crevice of life

He’s a good boy.

They don’t make a big deal out of bringing Chase home. It doesn’t sit too well with Kent, as one of the sports world’s biggest animal lovers. But he knows how the general public reacts to something like this, and he needs some time to get adjusted before having to answer questions about his new service dog.

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That’s the definition of a soulmate, isn’t it? One soul, two halves, split between two separate forms. Alike in every respect.

In a world where people are born with a coloured marking somewhere on their body, your soulmate is supposed to be the one who carries the exact same mark. Kurosaki Ichigo has never put much stock in these things — and the fact that his black sun mark and Rukia’s white crescent moon is as different as night and day has nothing to do with it. Ichiruki soulmates AU- maybe. 

(Hey guys! This was my entry for IRBB! I have two chapters written - the next chapter will go up next week - and then the rest of the fic will join my roster of wip fics to be updated… when I have time…. hahahaha //cries// 

My partner @jellyribbons did the CUTEST art for my fic, which YOU CAN FIND HERE. Thank you for being such a gem, juliet, even when I didn’t give you much to work with 8ㅁ8

And now, without further ado, please enjoy my irbb fic–

Collision Course

by hashtagartistlife



Gravitational Collapse




There’s a black mark on Ichigo’s palm.

He’s never spent too much time contemplating it. People attribute so many things to these tiny coloured markings that appear on their skin. They say it tells you the kind of person you are, the kind of person you’re going to be. They say the person you’re destined to be with — your soulmate — has the exact same mark somewhere on their body. Because that’s what the definition of a soulmate is, isn’t it— one soul, two halves, split between two separate forms.  Alike in every respects. There are entire religions based around this concept, dating sites that cater exclusively to making sure you meet up with your other half. Psychics that claim they can read your entire future from that one mark alone.

Ichigo thinks, it’s just a goddamn birthmark.

He hates all this destiny crap surrounding these marks. When Tatsuki had asked him at the age of thirteen what his mark looked like, he’d scowled and told her to shove off. His hand had clenched, reflexive, around the shape getting ever-clearer against his tanned skin. She’d harrumphed, unperturbed, and informed him hers was the shape of a crimson eagle and that it clearly meant she was destined for greater things than him, if his mark was still the misshapen blob she remembers it being when he was nine. He’d responded that her mark looks more like a puddle of spew than the eagle she claimed it to be, and she’d thrown a well-aimed kick at his shoulder and the conversation had been dropped.

By the time he’s fifteen, the mark is well and truly etched onto his skin, no longer misshapen by any stretch of the imagination. Still, he refuses to pay too much attention to it, refuses to try to analyse the shape it’s settled into. It’s all bullshit, anyway. If he squints, he thinks you could almost mistake it for an ink-black sun — see? Bullshit. There was only one sun in his life, and she’d set six years ago and taken all the light in his family with her. His mother was the sun, the one holding them all together with her gravity; not him. And if his soulmate is anything like him, if they, too, are represented by a dark black sun mark somewhere on their body, then he wants nothing to do with them. He wants nothing to do with himself, most days.

So when Keigo asks, exuberant, innocent, what his mark is, Ichigo looks him straight in the eye and tells him he doesn’t believe in destiny.

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radio rebel pt.2 - preview

pairing: jungkook x reader ; radiohost!au, DJ!au, college!au
summary: jungkook finds himself torn between falling in love with the anonymous radio host of the local radio station and the quiet girl from his english class. because truthfully, they both seem so similar and its bothering the hell out of him.
a/n: as promised, here is a teaser/preview of pt.2 wink wonk. i wanted to show a bit more but i feel that would take away the essence of curiosity but because my lazy ass is being gracious for once, here it the preview ;) full scenario will be coming out very sooooooooon 

Obviously, somewhere along the lines of misfortune and bewilderment, Jungkook thinks its ridiculous of him to be completely absorbed in such deep shower thoughts and questions that revolve around a certain particular radio host that somehow got ingrained in his head. For someone like Jungkook, who embraces the lifestyle of blithe and likes his life rough at the edges, with a dash of adrenaline rushing in his blood - getting into some radio host who speaks of advice on life and love is not on his agenda.

