feelings like anchors

Imagine living in a city where there are no monuments, no buildings from before 1970, no proof that you had grandparents or parents, no history at all. Wouldn’t that make you feel like you were just a passing fad, that you could be blown away like leaves?… for any community to feel substantial and able to change without losing themselves, a history is absolutely crucial.
—  Emma Donoghue, talking about LGBT history and LGBT historical fiction
The Blue Room (missing 02x08 moment)

She weighed next to nothing in his arms. So fragile yet strong at the same time. They were breathing each other so deeply… The heat of the fire in their room had nothing on them. It was about comfort, it was about healing and it turned into so much more so fast. They were the extension of the fire at that moment.

“Let’s go bed.”

“Aye.”

Jamie slowly walked the distance between where they stood and the bed, like he was walking on clouds. His hands running from her backside to her thighs and just holding her up as he did, had left a trail of tingling sensation that Claire was still reeling from. She needed his big hands on her again, lighting up her every nerve. There was a time not long ago that she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel it, or wanted to feel it, or that she could. But only those hands, made for her, given to him for her, like he had once said, could heal her.

She was running her smooth delicate fingers on his nape and upper back, drawing patterns and words they could not utter, since breathing was turning into a hardship at this point. Claire needed out of her stays, she felt restrained. All she wanted was his weight on her, his burning hot skin against her. She wanted to feel his muscles and scars, to kiss them, to lick his perfect worked stomach. Tonight she was hungry for him in a way that only love filled with lust could explain. And he is mine.

How is this woman mine? Jamie asked himself that question many times and caging Claire with his toned arms atop the bed just reminded him yet again of the wonder of her love for him. That flushed beauty, her mouth semi-open for his kisses, her teasing eyes… He ran his nose along her neck and caught her lips. She tugged on his hair for dear life and her tongue came out to dance with his, to claim him. Like any person else could compare… If he could, he would be claimed like this every single day of his life.

And the flames went higher…

Jamie held himself up on his elbows, close to the precipice of losing balance altogether, as Claire started running her foot up his calf, lifting the kilt ever so slightly. Biting him gently on the lower lip, she released the auburn curls and sat on the mattress. Like on their wedding night, he helped her untie the restraining stays, and exactly like on their wedding night their gazes didn’t leave one another. Only difference was, the desire was stronger, the air was heavier.

After removing the stays, Claire unbuckled the kilt’s belt and maddeningly teasing, slowly removed the plaid in all his glorious folds aside. He was intensely ready himself. It overwhelmed all her senses like always. If it weren’t Jamie, this lack of control would have left Claire nervous, but it could never happen with Jamie… “Jamie.” She breathed.

“I’m here, Sorcha.”

He lifted her shift over her head, the sudden gush of cool air caused by the movement of it making her nipples stiffen. That and the dark blue gaze that didn’t fail to shake her to her core. She was still in her stockings, one loose and one still fastened with a flimsy pink tie. She made a move to take them off but he didn’t let her, holding her hands, he placed them around his neck again, while he ran his hands up her glorious round arse and held her tight around the waist, closer to him. Not one inch of room left to breathe anything else but the sweet scent of each other, enhanced by the flames that only went higher.

He started kissing and sucking on her neck, tasting her herbal sweetness, moving one hand to comb her curls away. The only sound in Jamie’s ears were Claire’s exquisite soft moans. Those sounds that made him go mad, also made him relinquish all his senses to her incredibly smooth skin. Moving to her lips again, the intense and slow kiss held a promise of contained words. Words that were not enough to describe the chemistry that happened between them in these moments. He wanted to watch her lose herself.

Feeling Jamie peeling his beautiful mouth away from her, Claire whimpered. He replied by putting his forehead against hers and swayed for a bit holding her in place. One hand tucked her hair behind her ear and a cheeky smirk came upon his face as he dragged his hands over her arms and laid down. She knew what he wanted. And she wanted to give it to him.

That bed and its magic blue quilt was their sanctuary, a place that held many whispers and sweet nothings, said in the dark of the night and in the fresh light of the dawn.

Jamie lay down and placed a hand on his wife, his goddess, guiding her to climb on top of him. The sensations was overwhelmingly satisfying, it was a lightning coursing through them, echoes of thunder reverberating through their limbs. Smiling at her, he put both hands on her shoulders as she started to rock. Slowly, he let his arms run along hers and up again. Their breathing was erratic.

