that haunting melody

Blood Work

1. SaltyAuntSuga

2. YoonMin, Vkook, Namjin, Past Yoonseok, Hopekook

3. AO3

4. E (lots of kinks, blood, there is some homophobic language, author has lots of tags for the story please read them, to see if this is the story for you.)

5. Vampire

6. Park Jimin, modern dance major, doesn’t realize what he’s getting tangled up with when he meets musician and producer Min Yoongi on his way to the studio for class after hearing his haunting piano melody coming from the open window one evening.

7. I am the author

Comments:  This story is problematic.  Not in the way that it’s bad or anything.  Problematic in the way that it keep me up till the early morning.  This story was wonderful.  It has a little bit of everything, past relationships, misunderstandings, mystery, vampires, bodies piling up, first loves, unrequitted love, jealousy, JUNGHOPE, vampires, Hoseok being a dick, kinks, lots of sex, confused feeling, eternal love, crazy government agencies, secret clubs, complicated relationships, dysfunctional relationships, and so much more.  It was beautiful and funny and steamy.  I couldn’t put it down, not even to sleep.  I read it in one sitting and just stayed up thinking about it.  I think this story has become one of my favorites, and I don’t know what to do with that.

@saltyauntsuga

Why did you write this wonderful work, and submit it to me? I stayed up all night reading this.  I don’t know weather to thank you or throw something at you.

My mother tells me to lose myself in the fictional worlds I used to immerse in. She says it would be good therapy, I can be someone else. Someone who isn’t waiting for her Queen to come back. How do I tell her that I hear your voice speaking every word? The letters sigh your name. My father tells me to lose myself in the rock music I used to drown in. He says it would be good therapy, I can tune the memories out. Memories of the Goddess I drove too far to pull back. How do I tell him that your voice haunts the melodies? The lyrics whisper your name.
—  Alexandra Joan Alexander
youtube

This beautiful Swedish lady sings an ancient Viking song. Now watch how the cows respond. 

It is often argued that everything our ancestors did and said gets stored into our brains. Their experience and knowledge gets passed down from generation to generation. This may explain why we know or react to certain things without having any prior knowledge.

Kulning is an ancient herding call used in the Scandinavian region. The call is a high pitch tone that can reach long distances. The herding call sounds more like a haunting and sad melody meant to echo through mountains and alleys.

It was getting late and foggy on a magical night last month when Swedish artist Jonna Jinton wanted to try kulning. She wanted to find out if the animals would answer to the call their own ancestors heard when the women called them. Kulning might just be one of the most beautiful and enchanting sounds ever made.

Meet Me On The Battlefield
SVRCINA
Meet Me On The Battlefield

Meet me on the battlefield
Even on the darkest night
I will be your sword and shield
Your camouflage and you will be mine

Echoes of the shots ring out
We may be the first to fall
Everything could stay the same
Or we could change it all

An Ode to the Venus Signs

Aries: The primal lust for power that drives you fuels the spark in your eye and the deceiving lilt in your voice that rears just as you go in for the kill. You will eventually give up being the ever-brave knight and the same cold knife that pierces his heart in exchange for the purity you braved oceans of passion and battles of ferocious kisses in the thundering moonlight for. You will lay down your helmet not in defeat but to unleash a fierce tenderness that no other could ever match. 

 Taurus: You grant your body its right to speak for itself, you’re a lover of few words and infinite complexities. The burgundy wine that pumps through your heart and veins and out through your mouth intoxicates its ever-fortunate victim within minutes. The kisses you allow are accompanied by your luxurious velvet touch that, on its own, is a treasure worthy of an ancient and haunting sea borne melody of lust, deceit, and riches beyond measure. 

Gemini: Yours is an epic poem of magic and thermals thrusting you beyond the clouds and the stars in one flap of your winged self. An intense emotional threshold is accompanied by lighthearted joviality that lets itself be heard through your tinkling laugh late into the night. You are the adventure in any fantasy and the spirit of any angelic presence we have all felt when our wheels of fortune are on their way to the top. 

