archangel ,

[garrxt-blog]

[observantistic]

Chris Evans Premiere of “Before We Go” at the Arclight Theatre in Los Angeles September 2, 2015

[garrxt-blog]

[repressedqueen]

[garrxt-blog]

It was early Saturday morning, the weather was cooperating well so Garrett brought his two daughters outside to get some fresh air and play.“You won’t believe what just happened.” Garrett was filtering his laughter while his four year daughter, Mikaela, ran out of his arms and went to join her sister as they tried to reach the monkey bar. He was relaxing on the other side of the playground, sipping on his white plastic cup of coffee. “She ran up to me, up here in my ear and said she was going steal as many forks as she could to take down the government. It would be effective, she added, since no one would see it coming. Kids do say the darnest things, huh?” Flashing pearly white smile, Garrett turned to the person beside him for confirmation.

[garrxt-blog]

queenseudora‌:

“Have you seen a wallet lying around here?” Eudora asked. She was wrapped tight in her big bundle of sweater with her hood over her face just trying to hide herself from the public. Being a relatively well known movie actress had its perks but in times like these she just wanted to find her possibly lost item in peace. “I may have lost mine..” She murmured, patting her pockets. 

Garrett found himself being snapped out of his daze. One of his daughters, Mikaela, was clinging tightly on his arm. She had a cup of ice cream with her even when the temperature was almost freezing. Garrett pulled a slightly tight smile at the young woman. He was friendly and welcoming in nature, but the way she dressed herself made him careful. With his daughters around, he would always act as the protective father. “I don’t suppose so, ma’am.” Garrett replied politely. He pointed over to the nearest receptionist. “She might have a clue. Why don’t you try asking her?”

[garrxt-blog]

joelmccreary‌:

with new years (thankfully) over, joel manages to start poking his  head out of hiding. like a fox from his den, really, when he appears on the streets for seconds before rushing back into hiding. his body is still high-strung from the ordeal of fireworks and his mind hasn’t released its flight or fight mode. his body aches, and he fights off his panic by forcefully scratching the back of his hand until it’s streaked red from irritation. he still sits on the street, with his duffel bag and cardboard sign even if he wants to run run run. tight smile, pause in the scratching, wiping off the blood, gloves back on. he hugs himself tightly and forces a smile, the hunger that ravages his stomach more than enough of a reason to endure the pitiful, scornful looks he gets from those better off. why don’t you get a job, and thank you for your service is all that accompanies his restless rest on the cold sidewalk. there was a time when the thanks warmed his heart and pushed out the cold, but it wasn’t the case anymore. he thanks them halfheartedly, ignores the ones goading and taunting him. 

five hours later he still sits there, even more curled into himself. a car door slamming makes him flinch and reach for the phantom rifle he imagines still resting against his hip so many years later. he buries his head against his arms crossed over his bended knees and takes a shaky breath. a clink of a coin hitting another in his shabby beanie laying on the ground before him gets him to raise his head and he smiles, thanks them, give’s a god bless even if it’s hypocritical. he reaches to check how much he has, sure that there’s already at least ten dollars to be used. he picks the coins and counts them, his hopeful smile faltering when he notices the latest coin tossed is a peso. what was he going to do with one peso? his shoulders slump and he throws the useless coin back among the rest, his back soon pressed back into the cold wall and his body pulled as small as it can go, considerate of the people passing by. thank you for your service. get a job. what a slob. can i buy you a meal. there’s someone who stands by him next, wordless, and he glances at them before lifting his head and offers a smile. “ am i in your way? i’m sorry, i can move– ” he starts gathering his things, pulling the beanie back and letting the coins drop in his pocket before he puts the ht back on. he pushes himself upright, age, the chill, and prolonged immobility stiffening his joints as he does. while he throws his duffel bag over his shoulder and grips the cardboard sign he speaks, “ just this and- there, i’m sorry. ”he pats his free hand against his pocket before gesturing for the stranger forward, just broad enough to seem… not so timid. “ sorry again. have a good day, ma’am/sir. ”

Garrett wasn’t in his element. Anyone might be able to tell from how he looked around like a lost dog, unsure which part of the slump he had dragged himself into. His occupation brought him to the strangest places and yet even after years of capturing the world’s essence, the photographer still failed to remember the predicaments which his job often labored --- Jesus fucking Christ, he was so lost. There was nothing snug about the bars along these alleys at all, he was inching closer and closer to experiencing a huge meltdown. Just a few days without Marjoire and his daughters, he was already sinking into a hellhole. 

Sighing, his feet finally decided it was time he stopped being stubborn and take a quick rest. His blue eyes were dim in the dark but they were steady in their attempt to drink their place. He was seeing homeless men which made him wince and feel simultaneously relieved. They were not the safest people from his experience but at least he was not alone. When the stranger spoke, Garrett was quick to inform it was a misunderstatement. “No. Not at all. I was... I think I’m a bit lost.” He said timidly. “I haven’t been here in such a long time. A lot has changed it seems.” Garrett observed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go.”