too young to hold on

The gods are among us.

Zeus drinks himself half to death at the bar. He makes bedroom eyes at every pretty girl to walk in the room. They will clutch their cans of mace a little tighter as they walk home tonight.

Aphrodite helps a beaten girl to her feet, holding her tight as her young body is racked with sobs. Artemis stands nearby, preparing to hunt the thief of this young girl’s innocence. These are the only hunts she participates in anymore.

Athena glares at Ares as bloody knuckles and booted feet connect with battered bodies between them. The fight clubs are their temples now.

Dionysus stands behind a bar, serving drinks to rowdy men and pretty girls. Later, he will be found holding back the hair of girls, too young for the drinks they swallowed, as they vomit the concoctions they drank to forget the pain in the world. Dionysus understands and so he drinks more than anyone, if only to forget the suffering that has filled his immortal life.

Hestia mourns the numerous broken homes. She puts extra effort in protecting the scant few happy families left. So Hestia has created a home for those lost and abandoned, for she too knows how it feels to be cast out by the family who should have loved you unconditionally. She understands what it feels like to be adrift and homeless.

Apollo sits on a busy, crowded street, strumming his guitar and singing a song of loss and pain. He uses poetry and music to mourn the pain in the world. He berates himself constantly, because for every life he saves, ten more are extinguished. He has stopped visiting hospitals because he can’t help but feel his efforts are futile. He hasn’t seen his sister in years, and he misses her most at night, when he can see her beloved stars and moon.

Hermes slumps in a chair, exhausted from the horror gracing the human news. He decides he is no longer deserving of the title “messenger of the gods,” since he hasn’t delivered a message in centuries. Not when the gods no longer keep in touch. So he reverts to his favorite pastime: stealing. But what use is mortal money to a god?

Hera sits in the shadows of a bar and struggles to summon the dredges of the vindictive, jealous anger that used to come so easily to her when she saw her husband with another woman. Hera thinks that perhaps in this modern world, she would do better as the goddess of divorce. Because, really, how can she profess that marriage is the best gift the world has to offer when she can’t even keep her husband in her bed? When he doesn’t even bother pretending that he loves her? Yes, goddess of failed marriages has such a lovely, miserable ring to it.

Poseidon wanders the beach, picking up the scattered trash that poisons his domain. His tears mix with the salt water on his cheeks and he weeps for the suffering of his oceans. He feels the pollution like a phantom pain, and he scoffs at himself, full of loathing for the god of the sea who could not protect his oceans from mortals.

Hades lounges in his extravagant mansion, smiling at his lovely wife curled at his side. Blessed is he, for there will always be death, and mortals will always worship his riches. Of all his siblings, Hades, the scorned brother, cursed to rule the underworld, is the only one to still enjoy immortality.

Persephone is as beautiful as ever and she is happy with her loving husband who always joins her in her protests, right alongside her as she weeps for for the dying of this earth, as she cries herself to sleep at night when she thinks of all the loss of nature’s beauty and life. This world is suffering and she is the only one to hear its cries. They haunt her dreams.

Hecate flips the sign on the window to say closed. She longs for days gone by when people knew the truth. Magic is very real. Instead, she has to smile politely while customers come to her store to purchase items they know not how to use and religious men preach about how witchcraft is a sin, and she will burn in hell. Hecate does not care. She is as immortal as magic.

Cupid narrows his eyes with scorn every time he hears the word love fly from the lips of people who do not understand the meaning of the word. Though who is he to judge them when all his matchmaking attempts end in failure. Perhaps the mortals simple do not want him to decide who they love. Perhaps it is their turn to choose.

Athena prowls through college campuses, holding signs high in protect with the students around her. These fearless children are her people. She scoffs at the professors who are simply going through the motions, who fail to appreciate the brilliant minds all around them. She never fails to notice.

Ares picks his way across a battlefield and finds himself at the ruins of what used to be an elementary school. He no longer understands war, hasn’t for centuries. This was not brave, this was not heroic. This was senseless bloodshed. He sees nothing holy in this ruined world.

