light through veins

It is natural,

kissing you.  It is natural, tasting
                       salt afterwards, tracing

where light through a window
                       veins your body, its wanting

to reroute your blood
                       someplace safe.

Kristin Chang, from “a postcolonial portrait of the girl loving a girl,” published in Muzzle Magazine

I Hate You, I Love You

For the anon who asked: for a enemies to lover fic (sorry lovie I can’t find the actual request and I usually write them in bullet points in my book)

Author’s Note: In Microsoft Word this is 18 pages long and has a word count of 7344 words. Hope you guys enjoy it!

y/n = your name

y/f/n = your first name

y/l/n = your last name


I Hate You, I Love You

Originally posted by sonjackcarl

The waves lapped softly under the bridge. The light from the street lamps reflected off the water like orange jewels. I huffed a heavy sigh and raised my face to the glittered sky, allowing the chilly, wind to caress my face and toy with the loose strands of hair on my head. I swallowed the lump in my throat, the saliva in my mouth thick making it almost impossible to go down. I crunched the picture in my hand and leaned against the cold metal railings. A slight wetness from the afternoon shower clung to the metal and soaked into the forearms of my jacket.

I lowered my eyes to the crumpled picture in my hand. Dark almond male eyes stared back at me. Gently I caressed the photo, following his long straight nose with my thumb and tracing the outline of his strong bearded jaw. I looked up again and stared out at the horizon, it was lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I’m sorry John,” I whispered and let the photograph slip from my fingers into the water below.

Keep reading

the air was cold, very cold, but the warmth that seemed to radiate like magic, curling and swirling in bright colors, from magnus’ hand was all alec needed so that he wouldn’t get chilly. they stood in silence, looking out at tokyo from where they were staying at the palace hotel, listening to cars honk noisily below and watching the twinkling, winking buildings scattered around the beautiful and famous city.

magnus looked beautiful. he always did and alec truly believed that the word ‘beautiful’ wasn’t even enough to describe the high warlock of brooklyn. he remembered one time listing off all the adjectives in his head: pretty, gorgeous, handsome, ethereal, radiant, sexy, breathtaking, but none of them fit. or rather, he was all of those things; just picking one from the many that alec came up with would not do him justice.

Keep reading

It hovered in the late autumn air, upon the angular light descending at the end of her thoughts, upon an evaporating swath of dappled day. She waited for him to land, anticipating the prickly sensation of spindly legs tickling her skin, the ruby ladybug pressing faith within the tissue of her faded season. She could taste the winter’s breeze heaving in aches of defeated leaves and snowy mounds of wintry graves, and still she breathed in deeply, bathing within this elevated moment. She was chosen; nature had drizzled her bleeding sunsets upon her faded tan, and in that second, maybe half a second, she felt the youthful kiss of nature reawakening her from a chilled dormancy, coils of heated light dancing through her veins. In that moment, she felt tremendous energy, exuberance, hope— she felt eternal. And then her winged friend took to flight coasting upon the zephyr of dreams and into the velvet hush of dusk.

Trouvaille// Rhapsodyinblue45
12/15/17
——————————————

Writing prompt: “It was a second maybe half a second, but it it changed everything..”

Fic: The Stars Eternal

Originally posted by shieldofglass


We had lain awake until well after midnight tonight, staring at the starry sky Rhys conjured to fill our bedroom ceiling, a perfect replica of the one hiding behind the clouds outside. I’d pointed out the constellations I knew, and Rhys had made those stars glow brighter, enchanted by their stories, even if he didn’t always understand how mortals could see the images I described.

When he finally dozed off to the story of the Seven Sisters, I had dared hope for a peaceful night, a few hours’ uninterrupted rest to begin easing those dark circles from under his eyes.

But all I’d given him was something else for the nightmares to take away.

-

Rating: G

Tags: hurt/comfort

AO3


The darkness of my cell was crushing me…

Rhys was laying beside me in the bed. I couldn’t see him - it was far too dark - but I could hear his breathing, harsh and rapid like my own.

That was wrong. There was no bed in my cell. Rhys never slept at my side there. We weren’t Under the Mountain. I was dreaming, and I needed to wake up.

We were free.

We were free, and if I could just wake up, I could prove it. The darkness would be gone, and Rhys would hold me, and everything would be fine.

I ordered myself to wake, shook my head, even pinched myself, but I could not wake. I just wanted the darkness gone. I wanted Rhys.

Rhys.

Thunder rolled and he whimpered beside me, and I realized it was him. He was the one who was trapped. I was awake, and it was his nightmare seeping out, poisoning the air around us.

“Rhys?” I breathed, stroking his cheek to coax him into waking. He jerked upright with a cry, but the darkness didn’t change. It seeped into my lungs in place of air, coated my body and clung like oil, viscous and foul. It was devouring me, inside and out. “Rhys!” I grabbed him and wrapped myself around him to shield him from the hungry darkness as much as I could.

