimed to love for an extended period of time before slamming the heavy, mahogany bedroom door, muttering incoherent sentences on his way that normally consisted of, “Gettin’ on my fuckin’ last nerve”, and, “I ‘ave half the mind t’ leave you right fuckin’ now”.

Of course, it was when the luminous moonlight danced across the wooden floorboards of the bedroom, illuminating the whitewashed walls as if it was their own private, personal stage where they could showcase their undying love for one another, or so she once thought.

It was when the early hour of 3am came creeping around the corner with only the sounds of the wind whistling and the leaves whispering to keep her company as she laid in an empty, king-sized, luxurious bed that was meant to be a symbol of their companionship.

It was when she felt the all-too-familiar feeling of abandonment and loneliness twist inside her gut as fresh, hot tears sprung to her eyes and trickled down to her ears whilst unmoving and staring at the intricate detail of the high ceiling. She had been doing this for so many nights she was near confident that she could recite how many swirls and dots collected in the design from her counting.

Of course, it was then that she understood that she was no longer the apple of his eye. That he had escaped from her hold and found refuge in someone else’s arms. Someone else’s kiss. Someone else’s touch.

He would never admit this though, no, he would much rather sneak back into his own home where his significant other would lay, pretending to be asleep through her dry, tear-stained cheeks, rolled over to her side of the bed with him removing his clothes to slide skilfully underneath the untouched covers on his end, like he had been used to trying to not disturb her, before pressing a chaste kiss to her neck and whisper those three words that held no real regard.

He didn’t mean it.

Not since he started smelling like a perfume she could not recognise.

Every morning, a smell of fresh coffee and breakfast foods invaded his privacy that would jolt him awake, noticing his lady of four years had already made her side of the bed and left him a note in her cursive handwriting, that he used to adore, as she did routinely since they moved in together.

And every morning he would stalk downstairs to find her cooking for the both of them out of the kindness of her broken heart despite knowing about his infidelity and unfaithfulness before he wrapped his strong, manly arms around her trembling waist as sobs racked through her entire being.

Although, these said tears were soothed almost instantly as she felt the dry lips of the man she loved along her jawline and neck, peppering gentle kisses to her skin. She knew she shouldn’t be so easily swayed when he hadn’t even muttered a single word to her but she couldn’t control her feelings; feelings of anger and despair quickly dissolving into ones of adoration and desperation towards the figure looming over her.

A shaky hand was raised to caress his prickly, stubbly cheek as she closed her eyes and enjoyed one of the rare moments of intimacy the couple shared nowadays, willing herself not to shed any more saltwater from the seas swirling in her eyes.

A waft of the faint smell of cinnamon and honey contrasted with her regular scent of vanilla and fruits that brung her out of her Harry-induced daze, making her pull away from the man she could no longer trust.

“Don’t walk away from me. Please. No’ today.” He pleaded, she almost could have believed he was being genuine if it weren’t for the black lace thong she’d discovered discreetly hidden inside his trouser pocket whilst doing the laundry last Sunday. He knew this, yet he still didn’t bother to hide the piece of evidence elsewhere. It was almost as if he had wanted her to feel her heart drop to her stomach.

“Harry, by my walking away, it gives you the leverage you need t’ turn in the opposite direction and in'a her bed.” She spoke in rebuttal under her breath; hoping her words wouldn’t travel far enough and stop short before they could reach his ears; in a way, recreating how whenever she gave him her all, it never seemed to find its destination within him and instead go off-track.

Perhaps that was the reason why her love wasn’t reciprocated.

“Wha’ did you jus’ say t’ me?” The sound of heavy footsteps coming back round the large, marble countertop placed in the middle of the spacious kitchen to her after grabbing a snack from the cabinet, not only made her anxious but also incredibly uncomfortable as she never wanted to carry such negative conversations with the center of her affection, knowing that he would deny all the objectives she would present to him, similar to how he had before.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, baby.” She forced a fake smile onto her face, an expression she had grown accustomed to whenever she looked too deep into his pools of jade he called, ‘eyes’, digging out information she never thought she would have to read. She turned her body around to crash against his chiselled chest, trapping her between the oven and his own furnace, his body giving out warmth she used to find comfort in. “I didn’t say anything important, I promise, now gimme a kiss.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer he was provided with, he leant in to press his lips hard against hers and rested his palms on her hips.

Undoubtedly, it was one of the most difficult things she had ever had to do. To kiss him as if her heart wasn’t crumbling like the walls around her; suffocating her, was too much to bare as she finally pushed him away and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

“How dare you stand here and kiss me with tainted lips you’ve put on another girl. How dare you stand here and pretend you’re committed t’ us. And how dare you stand here and make me a fool for loving you when you go out and make love t’ that woman you found at a dingy, dark nightclub one lonely winter’s night.” The streams of emotions flowed down her red, puffy cheeks as she expressed her discontent and disappointment from within.

It had been a long time coming and she knew she couldn’t hold it in any longer. Not when he made no effort to admit to his wrongdoings, but instead gave her false hope towards a relationship that was barely alive.

His arms tried to reach out towards his beautiful explosion but she couldn’t stand to look at him for longer than she had already endured and backed away from his softening stare.

He couldn’t continue his façade, not anymore.

“No, sweetheart, please…” He began to somehow explain months of late nights and cold shoulders, but she had heard and lived through everything she needed to in order to make her final decision as she knuckled away her falling tears and practically sprinted to the bedroom to collect her belongings. “It jus’ happened! It was out of my control, baby, you have t’ believe me!”