She was supporting herself on him, the marble of his torso feeling like an anchor in a sea of blue quilt. “You feel so good, Jamie.”

“Mo nighean donn”, he said in a whisper like sob. “Don’t stop, Claire…” Moaning, their hearts and bodies rode each other. Jamie placed his hand in the center of Claire’s chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart, slowly reaching for her ivory breasts, kneading and teasing her.

He loved watching her - her head dropping backwards as she started to lose herself in the moment - trying to remain “bodily sober” enough to see her face change a thousand beautifully different ways with their lovemaking, but he too was about to lose it as well.

Claire leaned forward gifting her breasts to him and Jamie thought heaven was upon him. Taking one nipple in his mouth, he sucked and softly bit and felt Claire shiver under her hands. She held his head with some force and if Jamie were to die for lack of air, he would have died one happy man.

“You’re so beautiful, Claire. Please don’t stop mo nighean donn, more.”  

“Oh Jamie, my love.”

Claire was starting to lose herself entirely, holding onto Jamie’s neck and shoulders wanting to kiss him, but not wanting him to take his mouth from where it was. Jamie groaned and sat up completely. She kissed him urging for his tongue to meet hers, trying to get into him and he was getting into her. So deep, so passionate, so so so much, but never enough.

Claire caressed his face, marveling at his furrowing brow, smoothing it, kissing it. They were still riding thunder as Jamie brought one hand down to touch the place, hot enough as to make metal melt, as to turn coal into diamond. Then, he buried his face in her neck, she burying her nails in his back, and ecstasy ensued. Together, they became one. Jamie kept his face on her neck, Claire was overdone with one long sob leaving her lips as the aftershocks came through. She couldn’t let go, she couldn’t breathe and neither could he.

After the lingering effects washed over them, Jamie held his well rested wife against him. She propped herself on her elbow, kissed and caressed his pecs and whispered, smiling, “Tha gaol agam ort, mo Seaumais”.

“‘Till our life should be done, my Claire.”

gifs © @suhailauniverse

(Thank you to the masters @suhailauniverse and @gotham-ruaidh for the advice and corrections <3 <3.)

when Even finally tells Isak about what happened at Bakka - about having a crush on his friend and getting shot down in flames, about throwing himself into Islam to learn everything he could and how it spiraled away from him, about how he tried to kill himself because the weight of it all was too much - Isak goes through a lot of emotions very quickly.

grief, that the man he loves felt so much pain that he tried to end it all.

a brief stabbing of fear, that Even could have been lost to him before they even met.

anger, that people who cared about Even could hurt him that way.

sadness, right down to his core that he couldn’t have been there for Even to ease that pain. even if Isak had known Even back then he knows he wouldn’t have been in the right place with his own sexuality to help anyone else, and for some reason that makes his heart hurt even more.

a flickering of recognition, because Isak knows that feeling of your sexuality feeling like an anchor around your neck and he had no idea his strong confident sassy Even had ever felt that burden.

relief. relief so strong it would have brought him to his knees if they hadn’t been sat down when Even told him. relief that Even’s attempted suicide hadn’t ended with a funeral and gaping hole left in the world where his brightness had once been.

sudden understanding, things Even had said in the past suddenly made so much more sense knowing this. those tentative questions so long ago, talking about the brain alone feeling, were Even’s careful attempts at opening up to Isak.

and finally, finally, peace. Even had finally trusted him with the most painful part of his history, the part he curled around and protected like an injured animal. Isak finally had the answer he was looking for.

it was only a matter of seconds. just seconds after the words and I- I tried to kill myself, Isak had left Even’s lips, but to Even it felt like an eternity. fear filled him like a rush of adrenaline, tarring his insides with black doubts and making it difficult to breathe.

but then Isak’s hands were cupping his cheeks, the rough pads of his thumbs tracing back and forth along Even’s cheekbones. it brought Even back to a cold night in December when he had felt lower than he could ever remember. the night sky had been dark, but Even’s heart had felt darker. and then there had been Isak, illuminating his darkness like the stars glittering thousands of light years away.

except Isak hadn’t been light years away. he had been right there with Even, in his bleakest moment. just like he was with Even now, sat on their ratty sofa in their own home.

