#{full of heartache and poetry.}

[thedelusionalselenophile]

A love that doesn't remind me of pain is all I ever wanted ~

[the-midnight-collection]

My arms are so full of my love for you that I haven't been able to hold onto anything else since we met.

[autumn-longing]

I longed for the moon to return to my side of the house,

to see what I once saw when we still were.

The moon returned and was gone with a blink,

I felt the absence of your scent, the comfort you provided, and the echoes of your laughter.

Now the moon is leaving me like you once did,

and i hear the cries of the girl locked in her room,

mourning the loss of one still alive.

Do you still think about me when you see the moon?

[winesvein]

Beneath August's spotlight, but with each breath, I am comparing the month's heat to your gaze, to what it is like to be under you(r eyes).

Deep in my heart's ocean, I do not understand what love is, unless you call it obsession, desire, want. And it is patient, yes, and how it fractures me-- to love is to give everything to you (mind, heart, soul).

—Kali

[missallanea-archive]

@appleyed: ❛ close your eyes and hold out your hands. ❜ for seph !

"Somehow, this feels like a trap," Persephone mused with a soft chuckle, eyeing her sister cautiously for any hint of trickery in her expression. Still, such a thing didn't seem to be in her nature; Annie was a good many things, but a trickster didn't exactly seem to fit the image she had of the girl. That in mind, she shuts her eyes and holds out her hands with little hesitation.

( Did Andromeda realize the sway she had over the goddess, to have her obey from so simple a request? )

200 random dialogue prompts

[roseacademia]

If I say Gracie Abrams inspired this poetry, I'd be lying. Though I played Full Machine in the background and it may or may not have influenced the poetry. As Harry Styles once said, "it's up to the reader's interpretation." XD

You know, it's about wanting to give things, another shot, a different but better one. Things will not be all cherry blossoms and amusement parks in their perfect shape but we can fix the faulted rides and revive the withered roots, stems of our trees, our wounds and scars can heal and things can be normal. It's hope mixed in belief that your present will provide what your past deprived your connection of.

[calledkore]

@appleyed​: i should have listened to you.

An indignant sort of remark burns on her tongue -- the venom of a Goddess ignored, and yet, she cannot bring herself to spit it. Not at Andromeda, not at dearest sister. What good would come of scolding her now, when the past was set and it would change nothing? A slow breath is drawn in, released in a long sigh before she wraps her arms around the girl in a tight embrace.

"Oh, hush," is murmured through a kiss to her forehead. Persephone can never bring herself to stay mad at her for long. "You made a choice. Didn't work out the way you wanted... Ain't gonna do neither of us any good to go rubbing salt in those wounds."

MISCELLANEOUS SENTENCE PROMPTS

[hellishjoel]

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt. 

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco. 

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past. 

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything. 

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment. 

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning. 

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have. 

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story. 

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book. 

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying. 

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best. 

To forgive or to forget. 

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift. 

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since. 

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you. 

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable. 

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep. 

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together. 

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off. 

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued. 

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you. 

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.” 

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly. 

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold. 

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked. 

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more. 

 Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat. 

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass. 

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.” 

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together. 

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him. 

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips. 

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt. 

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour. 

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee. 

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw. 

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap. 

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well. 

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee. 

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body. 

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt. 

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make. 

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.  

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit. 

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust. 

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together. 

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat. 

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better. 

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit. 

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you. 

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure. 

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock. 

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven. 

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze. 

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips. 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive. 

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening. 

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency. 

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear. 

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.” 

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call? 

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables. 

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?” 

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t. 

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family. 

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-” 

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall. 

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches. 

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away. 

Your name echoes once, twice. 

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen. 

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse. 

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones. 

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words. 

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese. 

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.” 

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance. 

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family. 

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that. 

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash. 

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie. 

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head. 

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face. 

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words. 

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie. 

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response. 

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence. 

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.” 

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant. 

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room. 

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him. 

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows. 

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man. 

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant. 

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop. 

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder. 

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him. 

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales. 

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again. 

