I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept more than 3 hours a night in weeks. I’ve been staying awake, watching Baz, trying to figure out what he’s planning. I’m sure Baz is up to something and I’m going to stop him. Penny doesn’t believe me of course (she hasn’t since fifth year) but he’s been staring more than usually lately and I’m certain he’s plotting my death. Penny thought this was ridiculous when I brought it up to her.
“Penny,” I had whined, “He won’t stop staring with his evil grey eyes and sometimes- sometimes he even smiles! I swear he’s thinking of all the ways he could kill me.”
Penny had just rolled her eyes and told me to drop it and focus on my homework.
School is a whole other issue. I just can’t get myself to focus on elocution and how slang affects spells when I know none of it is going to help me. I’m hopeless at magic. The only thing I can do is explode with it. I’m a weapon of mass destruction and I don’t fancy going off in the middle of class cause I tried to cast something as simple as dime a dozen. So instead I stare out of the window, gazing out at the Wavering Wood, listening to the sounds of my classmates casting spells in the classroom behind me. Most of the time, none of the teachers will call me out. They’re all scared I’ll go off too. They’d much prefer leaving the precious chosen one daydreaming out the window than risk having to clean up after me when I fuck up. Assuming I leave anything behind once I go off. So far I’ve managed to protect everyone when it does happen, but the risk is far too great. I most likely would have been expelled from Watford on the grounds that i’m a danger to the whole fucking world if I wasn’t the Chosen One.
The bell ringing distracts me from my thoughts and I push myself out of my desk, smiling at Penny when I meet her outside the door of the classroom.
My thoughts drift as we walk across the great lawn.
“Simon. Simon are you even listening?”
I glance over at Penny and realize she’s been talking to me the whole time.
“What? Sorry Pen. I’m exhausted.”
“Oh, Si.” she puts her hand up against my cheek and I lean into it. “How much sleep are you getting? You can’t stay up all night keeping an eye on him. He may be a nocturnal vampire, but you aren’t.”
“I know. I know,” I sigh.
“Look, just try and get some sleep tonight,” she says, “promise?”
“Good.” She smiles at me. “Now I need to get to class. I’ll see you at supper, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I smile back and she turns, setting off back across the lawn.
I yawn. I still have two more classes today, but I could probably fit a quick nap in before my next one. I head closer to the Wavering Woods and flop down into the grass, my back against a tree. Just a quick nap, I think as I start to fade off.
– Baz –
I hurry out towards the Wavering Wood as soon as I get out of class. I haven’t had any blood for days because that idiot Snow has decided to start keeping odd hours, probably convinced I’m up to something again. Whatever his issue with me is this time, I haven’t been able to sneak out after hours without the danger of him following me like he did fifth year. I couldn’t risk it. But I’m starving and I need to drink something, at least a small badger, before my next class. My fangs have been popping every time a breeze blows my way, I feel like I’m thirteen again and just getting used to having fangs at all.
I’m so distracted that I don’t notice the sleeping boy beneath the trees until I trip over him. I crash down in a tangle of limbs and flailing.
“Fuck! Fuck! Are you alright? I’m so sorry! Fuck-”
I turn to see who I stumbled over and see curls and bright blue eyes, wide after being woken up so suddenly.
“Oh. It’s just you.” I sneer. “Hello Snow.”
He blinks stupidly at me for a moment, eyes as wide as saucers. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh you know. Just going for a nice stroll between classes until I was tripped by some idiot sleeping under a tree.”
He looks affronted at that. And he bloody well should be. It’s his fault I’m in this mess in the first place.
“Were you spying on me?” Snow narrows his eyes.
I scoff. “Snow, if I was spying on you, you wouldn’t know it. Now seeing as I’m practically in your lap, I think we can both come to the conclusion that is not what I was doing.”
And then I realize, I’m practically in his lap. Our legs are all tangled up together and I’m basically lying across him, my elbows in the dirt, scuffing up my button-up. I think he realizes this as well as I feel him start to shift his legs underneath me.
“Um…” he starts, blushing like mad. “Could you maybe, you know…” he trails off, gesturing at me.
“Right,” I say. My cheeks would be turning red if I had enough blood in me.
There’s a moment of almost silence as we try and untangle ourselves. Just Simon’s loud breathing.
I manage to get my arm up and around Simon to try and push myself up before I stop.
The world sways and spins around me.
“Are- are you alright?” Simon asks.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to push a sneer back on my face. “Yeah, I just. Y’know I think I may have hit my head”
Everything suddenly comes to a sharp focus as Simon puts his hands in my face, pulling me down closer to him. I realize I’m now completely on top of him, my hands on either side of his head. Aleister Crowley, as if this day could get any worse.
“Baz, Baz. Look at me.” Simon sighs. “Look, I may hate you, but I need to make sure you don’t have a concussion or something.”
I glance back down at him and his blue blue eyes stare into mine. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing now. What little blood left in me all rushing to my face at my closeness to Simon. After moments that seem like years staring into the depths of his eyes, he relaxes a bit.
“Okay,” he says, yawning a bit, “You’re probably fine but maybe you should just, stay here a bit.”
I nod my assent, too dizzy and distracted by Simon to argue.
He slowly guides me down to my elbows, and then to the ground, so that my right side is on the ground, but I’m still leaning against him. My head rests against his shoulder. I can feel his heartbeat, fast and steady through my palm that rests on his chest. I glance up and see him watching me, an odd look on his face.
“I still hate you, you know.” I nod and look away, pushing all of my panicked thoughts (what the fuck am I doing?) to the back of my head. I’m too dizzy to care what Simon feels for me at this moment, so long as I can stay curled up next to his warm body and feel his magic spark against his skin.
I slowly let my eyes fall shut, drifting off to the sound of Snow’s even breathing.
I wake up slowly, blinking at the twilight that has set in. The sun has gone down and I can’t remember what I’m doing outside. Then I glance over and see Simon. Simon, asleep beside me. I stare for hours, or maybe minutes, or maybe eternity. Tracing his moles from his eyelid to his cheek. Watching his chest rise and fall gently. How can he be so alive all the time? It fills me with envy. That he’s alive with such ease.
My stirring must have woken him, because his eyes open softly, piercing blue right into mine.
“Baz?” he whispers softly. Confused and still wrapped in sleep.
“What’re you doing here?” he mumbles.
“Shhhh, Simon” I say, because I can’t help myself. “You’re fine. Go back to sleep. You need it.”
“Mmm” he agrees, closing his eyes.
I start to shift, carefully trying to pull myself from his grip. I really need to feed, as much as I want to stay here with Simon forever.
“Where are you going?” he says softly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”
I stand and watch him curl in on himself in my absence, and then walk towards the woods.
