Blood & Ashes @withbloodandashes-blog - Tumblr Blog

"I have a very weak stomach for horror. I need curtains on the front windows of my house because that heightens the whole fear factor."

#Rose

thedouble

#Byron

accioc0nfidence-deactivated2015

#Byron

whitepaperquotes

"Memories Are All I Have"

Written/submitted by Danielle @ these-greatexpectations

#about Byron #about Marius

whitepaperquotes

lavellun

[make me choose] anonymous asked: maggie or beth

#rose

aaronjohnsones-blog

Aaron Taylor-Johnson || MTV Movie Awards 2014 [x]

#byron #okay he looks good even with short hair #i like it better longer though #surprise surprise...

dagaish

#byron #he used to dress like this before he stopped caring #mayyyybe someone will inspire him to do it again hmmm?

mrpeteparker

Make Me Choose » ltfordbrody: Ben Leonard or Bucky Barnes

#byron

#music: b #music: m #music: q #music: r #all of them can relate on some level

It's full of beautiful miracles.

#ROFL this is great #Byron's PB

musicnotesandbrushstrokes-blog

While Byron showered, Jonah took the time to pick away at the strings, sitting with one ankle on the other knee, stopping after a few notes to scribble them down carefully on the paper, humming along carefully to get the sound right before he started adding lyrics, whispering them to himself until he heard the shower shut off, the water in the pipes coming to a halt and shuddering in the old building. Not that he didnt want Byron hearing him singing or playing, he just figured being as intoxicated, or partially intoxicated as he was, he’d want to rest rather than be bothered with the twang of an acoustic. He waited until he came out a few moments later, unaware that he’d just been sniffing his clothes, and smiled at him some, “Look, there is a human under neath that bloody mess. Your face looks like shite, thought I’d let you know.” He joked though, shrugging and pushing the covers back and sliding over on the bed until he was on the far side, “Lay down before you fall down.”

withbloodandashes-blog

Byron thought he heard the faint twang of guitar strings from the other room while he was in the shower, but it was hard to tell whether the music was real or only in his head. He listened for the sound as he dried off, but all was quiet as he pulled the shirt on and buried his nose in the faded cotton, scenting laundry detergent, a soft hint of citrus, and something creamy, maybe vanilla, underneath. Whatever it was, he liked it. The t-shirt left his forearms bare, exposing the pale tracery of burn scars that criss-crossed them. He wasn't really self-conscious about them, but he had a habit of wearing long sleeves that made things easier, kept people from asking questions he didn't want to answer. The scars weren't horribly disfiguring, but they were there nonetheless, impossible not to notice in certain kinds of light or if someone stood close enough. Byron draped his towel over a hook on the back of the bathroom door and finally emerged, feeling oddly exposed, his legs also bare from the knee down. He couldn't remember the last time someone had seen him in anything other than long sleeves and jeans--not that it mattered, but it was still a strange feeling. "Slightly more human than I was before, anyway," he quipped, and eased himself down on the mattress with a pained wheeze. "Ribs hurt too." He hadn't inspected himself closely enough to see that they were bruised, but he could feel it in his sore muscles. "S'not too bad though. Nothing broken, I don't think." He lay back on the pillow, his movements stiff and uncertain, drowsy and yet hyper aware of Jonah's presence beside him. "You said you don't sleep much... That mean you gonna watch me while I do it?" He cracked a crooked smile, wondering if he even could.

#alsdkfjaslkfjasfjsdj weeeeee

musicnotesandbrushstrokes-blog

"Lucky for you, I don’t date either." Jonah gave him a lopsided grin before watching him, flicking his long dark hair from his face. Not that he wouldn’t date, it was just no one had caught his attention for longer than half a second since his girlfriend passed away, until now. With a furrowed brow, he wondered what the hell that thought meant, before shoving it away to the back of his mind. Clearly he was drunken off of the fumes coming from his friend. Tossing the clothes at Byron, he shrugged, “Towels under the sink, washrags right there. Don’t worry ‘bout it, lad, I’d hope someone would do the same for me should my face look like road pizza. Stop poking it.” He swatted at his hand as he pushed the clothes into his chest, “Go shower. You smell something awful, like sewer, blood, and alcohol, and it’s not becoming of you.” Of course, he was joking, before padding away, going back to his guitar that he’d set down when they made it in, pulling it out of the soft case and kicking a piece of stray composers music across the floor, dragging it to the edge of the bed to pick it up and set it down on the bed beside him, picking away slowly at the strings, humming for a moment.

