this is why i live in my bedroom

Things that annoy me #458

When my mother procrastinates…

“Hey look, we have company coming tomorrow, that’s actually staying with us… rather than get cleaning and do some stuff, let me leave for my doctor appointment 3.5 hours early to meet a friend for lunch before my doctors appointment…because my house will clean its self, the guest bedroom sheets will magically be washed/dried and put back on the bed all by themselves….and oh, I have church tonight so I’ll just stay up late and clean.”

Which means— she’ll be staying up “late” to clean and complain and gripe, and yell that “nothing is clean, this doesn’t go there, I never get any help, this is why I don’t have company over..”

Oh the joys.
I miss living in my apartment- alone. Where everything was clean, all the time, because I clean up after myself.
:deep breath:

Mean while–I’ve been cleaning the past few days and all morning.

one thing I’ve started doing recently is: taking pictures of very ordinary things. I’ve spent years taking pictures of amazing moments, incredible adventures with friends, skies that looks like painting and stuff I feel grateful I’ve had the chance to experience with my own eyes. but do you have a pictures of the street you live in? the front of the house you’ve been living most of your life? I don’t have a single picture of my mom’s old red car, the one she used to bring me to school every day (and that our cat sneaked in to gave birth to three kitties on the backseat of it) I don’t have pictures of my old bedroom with the lovely lilac walls. I don’t have even a single picture of the jumper I’ve worn so many times I had to throw it away because it was ruined. not a picture of our front door that once my dad painted pink “just because why not”, and my sister’s lovely dollhouse. I am sorry for that - I’ve spent so many time looking for the “extraordinary things” forgetting all the rest

“Paying Guests” (Part 1)

Pairing: Steve x Reader x Bucky

Summary: When a need arises, Steve and Bucky on a whim lie about their sexuality to you. Unbeknownst of their purpose you let them stay with you, in your apartment. But what happens when they start falling for you? And what will be the outcome of their harmless tall tale?

Word Count: 3341

Genre: Pure floof, throughout the series

Warning: none

Author’s Note: enjoy! 

Next Part 

(not my photo*)

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Potion No. 9

pairing: daveed x reader

requests: could you do Daveed X younger reader, where reader is like 18-20 and they start dating and the reader’s parents get really weirded out over the age difference?

summary: it’s time for daveed to meet reader’s parents. that’s it that’s really all i’ve got.

warnings: swearing, smut, semi-public/public sex, D/s, daddy kink, light bondage, praise kink

word count: 4,320

a/n: title is part of title of a sandra bullock movie but i used it as lyrics from lotus flower bomb by wale, which i recommend u start to play during the sexy time at the end ok. i know it’s barely still valentine’s day but I WROTE THIS all in one day it’s been a wild ride. i wanted to get this up ASAP but i’m messy and wanted to write one more sex scene i’m sorry buds but i hope you enjoy it anyway!!!!!!!!!!


“Are you ready, babe?” You peer into the mirror, adjusting the clasp on your necklace. The small heart-shaped garnet glints in the light and your heart flutters, remembering Daveed gifting it to you just this morning.

“Just a second,” he shouts from his bedroom. “I can’t get this fucking tie on straight!”

You snicker, tucking your lipstick into your small clutch. “Come out here and I’ll do it for you.”

Daveed grunts and shuffles out into the living room with his suit jacket draped over one arm and a sour look on his face.

“Why are you pouting?” You ask, fingers deftly untying the crooked knot and starting over again.

“I’m too old to not know how to tie my own tie,” he huffs, shoving one hand into the pockets of his dress pants.

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anonymous asked:

is it weird that I feel weird seeing the bedroom... I feel like I'm intruding... its weird

im just fucking confused why he’s doing a live show in there in the first place. 

dan: i don’t really want to show the internet my bedroom 

also dan: *proceeds to turn the laptop around and show the internet basically every corner of his bedroom from numerous angles* 

Lucky you, I’m drunk watching TSoT again, cuz i went thru the.list and realized hey what other episodes matter, right? Here we go: The game is, drink whenever you wanna forget s4 and that Mary was never given the chance to be a true villain and mastermind of the Moriarty network thus invalidating her relationship with John and solidifying Sherlock and John’s true love:

- There’s gotta be a faster way to steal gold.

- All Sherlock texted was “Help,” and Greg brought friggen helicoptors. He’s worse than John.

- Aaaaahhhh…I almost forgot what good cinematography looks like.

- Why does Mrs. H say “you always live alone”? Goddamn EMP, get your filthy paws off my favorite episode.

- Oh sure, one of the main characters got married in this episode, but we’re not gonna show tge ceremony at all, and his first word spoken will be “Sherlock.”

- I hate Mary but she’s so pretty and I love her dress

- David looks like he knows he’s gonna be a Surprise Parent in 9,783 fics.

- When will we see Harry. When will we see John’s bedroom. When will we see the truth. Why is my tequila pink.

- Goddamn every time Sherlock and Mary interact it’s so purposefully easy. They work. They’re like siblings. She’s so smart. TST would have never happened. Goddammit.

- Whenever I’m about to do something uncomfortably sociable I imagine Mycroft saying “Minnngling…?”

- Okay, I get the Greg and Molly thing. He stands so close…

- It bothers me that the Best Man Proposal is the only scene we see the kitchen from that angle. Seems like a different flat.

- God fuckin damn I love the editing of this whole fucking episode. I need a sandwich.

- John flirtily saying “Nnnyess?” while Sherlock is freaking out about the best man thing is downright indecent.

- John trying not to cry during the speech is cruel. Let the man feel.

- Their entire friendship is contained in John saying “wait til I sit down.” And the fact that John reacts to everything in this speech a millisecond before Sherlock says it. Cuz he knows what he’s gonna say. Cuz they’re meant for each other. I hate this episode.

- There is a man bleeding out, Sherlock, control your libido.

- He said, abOut the stag night: “There’s hoyrs if material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.” I SEE YOU, MOFTISS. WITH THE EDITING PUN. GIVE US THE GAY BAR SCENE.

- I need 12 minutes of the theme i dubstep, please.

- Sherlock gets so much campier when he’s drinking. AND SO DOES JOHN.

- The most interesring thing about the knee grab “I don’t mind,” line is that it was clearly ADDED IN POST. They organized time to sit Martin Freeman behind a microphone to more clearly Insert. That. Line. Whyyyyyy. Releaseee meeeeeee.

- Sherlock drunkenly realizing his hand was behind John’s back is EVERYTBING.

- “WITH A GHOST MR. HOLMES.” Okay so let’s not acknowledhe thT this while thing mirrors TAB or whatever. So mucb fake death in tbis show. I wish s4 was fake, cuz that was a death if ive ever seen one

- Okay, tbis is definitely a two sandwich problem

- WHIP IT OUT, SHERLOCK

- I like how Sherlock basically says “no more murder and mystery” and then in ten seconds it turns into a murder mystery. SUCK IT, MARY.