– Simon –
I wake in my bed. Confused and alone. I glance around our room but don’t see Baz. I remember falling asleep. His soft hair brushing up against my cheek in the grass. He seemed so innocent and soft when he was injured. Dizzy from hitting his head when he tripped over me. His eyes soft and scattered. Like a baby bunny I needed to take care of. Bunnicula maybe. The bed next to me is empty, but I don’t remember how I got up here. Sleep starts to seep over me again and I let it, closing my eyes.
Some time later I wake to the door creaking open.
“Baz?” I ask.
He looks up from the door, his hair falling in his eyes which glint a steel grey in the darkness.
“Yeah?” he asks. I can hear the hesitancy in his voice.
I decide to start with the easy questions.
“What time is it?”
“Um, probably a little after midnight,” he guesses.
“Where were you?”
He huffs a laugh and starts moving towards his bed. For once, I decide to leave it alone.
“Wait,” I say as he begins to climb into his bed. He pauses and turns to look at me. I swallow, suddenly unsure of what I was thinking.
“Um, do you wanna, maybe,” I take a deep breath, “sleep here, with me, tonight?”
I don’t expect the genuine smile that lights his face as he moves towards me cautiously.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling back. “That was the best sleep I’ve had in months.”
“Maybe if you weren’t up all night watching me…” he starts, wrapping his arms around me.
“Well we’ll just have to make this a more permanent thing, so I can always know where you are.”
„Depression isn’t feeling a little sad while you watch netflix in bed in your pjs
Depression isn’t a cute girl in a big sweater and messy bun giving you a small smile
Depression isn’t feeling hopeless until someone kisses your pain goodbye
Let me tell you about depression, from someone that actually has it. Depression is messy and gross. It’s not smudged mascara and cute girls crying. It’s grimy teeth and greasy hair because I haven’t managed to properly care for myself in days, weeks even. It’s not feeling a little down or tired at school. It’s the fact that I haven’t gone to school in over a week. It’s my future on a plate that I’m slowly letting drift away because I can’t pull myself out of bed anymore. It’s me starving because I can’t care enough to make food. It’s me laying in bed for hours, wondering how to die without putting in any effort. It isn’t a quirky picture of a girl in a dark room because she’s “different” I can have the lights on all fucking day, but the emptiness lingers. I can drown myself in the loneliness I feel as there are people right outside the fucking door. And it’s not because I’m different, it’s because I have an actual mental illness that makes me feel this way.
More than that though, depression ISN’t FEELING A LITTLE DOWN. It’s sitting there, feeling nothing and wishing, for the love of God to feel anything. But then when you do, the only thing you manage to feel correctly is pain and sadness and it’s overwheliming. Enough to send me into a panic attack. Enough to make me glad when the emptiness comes back. And the cycle continues. Over and over and over and over. It’s long and tiring and boring. There’s nothing interesting about being depressed because it’s a fucking boring cycle that seems endless. We all feel down sometimes, but when you’re down in your depression, it’s so fucking hard to get back up. Normal people have bad days and bounce back. Having depression is like every bad day drops you 20 more feet lower than rock bottom.
Depression is consuming and draining. I don’t have someone that can kiss the pain goodbye because all the kisses in the world won’t fucking cure this. Flowers don’t grow out of your scars and suicidal people aren’t angels waiting to go home. It isn’t pretty or poetic. The only thing that grows is the amount of scars on my arm. They aren’t pretty white lines that tell a beautiful story. They are horrible, jagged, puffy reminders of needing pain to cope with just being alive. We aren’t angels, we are sick. Mentally sick. My eyes aren’t “beautifully sad” they are sunken in and dark around the edges. There’s nothing beautiful about the noticeable dark bags or the blank stare as I can’t manage to even look like I have any emotion to what you’re saying to me. Cigarette smoke doesn’t create a beautiful fog that masks sadness. It is coughing your lungs out because you’re slowly killing yourself with a fucking stick of lung cancer. The smoke tastes bad and smells bad and only serves as a coping mechanism.
I am not a flower
or an angel
or a princess in search of prince charming
I am a mentally ill person. It isn’t fun or cute. Stop acting like this is a unique trend. Depression is ugly and it ruins your fucking life. There’s nothing poetic about that.”
I slowly wake from my sleep to feel a warm embrace around my side, tender kisses on my neck, and a firm something pressed against my behind. I blink my eyes open and smirk a little bit.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Bellamy Blake?” I inquire
“Nothing at all.” He murmurs against my neck
“Oh good, then you won’t mind if I just go back to sleep…” I snuggle myself into the pillow a little more.
“Noooooo.” He protests, squeezing me closer then pulling me on top of him.
“No?” I ask innocently, looking into his beautiful brown eyes and studying the freckles on his face
“Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were up to something.” I muse.
“Now why would you think that?” He asks, lifting his head to place a gentle kiss on my lips.
I return the kiss. It’s slow, gentle, tender. Loving. His hands are on my hips, slowly tracing circles with his thumbs. Slowly one hand drifts up under my shirt, delicately caressing my skin with his warm calloused fingers. The tiniest moan escapes my lips and I can feel his smirk through our kiss. Just as slowly his other hand slides up my other side and I arch my back just a little. Everything is so sweet, tender, full of affection. His hands move to the hem of my shirt, tugging for permission. I break away from the kiss and pull the shirt over my head, slowly, slowly, his eyes watching every inch of my skin as it’s exposed. He sighs contentedly when my shirt finally hits the floor.
His hands make their way to my breasts, softly massaging. I tilt my head back and let out another small moan. His hands move down to my thighs. Our hips begin to grind against each other sensually. This time it was his lips that let out a moan. I lean in and catch his lips again. Our tongues dance. Our lips move in synch. Then, ever so gently, he bites my bottom lip. For a second, everything stops as we both breathe deeply. His thumbs creep their way to the edges of my panties. I roll my hips against his and he moans again. He slips my panties off, lovingly caressing my legs as he does. Carefully, he rolls us over so he’s hovering above me. He slides his boxers off and looks at my face with a soft expression.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice is sweet like honey and makes my heart melt.
Our lips meet again. He takes one of my hands in each of his, interlacing our fingers and placing them just above my head on either side. Slowly and carefully he guides himself inside me, savouring the moment as my breath catches. His lips still on mine he begins to thrust gently, each movement careful and tender. My soft moans begin to rise in volume and he quickens his pace, our bodies moving as one. His lips move to my neck, nibbling and kissing and eliciting another moan from my mouth, matching one of his own. As the tension builds, I arch my back, desperately needing to be close to him. His thrusts become swifter, stronger, faster. My mind and body are unravelling. Lips crashing against each other in loving passion, we reach our climax together and slowly come down from the high.
Still hovering above me, he studies my face and smiles lovingly.
Credence wakes to the feel of his hair being pushed back, the feel of a kiss lingering against his temple.
