#harahello

@harahello​ said --- “ i just want to help. ”

       𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒. help? and how exactly did he think he was helping? standing there like a deer in headlights as blood drips down the demon’s face. it’s not his own. and the angel must know that. despite his innocent disposition dom knew damn well that he wasn’t stupid. the back of a clawed hand lifts to meet his cheek, wiping away the already drying blood. why would an angel want to offer assistance to him anyway? it must be a joke. despite their few conversations there was no way the other had earned dom’s trust quite yet. he’d been burned too many times by the feathery bastards . . . literally. 

        ❝ if you really wanted to ‘help’ you’d leave me the fuck alone. ❞ charcoal gaze settles onto hara and even in the inky darkness it’s easy to see the hurt, the lack of trust. besides, there’s little the angel could do anyway . . . it was simply one of those nights. he just . . . needed to go home and get washed up. maybe make a cake or something. that’d help. for a moment his eyes lower to the pavement before opting to run a bloody hand through raven hair. ❝ go back to your nest birdy. i can handle it from here. ❞ 

@harahello​ said --- “I got into a fight…”

     “ and how the fuck did you manage that?” 

      dom had been in his fair share of fights with angels...the few scars on his body were dedicated to the bastards. but the way the angel speaks he seems almost unsure of himself, confused. and dom can’t help but share that confusion. why the hell was he picking fights? or had the other gotten jumped? seems unlikely but not impossible. sucking in a breath he attempts to fix his face before giving his feathered friend a look. 

     “ you need a band-aid or what? ” 

Head injuries were just as recoverable for him as most any other injury - but they were a bit more of a nuisance. Some other demon with a bone to pick had caught up with him in a bar, which wouldn’t have been a problem by itself, except that they had brought a friend. And their friend had brought a bat. From behind.

He wasn’t sure if they had meant to kill him or not. But he woke in the alley behind the bar sometime later -- he wasn’t sure how much later, which briefly inspired some panic in him. But it didn’t seem to be dawn at least, he quickly realized.

While the rest of his body had more or less recovered, he found his hand warm and wet with blood when he reached to hold his aching head. And his head felt heavy. His senses sluggish, vision blurred. He lay on his back, gave a bit of a groan, equal parts frustration and pain.

But then he picked up movement somewhere off to his right.

   head turned toward the sky, her eyes are closed in a rare moment of peace.    it’s raining, only lightly, like GOD is gently coaxing the world into spring. but    there’s a dark cloud in the distance, and a rumble of thunder rolls through the    sky with a flash of light. she seems undisturbed by it. 

@harahello | meme | 

Castiel was one of the very last angels made (him and Samandriel were made as a duet), so in many ways, he was primed more for evolution than earlier ‘models.’  But even then, he’s still far from human, too.  So, he lives sort of forever in that strange space between not quite fitting in with his brethren, his own species, but also not really fitting in with the species that came after his.  As such, Castiel is a study of constant dichotomy.  He is a thousand push-pull influences.

Question meme.

“Iunno...” visibly deflated, Job chews on his bottom lip as he persistently avoids Harahel’s gaze. Instead, he focuses his attention on the palms of his hands, picking at his cuticles and the dirt under his nails. “I mean, sure -- ‘n I appreciate it, really, don’t get me wrong, but... I just dunno that there’s anything more to say.”

The truth of the matter is, he’s been struggling with writing for a long while. Nearly all of the music he likes, or used to like -- or, at least, doesn’t like as much now as he had in the past -- revolves, for the most part, around love of Christ. It’s only natural, he supposes, that the farther away he’s strayed from that love, the less these songs move or speak to him -- yet this knowledge does nothing to relieve the sense of loss that has been growing within Job the father apart he’s drifted from it, nor does it help fill the pages of his journal, which have remained empty for far longer than he’d like to admit. 

What’s arguably worst about it all is the inexplicable sense of shame that settles heavy in his gut at the thought of putting any of these thoughts to real words, let alone burdening his companion with them. He feels his cheeks flush and quickly reaches to push the hair out of his eyes, as though the action might do anything to conceal the rouge rushing to his face. Insistent, still, on hiding his insecurity, he retrieves his little bag of tobacco and rolling papers from the pocket of his jeans and begins rolling a cigarette.

@harahello​ sent: 💝

sex + romance headcanons

💝 Does my muse like Valentine’s Day?

Y E S -- first of all Syde likes any holiday that involves food, most of all holidays that have huge discounts on candy as soon as they’re over,,,