- BBC Sherlock shows John Hamish Watson coming up the stairs with groceries more times than it shows him embracing his actual wife. HMMMMMM.

- “We would never do that to John Watson,” with his deduction face on. They.are both in love with john, and he just confirmed it.

- “Oh wbat a niiiiight.” I hate this episode.

Desperate Times and Desperate Measures

Darcy stopped just inside the door. “Oh my GOD,” she said, her head falling back. “They STILL haven’t fixed the heat?”

There was a beat of silence, and then, “No. They have not.”

Darcy tossed her purse at the kitchen counter, letting the door slam behind her. “Okay. Right. We’re going to my place.”

“Thanks. No.”

Darcy leaned over to unzip her boots, grinning at nothing in particular. “Harris. You’re going to freeze to death. Are you really choosing freezing to death over spending one night under Tony Stark’s roof?”

“Let me think about it.” Another moment, then he said, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Right,” Darcy said. She didn’t bother taking off her hat or her scarf. It wasn’t warm enough to warrant it. In her stocking feet, she headed through the kitchen, glancing over at the living room as she walked towards the bedroom. “I’m getting your stuff. And then we’re going to my place.”

“No,” the pile of blankets on the couch said.

Rolling her eyes, Darcy headed for the bedroom. Halfway there, she stopped. Did an about face. And scrambled back into the living room. “Are you wearing my jacket?

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Quote Writing Prompts
  • 1: "Yeah uh - Yeah no, that sounds awful."
  • 2: "Please... Don't leave me here. Don't leave me alone, without you."
  • 3: "So, that went well."
  • 4: "You're awful. I love it."
  • 5: "What the hell do you think you're doing, exactly?"
  • 6: "Is that... lipstick, on your collar?"
  • 7: "Did you do this?"
  • 8: "You know what? This place feels like home."
  • 9: "Oh shit. Am I - Am I in love? That's not supposed to be happening. That's not right."
  • 10: "Who are you? Where am I? What is this? WHAT IS GOING ON?!"
  • 11: "Dear (name), First of all, I'm so sorry. I really am."
  • 12: "I can't do this anymore."
  • 13: "So what, you're just gonna leave?"
  • 14: "Did you honestly think I wouldn't figure it out?"
  • 15: "You really think you can beat me? That's cute."
  • 16: "I'm tired of you. I really am, at this point."
  • 17: "Oh, just digging myself a nice grave, you?"
  • 18: "Shhhh. This is my favorite part."
  • 19: "Hey, can I hold your boobs for a sec?"
  • 20: "I think I may have found a song that accurately describes how I feel toward you."
  • 21: "Is that necessary?"
  • 22: "I don't like it."
  • 23: "I'm getting bad vibes... We should go."
  • 24: "HA! Loser!"
  • 25: "You wear me out, kid."
  • 26: "Is this a joke? This is a joke, right? You're joking."
  • 27: "The washing machine broke, I almost lost my keys, the car got dented, and a wasp got into the house and hijacked the bedroom for four days! Four. Days."
  • 28: "You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me."
  • 29: "You kiddin'? That's brilliant, c'mon!"
  • 30: "So what do you say to this: you, me, a nice big glass of milk, a thing of cookies?"
  • 31: "My hero."
  • 32: "That was harsh."
  • 33: "You better pipe down. I'm not laughing."
  • 34: "So you're really gonna do this, huh? And nothing I say can change your mind?"
  • 35: "So uh. I noticed you're kinda naked. Is that intentional, or... ?"
  • 36: "Why is there a dog in the living room?"
  • 37: "They mixed up our reservations. One room. One bed."
  • 38: "Oh boy. I'm on the weird side of YouTube again."
  • 39: "You, my friend, are a filthy sinner, and I approve wholeheartedly."
  • 40: "Did you mean like... this?"
Hiding Places

Trigger Warning: Physical Violence 

“Jack, is there a place for you to hide?” I looked at the little boy, he nodded his head. “Take my phone and call your daddy. Don’t come out until he comes for you!” I handed him the phone as he ran up the stairs.

Opening the closet, I found Hotch’s golf clubs, pulling one out, it was about to become my weapon of choice.

XXX

Morgan looked down at his phone, smiling. “Hey beautiful.”

“Uncle Derek, someone is in the house, I’m hiding, Aunt (Y/N) told me to call. Please come help. I think she’s hurt.”

Morgan felt sick to his stomach. “Jack, you stay put, you’re dad and I are on out way. You stay on the line with me.”

Hotch looked up when he heard his son’s name. Hearing just Morgan’s side of the conversation, he got the team ready to head for his house.

XXX

I heard them talking. “Kill the baby sitter, take the boy.” I prayed I could keep Jack safe until Aaron got there. He was my responsibility, I heard footsteps coming near me. I swung on club for the knees, and one for the head.

The first kidnapper went down, grabbing the bag he had with him, I tossed iy down the hall. Grabbing his ankles, I pulled him down the hall. “Damn, he was a big boy.”

I left him in Hotch’s office, looking in the bag, I found duct tape and zip ties. I secured him, so he wouldn’t get away, leaving the office, I quietly left the room. Looking for the other man or men, I wasn’t for sure how many there were.

Creeping down the hall I listened, the sound of boots were up stairs. Picking out two new clubs, I carefully went up the stairs. I was jerked from behind, picked up  and thrown on the floor.

The force making me drop the clubs, I was picked up, hands wrapped around my throat. My body slammed against the wall, the air knocked from my lungs. “Where’s the boy?”

The death grip on my throat was loosened. “Go to hell!” I was dropped to the floor then kicked in the ribs. I let out a yelp of pain, crawling across the floor, I picked up the golf club.

Rolling over, I swung up, right between the man’s legs. I rolled over to me knees, pushing myself up. Hitting him again in the head, as he straightened up. He started to come after me as I leaned against the railing, I moved out of the way, and shoved. 

He landed with a thud, on his back in the living room below. I sank to the floor, hearing the screeching of brakes. I crawled towards the bedrooms, looking for Jack.

XXX

I woke up with a start. “JACK….JACK!” I tried to sit up, but my ribs protested.

“Take it easy beautiful. Jack is fine he’s out in the waiting room with his Hotch.”

“He’s safe, they didn’t get him?” Derek brushed the hair back from my face. 

“Thanks to you, he’s safe and sound.” He leaned forward kissing me. “Why didn’t you hide?”

“I had to make sure he was safe….that he was protected. I need to buy Hotch new golf clubs.”

“He’s already said not to worry about it considering you risked your life to safe Jack’s life.” His hands caressed my face. “I was terrified I was going to loose you. You’re my whole world, I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you too. I wasn’t going anywhere.”