“Perce?” he mumbles, brows creased, trying to fight the heavy weight of sleep.
“Go back to sleep,” Percival whispers, apologetic and weary, smoothing Credence’s brows with calloused fingers.
Percival finds Credence on the rooftop, lying on the couch long since transfigured from an old coat and some pillows. He casts a spell, keeping himself dry as he approaches, and notes that the couch is spelled the same.
Credence, however, is not. Rain seeps into his clothes and runs down his cheeks like tears.
Madzie lies at the bottom of the tub, gazing up at the bright yellow rubber duck floating above her. She’s too big to lay all the way down in the little tub, so her knees are hugged to her chest, feet propped up on the tiled wall. It’s still nice though. Everything always feels better underwater. It’s easier to breathe, as backwards as that would sound to most people.
But well. Most people don’t have gills.
She can hear Magnus pacing outside the door, obviously still upset. She feels badly, but it’s also partly why she’d come in here. This is the one place neither of them ever follow her, so she takes advantage of that, sometimes.
“Madzie, darling?” Magnus calls out softly.
Madzie closes her eyes. She hates how small his voice sounds. I did that, she thinks, her stomach dropping heavily with guilt.
She takes one last deep pull of water in through her gills, centering herself in the feeling, before slowly emerging from the tub. The ripples caused by her movement send the little rubber duck drifting away from her. He’s running away too, she thinks.
She hadn’t thought to grab her favorite bathrobe when she fled in here to hide, so she magics it in from her bedroom. She hasn’t quite mastered conjuring something directly onto her body, so instead it appears folded neatly on the counter and Madzie dons it quickly. The slightly too big hood (complete with floppy rabbit ears) falls down over her eyes. She hesitates for a moment before reaching into the tub to retrieve the duckling, tucking it into the pocket of her robe. It’s comforting.
She opens the door to find Magnus still standing outside, just as she suspects. With her bath hood drawn over her eyes, she can only really see him from the ankles down. She can’t really tell from his ankles whether he’s still upset with her, but she’s also too afraid to look up at his face.
“Have a good swim, guppy?” he asks her, just like he always does. She knows the familiar question is meant to make her feel better, but instead she feels worse.
“I’m sorry I messed up your potion,” she tells Magnus’s ankles, fiddling with the ties on her robe.
“Oh sweetheart,” Magnus says, crouching down to try to see her under her hood. “You didn’t ruin anything, okay? Potions are tricky things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be fixed.”
She finally looks up at him then, and his steady gaze is gentle. Sincere.
“I’ll show you,” he tells her, reaching out a hand.
Madzie’s fingers rub idly along the smooth surface of the rubber duck in her pocket. Part of her longs to be back in the tub, submerged and safe.
But Magnus is still waiting, his hand outstretched patiently. She takes it, and the warmth of her small hand enclosed in his is instantly calming.
Maybe there’s safety on land too, as long as Magnus is there.
Finally Betty arrives! The line that Betty quotes is from The Wings of a Dove by Henry James. It’s about a rich, society woman who only realises she can truly live once she finds out she is certain to die.
They’d moved in at one o’clock that afternoon. The girl with
long blonde curls pinned beneath her white hat, and the boy with shockingly red
hair slicked back from his forehead. Jughead had allowed himself a wry smile as
the boy reopened their apartment door and guided her out with her hand in his,
only to sweep her into his arms and carry her back across the threshold in true
bridal style. They’d kissed, him anchoring his hand in her golden tresses, slow
and languid like they didn’t have to rush anymore. She’d pulled back with a
rose blush before darting her eyes to the open window. He’d rolled his own
affectionately before make swift strides to pull the blind down. That was how
it had remained all day, sun slowly slipping beneath the rooftops as Jughead
mused as to whether wedded bliss could actually exist for some. Whether it
sustained… only time would tell.
The quiet chink of his lamp being switch on startled him,
shoulders tensing in apprehension. His front door clicked closed and he’d have
to remind himself next time he was about to give someone a copy of his key not
to. He tore his strained eyes away from the window to find her standing on the top step leading into his apartment. Alright,
perhaps there was an exception to that thought, and she was currently radiating
a warmth that he could feel against his skin from a few feet away.
“Are you sure you should be wearing a dress like that this
close to the Southside?” he asked her around a smile. She grinned and he was
“Do you like it?” she asks, brushing her hand down the black
bodice and across the white chiffon skirt, dotted with bundles of dark sequins
shaped like feathers. “I think I’ve sold a hundred more like it just by wearing
it out tonight.” He bit his lip at the hint of sarcasm in her pride.
“How was the party?” he asked, unaware of what party exactly
she had been to but knowing that she would have been to one. She descended the
steps with feminine taps of her heels, shoulders poised.
“Extravagant,” she told him truthfully, running her fingers
over the lip of his desk, digits tripping over the jumble of objects in their
path. “You know you have an awful lot of stuff in here,” she remarked, glancing
around the dimly lit room. He blanched.
“I can only imagine the inside of your closet looks the
same,” he joked, regarding her with a raised brow. A shrewd sharpness crept
into her eyes as they returned to his, narrowing a tad.
“You’ve never seen the inside of my closet,” she answered indignantly.
“That’s why I only imagined,” he said tirelessly. She huffed
a delicate exhale through her nose, dropping to the window seat in a rustling
cloud of organza, exasperated by his words as always. Jughead thought he saw a
shadow move behind the newlyweds closed blind but then it was gone. “How was
your day?” he asked, laughing internally at the mediocre line of questioning. The
saddest thing, he realised, was that he really cared.
“Hectic, I didn’t stop all day. I had three meetings with the
board all before lunch. And the new line needed final approval before it goes
on show next week. Then the girls wanted to do cocktails for the bimonthly
catch-up. And I absolutely had to meet with Mayor McCoy, at The Lodge to
discuss the town-centred articles for the upcoming issues, before going home to
change,” she reeled off, oblivious to Jughead’s expression. Sure, the seemingly
shallow mundanity of her daily excursions didn’t hold any appeal for him in the
slightest. Watching the gentle brushing of her lips against one another, the
bright, glowing flush in her cheeks as she spoke passionately in muted tones,
was another thing entirely.
“The Lodge?” he enquired lightly, as she lent an elbow on the
windowsill, palm cupping her cheek. Veronica’s image floated before his eyes.
“Nothing but the best for our delightful mayor,” he snarked, giving a lazy
two-fingered salute towards the Northside. Betty downcast her eyes, fingers
playing with the sequins on her skirt.
“You’re making fun of me,” she accused, looking up at him
from beneath thick, made-up lashes. His heart thudded in regret as his fingers
stretched towards her.
