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sometimes i sit down and cannot believe that thanks to benji, his niece’s first word is ‘fuck’ and then i remind myself that ‘fuck’ was one of benji’s first words thanks to jo, so really it all makes sense.

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if i die young, write my mother tell her that i love her but my soul's gone home and take my vessel to anderson county drive real slow and take the long way home tell my kin to pick up a shovel wrestle that sugar sand and bury my bones won't you bury my bones beneath these pines when it comes time for you to bury my bones

and don't throw me no funeral sister don't cry, saw that fiddle brother, pass that shine deep down in the holler, pick the tallest pine dig it real deep where the roots touch mine

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give me a broken, self-loathing man who firmly believes no one could ever love him and a strong-willed woman who doesn’t take any of his shit and gradually becomes his light and hope and sun and stars and i assure you i will ship it til my dying breath

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*bottles up emotions* this coping shits easy

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CHILDHOOD FRIENDS AU – feat. @lovcdandlost

- we’ll stand together even in life and death. - probably death. - death for sure.

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i’ve had more than fill of whiskey and women and good-hearted villians but there’s a wickedness in me still keep that gun locked away locked away, boy well you know you’re an angry young man

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honestly same

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TAG YOURSELF: SOULSANCTIFIED OC EDITION BONUS: 

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benji: i am in a BAD MOOD so nobody talk to me!

aeron: even me?

benji: what? no. obviously you can talk to me.

benji: but nobody else! i mean it! leave me alone!

benji, turning to aeron: to reiterate, this does not apply to you.

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it’s benji’s birthday! my old man’s forty-three!

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Wine

Me: My emotions are like a fine wine.

Friend: Why's that?

Me: They stay bottled for years to come and will kill me if I open it incorrectly.

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           YOU COLLECT SCARS BECAUSE YOU WANT PROOF THAT YOU                ARE PAYING FOR WHATEVER SINS YOU HAVE COMMITTED   

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WHERE DO YOU GO WHEN YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES?

tagged by: no one. stole it from my other blog. tagging: anyone who wants to!

smile.  everyone you’ve ever known has an arm reaching out to grab ahold of you before you leave. each and every one of them is ice - cold – it hurts to be loved so much. even now, you feel your mask slipping and hear yourself practically begging for it to stay in place. nobody is allowed to see you as anything other than what you think they should see. curiosity did kill the cat, after all. ghost.  true love is dead, and you're buried with them. you look in the mirror the day after the funeral to see your own eyes missing, face nothing but a blurred canvas. why aren't you surprised? every inch of you feels badly pieced together, mistakenly glued in some sort of rush. your brain and body never seem to agree. do either of them even belong to you anymore?

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        “ the living should not envy the dead. ”

                                                    —   but i do.                                                                         i do.                                                                                  i do.

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HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!  –  @troubldtwn

he doesn't get there until after dark, as he had been careful not to disturb nathan's time, but the cemetery cloaked in shadow can’t possibly unsettle him more than the warring emotions that’ve been vying for his attention throughout the day. mother's day had never left a bittersweet taste on his tongue until this year, when a phone call home to his mama suddenly wasn't enough to ease the ache that throbs out a list of his failures as a son. 

a long slow breath, trembling just slightly, hisses out of him when he finally finds the right name etched into stone. he stares down at the name, ELIZABETH WUORNOS glaring up at him and suddenly leaving him feeling lost. he doesn't know how to mourn a woman he doesn't know, whose name alone tears open a hole in his chest he's spent the last thirty odd years denying the existence of. 

uncertain fingers lay flowers, wild ones, picked almost absently, one by one, on the walk here, at the corner of the stone. it’s not enough, he knows that, but it’s all he’s got, all he knows to do. 

he doesn’t know how long he stands there, the whispering of grass and trees in the breeze around him the only soundtrack for silence he’s somehow managed to convince himself is awkward, before he sits. the movement is rushed, disjointed, like he’s a child rushing to obey some unspoken order. and before he knows it, he’s crosslegged on the ground, threading the grass lightly through his fingers. 

the choice to start talking isn’t one he makes consciously, he’s not completely sure when exactly his rushing thoughts find their way out of his mouth, but they do. 

it starts slowly, stilted introductions and a recap of his life so far. his name’s benjamin mitchell now, instead of hansen or wuornos. that he grew up in tennessee. that his adoptive parents were great, that they love him. that he’s a cop, like his dad, or was one, before everything went wrong. that he stumbled back into haven on accident and can’t seem to be able to bring himself to leave again.

then more words are spilling up his throat and past his teeth like a levy’s been broken: he thinks sometimes if he tries he can remember the sound of her voice, but it’s like reaching for something he can’t quite see through murky water. sometimes he thinks he can remember the sound nathan’s laughter when they were kids. that as long as he can remember, here comes the sun has made him cry and he thinks he knows why, now. 

the more he talks, the faster the words come, almost tangling themselves into something intelligible as they come tumbling out, even in spite of his tightening throat and the tremble in his hands that has his grip on the grass blades tightening, shredding them against his palms. there are broken apologies for following max that night, for not making it back to home to haven in time to say goodbye. he’s sorry that she never got to know he hadn’t died, that she didn’t get to be his mother the way she should’ve been. that he wishes more than anything he’d have had the chance to meet her and garland. to have grown up at nathan’s side.

but maybe it’s for the best, he tells the open night air, if he’d come back in time to be her son again, she’d have only ended up as disappointed as he’s sure he’s made jo and jacob mitchell. he’d have only failed her, too, in the end. 

he’s not entirely sure exactly how long he goes on, his soul spilling out onto the headstone before him, but by the time he’s got nothing left, his eyes are red, shoulders shaking. there’s a small pile of shredded grass on the ground before him, and the sky is beginning to lighten.