kindle the flame

Mr. Barnes (Part 2 out of ?)

(A/N): I’m so glad everyone is liking this series so far!

Summary: Living in 1940′s Brooklyn as a crime lord is all fun and games until someone falls in love

Warnings: swearing, mentions of rape

Read Part 1:

(Tags at the end) 

Originally posted by livvy1800

 Bucky sat at his oak desk, a cigar hanging out of his mouth as he breathed in deeply. Ever since that run in with that…with that slum kid Bucky hadn’t been able to keep his mind off of them. Their rosy cheeks and bright eyes kept perforating his thoughts, making it impossible to think about much else. He had business deals to think off, he had other gangs to think about, he had to worry about some prick in England talking shit about him, he didn’t have time to focus on that low life nobody. With a sigh Bucky tossed his cigar into an ash tray, running his hands down his scruffy face. It was nearly half an hour later when A quiet knock on his study door is what finally broke him Out of his stupor. 

   "Yeah?“ Bucky’s voice was hoarse, much more than usual. The tall oak doors swung open to reveal Dot, Bucky’s saving grace, wearing nothing but a silk robe he had bought them for valentines day. "Hello there dot,” Bucky smirks as Dot waltz in, swaying her hips as she made her way to Bucky’s heavy desk. 

   "Hiya Mr. Barnes,“ she smirks as she stops before him, resting her hands on the arms of his chair. "I’ve been missin’ ya today,” Bucky hums as he leans forward, almost touching his lips against hers. 

    “Have you now?” Dot nods, her lips parting in a sultry fashion as she does. 

   "You’re favorite girl is feeling a bit neglected,“

    "Oh, we can’t have that,” Bucky smirks as he grabs Dot’s ass, bringing her down onto his lap. “Now can we?” Dot gasps at the contact, shifting a bit, rubbing herself against Bucky’s leg enticingly. 

   "Sit back and let Mr. Barnes take care of ya, eh?“

 (Y/N) bit their lip as they eyed all the couples dancing, trying so desperately to keep their mind off of their run in a few days prior. They had just run into one of the most dangerous thugs in all of America, the man had everyone in his pocket, he could get away with murder and no one would bat an eye and yet (Y/N) ran into him and here they were, able to tell the tale. 

   With a shaky sigh (Y/N) reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind their ear, even though it wasn’t necessary. Honestly (Y/N) was trying their best to keep busy, even the most mundane tasks would help focus (Y/N)’s mind on things other than the dark haired, mysterious thug. 

    "Hey sweetcheeks,” a rather harsh, almost smoker like voice drawls in (Y/N)’s ear, sending shivers down their spine. “I couldn’t help but notice you here all alone, how bout you get up and dance with me.” His words were poised as a question but his tone hinted otherwise. (Y/N) gulps, steeling themself against the strange man.

    “I’m sorry sir but I really don’t feel like-" 

    "It wasn’t a Question sweetheart,” he grips (Y/N)’s arm painfully tight, leaving them to whimper in pain. “Now get up or I’ll make you get up,” it was either go willingly or against their own will and (Y/N) most definitely wasn’t all too thrilled about the second idea. So with shaking legs and a trembling lip (Y/N) stood from their spot, following the sketchy looking man out to the dance floor. His strong hands settle on their waist as he yanks them close, their hips pushed flush against his. “What’s your name kid?” (Y/N) trembles on the spot as they reluctantly dance with the man, praying that someone would notice how uncomfortable they were and come out a stop to it. But no one did, they all kept their gazes elsewhere, completely ignoring (Y/N) and the man. “I asked you a question kid,” The man growls dangerously, gripping (Y/N)’s hips enough to leave bruises.

    “I-I’m (Y/N),” they stutter, fear getting the better of their voice. The man hums, a sick smile overtaking his features. 

   "Such a pretty name…you wanna know my name kid?“ 

    "N-no,” (Y/N) manages a bit of sass, almost proud of themself for being able to have such attitude towards such a man. “Not really,”

    “It’s Brock fucking Rumlow,” He leans in, biting down on their earlobe slightly, sending the poor kid shuddering in fear. 

   Brock Rumlow- one of the most notorious gangs in all of Brooklyn, perhaps in the entire state. 

   Two mobsters in the course of a week? It seemed nearly implausible and yet here (Y/N) was, still reeling from their run in with Bucky and now their contact with Brock. 

   “No sassy remarks anymore, eh?” 

   “Get off of me,” (Y/N) mutters, pushing at his chest weakly. Their lungs were still trying to recover from the harsh weather, leaving them feeling much weaker than the usually were. 

   “Aww, aren’t’chu you a cutie?” He purrs, his sickening smile never once leaving his lips. “I ought to wrap you up and take you home with me….” Brock growls as he licks his lips, his cold gaze running up and down (Y/N)’s form. “Oh sweetheart, the things I’d do to you,” 

   “I’m going to start screaming,” (Y/N) whispers, grunting against his hold. Their squirming comes to an abrupt stop when the feeling of something cool presses into their neck. 

   “Scream and I’ll slit your throat,” Brock sneers, his tone smug as he digs the point of his blade into their neck. (Y/N) whimpers softly, closing their eyes as something warm trickles down their neck, most likely leaving behind a trail of scarlet liquid. 

   “What do you want?” (Y/N) tries to sound stronger than they are but it was futile, Brock could see right through them. 

   “I just want a little fun dollface, take you back to my place, rough ya up a bit,” Brock purrs as he leans in once again, licking up the small rivulets of blood that had cascaded down (Y/N)’s neck. “Then I’m gonna send you back on your way and we’re gonna act like nothin’ happened, sound good?” (Y/N) whimpered, trying to shy away from Brock’s invading tongue to no avail, the blade kept them still, nipping at their skin in a way that had them wanting to puke. “Now, I’m gonna escort you out of here all nice and slow and you’re not gonna make a sound, got it? If you do,” Brock chuckles as she stashes his knife away. “I’m gonna make that much more painful for ya, sweetheart,” 

   Brock’s grips on (Y/N)’s arm was painfully tight, no doubt leaving finger shaped bruises in their skin. He dragged them down the streets of Brooklyn, towards the nicer area of town, to where all the rich snobs lived. No one here would care that (Y/N) was being manhandled by Brock, hell, no one in the slums even cared as they watched the tall, burly man guide the smaller human being along. Tears burned at (Y/N)’s eyes but they refused to let them fall, they had to keep some shred of dignity with this man and letting him see them cry would be the last straw. 