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place—everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

[the-returnofartemis]

FINDING YOUR PERFECT MATCH: THE NON-NEGOTIABLES IN LOVE

out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing by rumi (poetry) | musical spotlight: for us by v |

“out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. i’ll meet you there.”

when looking for a long-term partner, understanding your non-negotiables — the qualities, values and traits that are absolutely essential for you in a relationship and partner — is crucial for forming a healthy, fulfilling connection. these non-negotiables help define your emotional and relational boundaries in identifying what you need in a partnership. through this, you ensure that you’re not compromising on things that are vital to your happiness and growth. without a clear vision, it’s easy to get swept up in surface-level attraction, chemistry, or external pressures, which can lead you to settle for less than what you deserve. by abiding by your values, you can avoid unwanted heartache and confusion, and make more intentional choices about who to invest your time and energy in.

in today’s society, especially with the astrological influences of pluto in aquarius and the rahu-ketu transit in 1H aquarius and 7H leo, depending on your values, finding a life partner, may become more challenging. these placements may bring an energy that will place more focus on casual dating, individuality, and collective experiences, which might lead to less depth in romantic relationships. in such a time, being clear about your non-negotiables can help you stay grounded and avoid misalignment in your dating life. by analyzing your birth chart, especially the areas connected to your spouse or long-term partnerships — 7H, VENUS, JUNO and the BRIEDE and GROOM persona charts — can give valuable insights. these influences can help you identify and understand the kind of partner and relationship dynamics that will most likely resonate with you on a deep, meaningful level.

☆ 7H ⇢ the seventh house governs your partnerships, both romantic and business-related. the sign ruling your 7H, along with any planets positioned here provides insights into the type of partner you are most likely to attract and the romantic dynamics you might experience.

☆ VENUS ⇢ venus, associated with taurus and libra, embodies themes of love, beauty, relationships, and personal values, as well as our connections to pleasure and aesthetics. by looking at this chart, you’ll be able to get an idea on how you may express love and attraction, as well as what you may value in your romantic partners.

☆ JUNO ⇢ juno is an asteroid that represents commitment, marriage and long-term partnership. your juno persona chart illustrates your ideal version of a partnership and the qualities you seek in a significant other. it also highlights an overview of your ‘future spouse,' representing the ideal version of a life partner for you.

☆ BRIEDE + GROOM ⇢ the briede and groom persona charts reveal your concept of an ideal spouse and illuminates what you truly seek in a partner. depending on your role –whether you identify with the bride or groom persona– these charts can give a deeper understanding into how you approach commitment and marriage. they also shed light on your underlying desires for these significant life stages, helping you realize the purpose of marriage in your life and how it may support your personal growth.

“when the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.”

ultimately, understanding your non-negotiables in dating and relationships is about knowing yourself and honoring your needs. it’s about investing in relationships that align with your core values and desires, rather than settling for something temporary. by truly understanding yourself, you set the foundation for success in a way that brings fulfillment to all aspects of your life. this way of thinking not only helps you in finding your person but also fosters a deep connection that can withstand the tests of time. by setting firm boundaries for yourself and future partnerships, you make a promise to never settle for less. you affirm that you are never 'too much,' and you are truly worthy of the love and partnership that will support you in becoming the best version of yourself.

“the love you seek, is seeking you.”

listed below are a few categories and questions i came across, along with some i added myself, that are worth considering when exploring your core values and needs. by reflecting on key questions related to these placements in your birth chart, you can see what truly matters to you. at the same time, you can gain insight into the dynamics your partner may bring attention to. all in all, this understanding will support and guide you toward the partnership you desire.

CONFLICT AND COMMUNICATION (3H)

☆ when we disagree, what’s the best way for us to resolve things?

☆ if someone wrongs you, how do you prefer they apologize?

☆ what is your preferred way of communication?

FAMILY AND FRIENDS (4H + 11H)

☆ what’s your relationship with your family like, and how much involvement do you expect from them?

☆ who are your close friends, and how do they reflect on your values?

☆ how would you expect me to relate to your family and friends?

FINANCES (2H + 8H)

☆ what are your views on budgeting, saving, and managing finances?

☆ how do you define wealth, and what are your spending/saving habits?

☆ how do you feel about shared finances? do you currently have any debts?

HEALTH AND LIFESTYLE (5H + 6H)

☆ how would you approach health concerns or medical conditions?

☆ what hobbies do you enjoy and how do you spend your free time?

☆ how would you tackle health issues pertaining to your partner/spouse?