She had to leave.

No more could she sit there and act as if they were the couple they used to be in the beginning. No more could she sit there and act as if he was the man she fell in love with.

The door clicked shut just as she zipped up her suitcase, signalling he’d now entered the room that was once filled with the purity of their love. The moment he slept next to her curled up body in the middle of the Stygian night after he spent his evening in a stranger’s bed, the barrier was broken and was replaced by one of deception and distrust.

His feet padded furiously against the pristine, fluffed rug situated at the center of the space before slamming his hand on top of the lid of the luggage in an attempt to keep the woman he genuinely loved deep down from leaving him.

“Harry. Get your hand off.” She threatened with a calm, gentle voice which she never used unless she was livid behind her cool, collected nature.

“Listen t’ me. I didn’t mean for this t’ happen, I didn’t mean t’ lie t’ y-…” He, again, was cut off by her forcefully lugging her property out from under his grasp and onto the floor with a loud ‘bang’.

“It wasn’t the lie! It was never the lie! I’ve known for months, Harry. ’S the way you denied the truth every single time I asked you about it! And if you’re implying that that’s the worst of it, I don’t even wanna think about the things you’ve done t’ her and vice versa.” She stayed glaring straight into his watery irises for a few seconds before spinning on her heel and walking out, deserting a broken man with his broken heart gazing at the now wide-open entrance with traces of her vanilla scent lingering but her nowhere to be found.


You’ve been killing softly and finally,
That is too much. (Oh)
And I’m all out of whiskey,
To soak up the damage you’ve done. (Oh)


         You would think drowning her sorrows in her tears and heartbreak would’ve been enough to express her emotions but no. She had managed to find herself amongst sweaty, filthy bodies in a large bar from which she had drunk her fifth glass of strong alcohol, she could barely see straight.

With the toxic fluids coursing through her veins, the pumping bass of the latest chart-topper beating her heart for her, and conversations of the blurred people around her resounding in her psyche, she had had enough.

Hard to believe, but it was a rare occurrence that she would even bother to dress herself up and emerge from her temporary abode, with her estranged high school friend she had recently been in contact with, to appear at the local bar she used to go to with Harry whenever they wanted to get away.

It used to be a sort of sanctuary for the two of them. It used to be a chance to just talk about their day and their feelings to each other without anyone else prying into their business. But now it was, and would forever be, “the place where he met her”.

“The place where he inadvertently broke the bond between lovers which he vowed to never do”.

Yet still, there she was.

Sitting alone on a high stool, gripping the side of her glass so tightly that the beads of condensation evaporated under the red heat of her fingers and inner turmoil.

She had just been staring at the wine glasses hanging down from the ceiling, like bats in a cave, whilst downing her beverage in record speed which allowed her to move swiftly onto her next drink. Even the bartender had started to get conscious of her intake and that was enough for him to then refuse to supply another source of liquor.

Her newly rekindled friendship with her high school classmate had been put to the test that evening and unfortunately, by her having no one she knew around in her presence, let her know that she need not care for the whereabouts of her friend as they didn’t care for hers after the second round of alcohol.

The sudden deprivation of a stinging solution making its way down her throat since she had been scolded like a child for the excessiveness of her drinking, made her mind wander into the fields of betrayal that replaced the meadows of happiness she used to frolic in with the man she used to think she would one day marry.

As soon as her gaze fixated on the empty glass in front of her, the saline tears poured over the barrier of her waterline and left her silently sobbing through her harrowing heartbreak.

Dying from a broken heart was something she had only read about in the news and never once believed it to ring true but as she sat there, in Harry and her bar, she could practically feel her chest contracting and splitting into two halves. Although, she didn’t really understand how considering he still had her heart in the palm of his hands and desperate for his love.

The mere sight of a grown woman openly, and drunkenly, weeping must’ve been hard for surrounding strangers to handle since by the time she had ceased her muffled cries to soft sniffles and looked up with bloodshot, sore eyes - most of the partygoers she had mixed in with had departed and left only her and a few stragglers behind with a busied bartender wiping down spilt beverages with a cloth.

The palms of her hands were raised to her reddened face and rubbed over her features to try and soothe her outburst of feelings as a heavy sigh was blown out from her pale lips in response to the heavyweight she felt in her chest.

Heels clicked on the floor of the building as she dug into her purse to find flimsy pieces of paper that represented a form of payment she could offer the man behind the counter for the alcohol she had consumed.

“On the ‘ouse.” A clear, but deep voice sounded from in front of her as her glass was collected, “Yeh look like yeh had a bad one so don’t worry 'bout it.”

Her hard and focused stare switched from her trying to find her money in her purse to kind, pitiful, sapphire eyes as she faced the generous bartender.

“Noo. No, I can’t jus’ no’ payy yew. ’Ve 'ad like nine'een drinkss-..” Her slurred speech in between her not-so-subtle sniffs and hiccups made the stranger chuckle and she watched how his shoulders moved, fascinated by the way they were connected to his body that she felt the need to touch hers to confirm her suspicions that yes, she had shoulders too.

“Don’t mention it, love, I’ll call you a taxi.” He informed the unsteady woman the other side of the counter before picking up his phone and dialling a number he knew off by heart from the amount of times he had to ring because of previous passed out customers.

Love.

A completely innocent and everyday nickname she had been called before by many people, but this particular time made her legs shake and her lip quiver as she fought to hold back more streams of sadness.