“Feyre?”

“It’s me, love,” I panted. “I’m here.”

“F-feyre?”

My heart broke at the crack in his voice. “I’m here,” I repeated, and I realized I was crying too. “You need to let the darkness go, love. Let it go.”

Rhys clung to me and let out a sob. The darkness became gentler, less malignant. We both gasped great lungfuls of the damp night air, but it became no easier to see.

“The-the stars are gone,” Rhys gasped into my hair. “I can’t-can’t see them.” He was hyperventilating. He began thrashing in my arms, twisting this way and that in his futile search for starlight. His claws pricked my bare back as he clung to me like a lifeline.

A thick blanket of cloud had settled over Velaris, bringing with it eight days of pouring rain and eight nights of pitch-black skies. Rhys hadn’t been out to fly since the storm moved in — none of the Illyrians had — but it had hit Rhys the hardest. The flightless days and starless nights were too like the ones he’d endured Under the Mountain, and his nightmares had been getting worse all week.

We had lain awake until well after midnight tonight, staring at the starry sky Rhys conjured to fill our bedroom ceiling, a perfect replica of the one hiding behind the clouds outside. I’d pointed out the constellations I knew, and Rhys had made those stars glow brighter, enchanted by their stories, even if he didn’t always understand how mortals could see the images I described.

When he finally dozed off to the story of the Seven Sisters, I had dared hope for a peaceful night, a few hours’ uninterrupted rest to begin easing those dark circles from under his eyes.

But all I’d given him was something else for the nightmares to take away.

“The stars,” he gasped again, choking back another sob. “The Bears, the Swan…”

“They’re still there,” I soothed, pressing my hand against his chest, over his heart. “They’re in there, love. Just call them out. I’ll tell you the stories again. They’re always there.”

“They’re gone, Feyre! They’re gone! She took them… L-locked them away from me… They’re all gone! I-I think she killed them… All dead!”

Rhys was too far gone in his panic to summon stars, no matter how I tried to reassure him. He tore himself from my arms and stumbled toward the window, guided by the rain-soaked breeze.

I called out for him, panicking now. Lightning flashed, momentarily lighting up the room, and I could see he had his wings out. He was going out into the storm. “Rhys,” I called over the crash of thunder. “Stop, love!” I lurched sideways out of the bed, my legs tangled in the sweaty sheets. “Stop!”

He wasn’t listening. He needed to find the stars. I gave up on the sheet momentarily and flung out a hand. I’d never conjured stars before, but I had Helion’s light flowing through my veins. If there was ever a time to glow for Rhys, this was it.

It took finer control than I’d ever exercised before. A bright ball of light flared just over Rhys’ left shoulder, too bright, too big, and for a moment I feared it would burn him. But it stopped him. He threw up an arm against the blinding light and crashed to his knees, tearing the curtain from its rod along the way.

I freed my legs from the sheets at last and crawled to Rhys’ side, pressing the bright orb into a smaller point as I went.

“It’s alright, love,” I murmured, crouching beside him. Rhys gripped my arm but didn’t tear his eyes away from the glowing spark hanging before him. “The stars are still there. No one can take them away from you. They’re always there.”

“Still there,” he echoed, sounding unsure. Sounding lost.

I let the first star grow a bit again. “The Pole Star,” I said. “A friend to the lost.”

Rhys looked as though he’d like to touch it, reassure himself it was real, but he didn’t dare. “Lost.” A broken whisper, and my heart broke again.

I conjured more, with better results this time: six more to complete the constellation. They were still a little too bright, a little too big, but better.

“The Lesser Bear,” Rhys murmured, and in its light, I could see tears of relief on his pale face.

“That’s right, love.”

“The — the others?”

“They’re here too,” I answered at once. I called up more of Helion’s light to form the Great Bear. This one was better yet. The stars were the right size, not too bright, not too dim.

We sat together on the floor, and I conjured more constellations, though the effort exhausted me. The Lyre, the Hunter, the Swan, the Seven Sisters. I recreated all the constellations I knew, and when I ran out, I made up new ones, naming them as I went. The Rabbit, the Wolf, the Fox, the Rose. The Three Brothers, the Grey Lady, the Dreamer.

I had neither the skill nor the knowledge of the sky to reproduce the heavens with Rhys’ faithfulness, but I had the soul of an artist, and I made do. My constellations went far beyond the simple collections of stars Rhys had highlighted for me earlier. I filled my constellations with light, soft and gentle and nuanced, as in one of my paintings, until even Rhys could see the images unaided.

