beneath the half moon

Moon Phases: What You Should Know

[Image Description: A chart describing the lunar phases and how the sun’s light reflects off of the moon, along with labels naming the phases of the moon. As this chart is very detailed, a fully detailed description can be found at the bottom of this post.]

As you might already know, (and should, if you’re interested in witchcraft), the phases of the moon are incredibly important to some magick users, myself included. While standing as a symbol for the Triple Goddess, the Moon’s phases can have different effects on certain spells, rituals, etc. So here’s a guide to help you to understand what you need to know!

Every phase of the moon carries its own special kind of energy, each energy type effecting both us and everything in the earth.  Each month, the Moon goes through it’s cycle. When not Full or New, it is either Waxing or Waning. The Moon grows stronger as it Waxes, and weaker as it Wanes. Remember this when you cast your spells.

New Moon:
The cycle starts here, at New Moon, when the Moon only just barely begins to show its face. New Moon brings us new, fresh starts. It stands a symbol of hope, faith, and optimism.

Waxing Moon:
The waxing moon has an energy that is excellent for strengthening- just as the moon strengthens itself! It brings us energies that assist in building, accomplishments, creativity, strength, learning, growth, and change. Think of the Maiden!

Full Moon:
The moon is at it’s strongest when you can see it at its fullest! This is the time for abundance, harvest, wishes, desires, sexuality, dreams, and protection! This is also an excellent time to purify and cleanse. Think of the Mother!

Waning Moon:
Just as all things begin, all things must come to an end. Think of the Crone during the Waning Moon.  The Waning Moon is a good time to release any spells that have been cast for too long, to lift curses, and to clear the slate. Let go, continue to cleanse, release, undo bindings, and make space for more magick.

Dark Moon (Ties with New Moon):
When the sky is dark, and no moon is visible, then it’s time to rest, and take time to meditate on what you’ve learned through this lunar cycle. Divination is strongest for some witches at this time.

Of course, there’s always different views on just about everything, so if this Lunar Guide isn’t the right one, keep looking! For example, for a more scientific approach to the Lunar Cycle, you can check out this post right here!
http://thebluechicory.tumblr.com/post/98916528500/moon-phases

Blessed be!

[Image description continued: At the center of the chart is the Earth, shown half shadowed, half lit by the sun. At the top is the moon showing itself half full, the right half visible. It is labeled “First Quarter”. Beneath this is another, smaller, right half moon. To the right of this, going clockwise, is another moon, this one a small crescent-shaped slice of the moon, labeled Waxing Crescent, with a corresponding moon beneath it. Still clockwise is a completely shadowed moon labeled New. Continuing clockwise is another crescent moon, this time with the left side brightened. This is labeled the Waning Crescent. On the very bottom of the image is another moon, this one showing yet another half moon, this one with the left half visible, labeled Third Quarter. The next moon, continuing clockwise, is labeled Waning Gibbous, and features nearly a whole moon, with a crescent missing. Only the left portion is visible. Next is the Full Moon, and is completely visible. Above this is the Waxing Gibbous, with its right portion visible, with only a small crescent hidden. The next moon is the First Quarter Moon, ending the cycle. To the right of this chart is a meter showing the position of the Sun.]

Hey Bartender pt. 1 (Alex Summers x Reader)

I started this a month ago and ended up being really long so i’m splitting it up into two parts just so I can get it out there and still not have it finished so yeah.

The bar was filled with drunk men and scantily clad girls. You sat behind the bar, pouring drinks for men who thought they were gonna get lucky tonight and the women they paid to do it.

The place was a dive and you couldn’t help but wish you were somewhere else every time you came in for work. It’s a living and you’d rather be doing this than dancing on a pole in the strip club nextdoor.

It’s not all bad you thought as you watched the handsome blonde boy at the end of the bar finish off his second glass of whiskey. He raised the glass, silently asking for another. You grabbed the large bottle of golden colored alcohol and brought it to the man, giving him a small smile as you poured.

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I Wanna Feel Love and Pain (muke)

Hahaha, I’ll be honest, I literally pull my titles from whatever song I’m listening to at the moment of being published, anyway. New little ficlet that I’m SUPER happy about. I had hardcore writers block today and for the past few days, so this was so hard to start at first (like I wrote the first line 26 different ways before deciding what I wanted to do).

Hope you all enjoy, feel free to send in prompts if you want any filled. I only write boyxboy!!!!1!

