veins of the forest

“What A Ride” A. Andrews x Reader imagine

WARNING(S)  Okay I have only one thing to say… don’t drive and get’s fingered by your boyfriend at the same time! Reference of fingering. / not edited \

IMAGINE ABOUT: When you and your boi go on a interesting ride. 

Archie reached across the table and laced the fingers on our right hand together, igniting that familiar warmth. A half-smile bloomed on Achie’s lips as he glanced at my neck for a moment before he glanced at my neck for a moment before meeting my gaze. He did that a lot–stared at the hickey he gave me. And every time he did, this look would flash in his eyes just for a second, like he was overwhelmed with what it meant. 

“Have I ever told you just how much I like you?” 

My own lips tugged upwards. “Not nearly enogh.” 

He lifted our intertwined hands and pressed a kiss against my fingers, turning the flame that sizzled between us into a forest fire which burned pleasantly alond my veins. “I really, really like you, Y/N. Like, a lot.” 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” 

Archie chuckled, his dimple teasing me. “Your pride’s going tto end up killing you one day.” 

I stuck my tongue out in response. And then. “Are you finished your milkshake? Or do you want to sit here all day and discuss more of your deepest, darkest secrets? The lunch menu did look pretty tempting…” 

Every day this week we had gone out for either breakfast, lunch or dinner, but never two in one. Archie would stroll into whatever room or class I was in all casual, and tell me to get ready, or tell me we were leaving. It had become a thing. Having lunch here would definitely break some kind of rule, and I personally liked the little routine we had going. 

“Definitely finished.” 

After paying the bill, Archnie and I exited the dinner and climbed inside his car. It wasn’t until we were ten minutes into the ride, singing along to the radio that I noticed we weren’t taking the usual route home. 

“Where are we going?” I asked. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the line,” Archie replied, grinning. 

“Yeah, well, I’m free styling,” I dead-panned, turning down the radio. “And you’re deflecting.” 

He chuckled. “We’re going nowhere, babe.” 

Archie,” I groaned 

Y/N,” he mimicked 

“Come on, for all I know you could be taking me to a slaughterhouse where I finally meet my end.” 

The sound of Archie’s laughter filled the car. “A slaughterhouse? Seriously, where do you came up with this stuff? I’m going to start writting them down.” 

“Okay, so maybe I watch a lot of horror movies. Sue me.” 

“Yeah, don’t I know it.” 

Okay, and perhaps I had talked Archie into watching one or two horror movies with me, and it was very possible the he wasn’t the biggest fan of the genre. But in my defence, Veronica had forced Titanic on Betty and I three times in one week, and I fugured it was as good a way as any to replace the heartbreaking imagine of Leonardo DiCaprio sinking at the bottom of the ocea. 

There was totally enogh space on that door, contrary to Betty’s beliefs. 

“I take that a s no, then?” I said

Archie rolled his eyes. “You’re relentless. We relly are going nowhere, Y/N. I just feel like driving arond for a while.” 

“And why’s that?” I asked, not buying it. 

“Because I want you all to myself for a little longer before we have to go back home when privacy is a luxury the universe clearly doesn’t think we deserve.” 

Oh. 

A small smile toyed on the end of my mouth. “Okay,” I said, just like that. “You win. But if we’re just going to be driving around—” 

“No.” 

My mouth fell open at Archie’s abrupt interruption. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!” 

He rolled his eyes. “No, you can’t drive my car. Is that better?” 

So maybe I had asked Archie a few dozen times if he would let me drive, and maybe his answer was the same every time. And maybe I had stupidly told him about the incident with mymother’s car back in April. But I hadn’t sat behind the wheel of a car, much less driven one, since I’d got here. And with Riverdale territory, I was craving speed. 

Luckily for me, we reached a red light, so like the evil enchantress I was turning out to me, I leaned over and closer the gap between Archie and I. Resting one hand on his thigh, I whispered, “Please?” in his ear. 

Archie cleared his throat. “No.” 

Slowly, I dragged my fingers along the inside of his thigh, causing him o grip the steering wheel that little bit tighter. Then I pressed a kiss against the sensitive spot under his jaw, and when my tongue flicked out, tasting his warm skin, I knew I had him. 