And so the chronicles of getting rid of those thoughts and questions come into play. Surely some excessively long hours of rugby practices will do the trick. Or resort to some mind-blowing sex to relieve all that tension.

But no matter what he does, the crackling static voice, layered with overwhelming enigma that prods the back of his mind still finds ways to creep into the crevices of his daily life ever since that night in his pick up truck. Day and night, Jungkook found it utterly tempting to switch on the radio station on certain days and always ends up suppressing his curiosity because why should he care? Yet, that did not deter Jungkook from stopping or blatantly ignoring Taehyung and his frequent routine of storytelling to Jungkook about the recent radio talks with Radio Rebel.

It didn’t take any conversation involving Radio Rebel for Jungkook to be blinded by the waves of questions that frolics in his head. Jungkook never thought he would have to deal with all this bullshit. In fact, he was beyond petrified to be in such denial by this desperate surge to know more about Radio Rebel and her voice behind the stereo. He would find the slightest bit of her, faint or distinct in his mind, waging him to stay up on the designated nights just to listen to her voice again. It was bad enough her recommended songs coincidentally play in his presence, making him jump slightly in his seat before Taehyung can even figure out patterns of unusualness in him.

“Hey Jungkook, are you okay?” Taehyung spoke through muffled mouthfuls of fries. “You have been acting really weird lately.”

You touch your bruises to my bruises,
your broken bones to my bloody knees.
I pretend you are the same person you were a year ago
and you pretend I am the girl who was with you
only because she felt she had to be.

We don’t do it on purpose.
Our scars add up like stars that
make up our bodies like constellations.
You try to hold me but you are the sunlight
that blankets me when it is 2:30
in the afternoon and I am still in bed;
keeping you is not as easy as containing
lightning bugs in glass jars and I know
you try so goddamn hard to love me,
but I bought skin like asphalt
when it kept scraping.

Sometimes I sit across from you trembling
and you refuse to come near me because
I kiss with a mouthful of razor blades;
I step closer to you and you bleed Bacardi
and self-destruction. You run away
from me with tears running like
your legs down forbidden streets.

But I don’t want to smear kerosene on
the roughest parts of your existence.
I don’t want to change us.
I don’t want to change you.
I want to expose you like meaningless sex;
I want you to climb a latter inside of yourself
and then burn it so you always
think about who you are.

This is why we fight: because
you had never met someone who sees
through you like your skin is transparent
and I had never found someone with
the will to withstand such warzones,
so selfless that you can look at me
with your lungs chiseling out of your chest
and still try to make me happy.

I know first-hand that adrenaline kicks in
when you even imagine your bones breaking.
You become illogical, defensive and defenseless
as you run barefoot across the pavement,
putting slash wounds in your heart so love
can thrive in the crevices of barely beating.
A life without you always felt
like having lungs that cannot breathe.

And this is exactly why we fight: because
our minds were molded by prior experience,
but our love is like learning to speak.

—  This is why we fight

drunk poetry #1

I saw a little bit
of my future tonight
in his eyes.

He talked of music
and being alone.
And I thought,
“Wow, you sound
a lot like me.”

And for some
reason, I
feel like this
was the universe
telling me I’m on
the right path.

(i.e. there are
others like me out
there?! I guess I’m not
actually an alien.

my brain is
doing bad
and trying to
fit this boy into
the tiny crevices
of my life.

But I have no
space for him.

And I certainly
don’t think he has
space for me in his
(Especially since
he had hearts in
his eyes when the
screen of his phone
lit up with her name).

But I don’t

And that’s

For me

But I hope he
gets the girl.
Because I’m
obviously not

But who knows?
Maybe we’ll
meet again in
the future.

Until then,
I’m better off




anonymous asked:

Imagine one of the mods deciding to jump in on the “hewwo” bullshit one day. How would the other kids react

Mod A:

I have a 14 year old sister, that stupid fucking meme has already permeated all crevices of my life

anonymous asked:

saved ((Polydactylgenius))

She shut her eyes, expecting the whistle of air around her before the ground punching her in the body. From what she’d heard, it wasn’t an awful way to go- the shock of impact knocked you right out. Better to die quickly - and because of her own stupid mistake- than make anymore attachments. Those just led to harm. 

