tucks her in, then thinks about something for a long, long time. it has his mind in shreds. then, finally, he leans over and gently kisses her forehead.
random asks . always accepting !!
( i fell in love with the boy in the back of an alley, smelling of smoke and gunfire, but his fingers fit so nicely between the notches of my spine, and his kiss tastes like war and longing and home. )
doleo, dolere. when drifting afloat sows seeds between ribs, but the garden growing inside this chest is suffocating; so make them out of wax instead. carve body out of marble, all flesh and bone and marrow, let the blood spill out onto the floor, seep between the cracks in the hardwood. snow blankets the world in white forgetfulness, binds the heart crimson, feeding what little life left to the dry tubers. under the brown fog of winter dawn, mildew spreads like a disease, charred tendrils wrapping around limbs to keep them immobile. a kingdom of stone where stone is the heart too, beating only in the echo of the wardrum.
the universe does so love a good tragedy. take, for instance, a handful of stardust and scatter it across barren land. nothing grows here, and yet the day breaks anyway, washing ashore all the wreckage. he is no stranger to heartache ——— this atlas, this man made wolf, who cares so little for how sharp his teeth are. her own anguish sounds with the howls into the night. like stained glass, when pieced together to reveal something beautiful. and yet, what is left of her soul to give is split at the seams. so tainted by heliotrope poison, mouth overflowing with grave dirt and holy wine. still she bares her throat to him, uncovers her chest, trust weighted in grams against the fear of blood staining her hands. he takes the heart she presses into his palm anyway. accepts the offering, still beating and sputtering blood.
she’s fallen asleep at her desk again. it is not unusual to find jessica asleep in odd places, stranger still that the uncomfortable chair he lifts her up from now. exhaustion hits at random, when sleep deprived brain finally commands the body to shut off, and there is little left to do then crash where she is. the gravitational shift barely registers, but she huddles into the warmth, forever seeking the heat he exudes.
what would they say ——— the people who look at him and only see monster, only see the blood on his hands ——— if they saw him like this ?? the punisher is myth: bedtime story for unruly children, the boogeyman lurking in the shadows. he is cautionary tale, a warning for the man who leaves nothing but wreckage in his path, like his touch alone could sap away the life from breathing beings. herald of death, seated atop a pale horse. frank castle is another matter altogether. few have seen this. fewer still are alive.
once upon a time, love hadn’t felt like a noose around her throat, like knives between her ribs. it hadn’t felt like the blade of the guillotine perilously hanging above her by a thread. it burns. she should have known that loving him would feel like the coming of spring
soon enough, the rocking motions cease, and she is enveloped by softness. a moment passes in which time stands still, bated breath keeping at bay the errant pace of rabbit heart. she does not see him, but can sense him all around her, hazy and soft through sleep muddled awareness. and then the shadow moves closer, and she feels lips brush against her forehead. her chest feels painfully tight; he touches her with so much care, so gently, when she’s anything but deserving of reverence. knows, however, that voicing such thoughts would be counterproductive, dismissed with a snort, so she keeps herself as still as she can, keeping up the facade of slumber. afraid that any jarring motion would have the fragile moment shatter between them. but he pulls away much too soon. and, in an action which stems from the unreserved boldness that only being near conscious provides, fingers reach out to snatch at his wrist.
eyes remain shut, although pretence would be futile, but her nose scrunches in displeasure, and she tugs at his arm ever so slightly. even cocooned into the piles of blankets as she is, she still gravitates towards him, like a comet pulling into his orbit. longing for his nearness. for the safety his arms around her provide. “ stay . . . ?? ”