   “No tears huh?” Brock chuckled as he turned a corner, harshly jerking (Y/N) along with him, resulting in a few pops from their elbow. “Most of the time people are sobbing by now, begging me not to hurt them but you-” He chuckles again, shaking his head as he makes his way towards one of the nicer streets. “You’re different, maybe I really should keep ya, you seem like a firecracker,” 

   “Burn in hell,” (Y/N) growls, as they struggle a bit, pulling backwards as Brock moved forwards. Why the suddenly had fight in them now only god knows but it was there, a kindling flame of hatred and fear and dammit (Y/N) was going to use it. 

   “I suggest you stop struggling sweetheart,” Brock growls as he yanks them forward, nearly tripping them in the process. “I’m not opposed to slaughtering you right here and leaving your body to the dogs,” 

   “Let go of me!” (Y/N) yells, struggling to get away. They twisted and flailed, clawed and kicked, anything to get this man off of them but Brock was strong and he held on tightly, causing much discomfort on (Y/N)’s part. “Get off of me!” (Y/N) screamed helplessly, hoping that anyone would come to their rescue. Little did they know that just up the street there stood a man dressed to the nines, a Brazilian imported cigar hanging out of his mouth. 

   “Get off of me!’ a voice screamed down the street. Bucky looked up from his suit, a small smirk rising to his lips at their person’s frantic cry. Sounded like someone was going to get lucky tonight, maybe if he caught them in time he’d be able to join in too. Bucky chuckled as he huffed on his cigar, reveling in the high it gave him. His pristine shoes clicked down the street, creating a soft clacking against the somewhat nice pavement. It was the only other sound in the air other than the person’s screams and to be a bit morbid he was enjoying them. Call Bucky a sadist but god- that noise was like music to his ears. 

   “What the fuck did I tell you was gonna happen if you struggled, huh?” A voice growled as Bucky got closer. Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion;  that voice sounded so familiar, he could’ve sworn that he had only heard it a few days ago- Bucky comes to an abrupt stop before the source of noise, his eyes quickly taking in the rather shocking scene. It was the kid from a few days ago, the shabby, slum kid, struggling against the grasp of some tall, wide man…

   “Brock Rumlow,” Bucky growls, a small smirk rising to his lips. “How strange to see you here,” Brock stops fighting the kid immediately, his entire body going rigid at Bucky’s voice. 

   “Barnes,” Brock smiles sickeningly, that same smile that had been twisting (Y/N)’s stomach for the last half an hour. “Fancy seeing you here,” Bucky smirks as he flicks his cigar to the ground, allowing it to burn out and die slowly. 

   “Who’s the kid?” Bucky gestures to (Y/N) with a simple quirk of his head as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. 

   “Just a lil’ something I picked up earlier,” Bucky looks at (Y/N), his harsh gaze raking over their trembling form. He regarded them with a look of prejudice, sneering down at them with an upturned nose. He hoped his look was enough to convince Brock that he had no care for this (Y/N) creature when in reality the look of fear on their face had stirred something deep within him. 

   “How much do you want for ‘em?” Bucky asks coolly, as though he wasn’t bargaining this persons life right before them. 

   “Sorry Barnes but you’re out of luck, this one’s a keeper,” 

   “I don’t think you understood me,” Bucky chuckles darkly as he reaches in his suit, retrieving a small albeit dangerous handgun. “How much do you want for ‘em?” He points the end of the barrel at Brock’s stomach, inconspicuous enough that if anyone walked by they wouldn’t think anything of it. 

   “Fuck you Barnes,” Brock growls as he shoves (Y/N) towards the brunette. Bucky was quick to steady (Y/N), incidentally pulling them to his chest. “I’ll get them back,” Brock chuckles darkly as he saunters off, shaking his head as he does. “Just you wait and see,” Bucky keeps his ground as Brock saunters off, keeping (Y/N) against his chest protectively but as soon as the other mobster was out of sight Bucky broke, his facade crumbling to the ground. 

   “You alright kid?” Bucky asks as he inspects (Y/N), checking them for any wounds of any sort. 

   “Why do you care?” (Y/N) grumbles as the bat his prying hands away, being mindful not to expose their bleeding neck to him. Bucky immediately retracts his hands, as though (Y/N)’s words had burned him. 

   “Really?” Bucky chuckles dryly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I just spared your fucking life kid and now you’re gonna give me sass? I could’ve let that bastard rape and kill ya but instead I saved ya and this is the thanks I get?” (Y/N) huffs as they brush their outfit off, as though trying to get rid of any remnant of Brock. 

   “I didn’t ask for help-” (Y/N)’s sentence cuts short when Bucky grips their chin, forcing them to look into his eyes. 

   “I own this town sweetheart, I own half the country, with a snap of my fingers I could have you beaten to a bloody pulp and left at my doorstep if I so desired,” (Y/N) glares up at Bucky indignantly, flaring their nostrils angrily. “So I suggest you stay on my good side, got it?” Bucky gave them a little cheeky grin as he stepped back, wiping some ‘dust’ off their chin before turning on his heels to saunter back home, his energy for the night gone. He knew (Y/N) was glaring at his back so he turned his head, giving them a little smirk as he pulled out a new cigar, placing it between his fingers as he spoke to them. “I’ll be seeing you real soon (Y/N),” And with that the mobster turned away, lighting his cigar as he walked back home, whistling a chirpy tune. 