As Rhys calmed and I grew more confident, the pictures came to life. The Three Brothers joined the Hunter in tracking the Great Bear across the sky. The Dreamer danced with the Seven Sisters to the enchanting melody of the Lyre. The Grey Lady dared the grieving Swan to return to the skies…

-

I woke slowly to a damp breeze playing across my face.

I shifted in the grey light of the overcast morning, and strong arms tightened around me.

“Rhys?”

“I’m here, darling. How are you feeling?”

“What happened?” I asked. He was leaning up against the window frame with me in his arms and the torn curtain wrapped around us both.

He kissed the tip of my ear, then the side of my neck. “I think you overdid it.”

My cheeks heated. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep on him. I was supposed to be helping, like he always helped me. He’d needed me, and I’d let him down. If I couldn’t even stay awake for him when he needed me most —

None of that now, darling, he scolded, tweaking my nose.

“But —”

“Look.” And he tilted my chin up. He kissed the corner of my mouth, then leaned back so I could see the ceiling, where every inch was alive with pale, shifting constellations, far more than what I remembered conjuring before I passed out.

“They’re still there,” I breathed.

I could feel the breath of his smile in my ear as he kissed it again. “They stayed all night.”

“There are so many…” A whole world seemed to have sprung up to accommodate my creations while I slept.

He leaned down to kiss my forehead, and something warm and tender slid down the bond to wrap around my soul.

Starlight seeping from my heart as I slept, twining around Rhys to keep the darkness at bay so he could sleep in safety, and then rising to fill the room with dancing images to greet him when he woke.

I blinked and the vision was gone, and Rhys was leaning down to kiss my forehead as he carried me back to bed. “I love you,” he murmured.

I leaned up to return the kiss properly, twining my soul around his in return. I love you, too.

I Want To Paint Your Lips - Ten

Delirious moved the paint brush delicately. It slid over the mask with perfect precision, marking out two triangles along the cheek bones and one pointing down on the forehead. His mouth was slightly open as he worked, tongue between his teeth with concentration. His blue eyes hadn’t shifted from the object the moment he’d dipped his brush in red paint.

Ohm was sketching out different body shapes over a large bit of paper, marking in where organs were and where they overlapped. He barely paid attention as his pencil flew across the page, but everything was scarily accurate. Bryce watched as he marked out the placement of kidneys in relevance of the intestine. The light blue eyes were curious and impressed, and Ohm loved the attention.

He couldn’t hide his proud smirk. “I studied medical for a year or two,” he told the boy, making eye contact for a moment without stopping his drawing. Bryce nodded lightly, hearing the words through his blasting music.

Keep reading

The drive and ambition of an Aries burns deeply inside of you,
Leaving your skin rusted from hard work, and your bones burning from the fire,
You’re a phoenix that flourishes in the flames
You’ve learned to dance with the devil in the heat, causing any symphony of an ice cold heart to melt away like liquid gold.
The beauty of a Taurus is painted on your face and body
Your eyes glow like deep sapphires, I didn’t know blue could be such a warm color until I met you,
The strong mountains and thick trees are a resemblance of your strong limbs and how you carry yourself,
You’re lips taste like the finest wines, and are made out of cashmere and velvet
The energy of a Gemini rings like bells in your voice,
Your tone is ever so uplifting and bright, it adds color to my black and white day
The melody you sing and the tune you hum is like a hypnotic and gorgeous siren resting in the waves
I want you to pour your hopes and dreams into me as you hold me in your arms
Your core and soul is graceful and gentle has a Cancer
The water pools in your heart and waves calmly like a glass lake
When you hold me I feel the energy of a cascading waterfall reaching inside of me, and quenching my thirst for you
You love like a golden lion of Leo,
Passion and euphoria drips out of your golden eyes,
You are the lover that sparks lighting bolts through my veins
You are the lover that reminds me of spilt black ink on a white dress
Memories being stained on a blank canvas that is my life
Before I met you, I’d only make art in black and white
Now I paint in color
The sun falls into Virgo which shines purely upon your face
You remind me of fresh white sheets on a Sunday morning
You remind me of sleepy morning sex after we’ve drank our coffee
You strive for perfection, you want to fit in, you seek approval
If you only saw that you are perfectly imperfect in my eyes
The sensual beauty of a Libra posseses strongly over your 5 senses
The sight of you is like staring at a beautiful marble sculpture at the finest museums
The sound of you is like listening to a string of hypnotic melodies
The taste of you is like earthy beauty and sweet dreams
The touch of you is like running my fingers through a river of silk
The smell of you is like smelling the atmosphere at sunset on a lake
The cosmic sexual energy runs through your blood hot with lust and cool with love
You leave the colors of a galaxies across the planes of my neck
The way you make yourself at home inbetween my legs makes me feel brighter than the sun
Staring into your eyes is like staring into two deep blue twinkling nebulas
I wanna hide forever in your heart
I want to explore you’re body and soul like a Sagittarius would
I could plant kisses across the valley of your body
I want to climb the mountains of your heart
And swim in the ocean of your soul
I want to discover the coldest and darkest parts of you like Capricorn’s Saturn
To take the coldness you feel in life into beautiful ice crystals
To turn the bitterness running through your blood into pure untouched love
To turn the icy breath you breathe and make into fire
I will love you past your flaws like the heart of an Aquarius
I will trace imagenary drawings across your transparent stretch marks
I will feather kisses across the scars on your stomach from when you had cancer
I will rub the knots out of your sore back, and build towers made of kisses up your spine
You are loved, from the inside out;my sun and stars
I want us to make art out of each other like a Pisces would
I could paint my beautiful perception of you out of the richest oil paints
Spending days to get just the right shade to match your stunning ocean eyes
You could write poetry about me at 5:06am
Letting every ounce of emotion you feel towards me flow through the ink like a stream and onto the paper.o
—  The 12 signs live in your heart

