bruise constellation

Full Disclosure

When I fall for you, the passion
we hold between us will be
the devouring kind. A tormenting
tempest tethering souls together
with a force fit to warp steel. Creation
implicit between the lashes of a wink
or stare like eyelids cover tiny infinities.

Our love will smell like skinned knees
and grass stains and the bindings
of old books. I will keep your heart
thick in my throat, every whisper
a sunset that echoes the longing
the surf feels for the shore.

When I fall for you, my
submission to you will be
the playful kind. A teasing
triumph taken in time, a two-step
too close to tripping to be grace-
ful. Admiration of bruises that break
like constellations against a night
made flesh.

Our fever will taste like playgrounds
and Thursdays and double-dog
dares. I will keep your tongue
tucked behind my ear, every syllable
shivering down and down my spine
to vibrate secrets into sonnets.

When I fall for you, our life will be
the adventuring kind. A treasure trove
of temptations bled through salty
whimpers. Such exquisite torture,
the static of daydreams. Delicacies
to break and mend, break and mend,
break and mend.

Our living will feel like thunderstorms
and comets and godliness, when I fall
for you. If I fall for you ever,
or at all.

© 2017 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

fire is supposed to be cleansing.
you read that somewhere. nature’s catharsis.

people say you don’t look before you leap.
shoot first ask questions when you’re dead.
boy explosive. boy self-immolating for fun.
boy proving them right.

the box of matches holds thirty fragile opportunities
to start over new and raw and conflagrant.
you’ve learned to shut down the voice that says don’t.
you’re not sure it exists anymore.

there are bruises like constellations making universes
out of your throat. marks like possession, like mine, like yours.
marks like possession but you belong nowhere, to no one.
marks like possession but you can’t climb into the spaces
between his ribs and settle next to his heart
without turning it black like ash. black like yours.

you want to burn for thinking you even had a chance.
you want to burn the clothes he pulled off of you.
you want fire until everything becomes like blowing glass,
fire until you can mold yourself into a thing
that doesn’t need intimacy.
love-making without the love.
just making.
remaking. unmaking.
you find yourself in the in-between too often to be comfortable;
not quite whole, not quite non-existent.

you are the firefront.
you, yourself, and that flame on your fingertips, his taste
still on your tongue. you would think that dozens of burns later,
you would have learned how to fix yourself by now.
spark into being. condense into heat. explode into a blistering,
invisible touch that evaporates with the light of day.

boy cleansing him. boy ruining self.

—  “FIREFRONT” [cowritten by h.x.l. (@p-ercolating) & e.k.t. (@anarchetypal)]

Make me believe in love again…

We will come to a point where in we’ll get tired of loving and we refuse to believe if true love still exists. We will fall hundred times, we’ll get up and fall in love again. We’ll take the risk and as many chances as we can.

Fill your heart with so much love. Love yourself more than anyone else, so that when we found each other, we’ll share an unconditional love for each other.

I have constellations of bruises all over my body. My mind is an entire universe and i got lost in it. I’ve fallen many times but i learned how to stand on my own. It took me so much time putting myself all together, the scar will be there. I’ve had my heart broken from those people who did not handle it with care. I grew tired of singing the same song over and over. I let my blood spilled all over to make a beautiful masterpiece. I am a hurricane, I can’t go somewhere without destroying anything. I got hurt many times and it made me questioned if love is true and if someone can give me the love that i am willing to give. The problem is, i can’t trust anyone, i can’t trust words and actions, i can’t trust love anymore. But i am hoping that you will be patient enough to prove to me that there’s still love out there. That your love is true and unconditional. I hope that you won’t give up on me. It will be hard for me to trust someone again. I have built a cold wall to protect myself and if you’re brave enough, you can thaw these cold walls that surrounds me, make me feel the warmth of your love. 

I’m not perfect and will never be. But i assure you that once you got my heart, it will only be yours. I am only yours and no one can take me away from you. I will handle you with so much care and i will treat you right and respect you. I will always understand you and your decision. Just be patient with me while trying to win my heart. We’ll get there and we’ll meet half way. I hope that when God lets you in my life, I am ready. I want you to come at the right time because I don’t want to give you the burden of healing me. I won’t ask you to complete me and make me whole once again. I am the only one who can make myself whole once again. I don’t want to be unfair to you.