“Of you? Never,” he confirmed as she rose, stalking towards
him. She rest her hands on either side of him elegantly, filling his vision
with her flawless features as she hovered over him. Perfect; the betraying thought simultaneously praised and
admonished. He hoped that she couldn’t hear the hitch in his breath, or see
that the new flush across his cheekbones wasn’t just a result of the late night
heat, but he knew that she would. Women could be observant creatures.
“Good,” she whispered, pressing her lips against his in the
barest of kisses. He chased the taste of her (strawberries, champagne, and the chalky tang of lipstick) when she
pulled back, smiling, as she watched him from beneath hooded eyes before giving
him what he wanted. “I don’t know about you but after today I’m absolutely
famished,” she murmured between pecks. Jughead’s skin began to buzz.
“Completely starving,” he breathed. A wave of cool air hit his
face as she breezed away, leaving him with parted lips and a quickened
“Aren’t you always?” she called boldly from where she now
stood by the entranceway table. Jughead didn’t know how he’d missed the Pop’s paper bag she must have place
there upon arriving – except he did and it was because she was a walking,
talking distraction to him. He threw her an affectionate smile for her
“I’m sure Pop’s has
never had anything as expensive as that dress even come close to it before –
what a sight that must have been,” he laughed at the image of Pop, wrinkled
eyes and white hair, hurrying to serve the angel that surely stumbled into his
establishment. Betty shook her head at him with pursed, rosebud lips as she
headed towards the kitchen.
“I’ll just let these warm for a while,” she called, ignoring
Lights had illuminated the stages due to the lateness of the
hour, casting ever brighter performances for Jughead to peruse. Miss
Lonelyhearts had set up her usual ambience, low cut white blouse leaving little
to the imagination even from where Jughead was perched as shadows flickered
across her chest in the candlelight. Her hand kept going to the phone, pads of
her fingers stroking the smooth surface of the receiver before flinching back
as if she’d been burned. Every time she reached out for more.
Jughead felt a cool hand rest upon his shoulder, turning to
gratefully accept the tall glass of water from Betty’s outstretched hand –
alcohol had never been his preferred poison, for reasons he’d rather forget.
Smoking had become his vice, a habit he regretted on occasion but not enough to
break. She raised a delicate brow questioningly, gaze following his to the
ground floor window opposite.
“Miss Lonelyhearts,” he sighed, gesturing towards her in
explanation. He wouldn’t admit it but the dehumanising labels made his daily
watching feel less intrusive. “She won’t do it.”
“She does this a lot?” Betty asked, sadness curling around
her words. How she managed to be so empathetic towards complete strangers
Jughead would never understand. And yet, he did feel his heart aching slightly
for the woman who had more place in his life than he did in hers. Jughead and
loneliness were, too, old companions, the latter making a habit of springing
surprise visits on him whenever the mood struck. Over time Jughead had concluded
that welcoming the pest with open arms was the more effective form of coping
“Every night, give or take a few,” he nodded. Miss
Lonelyhearts slumped over her dining table, shoulders shuddering with each sob.
“How devastating,” Betty murmured, hand coming up to rest at
the base of her throat. A small line formed between her eyebrows and Jughead
felt his fingers itch to smooth it away.
“At least you’ll never have to worry about that,” he quipped
in an attempt to lighten the solemnity that had settled over them. Betty raised
an eyebrow at him, squaring her shoulders slightly as she looked down at his
“Oh? You can see into my apartment all the way from here, can
you?” she asked accusingly. Jughead felt a tingle of shame crawling up the back
of his neck, features glazing over into marble smoothness as he tried to keep
his vulnerabilities hidden from the penetrating green of eyes.
“Surely that’s more your scene,” he said, jutting his chin
out as he gestured with a thumb towards the window of Miss Legs. She was
surrounded by a plethora of gentlemen, some with manners more lacking than
others. The oldest of the clan wrapped his arms daringly around her slender
waist, pulling her into his embrace as she planted her hands firmly on his
chest, red hair swaying as she bounced her head back. He tapped his cheek,
signalling for her to kiss it, turning his head when she complied and locking
his lips with hers for the briefest of moments. She pulled away, swatting at
his shoulder with a tight smile before twirling out of his hold and attending
to her other guests. “She certainly seems to have chosen the most eager, if not
the most prosperous,” Jughead murmured as the scene unfolded.
“She doesn’t love him – any of them,” Betty commented harshly
from over his shoulder.
“How can you tell from here?” he asked quizzically. Betty
sighed, blinking slowly as her eyes met his with a tender resignation.
“I thought you said it was most like my apartment,” she
offered cryptically, blowing away to fetch their supper. Jughead turned back to
the window with a knitted brow, her words dancing along the edges of his brain
without fully sinking in. He understood her perfectly but his body was
resisting the implications.
His eyes drifted away from the scene, feeling more like an
intruder there than he had in weeks. He watched as Mr Caretaker once again brought
a tray of food to his suffering wife, leaning in to press his lined lips
against her temple in a sweet action of affection. She twisted away from him,
ducking out of reach before he stood straight once more, fingers flexing
uncertainly at his sides. She ignored his seething, busying herself with his
offering. Caretaker stormed out, unnoticed, heading for the whiskey decanter
and telephone simultaneously. Settling back into the sagging sofa, Caretaker
took a deep swig of his drink, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth
as he began to speak. His shoulders sunk with the release of a great pressure and
his eyes drifted closed, relishing a moment of peace.
Jughead blinked as he noticed Mr Caretaker’s wife on her feet
for the first time since he’d been shackled to the edge of his apartment. Unsteady
and uncertain, she swayed towards the bedroom door, head tilted in listening.
She was gone from sight as she stood fixed in the doorway, Jughead leaning
further forward in his seat as he waited for the act to unfold. Muffled curses
floated across the stagnant courtyard air as Mr Caretaker scrambled from his
seat, hastily hanging up and chasing his wife back into their bedroom. She
turned on him, her movements surprisingly calm, before settling back beneath
the comforter and shrugging her frail shoulders nonchalantly. Mr Caretaker’s
face flushed several shades of red as his hands clenched, frame tensed like an
There was a beat as they stared each other down, two revving
vehicles playing chicken with one another, seeing who would break first. Jughead
watched, enraptured, as she reclined into her mass of downy pillows slowly. Her
upper lip curled over her pearlescent teeth in a menacing snarl. She laughed at
her husband, uttering provoking words that Jughead couldn’t hear across the
chasm. But he could see the challenging glint in her eye, so far removed from
her previously broken stature. She was teasing him, aggravating him. Mr
Caretaker took a step towards her, spinning on his heel at the last second and
slamming the bedroom door with enough force to make Caramel bark from above.
The dramatic spell broke as the soothing chimes of piano keys
drifted through the air, signalling final curtain.
