moon drip

Moon in the 2nd House - Lunar Jeweller

“A star falls from the sky and into your hands. Then it seeps through your veins and swims inside your blood and becomes every part of you.” -
C. JoyBell C.

Moon in the 2nd can instantly gauge the ‘feeling’ of a room. The individual is very sensitive to surroundings in terms of vibration and decor. Every emotional experience seems to require a material outlet - be this through vices, intimacy, indulgence, or spending. Finances may fluctuate, and it can be difficult for the individual to save money or acquire a steady income. It’s like she can have more than she possibly needs, then struggle to make ends meet, like the shifting cycles of the moon that always change. The 2nd house is wealth and what is of value, and the moon works on internalised and indwelling levels. It generates tremendous riches filled with dream and imagination. She can find luxury within. She can soak into the bubblebath of her soul.

The individual may find it hard to settle, and prefer to keep moving around.  She is naturally imaginative and idealistic. Sometimes she can fantasise and become lost in daydream, and it can really feel like she lived the experience. It’s like she drips the liquid diamonds of a moonbeam, a creative spirit that spindles emotional impulse into art. She has a good eye for design, and frequently enjoys retreating into the cradling comforts of the paradise he has created for herself. Because the moon is fertile and the 2nd house is precious values, there may be the strong urgency to have many children. The individual will also spend a lot of money on her children and ensuring their feelings of stability and love. She likes to keep others safe and tends to be quite security conscious. It is hard for her to see people going without.

Moon in the 2nd is intuitive when growing fortune and business. It’s like she knows when to make the right move, when the appropriate moment has struck for her to shine like moonlight and show his greatest assets. She may have a soothing and lovely voice, in speech or even singing. There is a high amount of generosity here, and at worst the individual may become an enabler to someone else. Spending habits can directly relate to the mood. This may be how she manages emotions - to go on impulsive shopping sprees. The individual deeply treasures has received from ancestors and especially the mother. It’s like she can feel the energies in the items that belonged to her great grandmother from generations ago. She can find treasure in just about anything and enjoys sinking into the mindfulness of being amongst sensory enrichment. Her inner universe is dripping with moon ice cream and crystal sparkle, and this is the world she creates in astonishing glow.

-Cherry

missredherring  asked:

Could you write something with Loki dealing with his PTSD over his falling in space?

You’d stayed up that night, parsing over a book the Grandmaster had given you as a gift, glued by the window and watching the Sakaarian capital buzz beneath the penthouse apartment.

Sakaar had two moons, each dripping the city in golden light. Two moons that have bathed the God of Lies in light as he begins to thrash from a night terror.

You’re not sure what to do at first, but when Loki begins to screams (a deep bellow of fear and terror and absolute panic) for his brother you leap to your feet in worry. His voice is heavy with sleep and even heavier with fear – the name Thanos falls from his lips once or twice and you have an inkling of what kind of nightmare this is.

His ivory skin looks grey when you startle him awake.

His hands snatches your wrist and suddenly there’s a dagger pressed to the column of your throat. Lok’s muscles are taut with instinct and fear, eyes wild as the search your face.

The air is thick as he pants through his nose.

“It’s me,” you breathe, “Loki, it’s just me.”

The knife clatters to the floor and he palms at his eyes, rubbing them harshly as if to rub the nightmares away. His legs swing over the edge of the bed and he leans on his knees, chest rising and falling as the panic retreats into the dark.

You settle beside him, eyes soft with worry.

But you don’t touch him. You don’t move. Not until he raises head and with a defeated voice offers an apology. His eyes are red, rimmed with tears that haven’t fallen, and his voice cracks.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

You swallow, warm fingers pressing against the curve of his bicep. Loki swears your touch feels like fire against his skin – it lingers and burns like the kiss of a flame. “Don’t apologize.”

“I pressed a knife to your throat,” he counters, “You were waking me and I –”

Your other hand moves, then, sweeping along the curve of his spine. You shake your head. “I should have been more careful waking you up. You just… You screamed and I was worried.”

Your touch drags the demons from his mind. He lets his thoughts focus on the touch for a few moments before he speaks.

