haunted angels

Edgar Allan Poe For the Signs
  • Aries: "Years of love have been forgot
  • In the hatred of a minute."
  • Taurus: "Let me glimpse inside your velvet bones."
  • Gemini: "There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion."
  • Cancer: "Love like mine can never be gotten over."
  • Leo: "I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched."
  • Virgo: "…a route obscure and lonely,
  • Haunted by ill angels only."
  • Libra: "But my heart it is brighter
  • than all of the many
  • stars in the sky."
  • Scorpio: "All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire."
  • Sagittarius: "Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of it’s constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts."
  • Capricorn: "I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind."
  • Aquarius: "These were days when my heart was volcanic."
  • Pisces: "And so being young and dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy."
Haunted House- A BATIM Fic

I saw a post about this on @doodledrawsthings feed and I couldn’t help myself. My favorite ink demon and my favorite holiday? Together? It was too good to pass up! That being said apologies in advance to all the lovely people named Mick out there, it just sounded like the douchiest name I could think of while I was writing, but it is not a reflection on you. Once again this takes place in Doodles’ Hell’s Studio AU. Some mild swearing, but that’s about it. Enjoy!

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Rubens, river of oblivion, garden of indolence,
Pillow of cool flesh where one cannot love,
But where life moves and whirls incessantly
Like the air in the sky and the tide in the sea;


Leonardo, dark, unfathomable mirror,
In which charming angels, with sweet smiles
Full of mystery, appear in the shadow
Of the glaciers and pines that enclose their country;


Rembrandt, gloomy hospital filled with murmuring,
Ornamented only with a large crucifix,
Lit for a moment by a wintry sun,
Where from rot and ordure rise tearful prayers;


Angelo, shadowy place where Hercules’ are seen
Mingling with Christs, and rising straight up,
Powerful phantoms, which in the twilights
Rend their winding-sheets with outstretched fingers;


Boxer’s wrath, shamelessness of Fauns, you whose genius
Showed to us the beauty in a villain,
Great heart filled with pride, sickly, yellow man,
Puget, melancholy emperor of galley slaves;


Watteau, carnival where the loves of many famous hearts
Flutter capriciously like butterflies with gaudy wings;
Cool, airy settings where the candelabras’ light
Touches with madness the couples whirling in the dance


Goya, nightmare full of unknown things,
Of fetuses roasted in the midst of witches’ sabbaths,
Of old women at the mirror and of nude children,
Tightening their hose to tempt the demons;


Delacroix, lake of blood haunted by bad angels,
Shaded by a wood of fir-trees, ever green,
Where, under a gloomy sky, strange fanfares
Pass, like a stifled sigh from Weber;


These curses, these blasphemies, these lamentations,
These Te Deums, these ecstasies, these cries, these tears,
Are an echo repeated by a thousand labyrinths;
They are for mortal hearts a divine opium.


They are a cry passed on by a thousand sentinels,
An order re-echoed through a thousand megaphones;
They are a beacon lighted on a thousand citadels,
A call from hunters lost deep in the woods!


For truly, Lord, the clearest proofs
That we can give of our nobility,
Are these impassioned sobs that through the ages roll,
And die away upon the shore of your Eternity.

—  Les Phares (The Beacons), by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
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The aftermath of my paranormal investigation. Something wanted to continue communicating with me.