Anyway, on with the story.

~~~

Luke slept on his side more often than not, back facing the door and legs curled into his body. He slept with socks on and his arm tucked beneath his pillow, and sometimes forgot to turn the light out.

 

He liked to be on the edge of the bed, blankets draped over his body as he snuggled down deep into the sheets, and for the first time ever, when Michael slept over, he’d woken up cold and with his t-shirt rucked up around his upper chest, the older boys hands resting on his bare skin.

 

Michael’s palms were warm, soft for the most part, but had little calluses on his heartline that were rough and worked against Luke’s skin. His eyes were closed, dirty blonde fringe covering his right eye and face relaxed, not the usual scowl that marred his pale complexion or the soft lines that melted into his face when he laughed. He didn’t have Calum’s resting bitch face, but his usual expression was close, and seeing him so docile and relaxed was different.

 

Luke reached out, stroked his fingers down Michael’s cheek softly, watching as his nose twitched softly and he pressed against Luke’s hand. Michael’s fingers curled against Luke’s chest before straightening out, pressed hard against him almost desperately. He let out a soft sound, eyelashes fluttering as he sucked in a soft, shallow breath.

 

“Luke?” Michael whispered, voice heavy with sleep. It was a delicious sound to hear, only growing better when he let out a tiny moan, blinking rapidly. “You’re really warm.”

 

“You’re cold.” Luke whispered back, pulling back from Michael’s cheek.

The older boy made a hurt sound. He rolled his shoulder up, rubbing his eye as he yawned. “What time is it?”

Luke hummed softly, not bothering to turn and look at his clock. It was still dark out, and he knew Michael probably wouldn’t get up until mid afternoon anyway. He patted around the bed for a blanket, letting out a soft, confused sound when he couldn’t find it.

“Guess this means you’ll have to cuddle with me.” Michael whispered, drawing his hands from Luke’s chest to his shoulders, pulling the blonde closer.

Luke crawled along with Michael’s incessant tugging, leaving his comfort spot behind as Michael tucked him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Luke’s upper body. He drew his right leg up, draping it over Luke’s hips and pulling his lower body closer, too.


The thin fabric of Michael’s boxers did nothing to hide his semi-hard cock pressing to Luke’s short clad thigh, and when Luke shifted slightly, drawling his legs upwards some did Michael let out a soft gasp like sound.

“Stop.” His voice was higher than usual, a bit unsure at the end.

Luke froze, fingers clawing at Michael’s borrowed shirt, tugging him closer so Luke could bury his face in the skin warmed fabric, hide his blush that Michael couldn’t see anyway. “I didn’t mean to.” and then he shifted again, and Michael rolled on top of him, hands tight against Luke’s shoulders, pushing him down into the mattress.

 

“For Christ’s sake, Hemmings.” Michael choked out.

Luke fought to breath properly, struggled to keep his mind in check with how close Michael’s face was to his, and the heavy pressure of his cock almost on top of Luke’s growing semi. He gritted his teeth, imagining how distressed and red he looked with Michael hovering over him while they were both in such a predicament. “I’m really sorry.”

 

“No, you’re not.” Michael nuzzles his face into Luke’s throat, breath hot, leaving Luke almost trembling. “You’re such a freak, Hemmings.” His tongue darts out, swiping across Luke’s hot flesh and the blonde gasps.

 

“W-what are you doing?” He makes no move to push Michael’s face away and the older boy seems to take that as a good sign. He ruts down harshly against Luke, groaning softly as he feels Luke’s cock, hard just like his own, pressed to the fabric of his bottoms.

 

Michael hums softly, grinding his hips down, ignoring Luke’s question. The blonde pants beneath him, fingers digging into Michael’s forearms tightly, leaving small half-moon shaped bites from his nails.

 

Luke groans, willing himself to stay quiet. His cock is heavy in his pants, leaking profusely as Michael grinds down on him, dropping a thick friction he’d never experienced before and left him wanting more. He whines softly, biting at Michael’s ear and sucking the lobe into his mouth, panting. “Please.”

 

He’s not above begging, not with how smoothly Michael’s working him over. His breaths are growing shallow, heavy and laced with echoing groans that he can’t swallow down. His cock aches for release and he knows he’s close, can feel his tummy coiling tighter and tighter. His eyes flit around Michael’s face, pleading in the worst way possible for more.

 

Michael’s lower lip is tucked between his teeth, knuckles straining against Luke’s shoulder blades. He can see the utterly wrecked look swirling in Luke’s eyes, can feel his cock throbbing heavily against his own, and the soft breaths Luke’s letting out, Jesus, he can just imagine how good he’d sound coming.

 

Luke gasps, eyes closing and hips bouncing up to meet Michael’s desperately. The sound he makes has Michael almost chewing at his lip, hand snapping from the blondes shoulder to his mouth, swallowing the thick, throaty groan that came next.

 

“Be quiet!” Michael hisses brokenly, hips grinding down slowly. He can feel the boys cock, ruts against it harshly before shuddering above him, hand still clasped over Luke’s open, whining mouth. He buries his face in Luke’s throat, ignoring the uncomfortable positioning of his arm as he mouths at the blondes overheated skin, tongue dipping out to taste him. He can feel the dampness of Luke’s shorts against his thigh as he pushes himself harder, wanting to leave the same feel on Luke’s body.

 

“C’mon,” Luke urges, voice trashed and needy. He pinches Michael’s forearms tightly, gritting his teeth. “Wanna feel it.”


And Michael has to swallow back the harsh groan that spilled into his mouth at Luke’s words. He grinds down hard, prepared to grab Luke’s legs and hoist him up, drag his come dampened shorts down and fuck his pale little thighs until he comes. Luke sighs, reaching up to caress Michael’s cheek, which the older boy melts into, eyes slipping closed. He’s close, so fucking close he can almost taste it.

 

“Michael.” Luke whines, breaking so fucking perfectly at the end. Michael groans, the sounds lost in Luke’s flesh, as he comes, hips rutting furiously, body heaving forward and fingers trembling. It’s overwhelming, desperate and delicious and Michael wants to relive it again and again.

 

He’s trembling under Michael’s body, panting softly still. Michael collapses on top of him, can feel the thick dampness in his boxers press against Luke’s thigh as the blonde shudders, letting out a pitiful sound.

 

“Want,” Luke pauses, breathing. He drags his hand up, tangles it through Michael’s messy hair, holds his face against his throat. “Want you to come on me next time.”

 

Michael groans softly. He can hear his heart beating, feels the hard palpitations echoing in his ear. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

 

Luke hums softly, eyes slipping shut. He wants to say it, knows he should, probably should thank Michael too, while he’s at it. Doesn’t know how to say it though; he’s fifteen, probably should’ve gotten a handie from a girl under the bleachers by now, and doesn’t want Michael suddenly grossed out by the fact that he’s the first person Luke’s ever gotten off with - for. Instead, he wills his heartbeat to slow down and his breathing to even out, deciding that rolling Michael off of him would only result in a fresh pair of boxers and a cuddleless night, and Luke’s not about that kind of life.

 

Michael’s soft against him, covering his body warmly. It’s nice, he likes it, likes what they’ve done and how they’ve ended up.

 