Y/N.” 

“Mmm?” I hummed as I kissed along his neck, feeling his pulse vibrate against me. 

“You’re going to make me crash.” he said breathily, and I realised het the light must have turned green. When my tongue glided across his senstive spot again, Archie surrendered. “Fuck.Okay.” 

Just like that, I pulled away, settling back into my seat. “See, that wasn’t too hard, was it” I said, all casual, as if my pulse wasn’t fluttering out of control ass well. 

I was so going to Hell. 

Archie turned into an empty-one way street and pulled over on the side before pushing his seat as far as it was build to go, taking off his seatbelt and then taking off mine. 

“What are y—” 

Archie efforlessly lifted me from my seat, as if I was a feather, ignoring my surprised squeal. And then he placed me between his muscular thigs, my back pressed against him and his hands holding my waist. Luckily for him, his choice of transport today had been his spacious Range Rover, which had enogh room in the driver’s seat for us both, considering the fact that I was plastered all over him. 

I knew this was too good to be true. 

“Come on, you didn’t really think I was going to let you behind the wheel of my car all by yourself, did you, babe?” Archie said, his deep voice vibrating against me. I could feel his heart beating wildly, a sign that he was still flustered. 

I runed my head and glared at him, but his smut smirk only grew. “I’m not a child, Archie. This is ridiculous,” I huffed. 

“I prefer the term compromise.” And then “Well, what are you waiting for? I thought you wanted to drive.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

Still, I turned on the ignition and started driving, realising that Archie had purposefully choosen a desolate area where there was only a plethora of trees on both sides of the street. I could go as fast or as slow as I desired, and there was no way we were going to get pulled over for our very illegal seating arrangment. 

I hadn’t really been paying much attention to the fact that I was sitting between Archie’s thigs with my ass and back pressed against him, or to the fact that his delicious scent was clinging to me, or even the fact that I could feel every breath he took. But when his hands moved from my waist to rest on top of my thighs, thanks to the mini denim skirt I was wearing, the realisation hit me like a ton of bricks and it became very hard to concentrate. 

Archie much have noticed my grip tighten on the steering wheel. “What’s wrong?” he asked,, all sweet and casual. 

Guess he was going to be joining me in Hell. 

“Nothing,” I answered, speeding up a little bit. Yes, I thought. This was good. Go faster. 

And then Archie spread my legs apart ever so slightly and pressed a soft kiss under my ear, and everything inside me liquified. Payback was a bitch. 

“What are you doing?” I asked breathily, thankful that there we no cars or pedistrains lurking around because this was deifnition of dangerous, times a thousand. 

Archie’s tongue and teeth glided sensationally across my neck, pausing only to kiss my hickey. “Concentrate on driving Y/N,” he said in a low voice, his fingers trailing like tiny snakes along my thigs, travelling higher and higher. Goosebumps scattered all over my skin. 

“I can’t,” I rasped, leaning further against his solid chest. When I did, I felt that Archie was just as turned on as I was, and I knew then that I was definitely going to wrap this car around a tree. 

“You can,” he whispered, continuing to rain kisess all over my neck and collarbone. When he pushed my skirt up, fingers brushing slowly–painfully fucking–slowly against my lace panties. I all but slammed my foot down on the brake. 

Concentrate on driving, my ass. 

Archie chuckled into my neck, the sound deep and husky, and doing my arousal absolutely no favours. “Park on the side of the street.” 

I had never been so happy to follow one of Archie Andrew’s orders. 

Once I had safely parked, Archie turned me around so that I was stradding him, my skirt now pushed all the way up to my hips. His lips immediately found mine in a surprisingly soft, slow kiss, turning my bones into honey. It was like Archie needed me to know that this was all him– that he was in complete control. 

With our lips fused, I tugged the bottom of Archie’s henley, wanting to feel his skin and muscles in all their glory. We broke away for only a moment as he pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it on the passenger seat. 

Thank God for tinted windows and empty streets. 

And the hell with giving a damn. 

My hands snaked across Archie’s chest–across his heart– over his broad shoulders and rested on his muscular back. When his hand went in between my legs and his fingertip instantly found the right spot, stroking slowly and gently, everything inside me imploded wonderfully. 