anonymous asked:

4. Nine/Rose. Maybe Rose trying to soothe Nine after he's been drugged on a trip? The effects have kicked in after they've reached the TARDIS and he's a bit childlike. (Idk, first thing that sentence made me think of. I love vunerable Nine.)

Counterspell

The Doctor gets himself into trouble with a wizard in the marketplace and it’s up to Rose to undo the curse he was hit with. 

Part of the Everyday Magic ‘verse but can mostly be read separately.

Prompt: “Come here. Let me fix it.”

AO3

“Come on, Doctor,” Rose urged, leading him away from the console room so he’d stop trying to fiddle with the controls. She had no idea what most of those buttons and switches did and she didn’t want to find out anything nasty about them by accident. “We need to get you better.”

He leaned on her heavily, goofy smile stretched across his face as he looked down at her. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to my room.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sick and I need to get you somewhere safe so I can make sure you get better,” Rose explained patiently. They’d already had this conversation once.

“Shouldn’t I go to the medbay if I’m sick? I think I know the way.” He tried to disentangle himself from her to head down a corridor that definitely did not lead to the medbay.

“No, no, no, no,” Rose said, pulling him back to her. “You’re not that kind of sick.”

His confused expression was adorable. Rose knew she would enjoy it more if he wasn’t so vulnerable and not himself at this moment. “What kind of sick am I, then?”

“The kind that I can fix in my room. Remember, the TARDIS let me ward the walls of my room for safety so I need to get you there so I can de-spell you.”

“Magic?”

Keep reading

One Year On

“In saving my life she conferred a value on it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend.” - Sherlock Holmes 

He feels the burning flames lick his skin, his eyes shoot open.

The flames are roaring, wood crackling and popping as it crumbles around him in the shell of his childhood home.

There is no escape but he can hear whispering all around him, it sends shivers down his spine.

“I will never forgive you. I will never forgive you. I will never forgive you.”

He spins on the spot, his gaze affixes to the ceiling where the voice came from. Nobody is there.

“It’s your fault she is dead. It should have been you.” He turns again and John is standing there. His legs restrained by shackles and his clothes soaking wet. His finger points accusingly at him.

“John, I didn’t know. You have to believe me.” Sherlock pleads to his best friend.

“It’s your fault she is dead. It should have been you.” John repeats himself with a look that cuts Sherlock in two.

“John, please-” Sherlock is on his knees.

“It’s your fault she is dead. It should have been you.” Sherlock goes to shout but his words are lost when a wooden beam eventually weakens and drops. John is crushed beneath it and a plume of burning smoke and ash ghost over Sherlock’s face, his arms raise to shield himself from the unforgiven heat.  

By the time he brings them back down, John is nowhere to be found.  

A laugh taunts him from behind. He turns to find Eurus, standing in her white clinical robe.  

“Naughty Sherlock, it’s your fault she’s dead.”

In a blink she is pressing into his side her lips almost touch his ear.

“It should have been you, nobody cares about the wonderful Sherlock Holmes.”

He moves to swat her like a fly but she is already gone. Suddenly she manifests in another corner of the room.  

She is not alone.  

Red Beard and a young Victor Trevor are sat by her feet.

“It’s your fault, Sherlock. You weren’t smart enough. You killed them both.” Her voice sings songs in a sinister tune.

“N-o.” His voice cracks and when her hands touch the top of their heads, they turn to bone.

He lurches forward to reach for them, but the fire blocks his path and just like John they disappear into thin air.  

Suddenly, he hears something call him towards the back wall. As he walks towards it he feels something cool ghost across his face, despite the towering flames.

He presses his body flat against the wall. He can hear something calling from behind, like angels singing. Without a further thought he brings his fist up and starts to pummel the weakened plaster. With each punch the voice grows stronger until his fist breaks through and he feels the flow of water cover his hand.