Except she wasn’t. A big, rough hand had grabbed her on the way down- something in her mind registered those fingers before anything else. That set off some internal screaming since her throat hadn’t caught up with her nauseated stomach yet. Surprised hazel eyes pop open to only foggily register the man above her- a floof of grey and grim determination. With the wind howling around her from the crevice currently she couldn’t hear anything else. 

She squeaks as she’s yanked to safety, not even caring that she lands with a thump not too far from the crevice that almost took her life. June’s too rattled by the whole thing to even move from where she had been deposited- fear still thundering through her bones.


Honestly this video was so stupendous.


The quirky music, the zoom ins, Jack’s acting, Robin’s perfect timing, Anti himself. This was so much more than a nod to the fans, this was a piece of collaboration gold, not just between Jack and Robin, the real heroes of this whole bloody (pun intended) mess, but between Jack and the community. I was more excited for this video than most full length feature films I’ve seen, and it was the build up! The glitches started way back at the beginning of the month, and they SLOWLY infected other accounts, creeping into tweets, instagrams, tumblr reblogs, comments! Anti kept us in the dark, dropping nothing more than three/four word hints, threats even, now and again, in the most hidden, yet obvious places. And not only was this build-up and collaboration a vital part of Anti’s success, but this entire journey has been a masterful, genius use of social media on Jack’s part. Everything started with tumblr, where Anti was born, and the infection, like I said, spread all across the internet, into every last crevices of Jack’s online life. Just like every account is linked, Anti linked them all, and we couldn’t escape it. No one could escape. And no where else would this have worked.

A brilliant, brilliant project. Wonderfully done gentlemen, wonderfully done. This is one for the record books.

Originally posted by gif-database


My feet have walked me to a lot of places in my life. I’ve squeezed them into heels, stuffed them into my favourite sneakers, taken strides forward and leaps back– when I fuck up (which happens too much because life is full of hopscotch lines). 


Like a lot of people, I grew up waiting for the big things. My first bike, my first concert, my first kiss. Socks on, socks off, toes between, sweaty soles, heart pounding.


Life’s kicked me in the face so many times.  At times disguised as something beautiful, other times I was looking right at it and let it ram me into the wall. I was asking for it. Like an idiot.  


Where ever it is that I learned this bad habit of expectation, I’ve been trying to learn how to let it go. The events worth lacing up for are typically always the quiet crevices of life. A small reflection. When you can’t afford to blink because the lighting is falling so perfectly. The slow peel of a mango. The messy drip it leaves behind. Its when my feet are bare and grounded and happy at present.


Me and nothing more. No sparkles, no small talk, just real textures. The kind that sink in, don’t leave and become the better parts of me.

Daily Routine

After witnessing Annalise pull off another trial once again, and celebrating with the others over dinner Michaela had gone home to her apartment. Although she’d never outright admit it, she was a little hurt about the group not caring enough to check in on her the other night while they were comforting each other. She’d barely gotten any sleep, up all night feeling rejected by Caleb and guilty for even lying to him about Catherine in the first place. Then again, if she were in Caleb’s place, she’d hate herself too, so she couldn’t really blame him, and she didn’t. It was just another failed relationship added to the list of others. Running on a couple hours of rest, Michaela was still up and at Annalise’s office, right on time as usual. With a deep sigh, she plastered on her work smile and jumped right into things, digging through files and trying to keep her mind off of the guilt and rejection seeping from ever crevice in her life.