Archie..” I moaned his name like my favourite prayer, titling my head back in pleasure. 

“Look at me,” Archie said, his deep voice coated in desire. 

I did as told, meeting Archie’s beautiful eyes, and then I felt the urge to kiss the life out of him. His mouth curled upwards in a half-smirk and then his finger slipped inside me, causing me to cry out in euphoria. 

Oh, my God.” 

“That’s not my name,” Archie said and I cold hear the wolfish grin in his voice as his fingers continued to caress and explore, sending a series of tremors down my entire body. Then he slipped another finger inside me and my nails clawed at his back, cluthing on for a dear life whilst his touch incinerated me. 

“Open your eyes, love.” 

I menaged to shake my head in response, unable to do anything other than gasp and moan waiting agonisingly for my release. This was pure heaven. 

Archie used his other hand— the one that wasn’t totally destroying all my self-control– to gently pull my chin towards him so he could kiss me, and another tsunami of delight crashed oover me. “Please?” he asked softly, lips gazing mine. 

My eyes fluttered open but they were hooded and I was so damn close to my release, I could feel the anticipation spreading all through my limbs. My nerves crackled and sputtered like sparklers before electicity surged through every atom in my body. 

“You’re the prettiest fucking person I’ve ever seen,” Archie rasped, his expression one of awe and appreciation. 

And then he finally granted me my release, and I exploded like a supernova, inadvertently dragging my nails alond Archie’s spine and digging then into his lower back as I cried out in pure, unadulterated exstasy. My lungs felt positively destroyed and I was sure my ribcage was going to shatter and splinter my organs, the sensation was that intense. I was left panting and most likely sweating as I leaned my head against Archie’s shoulder. 

Holy fucking shit. Archie Andrews was a goddamn wizard. 

I felt Archie raise his hand to his mouth and I knew, without even looking, that he was licking his fingers tasting me. “Perfect,” he mumbled. Then he pressed a kiss into my hair and let his hands go under my t-shirt, resting his palms on my lower back. I wrapped my arms around his neck: sitting like this, it felt something close to home.

“Sorry about your back. Think I drew blood,” I mumbled into his warm skin, though I had a suspicion that he actually liked it when I clawed his back. 

I felt his laugh before I head it. “It’s okay. Sorry in advance about your sore throat,” he teased. It was his fault for being so damnn good with his hands/ 

I lifted my head from his shoulder to stick my tongue out but stopped short when I was the look of absolute, unwavering devotion in his eyes, and the lazy smile on his face. He was the picture of serenity. So, instead, I kissed his chest, then his collarbone, his neck and then his jaw, which I felt clench. 

“Y/N,” Archie said. “I really, really don’t want our first time to be in a car.” 

I smiled and pressed a final kiss against his cheek before looking at him. 

“That’s good,” I replied. Neither did I. 

“I’m not a saint, though.” 

This time I laughed. “No shit?” 

“You’re terrible,” Archie responded. “And I’m being serious. Any self-control I had left is hanging by a thread. 

“If I’m not mistaken, you were the one who hive me a nuclear orgasm. I was merely an innocent bystander.” 

Archie grinned, dimples and all. “Nuclear, huh?” 

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.” 

He chuckled. “Y/N Y/L/N, if I didn’t know you any better I’d say I just rocked your world. And it’s barely even midday.: 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Next time. I’ll do the honours.” 

Archie shook his head and looked up, like he was hoping the roof would open and then the sky would split in half and God would hand him some of that self-control he wanted to bad. “Our first time is not going to be in a car,” he told himself. 

I tried not to laugh. “You said that already,” 

“It’s not,” he insisted, and then groaned when I kissed the senstive spot under his jaw. Purgatory was completely out in the question for me. 

“What were you saying again?” 

And then In a flash, I was off Archie’s lap and sitting in the passenger seat, and he was wearing his henley again. I was laghing so hard whilst I put on my seatbelt. I thought I was going to run out of the little oxygen I had left in my lungs. 

“You,” Archie sad, out of breath, as he turned the car on, “Babe, are you sorceress.” 

“Pot. Kettle. Black.” 

“I didn’t remember you complaning.” 

This time I did stuck my tongue out. 

Archie just laughed. “Best breakfast ever.” 



