#ofbaphomet

♥   ──   she  hasn’t  the  soul  for  poetry ,  simple  as  that .  so  she  names  the  wrenching  in  her  gut  when  she  looks  at  him  hate ,  it’s  easy .  but  he’s  too  easy  to  pity  now  that  he’s  motherless  as  she  once  was .  

❛    it’ll  never  get  better .    ❜

devorah’s  tone  shocks  her .  it’s  not  quite  on  the  edge  of  understanding ,  it’s  fully  mournful .  she’s  sorry . 

❛    grief’s  like  a ---  it’s  a  hole  and  you  gotta  live  around  it .  you  don’t  get  the  space  back .  i  wouldn’t  wish  it  on  anyone .  not  even  you ,  certainly  not  twice .   ❜

@ofbaphomet     “I am not in the mood.” She stated casually to the taller, dark-haired male that stood before her in the narrow alley. He looked to be on some form of a drug due to his unsteady hand with the gun he pointed at her. Which wasn’t all too surprising to Abaddon, “I don’t care what mood you’re in. Empty your fucking pockets! NOW!” She arches her left brow at his word before turning to walk away only to feel a rough pair of hands dig through tresses of straight hair a few seconds afterward. Nails scratch at her scalp roughly as he began to tug to try and slam her back against the wall, “Listen y-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence. His grip on her hair loosened until it was no more. She glanced back at him and watched as a familiar black mold of decaying flesh crept up his hand, to his arm, only to eat away at his entire being - “I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.” Her tone was still so casual and careless as she heard the metal of the gun drop to the ground as he stumbled back against the cool brick of the building.

♥   ──   she’s  hesitant  to  apply  lofty  metaphors  to  the  body  of  a  boy  in  need  of  something  tactile .  queenie  can’t  say  he’s  morning - crowned  in  glory ,  more  perfect  than  words .  he’s  come  to  her  with  terror  in  his  eyes ,  reaching  out .  

she  can’t  deny  him ,  she  can’t  see  him  as  anything  more .  the  truth  is  that  she’s  reminded  of  herself ,  small  and  alone  and  looking  for  a  guiding  light .  he  has  it ,  has  one  named  miriam  with  black  hair  and  a  disapproving  eye .  she  doesn’t  hug  him .

 that  job’s  given  to  queenie .  she  delivers .  

her  arms  wrap  around  him ,  there  are  no  reservations  behind  the  act .  she  pulls  him  to  her  chest ,  her  hands  rising  to  his  shoulder blades . 

❛    it’s  not  your  fault  you  dunno .  it’s  not  your  fault .    ❜

her  hand  moves  in  a  circle  over  his  back .  he’s  taller  than  her ,  in  a  smart  dinner  jacket  that  hides  how  he  comes  apart  at  the  seams . 

❛    this  world ,  the  world  we’re  gonna  build ,  it’s  gonna  be  beautiful .  ‘cause  it’ll  be  yours .  and  then  it  won’t  matter  if  it’s  right  or  not ,  ‘cause  it’s  yours .    ❜