delicate souls

A Timeline of Edgar:

For both the community & AH

2013: Free Edgar

2014: Fuck Edgar

2015: Where’s Edgar

2016: Who’s Edgar

2017: Achievement Hunter is still playing Minecraft, please help these delicate souls.

the mellow light
her long-stemmed neck
and almond eyes
in a slender vase
of upturned wrists
awaiting his reply
flickering gold
the iris of eye
barely visible
‘round dilated black
glittering teeth
eagerly revealed
ivory digging
in rose-colored flesh
mocha minted
eyes bewitched
subtle tasting
preordained souls
delicately outstretched
lips descending
deeply beneath
her silk’s soft scent
temples crumble
statues topple
and here among
the rubble
a white marble altar
draped in velvet
a chalice of nectar
for parched lips
—  Chapel of Earthly Delights, a collaboration piece by @rhapsodyinblue45 and @definegodliness
Dear New Daddys!!! (Dom or CG)

Littles are NOT toys! Please remember that we have the most delicate heart and souls! We love easily, we care too much and we need even more. I know having a little sounds exciting: that love we give is more addictive than drugs. However, we are super needy. This energy is 40% candy/soda and 60% neediness. If you cannot handle clingy people, do NOT enter a relationship with a little. You do not break a littles heart; you destroy them. We will love you instantly and will protect you like fierce lions… If you have questions about littles, message me or ask. I repeat: if you can’t handle being needed more than air, littles are not for you.

Originally posted by himeantoinette

12x08 LOTUS coda

He could see it in his brother’s eyes, Sam was scared. Not that he blamed him, he himself was terrified.

They’ve dealt with all sorts of supernatural shit, but this was different. Exorcism wouldn’t work on bad guards, a devils trap wasn’t going to stop a gang of bullies from beating them into a pulp…or worse.

And Sam, his sweet little brother with his scared eyes and delicate soul… As tough as he was, Dean hated knowing Sam was heading straight into danger.

They were spending their last minutes, maybe seconds together before they’d be under the constant supervision by the agents and then prison guards.

“Dean, what’re we gonna…I mean how do we…?” Sam asked in a small, desperate voice.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy, I promise,” Dean said. It was an automatic response to Sam’s distress.

“How? Nothing about this is okay!” Sam exclaimed.

“C’mere,” Dean sighed.

“I can’t,” Sam frowned. “We’re handcuffed real good in case you haven’t noticed.”

Dean rolled his eyes. It wouldn’t be Sam if he wasn’t at least a little insufferable. “Just move closer.”

Sam leaned in and Dean did the only thing he could think of. He pressed his lips against Sam’s, both to shut him up and to calm him down. To reassure him. Hell, to reassure himself that they were going to make it, they still had each other and it was going to be okay. It had to be.

He didn’t pull away, until he heard the door open as the driver and the other agent got it.

“It’s going to be okay,” he offered Sam his best smile. It probably wasn’t much.

Sam didn’t say anything, just nodded.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on the memory of their last kiss. It would be all he had to hold onto for a while.