@training-wolves, @joyfulinfluencermoon, @barnes-and-noble-girl, @marvel-love-marvel-life, @vanessa-monique, @skeletoresinthebasement, @logan8546, @bellejeunefillesansmerci, @almondbuttercup, @saradi1018, @softwhispers, @ficbucket, @bethabear12 (If I have forgotten to tag you please tell me so I can add you!) 

In Every Respect

In online disagreements, it’s easy to feel like you’re the only one making an effort to be nice. Like you’re working hard to talk respectfully, but everyone else keeps sabotaging you.

All people have to do is be a tiny bit civil. That shouldn’t be complicated, right?

The thing is, it’s pretty complicated.

Here are a few examples of how you might try to convey respect in choosing your words:

  • empathizing with other people’s thoughts and feelings
  • not making assumptions about people’s thoughts and feelings
  • avoiding swearing & overly casual language
  • avoiding pompous, academically elite language
  • being straightforward & honest
  • refraining from saying negative things
  • carefully avoiding statements with any kind of subtle bigotry
  • not walking on eggshells with someone just because you have privileges they don’t
  • refraining from logical fallacies and generalizations
  • refraining from nitpicking and hair-splitting

See how this can get a little… contradictory? Differences in how you prioritize these things can alienate people who grew up in the same household.

Now imagine folks from radically different social circles, religious backgrounds, and countries, all trying to correctly guess what everyone else will read as respectful. That’s the internet on a good day. We can all work hard to treat each other right, and it can still blow up in our faces.

People on both sides can take measures to de-escalate a conflict, and it can escalate anyway because they perceive the conflict differently.

This can leave you feeling frustrated, self-righteous, and put-upon. All dry kindling in the world of flame wars.

It helps to figure out what exactly makes you feel respected. Then you can ask people to treat you the way you want, in a specific and constructive way.

And when you can articulate how you want to be treated, it’s easier to remember that others might want to be treated differently.

anonymous asked:

msr 16 or 148?

Dear anon, I ended up using both! It also got long… I’ve been informed the “read more” doesn’t work on mobile so sorry for the insanely long post

16. “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” 148. “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

The first time happens after Donnie Pfaster.

Scully tells Mulder to take her home, please, and without a word he leads her away from the scene, away from the horrors. In the car, he watches her carefully at every turn he makes. They arrive at the motel in silence and she knows this isn’t home, and she knows they won’t get to go home tonight, but she lets him take him inside his room.

“You can have the bed. I'll…” He never finishes his sentence; not that Scully is listening to him anyway. She curls on the bed, tries to make herself so small, so tiny that no one can ever find her here. She winces when the abrasion on her chin comes in contact with the oh so soft pillow. Her eyes close, but the tears find a way through, tainting the white pillowcase.

“Scully, I know you don’t want - how about you take a shower? Maybe I could have a doctor come here and-

“No. Not tonight, Mulder. I promise I’ll get checked out tomorrow. I promise. I’m fine.” She doesn’t lift her head, refuses to look at him; she is done with him pitying her. All she wants now, all she needs, is sleep.

“Shower?” His voice is closer now, but she can’t tell where he is; he is close, and she wants him to be close, as long as she doesn’t have to look directly at him. With her eyes closed, she can almost feel his arms around her still. His hands on her, just holding her to him, being there for her. But he wasn’t there before. Before. The water. In the bathtub.

“No shower.”

“All right.” His voice is a soft sound; so gentle that she is not sure she’s still awake. Silence fills the room and she listens to her own heartbeat, strong and certain; it’s everything she doesn’t feel right now. There’s another sound chiming in; Mulder. A soft rustling tells her that he’s trying to get comfortable somewhere around here. She is not going to ask him to join her in bed. Not this time. So she listens to his tiny noises creating a lullaby that rocks her gently into sleep.

The dream explodes in vivid colors, blinding her, gagging her.

“Breathe, Scully.”

The words reach her, somewhere, but she can’t get away. She’s running, she’s trying, but the hands are around her throat; they’re grabbing at her, closing in around her throat, choking her, and she can’t even scream.

“Just breathe.”

She takes a deep breath and the hands disappear. Her feet stop moving; no more running. Half-conscious, Scully realizes this is a dream. None of this is real. Not the hands around her throat, not the voice. Mulder, she thinks. Even in my dreams, he is right here by my side.

“That’s right, Scully. Just keep breathing.” The voice sounds so real that she almost wonders. Almost. She feels soft warm lips on her cheek, gently kissing her, and she breathes. She just breathes in and out. The lips descend again, on her lips this time, and now she knows this has to be a dream. It has to be.

“Just keep breathing. I’ll be here.”

When it happens again, Scully has already convinced herself that the first time was a dream. The days after the Donnie Pfaster case are hazy at best and the memory of him, of what happened or didn’t happen, in the motel room are pushed aside when Melissa is killed.

Scully wants to go home, just go home, and they won’t let her. Her apartment is still a crime scene. But she can’t face her mother, who pleads with her daughter to leave her alone, please Dana, and Mulder won’t let her go to a hotel. Alone. Without a word she sits in his car and when he gets in it, he stares at her. No words leave his mouth as his eyes plead with her loudly to please, please look at him. She doesn’t.

The car makes a clicking noise, sounds as tired as Scully feels. Any other day she might have told him to have it checked out. Not tonight. Tonight there is nothing to say. Mulder’s hand lands on the small of her back, some things refusing to ever be affected by tragedy, and leads her down the hall to his apartment. She slips through the door before him and settles herself on his couch. The leather, smelling of him, feels familiar and she closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

Mulder lingers between the rooms for a moment, decides to leave the lights off, and finally joins her on the couch.

“You should have let me go to a hotel,” Scully says and her voice sounds hollow, “There’s no space for two people here.”

“You take the couch,” Mulder gets up again, takes off his jacket, and sits at his desk, “I’m not tired.”