I really, really hope you like it!



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As Long As You're Okay (Paul Lahote)

My legs couldn’t possibly move any faster but I tried anyway.

I couldn’t remember what I was running from, all I knew was that it struck fear in every vein in my body.

“Paul!” I screamed, pushing up the incline that the forest provided.

“Paul!” I screamed again, tears flowing freely down my face.

I kept running, and running but I knew this entity was gaining on me. I felt its presence along my back, felt it’s heavy breathing on my neck.

“Paul!” I screamed one last time before the entity snaked its hand around my throat.
********
I woke up drenched in sweat. My pajamas sticking to every inch of my body.

“Shit.” I muttered into the empty room.

I grabbed my phone to look at the time.

‘1:22 am.’ I thought.

It was almost time for Paul to get off from patrols and I couldn’t let him see me like this. The man goes out every night looking for vampires for crying out loud, the last thing he needed after yet another long night was coming to see me and me panicking over a nightmare.

I got some fresh clothes and headed to the bathroom to rinse myself from the disgusting amount of sweat the nightmare produced.

When I got out, Paul was climbing through my bedroom window.

“Hey, baby.” he greeted, nearly knocking himself out on the window pane.

“Hey.” I greeted, trying my hardest not to let the terror I just went through show.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting himself at his usual seat along my bedroom wall.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just haven’t been to sleep yet.” I lied, walking over to him.

I was welcomed by open arms and gladly leaped into them, wrapping my arms around his inferno of a torso.

I was just getting comfortable, finding solace in the presence of Paul and the unusual silence he brought with him tonight.

“Y/N, you’re shaking.” he whispered, taking my hand in his.

It was then I realized that I was in fact shaking, and I couldn’t even stop it.

“Y/N, baby, tell me what’s wrong.” he urged, turning to face me, stroking his thumb over my cheek.

“It was just a dumb ass nightmare.” I answered, my voice coming out too hoarse to sound even remotely convincing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, pulling me back into him.

“No.” I answered honestly, burying my face deeper into his chest. My tears starting to drench his shirt.

“Okay. Then, we’ll just sit here.” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“No, Paul, baby you need to sleep. I’ll be fine, it was just a nightmare.” I said, trying to wiggle out from his embrace.

“What I need is for you to be okay. You don’t need worry about me okay, baby? You just let me take care of you. As long as you’re okay? I’ll be perfectly fine.” he said, pressing a gentle yet passionate kiss to my lips.

And that’s the last thing I remember before drifting off into a perfect, dreamless sleep.

I was thinking about how sea salt that you boil in to crystals yourself is so much more potent….and I was writing about maple wine, so it all got me thinking about maple syrup/maple sugar. In some ways, maple sugar and sea salt are perfect opposites – what appears to be clear, pure water, boiled unrecognizable, emerging crystalline, the only difference salty or sweet. And making maple syrup/sugar is a PROCESS: gathering buckets of sap from around the woods, stumbling over snow banks and bushes to bring it to the sugar shack, boiling the sap and constantly feeding the fire for hours and days, going through more wood than you could imagine and watching a gradient of amber spread through the pans, darkening in to rich sweet syrup. If you want to make sugar, you take it boil it even more, evaporating the last of the water in it, the last memory of how it used to flow in a forests’ veins. It takes some 40-80 gallons of sap to make a gallon of syrup, more to make sugar. And making syrup with someone gets real…for a time, you’re popping in and out to go collect the rest of the buckets, but after a while it’s just you and them in a small, maple steam filled shed, usually drinking something homemade and of questionable alcohol content, talking through the day and the night. Or by yourself, with your thoughts and your wishes and your ghosts, though I’ve never done this for long, just fractions of an hour, unlike friends who have spent days there boiling away heart break or trying to get their head and pans level. 

If you need something strong to protect you, you can’t do much better than homemade sea salt. But if you need to barter something, to trade for something big and important and true, I wonder if a homemade maple sugar candy might get you what you’re looking for. 