You aren’t alone.” Isak whispers as he brings his forehead to rest against Even’s, clearly remembering that December night too.  “I love you.” Isak stares him straight in the eye as he says it, and Even’s heart simultaneously breaks apart and melts back together stronger than it was before under the intense gaze of those hazel eyes.

“I love you.” Isak repeats, ducking his head and brushing the gentlest of kisses against Even’s chapped lips. “Thank you for telling me.” He breathes against Even’s lips, and all Even can do is nod.

they spend the rest of the evening curled up together under the blanket on the sofa, and Even basks in the feeling of being in love with Isak and finally having nothing between them.

he was finally being real, and Isak still loved him.

he never had to be alone again.

anonymous asked:

Prompt: if John had been resurrected instead of Mary.

He’s never seen his boys look at him quite like that. Or each other, for that matter. His hands tremble when he lifts his cup of coffee to his lips and drinks, and while it feels good to have something hot inside him, feels like it’s anchoring him here, he can’t shake off the feeling that he doesn’t quite belong, that he should be… somewhere else.

And his boys? God, what the years have done to them.

It’s been a mess of a few days. First, he was at the hospital - after that comes a blank, a void that feels like it still calls for him. Then, suddenly, he was there again, standing on a lawn in the middle of the night, staring at his son as a man much older and worn than he last saw him. From there onwards, it’s only gotten worse: chases mix with angels and secret societies, torture with magical healing. His head is spinning.

“How are you feeling, Sam?” he asks from the man across the table, a man who is so different from the boy he sent to fetch him a cup of coffee the moment his deal was due.

He seems broader now. Taller, even, if that’s possible. He’s got longer hair and eyes that have seen it all. Chapped pink lips with just enough space between them to let a sigh through.

“I’m - I’m fine, Dad.”

He is not fine, but neither is Dean, and neither is John. As if sensing this, Dean moves closer to his brother - he’s chosen to have his own coffee upright, as if to make sure that nothing else touches Sam. Well, some things haven’t changed, at least.

“Good.”
A brief silence replaces the tense conversation, but only for a few moments. Then John places his cup down and clears his throat.
“I want you boys to catch me up on everything that I’ve missed.”

“Can’t it wait?” Dean asks him.
He’s always been this way, more anxious than Sam, constantly longing for peace and quiet. It seems that in this place, he may have finally gotten to experience some of it. The way he moves in this place, the way he treats it, it’s like he’s found home here.

John lets his eyes trace the large room. It’s a funny home.

“I know you’re tired,” he says then, moving his gaze back to his boys who look just about ready to crash, “but I need to know. Why don’t we start with something easy and continue from there later? Tell me how you found this place.”

The brothers exchange looks, and finally, Dean seats himself next to Sam. He looks at John and considers his words for a moment.

“Yeah, about that,” he says in a careful voice, “It all starts with you, actually.”

John lifts his brows.

“Or - your father,” Sam corrects, and Dean nods.

“Yeah. So you might want to strap in. There’s a lot more to our family than you ever knew, Dad.”

Clearing his throat, John lifts his cup back to his lips.
“Fill me in, then.”

Anchor

Vulnerable Shawn based off of the first line of Running Low: Weeks on end I’m on the road / Start to lose my sense of home / But not based on the song in its entirety. It’s not a breakup imagine, not in the slightest. 