Cancer: Your gentle caress is the joy finally bubbling up from an exhausted heart. You’re the flower in the gun, the lover that hit the universe. The Valentine’s Day you imagined all those years that finally happened, the ribbon on an exquisite present you almost feel guilty untying. Your quiet devotion is emotional and romantic, crystalline perfection in a tarnished, stone world. 

Leo: The mischievous grin you unveil to the masses is nothing to the intense and yet… Exciting gleam in your eye when you unmask your bad boy disguise and become the gold-hearted danger we all secretly desire. You are the protector of the queen of hearts, jealous though your undying love may be. Somehow with you, the world is perfectly in sync with every breath that is shared, each movement a rhythm of unyielding devotion. 

Virgo: The crease in your brow changes ever so slightly for every different small emotion you allow to the surface. The perfection of each conscious movement and considerate placement of every inch of you is not unnoticed. The free spirit you unleash in your blessed vulnerable moments is the thunder of a rainstorm in a drought, a love with you is one of reincarnation of your lover’s prized memories and dreams plucked from careful observation and secretly tender moments of thought. 

Libra: Your youthful exuberance is open minded with a bright and surprising wisdom. The element of surprise is always packed neatly up your sleeve for when inspiration strikes your wandering mind. Though with light footsteps your travel this road, each movement is meaningful and not as wasteful as it appears to the ignorant eye. Your sweet intentions never turn bitter even in adversity, as your every move matches the most romantic of ideals with ease. 

Scorpio: Trust doesn’t fall into your rigid nature, as you decided it can’t. But how you long for it, to let go of a little control into trustworthy arms that feel of your pillow after a long, hard day. You have the loyalty of the best friend trope and the love of the heroine all contained in the body of what can only be a hero. You do not move quickly, but each stroke of the brush is one of intensity and saturation made with steady hands. The bouts of rash action do not last long, as you already know deep in your soul where you belong. 

Sagittarius: Worldly, exciting, fast and learned are your ways of rash and heated passion. You are jagged bottles wielded by the wild, but each cut of the blade is done out of fun and poisoned only by the cowardly. The jolt of sunshine and fall weather, the fall that tastes golden and slightly crisp, is only the instantaneous reward given before the ride. 

Capricorn: You are the everything you determined they deserve; the want and the need alike. Allowing yourself the pleasure of being the mouse in the game for once, with an ever protective grip on reality all the while. Your intensity is a quiet one, one that doesn’t speak but radiates. It is unyielding and wooden, but alive all the same. Your branches bear fruit that, for once, are willingly plucked with a silent thank you and perhaps a passing smile. Your roots will never cease to grow until the soil is gone and your stomach barren, but until then you are permanent and, most importantly, ever standing.

Aquarius: You take flight without warning, but how any would worship simply seeing you go. A disguised predator in a world of the unwise. But from you comes the pleasure of shrewd sport in the face of those simply surviving. To let your guard down sounds obscene until you allow yourself to understand the truth; the truth that allows you to shed your old and tired skin. Like the snake you are blind before your fresh skin, and you can roll with it or forge a fresh path. 

Pisces: The mysteries of the universe lie within your magnetic eyes and wry smile. Your every move fascinates and alienates and is left for only the dedicated to make sense of. You create a new world for your person, with exquisite detail and an unparalleled sense of wonder. But danger looms in the back of your incredible mind and with the shift of your thoughts you can press the tempting button of self-destruction. Burning bridges is a staple of your watery magic, and you the lone arsonist. Perhaps you could put down the matches, but who’s to say you ever will decide it’s worth it?