Harry used to call her, “love”.

Harry used to show her love.

And Harry used to give her love.

But that was all gone.

All of it wasted and bestowed onto the other woman in her relationship.

She supposed it was a good thing that he had decided to take that route. She supposed it was a good thing that he made it clear she wasn’t enough. That she wasn’t what he wanted. That way she could confidently move on and find another to treat her right.

But her heart wouldn’t allow it.

Her heart remained in the familiar hands of her puppeteer and continued to make his own lovesick puppet out of her. Why? She may never understand. She only knew that he had a fatal hold on her; squeezing ever so softly but growing tighter with each and every day that passed by, that she feared she might have wound up helpless and perishing in his addicting arms.

He had been killing her softly, albeit unknowingly, but she had finally decided it was too much and escaped his grasp physically.

His emotional duress on her, however, was a different story altogether which she thoroughly believed she would never be able to evade.



If there is one thing that I’m guilty of,
It’s loving and giving when you take too much.

//•//
If there’s anything I’m guilty of,
It’s loving you too much.


         “Harry, stop!” The exclamation was followed by a giggle as she extended her hands out to cover the lens of the new, vintage camera she had purchased especially for him on their third year anniversary as a strong, steady couple.

“You’re jus’ the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, darlin’, I 'ave t’ take photos t’ capture your beauty.” He exaggerated and winked when he switched his eyes to stare at her smiling face rather than through the viewfinder.

“Ew, you’re such a dork.” A pillow was lugged at his head which, as a result, made his curls fly out in every direction possible, him then looking like a human version of Simba. “You look the most attractive you’ve ever looked right now, baby.” A snort came from her button nose as she reached for the device in his hands, turning it on him and clicking the shutter multiple times at different angles.

“And you just sounded the most attractive you’ve ever sounded.” He spoke in rebuttal before shaking his hair out of his face and tamed it slightly.

A playful pout was brought upon her lips as a sign of her disappointment that her masterpiece was ruined but she continued to shoot amateur pictures of the stunning man with legs either side of her hips since she would never tire of looking at his perfectly structured face and features that were God’s gift.

“Oi, ’m s'posed t’ be taking pictures of you, my love.” His hands found their way to his hips and she figured that, in that moment, he had never looked more adorable so the shutter sounded once more to signal that she’d documented the sight on the roll of film in the camera. “’M gonna need yeh t’ stop before I get rowdy.”

“Rowdy?” A loud guffaw sounded as she lowered the camera down to her lap and just merely glanced up at the mess of curls on top of her in disbelief and fond. “I’d like t’ see you try t’ get 'rowdy’, honey, you’re the most calm and collected person I know.”

As soon as she placed the photographic equipment to one side, her arms were pinned above her head by a strong force coming from her short-haired lover and before she knew it, she could feel his fringe tickling her forehead since he leant forwards and hovered over her.

“I can be rowdy when I wan’ to, yeh know that more than anybody, pet.” He lowered his voice down at least one octave as he spoke, a glint of mischief in his sparkling eyes.

“Mm…” She pretended to think as a borderline seductive hum sounded from her throat. “I have no idea wha’ you’re talkin’ about, H.” A shake of her head only further exaggerated her point as she tried to prove her unknowingness and innocence.

A low, breathy chuckle resounded from deep in his chest, seemingly-always-minty breath fanning over her face gently, before he pressed a loving peck to her plump lips.

It was intimate moments like these where she felt she had never been more content, nor could she probably ever be more content without him.

It was intimate moments like these where she felt almost certain that there would never be another man more catered to her soul as he was and she intended on keeping him forever.

“‘M gonna love you ‘til the day I die.” The soft whisper coming from his lips transferred onto hers and she could feel tingles rush throughout her body. “Ev’ry day I spend with you jus’ gets better and better, I don’t know wha’ you’re doin’ t’ me.”

A caressing touch was brought to his cheeks as she pulled his face up to stare into his emerald eyes. She never got tired of looking into the windows of his soul - she thought as if they held information about himself that was only revealed if someone was to gaze intently into them.

“And ev’ry day I spend with you, makes me wan’ t’ never live another day without yeh, you’re my world.” A grin started to grow on his features but she carried on before he had the chance to reply, fearing that if she didn’t tell him what she had wanted to for so long, she might never get the opportunity, nor courage, to again. “You, Harry Edward Styles, are the reason tha’ ev’ry morning when I lie in bed next t’ you, I wan’ t’ scream at how much I adore watching you yawn and stretch when yeh make that little noise to shake the tiredness off. You are the reason tha’ ev’ry night when we take a shower together, I wan’ t’ kiss yeh until our lungs give out because I don’t ever wan’ t’ stop. You are the reason tha’ ev’ry time when I see yeh performing, I wan’ t’ jus’ run up on stage with you and show ev’rybody there that you’re mine and how proud I am of you. Words will never be able to describe how much I’m smitten with you, Harry, you’re the most amazing guy ‘ve ever met and I’ll be damned ‘f I see another chick on your arm.” She had to pause momentarily as she felt a familiar touch wiping away a stray tear that had trickled down her cheek in the heat of her emotions before nervously laughing and continuing to finish her mini-speech. “I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much, I don’t think you’ll understand.”

The only response that was mustered from the tanned man was a shake of the head in disbelief at the meaningful moment that she had just shared with him, he felt a slight twinge in his stomach he couldn’t identify before placing his elbows either side of her head, careful not to rest on her sprawled out hair, and, once more, pressing his raspberry lips against hers in a passionate seal of affection.