“Mulder, you’re still in recovery and-”

“No, Scully. I’m fine,” he almost spits the words out and she startles, “You take the couch, you sleep. I’ll be fine. I have a bedroom, you know.” She doesn’t know and in the dim light, she can’t tell if he’s lying. He probably is and maybe she should care. She just doesn’t.

Scully takes the neatly folded blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it around her. She turns away from Mulder, facing the wall, but feels him all around her. He’s in the leather, in the blanket and he’s keeping her safe; despite her not wanting him to. Scully closes her eyes tentatively; what is she going to see there in the darkness of her own thoughts? But it’s just blackness, so she leaves them shut and waits for sleep to take her.

When they were little girls Melissa taught her to even out her breathing so it seemed like she was asleep when she wasn’t. Back then it came in handy when their parents checked on them late at night. They’d pretend to be asleep and as soon as the air was clear, they could go back to whispering secrets or reading. As they grew older, Melissa stopped doing it. Instead, she would stare their parents straight in the eye, explaining that she was old enough to stay up. Little Dana was never brave enough.

And she isn’t brave enough today either.

She evens out her breath, tears falling silently, remembering a sister she will never see again. Mulder’s chair squeaks and then nothing; afraid he might have woken her up again, he waits. Scully wills herself to keep breathing deeply. It works. She feels Mulder move, and then he’s there. Leaning over her. She can do this, she reminds herself. If he knows that she’s only pretending, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he tightens the blanket around her. He still hovers over her, as if trying to decide on something. Then he leans down, kisses her temple, her nose and finally his lips graze hers. There’s a faint memory; how can she remember the feel of his mouth when he’s never kissed her before? Just as quickly, he is gone again. In the distance a door clicks.

There’s no way she can pretend this is just a dream.

They never talk about it, of course. Both have signed this unwritten agreement that prevents them from mentioning any of this. Lingering hugs are shoved aside just like almost kisses; just a spur of the moment thing. Nothing to see here, no, this never happened.  

Mulder visits her in the hospital after she points a gun on him, thinking he was in cohorts with the Cancerman. It’s long after visiting hours, but to Mulder that’s no reason to stay away. Scully wakes almost, expecting a nurse, but her eyes immediately close again when she sees him. He stands next to her and gently brushes a strand of stray hair away. Scully knows she should say something, stop this. But the truth is she craves his kiss; craves his touch on her. The moment stretches on and on and on. Scully feels sleep tug at her heavily and finally it wins out, captures her. She dreams of Mulder kissing her softly. In the morning she can’t recall if he ever did, or if he just made sure she was safe.

Scully slips in and out of sleep without control, without any agenda. Her body fights the aggressive invader and it is getting weaker, the illness taking the upper hand. She doesn’t expect Mulder to be in her room in the middle of the night. Crying. He’s crying and her heart, what is left of it, is breaking for him. With him. Scully wants to take his hand in hers and tell him it will be all right. There is no strength left in her and she falls asleep to the sound of his quiet, lonely sobs. She knows he kisses her; she feels it in her soul, feels how it kindles her flame. Even if only for a short moment.

Mulder kisses her cheek one night when she falls asleep on his couch after her vacation to Maine. Alone. Not a vacation either. She’s exhausted, but she’s missed Mulder (she doesn’t tell him that) and she so she lets him order take out. He tells her about possessed dolls and how he can find books about this phenomenon if she’s interested. All she’s interested in right now is being here with him, close to him. His words follow her into her dream for a while before it all gets quiet.

“I missed you.” Dream or reality. A kiss on the cheek. One day, she knows, this will have to end. Not tonight, though, as sleep carries her away again.

Mulder kisses her neck when they’re stuck sharing a bed in Kroner, Kansas. They’re posing as a married couple in Arcadia, California and Mulder sneaks into her bedroom, kissing her knuckles; caressing them one by one with his lips. By the time Christmas comes around, she thinks they might be ready. She thinks this might be it. They almost kill each other, so maybe not. Not quite yet.

It happens in New York.

She should be dead. People keep telling her that she should not be alive and she nods, staring into the other direction. The implications too heavy to face here, now. Mulder flies out to visit her (another reminder how close she’s gotten, once again) and hardly ever leaves her bedside.

“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” They’re sharing her jello, because Mulder looks like he hasn’t eaten (or slept) in days and Scully is beginning to get sick of it already.

“I can kick his ass myself, thank you.”

“Not right now you can’t. I’ll do it, Scully. Just say the word.”

He calls her mother for her, explains everything. When she wakes up he’s staring at her, his eyes heavy with worry, but also with love. She smiles back at him, silently thanking him for being there. For doing it all for her.

He makes his move the third night she’s there. The nurses are well acquainted with him now; they know they can tell him to leave, but he’ll be back as soon as they turn their backs on him. So they no longer try and just greet him, smile even. Mulder is, after all, quite charming if he wants to be. Scully, too, is used to him being there day and night. She tells him to get some sleep from time to time, just leave her alone for a while, but he is adamant about staying.

“You only get into trouble when I’m not around.”

It’s late when Scully feels tiredness wash over her. She yawns and Mulder looks up from the book he’s reading.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights?”

“No, I don’t mind. Good night, Mulder.”

“Good night, Scully.”

For a while, he reads. Scully hears him turn pages every once in a while. She’s tired, but she just can’t sleep. She’s never been a good patient, and all she wants is to go home and sleep in her own bed. Her thoughts distract her for a moment. The book is closed softly and something about this feels different than all the other times. Mulder appears beside her, his body radiating warmth, and when he leans down she can smell his scent. So much Mulder. He kisses her eyelids softly and then brushes her lips. She almost responds; almost opens her mouth to him. But before she can react at all, he is leaving again, and this time it’s not enough.

“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

She hears his sharp intake of breath. Scully sits up and bed and watches him, frozen to the spot at the end of her bed. His shoulders slump and he shoots her a lopsided grin that turns into a sad smile.

“You never let me take care of you when you’re awake.”

“You never asked.”