I imagine you bring it to the edge of the forest. Or more likely, that corner of the dining hall where no matter what hour of the day someone is drinking coffee and almost done a paper they never seem to finish. All the right words… “if it would please you,” what you seek, and their reply, “and in exchange?” So you make your offer: the blood of a forest’s platoon impervious to their wounds, a fire tended, a confession you would never have made otherwise, a week of your life. They are delighted, to get so much for what now seems like so little, and greedily they reach towards you, ready to take what you have promised, and before their hands, or not exactly hands anymore, can find you – you place it on the table. A small maple sugar candy. You’ve pressed it in to a maple leaf mold because hell, if you’re gonna do this you may as well do it right. The air freezes for a second, and you feel your blood still as you wonder if you have misjudged…and then you feel it begin to thaw, the sap to run again. It smiles at you. It doesn’t mind clever, and fortunately for you, it’s a fan of sweet.

[x]

The way we see the world shapes the way we treat it. If a mountain is a deity, not a pile of ore; if a river is one of the veins of the land, not potential irrigation water; if a forest is a sacred grove, not timber; if other species are biological kin, not resources; or if the planet is our mother, not an opportunity - then we will treat each other with greater respect. Thus is the challenge, to look at the world from a different perspective.
—  David Suzuki

I was thinking about how sea salt that you boil in to crystals yourself is so much more potent….and I was writing about maple wine, so it all got me thinking about maple syrup/maple sugar. In some ways, maple sugar and sea salt are perfect opposites – what appears to be clear, pure water, boiled unrecognizable, emerging crystalline, the only difference salty or sweet. And making maple syrup/sugar is a PROCESS: gathering buckets of sap from around the woods, stumbling over snow banks and bushes to bring it to the sugar shack, boiling the sap and constantly feeding the fire for hours and days, going through more wood than you could imagine and watching a gradient of amber spread through the pans, darkening in to rich sweet syrup. If you want to make sugar, you take it and boil it even more, evaporating the last of the water in it, the last memory of how it used to flow in a forests’ veins. It takes some 40-80 gallons of sap to make a gallon of syrup, more to make sugar. And making syrup with someone gets real…for a time, you’re popping in and out to go collect the rest of the buckets, but after a while it’s just you and them in a small, maple steam filled shed, usually drinking something homemade and of questionable alcohol content, talking through the day and the night. Or by yourself, with your thoughts and your wishes and your ghosts, though I’ve never done this for long, just fractions of an hour, unlike friends who have spent days there boiling away heart break or trying to get their head and pans level. 

If you need something strong to protect you, you can’t do much better than homemade sea salt. But if you need to barter something, to trade for something big and important and true, I wonder if a homemade maple sugar candy might get you what you’re looking for. 

I imagine you bring it to the edge of the forest. Or more likely, that corner of the dining hall where no matter what hour of the day someone is drinking coffee and almost done a paper they never seem to finish. All the right words… “if it would please you,” what you seek, and their reply, “and in exchange?” So you make your offer: the blood of a forest’s platoon impervious to their wounds, a fire tended, a confession you would never have made otherwise, a week of your life. They are delighted, to get so much for what now seems like so little, and greedily they reach towards you, ready to take what you have promised, and before their hands, or not exactly hands anymore, can find you – you place it on the table. A small maple sugar candy. You’ve pressed it in to a maple leaf mold because hell, if you’re gonna do this you may as well do it right. The air freezes for a second, and you feel your blood still as you wonder if you have misjudged…and then you feel it begin to thaw, the sap to run again. It smiles at you. It doesn’t mind clever, and fortunately for you, it’s a fan of sweet.

[x]

The Unblessed - Part 2

Masterlist

Previous part - Next Part 


Unseelie Bucky x Reader

Summary: Everybody knows to stay away from the forest, where the Seelie and Unseelie courts remain as a permanent danger to humans. But when the people in your village begin to starve and you face a dangerous journey to the land of the fae, you never think of the consequences it may bring… Until the Prince of Winter himself sets his eyes on you.

Warnings: Blood, death

Word count: 3827

A.N:  Consider me officially invested in this story. I almost couldn’t get this chapter out, but I think it turned our pretty well… Buckle up kids! You’re in for one hell of a ride. MWAHAHAHA!
As usual, this is dedicated to the beautiful Ella @buckysinthesinbin for being a ray of sunshine and helping me pull this through while also putting up with all my  whims and threats and exited texts at one in the morning. You’re the best <3

Originally posted by pretty-dead-dog


The small cottage is unusually silent when you wake up. The fire has stopped crackling, wooden logs turned black sitting idly in a heap on the fireplace. There’s no wind, and even the permanently broken window frame has ceased its constant tapping against the wall. A large layer of frost is covering the window now, seeping through the cracks in the glass, tiny ice crystals spreading over the wall next to your bed.

