invisible ledge

anonymous asked:

Uhm I think some post concert sex would ensue, Harry's hot and sweaty and he just looks so hot. Ugh, the missus say "your such a rockstar baby" as she undoes his belt & he's literally gone lol

Anonymous said: Harry whisking her away backstage the second he’s done performing kiwi, all sweaty & he’s barely had a chance to catch his breath and he’s kissing you up and down and she’s telling how good he did and it’s just melting him and they’re just cuddling and he’s so proud of himself for having a good performance but also for making his girl feel so good

Anonymous said: Harry and the missus having a little fun in the dressing room backstage at one of his shows ❤️❤️❤️

I’m going to combine these three. A little bit sexy, a little bit sweet.

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theywaitforshewho  asked:

nino/mari, #19 \o\

“The paint’s supposed to go where?” 

“Thanks, Nino,” Marinette chirped as she tugged the paints out of Nino’s hands. She left a smacking kiss on his cheek as she went, but even the tingles of awareness skittering over his nerves couldn’t quite distract him from the fact that his friend was about to scale the school wall that high.

And scale she did.

Like a spider.

Nino could only stand back and watch in amazement as Marinette clung to near-invisible ledges and leaned over, paint brush in her hand and paint pot handle in her mouth.

“Is-isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

She flicked her paint brush at him dismissively, sending splatters of paint down the wall and possibly to the ground, and stretched out a little further to add more detail to the half-finished mural.

Nino felt dizzy just watching her.

Thankfully, it looked like he’d arrived late in the game, because it only took a few more artful flicks of her wrist before she was leaning back at a heartstopping angle to study her work, giving a satisfied nod, and scurrying down with about five less broken bones than Nino would have expected.

“Thanks, Nino,” she said again as she handed him back the paint pot and shook out her reddened hands. “I ran out of white and had no idea what to do about the highlights. You’re a life-saver.”

“…Yeah, sure,” he said weakly. “Anytime, dude.”

Staring up at the high wall and scant footholds of the surface she was working on, Nino wasn’t sure life-saver was quite the right term.

my mother would always close the curtains and block the window’s eyes when i was thirteen & attempting to drown myself in the bathtub / “not again,” she’d say, and pat me dry / dad steered his boat against my tides / “the anxiety’s in your head” / “you’re painting ghosts underneath the porch light” / “look at her, honey, she’s a storm song” / all because i screamed my feelings instead of burying them beneath the rose bushes all because i scraped the tar off their shoes with my bare hands like an ape, like a mongrel (since you told me that’s what i deserved), all because i don’t wear my sadness like a diamond stud and practice perfecting artificial smiles on blood soaked mirrors / they asked me to sing them a moon-drenched lullaby / do that thing i do where i channel starlight & weave words into gods / instead i told them to witness me
pure, witness me gritty, witness me with one foot balanced in the air feeling the ethereal weight of an invisible ledge at the top of a building / i told them i’m a gargoyle & they forgot my birth name / ugly mutant thing / dead thing / with all the underworld’s misery etched upon my stony face / tiger, trigger, tragedy / “exorcise her, she’s a demon” / because i wear my mouth in scars instead of lipstick because my skin isn’t clear because i never fit into the prom dress, because, because, because / why does every girl have to be a china doll, why do we have to wear our armor like butterflies pinned to ball gowns? why can’t i open my mouth and roar? / i was groomed to be retched, to be a fucking tragedy / my trains they rattle, my hinges creak but girls are told to close their legs & imitate the bloody black swan across the night / so i’m an extinct animal / so i’m an anomaly / i told them i could still breathe / that my sun doesn’t match my stars but i have dark wings that hide pure things / so they kiss me goodbye / so i take a step towards the invisible ledge / so i fall.
—  EXORCISE HER // j.r

Sam blows out a breath of air as he sits inside the old confessional. The wood complains in squeaks beneath his weight and he can’t stop his heart from racing. Where does he start? What does he say? And then, in comes Dean’s voice with a list of his every failure.


Yea–sure, he is sorry for Ruby. But most days he still believes he’d be dead without her. It’s fucked up, but it doesn’t make it untrue. Sure she fucked with his head until he couldn’t even see straight, but because of her–he had a reason to live. Even if that reason was revenge.


When he thinks of Lilith, he thinks of Dean’s voice. The voicemail that they never talked about, but the one that sat and still sits in his stomach like sour milk. No matter how hard he’s tried to, he’s never quite digested it. He’s sorry that it drove him over the edge. Sorry that it was the wrong choice. He should have known better. He knows that with every fiber of his being.


At once he felt sorry for freeing him, but his sorrow is replaced with memories of ‘The Cage’. And those memories smother out every ‘sorry’ he could ever come to muster. That sin was paid in full and he hates that Dean can’t fucking see that. It fucking cost his soul, his sanity and practically his goddamned life. But he paid it and he’d pay it again, because that was his debt to owe.

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