Aphrodite swallows the bile in her throat as she hears another rapist has been left free. She glares daggers at boys yelling obscene things at women. She’s long stopped romanticizing love. However, sometimes she sees a young girl handing over her baby to an older couple who tried for years, and she remembers what she once represented. Sometimes she sees Ares across the room of soldiers returning from the horrors of war, and as they embrace the loved ones they left behind, she smiles at him.

Artemis takes her role as protector of young women seriously. There’s a gun tucked into her waistband and a switchblade in her pocket. She can’t save them all, so she has also become an avenging goddess. She can be found in the streets or at battered women’s shelters, preparing for the next hunt.

The gods are dying. The gods wish they were dead. Is immortality a blessing or a curse?

—  The gods were always too human for their divinity (inspired by the writings of @crossroadsbela )

andreil but instead of hand-holding I bring u: arm-hooking e.g., neil and kevin are in an intense debate about the best conditioning for backliners when andrew walks past, hooks his arm in neil’s, and keeps walking; alternatively, andrew is taking a drink in the weight room when neil comes up, settles a few inches away from touching, hooks his arm in andrew’s, phone in hand, and says “henry curthwitch is a bitch. andrew. andrew listen. i want u to kill him”; also, andreil hooking arms on the bus back to palmetto thank u for listening

“Growing Up a Winchester”  Sam/Dean x Sister Reader

Word Count: 3,867

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister Reader, some Castiel x Reader

Summary: While on a long road trip to a hunt, you reminisce about your memories growing up with your brothers, from the best ones, to the worst, to the most awkward.

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, angst, light smut between Cas and the reader

Flashbacks are in italics.

Originally posted by whoeveryoulovethemost

                                                            -

You’re sitting in the backseat of the impala, looking out the window at the scenery. Dean, of course, is driving, and Sam is sitting on the passenger side, sleeping. You have a hard time sleeping in the car, so on long car trips like this, you have a hard time. Thankfully, Dean is usually always awake as well, and serves as your entertainment.

Growing up as the youngest Winchester sibling was not always fun and games, especially being a teenage girl. As much as your brothers love you, they know absolutely nothing about teenage girls. You more often than not felt like you were raising yourself, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your brothers are your rock, and you would never leave them.

You can barely remember the first time you’d met Dean. Your dad, John, had gotten your mother pregnant and throughout the first four years of your life, he was very in and out of your life. He’d only show up at your house once a year, normally on your birthday. He’d call on holidays, but you were too young to hold a conversation. A little after your fourth birthday, your mother had passed away from cancer. You had nothing and no one else, and your dad John came to your rescue.

“Hey, kiddo.” John had told you, picking you up from the hospital. He looked tired, the bags underneath his eyes more prominent than you had ever seen them.

“Hi.” You say quietly. You didn’t really know what was going on. All you knew was that your mommy was in a better place and you were going to live with your dad. You remember being nervous, because to you, your dad was like a stranger. You knew nothing about him.

“Do you have your stuff? You’re comin’ to stay with me and your brother, Dean. Dean’s excited to meet you, you know.”

Keep reading

6

I will soften every edge
I’ll hold the world to its best
And I’ll do better
With every heartbeat I have left
I will defend your every breath
And I’ll do better

’Cause you are loved
You are loved more than you know
I hereby pledge all of my days
To prove it so
Though your heart is far too young to realize
The unimaginable light you hold inside

Age Gap Sentence Starters

Both platonic and romantic options. Adjust pronouns as necessary!

“Why do you want to hang out with an old guy/lady like me?”
“Aren’t you a bit too young for this?”
“Aren’t you a bit too old for this?”
“What can I say? I’m mature for my age.”
“You don’t think this is weird? Us hanging out like this?”
“Yeah, I admit it: I’ve got a thing for older guys/women.”
“Does that make me a cougar/rhino?”
“Mm, I do love me some silver fox.”
“My friends won’t quit making fun of me for ‘robbing the cradle.’”
“I don’t care how young/old you are! It won’t change how I feel about you.”
“We’re both legal, consenting adults. What does it matter?”
“Wait, you’re HOW old?!”
“Jeez, you could be my dad/mom!”
“We’re getting some weird looks.”
“I think they think you’re some sort of old pervert.”
“My parents don’t like us hanging out.”
“I don’t get it! We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“I never got along with people my own age.”
“Nobody cares who you hang out with once you hit 30.”
“We just need to hold off until you’re 18.”
“You’re way too young for me.”
“You’re way too old for me!”

