she’s falling through the atmosphere shattering onto the earth like
cascading stars scattering stardust fresh from heaven a baby at war this is just the beginning she is completely out of control untamed and inspiring a ruby glow inferno i will never let you go she spins her lucid Alice in Wonderland imagination into a live playground spiraling down the chorus of cosmos
a crown of flowers wrapped around her head the sweet perfume of daisies dripping down her neck she inherited a palace a dainty treehouse in the woods and she would sit and drink tea and read books like she should good night and sweet women, gourmet, and wine serenity and life there is a kingdom inside
every time you open your mouth I see fireflies of luscious language flow forth like radiating confetti like that golden helmet on your marvelous mercury mind …i see you wield words like they are ingredients in spellbooks and you feel alone with your thoughts and you don’t know what’s louder, the world outside or the chaos within the madness created by your twin and you write invitations with your mind to birthdays that lead to wonderland and poetry tea mixed inside ~ i can hear and see and feel your voice everywhere
she writes poetry on sheets of moonlight with a pen that pours out ink from the whole night sky it’s her creamy words made of moisture beads and dreamy composition, she can create an orchestra with lunar lyrics and love notes written by the stars
everything i see in the world it all comes back to you because you are my mother, my lover my daughter and my sister i can hear the stars whisper stay wild my dear moon child
if i was a psychic i’d say to a leo that their heart was carrying too much weight. i’d say you are so involved in the moment that i can hear the violins of your heart playing and you leave it wide open and that this is your curse and your gift. i know you go home and you can’t stop leaking you can’t stop leaking the gods are watching you crying but
those tears that fell down the cheeks of great leos like napoleon, max
heindel, amelia earheart, helena blavatsky and carl jung are the ones glistening from your eyes the gods know how marvelous you are ~ even when you can’t shine
shaking and rapidly exhaling, don’t crush your wings against the weight of your own mind they were so perfectly, pleasantly, patiently crafted like the way you use your hands to delicately thread and rewire and repair they are like instruments the way they touch everything and leave a frosted glaze i always know when you have been because you leave nothing behind like you want to be invisible
she rises from the aroma of a flower dainty as a forest fairy, honorable as
a warrior fighting for the cause that captures her musical heart she’s always on the threshold of a fairytale she is some delectable mind and figure of abstract beauty to behold life is her dance across cards gently placed she twirls on
imagination and spins in reverie, a performance of abstract
movement, a tightrope display, a true portrait of balance and artistry
I want to destroy these monsters But devastating them destroys a part of myself I feel more alive in the shadow than the light I prefer the creaking hollow in my bones to the noise of people, the static, the show I have been violated by poisons from hidden valleys I have been stung by leaking ink dripping dark words from unconscious levies Sometimes my body is just a floating Trying to contain century’s memories Between my legs the monsters crawl Trying to perforate every part of me And I was only just becoming used to this skin
she hears wisdom from the mountains and songs from the sea she sings the music of every language and tastes of every herb and spice something is sultry and glowing in her gaze she is sunkissed and filled with dreams that seem written constellations her mind has wandered everywhere it has left footprints in every valley and book, every mind and philosophy she is like sunday everyday, a vacation a getaway a sail into the horizon, a cruise through the stars a freefall into nature’s arms
look how much you’ve grown i’ve seen you slowly fill in those eyes that belong to an old soul i’ve seen you stretch into those bones that were always too big for you and you keep waking up every morning because you know one day you will be rewarded you hold onto the knowing that things will get better and you will feel less sicker and your work will finally be done
you try to read your own puzzle like a book with a magnifying glass as if you are disconnected on the outside staring in you are not an abstract entity i feel you your body pulsates like electrons exploding like bubbles of blue foam your feelings are turquoise crystals over the sea never tainted but reflecting shades and hues from unknown galaxies don’t hide what was crafted so exquisitely
there were times she stayed in bed for days i couldn’t touch her without her bleeding she had third degree burns every sense hurts then she would laugh with god or angels or something invisible i am not dealing with a girl but something magical
So this happened quite a few years ago, and the stage will take some setting. It might be more of a Karma than a Revenge story, but you guys seem to appreciate it when a Douchebag takes it up the ass, so here’s a fine tale…
I was working as a dishwasher in a new Fine Dining restaurant in the downtown of a largish city. Chef Paul came from a rich family with a lot of connections, but he made his own way through culinary school and was both talented and dedicated to his art. His family ponied up the cash for a location right downtown in Office Tower Land, but Chef Paul made the place the “hotspot” for the movers and shakers of the town. Our clientele was the Rolex set, people with a string of initials on their business cards and high-powered job titles.
