It’s so easy to get caught up in the classical ideas of what the elements are and what they mean. Earth is fertility, feminine, Fire is harsh, masculine, etc. These are good places to start when learning about the craft- one should learn the classic correspondences and such.
However, sometimes we forget to take the next step: what do these things mean to me? How do I relate to the elements? Sometimes, the classic concepts don’t resonate with us. If you’re from Texas, your idea of the elements is probably different than someone from Maine. Instead of putting our experiences aside, we can use them to further our personal practices. After all, when it is personal and meaningful to you, it has much more power.
Tsukishima + his girlfriend the morning after? Like what is he thinking, and feeling and all of that. I love love love love your blog, BTW ❤❤❤❤
Every negative calamity to ever occur in his life was destroyed the morning after a thunderstorm. To be perfectly honest he couldn’t quite remember how it happened, or any of the actions leading up to what happened, but all he knew is that it did, in fact, happen, and he was very, very happy.
He could still feel the heat lingering on his bare chest. He was sure everywhere from the tips of his toes to his cheeks were still a healthy red. Raindrops still hammered against the window panes and the old furnace growled, belligerently so, but Kei felt nothing but comforting warmth. With bleary eyes he glanced over at the body next to him, curled up and facing him with obstreperous bangs falling into her eyes. A smile of sincerity evaded his face, and he was honest that he’d never been more jubilant in his life. He fell in love, drastically so and if you asked him about it three months ago, he would’ve denied it. Although right now, in this very moment, he wouldn’t mind stepping out onto the balcony and yelling “I love __ __!” at the top of his lungs for the entirety of the bustling street below to hear. In reality, he would never do that, social anxiety would creep up on him like a bitch, but metaphorically he was willing to go to that extent. He then reached out to touch her, his fingertips soft against her skin. They brushed away the bangs that fell into her face and with a smile, he pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. She shuffled around a bit, but waking her was one of his intentions. He kissed her again on her cheek, and three times on the corner of her mouth, lingering there with closed eyes of his own and a stupid smile. Tsukishima couldn’t believe how much he was smiling, really, his face actually hurt. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up against his body, the warmth of her chest against his was something he knew he wanted to treasure. In this moment, he was undeniably a sap, eyes lidded lovingly as he let the tresses of her hair fall between his fingers. She shuffled, suddenly, letting out a small groan of displeasure and knocking her head on his chest. He laughed at her absent state of mind, but it was completely and utterly out of sincerity. She was adorable, an absolute gem in his eyes, but gems still had flaws but it was the flaws that made her seem rarer, more genuine. She was adorable, and that was the first thing he told her when she opened her eyes. She giggled, short and sweet, and let her head rest against his chest, looking up at him with the same, stupid smile he knew was mirrored on his face. “Kids in love” was not a position he ever thought he’d be in, but when she scooted up to kiss his collarbone and his heart started racing a mile a minute and the stupid smile remained put on his face, and the stupid need to want to be with this girl forever indefinitely made him a stupid kid in love. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though.
“G’morning.” She muttered, suddenly. Her lips still lingered against his collarbone, which was every indication that she was still exhausted, but the soft glint in her eye was every indication that she’d rather be awake.
“Good morning.” He replied. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well, it felt like there were seventy two bees belligerently attacking my vaginal entrance all night, so no.” Tsukishima chuckled, gently running his hands down the length of her back.
“Sorry that I hurt you.” He whispered, planting a kiss against her forehead. “But why seventy two bees?”
“I dunno, for dramatic effect? It won’t always hurt like this, right?”
“Doubt it. It might just be one bee next time.” He shrugged. She cuddled up close to him, subliminally slipping her leg between his. In between another kiss to his lips, she paused and muttered, “I’m glad I did this with you.”
He nodded in response, closing the kiss back up and breaking it. His heart was still pounding, and he felt like an idiot who just made eye contact with his crush for the first time. He had just shared his body with this girl yet for some reason, he was nervous. The soft pads of her fingers against his chest were intimidating, he was intimidated by the sincerity of this moment. He was growing soft, he had grown soft, and if she wanted she could destroy him, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t because she was another stupid kid in love, in love with him.
“I love you.” Is what he replied with. “I always will.”
She smiled, the apples of her cheeks practically glowing.
“I love you too, Kei.”
