mother-morphosis

being born as a life sentence for my mother,

13 years it took her before she cut it off,

only to get caught back into mess after mess.

realistically, if it hadn’t been me,

and it hadn’t been him,

it likely would have been the same situation

some place else.

so i must ask,

what chance did she ever have?

two broken arms,

sent to school

by her neglectful mother.

clothes ripped to shreds

in fits of jealous rage

by a cheating fiancée.

furniture smashed

and police called

on an alcoholic boyfriend.

oh, my mother,

if i could hold you in my hands

and turn you away

from the worst parts of the world,

i would.

like a caterpillar found on the ground,

i’d name you something beautiful,

give you a cap of sugar water

and a container full of leaves.

but like my birth,

it would be just another sentence,

trapping you somewhere,

preventing you from metamorphosis,

bursting from a chrysalis

and flourishing into

something truly beautiful.

two perfect wings

and your whole life ahead of you.

Eman Ouda, posted in Gaza Poets Society, April 3 2024.

Just Angles

Special Agent Ben Poindexter/Bullseye (Daredevil) One-Shot

A/N: This is an absurdly fluffy but spoiler-free story. This is by far the fluffiest thing I have ever written and no, this not a new direction for me. After this, I’ll be back to my normal depressing/angst-ridden level of fluff stories. But this one just wouldn’t die no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, so I wrote it out and here we are. Please forgive me! I’m loaded with shame here and also aware that it took a character with psychopathic tendencies to bring this out in me so…make of that what you will.

Warnings: SERIOUS FLUFF. Like snuggling into a fluffy cat and giggling levels of fluff. I’m so out of my element, be warned.

Trying to maintain your cool facade, you attempted to keep your attention on the pool table. But your gaze kept inching back up to settle on the man lining up his next shot. Benjamin Poindexter.

His intense hazel eyes were singularly focused on the cue and his face had fallen into a serious expression. You’d been with him for a couple of months and still found yourself acting like a school kid with a crush.

The gentle clack of the cue ball making contact pulled you out of your daze and you watched the ball drop into the pocket.

”Seriously, Dex?” 

Pausing to look over at you, his forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion. Sweeping your hand towards the table, you let out an exasperated sigh to try and cover your smile. “You’re seriously just going to clear the whole thing?”

His eyes trailed from you to the table and finally, a smirk played on his lips. Lightly, he shrugged. “Only if I sink my last one and the eight.”

Keep reading

Did You, Dex

Special Agent Ben Poindexter/Bullseye (Daredevil) One-Shot

A/N: This is a pre-Season 3 spoiler-free story…from an Anon situation prompt I received. A tragedy at work means you are sent home early. As you talk to Dex about it, you start to suspect he knows something. Which, if he does, is horrifying.

You spent your entire way home from work being firmly stuck in your own head, circling the news you received earlier. And yet, by the time you got to the apartment, you still had no idea how you actually felt. You were shaken but…

The sound of the vacuum shutting off greeted your ears when you stepped into the apartment.

Dex. Shit. 

You had completely forgotten he had the day off – you just wanted to be alone to try and unpack your morning. Besides, as much as he claimed otherwise, he did not take change well, even little surprises.

“Y/n. You’re home early,” Dex said, his voice smooth and calming. Moving the vacuum to the side, he cocked his head slightly as his eyes traced over you. He smiled, but it was tight.

Keep reading

Pedro Pascal in Narcos (2x03)

Thought I would bless the timeline. You’re welcome

when the essay prompt lets me get a little autistic with it

letting go won't make the wound close - judas h.

wow.

[fatima aamer bilal, excerpts from days where my whole world is my bed, coffin heart? bury me.]

bones - em

to wenny, for i have not known a deeper loss than the one of you.

he says he thinks they found your bones under the house.

and even though you’ve been gone for years,

and i’ve not cried over anything in months,

after he leaves, tears trickle out of my eyes at the thought of you down there,

wondering when someone will come get you.

i saw a video today,

two cats surrendered because their owner was going to a retirement home,

she left a note to describe them,

“i’m the only mother they’ve ever known.”

and you and your sister,

twins with black fluffy fur and big green eyes,

only ever discernible to me,

your little face more triangular,

your fur softer,

a face i’ll never see again,

and fur my fingers will never cascade through again,

the only children i’ve ever known.

i loved you like you were my own,

my kin,

my kitten,

and though you were 5 or so years old,

i can’t help but think of you down there

crying for your mother the way you would cry for milk.

and i realise i can’t remember how you sound.

your bones stay down there,

with the earth,

perhaps the wind helps

roll them into the grass,

like you did over and over.

i want to recognise the work done,

the sun stretches every morning,

and the moon shines every night.

i try hard to believe you’re waiting

on that fated rainbow bridge,

but it should not have been your turn yet,

and for that, i cannot thank the gods

for uncovering your fate.

i did not expect the world

to stop turning,

but i would not have minded

if the clock had.

i want to hold your hand.

forgive me, father, for i have sinned.

i fall in love too easily,

everyday with a new near stranger

who looks at me a little too long,

or smiles at me kindly.

i give all too much of myself away

and am somehow shocked each time

it doesn’t work.

each time i’m left waiting for a reply,

or waiting for a glance in my direction.

god, i wish i didn’t need it,

but i was made to love.

my fingers were made to caress,

my lips, too.

and yes, maybe i fall in love

with the idea of a person,

or rather the idea of a relationship,

the one i feel i am destined to have.

and yes, maybe i read romance novels

and watch rom-coms,

giddy at the lead up,

but am inevitably left feeling sick

at the climax, reading or watching a love

i cannot have,

have never had,

very well may never have.

oh, but don’t i deserve it?

i have spent 20 years in solitude,

could i please just hold your hand?

Marbre de jeune fille, Musée de Rennes, France

Y'all afraid to moan during sex, I be up in his ear like "We could leave right now. Feed your dogs. Leave a note for Alana and Jack and never see either of them again. Almost polite."

too lazy to make separate posts for these, so enjoy!

the abigail and hannibal on took me about 3 hours each

will piece took about 6 hours!

you can find my speed paints on Instagram — @rustynailshipping

so so awesome