I’m not a kid anymore and I don’t need to play anymore. I need someone who would settle. I need someone who will stay not because i told you to do so but because that’s what you really want.

I hope this time, you’ll know my worth. That this time, it’s worth the shot. I won’t ask too much to you all i’m asking is for you to be patient and be true to your feelings.

—  an open letter to the one I’ll end up with

anonymous asked:

Sugar daddy cal "Angel you need me way more than I need you"

*smut under the cut!*

You enjoyed a competition.

Five days ago for example, you’d gotten back from a day of shopping only to have Calum declare you were more dependent on him than he was on you. Now whilst financially he was right, although you’d pointed out to the CEO many times that you’d be more than happy to find a job but he preferred you not to work and you were more than fine with being a socialite, in every other aspect of your relationship the two of you were even.

Angel you need me way more than I need you.” He chuckled when you pointed this out, beginning to take off his suit whilst you sat on the plush bed, sorting through the day’s purchases. “And we both know it.”

“Please, you can’t go one day without needing me.” You smirked, getting up to start putting things away. “I bet you wouldn’t last a week without a fuck.”

“Oh and you would?” He cocked an eyebrow as he faced you in the mirror, a smirk creeping onto his own face when you nodded. “Bet’s on Angel. But when I win, you better be prepared for some serious consequences.”

“Whatever you say Hood.” You shrug back. “But when I win, you’ll be sorry.”

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hold me down (daddy issues ch. 2)

Originally posted by i-can-see-the-stars-from-america

isaac makes pancakes. naomi and theo get “acquainted.” derek goes too far. (slight non-con/rape, mentions of abuse)

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she fell from the trembling sky smothered in clouds of stardust
wings were clipped & feet were bruised & constellations were
inked upon porcelain skin - epitome of beauty in front of my
unworthy eyes [felt a cleansing on my soul from such purity]

she touched the palm of my hand & gifted me knowledge
of the way back home - for i was a lost boy of flowers & stars
& she blew the moon’s rays to the ground - a path up to heaven
where we both belonged [welcome home my dear lost boy]

for @eunoiaschaos: thank you for such a beautiful and inspirational visual poem.

sequel to the lost boy of flowers, the lost boy of stars

there was too much bruise
in loving you / too much skin
shed and saltwater bled

it was hard to make blood
look pretty / as it rose from my skin,

           a decaying flower in its spring

i organised my bruises into
constellations / (for you)
you called them / beautiful

compared them to a cosmos
of something distant / something
you couldn’t touch but yearned to

i said: “the stars are dying each
night / can’t you hear?”

their screams / are why i sleep
with the windows shut each night

their screams / are why
i keep you / locked inside

and i am not sorry for that.

How It Ends

Title: How It Ends (Part 1)

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Summary: After Dean is fatally injured on a hunt, (Y/n) does the only thing she knows she can do to save him, sells her soul. She makes it her mission to keep Dean spared from the truth of what she did for him before the hellhounds come for her. 

Word Count: ~6,500

A/N: Yo guess what kool kat is graduating from college in a month??? this fool. Once summer hits, hopefully I can post more often but for now, I have a series for you!

Also - this is named after the song How It Ends by DeVotchKas. I really recommend listening to it at some point because it really is a beautifully written song and it works so well with this storyline. 

The hallowing pit in your stomach nearly consumed you as you sprinted through the crowded hallway of an old hospital in Westchester; racing past gurneys and nurses, ignoring the piercing screams of a woman vaguely shielded by the veil of a thin curtain. You almost crashed into a nurse before she jumped out of your way at the last second, presumably experienced in the chaos of working in an understaffed hospital.

You couldn’t think straight. There was nothing else on your mind but ‘479’. You all but threatened the intern in the emergency room with the serrated blade stashed in your belt before he reluctantly gave up the room number to you. It was all you could think about. It was all you would allow yourself to think about as you ran past rooms ‘465’ and ‘467’. You were so close to him and yet the fear had only just begun to settle in.

You came to a sudden halt just outside his door, your breathing labored as you leaned against the wall for support. Your eyes flashed to the silver numbers along the wall, clenching your fists when you saw ‘Winchester, D.’ scribbled in messy handwriting on the board underneath. You took a deep breath, forcibly calming yourself despite the shakiness in your legs. You reached for the door knob, just noticing the violent tremors in your hands.