Alright I have been holding my tongue for nearly three years so I’m finally gonna say it - FUCK Michael Gordon Clifford for Close As Strangers. Fuck him for that beautiful, haunting melody. Fuck him for how soft-emo it is, as if he doesn’t KNOW that is my weakness. Fuck him for the way the piano mixes with guitars and creates such a fucking rich, layered wall of sound that overtakes your entire BEING when you listen to it. Fuck him for the fact that I basically start crying after hearing three notes of the opening guitar line. Fuck him for lyrical POETRY like are we wasting time talking on a broken line and every night i’m losing you in a thousand faces and living dreams in fluorescent lights while you and I are running out of time. FUCK HIM for the way his voice sounds on his verse!? That soft, resonant tone, sweet but tinged with darkness like melted marshmallows with a troubled past, the way he murders us all with beautiful vibrato in the very last line of the song, and then just runs off into the goddam night with that voice and NEVER FUCKING GIVES IT TO US AGAIN QUITE THE SAME ON ANY OTHER SONG?! Fuck him for the way Luke’s voice breaks on the chorus?! Fuck him for the smokey smoothness of Calum’s solo and fuck him for Ashton’s harmonies at the end???? Fuck him for giving us this ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE and then never performing it live??!?!? Never even acknowledging its god-like existence?!?!? FUCK YOU MICHAEL CLIFFORD FOR THIS DAMN SONG. I mean I love you and I hope you’re happy and warm and well fed but. Also fuck you. 

the saltwater sting (the sea does not forgive): a mix for sea witches, sirens, and the haunting melody coming in on the salt breeze.

in the sea - ingrid michaelson | sound the bells - dessa | song of the sea - cake bake betty | the sea and the rhythm - iron & wine | fire in the water - feist | sadseasong - a fine frenzy | drunken whaler - dishonored soundtrack | mariner’s revenge song - the decemberists | my jolly sailor bold - pirates of the caribbean soundtrack

[listen]

Adagio For Strings Op. 11
Samuel Barber
Adagio For Strings Op. 11

Samuel Barber - Adagio for Strings, Op.11

Often described as the saddest classical work ever, Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings has an almost inexorable quality in the slow, steady upward movement of the haunting melody towards the hair-raising climax, before finally settling back to the subdued sorrow of the opening. The piece was famously featured in the film Platoon, and was played at the funerals of Albert Einstein, Princess Grace of Monaco and during the announcements of the deaths of Franklin D. Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy.

Okay, so I just saw a Tony and music headcanon which I absolutely and totally respect, because a classical music Tony is an awesome Tony that is a valid way of viewing the character.  However, I also completely and totally disagree with it and didn’t want to highjack that post to disagree.  Basically, fellow writer, you’re awesome and so is your headcanon which is totally valid and legit, but I’m gonna rift off it because I keep arguing with the post in my head.  

Maria started Tony on the piano at a young age.  Howard yelled and complained about how the kid could never keep still, so Maria taught him cords and basic piano warms ups.  She told him if he couldn’t keep still, he could go over the piano fingering in his mind.  He could even move his fingers if he needed to, going through the motions with his hands at his side as Howard ranted at him about how his latest robot was a failure, and keeping him still enough for photographers to take pictures of the engine while Howard put on his fake smile.

Tony would often hang in the doorway as his mother played and sang, hesitant to come in and interrupt her.  Music was numbers and frequencies and all sorts of things that were fascinating to Tony, but he couldn’t quite manage to fit them together into a song.  

It wasn’t until Maria came upon Tony struggling through “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Carousel that she teaches him how to play music.  Maria the brilliant scientist who loved show tunes could explain to a young Tony Stark how to make music from the notes.  

From then on, Tony was a quick study.  He would often play as Maria sat by his side and sang along, from My Fair Lady to Evita, he would play and sometimes hesitantly sing along.  He fell in love with the quick wit of Cole Porter, often playing a quick bar or two and sing in a sarcastic tone when Howard railed on him for his failures.  Maria was always more fond of Irving Berlin, and he’d play “Blue Skies” whenever she was tired or angry.  

He always liked it when she played Rodgers and Hammerstein.  Sometimes she’d play “Impossible” from Cinderella when Tony felt like he couldn’t meet Howard’s high standards.  He was always mesmerized when she sang “Some Enchanted Evening” or “Something Good”. 

He sometimes thought about running away and working on Broadway.  He never had a way with lyrics, but he could compose a tune.  Surely he could find a partner and they’d create loads of shows that would become world famous.  But Howard would surely find him, so close to home, and the one time he tried to sneak off to the West End while visiting Aunt Peggy in London ended with her taking out a man who had been following Tony for nefarious purposes.  She was kind about it, but she had to take him home.  