“Come to bed,” Loki mumbles, “You can’t spend all night reading those books.”

And you do. And he presses himself close to you the entire night – you don’t mind. Not when he sighs in his sleep and snores softly against your ear. Not even when the God of Lies buries his face in the crook of your neck and clings like you’re the one thing keeping the monsters away.

Pale white witch bitch with black hair dyed green
Black lipstick seeps through the cracks in your mouth, green juice lingers on your tongue
Burn sage to black, claw your painted fingernails, clutch your crystals:
No amount of colour will exorcise the white from your feminism.
Do not cross into the realm where our fires burn and cauldrons bubble
We have no @smallspells of your new age
Our potions we uphold through millennia
Halud and badam, cinnamon and cardamom
Thick sweet moon milk drips from our yellow-stained lips.

Poem by Urvija Banerji

Illustration by Christina Chung

I tore myself out of my own mother’s womb.
There was no other way to arrive in this world.
A terrified midwife named me Monster
and left me in the pine woods with only the moon.
My mother’s blood dripped from my treed head.

In a dream my mother came to me and said
if I was to survive
I must find joy within my own wild self.

When I awoke I was alone in solitude’s blue woods.

          *  *  *

A woman found me and took me to her mountain home
high at the end of an abandoned logging road.
We spent long winter evenings by the fire;
I sat at the hearth as she read aloud myths of the Greeks
while the woodstove roared behind me.
She sometimes paused to watch the wall of shadows
cast by my antlers. The shadows danced
across the entire room like an oak’s wind-shaken branches.

          *  *  *

The woman was worried when I would not wear dresses.
I walked naked through the woods.
She hung the wash from my head
on hot summer days when I sat in the sun to read.
The woman grew worried when I would not shed
my crown with the seasons as the whitetails did.
“But I am not a whitetail,” I said.

          *  *  *

When I became a woman
in the summer of my fifteenth year,
I found myself
suddenly changed in the mirror.
My many-pronged crown had grown
into a wildness all its own;
highly stylized, the bright
anarchic antlers were majestic to my eye.

The woman saw me and smiled. “What you are I cannot say,
but nature has created you.
You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

When night came it brought a full moon.
I walked through the woods to the lake
and knelt in the cool grass on its bank.
I saw my reflection on the water,
I touched my face.
You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

—  the girl with antlers, ansel elkins
Under A Blood Moon

Pairing: Vampire!Lafayette x reader

AU: Supernaturals
Word Count: 1,838ish
T/W: Angst / horror?
A/N: Here we go!

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 


Rolling your shoulders back, you felt the smooth, crisp and texture of bed sheets. To your right, a body was missing. Stroking a hand across the empty side of the bed you took a deep, cleansing breath, taking your mind back. Almost three years ago now, you had first met your nocturnal lover. In fact, it was him who found you. He had rescued you from blood-thirsty vampires, the irony? He was one himself. But so different. He took you home in his arms, laid you in his bed and helped you to restoration. When you found yourself in love with him, he seemed to reciprocated the feeling and it was inevitable that the two of you needed one another. From that day on, you were his and he was yours. Until the end of time. Opening your eyes brought you back to present day. Unwrapping your body from the sheets you had been tangled up in only moments ago with your lover, you smiled, remembering how passionately he made love to you. Taking a maroon, silk robe, you tied it loosely around your waist, before leaving the gorgeous bedroom.

The halls were dimly lit with candles, allowing you to see the mahogany floor and trim in front of you as you ventured to find the person you were longing for. Passing his study, you didn’t find him. The light was on, and his brandy was warming with the absence of his attention. Furrowing your eyebrows, you thought of any other places he would be. Looking to the window, you were reminded, a full moon, you knew exactly where he’d be. Carefully walking the corridor, you opened two heavy doors, allowing you the exit to the back vestibule outside. Sure enough you had found him, basking in the beautiful moonlight. His tall, thin frame was outlined by the silver casted light. His hair pulled back in a red ribbon of silk. Dressed in his house robe and tailored dress pants, he looked gorgeously handsome.

“Lafayette,” you whispered, with a smile, just loud enough for him to hear.