Chef Paul was the nicest guy you could imagine away from the restaurant, but when he was on the cookline, he was an aggressive and abrupt bully of the old school. It was an open kitchen, meaning you could see it from the dining room, so he never raised his voice, but he could chew you out in a low-volume whisper, all the time with a poker smile frozen on his face. This was his show, his restaurant, his baby, and woe be it to the person who fucked up while Chef Paul had his game face on.
(m)-mature / 6.5k words / roomate!jungkook / happy reading !
jungkook accidental roommate smut? u accidentally buy the same apartment (it happens in dramas often) (+)
Can I request switch!jungkook smut? Like he starts out submissive and then bOOM! He’s dominant af
Summer in New York had never been more depressing. Or hot. Every step outside seems to melt the flesh from your bones, every memory you had of him peeled another layer off your heart. It had been three months of pure hell and although the heat made the thought of being close to anyone impossibly unbearable, you’d give anything to hold him in your arms again. But he had cheated on you, left you, and the best thing to do was move on. Or at least try.
The weather forecast predicted a humid rain, clouds shrouding the ominous sky and a layer of mystery covering the roof of your new home. Or the new home you’d be sharing with four other people. This is supposed to be the city of new beginnings and independent lives. Where one can explore themselves through the city. But sadly, as a transferred college student, the only thing you could afford was a share house in the middle of Brooklyn.
Sucking in a deep breath, you grunt while lugging your large suitcase and duffel up the short set of stairs, banging on the door somewhat gracefully with your elbow. Almost immediately, as if you’d been waited upon, the door unlatches and an older, thinner woman appears. Her skin is somewhere between tan and gold, wrinkle lines around her eyes and mouth. The hair atop her head is swirled into an artful bun, small wisps of white-gray hair escaping the masterpiece.
“Just on time,” her voice is sweet, slow, and welcoming, stepping aside and waving you in.
It’s been so long since the last post regarding my recurrent nightmares and dreams, and I wish I could have continued without writing another post about it but unfortunately last night I had another weird dream plus sleep paralysis in the morning. I want to keep track of every hallucination I’ve experienced here, so, here it goes:
The first time it happened I was 14 years old, my grandma had just passed away and I was very stressed between school and shit going on with my life. I remember one night that I was sleeping and suddenly I woke up, but I couldn’t move. I opened my eyes only to see the darkness of my room and the wall in front of me. I was very scared and couldn’t move a single muscle. After trying everything else, I decided to scream but no sound would come out of my mouth. Then I heard a voice saying repeatedly saying: “Come with me. I’m here. Come with me”. I panicked and I don’t remember anything else, I think I probably passed out until the next day.
After that, at least two times a week my sleep paralysis would get worse. I would wake up in the middle of the night not moving at all. I could hear voices outside my house and inside my bedroom. I remember being so scared of sleeping, not knowing what was going on. Things moved on like that for a while.
Everything continued like that until the hallucinations became worse. One night, after graduating high school I had some sort of “astral projection” “lucid dreaming” stuff going on. I remember dreaming of this place with high grass and watching two skinny dying horses. After walking trough a train rail I got to be in some sort of cave formed by green trees with giant roots stepping out of the ground. I saw snakes everywhere, tiny and big, in all sort of shapes and colours. I finally caught a snake with my hands and saw in its eyes. Then I heard a voice saying “We’ll see again”. When the dream was over I woke up in my room, and again, couldn’t move. This time I felt something under my bed crawling and heard another time: “We’ll see again, find me” repeatedly.