~~~

 

It’s two weeks later when Michael corners Luke in the basement of the older boys house, lips pulled up into a cocky smirk and eyes shining. Luke knows he looks like some sort of scared animal, can feel it with the thick, heavy gaze Michael directs at him that screams palpable.

 

Michael seems to have an empty conversation with Luke’s wide eyes before snaking his hand around the back of Luke’s neck and tugging him forward. Luke stumbles, wide eyed and shaky, into Michael’s body - hates how he has to look up at him, feel that hot gaze on his face and soundless expressions - grips the older boys shirt, waits.

 

“Word has it, you’re a prude.” Michael’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

 

Luke’s gaze latches on to the wet muscle, traces it with his eyes. His own are dry, but he can’t bring himself to moisten them. “Yeah.”

 

Michael’s eyes sparkle, eyebrow raising almost in mockery. “That’s impressive.” He rubs his hand up Luke’s chest, pausing at the collar of his shirt. “You’ve gotten off but never kissed anyone.”

 

Luke’s eyes widen, notices how Michael seems to grin even more. He clucks his tongue a few times, other hand tugging at the hair at the back of Luke’s neck. He looks amused, nods slowly at Luke’s clearly unsure expression.

 

“You know what you’re doing, though right, Luke?” Michael dips his fingers under the collar of Luke’s shirt, pulls him even closer. “You’re experienced, yeah?”

 

Luke gapes at him, tangles his own fingers in Michael’s shirt. His face is flushed, can feel the warmth brushing down his cheeks and throat.

 

Michael cocks his brows. “If I told you to get on your knees and suck my dick, you’d do it right?”