THE END

Why Taylor Swift Is The Greatest Living Songwriter (Under 60) Taylor

I recently found myself at a BMI Awards dinner where the song publishing rights organization was handing out some career achievement awards, the first of which went to the classic ‘60s team of Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil. And then they gave one to Taylor Swift, in one of those cases where they have to name the award to the person it’s being given to because it feels a little too uncomfortable to give the standard “lifetime” award to someone in her 20s. In her speech, Swift gave props to her elders: “I first wanted to say to Cynthia Weil, to Barry Mann, and to Carole King, you, the Brill Building, your legacy, are the reason we do what we do. Many of us in this room can’t dream of accomplishing what you guys have accomplished.”

Except she already has. And (heresy alert!) more. Swift is a rightful heir to the Brill Building tradition, with all the mastery of pop craftsmanship that entails, but she’s also the finest contemporary inheritor we have to the confessional singer/songwriter throne. She’s Barry Mann and Bruce Springsteen, together in one silver metallic mini dress-wearing package. That’s why I say Taylor Swift is our greatest living songwriter—under-60 division, just to be safe. But I digress.

I am glad I’m alive in the prime era of Taylor Swift the same way I felt glad to be alive in the half-century of Dylan and Springsteen and The Beatles and Costello. I’ve leaned forward into my first listens to 1989 and Red the same way I thirsted for the on-sale moments of The River and Nebraska and Imperial Bedroom and Time Out of Mind. These are the moments — all too infrequent in the 2010s, if you’re a recovering rock snob — that you live for as a music fan and especially singer/songwriter aficionado: the opening of a magazine you subscribe to, in which the editor-publisher has promised to bleed onto every page in some fashion. You look forward to admiring the craft and you want to know that you’ve been handed the next six months’ or year’s worth of earworms all at once. But most of all you want to feel you’re about to make that passionate connection with a deep-feeler who knows you better than your own best excuse for a best friend.

Where Swift is most like the great confessional rock writers, and least like the Brill Building set, is in her propensity to fill her songs with seemingly stray details. If you’re writing by the books, you learn early on not to include random asides that throw listeners out of the commonality of the lyric. But Springsteen, Dylan, Costello, et al. have faith that, whatever is lost in relatability by including something specifically autobiographical is a gain for fans who know that that weird minutiae confirms the rest of the emotions as authentic. When Swift interrupts Out of the Woods to mention “Twenty stitches in a hospital room/Remember when you hit the brakes too soon,” that’s about as un-Brill as Bruce talking about Crazy Janey and Greaser Lake. But the specificity of the bridge makes the universality of chorus more meaningful, even if the unstable relationship you’re being reminded of by the song didn’t involve a visit to the ER. It may seem peculiar to the 21st century that we can confirm who the significant others in Swift’s songs are by picking out lyrical details about eye colors or fire signs or scarves and checking them against her exes. But is finding out whether All Too Well was about Jake or Harry that terribly different than the thrill of figuring out whether Dylan’s It Ain’t Me, Babe was about Suzi or Joan, but with Google taking the place of waiting years for a biography?

The position that Swift is Actually Quite Awesome is not nearly as controversial among the older white guy set than it would have been a few years ago. You only get a B for courage now, not the former A, if you speak up at a cocktail party and say, “No, I don’t mean it’s good for what it is, or she’s a positive role model for my daughter or a gateway drug to Courtney Barnett, I mean she is truly the shit.” (Crickets may still ensue, mind you, if no longer outright shaming.) You can attribute this in part to Ryan Adams, whose album-length cover version of '1989’ did a fairly excellent job of indie-splaining Swift to people who only needed to hear that her songs could be rearranged in the styles of The Smiths and Elliott Smith to sign off on her. As much as I enjoy Adams’ '1989’, it falls just a little short as reinvention, or revelation: You kind of sense him wanting to get credit for being the first to discover that Swift’s frothiest sounding songs all have minor chords and melancholy under the Max Martin-ization. The real problem with Adams’ interpretations—which is not a fatal problem, given how good Wildest Dreams sounds as an R.E.M. song—is that he doesn’t really have that much use for the words, given how uninterested he is in emphasizing particular words or phrases and how he throws away some of the best lines. (To be fair, this is pretty much Adams’ approach toward his own lyrics, too.) Not that with Swift the lyrics are everything, when she has such a gift for melodic delights and surprises… but, yeah, the words are kind of everything.

Going back to Swift’s 2006 self-titled debut now, it sounds a little primitive, in retrospect. Which is fine: “primitivist” is exactly what you’d expect or hope for from a girl who released at 16 an album of songs she’d mostly written at 14 and 15. No one should sound 30 as a teenager, unless she’s Fiona Apple. (Hearing Apple’s eloquent teen jadedness when she was a freshman artist felt as impressive and spooky as Captain Howdy’s voice coming out of Regan MacNeil’s mouth.) At the time, it was a widely held assumption that co-writer Liz Rose was the brains of the operation. But you couldn’t help but notice that the best song on the album, Our Song, was a solo Swift composition, penned before she had access to the best song editors Music Row could offer. It sounded utterly conversational , establishing Swift’s knack for writing in complete sentences in a way that sounds completely diaristic and completely musical. It embraced both metaphor (“Our song is the slamming screen door”) and the meta (being one of those songs that is self-conscious about how it is, in fact, a song). It was winsome, guileless, and juvenile—in the best way—on top of being freakily expert for a song written by an underclassman for a school talent show.


Two years later (Swift’s follow-up albums have always been two years later, up until now), she came up with Fearless, which was so much more accomplished that it won her the Grammy for Album of Year, the first time that’d been accomplished by a record made by a teenager. But looking back at it now, you can see it was the only time she ever really marked time, stylistically, as a record-maker. The breakthrough that mattered was 2010’s Speak Now, which was her first real “pop album” (at least for those of us who pay attention to content and not the officially mandated tropes that insisted that honor belongs to '1989’). Just this once, she wrote the entire album by herself, in a rather deliberate F-you to everyone who figured she’d been propped up by Nashville pros. Similar auteurist turns by pop and country artists with points to prove have not always gone so spectacularly but Swift used the opportunity not just to defend but to diversify, as great writers and investors will. This DIY show of tour-de-force ran the gauntlet of effervescent girl-group pop (the title song), Evanescence goth-rock (Haunted), cheerful neo-bluegrass (Mean), girl-on-mean-girl pop-punk (Better Than Revenge), and even a token transitional single in the country-folk style of the first two albums (Mine).