Your name: submit What is this?

~~~

Your phone vibrating on the desk in front of you forces you to look up from your physics notes. Shawn’s name is on the screen, and you hesitate for a moment, but only a moment before you snatch your phone off the desk and speedily walk out of the library, leaving your friends and your books behind. Shawn knew you were studying at the library tonight because you had been texting him earlier. He usually respects your study time, and anytime he knows you’re doing something. He’ll text you randomly even if you’re busy, but he usually only calls you if something is important. You both have busy schedules and are very understanding of the fact that there are certain days you have to be content with just a few text messages throughout the entirety of the day.

“Hello?” You answer as soon as you step out into the cool nighttime air.

“Hi y/n.” Comes his reply, and you wonder if there is something wrong, although if there is, he’s not saying it right away because he lets a moment of silence hang between you after he greets you. 

So you speak, “Hey baby, what’s going on?”.

He exhales loudly on the other side of the phone, so loudly that you can hear it on your end. You can tell that he’s frustrated or exhausted or something, but you don’t know right away exactly what his emotions are at the moment. “I just miss you, I need you here with me. ” He responds. 

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should 100% be doing something productive but is instead preoccupied thinking about steve being soft™ with his pals because tbh i always want steve to have more bros

stumblingoverchaos  asked:

:D about you doing prompts, too! Hmm. Consider this - maybe the injury and illness curse isn't the curse of Consol/PPG. Maybe it all started with Mario (cancer, debilitating back problems, heart problems). What do Sid and Geno do when they start to look away from the present to the past?

@stumblingoverchaos, here you go.  Sorry this took so long!


“I’m sorry,  what?” 

Sid stares at Mario, wondering if 1. Mario’s lost his mind, or 2. If Sid’s lost his. Sid looks over at Geno, mostly to check if he heard the same thing Sid just heard. Geno’s eyebrows are trying to meet his hairline so there’s a good possibility. 

“Like in TV show with Sam and Dean and car?” Geno says, and Mario puts his head in his hands.

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2

7. Their Trespasser/Endgame armor aka an excuse to draw Trespasser!Fael

One thing at a time, stop the Qunari, then deal with the anchor.
Keep going. You can’t falter.
The Qunari need to be stopped.
Keep
going

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Thanks

Hello Bex. I’m an Australian dad who got captured by the Tangled universe when I watched the movie with my two young daughters a few years back. As a father, there’s a lot I identify with in the story, and the wonderful characters, and it’s fair to say in the years since Tangled has become quite an important part of my life, which I’m sure you understand.

The announcement of a new series a couple of years back resulted in much excitement here for me and the girls, and so far we’re not disappointed. T:BEA screened here on the Australian Disney Channel last week and we get What The Hair for the first time this Thursday. But thanks to your blog and the contributions of you and your fellow contributors we’re all caught up with you guys in the States. I really did enjoy The Return of Strongbow. And now, like all you, I’m dying for news on when this hiatus will end and we’ll get some new episodes! (I recall that originally the series wasn’t meant to screen until June this year, so I’m wondering if at least in part this hiatus is meant to realign with the originally planned screening schedule, and maybe the movie-episodes I believe are planned).

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for the work you put into this blog. It’s a great way for me to keep up to speed with this wonderful show, and story, and characters and universe. Chris Sonnenburg and his team are doing a great job so if you happen to mention anything to him, tell him Australia is watching too!

Keep up the great work

Damien

Oh, wow, thank you so much, Damien! I really appreciate notes like this! I’m so glad you and your daughters are enjoying the show as much as I am, and so many other people out there. Though I’m not a parent, I am of parental age, and so I absolutely understand what it’s like to be an adult sucked into this wonderful world. (I turn 37 on the 17th.)

I was speaking with Chris this afternoon, and I felt it was my duty, on behalf of the Tangled fans, to ask if he knew when the hiatus is ending, and if he was allowed to tell. As it turns out, he is not allowed to say. But it’s good to know that he’s not in the dark as to how long this is going to take. It feels like an anchor point to me.

The US was originally supposed to get Tangled Before Ever After in February, so I don’t think the hiatus necessarily has anything to do with aligning the schedule in other countries. Though I’m still really curious why countries that haven’t had any of the animation aired yet already have the Disney Store merchandise while we in the United States aren’t even 100% positive when we’re getting it! (May 22nd or June 5th are the likely release dates.)

I know that the season premiers, mid-seasons, and season finales are all going to be movie-length episodes, like Tangled Before Ever After. (And they’re all going to have songs in them.)