All I can say is the first time Donald had to leave the boys after Della’s disappearance was one of the worst moments of his life.

He’s still running on fumes and entirely panicked at having to go with a babysitter, but the bills aren’t going to pay the bills.

And when they realize he’s leaving without them? Oh, they scream. They scream and cry, and they don’t want him to go. They can’t convey their fright and frustration in any other way.

From personal experience, there comes a time when they’re not fully toddlers but not fully infants and recognize when you’re going to leave without them. It simply breaks your heart, and it breaks Donald’s.

The babysitter takes them out of his hands. Yes, he’s holding them and trying to soothe them, and she reassures him they’re in good hands. This is true. He has to believe it if he wants to keep his sanity.

He leaves with a stiff upper beak. Gets in his car. Goes into early morning traffic, and by time he stops at the first red light he’s already sobbing uncontrollably. 

He feels he’s failed them, failed Della, and there’s a lot of guilt for abandoning them when that isn’t the case at all. These thoughts are completely irrational, which he knows, and he has to repeat this over and over again.

He’s frightened the memories they do have of their mother aren’t going to be enough. They’re too young to hold onto those memories, and she’ll soon fade into obscurity. He knows he has to keep some memory of her alive, of course bleached for their (his) benefit.

Yes, he blows up the landline at least thirty times before lunch time, and yes, knowing Donald’s luck he ends up losing his job. And yes, of course he’s worried about the next job opportunity because he has a family to raise now.

When he returns following a disastrous first and last day, he can’t help feel the rush of relief as he watches the boys sleep in their shared bed. At least someone had a good day.

He sinks into his bed. His eyes pull down obediently, and right as he reaches the cusp of nightly oblivion, there’s a tug on the edge of his bed. Six, to be exact. 

Donald opens his eyes right as a hand smacks his face, and are joined by five others folding onto him. Three, little bodies snuggle against him, and as surprised as he is, as exhausted as he is, a beaming smile pulls his bill upwards.

“Night, night,” they tell him before they return to sleep, wrapped in his arms under his blanket.

“G’night, boys,” he whispers, and pulls him them a little bit tighter, far happier he was to sleep than he ever was to awake.

Naturally, he awakes with an awful crook in his neck due to someone’s (Dewey) avid soccer skills during their sleep, but it’s a crook he appreciates. 

9

S I R I U S + R E G U L U S
The brightest stars in the sky

You are loved more than you know. I hereby pledge all of my days to prove it so. Though your heart is far too young to realize the unimaginable light you hold inside, I’ll give you everything I have. I’ll teach you everything I know. I promise I’ll do better. I will always hold you close.
youtube

“Lover, You Should’ve Come Over,”
Jeff Buckley

oh, baby [draco malfoy]

request: “Could u do Draco x reader with prompts 97 and 103 please? It would be so interesting plus I love your writing. You’re so cool xoxo” -anon

word count: ~3000

a/n: why thank u anon, i AM pretty cool! (kidding im actually SO lame like u dont even know omG) anyway i wrote this at like 3 am and im posting it at 5 am so. i’m a few hours late (like a day actually but who’s counting, NOT ME) but happy bday to the real OG man draco malfoy! now enjoy this hot mess of sleep deprivation, angst, snark, and marina and the diamonds inspiration

97: “i don’t want to have a baby.”

103: “i had to see you again.”

Keep reading

A. 17 is too old to binge eat Oreos.

B. if in the weeks following hot night he ate the sadness from your mouth, your aura turned lavender, your eyes went moony: you’re not in love. say it with me now. sing it like a gospel song, build a church with chicken bones.