Eurus appears beside him again, laughing manically in his ear.  

The wall crumbles and within seconds he is met with an almighty force of current as it crashes over him and his sister. But the water does not drown him. It cleanses his skin and bones and when the force slows, he opens his eyes to find Mary standing before him.  

Eurus is gone and the flames are dead.  

Mary moves towards him and she places her hands on his face, his skin feels so alive under her touch.  

“Hope. There is always hope, Sherlock.” Her words lull him into a trance and he closes his eyes as he feels a tender kiss to his forehead. It’s so vivid he can feel the softness of her lips against his skin.  

He opens his eyes and inhales. 

He is back in Baker Street and realises the kiss against his head wasn’t Mary’s.

His eyes adjust to see a figure kneeling behind him. His head is in a warm and comforting lap, fingers tentatively caress his sweat stricken scalp.

“Molly.” He whispers into the dark of the night.

She responds by lowering her head down to his, their brows touching.  

It’s all he needs.

Within moments he drags her down beside him, holding onto her like a life raft. His right arm and leg are strewn over her slim frame, his hand pushes the top of her back closer to him. He absorbs the energy she radiates from her body into his terrorised sole. The shadows ebb away as her light pulses through his veins. He doesn’t realise he is crying until he feels Molly’s fingers brush a tear across his sullen cheek bones. She doesn’t say anything.

She never does.

Her eyes are level with his own and she is cradling his head in her hands, their noses touching. He embraces the coolness of his skin against where his body is pressing so tightly against her. He knows his skin must be hot and sticky against her own, but she never complains.  

She never does.

It’s the height of winter and there is nothing more than a thin sheet on the bed. She knows anything heavier and he will feel suffocated. Especially at this time of year, the demons lurk in the dark and deep forefront of his mind.  

“You’re burning up, Sherlock. Let me get you a cool flannel.” She whispers as the flat of her palm presses against his forehead.

“No.” He grabs her hands in his own before she can move. “I’m fine, just stay here. Please.” He is exhausted, but he cannot bare the thought of her leaving him alone right now. Not even for a few seconds. 

She settles beside him once more. He can see she is just as exhausted as he is, but he knows she will not sleep until he is in a peaceful slumber. There is always a chance the demons will reappear, but for as long as he has Molly Hooper by his side it is enough to face the fear night after night if he has to.

They don’t wake again until the late morning sun is peaking through the gap in his curtains.

Anatomy || Conor Maynard Imagine*

*Side note: I’m very, very proud of this. In my opinion, one of (if not the) my best works. Please take note of this when reading, and let me know what you all think - it would mean a lot if you guys could let me know.*

- Blue x

Requested: Yep! Thanks anon you lil ray of sunshine!

Warnings: Nooooope


— — — Conor’s POV — — —

“Can you imagine if you hadn’t have dropped your drink all over my shirt?” He asks her, as she slips into bed next to him.

Wearing just her underwear, and her in his Calvin Klein boxers - he feels her warmth.

He feels it radiate from her body, and transcend across his skin, giving him goosebumps from the happiness that the woman touching him was the woman who he had fallen in love with.

“Actually, I can’t. Sounds weird but I can’t imagine us meeting any other way or not meeting at all.” She says, laying her tired head amongst his chest and smiling.

She can hear his strong heart thumping away behind his cage of bones. As it pumps, she thinks about what’s in there - just blood, flowing around meaningless? Or maybe it’s her, emotions, thoughts and so many other things that come alive at nighttime.

The things that feast at his brain, that eat away until he can’t help but say something. The things that come alive at night to talk to him and tell him to mention it - Imagine this, think about that, what if this, because of that - they don’t stop, he just doesn’t listen to them as much in the day.

“But just think about it, what if I hadn’t have turned around so suddenly, what if you hadn’t have been carrying too many drinks to your friends.” He speaks to the darkness, her figure not visible yet he can so strongly feel her presence he can’t stop flicking through the things that cover his mind.

“I don’t want to think about it though. Because you’d probably have some other girl, and I’d still be where I was, struggling and wishing there was someone who was bothered about me.” She says, a hint of emotion clouding her tone, but that is overpowered by the true meaning behind her sentences.

She can’t think about if she didn’t have him. If she didn’t have him, she would still be out every night drinking her problems away, or she might be sat in bed alone regretting the night before. The live wires in her brain flick away with all the thoughts that bring her fear throughout the different outcomes of that day. Without him giving her light in her dark days, she wouldn’t be where she is now. She would be stuck, leaving the darkness to take over her shredded thoughts.

“I wouldn’t, because there’s us two. And I think we are meant to be where we are now. I mean, without you I wouldn’t be happy, I wouldn’t be where i am now with everything and I would probably still be afraid of what I lost rather than what I had gained.” He replies, his strong arm lifting to wrap around her figure, and he wishes he could protect her from everything that ruins her mind.