MARRIAGE AND LIFE GOALS (1H + 2H)

☆ what’s your concept of marriage?

☆ what top values do you want to bring into our partnership/marriage?

☆ what do you hope to achieve in the near and long term?

RELIGIOUS AND SPIRITUAL LIFE (9H + 12H)

☆ what role does religion play in your life, and how do you envision us practicing together?

☆ what do you expect from your partner/spouse in terms of religious practice?

☆ how important is religious knowledge and growth to you?

ROLES AND RESPONSIBILITIES (6H + 7H)

☆ what are your expectations when dividing house and partnership responsibilities?

☆ what are your views on “his” and “her” roles?

☆ what is your idea of balance within partnership?

if you've made it this far, i hope you enjoyed this little corner of my world. thank you for reading and please feel free to share your thoughts. always remember to love yourself as if it's your greatest romance.

the pictures featured in this post are from pinterest.

until next time,

artemis x

[lord-montgomery]

i feel like i've talked about this before.. but i can't help but think that if simon was able to subconsciously remember enough of his time with the gang to name his band the mortal instruments, wouldn't it be plausible for him to recall other stuff? i feel like there's some distinction between an emotional imprint and like an intellectualized memory.. and that's how the mortal instruments was dug up despite asmodeus' claim over simon's memories. and if we draw emotional imprinting to its natural conclusion.. idk i just. i can see simon post-edom writing lyrics to process everything he went to the previous fall. i think they'd come out of him and he'd be like huh.. where did that come from. and his bandmates would be like fuck dude you got a gf you keepin from us?? because the ones he shows them are so filled with feelings that are so obviously real and intense. feelings that to their knowledge, simon has never felt. and they couldn't attribute them to clary because of course clary never existed for them. and simon shrugs and says he must have been inspired. you live in new york, you pass people and their stories all the fucking time. love and heartbreak and friendship and that panging feeling of where do i belong.. it's everywhere.

i'd like to think that after the shadowhunter academy, when simon's memories have all been returned to him, he goes back to his room at his mom's place to sort through things, and he comes across pages and pages of these lyrics dissecting the emotional roller coaster of the very real events that occurred in fall 2007, the very real love he found, and the very real, if dormant, heartache that came with losing clary and isabelle both.

of course he'd still have a lot to process once the memories start returning, and once they come back in full, but i can imagine there having been this pang inside him that needed that time to recover emotionally from all that he'd endured, that sought out music and poetry, which speak from the soul more than the ego, to do whatever processing it could. and i think it would have prepared simon to be better suited to handle everything once it does come crashing down around him. and i think maybe finding those lyrics in a way feels like bringing together those aspects of his memory, because the brain doesn't always remember how things felt but his notebook certainly does.

[thedelusionalselenophile]

وعدوں کی طرح، عشق بھی آدھا ہی رہا

ملاقاتیں کم رہی، انتظار زیادہ رہا ~

Waadon ki tarah, ishq bhi aadha rha

Mulaqatain kam rhi, intezar zyada rha ~

*Credits go to rightful owners

[elikalkenswrites]

A book of poetry and short stories full of heartache, queerness, pain, and suffering

I have a link to my Instagram in my bio with some other works on it and I’m working on my website

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

All Teen & Mature Fic Recs: Alphabetically Sorted A-Z

Note that most summaries in this list are shortened. Each link will lead to the fic's rec page where you can get full details, summaries, and links to read each story.

[Explicit A-L collection] [Explicit M-Z collection]

A Curious Case of Miracles on Marlborough Street by akfedeau (38k, Mature) Crowley and Aziraphale finally take the next step in their six-thousand-year friendship. But when a spate of miracles sweeps across Soho and Mayfair, they realize their amorous escapades may have an unintended side effect.

a day in the life by attheborder (10k, Teen) “Rock and roll? Really, Crowley? No, I’m afraid I know Mr. Epstein far better than you do. We have quite similar tastes, you see, he’s a great appreciator of the classics. Brahms, Bach. He may sell pop records in his shop, but I can’t possibly see how a group like this could play a role in improving his life.”