Sam scrambled to his feet you walked inside, words lost on the tip of his tongue as your knees nearly buckled underneath you at the sight of his brother. You fell against the door frame with a thud, catching yourself before your body gave out completely. The wind had been knocked from your lungs, the beat of your heart ripped from your chest, every ounce of hope destroyed in a single instant, in just a single look.

You couldn’t breathe.

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anonymous asked:

For the kiss thing, can I have 32 with Nalu? >.<

32. Kiss marks or lipstick stains.
Let’s see if I can shake off the rust with these kiss drabbles!!

;Love Bite

Lucy’s eyes met with Natsu’s in the mirror, where they proceeded to hold his attention as she combed through a mess of blonde hair on her shoulder. That little smile she gave him in greeting made his heart skip in an I-could-die-happy-right-now sort of way. 

Sunlight dipped into the bathroom through the high window, adding an extra patch of warmth to Natsu’s already hot skin. Hot because the sight of kiss marks on Lucy’s neck made him shudder in delight. And hotter still because Lucy would kill him when she found out that her smooth skin was covered, once again, in little love bites.

He’d noticed the marks as soon as he’d entered the bathroom and now, in the face of denial, he was a picture of apathy, glass eyes skimming away from the constellation of bruises on her neck in order to avoid confrontation. He cleared his throat and dropped his toothbrush in the pot beside her own as he watched her braid the left side of her hair. So absorbed in the technique, Lucy had yet to notice the marks on the opposite side of her neck – or the ones on her shoulders.

It wasn’t until she bent forward to use the sink that Lucy first noticed the marks on her neck: three of them, in fact, each bigger than the last. Her index finger barely covered the largest, a sunburst of colour that seemed to glow on Lucy’s pale skin. Natsu’s blood ran cold.

“Natsu!” she gasped, dropping her hairbrush with an almighty clatter into the empty sink. “I wish you’d stop leaving marks where everyone can see them!”

Lucy was meticulous when it came to her appearance – Natsu didn’t quite understand it, honestly. Had there ever been a time in his life when Lucy Heartfilia didn’t look ravishing? He recalled the first time they’d woken up together as a couple, the way her hair, a tangled mess of blonde tresses spread like a cape between them, seemed to glow in the dim morning sunlight. She wore sleep well. 

Hell, Lucy wore anything well.

“You said not to leave them on your neck,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he dropped his gaze to the other marks. 

Lucy’s eyes followed his to her shoulders. “Natsu!”

“You can’t yell at me for those! They’re not on your neck!”

“If you’re going to chew me like a piece of meat at least have the decency to leave the evidence in places I can conceal it!”

Natsu raised a brow. “Like where?”

Lucy inflated her cheeks. “Anywhere that isn’t on show for the entire guild to see!”

It was too late now: she’d said it. She’d given her explicit permission. From today onwards, Natsu Dragneel would not hold himself back. Like a dragon branding its captured princess, he would mark her as his for the rest of Lucy’s long life.

Licking his bottom lip, Natsu walked Lucy back against the sink and hoisted her up onto the edge of it, where he proceeded to touch his lips to the marks upon her neck. He kissed each gently, making his way to her shoulders where he nudged the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder to rest on the crease in her elbow. 


“You said anywhere,” he grinned, bending to crouch on the balls of his feet. 

When their eyes met a second time Lucy’s face reddened significantly. With a palm on her thigh and the other grasping a handful of purple silk, Natsu placed deliberately slow kisses up her legs beneath her dress. Grazing her thigh with his teeth, he then proceeded to suck on her warm flesh until the blood rose to meet him in a battle for dominance. Natsu’s entire body shuddered as she shivered above him. She leaned back on the sink as he swapped legs, aiming to leave as many marks as possible on the more intimate, untouched areas of skin. 

And then the familiar drum of running water filled the sink as Lucy placed her weight on the taps behind her, bringing his territorial battle to an unexpected albeit comical end.  

