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They are his ghosts. It has never quite occurred to him before, just how young his parents had been when they died. He can count the years between them, now, on one hand. If this were not his final day, he would be eighteen in a mere three months, and then only three years would separate them. One day, he might have grown older than them. Older, even, than Sirius or Remus, who is now immortalized in time as well. Once he, too, is dead, though, they will stop following him. They will not be able to haunt him anymore, will not be able to keep him up at night drenched in his own sweat, wondering what went so wrong with him for everyone who dares to love him to suffer quite so much as they have, as they do. |Â x
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in and out of focus
moments that i keep
something for the pain
and something so i sleep
won't you comfort me?
warm the air that i breathe
visceral in doses
hiding in the seams
standing on the sun and i don't feel a thing
won't you comfort me?
take the fear i don't need
i wake up every morning with the years ticking by
i'm missing all these memories, maybe they were never mine
i feel the walls are closing
i'm running out of time
i think i missed the gun at the starting line
tell me, am i broken?
i can never leave
biting on my tongue and
checking if it bleeds
oh, is it lost on me?
all the things i believe
something like an omen
i can never keep
moving on and on, so very bittersweet
is it lost on me?
all the things i don't need
i wake up every morning with the years ticking by
i'm missing all these memories, maybe they were never mine
i feel the walls are closing
i'm running out of time
i think i missed the gun at the starting line
take me alive
make me a liar
take me alive
don't look away until it's gone
til it's gone
take me alive
make me a liar
take me alive
don't look away until it's gone
til it's gone
i wake up every morning with the years ticking by
i'm missing all these memories, maybe they were never mine
i feel the walls are closing
i'm running out of time
i think i missed the gun at the starting line
take me alive
make me a liar
take me alive
don't look away until it's gone
til it's gone
take me alive
make me a liar
take me alive
don't look away until it's gone
til it's gone
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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âfuck all the little details, iâm doing this for fun and i donât owe anyone anything! hell yeah!â
and then the other half is like
âokay so this character is a thief so iâm going to do hours of research on how professional thieves operate because otherwise maybe a real thief will read this and laugh at me for not knowing how thieving works and then theyâll show it to all their thief friends and i will be the laughingstock of the thief community and that would be so embarrassing for me!!!!!!!!â
yâall (white ppl) should be supporting and advocating for bipoc all the time not just when weâre being violently targeted and it manages to make it to mainstream media. u can always be learning more i promise lmao and it should be a constant effort.
updating google doc | thread of resources | ways to help/mental health resources | how you can act carrd
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Summary: Based on the song âUnsteadyâ by X Ambassadors. You and you husband Ashton, got into an accident. As the months pass, Ashton is starting to lose hope.
Warnings: ANGST, mentions of Drunk Driving, hospitals, coma, accidents (kinda explicit) panick attack, a lot of crying, swear words, death, blood, violence, overall sadness, bad English (not my first language, my apologies)
Word Count: 3.9k
A/N: here I am with another Ashton Angst. Hope you like it đŚ and remember that reblogs and likes always help and feedback and comments are always welcome! I would love to hear your thoughts đ You can check my other works HERE.
âHold
Hold on
Hold on to me
âCause Iâm a little unsteady
A little unsteadyâ
âHer hand is too coldâ Ashton thought âShe must be very coldâ
You were lying in the hospital bed, unfazed. Ashton knew you couldnât feel anything, at least thatâs what the doctors told him. But he couldnât help but wonder if you were cold. If you could feel your skin becoming more like ice every second but were unable to ask for a blanket.
He would give you the sun if you asked.
But you couldnât.
Ashton hasnât heard your voice in over three months, and damn, how he missed it. He misses you, all of you. He often wondered what heâd do if when you open your eyes. Would he cry? Kiss you? Pass out? He didnât know. All he knew is that heâll be the happiest man on earth once you did.
But your hands were cold against his. Your body numb in the bed. And he was by your side, unmoving.
This is just something inspired by Calumâs Instagram story â I thought him playing piano had Sunday afternoon vibes but then I realised it was Monday and somehow this happened so... enjoy!