He shifted his weight onto his forearms in order to place himself in between her bent legs without breaking their kiss and let out a quiet groan of satisfaction against her mouth. Her hands reached up to tangle in his cut curls, tugging on them lightly just as a teaser. He ended up cupping her behind as he pulled away from her soft lips to flip their bodies over to allow for him to be the one on his back and situated his woman on top of his hips, squeezing hers temporarily as an indication to keep kissing him.

And when has she ever refused him?

A small smile appeared on her face before dropping her top half down onto his chest and reconnecting their pairs of lips. Hands pressed to his firm chest as legs straddled his frame before trailing her fingers gently down to the hem of his shirt.

“Take it off, baby.” A breathless plea was heard from the man underneath her which gave her the boost of confidence she felt she needed which encouraged her to remove the first item of clothing from his toned body and she couldn’t help but run her hands up and down his beautiful torso. “Now le’ me see you.”

She raised her own top over her head herself and threw it somewhere unknown, just as she did his t-shirt, and revelled in his reaction to her reveal, noting the way he trailed his eyes up her exposed chest and bit his lip. “Look a’ you. My gorgeous girl.”

She felt the rose colour blush onto her cheeks, she thought she would’ve been better off as a traffic light, before she looked down to try and hide the obvious effect he had on her but was stopped by his forefinger lifting up her chin and guiding the other hand to the clasp of her lace bra, unclipping it expertly with a single movement, and looking at her intense eyes. “I never wan’ you t’ feel like you have to hide around me.” The straps fell down her shoulders as soon as she relaxed her arms to remove the piece of lingerie, giving her significant other a firsthand view of her bare chest, whilst he fondled her breasts generously and massaged them. “You’re beautiful and you’re mine, I wan’ yeh t’ believe it.”

Her head tilted backwards at the sensation of him having her cupped in his hands and lovingly playing with her as she felt a tweak on her left nipple and a wet tongue flick on her right. A short intake of air gasped from her throat in surprise at the sudden attention but she wasn’t complaining.

To show her gratitude, she found that her hips started to grind down on him - both their clothed crotches rubbing against one another, making them both let out a soft sound of appreciation.

“Wanna taste you…” She chirped after she had plucked up the courage to tell him while his mouth was still on her, alternating between each nipple.

“’M not stopping yeh, baby.” He spoke in reply as he detached himself from her boobs, giving them playful, but gentle, little smacks, and watched them jiggle slightly to his amusement.

By him taking it upon himself to lay back down, she took it as a sign to hop off him momentarily and hook her thumbs inside the matching lace material of her panties (she hadn’t bothered to put on bottoms - she liked wearing his shirts) before swaying her hips side-to-side. She liked to give him his own private show every once in awhile to watch him grow harder within the constraints of his jeans as he watched her.

Some could say she had a slight kink for exhibiting herself for him and she felt proud that he liked what he saw every time, enough to show off that cheeky smirk of his that she loved so much and bite his lip.

She successfully managed to drop the skimpy thong to the floor and stepped out of it, rendering her completely naked, whilst she crawled back onto the bed and in between his spread legs.

Her hand flew straight the the button of his skin-tight, charcoal jeans and pulling down the zip slowly, flicking her eyes up to see his face that construed his impatience. A light titter came from her lips as she begun to pull the waistband of the item of clothing down his legs and off his body teasingly, planting pecks down his thighs and legs in the process but intentionally avoiding where he needed her most. “God, sweetheart, please.” He started to beg, he couldn’t wait anymore. He felt painfully hard already and she wasn’t doing anything to relieve it - just make it worse.

“Oh, ‘m sorry, honey, I didn’t realise you wanted me so bad.” She feigned innocence with a pout of her bottom lip before she grinned mischievously and palmed him through his boxers.

The sudden attention to his most sensitive area made him rut his hips forward onto her hand with a half-arsed apology mumbled from him before a low groan erupted, interrupted by her reaching up and connecting her lips to his in a kiss as she continued to work him through the thin material.

As she felt a wet patch forming due to the pre-cum leaking from his tip, she concluded that there had been enough teasing so she pulled herself away from his luscious lips as his boxers followed suit with his jeans and were tossed aimlessly somewhere in the room.

Standing to attention, the red, aching head of his dick looked too enticing for her to ignore as she started to give him kisses and kitten licks. A small growl of approval from him gave her the confirmation she needed to then flatten her tongue against the underside of him and lick a stripe along him until she reached the tip, swirling her tongue around it like a lollipop.

A shiver was sent through his body as he looked down at his lover and gripped her hair in his fist. He watched her lips wrap around his, he must admit, larger-than-average size and take as much as she could fit in her mouth before she began to suck.

A strangled cry came from him as she unexpectedly opened up her throat and attempted to take all of him. As soon as her nose touched his trimmed hairs, he let out a yelp of pleasure since he felt himself at the back of her throat before she gagged, making the muscles clench around him which made it feel even more pleasurable.

“Shit, you take my cock so good.” That sentence alone was enough to make her feel on top of the world as she pulled off to catch her breath for a second, a string of spit still connecting her to him as he reached down to swipe it up with his fingers and proceeded to press them to her mouth, making her open up and taste him.

“You taste amazing.” She praised him back, knowing that it’ll give him the confidence boost he needed to really fuck her into the mattress soon.