He wishes those same strong arms would work in her brain too - tackling the nerves that need to be broken, lighting up parts of the brain that are overcome with darkness. Everything she had been through, he wants to be able to shield her from it all, even though he knows he won’t be able to… the thumping in his heart won’t give up.

“Where are we now? In a happy place? Or do you want to be more than we are?” She asks, the uncertain tone in her voice knocking his mind sideways - he was at his happiest with her. His fingers dance across her skin, as he thinks about her thoughts doing that too… but making more of an imprint than his small fingertips.

“In bed, with you, at night.” He whispers, thinking about where he really is, rather than where else he may be. Around her, he feels all the air get sucked out of his lungs, and he wonders if she feels the same. He wonders whether she also feels all the air disappear and float away as she tries to hold onto the bit of sanity she has left.

“What’s that supposed to mean? If you aren’t happy please tell me, that way we can fix it.” She whispers, voice broken even when barely audible.

The blood in his body runs cold, as he realises that she thinks the opposite of what he feels. She thinks that he doesn’t live for her just as much as she lives for him. His heart pumps the blood that tells the stories of the young couple. The stories that hold his feelings, the stories that give away the true thoughts of each mind.

“It means that that’s where I want to be. No where else but in bed, with you, at night. Because without those three, especially the second, I wouldn’t be who I am.” He says, the words flowing like a poem to a crowd of writers.

The alcohol that used to surge through his blood and hit his liver, it always gave him a feeling that he wasn’t alone, that if he was drunk and out of his mind - no one could hurt him. But then she danced through his brain, she gave him the drunk feeling that went straight to his liver. She made him feel he wasn’t alone, but in difference to the alcohol, it was permanent. That feeling didn’t fade, and neither did she.

“I think I’m the same. With you things are different, you help me get out of my mind… you know that right?” She says, feelings flowing out in the form of words.

She wonders if it may be the darkness giving her this courage. This courage is what’s making her tell him the stories of her mind, about the darkness and the light that surges through her veins every second of everyday. The courage that covers her heart, gives her the strength to tell him the feelings she can barely express.

“I don’t do anything, I just know that when you need help I’ll always be there.” He gushes, feeling his veins swell with all the loved up blood that pounds through his entire body within seconds.

“You help, because you know what I’m going through. You don’t judge, don’t laugh, you understand that things are different with me and you, because you feel the same way sometimes. That’s what you do.” She confirms, feeling that she can’t let his blood not feel full with proudness from what he gets her through.

“Of course I don’t judge or laugh, you need someone who won’t.” He says to the air, drawing small patterns on her skin, knowing it gets her heart racing with such a slight touch from his nimble fingers.

“I’ve found someone who won’t.”

I want you, and it’s such an easy yet complicated thing to admit. I think of you more often than I should. I want to show you that I crave to know all of you, even the parts that you’re ashamed of, I’m captivated by you. I don’t know what or who has hurt you, but I want to be a light that rushes through your veins, that allows you to feel safe.

Angels with liquid light glowing through their veins. The golden children walking our earth. There she is, watching the sky paint itself brighter. There they are, painting in digital glow. There he sits, his eyes glowing in the morning sun. Find them on the street, in your home, under bridges and inside dusty libraries. Bright souls leave trails of hope in their wake. You just have to follow it.

Pain and Good Memories

The pain was unbearable. The Light that coursed through her veins plucked every chord within her body, twinging and snapping. Stabbing and shooting!

“AaaaaAAAAUUUUuuuGH”

Olyviane could not help but flail about, clinging onto the table for dear life - looking on in horror as the cadre of priests attempted to seal whatever this was.

Her eyes closed fast as she attempted to block out the stimuli. She brought her mind back to her time as a slave, when the guard would come ‘round to her cell after having a bit too much to drink that evening.

She thought back to that happy place she always took herself. The sprawling fields, the trickling rivers, the local fauna which hopped and jumped about. Bliss and peace - anything to tug her thoughts away from this.

But it didn’t work. The pain… The intense pain, it was too much. She couldn’t bear it. Burn, burn burn BURN. Her skin was on fire! Her body, her soul ablaze!

“Look, it’s working! Look at her colour!” shouts a feminine voice as the blackness that filled her veins began to withdraw, pulling back to the main focal point over her belly before dissipating.

And all went black. Floating, adrift in an endless spring. Her limbs went limp, her body slump as she drifted into unconsciousness.

And lo, once more could she see that beautiful field, that trickling river, those happy animals. And lo, once more, all was at peace.

@addington-wra

So this was based on THIS TEXT POST HERE. Have 3 pages of ishihime fluff 

Title: Phones Connect Me To You

Fandom: Bleach

Pairings: Ishihime, peripheral Ichiruki

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

Summary: Uryuu receives a rather peculiar phone call on a Saturday morning.