All’s Fair In Love And Serial Killing by WyvernQuill (10k, Mature) Detective Inspector Crowley is 99.999 percent sure that Aziraphale Fell is a serial killer. The trouble is only that the remaining 0.001 percent are deeply in love with the man…

Among the Stacks by MeinirRhos (65k, Mature) Nearly a year after Aziraphale returns to Heaven, he vanishes from existence, leaving Crowley bereft on Earth. Just when the demon has finally started to heal and move on with his life, he finds his angel by chance in a library. But Aziraphale has no memory of his life as an angel, or of Crowley. How will our hero cope?

Anthophilia by FortinbrasFTW (49k, Mature) Anthony J. Crowley’s life seems like it’s finally falling into place...Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn’t seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him

Choose Your Faces Wisely by Poetry (5k, Teen) In a world where humans wear their souls on the outside, Crowley and Aziraphale learn to make their own.

Creative Writing for Creative Children and Panicked Nannies by munchmulch (17k, Teen) Aziraphale is as prepared for the new school year as he can be– what he’s not prepared for is an awkward man in sunglasses who’s about to pull Aziraphale into not only his own life, but the lives of Aziraphale’s students.

Dream A Little Dream Of Me (series) by lavender_mo0n (22k, Teen) The reality of Aziraphale parting ways with Crowley was a difficult reality to grasp, and so the demon decided he’d rather escape it through picking up an old habit he had long since abandoned; sleeping.

Fifteen Years of Heartache by mondlichtmaus (20k, Teen) They’re teachers. They’re in love. They’re oblivious.

Fifty-Two Blue by bendycello (84k, Mature) Crowley and Aziraphale are surgical interns with competitive streaks a mile wide each, and they really do not like each other at all. Until they do.

Fledging by FeralTuxedo (53k, Mature) Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is...there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him.

God’s Silence Like the Sun by oceantears (9k, Teen) Crowley is looking for something...now, in their cottage in the South Downs, his search becomes much more obvious to Aziraphale. It happens every day, and after a while, it becomes almost performative. As if Crowley were just waiting for Aziraphale to ask what he is doing, exactly.

i’d like for you and i to go romancing by dollsome (6k,Teen) In which people keep mistaking Crowley and Aziraphale for a couple, and Aziraphale starts to wonder if there might be something to it.

In A Place Like This by ghostrat (5k, Teen) Crowley works the bar at a discreet gentleman’s club on the brink of closing. Aziraphale appears out of nowhere to get the club back on its feet, and Crowley can only admire his angel at work.

In the (Second) Beginning by cherryfeather (2k, Mature) As their lunch stretches on Aziraphale slowly comes to realize that Crowley is—enjoying him. Enjoying Aziraphale’s conversation, and company, far more openly than he has in most of Aziraphale’s memory.

in the house we remain by commodorecliche (48k, Mature) Aziraphale buys a quiet cottage in the middle of the English countryside...But when a mysterious set of books, all written by unknown author A.J. Crowley, appears on his book shelf, Aziraphale begins to wonder if there is perhaps more to this house than he’d originally believed.

In The Next Room by maidenimage (7k, Mature) In which Crowley and Aziraphale get drunk, play poker, and then everything changes. Or: Why TF is Aziraphale giving Gabriel his spare room while he let Crowley live in his car for years? Oh, this is why.

Ink Blots and Forget-Me-Nots by gutsandglitter (42k, Teen) Owning a flower shop across the street from your boyfriend’s tattoo parlor is fun and adorable. Owning a flower shop across the street from your ex-boyfriend’s tattoo parlor? Not so much.

It Was Always You by mltrefry (230k, Teen) A chance encounter during one of the worst times of Ezra Fell’s life reunites him with his once best friend and the one who got away. Though, that would imply he ever had him in the first place.

It’s About the Journey by hakunahistata (4k, Teen) two celestial beings talk about flying.

Lavender Coffin by The_Infamous_Jack (12k, Teen) Aziraphale loves the 1920s, and he only wishes that he could share it with Crowley. Unfortunately, the more time that Aziraphale spends with the humans, and the more drunken letters he writes to his absent “husband”, the more he discovers the darker undertones to the era he thought he fitted right into.

lit in the darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain (40k, Mature) Aziraphale returns to Crowley’s flat for the night after Armageddon. After all, it’s hardly the first time they’ve shared sleeping arrangements. Or: Times throughout history Crowley and Aziraphale have shared a bed.