“Where’s that delightful music coming from?” Betty asked in
awe as she returned, bringing with her the enticing scent of Pop’s burgers and fries. Jughead’s mouth
watered involuntarily as he eyed the tray she carried, only half focused on his
“Musician, up in that studio apartment. Struggling musician,
I should say,” he elaborated, gesturing vaguely in the right direction. Betty
set the tray in his lap and drifted closer to the window, entranced by the
delicate notes swirling towards them.
“He’s wonderful,” she murmured wistfully, leaning longingly
against the window frame, fingers coming to rest on the wood. Jughead tore his
eyes away from his food to watch her watch the pianist. She was a delicate mass
of graceful curves and elegant slopes, her curled, blonde hair taking on a
silver tint as pale moonlight crept through the strands. Her full lips lifted
into a faraway smile as she let the tune envelope her.
“Mr Indecisive,” Jughead informed her, a slight bitter note
seeping into his voice as he registered the unfamiliar jealousy spreading
throughout his chest. Betty turned to face him with a questioning look. He
swallowed the sullen bite he’d taken, ready to explain. “He must be in some
kind of family business – an older man who resembles him significantly is often
over, getting him to host get-togethers for who I can only assume are
investors. Every time they come the piano is shoved from the centre of the
room, covered with a white sheet, and littered with accoutrements like it’s a
side table. He chokes himself with a bow tie and spares frequent, pining
glances at the thing the whole night as uptight businessmen rest their substantial
bodies against it. And then they leave and he takes it back to centre stage, polishing
it with the gentlest of care before sitting down with his sheets and his
pencils to write music that makes women like you swoon,” Jughead finished,
never realising how much he’d noticed the redheaded, freckled man before now. He’s
staring a hole through the top of his burger.
“Women like me?” Betty asked, folding her arms. Jughead had
the grace to look sheepish. She brushed off his choice of words and rearranged
herself on the window seat. She watched him for a moment, as he so loved to do,
digging into his food with the gusto only a man who was previously denied nourishment
could obtain. “At least you can never complain about a meal,” she joked half-heartedly.
He paused with a fry moments from his lips, staring down at the crisp, salty
“It’s perfect, as always,” he lamented. Betty bristled, the
word oozing over her skin like molten tarmac. A hand clenched around her heart
as she regarded the man before her, broken in more ways than one.
“You’re so desperate to be free, aren’t you?” she asked sadly,
resting her chin in her palm over her crossed legs. He looked up, startled by
her remark, but remained silent. She sighed, settling back against the sparse
cushions that littered the bench. “If you sat any closer to that open window
you’d be falling out of it. You’re like a bird, every muscle poised for flight
before you realise someone has tied a rope to your ankle, that I-” Jughead’s
eyes flicked to his cast before once again finding her troubled face.
“Ravens and Doves rarely cohabitate,” Jughead muttered mockingly
as she sat beneath the glow of the lamp, he in the shadows. Betty stiffened,
surprising him by throwing her head back and laughing. “What? What is it?” he
asked in confusion.
“‘I used to call her, in my stupidity – for want of anything
better – a dove’,” Betty quoted, shaking her head in amusement. Jughead felt
like he was being left out of the joke. “I’ll lend you my copy,” she relented,
taking pity on him finally. Jughead squirmed in his chair, still feeling an
uncomfortable churning brewing in his gut. “Why do you want to leave?” she
whispered, eyes shining.
“Habit,” he mumbled. A silence stretched out between them,
broken only once Mr Indecisive decided to press the keys of his piano. The
sounds barely reached Jughead’s ears though, blood pounding in his head.
“Why can’t I come with you?” she asked some time later, the
meekness in her voice vanishing to leave behind a stubborn firmness. Jughead
lifted his eyes towards the ceiling in exasperation.
“Betty…” he began, ready to relay what he felt like he was
telling her all the time recently. There was a divide between their worlds, a
divide they were balancing precariously upon just by occupying the same space.
“No,” she cut him off, bottom lip pushing out in a petulant pout
before she drew it back in, rolling it between her teeth to keep it from
shaking. There were lines left in her lipstick. “You tell me I can’t be your kind of journalist, that it is not
for people like me. But you can’t be mine either. I can’t go with you, you won’t
stay here. According to you people are born, live, and die on the same spot!”
Her hands curled into fists in the folds of her skirt.
Jughead thought, flashing images like carnival spinners replaying the moment
he came home to find his father on the couch, contents of his stomach spilled
alongside the contents of his beer bottle, chest still and unresponsive, lips
“Have you ever had to camp out on the side of a mountain,
nothing but an old tent and a sleeping bag as the temperature slips ten below
freezing? Or been shot at while you’re driving across open land? Or had people
sending you threats because your story put them in a less than desirable light?”
he snapped at her, willing the memories back down, covering them with misplaced
anger. Betty’s eyes glistened with fury.
“When would anyone have let me?” she asked quietly, a single
eyebrow quirked in challenge.
“We have been given our roles by the powers that be,” he
“Well, if there’s one thing I know it’s how to play the part.”
The corners of her eyes were downturned and it pained him that he could not get
up and go to her. It was better, though, that he was incapacitated. It stopped
him from doing something foolish like comforting her. Or worse, agreeing with
He merely watched as she rose from her seat, expecting her to
depart without a second glance. Darkness flooded in around the edges of his
vision. She stopped, back not entirely turned to him but still keeping her face
“And you don’t think either one of us could change? That
change is sometimes possible?” He didn’t answer. She toyed with the lens that
lay between his typewriter and a stack of old magazines. “I’m in love with you
and I don’t care what you do for a living, I just want to be a part of it
somehow,” she confessed, voice low but strong. She glanced at him over her
shoulder, blush spreading along the high points of her cheekbones. “Why do you
always look at me like there’s something wrong?” she demanded at his silence.
“There’s nothing wrong with you! You’ve got this entire town
in the palm of your hand, and if I were you I should keep it that way. Tell me,
how many people know where you are right now?” he retorted with narrowed eyes.
Her flush intensified until he could follow its path down her chest to where it
disappeared beneath the neckline of her dress.
“Well it appears we are at an impasse,” she said, resignation
painting an unpretty sight across her features. She draped her wrap around her
shoulders, picking up her purse. “Goodbye, Jughead.”
“You mean goodnight?” he hurried to correct her, heartbeat
quickening contrary to himself.
“I meant what I said,” she muttered, opening the door.
“Betty, couldn’t we just…” he stopped himself, pushing her
out of the door whilst unable to let her go. In the dim light that cast shadows
across her eyes he saw her as that little dove, hanging in a birdcage. “When
will I see you again?” he asked instead.
“Not for a while,” she told him, voice quivering. She turned
to the door, pausing once more. “At least not until tomorrow night,” she
sighed, angry at him, angry at herself, angry at this game that they played.
The door clicked closed softer than he expected. Jughead
turned back to the window with a heavy heart, weight of his cast never feeling
more prominent. The sounds of the town continued below. As he ran his eyes over
the adjacent buildings he noticed that, one after another, all the shutters
were down for the night, Mr Scew-Up sleeping soundly on his balcony.