I will make sure that Chris sees this. I love passing on the information of how beloved this series already is, after only seven episodes. It means so much to us, and it also means so much to him. It’s good to know that something we love so much is so squarely in the hands of people who love it just as much. It is my pleasure running this blog, and I love knowing that I’m helping the fandom out by doing so. Thank you very much for this note. You made my evening. :)

“We can talk over dinner.” // poly!vmin

When Jimin and Taehyung come home to a seemingly small figure curled up on the sofa with blanket draped askew, a tub of what they make up to be an empty styrofoam of lunch along with the faint sounds of television buzzing in the background, they have a hunch of what might’ve happened throughout the time they were away.

Taehyung takes the effort to call your name out, and like the air, it dissolves and it fades away like that. Jimin squeezes his shoulder in assurance, closing the door before proceeding to make the first move towards you. Taehyung follows after, looming over Jimin’s shoulder when the latter gets to his knees, noticing how dark your eyes and clouded with tears, refusing to look at them even though they’re right in front of you.

“…I can’t see the tv,” You murmur, motioning them to the side and Taehyung grabs the remote, flicking it off and Jimin tsks, glaring at Taehyung but it’s out of instinct more than annoyance, “Tae…”

“She’s not even watching! We both know that,” Taehyung huffs, tossing the piece of device aside, falling to his knees like Jimin who finally takes a chance to speak, smoothening his hand over your hip, his head dipping lower to gaze into your eyes, “Y/N…?”

With a short hum, you blink up to a worried silver haired boy, accompanied by a blond one right next to him. It wasn’t your intention to do so, but when your heart feels like an anchor stubbornly latched down, buried deep within the core of the earth, it’s hard not to be selfish.

But the two of them don’t give up on making you feel like you’re alone in the abyss of your emotions. Taehyung’s fingertips gracing over your cheeks and Jimin’s threading through your hair. Taehyung lifting your legs up, placing them down to meet with the floor on the soles of your feet; Jimin cupping your cheek as he lets you lean against him when Taehyung makes you sit up despite your reluctance.

“Had dinner?” Taehyung murmurs, his arm overlapping Jimin’s around you as he sits closely beside you, resting his cheek on your shoulder. The slight motion of shaking your head has a lightbulb over their heads.

“We can talk over dinner,” Their words come out at the same time, somehow synchronizing and it’s crazy too, the fact that they’re singers for a living to have such chemistry to even match while speaking. Groaning, you sink your back on the sofa, making it harder for them to peel you off your seat, “Just leave me alone…”

“Augh, that won’t do,” Taehyung snickers, already throwing you over his shoulder while Jimin scurries off into the kitchen, ready to prep something and although your words and actions try to state something, your acceptance to allow Taehyung place you on the counter while he too, stumbles over to help Jimin and you have the first class view (and you wouldn’t trade it for the world).

So uh is it just me or is the attempt to make ur tank as similar to a Natural Emviroment not actually a big deal?
Like. As long as u meet tge needs of the fish i feel like they dont actually give a shit if their hidey space is a ~natural piece of driftwood vs like a fuckin fantasy ass castle like as long as it serves the purpose? It doesnt seem like a big deal correct?

4

And this is the part of a toxic relationship that no one likes to talk about. Everyone applauds the steps taken to leave but few really understand the swirl of feelings associated with leaving a bad situation. Cutting anything or anyone out of your life– no matter how much pain its brought or how detrimental its been to your health and happiness– can be extremely difficult to do. This is especially true the longer they’ve been a part of you; the same thing holding you down can also feel like it’s anchoring you in place.

Malachite is described as the worst relationship imaginable; full of power struggles, hatred, and pain. That said, I love that they allowed Lapis to admit her vulnerability to this fusion. She was allowed to miss Jasper openly, to feel both confusion and doubt in her separation from her. Things are rarely black and white, especially in relationships, and you are not sick or wrong to outright miss someone who is really, really bad for you. 

anonymous asked:

Kandreil prompt? How Neil and Andrew deal with the distance when kevin leaves palmetto and they are still in uni. Does kevin feel left out? Do they miss him very stoiqly?

fuck why is my favourite thing writing about long distance relationships… save me

  • none of them really expected to miss each other
  • the fact that they were always together means that they didn’t have to think about the relationship at all
  • it was just casual; sleeping on top of each other in their room, finding one another in the stadium or on the roof, bringing ice cream back because they know the others will be there soon enough
  • but when kevin leaves, there’s space
  • kevin’s bed may not be empty, and someone takes his number, but there’s still too much space they can’t fill

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Sick (Yuta Fluff)