C. you we’re alive before he kissed you. you are such goddamn sap it’s pathetic to share a skin with you.

D. don’t think anything has changed just because you feel wanted. you still watch horror movies when you’re sad until you lose your empathetic capacity and stop recoiling when the knife shoves and twists, when you hear bones snap, until bodies look like toys that just have but red stuffing inside and you’re so numb you think you’re in a video game.

E. you’re still not afraid of running with scissors.

F. you still get wet between the legs at the thought of stealing concealer from rite aid.

G. you are still fucked. his tongue will freeze against that heart of yours. don’t kick yourself.

H. you can kill yourself if you want, though, lol.

I. 17 is too old to repeat funny things you hear in movies and slip them into loud group conversations you feel left out of and pretend you made them up.

J. he has an ex, and he told you about the long entangled pain of her hands (probably more feminine than yours) around his heart for 3 years. how did it hurt the most when she finally stopped clogging his arteries with her acrylics? how did it hurt more when she finally let go? she wrote him a poem about the break up, you smirk, and look evil, and try not to laugh, cause in your mind it’s drawn in crayon and rhymes “lies” with “eyes”, and she spent nearly two hours on it, and posted it to her private instagram without context. fucking poem, yeah right. fucking writer, yeah right. you could write a love song about garlic bread and it would make him break down on his knees.

K. in regards to the aforementioned, you are fundamentally mean. you can take pills for that. or: you should take a blade to where that shit lives. you should carve it out and use the hole to hide a flask so you can swallow something to burn the venom when it starts to bubble up again. and it will bubble up again.

L. simultaneously you are kinder than you think. she makes him believe he’s lonely, and so he stays and loves her. you make him believe he’s lovely, and so he leaves and loves himself.

M. you hate your body because you think it’s too strong. you force yourself to eat pounds of sugar so the hem of your skirt will glitter like your eyes don’t, and boys will pay attention to that and not your droopy face. your stomach regurgitates. armor doesn’t work when you wage war with yourself.

N. keep your hair in braids. keep your entitlement on a yoke.

O. you’re old enough now to stop pulling out memories from the back of the fridge at the bottom of the leftovers and force them down my gullet even when their 8 years old and buzzing with mold.

P. you have stopped pretending you don’t have a gag reflex just to get rotten things into you, just to get a boy to swear you’re an angel. (the pretty white birthday cake. with the pink frosting between the layers, with the red frosting “a” in “Happy” smushed into the plastic tupperware like all splat! like red dead bird guts on the window, and everybody stops and turns their heads and is quiet for a in a minute long funeral made of wrinkled skin and blue eyeshadow as high as the eyebrow).

Q. I’m not living off of dead things anymore.

R. yes this is in first person now, I can feel the blood coming back to my toes, pins and needles has never felt this good, I think i love this body,

S. i think I don’t need a reason to live anymore, because I had to die so many times before I could cut this nostalgia out of me, this pregnancy of memories, and eat it raw again like placenta, that blood around my mouth is my search warrant for purpose.

T. And everybody has told me the meaning of life, everybody has told me I look beautiful in white, but I have never agreed with either. But I’m so beautiful in red, when I’m covered in blood. I go all splat, my neck snaps like in the horror movies i have gotten so good at being numb to, and everyone stops and stares.

U. it is a celebration not a funeral, or a celebration of a funeral.

V. but I can use this, this wrench was made for broken things, this fork and knife was not made for surgery, don’t treat yourself like a slab of meat

W. yeah you are not a prodigy in any right, yeah you can be such a bitch sometimes, yeah you have not had real friends in about 2 years, yeah he doesn’t want to fuck you, so don’t be happy. don’t be happy, that way you can cut yourself with this poem and heal yourself with it by the end. get your music on, lock your razor with your pressed flowers, this roadtrip is gonna take sometime, I need to know you’ll stay alive for the whole thing.

X. this is not a happy poem. i don’t know how to write a happy poem yet. this is a poem with both of my eyes open, not written at 3 am. i will write a happy poem when I’m fucking happy, so for now i feed this sad poem the buttercups and raw meat that clot your veins to grow it big and strong

Y. and this monster will come alive to pull me to the light someday.

Z. 17 is before the storm, as traditional as it may be. So run after the ice cream truck, eat all the Oreos you want, buy them with your pocket change, scrape them from the bottom of a glass of milk.