 

Luke looks down, notices the bulge in Michael’s shorts, nods.

 

“Words, Luke.” Michael says softly.

 

“Yeah.” Luke corrects timidly. He looks back up at Michael nervously.

 

Michael smiles almost knowingly. “You’d do it right now?”

 

His mouth is dry, heart’s racing and his breaths are shallow. He wants to nod, wants to push Michael back, drop down on his knees right that second, pull those stupid shorts out of the way and wrap his lips around Michael’s dick.

 

“You’d let me come on you, right?” Michael’s voice has gone deeper, husky even. “You want that, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Luke nods quickly. Wonders quickly if this is how Michael does foreplay, works the other person up, gets them all nice and ready and then gets what he wants. It seems foolproof and Luke swears he’s going lightheaded.

 

“Get to it then.” Michael smiles again, fingers retracting from Luke’s hair and shirt to rest on his shoulders, pushing him down slowly.

 

Luke swears under his breath, doesn’t know what he’s doing as he sinks to his knees, looks up at Michael with what he can picture being scared blue eyes. Michael watches him, nods when Luke reaches for the waistband of his shorts and pulls them down slightly. He watches the pale expanse of Michael’s torso come into view - he’s soft and Luke can’t help but run his palm across Michaels skin - tugs at the shorts a bit more, swallows harshly at his sculpted hipbones and allows his fingertips to swipe over the bone.

 

“Enough with the body worshiping.” Michael pulled Luke’s hair softly, causing the blonde to look up at him. His eyes are hooded, watching Luke slowly tug his shorts down the rest of the way.

 

Luke bites his lower lip, pulling the older boys shorts down below his dick and going for the grey elastic waistband of his boxers. Michael’s cock slaps against his stomach, head a flushed, angry red colour and leaking. He’s thick, like really fucking thick and decent in length, enough that Luke knows he’s going to be choking on it.

 

Michael runs his hand through Luke’s hair, pushes his long fringe back from his eyes, fingers trailing down to his lips, pressing into the wet heat. He rubs his thumb over his bottom lip, tugs it down softly and watches it bounce back into place.

 

Luke’s eyes are on Michael’s dick, how it rests so nicely against his tummy, how fucking good Michael looks like this. He nips at Michael’s fingers in his mouth, licks at them softly and watches Michael grin down at him almost ferally. He’s slow, moving in as Michael extracts his fingers, tangling them in Luke’s hair tightly, and licking at the older boys tip, taking in his tart, sweet taste that scream’s Michael through and through. His cock is warm against Luke’s lips, hot even, and Luke hesitates before wrapping his lips around the tip and sucking softly, tongue pressing hotly at his slit.

 

He’s really fucking slow, opening his mouth and moving his lips down, blinking quickly. It’s nerve wracking to have someone’s abdomen the closest thing your eyes can lock on without straining too hard. He can see wispy blonde hairs, like baby peach fuzz, trailing up Michael’s torso to his belly button, and the fluff at the base of his dick that Luke knows he’ll have his nose buried in when Michael gets sick of his lack of experience and fucks his throat.

 

But Michael doesn’t know he’s inexperienced, although the way he’s talked hints that he does, and Luke hopes he’s decent enough that Michael’ll be pleased, maybe even let him do it again - if he likes it.

 

His tongue presses to the underside of Michael’s cock, pushes harshly against the thick veins there as slowly moves his head up and down, sucking hard enough to feel the extreme thickness twitch softly between his lips.

 

“You’re doing good.” Michael mumbles. His fingers are tangled through Luke’s hair, soft and pressed to his scalp almost soothingly.

 

Luke would grin if he could. He grips Michael’s dick in his hand, stroking what he hasn’t tried fitting in his mouth and sloppily dragging his lips along. He pulls off, turns slightly to wipe his spit slick mouth on his shoulder hand tugging at Michael’s cock harshly before leaning in and taking him back into his mouth, this time working his way lower. He feels like he’s choking on his tongue before Michael’s cock has even brushed the back of his throat, can’t help but groan when Michael suddenly thrusts forward, almost pushing Luke backwards and choking him.

 

His hips stutter, like he’s trying to control himself and failing. Tugs Luke forward and fucks into his mouth, ignoring Luke’s hands splaying out across his thighs tightly and pushing him back.