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She wondered
how to feel his love
through the depth of distance
holding their hands apart.

Striving to span
distance and time,
he offered her the purest
of his heart’s emotions.

Through a simple token

the sway of wind-
he teased strands of hair
across her lips,
wrinkled her blouse,
melted within her breath.

As he wished to transport her spirit
deep within his loving realms
so she would come to know
the sweetness of his caress,
the gentle bidding of his scent.

He found countless ways
to show her
in ruby hued twilight
sinking into a golden chalice
of full moons
dripping light,
heaving stillness
through her open window.

Caressing her
with smooth fingers
his velvet night,
sifting through her dreams.

She never knew the abundance of love
til’ he taught her how to read his lips
in the paint of colored leaves
wriggling in his trees,
infusing the breeze
with tender thoughts as these.

She felt his true light upon her,
warmth seeping into her pores
evidenced by her glistening eyes.
He shown with ever-growing fire
to burn his mark upon her heart.

His love adorned her autumn season
clinging to her rapturous heart,
thundering russet and tangerine,
nature’s profusion
enchanting her dreams.

Autumnal Rapture // A collaboration between @rhapsodyinblue45 and @the-goodnite-kid
11/6/17

Image by Konrad Demczuk
A thread to hold

Summary: Phil wanted a sensible life, a fireplace and a picket fence, and Dan was a wrecking ball he could simply no longer afford to keep around. But once you care for someone, it never really goes away, a constant thread between the two of them. Divorced!Phan with custody over a child. Angst and Fluff.

Word Count: 8.4k

Trigger Warnings: depression, panic attacks, alcohol, divorce

Author’s Note: Honestly this fic has been in the works for a very long time, it’s my child, and I wrote it during many different periods of my life which is why it flits between happy and sad, I’m sorry but I hope you enjoy it!

Excerpt: Phil opened the door, his hair stuck up just a little at the back, and one of his sleeves pushed up, the other falling over his hand. Fuck. The same sinking feeling in his stomach. Always the same. Because Phil was still breath-taking to him, despite the projected feelings and the ink stained tears that hid in the crevices of his face. He was still breath-taking. And not just because of his looks, of his gentle tilt of the head and his bright blue eyes which seemed to reach inside of him (you could go swimming in those eyes). But because it was him, because he was gentle and kind and warm and he was Phil.

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anonymous asked:

If you're still doing the Kiss Requests, can we please get "a hoarse whisper “kiss me” then licks their lips and says “please”" with Tae? If you're not still in the mood to do them, no worries! <3 Congrats on good grades!

Kissing requests <3

 a hoarse whisper “kiss me” then licks their lips and says “please”

Paring: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Dreamer!Au // Angst // Drabble

Word count: 2.3k

Author’s note: damn I loved writing this, thank you for requesting anonnie, I hope you’ll like it :’)

(and sorry for some philosophical crap I put in the middle)


You visit Taehyung every night, exactly two hours after the moon has risen.

Usually you wait for him on the rooftop of the building he lives in, sitting on the cornice with legs dangling off the border and eyes up to the sky to count hours and minutes in the swirling ways of stars. By the time Vega reaches the highest point, you know the boy will open the door and crunch next to your frame with a question already stumbling from his lips.

Sometimes you don’t have all the answers he needs, yet Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind, for he basks into the sound of your voice more than into the meaning of your words.

Tonight, still, you notice as some light breeze combos your hair, heavy clouds hide the firmament from your sight and you can only make out the pale halo of the moon dripping throughout the thick layer of nimbus. With a view like this it’s hard for you to tell the time, yet you fear not, because you are sure Taehyung will eventually come – he never missed a single appointment since you two met months ago, after all.

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unburn me with your umbra

I am satellite lost
(to a collection of massacred moons),
dripping data into pools unswum

darkness as substance,
not a lack there of

petrochemical plant pastels
cleanse the virus from the system
but the system cannot afford the canvas’
deductibles

a course– taken
                                             for granted

pathogenic pathways through
my melting permafrost

I hide the last glacier in your shadow
and break bread with the mammoth’s
bones

what prayer is left in my particles
                       asks only

                     for collision