_{I brought you back and sought you out to bring you home, brother.}

The Antlers – Putting The Dog To Sleep

You said, “I can’t prove to you you’re not gonna die alone,
But trust me to take you home,
To clean up that blood all over your paws.  [x]

Posted by pistoletdefleurs

hauntedjaeger:

vrabia:

beestark:

You look after him for me.

#MAX IS EXCITED BECAUSE EVERYONE IS EXCITED#MAX DOESN’T UNDERSTAND YET#HE’S JUST HAPPY IN HIS LITTLE DOGGIE HEART BECAUSE EVERYONE IS HAPPY#GOOD THINGS ARE HAPPENING FRIENDS GOOD THINGS ALL ROUND#BUT HERC KNOWS#THERE WILL BE A MOMENT AFTER MAX HAS GREETED RALEIGH AND MAKO BACK AND BARKED AND WHINED AND SLOBBERED HAPPILY ALL OVER THEM#WHEN HE’LL START LOOKING AROND THROUGH THE CROWD AND CONFUSION WILL GRADUALLY SETTLE IN HIS LITTLE FACE#AS HE BEGINS TO REALIZE THAT A FUNDAMENTAL PIECE OF THE WORLD IS MISSING#THERE WILL BE DAYS AND DAYS AND DAYS AFTERWARDS WHEN HE’LL JUST WALK AROUND AIMLESSLY#AND NIGHTS AND NIGHTS AND NIGHTS WHEN HE’LL SIT IN FRONT OF THE DOOR TO THEIR QUARTERS LONG AFTER HERC’S TURNED IN#AND HIS EARS WILL PERK UP AND HIS STUBBY LITTLE TAIL WILL START WAGGING AND HE’LL WHINE WHENEVER HE HEARS FOOTSTEPS OUTSIDE#AND HERC WILL SAY ‘C’MON MAX’ TRYING TO COAX HIM INTO BED#BUT MAX WILL SLEEP ON THE COLD HARD FLOOR#AND TEN THOUSAND BLANKETS AND TEN THOUSAND SQUEAKY TOYS AND TEN THOUSAND BELLY RUBS WILL NOT CHANGE THE FACT#THAT THE FOOTSTEPS OUTSIDE ALWAYS PASS HIM BY#(EVENTUALLY HE’LL NEED NO COAXING HE’LL CLIMB INTO BED QUIETLY)#(AND SETTLE DOWN AND SIGH A GREAT BIG MISERABLE DOGGIE SIGH WHEN HERC SCRATCHES HIM BEHIND THE EAR)#(AND HERC WILL SMILE SADLY AND SAY ‘I KNOW BOY. I KNOW.’)

WOW THIS IS THE NOPEST THING I’VE SEEN ALL MORNING THANKS A FUCK TON

Posted by pistoletdefleurs

krakensdottir:

wnnbdarklord:

I remember you tossing me into an abyss. I have grown, Odinson, in my exile.

This is fucking brilliantly done, and really captures the essence of Loki’s (speculated) misadventures on the far side of the galaxy.

when you first begin to build your house,

Posted by pistoletdefleurs

jimmynovaks:

begin with the foundation, as all good builders do, and consider many kinds of stone. lay the edges first, the north at the green of your brother’s eyes, the south the bow-curve of his smile, the east side and the west side the twin bowers of his hands, his gentle calloused hands, their deftness with a needle, their kindness in the night. form it from his concrete and his asphalt and his gasoline, his smoke, his tongue forming the sound of your name. here is a platform on which you can sleep and a greatness from which to see the stars and hold his love against your chest. build your foundation first.

raise your walls high and yellow, the colour of the sunshine little sister red brings with her, the aura of her when she moves through the world. lift up her sheltering arms upon your brother’s sturdy flats until you are warm and kind inside her brightness, until you see the loveliness of her on every windowsill like a vase of flowers, her intellect making smooth your hearth, your heart, her magic joy plastered up to the endless sky in shades of gold and green. you are safe here.

shape the secret corners in your echoing rooms in easy darkness, the angles of the prophet who lives beneath your wing. fill them with solitude and thoughtfulness and wrap his little shadows around your body like a blanket, the better to comfort you, the better to swathe you in the silence you like so much, the ticking of the library clock, the whir of shifting pages, the distant glimmer of his laughter when rare happiness breaks through the cracks in his skin. he would call you his brother if you weren’t both orphans. make him the place you fit your shoulders into, the sturdy thing at your back. he will bear you up if you choose to fall though his hands are small and his spine is weak. it pleases him to be leaned upon.

build your roof from angel-bones, his ribcage your rafters, the broken feathers of his wings your shingles, the crescent of his toothy grin your skylight. fix his hands and feet to close up the spaces, to cover you, to bear away the sting of rain and hail and snow, his attic an empty place for you to wander and be still, to fill with all your hopes and needs, a gentle ear to listen to your heart beat. under him your house will smell of cedar wood and storm clouds and he will bend and sway with the hurricane but never leave you vulnerable, never once abandon you to the moon crashing in. here are eaves to watch over your rest. and until you can make your house of cinderblock and stone, of plaster and wood, of sod and brick, keep your house of flesh and bone, and find your comfort in it.

when you first begin to build your house you will not see it forming. you will only dream that it soars above your head.

when you wake its arms will come around you and call you dear and though you will not see the nails that hold it up in place, you will know that you are home.