“Are you sure, Scully? All those times you threw your ‘I’m fine’ line at me. I know you don’t want me to see you as weak. Scully, I’ve never considered you weak. Not once. And I never will. You’re the strongest person I know. I just wish sometimes… that you’d let me be there for you. I never planned to kiss you like this. Wait, you knew about this?”

“I might have been awake once or twice.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mulder sits down on her bed carefully. She takes her hand in his, feeling confident now.

“I didn’t want you to stop.” She admits, her eyes meeting his.

“So we could have been doing this for real?” His grin is back and now she’s wearing a matching one.

“There’s still time.”

“Scully, can I kiss you?”

“You never asked before.” She tells him, leaning forward slightly and taking the decision from him. She knows the feeling of his soft lips already; it’s nothing compared to the feel of his tongue sliding into her mouth, meeting hers for the first time.

If this is a dream, she doesn’t want to wake up ever again.

Space Theoi

Zeus is gravity– unseeable, unknowable, defying human understanding. He holds the planets in place. He slingshots rockets back home. He cradles Earth in a steady orbit and tells them that they are safe.

Hera rests on the rings around Saturn. She drapes herself across their icy surface, riding their steady rotations, ever-watching, ever-awake. 

Artemis holds the moon in her hands. Some call her goddess of the moon, but she knows that she is but a friend to Selene. She watches in awe as Selene glows, and she tries to bring that peace back to the forest with her.

Apollo lights up his sister’s hands as he rests upon the Sun. He surrounds himself with light, and he tries to find music in between the sunspots and the harsh solar winds. When he can’t find any music, he makes it for himself.

Hestia kindles the flames of the stars. She watches them grow up, and she mourns at their supernovas. She paints Earth’s skies with constellations, and she tries to keep the world aglow despite their dying light.

Poseidon takes pleasure in placing water in places where no one dares to look. He crafts great oceans in distant planets, at the center of unexplored moons. He knows that life is sacred, even if it is unknown.

Ares hurls meteors across distant skies. Asteroids are his cannonballs. Comets are his bullets.

Aphrodite watches in awe as Ares’ ammunition glides through the atmosphere. She sets them aglow and calls them shooting stars. She listens to the faraway wishes, but she can’t grant them all.

Athena plants ideas in the minds of faraway astronomers and cosmologists. She whispers of string theory, of the multiverse, of membranes, of dimensions. She smiles as ideas become theories and theories become facts.

Dionysus sends out constant reminders that the universe can never make sense. He muddles Athena’s great ideas and reminds us that the world doesn’t have meaning– it just is.

Demeter grows galaxies as if they are crops. She names them as if they are her children, “Sunflower”, “Andromeda”, “Tadpole”, and she nurtures them from seeds, waiting for the day that they will be ready for harvest.

Hephaestus sculpts quarks into atoms, atoms into elements, elements into entire nebulas. He knows that the other deities rely on him to make the universe work, but they seem to forget.

Hermes is the speed of light. He knows that he can’t be matched, can’t be broken, can’t ever be surpassed. He is infinite.

Hades sleeps at the center of blackholes. He pities those who quiver at the chaos, the terror, the horrible uncertainty of his gaping cracks in space; he knows that there is nothing to fear about darkness.

Sins of the Father: Masterlist

Originally posted by letstalkwrestling

Okay, y’all knew this was coming. Maybe. 

I really wasn’t expecting this to get the response that it did, but y’all are freaking amazing and I love you.

There’s a good amount of smut, kink, blasphemy, desecration of sacred objects, language, and horror elements in this story. As it unfolds, all these things are going to amplify to eleven. You’ve been warned.

(Also, side note: it’s available on Ao3!)

Sins of the Father

A Brief Interlude to Sunday Morning


The Baptism Interlude

Let It Rain

Floodgates of Heaven 

The Garden Interlude 

Kindle the Flame (coming soon)

baepsaewhalien  asked:

Oh hello my friend *smirky face* for that little sinful game you got going on... what about Jeongguk x Reader + number 9? :D (oh, it's bea btw, this is my main blog lol)

Prompt: “Trust me, thirty minutes is enough.”
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Smut
Rating: M
Word Count: 571
Other Drabbles

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morning opens 
undictated as a skull 

sun on his regular

clots on the lake’s
silver blood

and in this craved
anonymity , i am
waiting ,

a kindle and glint
in sweet flame or

sticking dark wing
to air

plagiarizing the angels,
who wince at our touch

~In Loving Memory of Maul~

On this day, March 18th, 2017, a beloved person departed from this life, a person who was broken, no matter how many times he tried to fix himself. All of us who knew him will never forget the tragic life of Maul. 

He was stolen from the moment he was born. He was never given a chance. A small, innocent baby was snatched from his home by evil hands, and twisted and broken until he turned into a monster that lived only to kill and to do his master’s bidding.

During a battle, he was literally cut down by the Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was then that his resilience showed. Surviving with half a body, cheating death itself, Maul survived. His will to live spurred him on when most would have perished. His strength came with a cost, however, as he sank into madness, forgetting everything except the one who had wronged him: Kenobi.

However, upon being discovered by his older brother, Maul’s healing began. Taken back to his homeworld, Dathomir, his broken mind was restored, along with his legs, by the shaman, Mother Talzin, his only living parent. Even then, Maul proved himself to be strong. 

As he set off to exact his revenge on Kenobi, however, a person who had entered Maul’s life began to change him. The presence of his brother, Savage Opress, began to awaken and revive the spark of innocence within Maul, kindling the flame until it grew. For the first time in his life, the warmth of kindness entered Maul’s cold heart. 

Over a period of time, he soon learned to care for his brother, who was also a victim of the suffering Maul had endured. The two brothers held each other up, supporting one another in difficulty. Caring for one another when they knew nobody else would. 

That was when Sidious came. Maul’s former master. He saw the bond they shared and tore it apart. When Savage was destroyed, a part of Maul died with him. He was terrified. He couldn’t sink back into the dark again. So he made one final effort to fight back against the evil that had moulded him, only to be shattered by the death of his mother.