This Is Unhealthy Love

          For every person, there comes a time when you fall in love with someone you’re not supposed to. You fall in love with them against all of the logic in the world. Against time, against reason, against choice. You know just how bad this is for you. You’ve heard all the horror stories from love veterans that have been here before. But it isn’t the same, because this is your love story, and somehow that makes it different. But you know deep down, it’s just like everyone else’s. This person isn’t right for you. It isn’t that you don’t deserve them; it’s that they don’t deserve you. They use you and abuse you and wring you dry, and the worst part is, you let them. You become so blinded by loving them that it’s all you know how to see anymore. It permeates every crevice of your life with the greyness of it until it’s all that’s left to exist. But you stay. You become a parasite to the little bit of love they throw you every now and then, and you try to sell yourself on the idea that somewhere in this mess, there’s beauty in what you two share. And there is a little bit, in some sick and twisted way. They are ying and you are yang. The balance doesn’t make sense but it just is. Nobody understands, but how could you expect anyone to because you don’t even understand.

          You don’t ask how you ended up with a string connecting your heart to theirs. Those are uncharted waters, and they’re way too deep and way too treacherous. So you just continue to love in a way that’s depleting, and pray that someday you’ll get used to it being a part of you.

         Eventually, you’ll end things. But you’ll always come back together. You don’t know what life is without them and they don’t know how to survive with the ego boost of your unconditional, if not unhealthy, love. After coming together and breaking apart a few times, you’ll finally decide to stay away for good. You’re tired of living in a life of shadows and fragments of something you want fully and brightly. You want to find something new. It takes everything in you, but you break that string. And you get broken right along with it, because now you’ve lost everything you believed in. You became a part of something beautifully tragic, and when it disappeared so did everything you know. But in the midst of this heartbroken stupor, there’s a subtle, quite promise that the worst is over.

         You hope your heart grows big enough to love again. Not the same kind of love, but a better love. Stronger than the first time. You hope that this time it will be for someone who deserves you. You survived the only thing you never thought possible. And with that comes a strength the other person never gave you. A foundation of self-reliance and self-acceptance that was never possible with them in the picture. And for that alone, you regret nothing. You’re grateful for what they have taught you. Because you know you will never accept that sort of sickening, disastrous love ever again. 

anonymous asked:

why some people think John Green is a bad person? like - what are their arguments cause I only saw people defending him, but I have no clue what against?

Essentially someone on Tumblr accused John of being the type of person that hangs out with teenage girls to be close to them. This to me is just disgusting, sexist, and wrong. Just because John is a male that writes books for teens on a large and very public scale does not mean that he’s a predator. 

The biggest issue that I continue to have with Tumblr is that while some people think “This is just a text post on Tumblr.” that simple text post on Tumblr could very easily create doubt, fear, prejudice, depression, etc. It can seep down into every crevice of someone’s life and sit there like wet mold, slowly and steadily growing and spreading until you can’t look at the person without seeing the damage. 

It’s a rumor. It’s simply a rumor. It’s childish, it’s petty, it wreaks of insecurity, it is malicious and heartless. Bullying at any age, and in any form, is appalling. Bullying someone who has children who will one day be very active on the internet and who could possibly come across this or many other rumors like it is absolutely devastating to me. How? How are people so blindly heartless and unthinking to post things like this? I don’t get it. 

John Green is not a perfect human, neither are you, I, nor the person who started all the slander. John has done a great number of good things for this world, his books included. You can like his books. You can dislike them. You can like his YouTubes. You can dislike them. But in no way shape or form are any of us entitled to speak harmful, empty words, to anyone. Be kind people. Be kind. It’s not just a text post - this is someone’s life and family you’re lying about. 


Remembering Jonathan “John” Southworth Ritter

 (September 17, 1948 - September 11, 2003 ∞)

“When he walked into a room, his utter Johnness just filled it up, every corner, every crevice. It was a life force, a joy, an energy that made you think ‘My God, how does he maintain it?’ He was so gigantic, smart, and perceptive. And so funny. There was so much funny in him that it was almost like his body couldn’t contain it.”

 - Henry Winkler 

time and time again.

There is beauty in time, 
in the angst of eternal rushing 
to keep up with every breath.

To see the day fade 
in second upon second
increments that
fasten the strings that hold  
midnight blue meets violet
canvas as playground 
to the stars.

Ay yes -
there is beauty in time,
in the never ending lullaby 
of memories slowly slipping
through the crevices of life.