The worst attack of sleep paralysis and hallucinations I can remember came after that. Maybe half a year later after that weird dream. My room was dark and a little bit cold (it was autumn I think). At the time, I was depressed (I suffer from depression since I was 15). The last thing I did conscious was getting in my bed and trying to sleep on my back. After a few moments I remember waking up very fast, like, something hit me and I woke up suddenly. My body was not responding. I could see my hands, my knees, my feet but couldn’t move at all. Then I started “moving”; everything was heavier and that’s when I started hallucinating. I tried to move my legs and I could feel them moving, but I couldn’t see the movement of them. Weirdly though, I could move my head a little, I could see my room and my wall. And then it came, I don’t know from where, but, at the end of my bed I saw a pair of hands, with three large, large and skinny fingers. Something crawled from under my bed and started climbing it. It was a weird, dark creature. It was skinny, like, very, very skinny, you could see his ribs and spine. I could see his arms, like sticks, and then I saw his face. Whatever it was, it was very dark, like a profound black, and had a weird face, like an oval. The thing had no mouth, no fur, no hair nor nose, just two yellow eyes. The eyes were round shaped, like two glowing perfect circles. The creature was crawling and making weird noises, like a voice mixed with a scream and nails passing trough a chalk board. After it crawled onto my bed, he started laughing, quietly, like, when you laugh with your mouth closed. I just remember trying to move, and scream, and then I felt his arms touching my legs. I don’t know why but I started thinking in weird stuff and trying to scream in my mind: “i’m not going with you, you’re not real, you’re not real”. I must have passed out or something, cause I can’t remember anything after all. I woke up in the morning, sweating and very scared.
After receiving the visit of that thing fro at least two or three times more I decided to draw it on my notebooks with everything I could remember.
This has been going on with me for at least 6 years now, and time after time it’s getting worse. However, I think i’ll continue writing everything here, after all, I know i’m not alone, although sometimes it feels like that…
P.S: Dear @sixpenceee, hope you reblog this, cause I want to find if more people are suffering the exact same thing with the exact same creatures.
In the darkness, I find comfort with the moon, the stars, the whistling of the wind against my body as it dulls my pain. There is safety under the night sky, where I don’t hear the voices that ridicule. Everything inside me shuts off.
Summary: For as long as Eddie could remember, he’d been hearing his soulmate’s voice in his head. It had always annoyed him—but hearing it out loud? That was a whole other story.
A/N: sorry this took so long y’all i’ve been busy and for some reason this took me a good while to write, but the soulmate au i promised is FINALLY HERE!! pls be nice to me, this is the first reddie fic i’ve ever written/published. feedback is appreciated, i don’t have a beta, so forgive me if i mess up words or tenses or whatever a lot. in this, your soulmate’s voice randomly pops into your head (there isn’t a set event or age that triggers it) and it’s just like having a conversation in your mind. the voice doesn’t know anything the person doesn’t know, so each person still can’t read the other’s mind or anything. it’s just another person’s voice and personality conversing with you in your mind. zany. tags under the cut. please enjoy!!
His mom had never heard anyone’s voice in her head but her own. She didn’t buy into the idea of soulmates (simply because she didn’t have one.) When Eddie told her that he heard someone else’s voice in his head, someone he didn’t know, she immediately took him to the hospital, crying Schizophrenia and Psychosis the whole way. When the nurses informed her that it meant her son had a soulmate, she took him to a different hospital. The only way he could get it to stop was by saying that he had made it up, that he was lying about the voice.
Of course, this meant he just ended up grounded instead of hospitalized, but he did what he had to do.
Some one request me to do analysis of km hidden moments in bv s1 OK I will watch and do the analysis if I have a time because on one episode I don’t remember which one all the members where outside and km are the only one inside and they have a conversation together I only hear their voice but the way they talk to each other is so soft with a low tone I was shooked when I heard it they sound kinda flirting..
Kink(s); Dirty talk, mild degradation, slight sexual torture
Needy whines escaped you as your essence flowed out of you, dripping down your bum as Namjoon paced back and forth in front of your vulnerable form.
His piercing gaze loomed over you- eyeing you up and down as his plush lips curled up into a pompous grin. “You look like such a little slut like this kitten…” He teasingly growled as he strutted back over to you, wedging himself back into his place between your shapely legs.
You could feel his hardened cock pressing against your heated core, “Da- Daddy please…” You whimpered, bucking your hips; attempting to give yourself the friction you so badly desired.
A Note From Gerard Way about My Chemical Romance's breakup if you haven't read it yet
A note from Gerard Way about My Chemical Romance’s breakup:
A Vigil, On Birds and Glass.