'1989’ is the masterpiece of her career so far
'Speak Now’ also incidentally included the most searing, stark, boldly confessional song by a major artist since John Lennon’s Cold Turkey. (Hyperbole intended.) This was Dear John, a slow, epic-length missive to a love-'em-young-and-leave-'em type that was jaw-dropping in its vulnerability and rage. Never mind the lucky stroke that apparently had the rock star who used and discarded Swift being a guy really named John; Swift does like her literalism, so she probably wouldn’t written a public dear-John letter to a Tom, Dick, or (even) Harry. It’s a ballad that creates the illusion of the artist having vomited onto the page—for those of us who like that sort of thing—but actually belies a severe level of craft beneath the bile. The song rises to an emotional victory, as Swift goes from paying witness to “all the girls that you’ve run dry (that) have tired, lifeless eyes 'cause you’ve burned them out” to being the one who “took your matches before fire could catch me, so don’t look now: I’m shining like fireworks over your sad, empty town.” Compare this to the other great fireworks song of 2010, Katy Perry’s, and there is simply no pyromaniacal contest.


With 'Red’ another couple of years later, she bid a fond F-you to her own previous F-you and reintroduced co-writers to her stable, now adding Max Martin and Shellback as collaborators on a choice trio of songs, as if to say: I dare you to knock this block off. Aside from the handful of tracks with those guys, though, 'Red’ felt more like a classic singer/songwriter album than anything she’d done before or certainly since. It was all about lost love, and hardly for the first time, but now Swift was jettisoning her “better than revenge” approach to achieving payback in song and taking equal responsibility for relational failures, and it was all very sensitive and self-examining and enlightened. So when I got my first listen to the determinedly frothier '1989’ a couple of years still later, I lamented the loss of the previous album’s hard-fought breakthroughs in songwriting maturity.

Lamented it for about two minutes, that is. '1989’ is the masterpiece of her career, so far, and that’s not withstanding the thick gloss of candy coating that covered the whole endeavor now that Martin was fully on board as guiding executive producer as well as hands-on guy on about half the tracks. The meme favored by some critics, that Swift had sold out on us with all this interference by the reigning kings of the pop machinery—and after all we’d done to defend her as an artiste!—was misguided even by the usual standards of stick-up-one’s-ass bias and entitlement. It may seem counter-intuitive, for those of us who usually live and die by singer/songwriter yardsticks, to say that '1989’ is Swift’s most mature album, when there is barely a guitar anywhere in earshot for the singer’s tears to fall upon. But as it turns out, it is possible to talk intelligently, walk in rhythm, and chew bubblegum at the same time.

Yes, '1989’ is a less outrightly emotional album than any of its predecessors. Swift herself has said it’s the first time she wasn’t writing in the wake of a heartache. And that’s part of what makes the album so seasoned and smart. If all the previous albums were her “breakup album,” '1989’ is her maybe-we-are-ever-getting-back-together album. It’s about being just a little bit rueful about past relationships—in a less world-ending, drama queen-y fashion than the take-no-prisoners approach that admittedly made a lot of us fall for her in the first place – and largely about that impulse to reconnect, even as you sit by the phone and consider what a terrible idea that would be. She’s thinking back on a breakup that wasn’t that traumatic (possibly one with Harry Styles, if we’re to take the cheeky title of Style literally), and considering every negative and possible angle to rekindling an old flame. As a result, a lot of the songs on '1989’ are about mixed emotions, which are by and large the hardest kind to write.

She understands more brilliantly the power of dynamics — that even the most grandiose song can benefit by suddenly getting completely naked for 40 seconds.

And here is where we quote another great pop writer, F. Scott Fitzgerald, who famously said: “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.” Swift is showing us that first-rate intelligence when she encapsulates the divisions we all experience as we find the good and bad in people, lovers and otherwise: “You always knew how to push my buttons/You give me everything and nothing.” “Ten months sober, I must admit/Just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it.” “This love is good, this love is bad/This love is alive, back from the dead.” As the CEO of her own corporation, Swift has had a lot of time to think about risk/reward ratios. Grappling with that in matters of love is part of her giftedness and increasing talent as a writer.

I think again of the congratulations Ryan Adams got for bringing out the sadder emotional undercurrents in '1989’’s material. He deserves some of it, but it’s not as if Swift didn’t make that a fairly easy discovery. Bad Blood is the most blatantly confectionary song on '1989,’ with a sing-song-y quality of the chorus makes you think Avril Lavigne, if you’re making comparisons. But would Avril, or any other pop star you can bring to mind, have interrupted the beats and chants for a lengthy, virtually a cappella bridge that brings the mood down with its warnings about bullet holes and living with ghosts? It’s akin to the hyper-produced song on her previous album, I Knew You Were Trouble, where Swift puts an end to all the dubstep to very quietly wonder, almost sotto voce, whether the object of her affections ever loved her, the other girl, “or anyone.” In the big beat era, she understands more brilliantly the power of dynamics—that even the most grandiose song can benefit by suddenly getting completely naked for 40 seconds.

Blank Space, meanwhile, shows Swift to have under-heralded skills as maybe the greatest comedy writer since Eminem. As probably everyone who wasn’t completely divorced from pop culture in 2015 knows, Swift wrote it as a sort of spoof of her own image as a serial romancer (which is to say, a girl known for dating about half as many partners as a typical guy her age). When she says she’s got a blank space “and I’ll write your name,” it’s understood that she means she’ll write an excoriating song about the dude later on—she’s in on that joke. But amid the nearly Randy Newman-esque humor and exaggeration, there’s a real undercurrent of pain and possible self-knowledge. The time limits that come up in lines like “I can make the bad guys good for a weekend” and “Find out what you want/Be that girl for a month” don’t sound like they’re being played strictly for ironic laughs.

She is maybe the greatest comedy writer since Eminem.

Is she a spokeswoman for a generation? You might be on thin ice using that kind of phraseology for someone who spends so little time writing outside of the relational realm. But Swift does have an understanding of impermanence that seems uniquely millennial. She’s talked about how she looks at the length of her parents’ marriage and no longer takes it as a given she’ll find a lifetime partnership, which would probably come as a surprise to the younger Swift who wrote Love Story. But she finds a haunting beauty in what we might call planned obsolescence. “Wildest Dreams” pulls off the particularly tricky time-traveling feat of looking ahead to a future in which you’re looking back to the past… and of being intensely sexy and rueful at the same time. “You’ll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night, burning it down,” she sings. “Someday when you leave me, I bet these memories follow you around.” That moment when you’re in the heat of passion, leaving your body just long enough to realize you’ll be nostalgic for it someday? If you’ve ever experienced it, you probably never thought somebody would nail it in a song.

Not that you have to be a millennial to be capable of considering how things are likely to end even in the midst of everything going right. I was trying to remember what song the future-nostalgia of “Wildest Dreams” reminded me of, in some weird, roundabout way, and then it came to me: Dylan’s You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go. It’s maybe heretical to compare the bard with this girl from the north country, but not so heretical to say: Great minds wistfully think alike. And we should all feel a little lonely if either of them ditched us.