Marriage in an Orange Grove by shanimalx (4k, Teen) Murmurationsis the oldest café in Soho, whose clientele is usually limited to reclusive artists, older men who value peace and quiet, and those who know the employees personally. Crowley is all three.

moments lost, moments gained by commodorecliche, Dervila (12k, Mature) Crowley and Aziraphale are expelled from their respective realms when their partnership is found out, and find themselves waking up in hospital as humans, with no memory of their previous natures, and no memory of each other.

My True and Complicated Romantic Feelings for the Demon Crowley by Hermuseros (27k, Mature) In which a Demonic Contract is written by the demon Crowley (and signed by the angel Aziraphale) in an attempt to resolve a very dangerous celestial standoff.

Omens On Baker Street by WorseOmens (155k full series, Teen) Sherlock and John are no longer the only crime-solving disaster duo in London. After Sherlock unknowingly wrongs a demon, he finds himself with two mysterious rivals in the detective scene. For Crowley and Aziraphale, it’s just a bit of fun, but they end up learning more about human nature than they bargained for.

on purpose, on purpose (i am going to care about you) by attheborder (2k, Teen) “Hold on. Hold on,” he hissed, going stiff under Aziraphale’s hands. “Are you— did you— what are you doing? Do you know what you’re doing?” “I’m playing with your hair, dearie.”

Our homeward steps were just as light by On1OccasionFork (7k, Teen) She flipped to the paperwork for the new gentleman, a Mr. A. Z. Fell. He was a retired literature professor, it seemed. He was slated to be in the room next to — oh, this could be a problem—Anthony.

Postcards From Paris by ghostrat (12k, Teen) Crowley has just moved into his Mayfair apartment and finds a postcard addressed to the previous tenant. With no return address, he’s left to collect and read the mysterious A.Z.F.’s adventures across Europe, where he hunts for bizarre bibles and rates ridiculously expensive wine in his free time.

Pray For Us, Icarus (series) by Atalan (65k, Teen) For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley’s flower shop. But Crowley can’t let it go…

sanctuary by moonyinpisces (22k, Teen) Crowley begins to smile something slow, bright, and lovely, but he schools it with a bite to his lower lip. Aziraphale thinks of the way he looked two millennia ago, pressed up against the wall with Aziraphale’s blessing healing his wounds, the only demon to experience divine ecstasy and live to tell the tale. How Aziraphale’s hands itch to do it again, and again, and again.

Scare me goodnight, my love by The_Rogue_Bard (22k, Teen) Beelzebub assigns a sleep paralysis job to Crowley. Unfortunately, the victim they have chosen does not sleep, is an angel, and could not be less scared of a demon he’s known for 6000 years.

Second chances and second choices by Melquiadesdecarabas42 (25k, Teen) After the (failed) second coming, Crowley and Aziraphale have to face the biggest fear of all: talk to each other.

Snitten by Rowyndodendron (6k, Teen) A cat starts hanging out outside Crowley’s London flat, he takes a bit of an interest in. But he doesn’t care about it. Absolutely not. (spoiler: he does).

soon you’ll grow so take a chance with a couple of kooks (hung up on romancing) by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday) (20k, Teen) The image of Aziraphale — his bowtie undone and his coat long abandoned, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows — with a newborn tucked snugly in the crook of his arm like some sort of angelic nanny will stay with Crowley long after this world is nothing but a smoking crater.

sweetie by PaintedVanilla (3k, Teen) She’s a cream colored cat, short haired and small in size with a pink nose and curious eyes. She follows Crowley everywhere he goes.

Talk about the weather by nightbloomingcereus (81k, Mature) Television meteorologist Aziraphale Fell and Youtube storm chaser A. J. Crowley have nothing in common aside from a purely professional interest in the weather and a mutually beneficial arrangement to lend a hand when needed.

That’s not what I asked by black_earth (1k, Teen) Aziraphale had to will himself to relax the grip on his glass. Crowley found his words and shot them out: “If I were to kiss you right now, would you let me?”

the aftershocks of immortality (and how to stay human despite it all) by Kierkegarden (4k, Teen) Crowley nudged him with his pipe hand. “Fancy a smoke?” or 5 times Aziraphale gave in to temptation + the 1 time that it stuck.

the burden of knowing by black_earth (2k, Teen) “Crowley was fixated on Aziraphale eating. It was intense, it was honestly slightly terrifying but it also made him giddy with manic excitement. The rules had been broken, the edges blurred, the natural order upended and tomorrow was not here yet.