 

There’s spit dripping from Luke’s chin when Michael pulls back, allowing the blonde air. Luke’s crying, can feel the wet drops trailing down his cheeks, mixing with his spit and the taste of Michael. He pants harshly, can feel a heavy ache in his jaw and a sudden soreness in his throat that’ll probably affect him for days. Can’t really it in himself to care when Michael smiles down at him and pulls him forward by the hand tangled in Luke’s fringe.

 

His own dick is heavy in his jeans, probably leaving some freshman year saw a chicks tits kind of spot and pressed against the thick denim material, hard and weeping. He doesn’t really think about it much as his one hand leaves Michael’s thigh and pops open the button of his jeans, tugs his boxers out of the way and pulls his cock out, tugs at it repeatedly, moaning around Michael’s cock.

 

“Yeah, just-” Michael groans, cutting off with a groan, struggling to keep from fucking Luke’s mouth. He’s close, so fucking close it’s right there but he can’t reach it. Looks down at Luke, eyes catching on the blondes hand sliding up and down quickly, eyes hooded and lips fully and pink, wrapped tight around his cock, swallowing him up the best he can. “You look so fucking good.”

 

Luke raises a brow, eyes falling slack as he leans forward, moaning loudly around Michael’s cock. His hand is moving quickly, and he’s so close. He wants Michael to come on him, knows Michael’s just as close as he is, can’t really help himself when he pulls off, tongue dipping into to dance around his tip. “Come on my face.” He sounds so trashed, Michael groans almost dropping down onto his knees. Luke’s mouthing around his cock again though, sucking harshly, desperately as he fucks his hand, hips bouncing up.

 

He comes with a soft groan, sucking Michael’s cock back into his mouth and wrapping his hand around him tightly, jerking quickly. Michael groans loudly, pushes Luke back, watches him stumble onto his ass and moves to stand over him, grabs his hair tight in his hand, tugs him up and he pulls at himself, wants nothing more than to cover Luke’s hungry little face in come. Can’t really help himself when he reaches down and tips Luke’s mouth open, groaning softly before he comes, huffing loudly and coming on the blondes face, watching his lips and tongue cover in drops of come.

 

Luke hums softly, waits him out, mouth open and eyes pleading, blinking over and over. He waits until Michael pushes him back, falls into the couch, his cock limp on his lap. He looks spent, completely and utterly spent. It’s a pretty sight and Luke can’t help but voice his opinion as he clambers up from the floor and stumbles over to Michael, tucking himself into his pants and wiping his come covered hand on Michael’s shirt, before falling into the older boy, burying his face in Michael’s neck.

 

“Put my dick away when you’re done playing with it.” Michael says, throaty and hard. Luke swallows, reaches down with blind hands, groping for Michael’s cock. He strokes him softly, ignores Michael’s whines before pulling his boxers up, shorts following seconds later and falls back into Michael’s body.

 

Michael pets his hand through Luke’s hair softly, mumbles something Luke doesn’t catch and doesn’t really care about too much. He presses a kiss to Michael’s neck, another under his ear before whispering, “Thank you.” Another kiss, this one in the crook of his neck and shoulder, and Michael shudders, whispering out a threat with no heat, as usual.

everything comes back to you

requested by anonymous

AU in which 10k and the reader share a room, and the reader falls asleep on the floor, only to wake up to 10k carrying them to bed


When the group finds the hotel, and the entire 5th floor is untouched by Z’s, it’s like Christmas and Halloween and all of your birthdays rolled into one. 

“See y’all in the morning!” Addy says, immediately ducking into one of the rooms and shutting the door. Everyone else splits off, until its just you and 10k left, staring at the only empty room left with flushed cheeks.

“Okay then.” You say, attempting to break the tense silence, and failing. You walk into the room, and 10k follows. 

The room is sparsely decorated, and you can hear the sound of water running in one of the other rooms, which means a shower. The knot in your belly tightens when you see one bed. You choose to ignore it for the moment, and look at the ugly wallpaper.

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Inside a Saltwater Room

for @notanightlight


The aquarium has a new exhibit on mermaids.

It isn’t like Gimli’s never seen them before. But seeing a mermaid from a stadium away at SeaWorld is an entirely different experience from seeing one up close, and Gimli is only now fully appreciating just how beautiful they are.

There are five of them, three males and two females, in the aquarium tank. Kili is on the opposite side of the room, admiring the female with the red hair and the forest green tail, and Fili stayed behind to look at the sea otters; Gimli’s on his own. He’s following the motions of the two identical males with the black hair and pure white scales, watching how they spiral upward around another, never touching but always within an arm’s length.