The loss of his family also cost Maul his sanity. As he desperately clung to the fragments of his mind, he tried to take on a child, Ezra Bridger, as his apprentice, believing he was honouring his late brother. Time passed. As Ezra, a Jedi-in-training, rebuked Maul’s attempts to bond with him, Maul’s mind broke for the final time. Believing there was nothing left for him, he sought after his archenemy, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

There, in the desert, he found was he was looking for. Hope, in the form of mercy. The sweet mercy of death. Now his suffering is over and he has become one with the Force. He is reunited with his brothers. Rest in peace, Maul. May the Force be with you, always.

Sleep well, little baby. </3


I trace your words with my fingertips
as I would trace your face
under orange blankets
warm cocoon of sunset
we are quiet in each other’s eyes
your blue somehow darker
two troubled seas
I would calm with my lips
this feathered language
we speak
like breathing
there is only yes
as we make our canopy of stars
the same sky
where we kindle
this flame
warmth like home
where you touch my skin
come closer
I will teach you
the words I long to say
whisper my secrets
in your patient ear
I know
you will keep us

Kindled Flame - Kaitlyn x MC Fanfic.

Kindled Flame – Kaitlyn x MC, The Freshman Fanfic

[A little note:  I’m not the best at portraying a Kaitlyn x MC relationship  and I’ve had to put some of them on hold recently. But I kept thinking about this scene between her, Zig and MC. It was one of the most intense scenes in the book so far and honestly it was glorious angst. I couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass me by but I’m not unsure if I can quite put on paper how it played out inside my head. In any case here it is! Thoughts? Criticisms? Hope you enjoyed it!]

[Summary: A fight breaks out in the mosh pit and stirs more trouble than anyone expects, revealing to Kaitlyn and MC that everyone’s a little broken on the inside].

She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in a way a forest fire was beautiful.”

Sparks. That was what I called them.

The electric impulses my brain sends. The quirky giddiness inside my stomach. The warm fuzziness inside my chest. They were all sparks.

She gave me those.

She brought the scorching heat to my world. Something I never knew I craved until I met her. And at first it scared me, really scared me. I was afraid of getting seared - burned if I stumbled too close, like Icarus did when he came too close to the sun. In a cliche way; I was her moth and she was my flame. It wasn’t instantaneous; I had to push myself. I told myself I had to be brave. 

The more time we spent together, the more I could make sense of it. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t spend time worrying about what other people thought about us. It only mattered to me what she thought. Somehow, we found our own voice together, our own courage.

We held hands in public. We spent a lot of nights bonding over zombie flicks and cliche horror movies. She made me feel fearless. She kissed my frowns away. She had the most adorable laugh. She made me feel safe.

I didn’t know how it was possible but with her I could finally show everything; even the pieces of myself I had never liked. She became the most important thing in my world. Her dreams became my dreams. Her fears were my fears. 

Months flew by with this. She knew me better than most, and it wasn’t a surprise that we often hung out by ourselves while the rest of the world passed us by. When we weren’t in each other’s rooms, collapsing on top of each other after a long day, we were spending time at the local arcade and shopping for vintage leather jackets. But each season brought its own set of troubles, and its own set of rules. 

Suddenly Spring wasn’t a season for love anymore.

Suddenly spring meant more concerts and band-mate bonding and less time with me. She cancelled our last three move nights to hang-out with Natasha, our visits at the coffee-shop became a Rachel and Kaitlyn thing instead of an us thing, and whenever we finally had time to be alone, she was too tired to go out. Suddenly, she wasn’t the same Kaitlyn I fell for at the beginning of freshman year. 

She was constantly changing, shifting like the fire I was once afraid of touching. She was never quite on the same page as everyone else. On some nights, it felt as if she was in an entirely different book, separate from myself.

The Kaitlyn I loved was still there - in bits. Little pieces that I could see whenever we were alone; whenever we were lying face to face with each other in bed, a tangle of sweaty bodies and thin sheets. I saw her every time she laughed at something silly or whenever her dark eyes sparkled after waking up and seeing me right next to her. I saw her in the little kisses I trailed along her neck, when she would arch her back and moan the moment my hands went in between her thighs. 

But that wasn’t all of her. Parts of her were new too; and with every season I learned a little more about Kaitlyn Liao. 

Some of the new pieces hurt; little arguments here and there until she was fed up enough to grab her jacket and storm out of our dorm. I flung her words back at her too; but somehow we always managed to find our way back to each other by the end of the night - sometimes no words were even necessary because our impatient hands acted on pure instinct, pure urgency. Other times, it wasn’t easy. It hurt so much, that it was beginning to feel like some kind of irreversible disaster - because that’s what the night became. An irreversible disaster.

From the moment Zig threw that first punch, the fear I thought I had gotten rid of took hold. Fresh and potent; almost as if he had punched me in the stomach, it knocked me off my feet. I tried to stop what I saw coming – his fists as they flew towards the guy that had accidentally bumped into me. But I was too late; the room erupted into chaos. 

This was wrong.

This was all wrong.

I could barely hear the rhythmic sounds of Kaitlyn’s voice over the rest of the crowd. My attention had been so focused on the mosh pit that I didn’t give it the proper attention it deserved. Eventually, I heard her screaming over everything else. My eyes flew towards her and panic rose to my chest as I saw the flash of confusion from her eyes. She was so plugged in that she hadn’t realized what was happening at first.

Confusion was replaced by shock and then anger. The crowd wasn’t just a crowd anymore, it became a battlefield as people armed with their fists came in contact with one another, blow after blow until a few stragglers crashed into me. The pain stole my breath and nearly knocked the wind right out of me. But I didn’t care. None of that mattered. All I could think about was maneuvering myself from most of the fighting while the rest of my attention was focused on her spotlight.

I watched her cheeks turned red and those pretty lips I remember so fondly had turned into a snarl as she continued yelling to get everyone’s attention back on stage. I couldn’t hear all of it as I kept trying to move out of the way; and the rest of my friends followed suit as we stumbled as far away from the mosh pit as possible.

