Every person who dislikes JD:
Jason Dean 🙅🏻 more like Jason DEVIL 👿 that motherfucker is the worst character 😡😠 in all of heathers 😤😤😤 JDonica fans 💑are the WORST 😫 I'm in physical pain 🤕 due to all this rage 😡😡😡 caused by this horrible character and his fans! 😱 Heather McNamara 💛is an angel and cinnamon roll too good for this world 👼🏼 McNamawyer 😍 is my pure unproblematic gay ship💛💙FUCK JD ❌🚫 and his EVIL FANS 😈 someone help me get this stick out of my ass 😩😩😩
a/n: This is my gift to my best friend @eroticgropefest. Hope you appreciate my first (and maybe only) attempt at a snowbaz fic just for you, bruh! o// I figured since I’m helping turn you into as much of an h/c hoe as myself, you’d enjoy reading some of that as well (also I’m all out of ideas SORRY I TRIED). Enjoy your 26th aging up <3 :P
Snow is infuriating. I’m certain I’m not the only one who sees it: the way he shrugs at most questions, considering it to be enough of an answer; how he gets flustered and fumbles around looking for his words; how he has absolutely no control over his own immense powers; the way he follows the Mage around, like some kind of stray dog on a very short leash, awaiting his commands.
The most powerful magician alive.
I look at him across the room, once again failing at a spell. Bunce looks at him, exasperated, saying something I don’t care to hear. I glare some more at Snow’s ineptitude, feeling a fire deep inside me, something that tells me to shake some sense into him. How stupidly vulnerable he is! The dangers he puts himself in by his complete lack of control. How easy he’ll be to break under my hands when we inevitably have to face each other.
I can imagine myself marching over to him, pushing him up against a wall. I’d hold on to his neck and look right into those eyes, Snow’s unremarkable eyes, so ordinary and plain looking. I’d stare right at him (and I might choke him a little.) (Not too much, just a little. Just enough). He’d growl at me and it would smell of smoke and get unbearably warm. He’d be so close and alive and warm, I might have a taste. Bite a chunk right out of his neck in front of everyone. (or I might just snog the fuck out of him. Either one).
I don’t do any of that. Instead, I shake my head and then glare at him across the room, while Bunce continues to tell the absolute idiot what to do. Soon he seems to feel my stare and looks up at me. At first he seems confused, but his slow brain finally catches up. and he glares right back, closing his fist more strongly around his wand.
Simon Snow never stops driving me fucking crazy.
There are definitely some things people don’t tell you about sharing a room with the chosen one.
One of them is how once he’s put something on his mind, he’ll never drop it. Crowley, Snow might have won an award for most stubborn person ever if it existed (I’m convinced they should create one just for him at this point). He’s incredibly persistent about his moronic ideas, like his obsession with keeping the windows open. No matter how many times I close them, he’ll open them back up. I suspect he’s doing it out of principle at this point, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
There’s an infinite number of frustrating things about living with Snow (besides the irony of living with someone you’re supposed to kill, but instead stupidly caught feelings for) (I may be biased on that one though). From the pointless arguments to the loud nightmares he seems to have convinced himself I don’t know about (a good match to my own relentless night terrors). Or even the way he’s completely oblivious to every single redeeming quality I (debatably) possess. Or even the most cruel ones, like the way looks after he falls asleep, all soft angles and relaxed jaw. Or the unyielding sexual frustration of having him so close to the touch and so hopelessly unreachable.
Yet, no matter how bad those things are, they still feel like they’re almost worth the amount of private wanking I have to do in an attempt to get him off my mind (it never works) (why would it?) It still feels more than I deserve, to have him this close to me. It’s almost comforting (almost, when it isn’t absolutely infuriating).
The truly bad thing about sharing a room with the Chosen One that no one tells you about isn’t even the arguing and all the times he loses his patience and grabs me, manhandling me while I cooly remind him of the anathema. It isn’t even the fact that, while he does that, I just want to push him against the wall and kiss him hard.
The worst thing of all is when he just isn’t there. (and you don’t know where he is or what happened or if he’s safe.) (Why would you when he hates you?)