Natures of your kind, with strong, delicate senses, the soul-oriented, the dreamers, poets, lovers are always superior to us creatures of the mind. You take your being from your mothers. You live fully; you were endowed with the strength of love, the ability to feel. Whereas we creatures of reason, we don’t live fully; we live in an arid land, even though we often seem to guide and rule you. Yours is the plentitude of life, the sap of the fruit, the garden of passion, the beautiful landscape of art. Your home is the earth; ours is the world of ideas. You are in danger of drowning in the world of the senses; ours is the danger of suffocating in an airless void. You are an artist; I am a thinker. You sleep at your mother’s breast; I wake in the desert. For me the sun shines; for you the moon and the stars.
—  Hermann Hesse
We’ve all felt pain long enough to write two different novels. One about how it’s more inside than it is out, a fake smile will only hold up for so long– and then the tears come out. One about how it has caused growth– the garden in your lungs kind, you can’t breathe, but you’re dying to scream near the beach kind of garden– I’ve been growing a dozen of roses plus one to add to your cup of tea for every year that we’ll spend writing more bitter poetry back into our remaining days of youth that won’t fade as long as you’re around. You’re the kind of book I don’t want to put down, you’re the kind of library I’ve been lost in– I love you doesn’t even begin to describe you. Beautiful isn’t a good enough start to any poem, I think I’ll start with delicate. You’ve placed soul back into my spine– you’ve been a cast for more broken bones than I can count– although we’ve got a graveyard full of heartbeats, we’ve got a memoir left for our forever and always– forever as in your eyes never looking down on me, always as in your palms being placed next to mine; I’ll keep your worries safe as long as you do the same for mine. I love you doesn’t begin to sound like an ending unless we’ve made up for the lost time– you’re the seconds I don’t plan to lose, you’re the hands on the clock, loving me until we’re back into pieces of never knowing when things will ever end– the only pieces I’ll ever be satisfied with. You once told me to let love find me, I think you’ve got a point. Why search for something when I barely know how to love myself? I’ll just disappoint myself again. I’ve been in trouble with myself, I’ve been looking for things– things meaning more hearts to make sense of the emptiness we feel, things meaning more love where I’ve been left alone, and things meaning that if we did find it– somewhere, somehow, and in some way– we wouldn’t have to second guess a thing… we would just know. I’m looking for a love to wear like armor– don’t judge my insecurities or tell me about my flaws– tell me about the sky and how we can make the air more soft– less sighs and more affection, give me the whiskey without the glass– give me the string, I’ll provide the tin cans– give me love, give me hope, give me strength to better myself– give me everything that I’ve dreamed of and nothing less than something I’ll never be– I want to be a dreamer without the need to use a dream catcher to decipher if you’re a beautiful nightmare waiting to go right or if you’re a well rested but I woke up on the wrong side of the bed kind of day– give me your arms and take this pain away. I’ve been pinning myself to your name and I’ve been growing where I’ve got no rain– a desert for a soul, a volcano for a heart, I’ve been asking you to please take me apart. I can die real slow as long as your lips are made from soft gold, a stunning poem I’ve yet to read– more reasons to stop the bleeding, and more love to stop this heavy breathing. Give me the coffee, I’ll take more sugar– give me your trust, we’ll leave the past with the dust and if our lips somehow become rusted, at least at some point, we were metals deciding that being smelted down into pinky promises was a means to feel safe. Give a new definition to finding home, give another reason not to be alone. I’ve found myself inside another love letter– I won’t leave a signature, this isn’t another ending– this isn’t a chapter, this isn’t a single page– I don’t want the book, I don’t want to be lost in another library– not another heart to love, not another soul to decide that you might be another soulmate– give me the universe and all of the stars, give the reasons as to why you feel safer when it’s dark, give me your 4 am truths, you still miss him and I still love her kind of talks– give me the small talk with some depths, give me your eyes that aren’t too heavy, give me the love I’ve been writing about– give me your dirty looks, but make sure the next kiss isn’t another mistake. Give me an apology and joke with me, mean every word that strings from your light hearted reflection. Give me your smile and you? You may have mine.
—  Give & take

High carb low fat vegan dinner: Whole wheat spaghetti noodles topped with a delicious homemade tomato sauce made out of fresh tomatoes, carrots, tomato sauce, chickpeas and several spices like fresh parsley, curry and hot chili. Such a filling and good meal to have at the end of the day - and everything with whole, fresh foods and without animal cruelty or processed stuff! Enjoy your Sunday, xx 

for everyone who misses out on the love of a parent i am sorry. your parents may have departed from this world and if so i pray you reunite in heaven and the world goes easy on your delicate soul. or maybe your parents just don’t care about you and it breaks my heart that there are mothers and fathers who give birth to a child but forget to raise it, forget to nourish it with love, cars and understanding and if you’re one of them you have my upmost respect, i could only imagine half your pain. growing up without a father is hard, your mother becomes both parents and that goes to show how much God has blessed them, giving them the emotional and physical strength to undertake such tasks. but for some they lack the love of both, i pray you experience their love one day and if not then you have your friends and your family who are here for you. you have me. understand that God will grant you ease later on in life for your suffering and will bless you with rewards you’d never imagine receiving. understand that because of this lack of love you’ll become the most beautiful parent to a child one day and that’s beautiful. you are deserving of being loved.
—  thesmilingakh