Eventually I could see the exit and I felt Kaitlyn’s eyes trained on me before she hopped off stage and headed towards us. I felt her cool hand grab mine as we ran towards the exit. 

Usually, the simplest of gestures helped to ease whatever stress I felt. Kaitlyn could shoot an innocent smile in my direction and my shoulders felt a little less heavy, and my heart a little lighter. But when her hand touched mine, that feeling was missing. Her grip was so tight that it almost hurt. 

By the time I felt the cool air brush against my cheeks, I doubled over to catch my breath. The chilly midnight air comforted me a little from the overbearing crowd we were wedged in moments ago. However, the rest of me was a bundle of nerves as I checked behind me. 

Everyone else had made it out too. I saw relieved faces all around, except from beside me. When I glanced down at her; my girlfriend looked like she was ready to rip Zig a new one.

Her eyes were practically daggers digging into his flesh the way he winced away.  “Kaitlyn – ” I stopped short as she dropped my hand and gestured angrily for Zig and I to follow her. Glancing apologetically at the rest of our friends; I told them I’d meet them back at our dorm before I followed meekly behind her.

I watched the way her shoulders kept ramrod straight and her shaky hands turned to fists as we edged away from everyone else.When we were finally out of earshot, she whirled angrily towards us. “What the hell was that?” She hissed. “Naomi, how could you do this to me?!”

I was floored. 

What was I supposed to say? 

I felt guilty, but that wasn’t the only thing I was feeling. I admit that the night had driven us further apart instead of closely together. But surely she didn’t think I was responsible for everything that happened. “Kaitlyn - it was an accident.”. I tried to keep my voice calm. I tried not to let the panic show but I was having a hard time keeping it together when I could almost feel her pulling away. 

Her eyes were distant when they stared back at me. It’s the same distance that I deluded myself into thinking wasn’t real. But I couldn’t fool myself anymore when it was staring right at me. It was like a rain-pour of tension that had shrouded us for the past few weeks. I forced the panic back. I had to reason with her; I had to show her it wasn’t my fault - that it was no one’s fault.

Don’t shut me out. 

The words were there but I couldn’t get them out. They refused to budge and a lump formed in my throat.  She kept staring at me, waiting for me to say something, so I tried to show her how much her words were scaring me instead. Instinctively, I moved closer until I could my hands could touch her. They were shaky as I brought my fingers to brush her soft cheeks. “Kaitlyn, please…” 

Her eyes snapped into focus, but instead of affection that I was used to seeing, they burned bright with fury. She shrugged off my touch and slid her hands inside her pockets.

My stomach dropped as my hands fell uselessly to my side.

“Is that what it was?” Her tone was mocking. “An accident?” She rolled her eyes, “You brought your friend – the one with the short fuse to ruin my concert didn’t you?”

It felt as if she had slapped me. She might as well had with the venom I heard inside her voice. “It was an accident.” I repeated weakly, “Zig got a little out of control – ” I gestured helplessly to him, hoping he’d help. 

“A little?” She scoffed, “From where I’m standing he’s the reason it all happened!”

Zig’s jaw clenched before he spoke. “Look, I’m really sorry-” He began but Kaitlyn interjected.

“Shut up!” She pointed a finger at him, “I don’t want to hear any excuses! My band might get blacklisted from this venue because of you!” She turned back to me, “Is this some kind of punishment?” She demanded. 

I blinked at her. “For what?” I croaked out hoarsely. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“For me not being home as much as I used to to?” The accusation was loud and clear. “For spending more time with other people that finally get me!” She threw her hands up in frustration, “Well congrats - you sure showed me.”

I flinched. “That’s not what this is!” I glanced down at her in surprise, “How could you even think that?!” I couldn’t hide the hurt I felt - it spilled out in short bursts until I could feel tears prickling from the corner of my eyes. “Can’t you see your band is tearing us apart!” I shook my head in disbelief, “If it’s not Natasha always trying to put herself in the middle of our relationship- it’s Rachel hauling you away from the rest of us!”

“You’re really that jealous?” She laughed bitterly, “How many times have I got to tell you that Natasha’s just a friend!”

“Does she know that?!” 

She avoided answering my question. “Is it so hard for me to just have my own thing for once without anyone else butting into it!”

“I’m not just anyone else Kaitlyn! I’m your girlfriend!” I gestured angrily in between us. “I’m the one you come home to at the end of every night.” My voice was starting to shake but I couldn’t help it, I had to keep going. It was like I had been holding all of this back for weeks and it kept spilling over. “I’m the one that knows about all the secrets you had as a kid, the one you finally introduced your parents to!” I took a deep breath, “I’m the one that always wants to be there because that’s what you do when you love someone. You’re always there even when the other person doesn’t realize it or even acknowledges it.”

She shook her head sadly at me.

And for the first time in our relationship, I felt stuck. Her eyes weren’t looking at me the way they usually did, t felt like she wasn’t really seeing me -  but seeing through me the way most people did. The way I thought she never could. “You know what I don’t even know why I’m surprised. You’ve never liked the idea of me being in a band. You’ve never really supported me.” 

Her words hurt.  They feel like venom, poisoning the good that we had, all the happy memories we built over the past couple months. They felt tiny little knives without repent, sinking into my flesh.

“Kaitlyn..” I wanted to stop her as she backed away from me. I wanted to cross the distance between us and kiss her until we both could forget this night had ever happened. I really wished it never had. “I love you, but it feels like you’ve barely had time for me lately.” My breath hitched. “And sometimes when you’re here, you’re not really here. Aren’t you still interested in me?” Don’t you still love me? The expression on her face made her seem as if she wanted to protest but I wasn’t finished yet. I had to get this off my chest before it consumed me. “It feels like the more time you spend with them, the less you want to be with me. I know how important it is for you, to finally feel like you belong somewhere but you belong with me too.” I searched her eyes for the familiar Kaitlyn, the parts I intimately knew. 