17 is too young to feel so hurt. 17 is to young to hold back like some boring cubicle crony. 17 is too young for all these rules.

—  hey, happy birthday!! the big one seven lmao, what do u want? I mean like if u could have anything, what would u want?
merry early christmas

the sun peeking through the blinds was the sole reason you weren’t able to fall back asleep. some nights both you and shawn were too occupied with your 15 month old baby girl to remember to close them before you finally went to bed. your little girl, ava, still wasn’t sleeping through the night and you and shawn were up almost every 4 hours feeding her or trying to put her back to sleep. you were extremely tired and looking at the clock, it was only 7 am which means you had about an hour and a half until ava woke up again. you rolled over so the sun rays were now hitting your back to reveal your husband sleeping soundly. ‘i wish i was that peaceful right now.’ lucky for him, he didn’t need to feed ava every other time she woke up and he got a few more hours of sleep than you each night. you weren’t complaining about feeding her, you loved it. it was a bond only you and her could share, but sometimes you wished she didn’t have to be fed every few hours.

shawn stirred, draping his arm around you and pulling you closer to him. “good morning,” you chuckled, running your hand through his messy curls. “sleep well?” he didn’t respond, instead he pulled you closer and rested his head on top of yours. “i’m tired,” he finally said, his morning voice was raspy and even after all these years it made you want to melt into a puddle every time you heard it. “me too,” you agreed. “but we need to get up and start the day.” you tried to free yourself from his grip which only resulted in him pulling you closer and holding you tighter than before.

“don’t leave, stay with me.” he said, nuzzling his face into your neck. “the baby is going to wake up soon.” you sighed. as much as you wanted to lay here with shawn all day, you knew you couldn’t. you weren’t carefree teenagers anymore, you were married and had a baby and a four year old to take care of, which required you to leave the comfort and warmth of your bed. of course, you could always bring little ava into the bed with you for a little while, which shawn tended to do on weekends when you two just wanted to relax for a while. luckily, your four year old son, alexander, slept through the night but had quite the history of coming and cuddling with you and shawn every morning, which you loved. he was such a momma’s boy and he loved cuddling with you, which made shawn pout because he wanted to cuddle with you too.

“shawn,” you whined, trying to push him off you. “i can hear her, she’s awake.” you could hear the faint cries coming from her nursery from the baby monitor you had set up in your room. you absolutely loved that she wasn’t a loud crier, and that she rarely cried. overall, ava was a good baby, she always ate willingly, rarely cried, and was the happiest baby you’ve ever seen. not to mention, she was by far the cutest baby you’ve ever seen but you might be a little biased. “i need to go get her.”

after hearing the cries of his little girl, he released his iron grip so you could go get her and bring her to your own room. as you tiredly made your way down the hall, you could hear her cries get louder.

“hey, it’s okay,” you cooed as you entered the pink room. her crying ceased once she noticed you, instead she was making grabby hands that her father taught her how to do. you picked her up as she let her head fall on your shoulder. “come on baby girl, let’s go see daddy.” you tiptoed your way back to the master bedroom, taking a quick peek in alex’s room to see he was sound asleep under all his blankets. she perked up at the mention of shawn and you knew the minute she saw him she would no longer want to be in your arms, she would want him. you walked back in the room to see shawn talking to his phone, from the looks of it he was live on instagram.

“shawn it’s 7am on a sunday, who’s even watching that?” you laughed, taking a seat on the bed that was out of the camera.

“for your information, 90 thousand people including niall, john mayer, and andrew are watching right now.” he said, reading some of the comments fans and his friends were leaving. “andrew says hi.”

“hi andrew!” you said, making sure not to speak too loud or else ava would start crying. you were surprised she wasn’t squirming around to get to her father yet.

‘dadadadadada,” ava babbled, reaching for her father but not whining for him, yet. he smiled adoringly at her, reaching his arms out to take her from you. you were sure once she came into view of the livestream, people would start going crazy.