Mondayâs suck.
Or at least thatâs what youâve been told by everyone your whole life â seeming to be an unwritten rule in society that the first day of the week, after the weekend, is a drag for everyone. And for a long while, it felt that way for you too â Monday would roll around and youâd wake up wanting to spend a little longer getting more sleep.
Yet somehow, that had changed as soon as Calum entered your life.
Every week felt a little easier; each day got more enjoyable with every moment you spent getting to know him. They got even better once you started staying at his house. His bed felt like a safe haven, and you wonder how you ever slept before it was next to him.
âHow did you get in here?â You murmur to the small dog curled up on the edge of the bed, fur tickling your legs. The sheets are warm on your skin as you wake up slowly, realising youâre alone in the room â except from Duke. Calumâs side of the bed is deserted, the pillow crinkled from when he had laid there some hours ago. Waking up alone felt a little easier, even just knowing that he was in the next room. âWhereâs your pops?â
The first time you heard Calum refer to himself as âpopsâ to the grumpy dog your heart had melted, as it seemed to with every thing you learned about him. Duke sits up from the bed as you climb out of it, rubbing your eyes and adjusting to the sunlight flooding the room, wondering where Calum has got to. You note how heâs left a hoodie draped over the chair in the corner of the room, and wonders whether it was intentional â even if it wasnât, you take it and slip the material over your head. Thereâs something comforting about the warmth his clothes brings, laced with his cologne. Itâs then that the faint sound of piano keys fills your ears, and you know where to find him.
Stepping out of the bedroom, the wooden floor is cold beneath your feet as you head down the hall, towards the middle of the house. The sound of the piano gets louder yet you canât quite make out the song â he keeps stopping and starting. Somehow he can pick up songs quicker than you change clothes; his ears in tune with any song he wants to learn. Duke follows behind you, the pitter patter of his little paws accompanying you.
âHey,â You call out quietly, standing in the doorway to the room where you find your boyfriend, sitting at the piano. He stops for a moment and turns to face you, his gaze softening when he spots his hoodie â definitely intentional, you think.
He gestures for you to go over and you do, standing behind him for a moment and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You rest your cheek on his head, curls blocked by one of the many bucket hats tucked away in his wardrobe. You run your fingers through the dark curls at the back of his neck, feeling the goosebumps that break out over the skin as you stand there. He continues playing, fingertips gently gracing the keys, and you still donât recognise the song but it sounds pretty â a soft, slow, perfect way to start a Monday.
âGood morning, love,â He replies, finally deciding to break the silence as he turns to kiss your hand. He stops playing once more and his fingertips land on your thigh, looking up at you from his spot on the bench. âCâmere, I want to play for you.â
You move around the bench to sit down next to him, your head landing on his shoulder, his head turning to brush his lips against your hairline. His lips linger there for a moment, just savouring the minute, whilst he has you there. You lift your head to kiss his cheek before settling again, letting him play, basking in the serene feeling of the morning. The sun streams through the window and things couldnât be more perfect, feeling Duke curl up beneath the piano. It feels as though in that moment, everything is where it should be â and thereâs no where else youâd rather be.
âSâ pretty, what are you playing?â You ask when heâs done, your fingers lacing with his when he pulls away from the keys. His grasp is warm and gentle, grounding you and reminding you that youâre both there together.
He shrugs subtly, squeezing your hand in his, his thumb brushing your forehand. âIt was just stuck in my head, I woke up thinking about it. Hence why I had to leave you in bed, I hope you donât mind.â
You chuckle and shake your head, assuring him that waking up alone is perfectly fine. âOf course I donât mind, Cal. Especially when I wake up to this, you somehow Mondayâs much more bearable.â
Having him around makes everything feel less like a mountain to climb, and more like an adventure to face head on â anything seems possible when heâs there to support you. As you sit and bask in the feeling of him, listening to him play away at the keys in front of him and the sun on your back... suddenly, you wish everyday could feel like Monday.
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