Can you write an imagine where the reader turns off her humanity because Enzo tells her Stefan doesn’t feel the same way that she does. 21 47 110


Hey guys, I’m sorry I haven’t been posting a lot. I’m going through some things. My mom has cancer so I’ve been really distracted. Trying my best to keep it together, love you all. And thanks @rock-n-magick for helping me write this, give her some love.



“Oh, for God’s sake! If I catch you eye raping Stefan one more time, I fear I might have to gauge my eyes out.” Your best friend’s voice made you look away from the youngest Salvatore.

“Enzo!” You scolded, kicking his leg.

“I’m only speaking the truth, love.” He grinned.

“I wasn’t eye raping him either, I was simply admiring from a far.”

“I’ll never understand why you keep chasing after him, he’s in love with Elena.”

You stayed quiet, folding your arms over you chest. “I know he is, but I also know he likes me. I mean, we have chemistry.”

Enzo sighed, leaning his head against the couch. “What will make you believe me? What will make you see that Stefan doesn’t feel the same about you?”

“Enzo they’re friends, that’s it.” You shook your head, why was he so obsessed with that topic?

“One day the light will shine bright and open your eyes, then you’ll see.”


A couple of weeks passed and it was the perfect day to take a walk. Enzo strolled into the boarding house, walking past the den to get to your room.

Suddenly Enzo paused and turned around, as something caught his eye. Stefan was on top of Elena, their eyes locked. None seemed to even notice him; there was something in the air; it made Enzo pull out his phone and sneak a picture.

“Y/N?” Enzo said softly, walking into your bedroom and shutting the door.

“Hey! I was just about to call you, wanna grab a couple drinks at the Grill?” You smiled warmly.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew what he was about to do would hurt you, but it just had to be done. “I need to show you something, Y/N.” he spoke slowly.

“What do you mean? Is everything okay?”

Enzo sat on the edge of your bed. “As your best mate, I will no longer allow Stefan to toy with your emotions. I will no longer allow you to be so blind.”

You peered at the photo Enzo was showing you. You felt something in your chest knot up and tug harshly. You blinked slowly and the silent tears fell down your cheeks as you looked up at Enzo. “But… But I thought they were just friends… We had so much chemistry and such a bond and I- I-” You stumbled, chest heaving as you felt your heartstrings break. You felt so many emotions flood over you that you collapsed into Enzo’s chest.

“Y/N, you can’t be this blind, Stefan and Elena belong together! He doesn’t love you, he never truely has and he never will, okay? Open your eyes!”  Enzo ran his fingers through his hair.

You sat and stared, confused as to why you weren’t bleeding all over the place, even though your heart had just been crushed and battered. “Why? Why doesn’t he love me? Am I not good enough? Why does it hurt? Enzo, it hurts.” You craddled yourself numbly. “…Everything hurts.”

It seemed to him a good idea at the time.  “Turn it off.” You faced your best friend, cheeks moist with tears. Enzo cupped your cheeks. “It’s okay to turn it off, nothing will hurt anymore. Okay? You’ll feel nothing.” Your eyes searched his one last time before a dull look filled them. The last unshed tears fell as you blinked, face finally expressionless.

You pulled away, wiping your cheeks. You threw your hair into a high pony tail and grabbed your coat. “You were right… I don’t feel anything.” You turned towards Enzo. “And my God, it feels good.” You smirked.

He stared at you, taking in your new attitude. “Where are you going?”
“Have a snack. Are you in?”

“Why not? It seems like I got a new murder buddy.” Enzo laughed.

It was past midnight when you look around; bodies upon bodies littered your bedroom floor. You and Enzo had been celebrating life in general by drinking and feasting, completely disregarding the human lives.

“Try her!” Enzo spoke over the music as he nudged you the girl he was curently sucking dry. You grinned, brushing her hair our of the way as you began gulping down her warm blood. Enzo watched you in amazement before joining you on the other side of her neck.

Suddenly, the music stopped. You looked up to see Stefan holding the remote in his hand, arms crossed, an annoyed look on his face. You smiled, blood dripping down your chin.

“What the hell is going on?” Stefan scanned all the bodies that littered the floor.

“Hi Stefan.” You smiled and pushed the girl off your bed, her body hitting the floor. “Came to join us? We’re celebrating.”

“You turned your humanity off.” Stefan observed.

“I did! And it’s been a blast!” You giggled, Enzo eyed you.

“Enzo.” Stefan’s low voice accused, but before Enzo could speak, you went on.

“Alright, ‘dad’. If you’re here to complain, you might as well just turn around and leave.”

Stefan looked back at you, surprised. Ever since you two met, you had never used that tone with him. You always spoke to him with chaste adoration, but now it seemed as if he was only a bore, some stranger that was in the way of your fun.

“Well, I do live here.” He commented, crossing his arms. “Your behavior is unsettling.”

“Well,” you mimed him, “Some people would also find unsettling the view of you and Elena almost having sex downstairs, but hey! Not me!” You chuckled emotionlessly as you watched his eyes widen from your comment. “Ah, this is so boring. Enzo, come on. Let’s go before daddy gets us grounded.”

As you walked past him, Stefan felt a heavy weight settle on his heart. He glared at Enzo. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Enzo stared back at him; a flash of doubt in his eyes. “So do I.”


Stefan couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head, he couldn’t believe what was happening. You were one of the most compassionate people he knew, you rarely fed from people, blood bags only. You cared for human life but now you were tearing through people like there was no tomorrow. 

A knock rang through the house, pulling him from his thoughts. 

Liz stood at the door, a grim expression on her face. She held a file and looked at Stefan. He knew this was about Y/N. “Everything okay?”

“Not even close. Stefan, Y/N has ripped through the town like a plague, she’s killed more than 20 people in the last week. People are noticing and I can’t keep blaming peoples heads being ripped off on some animal.”

Stefan nodded, “I’ll talk to her.” 

“Fix her.”

“I will.”


You stumbled in, a guy strung around your waist as the two of you walked towards your room. You planted your lips to his sloppily as you opened your bedroom door. 

Stefan sat on your bed, no expression on his face. 

“Whose this?” The guy beside you quizzed.

“No one, baby.” You smiled and glared at the youngest Salvatore. You turned towards your guest and told him to go to the den and get some whiskey. He quickly stumbled out. “You’re ruining my night.” 

“Am I?” Stefan shrugged. 

“What is this about? I have plans for tonight.”

“Like screwing that guy’s brains out and then draining him?”

You smirked to yourself. “Jealous?”

“Yes.”

You walked over and placed yourself on his lap, gripping his shoulders. “It could always be you, just ask.”