RPDR Highschool!AU Chapter 6

Main Pairing: Pearl x Violet

Side Pairings: Katya x Trixie, Sharon x Alaska, Max x Biblegirl666, Phi Phi x Sharon, Roy x Adore

Rated M for Mean Girl References

Chapter 1 (X) & Chapter 2 (X) & Chapter 3 (X) & Chapter 4 (X) & Chapter 5 (X)

Chapter 6 (X) & Chapter 7 (X) & Chapter 8 (X)

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InfinityCircle Pit

anonymous asked:

Bawson prompt: the aftermath of one of Mike & Ginny's crazy sexy times, aka mike being back to his adorable sweet self & making his girl food

Ginny feels a lazy smile spread on her face as she lazes around in the rumpled sheets. She rolls onto her stomach, listens to Mike padding around in the kitchen, using her mostly decorative pots and pans to make her midnight breakfast. She stretches her arms out, looks at her wrists for any sign of the soft silk binds they’d experimented with. Her skin is unmarked—well, her wrists are. She rolls back over, looks at her chest. Her breasts are sprinkled with bite and suck marks from Mike’s hungry mouth, and her hips bear constellations of bruises from his fingers.

She yawns as she slides out of bed, the cool air making her flesh goosebumped as she goes to Mike’s half of her dresser. She takes out a pair of his boxers, navy with little dancing bananas on them, and steps into them then takes a t-shirt from another drawer and slips it on before she walks to the kitchen. Mike’s at the stove, still naked, humming as he flips pancakes in a skillet. Ginny smiles as she walks over and wraps her arms around his bare midsection. She stands on her toes, rests her chin in the curve of his neck and shoulder. “Are you crisping the edges?”

Mike smiles, reaches back to squeeze her hop. “Don’t I always, Baker?”

“And did you put cheese in my eggs?” Mike puts the crispy-edged pancake on the plate with the others then pulls Ginny around to stand between him and the stove. He places an egg in her hand. Ginny looks down at it then back at him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

He points to the glass bowl on the counter. “Crack it in there.”

Ginny cracks the egg in the bowl and Mike cracks two more then hands her a fork. “Now whisk them so you’ll break the yolks.”

Ginny does as she’s told and Mike drops a pat of butter in the pan. “Now pour them in.”

Ginny pours the eggs in the skillet and Mike takes her hand in his, teaches her to scramble. “Just keep them moving so they don’t stick to the pan.”

They ruin two batches of eggs because Mike is peppering kisses on the sweet spot behind her right ear. Mike finally shoos her away from the stove with a smack to her ass. “Go get back in bed before you ruin my culinary reputation, rookie.”

“I can at least make the toast,” Ginny whines.

Mike shakes his head. “Go pick the movie.”

Ginny grins. “Can we watch Elf again?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “It’s August.”

“But…smiling’s my favorite.” She gives her best pouty face, even makes her top lip quiver to get her way.

Mike rolls his eyes again, biting back a smile. “Last time, Baker.”

Ginny skips to her room and starts the movie on her laptop. She’s already giggling when Mike comes into the room, laden with food. A few minutes later, Ginny’s shrouded in Mike, her favorite source of heat, and he’s feeding her pancakes, kissing the syrup off her lips.

Just a nice little New Years Day fic, for what better way to kick off 2016 than with some smutty Angbang? Mairon’s POV as usual, written in the typical This Game We Play style, and no major warnings except for NSFW! Also, shoutout to the anon ages ago who asked for forge-sex - this one’s for you, mate <3 

x x x

The hour grows late; coals burn low and menacing in the ruddy heat of his forge, and although the chatter of the orcs snatches at him as they meander past the door of his workroom, he does not yet heed them in their excitement. There is much yet to do upon this night before he might succumb to revelry and idle pleasures, and though a part of him longs to follow the orcs to leave such labours for the new day, to abandon them for the feast and merriments that await above, this he must finish first.

Tucking a stray strand of hair back into his ponytail, his brow creases into a frown as he heaves a longsword from the forge’s belly and lays it sizzling upon his anvil. Swiftly he bends over the glowering blade, with a neat hammer he deftly knocks upon the flat of the sword’s tang, in miniscule gradations shaping it, guiding it, weaving pliant metal anew. A slender thing it is, yet strong, and fell, forged of metals spewed deep from the bowels of the mountains and now honed to perfection, a deathly blade to bring ruin to Angband’s enemies.

For how long then he works he does not know; minutes, hours, they blur into a meaningless continuum of hammer-strikes and appraising glances, of the rush of the bellows and the flurried swirl of cinders, of the steady beat of his heart and the grinding thoughts of the mountains that cradle him, infinite and implacable, and in that timeless place for a while he simply lets his creation guide him.

It is only with the slight scrape of the door swinging open across the flagstones that at last he looks up; the fluid inertia of his labour shatters and how his heart leaps to find his master standing within the door’s yawning aperture.

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