Jughead settled back against his
chair, unable to close his eyes for the night as her words tumbled around his
head. A glass broke, followed by a short cry. He turned, waiting for the
continuation. But there was nothing, only silence.
Summary: You never felt like this before, so free, so loved, so accepted. In the past days Hvitserk showed you another side of life you never saw before. But that comes with a cost, you’re a slave and who doesn’t obay got punished for it. Lucky for your is Hvitserk their that night and gives you the night to never forget. Words: 2062 Tag: @filippazm (promised to tag you)
In the days that past you felt like a little butterfly, constanly flying from the one beauty to the other. You were dreamy all the time, causing you to be not that fast in your work and getting more complaiment from your boss. But how hard the days could be, it didn’t matter. Every morning you stood up with the idea that you were dreaming, that the last couple of days even didn’t happen. But then he showed up as a little reminder. You walked out of the smith to pick up something with some trader when he pulled you behind a shed, kissing you a good day. Your hand rested against his ribs while your other wrapped around his wrist. His fingers cupped your face, tenderly while his kiss maked you soft inside. When he pulled back you still had your eyes closed, getting the longing for more through your body. ‘How is your day?’ He asked you gentle. You opened your eyes and smiled, still that insecure smile of yours. 'Better now, thank you.’ You whispered, looking up to his charmant smile. He caressed your cheek while you kept your eyes resting in his. 'I need to go Hvitserk, he is already so angry for me being so dreamy all the time, I don’t want to get late to.’ You broke the gazing to each other. 'Can I see you tonight?’ He asked. You looked down on his chest, your hand moving a little against the side of his body. 'I’m always on the same place so you will find me.’ You answered him without looking up. He pulled you a little closer, you rested your head against his chest, taking in the nice smell of his body. 'I see you tonight.’ He said while pressing a kiss on your hair. You smiled against his chest and pulled slowly back. He stroke your cheek one last time before he left you with that warming feeling on the inside, like your heart wanted to jump out. You pushed your body away from the wood and walked back to the smith, with that little smile playing around your lips. When you arrived your boss was bussy with the fire. 'Do you have it?’ He asked when he saw you walking in empty handed. And than you realized you didn’t go to the trader to pick up his stuff. All of the sudden that shy insecurity came back in your body, trying to get anything over your lips that could sound as a explanation. 'You stupid girl!’ He hitted you with the palm of his hand. The slap wasn’t that big but while pulling away you hitted your head against some wood, causing a headwound that started bleeding. The tears where filling up you eyes when you touthed i tand looked at the blood on your fingers. 'Get out of my sight!’ He yelled at you. You turned around and ran out, straight to that little cabin in the woods where nobody really cared about you.
You laid curled up on your bed in the loneliness you were so just to. Douthing the two worlds you were drifting between. A world you knew, where you were a slave and worked all day long to walk back to your lonely life afterwards. And then you had that new world where Hvitserk pulled you in, you loved that new world but it brought your old one in danger. Your fingers stroke the headwound again, it wasn’t that big but your head pounded a little. You embraced your sheets again, looking through the small little room you had here in the cabin, slowly embracing the darkness that fell over the woods. The short knock on the door turned you attention elsewhere. You came from the bed and walked over to the door, looking up to Hvitserk who gave you his most loving smile, but it faddeded as soon as he saw the wound on your head. 'What happened?’ He asked concerned. You left him in the door and walked back inside, he followed you in an instant. 'Nothing really.’ You tried to push away his concern. 'Y/n.’ He grabbed your hand, turning you gentle around back to him. You didn’t look up to him and that was enough for him to realize it wasn’t an accident. 'Who did this?’ 'Nobody, I kicked my head thats all.’ You reacted softly. He supported your chin, turning your head a little to the left so he could see the wound from closer by. 'Did your boss did this?’ He asked, more demanding. 'Hvitserk please, let it go.’ 'No I won’t.’ He protested. You looked up to him and slowly shook your head. 'I forgot something after seeing you. He was mad, and,’ your words drifted away and Hvitserk stroke a strain of your hair after your ear. You closed your eyes enjoying the soft touth of his fingers. 'I will punish him.’ 'Don’t, it was my own fault.’ You whispered, pulling yourself in his embrace a little further. He wrapped his arms around you, tightened his grip and you smiled comforted. 'How can I make you feel better?’ 'You already do.’ You pulled back and looked up to him, that insecurity already showing up again. 'I would never harm you.’ He whispered, stroking your face again, letting you feeling appreciated. 'I still don’t understand why you doing this Hvitserk.’ You still looked to him, to the charming smile causing your cheeks to turn red. 'Because you are worth it.’ He answered, placing his lips against yours. Your fingers took softly more fabrics of his clothes into a fist. He cupped your face, bringing you even closer while he depth his kiss even more. You felt your cheek burn all kind of red colors, a heat pulling throught your body. When he pulled back his lips stroke your skin, caressed your neck while he took in your smell. You just stood there, tightening his clothes in your fist while you closed your eyes and took everything in that he did. His lips got on the egde of your dress, resting on your colorbone and his fingers slowly pulled it aside over your shouder. You felt a short shiver getting throught your body when you shoulder was naked for his touch. 'Hvitserk I,’ you began insecure by all of it. He pulled back, lifted your chin and your hands relaxed against his stomach. 'Do you trust me?’ He asked, looking intensly in your eyes. You want to look away but he held on to your chin so you hadn’t a change. So you nodded. 'I’m not gonna hurt you.’ He promised, picking you in that kind of kiss again, the insensity of it brought you closer to him, pushing up on your toes. Your one hand traveled up to his face while you other stayed flat on his chest. He started exploring your body, his fingers roamed your naked shoulder before he slowly started to work downwards over your dress. Without you knowing you started to do the same thing, your hand traveled over his chest and you frooze a little by your own actions. 'Go on.’ He ecouraged you with a whispering in your ear, his lips leaving that warmth again. You softly folded your fingers around the egdes of his shirt and he helped you by pulling it out over his head. Your eyes rested on his bare chest before you looked up again, shy. He smiled down on you tenderly and you pushed back up, asking for his lips again. When your hands came in contact with his skin you hessitated a moment. Not that he gave you much time, his fingers stroke your other shoulder, pushing the dress from it causing your dress to slip lower on your body. You pulled your one arm out and wrapped it around his neck. He pulled you against his body completly and walked you backwards to the bed. You opened your eyes and looked up to him, eyes telling you trusted him and a sencere smile comforted you right back. You fingers moved softly over his chest, rested against his chin before you kissed him again and he laid you on the bed you earlier laid on in your own loneliness. But it was different now, you felt different. Never had anybody touched you like Hvitserk did. His lips followed your skin while your finger strangled themself through his hair, his braids. Your body started to accept his touch, moving away the shy uncertainty you felt. Your eyes felt shut, your body arched a little when his lips reached the sensitive skin of your breasts. The heat building up in your body waited on some kind of a release but until that it kept giving you more to handle … or not. You moaned underneath him and you felt a smile gainst your heated skin. You imagined your first time in so many ways but not like this, not with him. He was so soft, tender, so slowly and patient with you that you couldn’t think on something else than adjusting yourself to him.