withbloodandashes-blog

By sheer dumb luck, Byron single-handedly caught the t-shirt and shorts Jonah tossed his way, almost bringing them to his nose to sniff before he realized what he was about to do. He lowered the bundle of clothes to his chest, bewildered by the compulsion and not entirely sure where it had come from, but he was drunk, which was explanation enough. Jonah smelled pretty good too; he supposed there was no harm in admitting that much to himself. Even over the stench of blood and booze, it had been hard not to notice when Jonah's shoulder had been wedged under his arm, supporting him from sidewalk to elevator. "I'll stop, I'll stop," he grumbled, returning Jonah's swat with one of his own, but his depth perception wasn't what it usually was, so he fell short of his mark. "Please, I don't think I can take any more flattery," he joked, knowing Jonah had a point. Kicking the door shut, without bothering to check and see if it had closed the whole way, Byron stripped off his shirt and helplessly prodded his face in the mirror some more, grimacing at his pitiful reflection. At length, he leaned over the bathtub and ran the water, letting it get nice and hot before stepping under the spray of the shower. It felt good to wash the grit and grime off his skin, the blood out of his hair. He didn't know how long he stayed in, but he didn't pass out or fall down, so he was pretty proud of himself by the time he toweled off and dressed in Jonah's clothes. This time, he let himself smell the collar of the shirt, closing his eyes and trying to distinguish the individual scents there. Mostly, he was getting a whole lot of laundry detergent, but there was something else there too, he thought, a unique scent that belonged entirely to his savior.

#idk where it's going either but idec XD #it's all good and i'ma liking it

musicnotesandbrushstrokes-blog

"Condolences.." Jonah murmured as Byron admitted that his lovers too were gone. He didn’t like to dwell on such facts, to be quite honest, because she was gone, his lovers were gone and no amount of moping or pleading with the universe would bring them back. All he had to hope for was that his transgressions wouldn’t condemn him to an eternity just outside of her grasp. He wasn’t a believer of religions, though his family was Catholic, grew up going to mass at the ass crack of dawn praying to a god he didn’t believe in, and watching his father be a hypocrite, trying to portray the doting father when really the only thing he’d ever even Jonah was the scars on his back and an irrational fear of the dark and his dreams. Dad of the year material. But maybe he was wrong, and there’d come a time when he’d feel her slender arms wrapping around his waist again, and the warmth of her breath upon his neck as she slept. He didn’t get his hopes up though. "Like hell you can’t take my bed.." he laughed softly and shrugged, "There’s room for two, I am not shamed to sleep beside someone. Besides, I don’t sleep much anyway." He shrugged, and nodded, "Go get a shower though, you arent fucking up my sheets with blood…you haven’t even asked me out on a date yet, you think I’m going to let you soil my bedclothes?" He teased, standing up and going to his dresser to pick out a pair of shorts and a t shirt to get Byron through the night in.

withbloodandashes-blog

Byron appreciated Jonah's sympathies, but he didn't need them. It didn't occur to him that maybe the opposite was true, that what he really needed, more than the distraction of the bottle and picking fights he couldn't win, was someone who'd been through what he had, someone who understood, someone he could talk to about all of it. Because the truth was, Byron never brought it up, and he was determined to make it stay that way. He'd only ever talked about it in the days after the fire, questioned by a pair of indifferent policemen while he still lay in his hospital bed, his arms bandaged and burned, his throat raw from smoke inhalation, his voice little more than a cracked, hoarse whisper, a pale shadow of itself. That was the only time he'd spoken of it... until now. Clearing his throat, he shrugged and pushed himself out of the chair, staggering over to the bathroom door and catching himself on the jamb. He looked at Jonah out of the corner of his eye, an unreadable expression on his face before it yielded to mild amusement, a soft huff of laughter. "Fair enough. I don't date though, so you're out of luck there. Guess that means I'd better clean myself up, spare your sheets the shame and all." Dating. It had been easy once upon a time, but he didn't think he remembered how to anymore. Besides, who would want to date him in the state he was in? He was damaged goods, broken beyond repair. It wouldn't have mattered even if he was interested in someone. There had been no one for the past two years. He hadn't even been tempted. A thought tried to force its way to the surface, curious and forbidden, but it dissolved into nothingness before he could grasp it. Regardless, it was probably for the best that he didn't do a lot of thinking right now. "Thanks, by the way. I don't think I said that yet." He exhaled heavily, a faint groan escaping his lips as he tenderly prodded the giant bruise he called a face.