And then, there is a knock on the glass, directly in front of Gimli.

He looks down again to see pale blue eyes peering out of the tank, golden hair swirling in the water around a face that is eerily beautiful.

The mermaid tilts his head, blinks twice, taps the glass again. Gimli’s lips quirk into a smile, and he taps the glass back. The mermaid smiles, so brightly he could almost be human, and shoots upward in a streak of sky blue and pale gold.

Gimli thinks he’s going to be visiting the aquarium more often now.


His next day off from work, Gimli goes back to the aquarium.

The mermaid exhibit is in the back, past the deep-sea waters and the tidepools, so it takes him a while to get there. He doesn’t really mind. Best for last and all that, right?

The blond mermaid seems less bright than he was a week ago, his movements slower. When he sees Gimli he still goes to the glass, but instead of tapping he lays his hand against it and stares out with wide eyes.

Gimli lays his hand over the mermaid’s and gazes back.


The third time Gimli visits the mermaids, it’s the abovewater portion of the tank that he goes to. There’s no glass here, nothing separating him from the blond mermaid.

He takes a few minutes to notice that Gimli’s there, which gives Gimli the chance to watch him - to see how tired he looks. They’re all like that, but the blond one shows it most.

Then he does notice, and he swims up to the surface to look at Gimli face-to-face.

He’s got violet half-moons stamped beneath his eyes; his arms and chest are mottled with bruises. It was hard to see through the water - everything seems blue-tinted - but it’s painfully clear now.

“What happened to you?” Giml whispers.

The mermaid doesn’t understand (of course he doesn’t, mermaids look humanoid but they can’t understand language any more than a dolphin would) but he looks so defeated that Gimli can’t help but feel for him.

Gimli reaches over the glass, not touching the mermaid’s skin but close enough that either of them could reach out. The mermaid does and -

- oh.

Gimli is flooded with memories that are not his(silken seawater on his skin even though he’s never been in the ocean, the type of coral reef part of hi had always thought didn’t exist outside of pictures) and a clear voice speaking in his ears: My name is Legolas.

My name is Gimli, he responds automatically.

Legolas is smiling so brightly that Gimli has to smile back; he seems far less tired now, and his eyes are glowing again. He sends across an image that Gimli does recognize - a red-haired man, taller than Gimli but not by much, holding an axe that is taller than either of them. It feels distinctly like a question.

Glóin, Gimli says. My father. Yours? It’s odd how few of Legolas’s memories feature other mermaids.

Legolas’s smile fades. Gimli wishes he hadn’t asked. Legolas takes a deep breath, lets it out, sends across another memory -

- scared alone so scared it’s too small i can’t breathe iT’S MOVING WHY IS IT MOVING -

- where’s ada where did they take him why did they take him i need him where is he where’s ada -

- alone and hurt and so so scared -

The memory fades and the terror fades with it. Gimli struggles to catch his breath.

Seaworld? he asks, and sends an image of the logo along with it. Legolas nods.

Gimli twines their fingers together. “i’ll get you out of here,” he promises, though Legolas won’t understand. “I swear to God, Legolas, I’ll get you out of here.”

Survival walks into a bar &
looks so much like exhaustion
that the unease becomes tangible,
gazes all suddenly turned away.

Survival walks into a bar &
orders a drink, only to slap it
over her bleeding wounds &
flinch when it makes them burn.

Survival walks into a bar &
spits out the window, sits in a
corner and glares at everyone
who looks her way.

Survival has bandages all over 
her face & tiredness in her eyes,
little half moon circles etched
into her skin beneath.

Survival smiles, &
her teeth sparkle.

—  ON SURVIVING by Darshana Suresh

anonymous asked:

Would Hot older brother Eren have any tattoos?

Short answer - yes. Long answer - see drabble below. Sorry this took so long! Tattoo inspired by this.


Levi woke up confused, his legs twisted in sheets and his neck aching from the way he’d fallen asleep against one of Izzy’s pillows. She was sleeping next to him, her breath even and quiet in the dark room, and her wild red hair looked like flames against the white pillowcase.  

After listening for any signs of having woke her, he eased the sheets off his legs and stood, careful not to trip over Izzy’s heels or step on a stray nail polish bottle as he made his way out of her room. The house was dim and silent, and Levi thought perhaps he and Izzy had been quiet enough not to alert her parents just how late they’d gotten home from the party.