After her regular breathing was regained, she, once again, dived back onto his pulsing manhood and begun to hollow out her cheeks around him whilst working her tongue around his girth but making sure no teeth were present as she bobbed.

Constant affirmations of pleasure tumbling from his bitten lips only made her move faster before she raised one hand to what she couldn’t fit in and expertly moved it in sync with her mouth.

“Fuck, if yeh keep goin’ like tha’, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” The warning was enough to convince her to pull off of him with a ‘pop’ and sit back onto her knees, looking down at him with a virtuous look on her face but with spit dripping down her chin. “You look sinful, yeh fuckin’ tease.”

She had to bite her lip to hide a subtle smirk and she kissed up his torso before sitting back on his hips, making sure to be just in front of his length so he could rest on her arse as she bent down to give him a passionate, open-mouthed kiss.

His large hands roamed her back as he reciprocated the kiss by pushing his tongue in, meeting hers. An enticing hum was let out as she circled her hips gently, rubbing up against his already throbbing cock. He pulled away only to duck down and start to press his mouth against her neck, beginning to suck bruises into her skin to mark her as his to everyone that looked.

Her tease only further continued as she heard him groan in desperation when she rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot before he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and threw her down onto the bouncy bed as he held himself up with his hands, adjusting to be perfectly slotted in between her legs that locked together around his torso as she ran her fingers through his hair that fell down.

“Harry?…” She spoke up in a soft voice and he could feel her breath on his face by how close they were.

“Mhm?” He reached down to position himself against her clit and began to jut his hips forward and back eliciting a high-pitched squeal.

“F-Fuck me.” She had the wind knocked out of her as soon as he entered her before she could finish her request.

Both parties let out loud moans as they both felt each other in the most intimate way possible. He let her adjust to his size impatiently since it took all of him to not move inside of her. The warm, wet walls of her womanhood drove him crazy and he swore he nearly came undone already when she clenched around him.

“You ready, honey?” He asked shakily, he just wanted to feel every inch of her.

A timid nod came from her a few seconds later signalling her consent and he wasted no time in dragging himself out until just the tip was engulfed before plunging back into her tight hole, encouraging another in-sync moan.

Gradually, he picked up a regular rhythm and fastened his speed as soon as she muttered the words, “faster” and “harder”. The sound of skin slapping on skin filled the air mixed in with their combined moans and groans.

“Yeh feel so good, so deep.” She plucked up the confidence to try her hand at some dirty talk he had never heard from her before but he had to admit, he felt himself twitch at her words.

“God, you’re killin’ me.” He shivered as he picked up his pace.

“Yeah?…” She smirked as she leant up to press her wet lips against his, moaning against them. “Fuck, Harry, don’t stop.”

Every word she said stroked his ego even more and it turned him on to no extent to get praise that he was doing everything she wanted. With a few more hard thrusts, he felt the familiar twist in his stomach.

“You gonna cum for me? You gonna cum for Daddy?” The nickname just slipped from his parted lips as he breathed heavily but it didn’t go unnoticed by her, making her let out an exaggerated moan to let him know.

“Mm, Daddy’s so good t’ me.” She paused to peck his lips once more before arching her back as he brushed against that special spot. “‘M gonna cum. Want yeh t’ cum inside me.” She whispered.

Never had she been so relieved she had decided to take up the pill since she never wanted to stop feeling this level of ecstasy.

Hearing those words whispered so filthily from her cherry red mouth tipped him over the edge as he released hard, surrounded by her squeezing walls, which in turn, caused her to become sensitive and orgasm with him still deep inside of her as they both yelled each other’s names in pleasure.

The only noises that could be heard was their heavy breathing and the parting of lips as they gave each other loving pecks, trying to come down from their highs as he carefully pulled out.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened t’ me, you know?” She rolled onto her side to face the man that collapsed by her side and cuddled up to him, tracing the watch she had given him as a second Valentine’s Day present. In fact, she had the watch that matched. It came as a couple’s collection, what could she say?

“I know, baby girl. ‘N’ I love you very much.” He replied tiredly as he followed her movements on the timepiece.

“I love you too.”

         Though, how was she to know that he told her empty promises and gave her false assumptions?

The watch she had given him? He had unexpectedly dropped the bomb on her that he had supposedly ‘lost’ it one day nonchalantly, as if he didn’t really care, after coming back from one of his never ending nights out.

She still had hers.

She never took it off since she bought them both unless she showered and went to bed.

She always put it back on in the mornings even if she didn’t have plans. She just loved having the strap to remind her of their love when he wasn’t around.

However, whenever they fought, it always seemed to her that he forgot to speak with an underlying tone of adoration like she did since she could never really stay angry at him. Always pinpointing the cons of the situation they were arguing about and making her feel guilty that she even brought it up.

But ever since she packed up and walked away from his hold on her, she figured that the only thing she was genuinely guilty of, was loving him too much. Giving him too much.

She gave him everything she had to offer and during the first few years, she thought it was enough for him to believe she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

It was only when she started to feel her grip on him slipping away from her that she knew she was his second choice. Something that she never wanted to be.


If somebody asks how we died,
Please look them straight in the eye.
Call it, “suicide”.
Don’t fabricate, just tell 'em, babe.
It was suicide.
Don’t sugarcoat it, just let them know.


         The two men stood conversing with each other as they discussed the art that was on display for the event they were invited to. They had been colleagues before; however, they had lost contact after one of them took up a new job opportunity, meeting again after a good year or so and decided to catch up.