Soon enough, he gave up on that dream and entered MIT, but he still couldn’t shake stealing away into one of the music shops and playing the occasional tune.  Some of the others found out about it and bullied him until he stopped.  But Rhodey could sometimes pull him away and ask him to play a song from The Wiz or some of the old Ella Fitzgerald jazz standards.  He also started to branch out at this time, coming up with piano versions of rock songs that he would play to make Rhodey laugh.

“Try to Remember” was the last song he heard her play before she died, and was always one of his favorites.  It was years before he could listen to the song again, much less play it.  Rhodey was the one who sat with him when he finally managed it, softly singing along even though he was never much of a singer because Tony couldn’t quite manage the words.  

Steve was shocked to hear old familiar songs coming from the Avengers common room one night when he couldn’t sleep.  He walked in to see Tony at the piano, singing some of the old Cole Porter songs.  Tony switched over to his own piano rendition of Highway to Hell as soon as he realized Steve was listening, but Steve had already found out.  After that, he’d sometimes join Tony, sitting at the piano and listening to the old tunes.  

It was during one of those times Tony admitted his mother had taught him, and he played “Try to Remember” for Steve.  It wasn’t one he recognized, but it had a soothing melody that made him think of Bucky, who he was still trying to find.  It was then Steve decided he could never tell Tony about what the Winter Soldier had done.  `Tony was finally in a place where he could play the song as a fond memory, and learning the truth would only cause more pain.  

After everything burned down, Steve only felt guilt when he heard the song or looked at a piano.  There were a lot of things he would never do differently, but not telling Tony the truth was a mistake.

After everything burned down, Tony sat at the piano, but couldn’t play.  He stared at the keys, but couldn’t will his hands to move.  When Rhodey would ask him to play, Tony would smile and say he was fine.

He’s always fine.

Sometimes Peter would hear haunting melodies of songs he had never heard before when he visited Avengers Tower.  He never found out where they came from, but he kind of liked listening to the old melancholy tunes before Tony finally showed up and gave him the latest upgrades for his suit.

please like or reblog the post and use them as you please:

  • for the sake of fighting
  • YOU SHOULD NEVER TRUST THE PANTALOON
  • permanently occupied with your past
  • rolling with momentum
  • life is lonely and so am i
  • raise boys and girls the same way
  • art will survive, artists won’t
  • will nature make a man off me yet?
  • there will be a note
  • our respect ran so dry
  • life has a hopeful undertone
  • our brains are sick but that’s okay
  • i want to do all the things your lungs do so well
  • i’m dying to live
  • make art, not friends
  • thanks for the tragedy, i needed it for my art
  • i’m literally emo but let’s call it pop punk
  • raised to be stupid but taught to be nothing at all
  • we will find a destination that may only be seen with a naked mind
  • i sing of a greater love, let me know when you’ve had enough
  • life isn’t about finding yourself, it’s about creating yourself
  • i am not afraid to walk this world alone
  • DEFEND POP PUNK
  • try going to war
  • a microscopic miracle
  • a mortal playing god
  • put on some war paint
  • joy bloody division that’s who
  • if it looks like i’m laughing, i’m really just asking to leave
  • i’m not like them i can’t pretend
  • i’m just the way the doctor made me
  • i can’t stand my own mind
  • a poet is a blind optimist
  • i accept lostness forever
  • when did you look at your skin and decided you were an impotent dirty old locomotive?
  • well, my gun fires seven shades of shit
  • i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness
  • i don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision
  • she tasted like imported sophistication and domestic cigarettes
  • love is a haunting melody that i have never mastered and fear i never will
  • great writers are indecent people, they live unfairly saving the best part for paper
  • well you can hide a lot about yourself, but honey what are you gonna do?
  • i was killing before killing was cool
  • another cog in a murder machine
  • we are all a bunch of animals that never paid attention in school
  • it was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing
  • these bright lights have always blinded me
  • ask no questions and you’ll get no lies
  • you’re always haunted by the idea that you’re wasting your life
  • i exist too much
  • but i come to love you, am i born to bleed?
  • i must admit i can’t explain any of these thoughts racing through my brain
  • who says we have cold hearts?
  • the most heroic word in all languages is revolution
  • born from some mother’s womb (just like any other room)
  • reach the dumb to fool the crowd
  • self induced manipulation
  • tv taught me how to feel now real life has no appeal
  • if all we are is just machines let’s become a miracle and break free from these chains
  • those who don’t know their history are doomed to repeat it
  • what would you rather be? the poet or the poem?
  • we are drowning in information but starved for knowledge
  • he made me understand why hurricanes are named after people
  • when you look death in the eye and death blinks first nothing seems impossible
  • he pretend he’s okay but you should see him late at night 
  • nothing kills a man faster than his own head
The Goddess