Request:  If it’s not too much trouble can I request yuta from Nct fluff or angst? Thank you so much ahead of time

Summary: Boyfriend Yuta taking care of you when you’re sick.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1K

Note: It’s a bit short but I hope this is okay! I picked the fluff cause I’m not too good at angst haha. Please enjoy :D 

Originally posted by yutasm

You woke up with a pounding headache and sore limbs. You felt like you were in the North Pole but you were sweating buckets. Your throat felt like a desert but your nose was running like a tap. You were sick. Dear god, this was horrible.

You slowly sat up, your head feeling like an anchor, as you reached for your phone. The first person that came to mind was Yuta. You knew it was his off day and you were hoping he wasn’t busy as you dialled for him.

“Y/N?” Yuta’s angelic voice flowed through the receiver.

On the other hand, your voice had come out scratchy and hoarse, “Yuta…”

You sounded like death.

“Y/N are you sick? You sound horrible.” Yuta asked, concerned.

Not wanting to strain your voice, you hummed in response to his question, but even that sounded bad.

“I’ll be right there, stay in bed. Love you.” He told you before he hung up.

You weren’t sure how you fell back asleep, but you woke up feeling of someone shaking you.

“Y/N… I got soup and medicine.” Yuta softly tells you.

You blink a few times to adjust to the light before Yuta helps you sit up. He holds onto a tray with soup on it and sits in front of you.

“Wait, I think it’s a bit hot.” Yuta mumbles, picking up a spoonful of soup and blowing on it before he feeds you.

“Is that okay?” He asks, watching as you swallow.

You nod as he continues to feed you, watching you carefully. When you accidentally spill soup down your chin, he takes a napkin to clean it up.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, coughing.

Yuta simply shakes his head, standing up with the tray, announcing, “I’ll go make you tea, be right back.”

You check the time on your phone and see that it’s already four in the afternoon. Yuta had wasted his off day taking care of you. When he comes back with two cups of piping hot tea and medicine, you thanked him.

“Just make sure that you’re okay. That’s all I want.” He tells you, handing you the cup.

Yuta hands you some pills and you take them as he settles beside you with his own cup of tea and your laptop. He had opened up your favourite movie as you made yourself comfortable on his chest, his arm curling around your body.

Yuta starts to rub small circles on your back that lull you to sleep halfway through the movie. The next time you wake up, it’s to an alarm which jolted you awake from your deep sleep. The first thing that you registered was a warm body behind yours and an arm wrapped around your waist. 

“Morning babe.” Yuta mumbled, kissing your neck. 

Jesus, his morning voice. You turn around to see Yuta glowing like an angel, which you genuinely felt he was. How could someone wake up looking that beautiful? It was beyond you.

You felt better, the headache from the day before gone, but you still felt out of it.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks quietly, studying your face.

You nodded and a smile slowly grew on his face.

“Good.”  

You both laid there in silence, as Yuta ran his hand up and down your back, relaxing you. It was a while before his alarm rang again and he groaned as the peace was ruined once again.

“I need to go for a schedule later.” He informs you as you nod.  

As much as you wanted to stay in bed, you hadn’t walked for about a day and you needed to use the washroom. You slowly sat up which triggered Yuta to help you.

“Toilet?” He asked as you nodded in response.

Yuta helped you all the way there, making sure you were okay.

“I’ll go make breakfast. Call for me if you need help or anything.” He tells you before shutting the bathroom door.

You look into the mirror to see how much of a mess you looked like. Your hair was dishevelled and you looked like death. You quickly fixed yourself and washed up before you walked out to the smell of toast and eggs.

You settle on the island chair, watching Yuta flip the eggs. He glances over at you and goes to pour a cup of water, which he hands to you before continuing with his cooking. The small gesture made you smile and your heart flutter.

Once breakfast was served, he made sure that the food was okay for you before starting to eat. You see him check the clock a few times and you finally said your first words, “If you need to go, please go. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Don’t worry, I already told my manager.” He replies, cleaning up the plates.

Yuta once again hands you medication to take, which you gladly do. When the time came for Yuta to leave, you were already nestled into your bed, wrapped up in your blankets, courtesy of him. You had everything you would need within arm’s length.

“Okay. I’m gonna go now. I’ll check in on you later.” Yuta tells you, kissing your forehead.

He rushes off to his schedule as you continue resting. Occasionally you receive a text from Yuta, checking in on you like he said he would. When his schedule had ended, he called in to check what you wanted for supper.

“Is soup okay? Or do you want something else?” He asked as you heard bustling in the background.

“I’m okay with anything.” You answered, your throat condition improved.

“Okay then. I’ll be right over, stay in bed. I love you Y/N.”

You were so blessed.

Dare:
Fall in love with him.

Truth:
It will ruin you forever. He will become the story you tell your daughter when she comes home at 16 with a broken heart. He will haunt your dreams, no matter how many years have passed. To think of him will always make your heart hurt, it will always feel like you’ve lost him all over again. You won’t look at melted caramel the same way ever again because you could swear it’s the exact same hue as his eyes on a glorious summers day. You won’t be able to listen to the radio station that plays 90s rock songs because each one will remind you of him in the most peculiar ways and you will long for his voice crooning the lyrics out to you instead. You’ll drive out to spots where you used to go on dates together, or run into one of the boys he plays football with at a bar, or have him appear randomly on your Facebook feed because of mutual friends and likes. You will never be the same again, he will leave a mark so deep and so long on your heart there’s no chance in hell it’ll ever heal completely.

Dare:
Let him ruin you.

Truth:
For however long he stays, it’ll feel like flying. His voice will give you butterflies every time he calls you his baby. The grip of his hand on yours will feel like an anchor even during the fiercest of storms. Loving him will feel like running wild, like your heart is on fire, like there is nothing better or more freeing to ever exist. It will make you feel like you’re infinite. It will make you believe in every cliché and happily ever after. It’ll make you feel alive. And it’ll be a time to be looked back on with a smile and the familiar warmth of that summer and his embrace.

Dare:
Don’t chase him when he leaves you.

Truth:
You’ll never be able to run fast enough to keep him. And you’ll be embarrassed when you see in the distance that he’s in love with someone who isn’t you. He won’t look back, and he won’t come back. So don’t chase after him down a path that ends abruptly with a do or die ultimatum. Do yourself a favour and run as fast as you can the other way before you throw up over the thought that he could give up and go on so easily.

Dare:
Allow yourself to fall in love again.

Truth:
When a boy comes along and makes your heart want to escape between the bars of your ribs, your cheeks grow flattered and your mind swirl with possibilities. When a boy who cares enough to pick you up when it’s raining so you don’t have to walk home and knows your favourite type of flowers without asking and who doesn’t have to ask how you are to know you’re not okay, don’t let the boy who ran away come crawling back into your mind the minute happiness seems like a possibility with someone else, don’t even let him waste an inch of space in your heart. You’re allowed to be happy AND still love the boy who made your heart feel like it was on fire, just don’t forget that you got burnt bad. It’s okay to let yourself fall for a boy, a wonderful boy full of possibilities, and trust him not to break your heart again. It’s okay to love him too.

- a game we all know too well // Part I

—  s.a.s

Requested

Draco recovering after the war would include:

  • He has scars; stretched across his abdomen and marring his arm, singing the skin of his hands and disfiguring his back
  • It goes like this:
  • The war doesn’t quite end when the Dark Lord’s body falls to the ash mottled ground of the Great Hall, no, not when he can hear the screams in his ears and still sees the bodies, the blood in his dreams
  • He has nightmares
  • Wakes up with the sheets pooling around his waist and sweat sticky on his forehead. The mark on his arm hasn’t faded, it’s stark in the dark light of his room, the same mark that had hung in the sky after Dumbledore’s body toppled over the railing of the Astronomy tower
  • “It was just a dream,” she tells him, tucks her head beneath his chin and listens to the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath a Sectumsempra scarred chest. “It’s all over now.”
  • Only, that’s not quite true
  • He only attends two funerals, when it’s all said and done
  • Watches as they lower Crabbe’s charred body into the grave and watches as Goyle shakes, feels the guilt, the sorrow, lodged in his throat till he can’t manage to breathe
  • Hides until the red-headed crowd have left and the only thing that remains is Fred Weasley’s body in the ground
  • He cries, sometimes, sobs that shake his ribs, his spine, that make him wish he’d died when all the rest of them did as Y/N runs her fingers through his hair and holds him against her chest
  • He doesn’t forget the war
  • Doesn’t forget the screams that lingered like ghosts in the halls of the manor, or the bodies with glassy eyes and slack jaws that scattered his mother’s rose garden
  • But the mark on his arm fades, slowly
  • And the days begin to feel more manageable
  • The nightmares begin to cede
  • Till he can sleep and smile and laugh till his stomach aches and he can’t remember just why he’d been sad in the first place
  • His last name feels significantly less like an anchor around his neck and more of a cautionary tale, a lesson to be learned
  • And oh, how he has learned
  • Because he’d escaped the war by the skin of his teeth, had landed himself in muddy waters by touting his parent’s pureblood agenda and he knows better, now, understands just what the other side had been fighting for
  • “It’s all over now,” she tells him, on a better day, when there’s a ring on her finger and a smile on her mouth
  • He thinks that he might just believe her