The Fine Print by curtaincall (42k, Teen) Anthony Crowley sells computer systems to London businesses��and specializes in sneaking extra charges and fees into the associated contracts....He thinks mild-mannered bookshop owner Aziraphale Fell will be an easy mark...then Aziraphale comes back with some very polite, very pointed questions – and Crowley decides that maybe pulling off the sale isn’t his first priority anymore

the shame of wanting by black_earth (2k, Mature) A character study on Aziraphale trying to navigate the awakening of his bodily appetites and how they fit in with his angelhood.

The Truth Remains by WanderingAlice (200k, Mature) Raphael had been the third angel ever created, and he’d raised himself first with Michael’s clumsy help. Then he’d turned around and raised three more siblings, and loved them all so fiercely it hurt. He’d loved Aziraphale too, more than either of them really knew. And then, he fell. He lost everything.

They Drink Tea at the End by knifeforkspooncup (3k, Teen) After 6000 years in the spinning hubbub of earth, Heaven had been overwhelmingly sparse. So bright it stung, so empty it echoed, so utterly quiet the silence howled in your ears and never seemed to stop.

Time Marches Forward by Bellisima_writes (128k, Mature)Our story follows Aziraphale as he toils alone in Heaven to thwart the Second Coming while Crowley, back on Earth, encounters a powerful and frightened 15-year-old Adam Young in desperate need of guidance.

What About Hope? by AppleSeeds (27k, Mature) Crowley met Aziraphale in the spring of 1989 while he was on his lunchbreak from the factory, his attention immediately drawn to the posh boy sitting by the canal writing poetry...Twenty years later, they are reunited when Crowley, now a successful writer and vlogger, comes to work as an Associate Lecturer in the university department where Aziraphale is an academic.

you should’ve come over (please never leave) by mackanthology (3k,Teen) They’d sat on opposite sides of the table, but as the night wore on they’d found themselves facing each other. Trying to laugh it off, talk of anything else. Without acknowledging it, but both knowing it’s happening, they sought solace in each other.

You’re Just a Little Under Rehearsed by MickyRC (53k, Teen) Drama teacher Crowley loves directing the Tadfield Community Players’ shows—interacting with the rest of the staff at the community center, not so much. So when he meets the new accompanist for this year’s musical, he’s shocked to find that he might actually like him. Possibly more than like, if he’s being honest.

you’re not a religious person (but) by isozyme (19k, Mature) An account pertaining to the cultivation of figs, the ecstasy of St. Theresa of Avila, the ontological uncertainty of mammoths, the nature of temptation, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and the ten years following the end of the world.

You’ve Got Mail by SouthDrarryReturned (68k, Teen) Aziraphale and Crowley are hereditary enemies, rival book shop owners engaged in corporate warfare. They are also pen pals that are perfect for one another. They don’t know about that bit though.

[Explicit A-L collection] [Explicit M-Z collection]

[lillyli-74]

Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.

~Nikita Gill

[majestativa]

Poetry catches sight of your magnificence, but fails to capture your perfection, only silence does. Such poise can only exist alone, yet you defy logic, you vehemently captivate, your fire unhinged, mighty and towering. You belong to yourself at last. Your dawn is dark but alluring. Your nightfall is the progenitor of another night. Into the primordial darkness, you sink to retrieve your lost selves. In order to know, to grasp, to touch, to touch, to touch, to heal. To be swallowed by galaxies, divine. You’re offered anonymity, the peace of oblivion, salvation, and yet decide to stay. Each added day is another hellish level to overcome. A fiercer battle, full of madness and hunger and hunger. Martian by birth, by choice, by passion, by admiration, you fancy and respect blood. So you protect, you fight, you embalm, and you destroy when need be. How can your restlessness be this electric? How can it stir and comfort souls? Do humans truly devour each others’ pain? Tell me, o sorceress of the unknown, of my wails and heartaches… Tell me of the wind blowing through sanity, promising me devotion and stable love when it is fleeting… The essence of distance and forgotten oaths. Perhaps I required blood pacts. Perhaps it would have been easier to squeeze life off of the ‘transient’ whenever it mouthed what transcended its nature.

Mysticomorphosis (Excerpt)

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Quote of the Day

Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them

-Nikita Gill