“hi baby,” shawn cooed, kissing her rosy cheek. “how are you today? did mummy dress you in a christmas onesie?” he tickled her small belly, earning a laugh from the now wide awake little girl. “say hi to the people,” he motioned to the camera for her to wave and she copied him. you weren’t in the shot but you could clearly see the fan’s comments from where you were sitting. you loved that they absolutely adored your kids and that they never left negative comments about your family.

“for your information shawn,” you butted in. “there are 10 days until christmas so it’s only fair that both kids wear their christmas pj’s.” you shook your head, “get in the christmas spirit shawn.”

he laughed, “come in the camera y/n, the people want to see you.” he grabbed your arm with the arm that wasn’t supporting his daughter in attempt to pull you in.

“no way, i look terrible i just woke up.” you said, moving further away from him. he shook his head, “you look beautiful as always.”

while shawn was talking to the fans on his livestream, you heard the pitter patter of alex’s feet running down the hall into your room. “mumma!” he yelled, running into your arms. he was still holding this all time favourite stuffed bear as he gave you his famous morning hug.

“hi baby, how did you sleep?” you asked, kissing the top of his flat bed hair. you hadn’t noticed that shawn had now flipped the camera so it was facing you and your son.

“good!” he looked up at you, giving you the cutest smile you’ve ever seen. he looked exactly like shawn, he had inherited all his features and pretty much none of yours. “christmas is soon!” he exclaimed.

“shh, not too loud.” you whispered. “but yes, it is. are you excited?”

shawn watched as you talked with your son, eventually deciding to end the livestream and spend some time with his little family. shawn pulled you all close to him, cherishing this time he has with his family before he starts touring again, which he was hoping to take a few years off.

“do you guys want an early christmas present?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. your question was mainly directed at shawn and alex since ava was too young to understand and she was half asleep on shawn’s chest.

“yes!” alex exclaimed, sitting up immediately. “what is it?” you smiled at his eagerness. shawn gave you a confused look. “who is this early present for?”

“everyone!” you called as you walked into the closet to retrieve the present. The physical part of the present was mainly for shawn since alex was also too young to understand.

you returned to your bed, holding a small box in your hands. you handed it to shawn and told him not to open it yet, alex tried to grab it but luckily you stopped him.

“alex,” you smiled. “you know how ava is your baby sister?” he nodded, not fully processing this information while shawn looked at you questioningly.

‘well how would you feel about having another baby brother or sister?” you asked, unable to contain your happiness anymore. shawn’s eyes widened and his jaw completely dropped. alex looked confused before he nodded slowly. “but ava is the baby?”

“yes, but how would you feel about another baby?” you asked as shawn just stared at you in awe.

“i want a baby brother!” he said happily. “we can name him joey like my bear!”

shawn ripped open the gift without your consent revealing a sonogram of the baby that was currently in your stomach and a positive pregnancy test. “no way!” he smiled, “no way,”

you nodded, “i’m pregnant! surprise!”

luckily, alex moved out of the way in time for shawn to pull you into his arms after he gently set ava down on the pillow next to him. “this is amazing baby!” he pressed a passionate kiss to your lips as alex cringed.

“we have to call my parents, and your parents!” he said, reaching for his phone.

‘no!” you stopped him. “let’s wait until christmas eve, i have a plan.”

shawn nodded, not really caring about when he tells his parents or yours. all he can care about right now is the fact that there is another life growing inside you that was half him and half you. he pulled you in for another kiss, ignoring alex’s protests yet again.

“merry early christmas baby,” you said, still in his embrace. alex ended up joining your hug and you managed to grab ava too.

“merry early christmas indeed.”

Kingsman: Hartwin AU | Harry as a teacher and Eggsy as a gymnast.

And how many people, have told you
That you’re too young
And how many jealous hands would love to hold you
Cause you’re too young
Well you’re too young to love me
And I’m too old for you
At least that’s what they tell us
It’s in their book of rules
That you’re too young, too young baby you’re too young

Too Young - Elton John