The art gallery consisted of the most recent masterpieces from unknown artists around the globe. It was an event organised to give exposure to struggling individuals chasing their dreams and it was people like Harry and his status who were invited to review the artworks and buy them if they were impressed. All the money earnt from these purchases go back to the original artists, which in turn, correlated to more of said artists’ pieces being on display in the future.

The prices they were going for weren’t exactly the cheapest either.

“‘Ey, didn’t your girl wan’ t’ be an artist?” Obviously, the break-up hadn’t reached the likes of Harry’s newfound pal yet and it instantly wiped the smile off of his face.

“Yeah.” A remorseful chuckle was puffed out, “Yeah, she did…”

“Actually, where is she? Yeh should’ve brought her along, yeh idiot, she would’ve loved this! Las’ time I saw yeh both, you couldn’t leave each other alone.” The uninformed man stood next to him gave him a playful nudge and a wink of the eye without noticing the sudden deflation of his friend.

“She, uh… She’s not my girl anymore.” He finally confessed after swirling his drink in his cup as he was pondering whether or not to actually tell the man beside him.

“Oh, shit, H, I didn’t mean t’-…” He began to apologise for being so insensitive but was interrupted by a shake of a curly head.

“‘S all good, don’t worry ‘bout it.” His eyes cast downwards, losing the twinkle in his eyes as he tried to smile genuinely.

“If yeh don’t mind me asking, mate, wha’ happened? You seemed so happy.” A hand was placed on his shoulder roughly as a form of comfort as he sighed heavily.

“It just… Didn’t work out.” A dismissive sip of his beverage came afterwards as the guilt of brushing his four-year relationship off like it was nothing came creeping up on his conscience.

“D’yeh really expect me t’ believe that, Harry?” The questioning tone of the man that clearly didn’t believe his reason for the end of his relationship only made Harry feel even worse about his disregard and internally convinced him to elaborate.

“It was my fault.” He rubbed his hand over his face, he didn’t realise actually talking about it would affect him this much - especially in public. “I, um… God. I cheated on her.”

The recoil of the friendly hand on his shoulder signified the disappointment his friend felt towards him but kept his mouth shut, willing him to continue to explain.

“She was everything I thought I wanted, that I needed. I had no doubt that she was the woman I could spend the rest of my life with.” Harry painfully started to release his pent up feelings ever since she walked away from him the week before. “I still think she is, you know?…”

He trailed his sentence off like he was ashamed to admit his feelings. He felt as if he didn’t even deserve to mention her name, let alone keep thinking about their future together. He pulled himself together, though, he owed her character enough to explain the situation fully and not give people even the faintest idea that it was her that caused the death of their relationship.

“I ruined four years of the happiest times of my life, Nick, for nothing… It was ‘bout five or so months. It lasted for five months. It jus’ happened, I never wanted to jeopardise wha’ her and I had bu’ it was when she was away for one of her work trips.” He felt the water building up behind his eyes, ready to start falling at anytime but he had to get it out. He didn’t care if he was in public or not, it had been eating him alive not being able to talk about it with anyone. “I went t’ the bar her and I always went when we were free. We used t’ talk for hours about jus’ anything. Each other. Our days. Our families. Our future… How much we loved each other…”

He had to quieten his voice at the end otherwise he knew he would’ve burst out into ugly tears. Not like he hadn’t been doing exactly that ever since the front door closed of their shared home. Well. His home. He didn’t even think it was a ‘home’ anymore. She was the one who made it feel like a home to him and when she left, it was just a building in which he slept in every night. With all of her belongings gone after she had come to pick up the rest, catching him in his time of vulnerability when he opened the door where he hoped she would’ve been back in his arms within the hour, it was just a house. There was no warmth left within its walls; only faded memories he tried so hard to block out as he spent his nights with a skimpily-clad woman he didn’t even know the middle name of.

“I met her at that same bar and we jus’ got t’ talking. I told her how lonely I felt with the love of my life away for weeks over a few drinks I bought us. By the time she was running her hand up ‘n’ down my leg, I wasn’t in my senses and jus’ allowed her to. The first time she kissed me the same night, I couldn’t stop her even if I tried - I was so far gone. And I… I enjoyed it. It’d been so long since I actually held someone close, video calls and textin’ can only do so much, y’know? ‘Fore I knew it, I woke up the next morning in someone else’s bed and her naked body beside mine in the exact same state. All of it jus’ spiralled out of my control from there, she never stopped callin’ me for another hook up and I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘no’… I should’ve, I know I should’ve, I had a perfect life with the perfect girl but I guess, for a moment, I wanted something else. Somethin’ new.” He didn’t even attempt to hide his shame as he looked up towards the ceiling to keep the rivers that flowed in his eyes at bay.

“She didn’t even try t’ leave as soon as she found out. She told me she knew at the third month about wha’ I was doin’ and said she stayed t’ try and change my mind.” He brought a closed fist up to his mouth, refusing to break down in such a public place, and already receiving a few judgemental stares from passersby as he struggled to contain his emotions. “God, she tried t’ change my mind…” He weakly let out a breath. “She did ev’rything for me. Her attitude towards me never changed at all, she still loved me with ev’rything she had. The best girl I could’ve ever asked for was all mine and I didn’t even give her a second glance most nights when I climbed into bed with her after I came on another girl’s tits.” His sudden outburst of anger directed at himself brought unwanted attention from the few that surrounded him, earning some disapproving stares and shushes.