When you waked up your body felt soar a little but under the feeling of him snuggling his nose in your hair the feeling fadded and maked place for that happy feeling. You turned slowly around in his embrace and looked at him. 'How was your night?’ He asked you with that boyish grinn of accomplishment. 'Amazing, thanks for asking. Yours?’ You asked with a tiny dmile back. 'The best.’ He answered, placing a kiss on your lips. You smiled in it, terrible in love with all of this. 'I promised my brothers that I would train with them so I have to go.’ He went further, resting his lips on your shoulder. You stroke his braid over his shoulder and petted his chest. 'Go.’ You insisted, not wanting to get his brothers behind you because they were angry on you for keeping him here. You curled up in the bed and looked how he got up and got dressed, admiring the vieuw with slithly red cheeks. 'Tell me if he does that again.’ He pointed to your headwound. 'I will, I promise.’ You reassured him. He gave you a last look, something with concern, charm, a hint of love before he left, leaving you again in the loneliness, althrought that got filled up by the memories from last night. Not far after he was gone you maked ready to, not eager to get back to the smith. But you had no choise, you were a simple slavegirl. On the way their you past the great hall, you stopped before you got around the corner when you saw the four sons of Ragnar standing. You didn’t want Hvitserk to notice you and kiss you in public so you stayed around the corner, overhearing their conversation. 'Told you I could pull it off.’ You recognized his voice immidiatly, causing that smile to spread over your face again. 'I don’t understand, you kissed her on day one and you got her into bed on day six,’ Ivar pauzed a moment. 'I thought you said she was the shy type?’ He reacted his anger of against Sigurd. 'She was.’ Sigurd defensed himself but all you could do was repeat those words again in your head, they were talking about you. 'Admit it, I won.’ 'You won the bet brother, I’m proud of you.’ Ubbe smacked Hvitserk on the shoulder and the both of them started laughing. A bet? This was all a game to him? 'No reason to stay around her now, maybe your brother find a better target to bet on.’ Sigurd reacted. A bet … you were just a bet in their boyish fantasies. You swallowed the tears away, felt how your body cracked open by all of what you just heared. He never gave about you, why would he, you were a slavegirl to begin with. You pushed away and walked over the little square before the great hall, right to the smith. 'Y/n!’ Hvitserk called after you. You ignored him and took a right into a little shed, sliding down against the wooden wall while you cried out all the love you felt last days. But it wasn’t love for him, this was just all a game.
6 days, 6 days of non-stop migraines, you were very stressed with school and it had taken a toll on your mentally and physically. So here you were in bed, once again, wearing Tyler’s shirt, his sweater and some underwear you found, you were pretty sure it was clean but at this point you didn’t care.
Tyler gently knocked on the door causing you to groan throwing blankets over your head. “Sorry love” he mumbled softly as he walked over to your bedside “come on baby” he whispered softly as he slowly pulled the blanket off of your head. He gently put the advil in your hands and gave you, your favorite tea in your favorite mug.
“Thanks” you sniffled softly as you downed the pills and slowly put down the mug on your nightstand “you look a little pale” Tyler said softly as he gently stroked your cheek with his finger tips. “I still feel sick” you mumbled running a hand through your hair, Tyler smiled slightly and slowly got into bed pulling you to his chest.
You nuzzled into your boyfriend of two years chest and allowed your eyes to close as he slowly began to rub your back slowly “I’m sorry” you mumbled softly to him. “For what?” Tyler asked “for having migraines, I know you wanted to go to the gym with the guys” you said softly before wincing at the sudden pain in your forehead.
Tyler sighed and gently pulled your head back to his chest as he slowly rubbed up the base of your neck. He found the spot where you were really feeling the source of the pain, you made a quiet noise holding onto him a bit tighter “right there?” He asked softly, and you nodded as you hid your face into his chest more.
Tyler slowly began to rub the most painful spot carefully, you got migraines so often that he knew what worked and what didn’t work. You sniffled and held onto him a little tighter as you could feel the pressure in your head start to go away slightly. “Maybe tomorrow you guys can go together” you said softly “I think, I rather stay in bed with my girl, when she doesn’t have a headache” Tyler chuckled kissing your head gently.
“Get some sleep baby” he whispered softly as he rubbed your back slowly. You smiled as you slowly drifted off for a couple of hours.
Warnings: SMUUUUUTTTTTTT!!!!!!! Oral (both genders). Handjobs. Like, there is no plot. Just smut. NSFW Gif somewhere below the cut.
Author’s Note: This is season 1 Dean. I MUST CLARIFY, DEAN IS 18 IN THIS FIC!! NO ONE IS UNDER AGE!!!! I am aware that he was 17 in the actual season 1, but I am making him 18 in this fic for legal purposes. :)
Also, I had no idea how to set this situation up, sooooo… This is literally porn and nothing else.
I am also aware of how long this took, but hey! It got done!!! <3
“Relax,” I say against Dean’s lips. Despite being 18 and probably a virgin, Dean seems to know what he’s doing. His tongue skims over my lower lip, silently begging for entrance. The decision to play coy was the biggest thing in my mind until I feel Sam’s lips graze over my neck and spine. My lips part in a gasp, and due to that motion, Dean is able to slip his tongue into my mouth. His tongue moves against mine, and I can taste the mint on him. As his confidence grows, Dean threads his fingers through my Y/H/C locks as Sam’s lips roam to my neck.
Summary – TFW
tries to find answers after the reader is kidnapped; what they uncover will
Word Count – 4,130
Warnings – Aftermath
of Kidnapping, Torture, talk about PTSD and different kinds of therapy used to treat it
A/N – So, yeah,
the “epilogue” kind of got away from me (shocker, I know). But we’ll call it an epilogue anyway! Thank you all so much for your support and
feedback on this series! It makes me so
happy to get your comments! As always,
feedback is appreciated and encouraged!
Please let me know what you thought!
“It is over, baby.”
Dean agreed. “And I’m going to be here for you – we all are – just as
long as it takes. And you take as long as you need, sweetheart.”
Dean had been thrilled when you’d hugged him just before
telling off Vapula for what he’d done.
While you had turned a major corner, there was still a long way to
go. The first night back, once Vapula
was dead and his ashes buried, Dean helped you change into fresh pajamas and tucked
you into bed – the bed you normally shared with him. He noticed you tense when he climbed in next
to you and paused.