His phone doesn’t ring often, and when it does, it’s more often than not bad news, so when the sound of the phone ringing shatters the tranquil silence of his Saturday morning, Ishida Uryuu is reluctant to pick it up.

“Hello?” he asks cautiously, fully prepared to slam the receiver down if he so much as hears a single chirp of his father’s upbeat secretary or, heaven forbid, his father’s unimpressed drawl, but what actually comes through the receiver takes him so aback that he accidentally drops it instead.

“Hello? Hello, Ishida-kun! Is this the right number? I’m so glad! Ishida-kun? Ishida-kun!”

“I—Inoue-san?! What—How are you calling me?!”

There’s a short pause at the other end of the line, during which Uryuu can actually see Orihime cocking her head in that way of hers—cheeks puffed out in confusion and a finger held to her chin—trying to work this conundrum out. “Um, I picked up the phone and dialled your number?”

“No, that’s not what I— never mind,” he says, deciding not to mention the fact that only his father’s secretary and his father knew that he had a landline, let alone had his number. He changed it every few months to deter them, but somehow, they always found it out. “I just—it’s Saturday morning, Inoue-san. Is something wrong?”

Keep reading

Three in the Morning

Please be gentle, as this is my first time writing :)

Author’s Note: Just needed a little cute, protective Sammy in my life. I don’t see this really going anywhere but let me know what you think!

Warnings: Angry Sam, little bit of fluff, almost smut?

Word Count: About 1760


This was stupid.

The hunt was stupid.

The guys were stupid.

Your feelings were stupid.

You were stupid, and you needed a drink.

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t just take off to a bar by yourself after a shitty hunt without something being wrong.”

Your stomach twisted into a cold knot. “Shut it, Dean. I just need a drink. Since when do you question someone needing to drown themselves with an innocent bottle of Schnapps?”

His beautifully freckled face turned to shock as he threw his hands up, taking three steps backwards before reaching into his pocket and yanking out his room key. The door slammed shut and you released a breath that you hadn’t known you were holding. Your eyes shot to the ground and you kicked a golf-ball sized white rock before turning to the giant on your left.

His eyes were pouting, with that little glimmer of worry showing. Damn those hazel eyes. “I’ll catch you later, Sam.”

As you turned to stalk off, a hand gripped your elbow. You yelped, “Hey–“

“Be careful, okay? We don’t need something else bad to tack onto the end of this day.” If you didn’t know the boys as personally as you did, you’d be pissed at Sam’s lecturing tone. But you knew he was just trying to look out for you – to protect you. After all, you were basically the little sister.

“I can handle myself, Sammy. Thanks.”

-

The bar was bare and reeked of tobacco. Whatever, you weren’t here for anything more than a few drinks. Shrugging off your leather jacket, you noticed a handsome man sitting at the far end of the bar. He was cute – not Winchester cute – but actually quite adorable. His blonde curls were slicked neatly on the top of his head, framing those deep blue eyes. For a split second, he took your breath away.

As you settled onto your stool, you snuck another glance at him to see he was looking right back. He flashed a perfect pearly smile your way, and you tucked a tuft of hair behind you ear.Were you blushing? Really?

Your childish crushing was interrupted by a coarse, deep voice. “What’ll you have tonight, dear?” You looked up to see the old bartender, short and plump with a neat gray comb-over. He smiled at you through thick black frames and you couldn’t help but smile back at the sweet man.

“Whiskey. Don’t go easy on me.” You cocked and eyebrow and shot him a daring stare. He chuckled a bit before turning to grab the bottle.

“What brings you here?” The voice startled you. Your heart jumped as your hand reached for the knife in your back pocket. The sudden nerves were calmed when you turned to your right and saw the pretty blonde man had taken a seat next to you.

“God, you scared me a bit.” You slowly pulled your hand back to the counter and took a deep breath. Damn hunter instincts.

“I guess so.” The toothy grin returned. “To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting such a darling young woman in a beat up town like this?”

“Just passing through on my way to see some family. Figured I could use a drink before heading to my room for the night.” The red-hot feeling on your cheeks had returned. Desperately trying to regain composure, you downed the whiskey that was waiting for you. You hadn’t even noticed when the bartender had set it in front of you.

“My name’s Paul. Mind if I stay and chat, or are you in a rush?” You couldn’t bring yourself to resist that gorgeous grin.

“I’m Y/N, and no, I’m in no hurry.”

Time carried on by like the night would never end. Soon you had learned all about Paul and his passion for cars. You enjoyed the light buzz running through your veins as you finished off your last beer.

“I really should get going for the night, Paul. Did you want to join me?” The man took a final swig of his beer and stood to hold out your jacket for you. You slipped into it and held his elbow, slapping money on the counter for the drinks, and he guided you toward the exit.