“Why don’t yeh call her, H? You’re in bits.” A piece of advice was given to him from Nick who stood silently throughout his whole rant. The reply to it, however, was a mocking laugh as Harry threw his head back.

“Would you forgive me if you were her?” He stared blankly at the artwork in front of him, they must’ve been stood there for 10 minutes at the least.

Once again, silence was the dumbfounded man’s only response to his rhetorical question, and that was all Harry needed to nod to himself as if he finally understood. That he finally let it sink in that his relationship was indefinitely over and there was nothing he could’ve done to make it better.

There was only so many tears he could hold in at that moment before he couldn’t physically keep his wall up and all the emotions came rushing through the floodgates of his distress and trauma.

He had managed to keep himself together for all of the times he had to inform acquaintances of his new relationship status by simply brushing it off and saying exactly what he had told Nick at the beginning. But it had become too much for the secretly heartbroken man finally, and there he was. Sobbing disgustingly into his hand as he tried to cover his cries up to leave at least some of his dignity remaining intact.

He had come to the conclusion that it was never what she had done. It was never what she had said. And it was never what he thought he felt; like he just fell out of love with her. But it was everything to do with the way she still loved him unconditionally after acknowledging his unfaithfulness to her and it made his heart hurt.

By realising this too late, he had to live with himself knowing that he pushed her too far off the edge and that he actually did love her after all.

He still loved her.

But instead of falling asleep to the sight of her radiant face - peaceful as she cuddled into his body, he had to tell everyone that he, himself, killed the best relationship he had ever been in.


He had to call it ‘suicide’.

what does love mean to me?

what does love mean to me. i’m not really sure i asked myself this question a lot. i didn’t have a childhood filled with love and affection. so i think that my sense of love, the way it looks, how it feels, the way it’s expressed is very warped. for me growing up “love was” a slap in the face. a hole through the wall. it was belittlement and hatred. i didn’t see what love really was until a brown eyed girl walked into my life at easily the most unexpected time. now don’t get me wrong im not here to reminisce about past relationships or things left unsaid. but when she came into my life i had nothing. i was nothing. i was really fucked up. i struggled, i cried, i screamed, and i panicked. i was a mess to say the least.
but she learned to love that mess, the tornado that i was, that i always believed i would be, destroying everything and everyone in my path. its why i always said i couldn’t love anyone, let alone be loved by anyone. to be told i love you 18 days after the first time you meet someone is crazy right? at least i thought it was. but i was wrong. i thought no one could possibly love me after that short amount of time she doesnt know anything about me yet. but the walls crumbled down one by one. i fell along with them. but she did her best to pick me back up. she spent over 400 days loving me. and in those 400 days i saw love. for the first time in my life i saw love for what it really was. i mean love in every sense of the form, to me love is the way her parents cheered at her games, or the way that they laughed endlessly playing stupid boardgames, love is pushing someone to be the best version of themselves, love is the way i found friends in people i thought i hated. love is trusting. love is letting go. love is crazy, unexplainable, and unimaginable. i learned that love, in that time whether it be picking you up off the bathroom floor, stopping you from jumping off the top of a parking garage, or may it be writing your final flashcards with you, or staying up until 3 am watching criminal minds in a fort built in the living room. love is unconditional. love is love. love means going all in even if it means you’re going to get hurt. because in the end its the only thing worth getting hurt for.

The Signs As Women Of Greek Myth
  • Aries: Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers,Maiden most perfect, lady of light, With a noise of winds and many rivers, With a clamour of waters, and with might; Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, Over the splendour and speed of thy feet; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers, Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night. //
  • Atalanta
  • Taurus: She reigns upon her dusky throne, ‘mid shades of heroes dread to see; Among the dead she breathes alone, Persephone—Persephone! Or seated on the Elysian hill she dreams of earthly daylight still, and murmurs of the daffodil. //
  • Persephone
  • Gemini: Restless, pacing panther-like, I prowl the palace. Preparing for the gods to punish me, As is my fate. A fate I fear not. For I, Clytemnestra, Queen of Mycenae, Daughter of Sparta and of Leda, Have avenged my daughter's death! The blood of Iphigenia, Shed by her father, To assuage the fears and whims Of ignorant, brutal men. Lordly Agamemnon, Once my husband but no more, For I have murdered him. //
  • Clytemnestra
  • Cancer: As a pale phantom with a lamp 
Ascends some ruin's haunted stair, So glides the moon along the damp. Mysterious chambers of the air.Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed, As if this phantom, full of pain, Were by the crumbling walls concealed, And at the windows seen again. Until at last, serene and proud. In all the splendor of her light, She walks the terraces of cloud, Supreme as Empress of the Night. //
  • Selene
  • Leo: With hair like lakes that glint beneath the stars, dark as sweet as midnight, or with hair aglow like burnished gold that still retains the fire. Yea, I shall haunt until the dusk of time, the heavy eyelids filled with fleeting dreams. //
  • Helen of Troy
  • Virgo: So the lovely Andromeda sitting on the shore, Her long hair waving seaward in the salty breeze, Has been chained to rock by vengeance heretofore. But the brave Perseus arrives and her he frees, After slaying the sea monster with a vicious gore. Now Andromeda is the goddess of all my dreams, Who reigns supreme in the celestial sphere. Her beauty is yet unique in the heavenly schemes, And can cause clouds and tempest to disappear. //
  • Andromeda
  • Libra: Who is that girl playing in the garden- So carefree, so young, so fair? Or is she older, but with An unaging zeal or fire? I will have her A Persephone, a Helen A Medusa- Cleopatra, Pandora to my soul, 
...My little fatal heel //
  • Pandora
  • Scorpio: So you have swept me back, I who could have walked with the live souls above the earth,I who could have slept among the live flowers at last; so for your arrogance and your ruthlessness I am swept back where dead lichens drip dead cinders upon moss of ash; so for your arrogance I am broken at last, I who had lived unconscious, who was almost forgot; if you had let me wait I had grown from listlessness into peace, if you had let me rest with the dead, I had forgot you and the past. //
  • Eurydice
  • Sagittarius: In the pathway of the sun, In the footsteps of the breeze, Where the world and sky are one, He shall ride the silver seas, He shall cut the glittering wave. I shall sit at home, and rock. Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock; Brew my tea, and snip my thread; Bleach the linen for my bed. They will call him brave. //
  • Penelope
  • Capricorn: Her skin is pale, A wash of gentle light;Her hair silver,Glittering with starlight, The girl born of moon and star. Her eyes piercing blue, As the blanket of sky, Her face upturned, All the relaxed beauty of night, The girl shimmering with light and dust. The moonlight drapes over her Clothing her in shimmering silver light, She dances with glittering grace, As the the dust of stars trails behind, The moonlight girl born for night //
  • Nyx
  • Aquarius: Remembering Greece, I imagine you there now; naked, skilled in spells. Your toes in the sand, your bright green eyes radiant; island conqueress. //
  • Circe
  • Pisces: O latest born and loveliest vision far Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy. Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star, Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky; Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, Nor altar heap'd with flowers; Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan Upon the midnight hours; No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet; From chain-swung censer teeming; No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming. //
  • Psyche
My James, Your Bucky (One Shot)