Farlan had made another bonfire in the woods behind his house, close enough to the lake that a group of them had all gone swimming in the dark. Even to Levi, who hated the thought of what might lay beneath the surface, the water had looked velvety and welcoming underneath a half-moon, cloudless sky.

A pleasant warmth was still buzzing through Levi’s veins as he made his way down to the kitchen, navigating Izzy’s house with ease. A bottle of water would save him a headache in the morning, and he’d grab some aspirin while he was down there. Izzy would surely need it when she woke for the amount of tequila she had consumed.

The wood floors felt cold against Levi’s bare feet, despite the summer heat. It was distracting enough that he didn’t noticed the kitchen lights were on or the soft rustling emanating from the room until he was already halfway inside.

“Oh,” Levi said quietly, skidding to a halt. No, his voice did not just squeak.

Izzy’s older brother whipped his head up to stare at Levi. Once he realized who it was, his shoulders relaxed, and he turned back to what he’d been doing when Levi walked in.

He hadn’t seen Eren Jaeger in a few weeks—no one had. But that was pretty par for the course when it came to Eren. He went to college two hours away and usually couch surfed all summer, and Levi spent too many hours filling up his mind with thoughts of his mysterious adventures.

To say Levi had a crush on Izzy’s brother spoke far too softly of his feelings.

Eren looked to be struggling with something, his arms and torso twisted and his head bent at a painful-looking angle.

“Are you okay?” Levi asked quietly from the doorway.

Eren looked up at Levi again and leveled him with a hard, considering look.

“You have hands,” he observed, tilting his head a little to the left.

It was a bizarre enough statement that Levi’s belly gave a sharp tug. “Umm, yes, but—” 

The other boy cut him off with a lazy wave of his hand. “Come here, please. “

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killians-dimples

Wishing the happiest of birthdays to the sweetest muffin around! Hope you are enjoying your trip to Vancouver! Not only are you obscenely talented, but you are a delight to know. Hugs and kisses on your special day. 

Have some fluff based on my absolute favorite work you’ve created. (I lied. They are all my favorites.)

-/-

She had trouble sleeping when she was a kid - always too distracted in the group homes by the other children, their whispering and laughter making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, an uneasy sort of awareness keeping her from closing her eyes and relaxing into the lumpy mattress. When she eventually was placed in a home, she had been too nervous to sleep then, too. The bed was too big and the house too quiet, her eyes darting around and trying to memorize the neat stack of toys in the corner and the pale yellow wallpaper and the little sign on the door that spelled Emma, just in case she had to go back. 

(She had to go back.)

Now, though, it’s different. 

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anonymous asked:

Imagine Claire wakes up from a nightmare (maybe the car crash her parents died in?) and Jamie has to comfort her. I love your stories!

Dreams are funny things. Sewn from the cloth of past and future, they unravel their spools in the dead of night, slow-fingered but sure in the weaving of their tale. Tomorrow’s seeds plant themselves in the slumbering mind while yesterday’s weeds are plucked from its soil. What is memory and what is imagination when bygones sprout to life beneath the mists of dawn? When ghosts and birds sing the same tune?

And though these dreams can haunt you beyond the darkness – a voice in your head, a hand on your back – even then they are not complete. Fragmented images, maybe; a collage of fact and fiction. All vaguely familiar – but only fleetingly whole come the rising of the sun.


“What did ye see, Sassenach?” Jamie asked into the nape of my neck, arms engulfing me. His body absorbed the force of my trembling, and the two of us lay bound and moved by the small ripples of my fear. I sighed into his touch, warmth suffusing the icy fingers still pawing at my bedclothes. I swallowed, trying to gather my wits, but the visions of my dreamscape assailed me even now as they had in sleep: a man dancing at the foot of my bed, low-voiced and shadowed, keeping vigil over my sleeping form. And my parents just down the hall, alive but blissfully unknowing.

Taking a deep breath, I offered only a nondescript, “I – I’m not sure exactly.” I could only think to take stock of my limbs – each one was present, each one unmarred – to free my mind from the haze that fogged it.

It had been a night terror, certainly. Peppered with distorted figures and too-sharp angles, it belonged in a museum among Picasso’s geometric faces and Schiele’s contorted limbs. I could make no more sense of its shape or palette – entirely monochromatic, save the odd burst of saturated blue, red, or green – than I could the grip it had on me. For beyond the immediate strangeness of it all, lurked a nagging sense of déjà vu…Hadn’t I lived this scene already? Heard that conversation, known those faces? And the man, the mysterious sentinel – had I not met him once before?