Candles are lit, the incantation is complete.
Incense smoke rises, fragrant and sweet.

Breathing deeply, you open your mind’s eye.
There you hear a faint whisper…A bellowing cry.

The candles’ flames dance as She draws near.
She is your Mother; there is nothing to fear.

A misty haze envelops you as She begins to gracefully manifest.
She only answers to those who are truly blessed.

Darkness wraps around Her pale and beautiful skin.
A stirring power can be felt deep from within.

A penetrating glare shoots from Her stunning eyes.
They know of your humble beginnings and your untimely demise.

Her voice is a haunting melody echoing an ancient story.
She stands before you in all of Her endless glory.  

Words cascade from Her delicate lips like a waterfall.
When She speaks, you always heed the call.

“My child, you are wise and strong.
You will find your place, where you belong.
I am with you as you grow.
I am the guiding light, a never-ending glow.
The answer you seek is deep within,
But you may call to me when the veil is thin.
If you honor my wisdom, I shall be just and kind.
Disrespect me and I will torture your fragile mind.
Your witchcraft is your vessel to me.
Use it wisely and you will unlock doors with my Key.”

She suddenly vanishes without a trace.
Your heart starts beating with a quickened pace.

Was this a dream or was this real?
Was The Goddess standing before me as I kneel?

The candles are extinguished with haste;
You cannot delay; there is no time to waste.

Remember Her voice and what She said.
She holds the secrets of those long since dead.

You sense Her as you handle a poisonous plant or cast a spell.
You can hear Her voice in the soft tolling of the copper bell.

The black dogs howl towards the cosmic sky,
They know a secret truth you cannot deny:

No matter where you go or what you do,
The Goddess will always be with you.

Originally posted by siriuskitty

Original poem by @eclecticwitcheryafoot aka Marisol.

This poem is meant to be a dedication to Hekate.  Feel free to use it as you like but please give me credit.

Um well, as- as I think everybody knows uhh– Magnus’ uhh love of- animals, and um y’know his heroic start defending a dog - so he hears a haunting melody about dogs that have escaped, and the cry that went up from across the town of “Who let all these dogs escape? Where have these dogs gone? Who did this? Who? Who? WHo? WHO??” and it’s haunting, it’s terrifying, just the sheer panic in the peoples voices as they call for who the – who’s the culprit?? – who’s done this terrible deed????

Ja Nus Hons Pris
Richard the Lionheart
Ja Nus Hons Pris

In the late spring of 1193, Richard I composed a song. It was a ballad of melancholy and abandonment, of frustration and homesickness. The haunting melody accompanied lyrics written in Occitan. It is known, after its first line, as ‘Ja nus hons pris’. It is a song that would survive more than eight centuries.

The lyrics of the two most famous verses are:

Ja nus hons pris ne dira sa raison

adroitement, se dolantement non;

Mes par confort puet il fere chancon.

Moult ai amis, mes povre sont li don;

honte en avront, se por ma reancon

sui ces deus yvers pris.

Ce sevent bien mi homme et mi baron,

Englois, Normant, Poitevin et Gascon,

que je n’avoie si povre compaignon,

cui je laissasse por avoir en prixon.

Je nei di pas por nule retracon,

mes encor suit ge pris.