Once back at the motel, you fumbled around your pockets for your key, checking the time on your cell in the process. Wow, it was way later than you thought.

After finally accomplishing the seemingly impossible task of pushing a key into a door, you flung it open and the two of you walked in, giggling the whole way. Paul kicked the door shut behind him before his hands landed on your hips. He kissed you sweetly as he backed you toward the bed. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the yellow comforter and you granted Paul permission to nip at your neck. You tugged at the hem of –

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Hell no.

KNOCK KNOCK

“Y/N?”

Damn it.

“Who is that?” Paul’s eyes shimmered as he gave you a sweet smile.

“No one important.” You returned to kissing the handsome man before another series of knocks sounded at the door, these ones harder and sharper than previously.

While sighing, obviously very annoyed, you got up and walked to the door. You quickly cracked it to reveal a large figure. His eyes pierced through yours like knives, and your stomach dropped. You were most definitely in trouble.

Finding some unexpected courage due to your buzz, you belted out, “It’s three in the morning, what could you possibly want?” Wrong move.

The strong hand landed on your shoulder before you could work up a reaction to it, and you were being pushed out of the way against your will. “I’m not all that sorry, but Y/N and I have some issues that need addressed. I am politely asking you to leave.”

“Look, buddy, no offense but this doesn’t have anything to do with you. Why are you harassing the poor girl?” Paul defended you. However, you knew where this would soon lead, and you sighed before looking to Paul.

You awkwardly rubbed your temples, getting a headache from all the testosterone radiating through the room. “It’s okay, he’s not hurting me Paul. I think it’s best that you go, I’m sorry.”

Paul shrugged and stood from his seated position on the bed. He planted a light kiss on your cheek, stating he had a nice time that evening, before walking off into the chilly night.

You were cornered before you had a chance to take another breath. The door was closed as two large arms pushed against it, trapping you between them. You were looking up into the fierce hazel eyes, now blown nearly black out of anger, and you sucked in a sharp breath. “Sam, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it, Y/N. I’m going to talk, you’re going to listen.” The thick anger in his voice resonated through your core and you shivered, goosebumps taking over your skin. You tried to shake the feeling as you fought for your voice.

“You can’t just barge in like that! And I am an adult!” You pushed against his thick chest, although it didn’t move him much. “So what, I went to a bar and met a really nice, cute, normal guy. It’s the most normal thing that’s happened to me in years. Who the hell are you to try and stop me? I am sick and tired of –“

Your harsh screams were interrupted by a pair of warm, sweet lips. His right hand caressed your cheek as you took in the sweet taste of vanilla. Soon, you realized that the kiss wasn’t just to shut you up, there was more to it than that. You lost yourself in the deep kissing, and your head began to fill with memories from the past 2 years full of Winchester.

You recalled all of the little flirtatious encounters you’d had with Sam – cooking and eating dinner together, doing research while Dean went out for supplies, all of the accidental brushes of hands or legs underneath a table at a run-down diner. Electric heat flooded through your body and reddened your cheeks.

You were pulled back to reality by the gigantic arms that were now wrapped around your waist. Was this really happening?

Sensing your hesitation, Sam pulled back and backed himself away from you. “I uh… Um… Look, Y/N…”

You pounced before he could finish his thought. The next thing you knew was that you were now straddling the big beauty laying on the small motel bed, kissing him relentlessly.

He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it across the room. His hands travelled up and down the length of your back, sending chills through your spine.

You quickly found yourself flipped onto the bed, pulling at the collar of Sam’s favorite red flannel. He tore off the layer of clothing, and additionally his white t-shirt underneath.

He paused a moment to admire each curve of your body; the ones you had grown to loathe. Sam took in all of your features before returning his eyes to yours. “You are so beautiful.”

Your whole body was on fire. The younger Winchester had taken control and was slowly peppering his way down your torso with delicate kisses, igniting flames wherever he touched. His fingers dipped into the waistline of your jeans, gripping harshly with means to pull them off.

“Y/N! Hey, is Sam in there with you?!” Dean’s groggy voice echoed outside of the door as you shook your head in disbelief. Your hands flew up to cover your face in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a second, Dean. I had to talk to Y/N about the hunt.” Sam’s voice returned to businesslike instead of the huskiness you’d just encountered.

He pried your hands away from your face and pinned them against the bed. Your lips met again and you eventually melted to relax under his grip. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Sam backed away to throw his t-shirt back on, muscles rippling in the process. He threw the flannel over his shoulder and turned to look at you, sitting up on the edge of the bed, before he made his way toward the exit of your room.

“Hey,” His serious tone made your heart drop. “We’re not done.” He threw you a sly wink and slipped away for the night.

Damn it.