“Not when you’re like this.” Stefan gripped your hips and removed you from his lap. 

“I’m not like anything, Stefan. This is me, accept it and move on.”

“This is not you.” Stefan could barely contain his anger, he felt like you had died and someone was living in your body and using your voice.

“It is-”

“You know something, Y/N? You’ve only heard his point of you, you never asked for mine.”

“What the hell are you getting at?” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“What Enzo saw last week was nothing. Elena and I were just-”

“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit” You turned to walk out the door. Stefan had you pinned against the wall in an instant, his face inches from yours. “Get off of me!” You growled and pushed against him. 

“Stop.” He said calmly. 

“I don’t wanna here this, Stefan I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about anything okay! Now mov-”

“Shut up and listen to me!” He screamed, his hand gripping yous roughly. “Just listen.” He took a breath. 

You weren’t gonna let him bully you, you stared into his eyes with defiance. “What happened last week was an accident. Elena ingested some wolfbane and she was losing it. She came after she and I pushed her, it got crazy and I fell when I was trying to restrain her. Yes, I still love Elena, but you never stop loving your first love. She won’t be my last though, okay? I love you, Y/N. I love you, not her. I want you, not her. And seeing you like this is breaking me.”

You looked away, his stare was too intense. “Don’t fight this, turn them back on. Turn your emotions back on and come back to me.” Stefan pleaded, his hands cupping your cheeks. His eyes were pure and pained and you knew they were honest. 

And just like that all everything came onto you like a wave, you felt like you couldn’t breath. Tears ran down your cheeks and you felt ashamed that you had terrorized the town. “Oh, what have I done!” You cried into Stefan’s chest. 

“It’s okay, you’ll forgive yourself.”

“I hurt everybody, I hurt you.” 

“It’s okay, shh shh.” He cooed and cradled you. “Please never leave me like that, I almost lost you.”

Love me like love is more than just a word. Make it action, make it choice, make it commitment. Don’t try to be perfect. Don’t try to love me perfectly because you are not perfect and neither am I, some days we will crash and burn but it’s whether or not we escape from the wreckage that matters. So when we have those arguments that make peace seem like a distant memory, take the time you need to cool off but make sure you come back.
Motivate me. I’ve always been quite the dreamer, but some days the world gets the best of me. My body keeps moving but everything else feels dead, and everything including you feels further away than it should be. When that happens, pull me close. Tell me that you’re here, tell me that there’s more to live for, call it soul to soul resuscitation. Bring me back to you.
Don’t give up on understanding me. I know that on most days my mind is more like a really messy bedroom and finding sense in all of the chaos may prove to be difficult but please, don’t stop trying. Keep talking, keep asking questions, refuse to get tired. See, I know a lot of words. I know temporary. I know brief, short-lived, fleeting. I don’t quite get the word stay. It tastes weird on my tongue, probably because I’m more used to people doing the opposite. I guess that’s why I’m always prepared to write goodbye poems, and why I’ll be expecting you to leave once you see the person behind all of this poetry. Please, don’t go. Prove me wrong. Stay.
—  How I desire to be loved. // Maxwell Diawuoh, Once A Day (362/366)

alwayssaltontherim  asked:

I just go gaga at the height difference between Rick and Michonne. They have a good height and body ratio to each other. They fit so perfectly. I can just see him manhandling her in the bedroom with consent of course and it's just yum. Dom Rick is my kink. Lol

I live for their height difference. Which is why this picture has been my lock screen since February. 

Michonne is jussst the right amount shorter than Rick. (I remember Danai saying they were very interested in her height when she auditioned, and I have to wonder if the potential for this pairing had anything to do with it.) And yes, they are perfect for one another in every way, right down to their body types. Lean, athletic. You can tell Michonne was in the gym all the time, and Rick probably ran a lot, maybe for work, but since the apocalypse, he’s worked out other thangs. 👀 

And I really love how Rick asserts his dominance, but he still manages to be tender with it. The way he took control on that couch, but was still so very gentle, keeping all the romance of the moment in tact. And even in the van, that slow roll he does to get on top, he’s all considerately holding onto her back as he does it. 😄And it was preceded by belly kisses! Ugh, it’s so good. He’s so good. Like it’s in the same vein that he walks around with a baby on his hip, and a machine gun strapped to his back, and I just really love me some Rick Grimes.

You Died

Author: Juju

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Summary: Sebastian comes home only to find you crying. He freaks out, thinking something happened, but he calms down once he figures out what’s going on.

Warnings: A smidge of angst but it’s hardly there. A shit ton of fluff.

A/N: This happened like 2 minutes ago. There are still tears in my eyes. I don’t know why I decided to re-watch The First Avenger.

P.S. I just realized that I’m on my period and that’s why I’m so emotional. I’m sorry.

Originally posted by itsjustmycrazyvibe

“Y/N! I’m home!” Sebastian called out as he walked into your shared apartment. He turned to the living room, where you usually were when he came home, only to find it empty. He went to the kitchen, but you weren’t there either. On his way to the bedroom, he heard you sniffling and picked up his pace in fear.

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The Birds and the Bees, Part 2 (Jughead x Reader)

Part 1

Imagine: In preparation for your first time with Jughead, you seek out advice and guidance from your friend, Archie. As you spend time with Archie, Jughead starts to get the wrong idea.

Warnings: Discussion of sexual acts (no smut though!)


“What’s it like to have sex?”

Archie sputtered the water he’d been drinking, staring at you incredulously. Jughead had went to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Archie with just enough time to ask the million dollar question.

“Why?” Archie asked, getting red in the face.

You groaned. “Because I think Jughead and I are gonna do it soon and I’m scared.”

After admitting to Jughead you were ready to become physically intimate, you began taking part in what Veronica referred to as “heavy petting”. Which was simple enough, but the act of sex itself was a whole other ballgame, and coming sooner than you were prepared for. The Internet was a confusing source of information, so you figured you’d search for a firsthand account yourself.

“Why don’t you ask Betty or Veronica?” Archie said.

“It could make things weird between them and Jughead if they knew all about our business. You guys are like brothers, and frankly, I trust you more.” You smiled hopefully. “Plus, you know what guys like.”

Archie groaned, burying his face in a pillow. “This is too weird.”

“Please?” You whined, pouting.

He sighed, relenting. “Fine. We need more time, though. And we meet in private. I don’t want someone overhearing and telling Veronica what I’m talking to you about.”

Jughead returned. “Hey guys. What are you talking about?”

You smiled sweetly, a plan concocting. “Archie just offered to accompany me for my voice solo for the solo-ensemble competition! So we need the room a couple of times a week for a while.”

Jughead raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t I be here? I live here.”

You feigned a frown. “I’m really self conscious about my voice, Jug. I can’t focus if I know you can hear my singing. It would make me feel a lot better if you were downstairs while we’re rehearsing.”