———

No man imprisoned tells his story

rightfully, as if he were not sorrowful;

but for comfort he can write a song.

I have many friends, but poor are their gifts;

shame on them, if for my ransom

I must be two winters imprisoned.

It is well known by my men and my barons,

English, Norman, Poitevin and Gascon,

that I do not have the poorest companion

whom I would leave to remain in prison.

I don’t say this for their reproach,

but still, I am imprisoned

Dan Jones‘The Plantagenets: The Warrior Kings and Queens Who Made England’

The Safety Dance

Summary: The Bughead Homecoming slow dance we didn’t get in 1x11

Song: The Safety Dance by Sleeping at Last (Men Without Hats Cover) (X)

Jughead scanned the perimeter of the gymnasium, looking past the overload of blue and gold streamers and balloons to watch his classmates step onto the dance floor, their smiles shining just as brightly as the decorations that Betty and her Homecoming committee had worked so hard to set up all afternoon. 

“I’ve never seen so many sequined-lined dresses and uncomfortable-looking footwear in one room before,” Jughead muttered, glancing at a girl from his history class wearing much-too-high heels hobble her way to the opposite side of the room. “This is a new experience for me.” 

“Yeah, well you clearly did not go to the Riverdale Riverdance Club’s annual dance recital in the first grade,” Betty told him, smoothing down the silky fabric of her dress with one hand and reaching out to regain her balance with the other as one of her classmates brushed past her on their way to the refreshments table. “Being backstage in that dressing room was an experience that I’ll never get out of my mind.” 

“Well joke’s on you, Bets, because I was there,” Jughead informed her, meeting her eyes with a leveled stare and willing himself to keep a serious face. 

“Really?” Betty’s heart skipped a beat, her mind traveling to the notion that had always lingered in the back of her thoughts, but never dared reach the surface - Jughead had always been there for her all along, supporting her in everything she did and waiting for her to come to her senses and - 

“Yeah, I was the short one in the back row with two left feet and zero rhythm,” Jughead joked, his lips twitching up into an amused grin as he watched the realization of the joke form on her face. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” Betty mumbled, pushing back Jughead’s shoulder and silently shaking off the thought she had just let cross her mind, cursing herself for her being so self-involved to think such things.

A crackle sounded from the speakers surrounding the stage, and soon the gymnasium was filled with echoes of pretty melodies and haunting vocals that caused Betty’s head to snap up in surprise. “Juggie,” she breathed, clutching his suit jacket with both hands, the fabric clenching between her fingers as she leaned into the touch. “I love this song.”

This song?” Jughead gaped at her, his eyes widening and his lips turning up into a mocking smirk. “You love a song that was written as a message to bouncers to stop kicking dancers out of their clubs for pogoing on the dance floor to 80′s new wave music? That’s what we’re going with here?”

“In case you haven’t noticed by now, this particular version of the song is beautiful,” Betty defended the current song playing over the speakers, tugging on Jughead’s jacket sleeve and lightly pulling him towards the middle of the dance floor. “Dance with me?”

“Bets, I wasn’t kidding about that two left feet thing,” Jughead told her, a look of panic washing over his face as he watched the other couples swaying back and forth in time to the music all around him. “I nearly broke my cousin Etta’s big toe trying to waltz at my great aunt Mitsy’s wedding when I was seven. It was traumatic for both parties involved, but I was the one that ended up with the therapy.”

“Please, Juggie,” Betty begged, taking a step forward to close the gap between them, leaning in so that her nose barely brushed the tip of his. “Just this song.”

Jughead’s heart flipped in his chest at the way she was looking at him, all soft eyes and sincere smile, the qualities about her that she knew made him weak in the knees. 

“You’re really hard to turn down when you do the fluttery thing with your eyelashes like that,” Jughead caved, finally letting himself be pulled completely into the crowd of swaying dancers just as the music began to pick up. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, her hands sliding up his arms and snaking around his shoulders to rest comfortably there as he gently placed his own hands on either side of her waist.  