I woke up this morning still dreaming, or not fully aware of myself just yet. The sun poked through the windows, touching my face, and then a deep sadness overcame me, immediately, bringing me to life and realization- My Chemical Romance had ended.
I walked downstairs to do the only thing I could think of to regain composure-
I made coffee.
As the drip began, in that kind of silence that only happens in the morning, and being the only one awake, I stepped outside my home, leaving the door open behind me. I looked around and began to breathe. Things looked to be about the same- a beautiful day.
As I turned to step back into the house I heard sound from within, a chirp and a rustle. And I noticed a small brown bird had flown into the library. Naturally, I panicked. I knew I had to see the bird to safety and I knew I had to retain the order of things in our home, and he very well couldn’t take up residency with us. I chased him (still assuming he was a he) into my office, where I have these very large windows.
Just then, and luckily, I heard Lindsey’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and naturally being composed as she is, she grabbed a blanket and stepped into the office. He was impossible to catch, and I began to open the windows, via Lindsey’s direction, only to find out they were screened. The bird began to fly into the glass, over and over and in all different directions.
I heard another set of footsteps, Bandit’s, running down the stairs in anticipation of the new day. Her entrance into the situation caused just the right amount of chaos (she was very excited to meet the bird) and we found ourselves chasing the bird into the living room. Knowing that this where it could potentially get sticky, being the high ceilings and the beams to perch on, I opened the front door as Lindsey did her best to encourage our new friend out the door. After some coaxing, flying, chirping, a wrong turn back into the library and a short goodbye to Bandit, he simply hopped out the front door- taking off on the fifth leap.
I was no longer sad.
I didn’t realize it, but I stopped being sad the minute that bird had come into my life, because there was something that needed doing, a small vessel to aid and an order to keep. I closed the door. I decided to write the letter I always knew I would.
It is often my nature to be abstract, hidden in plain sight, or nowhere at all. I have always felt that the art I have made (alone or with friends) contains all of my intent when executed properly, and thus, no explanation required. It is simply not in my nature to excuse, explain, or justify any action I have taken as a result of thinking it through with a clear head, and in my truth.
I had always felt this situation involving the end of this band would be different, in the eventuality it happened. I would be cryptic in its existence, and open upon its death.
The clearest actions come from truth, not obligation. And the truth of the matter is that I love every one of you.
So, if this finds you well, and sheds some light on anything, or my personal account and feelings on the matter, then it is out of this love, mutual and shared, not duty.
This was always my intent.
My Chemical Romance: 2001-2013
We were spectacular.
Every show I knew this, every show I felt it with or without external confirmation.
There were some clunkers, sometimes our secondhand gear broke, sometimes I had no voice- we were still great. It is this belief that made us who we were, but also many other things, all of them vital-
And all of the things that made us great were the very things that were going to end us-
That last one is very important. My Chemical Romance had, built within its core, a fail-safe. A doomsday device, should certain events occur or cease occurring, would detonate. I shared knowledge of this “flaw” within weeks of its inception.
Personally, I embraced it because, again, it made us perfect. A perfect machine, beautiful, yet self aware of it’s system. Under directive to terminate before it becomes compromised. To protect the idea- at all costs. This probably sounds like something ripped from the pages of a four-color comic book, and that’s the point.
No compromise. No surrender. No fucking shit.
To me that’s rock and roll. And I believe in rock and roll.
I wasn’t shy about who I said this to, not the press, or a fan, or a relative. It’s in the lyrics, it’s in the banter. I often watched the journalists snicker at mention of it, assuming I was being sensational or melodramatic (in their defense I was most likely dressed as an apocalyptic marching-band leader with a tear-away hospital gown and a face covered in expressionist paint, so fair enough).
I’m still not sure if the mechanism worked correctly, because it wasn’t a bang but a much slower process. But still the same result, and still for the same reason-
When it’s time, we stop.
It is important to understand that for us, the opinion on whether or not it is in fact time does not transmit from the audience. Again, this is to protect the idea for the benefit of the audience. Many a band have waited for external confirmation that it is time to hang it up, via ticket sales, chart positioning, boos and bottles of urine- input that holds no sway for us, and often too late when it comes anyway.