You’ve spent four days locked inside the house, always under the watchful eye of the other girls you share the cottage with, towering over you at all times of the day to make sure nothing strange is going on. Everyone’s been especially paranoid since you came back, not letting you out of their sight for a second, so the girl’s absence only serves to make you uneasy. They wouldn’t have left you unless something bad happened, not when the winter has every single person on edge, and dread builds in your gut when you find your iron tipped knives gone from the bedside table.

Something is wrong, you think, something is terribly, horribly wrong. And you can almost feel it in the air now, like static ready to snap at any second.

Keep reading

There were trees bursting with green leaves, their shade light enough to be warming and the amount small enough to be flourishing but not a forest. The cottage looked like a child’s dream; cream white walls were always concave or convex, never straight. A pink trim danced around the edges and the chimney looked like a triple layer cake that had half melted and then frozen again. The pathway was stone; large circles with stripes and dots fanning out from the center.

And there, seated on the wooden chair with no table, was the girl Aya had heard of.

Her grin was as bright as her skin was dark; the girl laughed and the sound rung through the mountain—valley—hill—whatever this place was. Aya didn’t know but the fact wasn’t as important as it might’ve been.

“Come out, come out,” the girl cajoled happily. “I can hear you moving around back there!”

Aya didn’t move from her place in the shadows. Here was the very person she was seeking, shining in the bright starlight, yet Aya felt paralyzed.

“You don’t have to run away.”

The voice—or maybe the wisdom that Aya sensed behind it—shocked her into speaking.

“I’m not running.”

“Well, not to him, certainly. Come on, come sit.” There was only one chair, but after Aya blinked there were two. She sat.

That, more than the hazardous journey or first spotting the girl, felt like freedom.

Keep reading

Cry with me - Part 1

Whether they are tears of laughter or tears of pain may depend on the person, but I promise you will probably experience both.

Join me in diving into the totally bizarre world of The 100 books in which the Bellamy Blake as we know him would cry tears of humiliation and perhaps the occasional bout of awe at the things his AU self says.

I honestly can’t NOT bring to attention some of these gems that truly demonstrate how vastly different book!Bellamy and show!Bellamy are so let me get down to listing actual quotes from book!Bellamy himself.

1. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” Bellamy pressed.
“No,” Clarke said flatly. But then her mouth twitched into a questioning smile. “Why do you care?”
“Just taking a census,” Bellamy replied. “Specifically, to determine the relationship status of all the pretty girls on Earth.” [listen to this guy]

2. That’s what Bellamy liked best about Earth - the unexpectedness. Like a girl who kept you guessing. He’d always been drawn to the ones he couldn’t quite figure out. [listen to this lil fucker]

3.“Off you go,” Bellamy said, motioning her forward with his hands. He watched her scurry off with satisfaction. [This fUcKER]

4. “Breaking news, pretty boy.” Bellamy winked. “We’re all criminals here.” [WINKING. PRETTY BOY. I CAN’T]

5. “Good afternoon, ladies.” [please pause for a moment and try to picture show!Bellamy sauntering into Clarke’s tent and saying this line - just please TRY]

6. Bellamy didn’t know why the ancient humans even bothered doing drugs. What was the point of shooting junk into your veins when walking through the forest had the same effect? [he’s such a cliche]

7. He’d always assumed those ancient poets had been full of shit, or at least had much better drugs than he’d ever tried

Originally posted by vlociraptor

8. A crack sounded from inside the woods. Bellamy spun around so quickly, he lost his balance and fell backward with a splash. [smooth bruh]

9. Bellamy brought his hands behind his head and tilted his face toward the sun, exhaling as the warmth seeped into his skin. It was almost as nice as being in bed with a girl. Maybe even better, because the sun would never ask him what he was thinking. […]

10. “You’re doing a great job for a quack.”