She shook her head sadly at me, “But that’s the thing Noami, all the time we’ve spent over last semester - you’ve always been in it.” She sighed, “I feel like you’re always so wrapped up in my life…when I came out…when I tried to make new friends..” She trailed off as she looked away from me. “I love you but I need time to figure me out. To figure out who I am.”

Why can’t we figure it out together?

This was it. This was that funny feeling of fear I had in my stomach. It wasn’t a little feeling anymore. It was an overwhelming fear, nauseating me. It took a lot out of me not to cry, not to break down right then and there in front of her. I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply a couple of times, waiting for it to hurt a little less. When I opened them back again, I could see unshed tears in her eyes too. “We’re all a little broken Kaitlyn, a little lost. Some more than others but most of the time we’re all the same - ” I widened my arms in the air for emphasis “- just some people trying to figure out where they belong in the universe.”

I forced the tears back, blinking rapidly and told myself to be strong. I willed myself to hold it together; at least until I could make it out of here. My anger was almost forgotten as we stood in silence, knees slightly bent together and our hands in our pockets. We were so close - a few inches away from each other and yet we had never felt so far apart.

I knew the words before she said them. They were written in the way her shoulders sagged, the way her eyes wouldn’t meet mine and her unwillingness to touch me.

“Maybe it’s time we figure that on our own. Separately.”

My breath caught inside my throat. I nodded numbly even though the rest of me was screaming to run to her, to envelop her inside my arms. 

She was the flame that I had been drawn to. The only flame that had gotten close enough to sear me. It was a risk, and some part of me knew all along that I wouldn’t mind so as long as she was the one leaving scars. 

My Little Trailblazer - Kaitlyn x MC Fanfic

[A little note: A cool bean I know requested a part 2 of A Kindled Flame and if you haven’t already you should head on over here to read before reading this. This is supposed to take place the same night that Kaitlyn came home in tears after realizing she was flunking her spring semester. I was always going back to write another kaitlyn x mc fanfic but I just didn’t know if it’d be as well received like the last time because of my clear ineptitude to romance. I’m sorry it’s so long. Here’s to a happy end of the spring semester for this adorable ship. Woo boy; in any case this fanfic is for you and for all the kaitlyn x mc shippers out there!]

[Summary: Studying isn’t helping MC to forget and neither is pretending that the break up didn’t happen. When Kaitlyn comes home - with fresh tears and a plea for forgiveness, MC realizes how much her little trailblazer meant to her. No matter how much distance she’d given her; it didn’t make loving her any less - possible. ]

I don’t want to miss her anymore. 

If I couldn’t deny that I did, at least I could wish I didn’t. At least I could wish fervently that things could change - that the longing inside my heart would one day cease. It was some sort of downward spiral; that was the only thing I could think of it as. A flame I was still drawn to but now that it had burned me so deeply; could I ever begin to pick up the pieces she left behind? A trailblazer in her own right that had taken so much of me with her when she left. 

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Libra ~ ♎ ♡
the enchanted lover ~ they who see the true magnificence and beauty in every soul, they who perceive clearly the delicate wonders of creation 

The Libra glyph symbolises what could be a vanity with a mirror, composing the reflective and projecting beauty and femininity expressed in Libra ~
libra is ruled by Venus it exemplifies connecting, collaborating, and forming relationships. Uranus rules libra in esoteric astrology. libra represents a moment in time where personality and soul meet balance
Archetype: The Lover ♡

“You must give everything to make your life as beautiful as the dreams that dance in your imagination.”  Roman Payne                                                                                                                                                                                             

  • libras manage to shake the world in gentle and comforting ways. they can change the spirit of each and every person singularly, ignite faith and hope in others, remind people of their interconnection and not their loneliness, they can kindle flames in hearts that have long been long extinguished. and libra’s can do all this for others, help people come home to themselves. but the hardest thing in the libra’s life is learning to be themselves, expressive and free from shame 
  • libras really know how to enchant the senses. there is a cosmic array of harmony and sweet stardust. they provoke the part of us that has a tremendous faith in humanity, and the part of us that wants to believe in true love. they project fantasies and ideals in a world that never quite matches up to reality. libras can become very absorbed in their own imagination
  • libra is filled with glowing thoughts and also shadowy secrets they are forced to reconcile. as it goes though, most libras fear the darker edges of their spirit, and instead focus on the psychoanalysis of others. this leaves the individual feeling split and dependent

their pain is their fragility and i really feel alone, when i’m alone, when I am channeling Libra? my thoughts echo louder, i can’t settle these worries, i feel empty and ruminating on the past mistakes i’ve made with people, that sort of feeling

to feel god is to experience the delight and comfort of being surrounded by friends, feeling connected and validated, to perceive and conceive beauty, to dance, to radiate love to all people, this is Libra in touch with God


[art: valfre]

come with me - part 2 (Lafayette/reader)

part one

length: 1,812 words

au: Hamiltime

tw: smut

a/n: this was only like my third or fourth time writing smut?  and im ace and i found i was more uncomfortable trying to write detailed smut than i thought i would be?  so if it’s not very good please forgive me!  

p.s. i legit spent more time researching exactly what clothes and undergarments women at the time wore than actually writing the smut so there’s that.  (turns out they didn’t wear underwear.  ya learn something new everyday)

p.p.s. i was thinking of doing an alternate ending where reader ends up with peggy :3

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so I’ve been listening to les mis and one of my favourite albums is the 1988 International Cast one and I’ve been realising that there are some changes to lyrics in The ABC Café/Red and Black? 

In the international album there are the lyrics “On his funeral day they will honour his name/It’s a rallying cry that will reach every ear/In the death of Lamarque they will kindle the flame/They will see that the day of salvation is near” but then this is changed to “On his funeral day, they will honour his name/With the light of rebellion ablaze in their eyes/With their candles of grief we will kindle our flame/On the tomb of Lamarque shall our barricade rise” and I just thought I would point this out