Hey y’all it’s ya girl back with part three of my lil modern Hamilton college AU! I seem to have accumulated some readers which is pretty lit and hey if you wouldn’t mind reblogging so others can share in the jOY OF MY WRITING (haha just kidding) that would be awesome!!
Hey guys, I just wanted to address some things so you guys can feel updated on some “changes” and comments I’d like to make on my comics.
First, I would like to say thank you all for 3k followers! I actually feel guilty getting this many because Tumblr is the least used social media where I post comics besides imgur and Reddit (which I have slowly drifted away from) so I’m going to try and step up my game with posting and being more active on tumblr. The two social medias I use are twitter (username is @blumod_), where I constantly update on status of comics, do art or fan art, or just do funny tweets, and my second most used social media is iFunny where every single comic I’ve made has been posted unlike tumblr since I originated from iFunny, so if you want to see those, go to iFunny.co/BluMod to read the rest.
Second thing is kinda major; I’m changing my artstyle.
Now this one I have been wanting to talk about for a while. My original artstyle of poorly drawn marshmallow people is very unoriginal. A lot of other users can pull it off and still seem original such as TheOdd1sout, SeaRabbit, 8BitLiam, and many more. But I want an art style I can call mine and not feel guilty of thinking it’s a copy and paste of some one else’s idea. I make comics, and I want to make sure my jokes are 100% original, and I want to do the same to my artstyle, which is what I’ve done.
Anyways, sorry for the long rant but that’s my situation. Thank you to all who cared to read that. You guys are the best! :)
like gerardwayspukekink was a great url and all but ive been slowly drifting away from b*ndom for like the past 6 months so it feels better having a url that more fits my current aesthetic (loving my gf) and is also less embarassing. i need to revamp my mobile theme too to reflect this but i can do that later.
A/N: Haven’t written anything on this blog and I kinda felt like uploading something I’ve written before. By the way, I wrote this within one hour of my first time reading carry on, so it’s probably very cringey and inaccurate bUT WHO CARES?
Warnings: swearing lmao, but from now on don’t even count that as a warning my friends
Additional Info: fifth year!snowbaz so get ready for the feeels
It’s a form of torture really.
Being this close to someone I love and not being able to hold his hand, stroke his cheeks, kiss him goodnight…
The moonlight from the open window shines down on him, illuminating his face He has freckles on his eyelids. Of fucking course he does. I would give anything just to kiss them shut at the end of the day, even if immediately after he stabs me with that stupid sword. It’s just my luck, you know. Falling in love with my enemy. Knowing that I’ll never, ever have him makes me sick. I hate him. I hate the way the moonlight dances on his skin, the way his freckles and moles make countless constellations, the way his eyes flutter when he’s asleep.As I stare at the boy in the bed across from mine, I’m suddenly met with his sleepy blue eyes. He stares back for a while before saying in a raspy voice, “what do you want?“
‘You!’ I want to scream. ‘You, you, you and only you!’
I can imagine his reply. A disgusted look and a string of bitter words. Merlin, he might even take out his sword. I wouldn’t stop him. Oh no. I’d let him kill me, before I do it myself. If Snow doesn’t kill me, then I will. I wonder what my dad will say the reason was. ‘Too much responsibility for a kid. I should’ve known.’ And then I can’t think of my dad anymore because I’m imagining the same sad eyes and sagged shoulders he had when my mum died.
Snow is already back to sleep, his chest rising and dropping at a steady pace. I want to lay next to him and match his breathing, like we are one and the same. I slowly turn away from him and close my own eyes, as I can feel them burning with fatigue. As I drift off to sleep, I let myself imagine his delicate fingers on mine, the feel of his skin on my lips, the warmth of his embrace. My stomach twists and turns just at the thought. If he really did any of those things to me, I think I’d pass out I sneak one more glance at him and feel a deep pain within me…
Harry and his girl have been together years and she’s now part of his family basically. And one day they’re having dinner with Anne, Robin, Gemma and her boyfriend, having usual family banter etc. Then later that evening they’re all drinking and they all get a little drunk and have a fun drunken family night in. Maybe Harry’s girl passes out drunk and once Harry gets her in bed, Anne drunkenly asks Harry when he’s going to propose and she’s obviously ‘the one’
Can u do something w/ u stayin in & getting drunk w/ Anne & Gem & Harry comes back home & has to deal w/ all 3 of them & put them to bed? Maybe get handys in front of them & he has 2 persuade u 2 get 2 bed & Anna & Gem joke about how u’re in trouble
that Harry had learned pretty early on in your relationship was that you didn’t
hold your liquor very well. When Harry had been drinking, he was still very
coherent and aware of what was going on. He got giggly and handsy and sometimes
quite loud and ridiculous, but he was always cognizant. You, on the other hand,
went into a complete daze when you got past a certain number of drinks. You
often didn’t remember what you had said or done the night before and Harry would
have to painfully remind you of how silly you had been. He always found it
hilarious and endearing, but you were embarrassed.
It was one
thing for Harry to see you drunk and silly, it was a whole other thing for his
family to see you that way. For that reason, whenever you went to his home for
a dinner or holiday you would sip on your wine but not go beyond a glass or
two. You didn’t want Harry’s family to think that he was dating some drunk and
disorderly hooligan. You still weren’t entirely sure what they thought of you –
especially Anne – and you didn’t want to give them any reason to doubt your
birthday rolled around in February, he told you that he planned to spend it
with you and his family. He didn’t want a big party and said that he couldn’t
imagine a more perfect evening than spending it with his three favorite ladies.
You felt a
bit of pressure because it was his birthday and you wanted to make it special,
but you didn’t want to overstep his mum or Gemma if they had something planned
as well. Also, this would be your first birthday with Harry where the two of
you were quite serious; at Harry’s last birthday, you had only been together a
few months and were still in the stage of having fun and figuring each other
out. Now, it had been over a year and both of you had kind of settled into the
idea that this was for the long-run.
tell that you were stressing and tried to tell you that you didn’t have to.
anythin’ big, love,” he said, “s’the whole point of doin’ it at mum’s. Just want
to have a nice, quiet evenin’ with everyone.”
“Not even a
cake? Harry, you have to have a cake!”
kissing you on the cheek.
really want to get me a cake, you can get me a cake. But I promise, you don’t
have to, love.”
Summary:Katniss and Peeta are doing well co-parenting while separated, but some big changes are coming and being apart may not be so easy anymore.
Author’s note: This gem has been floating around in my head for a very long time now and I decided this was the little punch to get it going. The title comes from the Bastille song The Things We Lost in the Fire. Much thanks to lvfics for being a great beta and friend. And thanks to my bestie thesaltywinteradult for tolerating me and my constant stream of Everlark fics. Part Two coming sometime in December.