The rain outside only grew more atrocious, and everything around him seemed to be a mess. The man next door was yelling in incoherent Swedish, the bustling and shuffling of pedestrians and cars was an awful background noise, but the girl in between his arms, the love of his life, made everything seem beautiful. Being a stupid kid in love was everything beautiful.
I found these at a bootleg thrift store (It was a half finished building that was full of wood barrels and each barrel was bursting with cheap toys) There was a Hispanic family of 3 living there. with the mother cutting the heads off of fish in a bucket, a daughter insisting her puppy was in the lit furnace, an old southern man with a baseball sized growth on his neck, and I had to haggle with the father for the figures in Spanish. After kindly declining fish heads for the tenth time, I was able to get the set for $2. The cardboard had the smell of dead fish infused in it and I had to leave the box in a closed room with 5 fans for two days to remove the smell.
glances wistfully at nintendo switches and the new games as the repairmen cart out the old furnace and AC unit and remembering the lovely payments i’ll be making on the replacements as a single tear rolls down my cheek
Summary: Chris and Natalia on a Saturday afternoon, gossiping.
Warnings: sexual content
Thanks for reading!! xx
“Hey, guess who’s getting divorced?”
When they had first started dating many years ago, Natalia had learned many unexpected things that added layers to the man she was destined to spend the rest of her life with. Like how he enjoyed classical rock and jammed out to Fleetwood Mac in the privacy of his own home. And that despite not having much time to practice his handyman skills, he was actually really gifted in that department, fixing basically everything that was falling apart in her old condo; including the furnace she had long before given up on ever turning on again.
He hated spiders, despised them even, and made her kill them the second he saw one crawling anywhere near him. Trees and anything about nature (except for those pesky crawlers) inspired him. No topic of discussion was off-limits with his mother. And, the most surprising of them all, he loved to gossip.
A/N: So, this is a Supernatural story idea I’ve had rolling around in my head for awhile now. I hope you enjoy it, and I’d really love some feedback! Trigger Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 2,090
Some blood splashed up onto my face with my final slash, decapitating the walking corpse. “Fucking vampires” I mumbled under my breath, looking down at the body. A shriveled, mummified corpse laid lightly inside the outer skin of someone who would’ve been attractive, but being able to see who they really are -or were- was just repulsive. No wonder people tended to fall for their charms.
As I left the room, heading to look for the two pieces of meat that the vamps had tied up, I tried wiping the blood on my face before it dried up. My attempt didn’t work, as I just smeared the blood around my face, letting it dry faster. Some of my hair had gotten in the blood too, causing it to stick to my face. “Just great,” I sighed in defeat.
So it’s been a shitty year. The good news, it’s over now. The bad, well, there’s always next year and the year after that. See life doesn’t get better the minute the clock strikes twelve, the joys or horrors of life do not keep time with a calendar and it is certainly under no obligation to reward you for making it through 365 days no matter how terrible they were. There’s only you. You are the factor that shakes the equation and determines its answer. You are all the hope the days ahead have to hold onto. You. You only. You. So comb the unwashed hair and sparkle the shoes. Fire up the old furnace in your heart and, by living fiercely and taking action, demand from the universe the happiness you deserve.
Based off the prompt: You’re building a snowman even though you’re a full grown adult, but I brought you a carrot for the nose.
A/N: I don’t even know, I saw the prompt and my holiday fluff-o-meter went beserk.
Words: 3300 Rated: T
It’s bitterly cold in her apartment. She can feel a draft coming in from under her window sills, the windows themselves likely older than her own twenty-five years. But, if she turns up the heat any higher she risks the old furnace croaking on her entirely and the fact that she wouldn’t be able to afford the gas and electric bill. So, layers it is, she thinks pulling on her third pair of socks, stamping her feet trying to bring the warmth back to them.
It doesn’t help that Mother Nature has dumped a blizzard on them, a good three foot of the white stuff started falling from the sky last night and hasn’t let up since. The snow is up to the ledges of her ground floor apartment.
If she wasn’t currently being held hostage in her apartment by the snow, she’d drive to the local home improvement store and buy those large sheets of the stuff that reminds her of press-and-seal plastic wrap that cling to windows and are supposedly proven to keep the draft out.
Of course, that’s not an option but she needs to do something. Not like she sleeps through the night anyway, a card-carrying member of the insomnia club, but tonight she’s tired enough to sleep and can’t because there’s a slight fear she’ll freeze to death only being found when her apartment begins to smell. And it’s only December in Maine, so that could take a while.