“See?” she breathed as they began moving to the soft and steady beat of the music. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

“Betty Cooper, I could be skydiving into a shark-infested pool with you and I’d think it was the most natural, life-fulfilling experience of my life,” Jughead admitted, his chin flicking downwards so that he could meet her gaze with warm eyes. 

“Well there’s no way you’d find me anywhere near a pool of sharks or a tiny plane that could crash to its death at any moment so I think that we’d better stick with dancing,” Betty informed him. “I think it’s safer that way.” 

Jughead raised a shocked eyebrow in her direction as the realization of the humorous timing she had just created with her use of the word “safe” sunk in. “Did you really just say that?” 

“Yeah, I think I did,” Betty winced, shaking her head in disappointment at her own accidental pun. “I kind of hate myself for it too.” 

“You should,” Jughead teased, his eyes dancing amusedly as he reached up to smooth down a flyaway strand of golden hair sticking to her forehead. 

“You look happy, Jug,” Betty pointed out, her gaze focused on the genuine smile plastered on his face as they continued to sway to the beat. “Happy looks good on you.” 

“Well I think I can safely say that you are very much a prime factor in the reasoning for that,” Jughead told her, not the least bit concerned with his own use of the word “safe” anymore. As the lyrics continued to pour from the speakers, Jughead realized that the word, and the song, and the dance, had struck a chord with him in a way that he didn’t think possible. “No matter what’s happening on the outside - Jason, Polly, my parents, your parents - I always feel safe, almost lighter somehow, whenever I’m with you. And in case this wasn’t clear, there have been very few times in my life where I have felt that way. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite like this before.” 

“Neither have I,” Betty breathed, her gaze locked in on Jughead’s. The vulnerability that they were both feeling seemed to linger in the air for a few seconds before disappearing completely, and Jughead pulled Betty tightly to him, hoping that this moment could last much longer than a three minute slow dance. 

“I wish this song could play forever,” Betty whispered into his ear, and Jughead smiled at her uncanny ability to read his thoughts like she always did. 

“Well I don’t think I’m ever going to stop this moment from replaying in my head,” Jughead admitted, pulling back from their embrace to place a gentle hand on her smooth cheek. “So in a way, I think it will.” 

Just as the last note rang out, lingering for a moment and then fading out completely, the crowd of dancing bodies dispersed all around the dance floor, knocking into each other as the next song began to fill the speakers. But even as the upbeat lyrics overtook the soft and gentle atmosphere that they had just blanketed the room, Jughead still held onto Betty, his forehead resting against hers and their eyes closed as they both continued dancing in their minds, never letting the song or the moment or the feeling of safety they felt with this slow dance, ever fade from their memory. 

daft as a brush | daab

genre | college au.
summary | she is called a whore, a slut. jeongguk is called the most gorgeous young man, a dandy little fellow. and both do the same: fucking around.
warnings | cursing, mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, quarter-graphic smut.
word count | 5968.


College, in real life, was not a place to study like how many thousands and hundreds of people assumed; it was more of an idea that housed in people’s heads: get in, study, get your diploma, get out, work or university or whatever the people wished to do. In actual life, college was a code name for throwing the biggest and most unorganised parties, taking a sniff of crack in a dimmed dorm room, for sexting under the table when the professor wasn’t looking - not that they would do anything if caught, in fact, they couldn’t care less - and most importantly: it had classifications of its own.

To be fair, everyone knew what really happened behind the facade so if the students weren’t stopped by the campus security then no one really cared: their mistakes, their life, whose problem?

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part seven of my never ending attempt to bring krypto on the show

anonymous said: For Krypto! Headcannons, does Clark ever get his act together and visit with Kara/Krypto/Lena?

i am going to pretend i have thought of this before

  • it’s a few months later into it, a few months of getting the routine down, a few months of waking up to krypto’s nose poking into her cheek and teeth nibbling at her clothes when clark comes down for a visit
  • and oh, kara knows there’s issues-issues, it’s easier to call it that, something little, something manageable than what she actually thinks which is more along the lines of why did you leave me, why did you leave him- but she still gets excited at the thought of him visiting
    • alex and lena share a look. they do not tell her what this look means.
      • trust her, she asks. they remain silent on the issue

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