Jughead shrugged, wrapping an arm around you with a smile. “Anything for my girl.”

Your eyes met Archie’s across the room and you grinned mischievously. Operation: Birds and the Bees was in effect.

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This Isn’t Love

MASTERLIST

Word count: 1,911

A/N: Not requested, but felt like writing this.

This Isn’t Love

I locked myself into the apartment after a long day at the studio. I was worn out and extremely tired, so all I really needed was a good sleep.  

“Hey baby” I called out, stepping through the door.

“Hey Shawn” y/n mumbled back at me.

I walked in and found her sitting on the couch, in a rather dark lightning, just starring out in the room.

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A/N : Been working on this for the last few days. A bit of a long one. Hope you enjoy :) <3 xx
kay



[Y/N] knocked twice on the Parker’s door, backing up against the adjacent wall, she waited to be let in. [Y/N] knew that she was extremely early but also knew that Peter wouldn’t mind. Knowing them, it was probably a good thing that she had arrived a few hours earlier than they had originally planned because this science project was not going to get started until really late tonight if not at all. She could just tell. In all honesty, the two of them shouldn’t ever be allowed to be partners for anything school related. It always ended the same. The two would lounge around on his bed or in her basement, listening to music, exchanging their unrealistic life goals, eating enough Chinese takeout and pizza to end world hunger. And hours before the project was due, the two would scramble, stay up all night, trying to glue and cut their way into some bullshit work that always ended up in a B-. 

The door opened, revealing Aunt May smiling bright. “Hey, kiddo.” She moved aside, allowing the teenage girl she’s known for years into the apartment. Aunt May adored [Y/N] and there was a big part of her that hoped that Peter would see what kind of girl he had right in front of his eyes. Anytime she tried to mention the topic of whether or not Peter liked [Y/N] more than just a friend, he’d freak out and change the subject, forcing May to drop it altogether until next time. 

“Hey, Aunt May.” [Y/N] said casually. She had been calling May, Aunt, for years now even though she wasn’t actually her aunt. It had began as an accident when Peter was helplessly trying to get her attention at a football game back in middle school. [Y/N] had climbed halfway up the fence and shouted Aunt May so loud that the entire game paused. And ever since then, it kind of stuck. 

Closing the door behind them, she moseyed on back to the kitchen where she was finishing up the dishes. “Planning on staying for dinner?” May asked, flickering a look towards the [hair color]. She had been prepping a slow cooker meal all morning. 

Grinning, she took a seat at the breakfast table, “Depends on what you made.” 

Chuckling, May shook her head and whipped a half wet towel in [Y/N]’s direction. “Have you ever turned down my cooking?” She placed a hand on her chest as if she was insulted and betrayed. “Have I ever cooked you a meal that was unsatisfactory.” 

Squealing loudly when the towel was inches from her shoulder, she laughed out. “You know I’ll always stay for dinner, Aunt May.” Resting her chin on her hand that lay flat on the table, she sighed. “Especially now more than ever.” 

May frowned, “Still that bad?” 

Groaning, she ran both hands through her hair. “Yes. I just wish they’d just agree on everything and get divorced already.” Her fingers toyed with the mess of pens that were no doubt from Peter’s backpack. “It’s frustrating and then when they do sit down and divvy things up, they fight over who’s going to take me.”

May kept her frown on her face. She hated that [Y/N] was in this kind of battle. Turning around, she popped open a container that had all sorts of baked treats inside. Sliding them over, she leaned against the counter. “Who would you choose?” 

“Neither.” [Y/N] said as she bit into an oatmeal raisin cookie. Groaning with her mouth full, she looked at May and half smiled. “How about I just move in with you and Peter.” 

May chuckled, “You know that door,” pointing towards the front door, “is always open to you, kiddo. Always.” Putting the lid back on the container, she firmly stated. “Always.” 

[Y/N] was about to respond with gratitude but was interrupted by Peter stumbling out of his bedroom. He wore a stupid, tired grin on his face while his hair looked like it had been through hell and back in his sleep

“Morning, sunshine.” [Y/N] spoke with humor in her words. Glancing down at her watch, she snickered. “It’s only half past noon.” 

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Off-limits

Originally posted by jennellaay

Off-limits
[Junoflo falls for the one person he’s not allowed to]

Even after being here for a year Sam still couldn’t get over how Seoul was. The booming nightlife that never seemed to sleep, the growing hip-hop scene that was thriving in the smallest parks in Uijeongbu. It was both awe-inspiring and dumbfounding.

He took a sip of his beer as he found himself being drawn into a crowd of people just spitting a few bars.

The true essence of hip-hop was always found in neighborhoods. People just rapping about what they knew, and what they loved. It didn’t matter the language, the message was the same.

“Aye, Juno what’s poppin?” Dumbfoundead chimed, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh Hyung, what’s good?” he grinned. “What brings you here?”

“Meeting Jessi and YOX tonight, but I had time to kill. You wanna spit some?”

Figures, Dumb had a way of bringing the culture with him, no matter where he went. “Nah, Just watching tonight.” His eyes wandered to the next rapper who seemed to unwillingly get the mic. He was instantly peaked hearing the English roll off your tongue. There was something about the waviness of your rap, and how easily you found the rhythm.

It was familiar yet unrefined.

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Drive In Confessions

Word Count: 1,711    

   A/N: This was requested by NoaCohen17 on Wattpad, i hope this is what you wanted!

Originally posted by betty-and-jughead


MasterList

    It was the last night that the Drive In was going to be open, and as expected Jughead was upset. He had been a mess all night, although Y/N was the only one who knew it, he wouldn’t dare to show anyone else how he actually felt. They knew he was upset of course, but they never saw him cry over the matter like Y/N did, she was his absolute best friend and his crush. The Drive In had a final showing, and everyone left as soon as the movie was over, everyone except for Jughead and Y/N. They sat on the ground on a blanket discussing the next movie they were going to watch.    

    “Whats next?” Jughead asked quietly, and Y/N shrugged.    

    “Whatever you want Juggie, this is your night.” she said tenderly.    

    “No, its our night, this was our favourite hang out and its about to be demolished. This is just as much your night as it is mine.” he said, sniffling and trying to hold back tears. Y/N rubbed small circles on Jugheads back, and leaned her head on his shoulder, staring off at the screen.    

    “I honestly don’t care what we watch, as long as I’m with you this night will be special.” she said, and Jughead nodded, standing up. He held out his hand to Y/N and she took it, and he pulled her up. She stumbled and crashed into his chest and he caught her, chuckling and staring down at her. She backed away and tried to hide her crimson blush, brushing herself off.    