You’ve had it way too sweet and fluffy from me for a while now, so I’m gonna bring you right back to the pit of despair and angst with this one shot.

Something tells me this is something @sebbys-girl would particularly enjoy;)


Summary: You and Bucky live together in Bucharest. One day you come home to find your flat completely trashed.


Word count: 2.3k


Warnings: angst, aggressive behaviour.


Originally posted by blackinjustice


It was shaping out to be a great day – it was still pre-noon and you had an extra spring in your step as you walked through the cobbled streets of Bucharest. The city you fell in love with, it had it all – alleys lined with tall brick townhouses and red roofs, atmospheric cafes and bars, an impressive market square – where you stopped to pick up a box of plums from ‘your guy’. That’s how you wanted to celebrate, with a cheeky nod to how you two first met.

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To Build a Home

Summary: Reader and Bucky are trying for a baby
A/N: I was going through my prompt tag and came across this prompt and had to write it. It’s named after this song which helped inspire me To Build a Home - The Cinematic Orchestra. Please come let me know what you think.
Word count : 1419

Originally posted by relationshipaims


You stare at the test in your hand, a tear slipping down your cheek. It’s only when you feel a warm hand wiping the tear away that you remember Bucky, your husband is sitting next to you. “It’s okay darlin’, we can try again” he murmurs pressing a kiss to your temple. It was the third test in the last few months and you wondered if you would ever have a baby. “It’ll happen” he whispers, taking your free hand in his. You knew he was also trying to reassure himself. Both of you had been tested after fears of infertility but the doctor had claimed you were both fine in that department, so now it was a waiting game. 

You get up throwing the test in the trash before laying down on the bed. Sadness tugs at your heart as your mind races with questions and possibilities. Bucky kneels on the bed gently rolling you onto your back, he leans down kissing you gently.

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I have seen Gabriel
His hands are hurting,
From inscribing the walls of cities, ancient and ruined,
With messages for the future.
His throat is shouting louder, louder
His voice is hoarse and he aches, aches, aches, aches
For the world that won’t turn towards the Love
The Love that we are all granted,
‘Father,’ he cries, 'These people will not listen!’
But he persists, in many forms and in many places,
Spreading pamphlets and books and
Trading words with everyone he can,
Destroying the hatred in this world piece by piece,
Picking it apart bone by bone.
I have seen Michael
His fists are heavy,
From fighting the evil of the world
He sleeps with a sword by his side,
His eyes are constantly
Staring out, steel grey
At the world that has turned cruel,
Cold.
He is defending Mankind
But he feels something ache, ache, under bones older than any temple built
'Father,’ he shouts, 'These children of yours are testing my patience,’
But he persists, sitting down
Back leaning against crumbling walls
He is the self-righteous brawler on a mission,
He starts and finishes the fights, always with something
Something to prove, something
He wants to sleep
But he can never rest
Until evil is done away with for good.
I have seen Raphael,
He is a quiet presence watching from afar,
He is the healing hand,
Passing over those who cry out his name in the dark,
He reaches through veils and shapes and the water and fog of the mind
He stands by the patient in a hospital,
Holding their hand and whispering kindly to them,
Encouragement, to get well
And if they cannot then he holds them and tells them
That his brother Azrael is kind,
And nothing to fear.
'Father,’ he whispers, 'These humans are so scared, why?’
But he continues on,
And he advances cures and healing and he will never rest,
He buttons up a labcoat
And he knows that love will finish this war,
The love of heaven will destroy the fear.
I have seen the Archangels
And they are here.
—  C.E.F., “I Have Seen The Archangels”