You should know it in your being, if you listen to the truth inside you. And voice inside became louder than the music.
There are many reasons My Chemical Romance ended. The triggerman is unimportant, as was always the messengers- but the message, again as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is my account, my reasons and my feelings. And I can assure you there was no divorce, argument, failure, accident, villain, or knife in the back that caused this, again this was no one’s fault, and it had been quietly in the works, whether we knew it or not, long before any sensationalism, scandal, or rumor.
There wasn’t even a blaze of glory in a hail of bullets…
I am backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It is Saturday, May 19th, 2012 and I am pacing behind a massive black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the breeze from the ocean find its way around me and I look down at my arms, which are covered in fresh gauze due to a losing battle with a heat rash, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. I am normally not nervous before a show but I am certainly filled with angry butterflies most of the time. This is different- a strange anxiety jetting through me that I can only imagine is the sixth sense one feels before their last moments alive. My pupils have zeroed-out and I have ceased blinking. My body temperature is icy.
We get the cue to hit the stage.
The show is… good. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice take me by surprise is not the enormous amount of people in front of us but off to my left- the shore and the vastness of the ocean. Much more blue than I remembered as a boy. The sky is just as vibrant. I perform, semi-automatically, and something is wrong.
I am acting. I never act on stage, even when it appears that I am, even when I’m hamming it up or delivering a soliloquy. Suddenly, I have become highly self-aware, almost as if waking from a dream. I began to move faster, more frantic, reckless- trying to shake it off- but all it began to create was silence. The amps, the cheers, all began to fade.
All that what left was the voice inside, and I could hear it clearly. It didn’t have to yell- it whispered, and said to me briefly, plainly, and kindly- what it had to say.
What it said is between me and the voice.
I ignored it, and the following months were full of suffering for me- I hollowed out, stopped listening to music, never picked up a pencil, started slipping into old habits. All of the vibrancy I used to see became de-saturated. Lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially the mundane- the ability was buried under wreckage.
Slowly, once I had done enough damage to myself, I began to climb out of the hole. Clean. When I made it out, the only thing left inside was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I no longer ignored it- because it was my own.
There are many roles for all of us to play in this ending. We can be well-wishers, ill-wishers, sympathizers, vilifiers, comedians, rain clouds, victims-
That last one, again, is important. I have never thought myself a victim, nor my comrades, nor the fans- especially not the fans. For us to adopt that role right now would legitimize everything the tabloids have tried to name us. More importantly, it completely misses the point of the band. And then what have we learned?
With honor, integrity, closure, and on no one’s terms but our own- the door closes.
And another opens-
This morning I awoke early. I quickly brushed my teeth, threw on some baggy jeans, and hopped in my car. I gently sped down the 405 through the morning fog to a random parking lot in Palo Verde, where I was to meet a nice gentleman named Norm. He was older, and a self-proclaimed “hippie” but he also had the energy of Sixteen year old in a garage-rock band. The purpose of the meeting was the delivery of an amplifier into my possession. I had recently purchased the amp from him and we both agreed that shipping would jostle the tubes- so he was kind enough to meet me in the middle.
A Fender Princeton Amp from 1965, non reverb. A beautiful little device.
He showed me the finer points, the speaker, the non-grounded plug, the original label and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it-
“This amp talks.” he said.
We got coffee, talked about gold-foil pickups and life. We sat in the car and played each other music we had made. We parted ways, promising to stay in touch, I drove home.
When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I began by sitting in my parent’s basement, picking up an instrument I had long abandoned for the brush- a guitar. It was a 90’s Fender Mexican Stratocaster, Lake Placid Blue, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty so I beat it up, exposing some of the red paint underneath the blue- the color it was meant to be. Adding a piece of duct tape on the pick guard, it felt acceptable. I plugged this into a baby Crate Amp with built in distortion and began the first chords of Skylines and Turnstiles.
I still have that guitar, and it’s sitting next to The Princeton.
He has a voice, and I would like to hear what it has to say.
In closing, I want to thank every single fan. I have learned from you, maybe more than you think you’ve learned from me. My only regret is that I am awful with names and bad with goodbyes. But I never forget a face, or a feeling- and that is what I have left from all of you.
I feel Love.
I feel love for you, for our crew, our team, and for every single human being I have shared the band and stage with-