A ghràidh,” Jamie said, sensing my anxiety. “Nothing will harm ye now; I’m here.” An affectionate hand rubbed my back. “When I was a just boy, my Da told me how ye might drive away the brollachan that torment ye. ‘To kill the brollachan, bhalaich,’ he said, ‘ye must bore them half to death.’”

The brollachan. The shapeless ghosts of the night – and our steadfast bedmates. For years, they had stolen into our bedroom and shared our pillows, working a darker magic than even the blackest November midnight. They left no evidence of their visits but for the sweat-soaked shirts and purple half-moons beneath my husband’s eyes.

“And how does one bore the brollachan?” I asked, undeniably curious.

“Why, by repeatin’ everything they told ye, of course! Over and over again until you canna even bear the telling of it yerself.”

“Oh. Naturally.” I replied, amused by the matter-of-factness with which my husband treated such age-old superstition. But his voice was serious, and his arms tightened around me.

I dinna ken if ye’ve met him, Sassenach, but do ye recall me speaking of a man called Arthur Gibbs?”

I did as a matter of fact. A miniscule stable-hand with a hunchback, what Arthur Gibbs lacked in stature, he more than made up for in conversation. Endless, bumbling and – for reasons unknown to me – passionate conversation on the subject of dung beetles.

I nodded.

“Weel, everyone knows that if ye say but a word to auld Artie, ye willna make it home to yer supper – or to yer breakfast, for that matter. He’ll talk yer ear off until ye either collapse w’ hunger or die of boredom.” He shifted me so that I faced him, pressed nose to nose. “And it’s much the same w’ the brollachan.”

“Hmmm,” I said, planting a light kiss on his jaw. The distress borne from my sleeping imagination had yielded to the immediacy of my reality – but still it hovered at the edges of consciousness, a ripped and oozing scab.

“It was…odd,” I said, struggling for an explanation. Where to even begin?             

“A dream, obviously. One minute I was standing on the stairwell, and the next I was flying backwards, lying in my childhood bedroom. A man was there.”

Jamie’s brows drew together, concerned.

“But it was a memory, too. I’m sure of it. Something I’d forgotten, but…”

Understanding softened the hardened planes of my husband’s face.

“Aye, Sassenach. Ye told me of such things before, when I’d wake from my own nightmares and feel as though I’d lived them once already. ‘Suppressed memories’, ye called them.”

I nodded absently, my mind still half-removed. 

An inherent defense mechanism, the human brain will shy away from the unbearable, pulverizing faces and words and sounds until not a trace of them remained. But now, teeming with the resurrected spirits of my past, I began to navigate the labyrinth of my denial. Key in hand, I gave it a name and I set it free.

You need not fear me. We were friends once.

With a sudden burst of electricity, lightning coursed through my veins. The missing pieces of the puzzle that had scattered upon my waking fell rapidly into place. A scene, previously broken, began to take shape, surging forward with an astounding clarity.

“Tell me about the dream as best ye can, mo chridhe,” Jamie encouraged. “And I’ll help ye scare the brollachan away.” We both sat up then, legs crossed and hands intertwined, as we faced each other and my demons together.

“Well,” I started, sinking into the rhythm of my tale. “I was four years old and listening from the stairwell…”

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A/N: We all know why this happened, I’m sorry in advance, I don’t even know if I like it but here you go

The dirt still gathers beneath his fingernails in dark half-moons, in the skin on the knuckles of his fingertips and, on occasion when he’s digging around in a pot big enough, in the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. It’s a familiar scent, one that reminds him of the summertime no matter how the weather in the city behaves, one that seems to settle him down when the days seem to completely run together.

Sometimes he feels lost in a place this big, homesick for sprawling hills and foggy mornings, especially on long drives like this. Sometimes he wonders if it was a good idea at all, traveling all the way on his own with not a soul to welcome him to the east coast. And sometimes, when he catches a glimpse of long blonde hair darting past the doors of the flower shop on the side of the narrow street, he lets all of his second-guesses fall away.

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On The Horizon - Part 8

Hey everyone! So I’m finally posting something on time :D Yay! Sadly, this part will probably live up to the title @lovinglifeandlivinglove gave me on the last part, the queen of angst. Honestly, it’s probably a little too much, but oh well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading :D


Part 8:

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