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I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By you're grounded and giving And darkening scorn Remember me, love When I'm reborn As a shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

I found that ''shrike to your sharp'' from Hozier's song is a metaphor for a deeply consuming, perhaps even destructive, love. And thought that it fitted Jarthur perfectly

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Larthur cowboy AU – part 2

Yep, that's Addison

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my children

[ also post-ep-43-john design reveal!!! enjoy!! ]

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💛sweet dreams💛

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i also have a little jarthur something. enjoy?

the body crumbled — pained and overcrowded.

the heartbeat fastened promptly as they fought.

bruised, beaten black and blue, starving and blinded

two souls as one were sharing the same thought:

“in land of dreams, where nothing’s ever sound,

in darkest prisons, most bizarre of sites,

the only single thing that really should be valued

is coexisting of two stubborn, clashing sides.”

the grudges and the spite were put aside and chided,

forbidden topics were to never speak upon.

it narrowed down to Blind leading the Blinded.

there wasn’t trust – only a need to get along.

the rules for one were simple: keep the “Neighbour” happy;

if needed, help him drown the problems down the drain.

guide through the maze, be useful, lead him safely…

and maybe in the end you’ll get to rule the day.

the rules for second one were more confusing:

rely on voices in your mind, but do not trust again!

remember, even friends believe your win’s – their losing.

there’s no good ending: it is either you or them.

yet still they walked, defying fate's derision,

a fragile truce upon the breaking ground.

two voices bound by need, not by decision:

one seeks control. the other won't be drowned.

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hii i wrote a little billford poem since they were pretty popular around here not so long ago lol

human

He was born before the stars appeared above,

when the universe was filled with pointy shapes.

didn’t care for cosmic light — or lack thereof.

if it’s never known, can it be craved?

long before the flowers bloomed below,

didn’t even catch the sun to shine.

long before the mammal heart evolved,

was eternal Creature beyond time.

triple angled, mediocre, “wrong”,

not allowed to think outside the box.

that dimension was where He belonged –

leaving it would cause a paradox.

He destroyed it. every living soul

was too flat and grounded for His taste.

He was thriving thousands years or so!

it was then that He discovered human race.

creatures – weird themselves and oddly cute –

have completely got into His head

it was fun to trick and leave them screwed,

getting arrogant, they’d wind up dead.

game of cat and mice was bound to end

when six-fingered rodent bit Him back –

He decided – that one He’d “befriend”

that would help in taking down his peg.

days went by, as close to plan as always

little human bought that lie of “muse”

they would daily meet at Sixer’s headspace

talking hours, sharing latest news

weirdest thing occured – He started feeling

like they weren’t so different anymore

it was wrong – not after all His scheming,

it was best if He continued to ignore…

every conversation brought them closer

every night together made him weak

portal’s building process was about over

that’s the goal. that’s all he really seeks.

ache, betrayal teary eyes reflected

when the sixer realised the catch

is that really not what he expected?

gods like Him don’t ever get attached.

***

He was born before the very birth of pain,

never grasped the thought of broken heart.

is He really blamed for not being humane,

when He wasn’t human from the start?

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hiii!!

my name’s vita and im looking for moots desperately :] thats my third account here, previously had ones dedicated to south park and bnha. rn planning to post whatever im currently into and probably silly little poems so if you wanna be friends……. :D

my current interests are sonic the hedgehog, miraculous ladybug and my permanent hyperfixation – musical theatre!!! theatre kids please lets be friends

my basic info - kinlist, fandomlist - below lol

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I think this Is what John does while Arthur sleeps <3

.

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its june. time to draw lesbians

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This freak

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A little sketch of John and Lilly to celebrate John's birthday yesterday

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Happy birthday to John Doe from malevolent 😋

SPOILERS FROM PART 20‼️‼️

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John and Arthur :3

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theyre flirting! faggots

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Don’t think about Bella, a few months along, visiting department stores and sorting through the available patterns of baby clothes.

Don’t imagine her comparing swatches of fabric, testing the weave and the softness and the color to find something perfect for her baby. Don’t imagine the hours she spends sewing seams and fastening buttons, making outfits far larger than what a newborn might wear: dresses that would fit a two month old, a six month old, a year, two; a whole collection of outfits for her darling daughter because somehow she just knows it’s a girl. Don’t imagine her going to Arthur and showing him the clothes she’s made with tender love and care and perhaps just a prickle of fear. Don’t imagine Arthur’s uneasy smile and simple compliment, because even if he may not love her—even if he hasn’t quite decided to leave her just yet—he has to act like it, and this is the least he can do. She smiles back.

Don’t imagine Arthur, newly widowed, coming home with Faroe and bundling her up in the clothes her mother had worked so hard to make. Don’t imagine his twinge of guilt each time he can’t bring himself to do up all those delicate hand-sewn buttons and hands her off to Tess instead. Don’t imagine that after Faroe is dead and gone and buried, the clothes still linger, sitting prettily and untouched in their drawers until the moths get to them and what remains is left behind for Daniel to collect when Arthur finally leaves Boston.

Don’t imagine Daniel’s eyes and hands, teary and calloused, as he holds the clothes his daughter made and granddaughter wore, or his remorse and anger at things he can no longer change. Don’t imagine him tucking the scraps of fabric safely into a box below the stairs, folding each with care while he thumbs over the ragged moth-eaten holes, and mentally making note to find someone, another seamstress maybe, to patch them up. He never does.