    “Whats so funny, Chuckles?” she said, and Jughead laughed even more.     “Whats so funny? Maybe the fact that apparently you don’t know how to stand on two feet. Have you been standing long, princess?” he teased, and she blushed even more at the nickname.    

    “You’re an ass, why am I friends with you?” she asked, walking towards the film room.    

    “Because I’m your ass.” he called, walking after her. She stopped in her tracks and turned around.    

    “Wow, cringe alert.” she said, and Jughead rolled his eyes.    

    “You know what I meant.” he said and she shrugged.    

    “Do I really?” she teased and he gave her a slight shove.    

    “Yes, you know me better than anyone.” he said in a serious tone, and she nodded.    

    “I better, I’m your best friend and I don’t want any secrets between us.” she said, and he nodded.    

    “Are you keeping any secrets from me?” he asked and she tensed up slightly.    

    “You don’t need to know.” she said, and grabbed her arm as she tried to walk away.    

    “Woah I don’t think so, you just said there shouldn’t be any secrets between us.” he said, staring down at her.    

    “"Are you keeping any secrets from me?” she asked cheekily, and he stared down at the floor. “Wow, your poker face really crumbles when it comes to me.” she teased.    

    “Yeah whatever.” he huffed. “We should probably get these secrets out of the way, shouldn’t we?” he asked and Y/N blushed, slowly nodding her head.     “Yeah, I guess.” she looked up at the raven haired boy. “You should probably go first.” she quickly added, earning a chuckle from the boy.    

    “Fine, I guess I will.” slowly he walked the rest of the way to the little shack at the back of the Drive In and stopped in front of the door and turned to face the (Y/H/C) haired girl. “Please don’t get mad at what I’m about to tell you.” he said quietly, and she looked at him worriedly.    

    “Okay…” she said. Slowly, he opened the door to the little room and let her peer inside. Her eyes fell onto a small mattress with blankets and clothes on it. She saw a few pictures around the small place, and she turned to face Jughead. “Are you…?”    

    “Yeah.” he said quietly. “You already know whats going on with my dad of course, but I got tired of it so I moved out. I didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go so I came here.”    

    “What do you mean you had no where else to go, you could of come to live with me!” she exclaimed, and she saw his face fall even more. “Im sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, its just you could have come and stayed with me. You know that right?” she said quietly, grabbing onto his shoulder and forcing him to look at her.    

    “Your parents wouldn’t of allowed it.” he said, and it was her turn to spill a secret.    

    “About that.” she said, giving a nervous laugh. “I don’t exactly live with my parents anymore.” she said, and he looked at her wide eyed. “Please don’t tell the others, they’d take over my house and throw a party, and I cant stand seeing people at our school already, I don’t need to hate them at my house as well.” she said and Jughead laughed.    

    “I wont, I promise, but what do you mean you don’t live with them anymore?” he asked.    

    “Well, as you know my parents aren’t all that great either. You know how they were never home and I practically take care of myself anyways, so I got a job and moved out of my house. I’m in a small two bedroom one bathroom apartment and its super cheap but kind of shitty but hey, its better than living with parents who don’t care about me.  At least this way I have a reason to take care of myself, and its my own roof so its my own rules.” she said. Jughead slowly nodded his head.    

    “Why didn’t you tell me before, you have to be careful Y/N, theres a murderer on the loose and having you alone scares me.”’ he said worriedly and she giggled.    

    “You’re the one to talk, this place has the shittiest locks ever, I could kick down your door in .02 seconds. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d freak out.” she said, and he nodded his head in agreement.    

    “Touché.” he said.    

    “Anything else you have to take off your chest?” she asked, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms across her chest.    

    “Well, there is one thing, but I don’t know if I want to say anything.” he said and she rolled her eyes.    

    “Come on, you can tell me.” she said, and Jughead sighed. “Wait, don’t tell me, I think I know what it is.”      

    “"What?” he asked, tensing up. There was no way she would know, is there?    

    “You’re an alcoholic.” she said seriously, and Jughead shook his head. Y/N giggled. “I know that’s not it, you’re just taking way too long to tell me whats actually up.”    

    “I didn’t find it very funny.” he said, staring down at the ground.      

    “Wow, and there goes your sense of humor. Seriously Juggie, whats up, just tell me.” she pleaded. A sudden burst of confidence coursed through Jughead and he took a deep breath.      

    “Fine, here it goes.” he started, and Y/N perked up. Jughead took a few steps forward until he was right in front of Y/N. His gaze fell upon her face, and she looked up questioningly up at him.      

    “Jughead, what’s going on, I thought you were going to…” she trailed off as Jugheads gaze went from her eyes to her lips, and she quickly caught on to what was about to happen. “Oh…” she said as he started to lean down. He paused right before his lips met hers.      

    “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his breath fanning out across her face, sending shivers up her back. She stood on her toes, closing the gap between the two of them. They stood there for what felt like hours, his lips on hers. pouring every emotion they could into this one kiss. Y/N finally pulled away breathlessly, staring up at the handsome raven haired boy that stood in front of her.

    “Thats quite a secret you’ve been holding onto.” she joked, earning a smirk from Jughead.      

    “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you were keeping the same one.” he said, grabbing her hands and leaning down close to her again.    

    “Its a shame you didn’t tell me earlier.” she whispered and Jughead chuckled, moving to close the gap between them. She quickly pulled away, moving towards the shelves of movies, searching for one to watch. Jughead watched as she looked through the films, and she slowly turned around smirking.      

    “You’re such a tease.” he said, walking towards her.      

    “Not a tease, just impatient to watch our last movies here.” she stated bluntly, still smiling. “We have our whole lives to celebrate our little secret, but we only havetonight to celebrate the Drive In.” Jughead nodded, looking through the movies as well. He pulled out (Y/F/M) and showed it to her, and she lit up.      

    “My favourite!” she exclaimed, and he laughed. “Are you sure that’s the one you want to watch?” she asked, and he nodded.      

    “I don’t care what we watch, as long as I’m with you this night will be special.” he said, and she leaned up and gave him a peck on the lips. Jughead set the movie up, and it started rolling.    

    “Well then, shall we?” she asked, holding out her hand.      

    “We shall.” he said, taking it. They exited the small shack and Jughead turned to close the door.      

    “You do realize I’m being serious about you living with me.” Y/N said, walking back towards their spot. Jughead watched her as she walked backwards, smiling at him. Sure he was heartbroken about this being the last night he had at the Drive In, but this night still was a good one. He may be loosing one important part of his life, but he gained another, and he felt like Y/N was going to make it all okay. For once in a long time, he felt happy, truly happy.      

    “I never doubted it.” he called, jogging to catch up with her. She plopped down on the blanket and Jughead sat beside her, wrapping his arm around her. She snuggled into his side, and they sat there in silence, enjoying the last night there in eachothers company.


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