11. 

“I’d recommend putting your shirt back on.” (Clarke)
“Why? Are you worried you won’t be able to control yourself? Because if you’re concerned about my virtue, I have to tell you, I’m not-”
“I meant”-she cut him off with a small smile- “there are some poisonous plants out here that could make that pretty back of yours erupt with pus-filled boils.”
He shrugged. “For all I know, that might be your thing, doctor girl. I’ll take my chances.”

12. “I know you’re not the type of girl to make out with random guys in the woods,” he’d said with a mischievous grin, “but maybe you should be.” [i cAnT]

13. “Well, hello there,” he said as she came to a stop and paused to catch her breath. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?” He stepped forward and placed his hand on her waist [omg stop]

14. “I thought you were different. But I was wrong. You’re just another stupid Phoenix bitch who thinks she knows better than everyone else.” [this is the part where you cringe and cry and thank the TV lords that show!Bellamy would never even think of breathing such terrible words to Clarke Griffin, or probably anyone else for that matter]

15. “You’re going to regret this,” Bellamy said in a low, dangerous voice.

16. He’d start with letting the bastards starve. Then, maybe when they were all so weak with hunger that they had to crawl over to him and beg for forgiveness, then he’d consider going out to hunt. But they’d have to make do with a squirrel or something small - no way was he killing a deer for them. [this is some next-level petty shit - he’s talking about the deinquents btw]

17. Over the past few weeks, he’d discovered that he enjoyed the company of trees more than people. [k but tbh same]

18. Perhaps Earth had had enough of their bullshit already and was initiating a second nuclear winter. [k this isn’t really a noteworthy quote but its too real :0]

19. Tears were beginning to blur his vision, although if anyone called him out on it, he’d blame it on the smoke. [okay mister tough guy]

20. “Okay then.” He took a step forward and gestured for her to follow. “But I should warn you … I’ll probably take my shirt off at some point.”

So there you: Bellamy Blake Book 1. I intend to do the other two books I have read at some point as well. Hope you enjoyed! Lol. Tell me what you think of this Bellamy vs the one we know and love.

Don’t Date Girls with Borderline Personality Disorder

This title is taken from a very hateful article of the same name. Message me if you’re interested in reading the article which inspired this poem, and I will happily link it to you.

Don’t date girls who get too angry. 
You don’t know what you said wrong, 
But suddenly she’s snapping, 
Exploding, 
Like fireworks erupting from her throat and setting her alight, 
Burning her from the inside out. 
She’ll be unrecognisable in those moments. 
She won’t be able to recognise herself, either. 

Don’t date girls who fixate. 
Her interests will change like the seasons, 
You’ll watch her try on different lifestyles like the outfit of the day, 
And leave the old skins in a heap on her floor. 
When she seems lost in her own facades, 
Know that this, surely, is harder for you than for her. 
She is only being difficult, after all. 

Don’t date girls who change their minds.
With thud of one heartbeat, you’re everything. 
The universe was created for you to be her sun, 
For the stars to bend to your whims, 
For the moon to spin around your axis and shine your silvery glow. 
By the time her next breath is drawn, 
You are too much. 
The oxygen you breathe is filling her lungs, 
And choking her. 
Your nails pierce her skin, 
Your eyes are too bright, 
She cannot see past the universe shining in her eyes, 
And the ocean on your lips is too deep for her to swim. 

Don’t date girls who never want you to go. 
When her anger burns, 
When her head is lost at sea, 
When the maze of your arms is too confusing for her to escape, 
She will throw herself at your mercy, kiss your boots with cut up lips, 
And apologise for the crime of breathing. 
Every second is a second too long, 
And she is burning on the pyre made of your judgement. 
She has built cities around your ribcage, 
And as your heart stutters in its affections, 
Her buildings fall to ruin.

She doesn’t know who she is without you. 
Without the gentle brush of your mouth, 
Or the tightness of your arms around her form, 
She can feel herself drift away. 
She never means to harm you with the ropes around your wrists, 
But she can see them chafing all the same. 
And when the forest fire starts within your veins, 
When you cast her aside like a dog who cannot be trained, 
She will be disappointed, yet unsurprised, 
And add another scratch to her prison-cell wall.