#overdove

What about French fried

     The porcelain tinkered against the saucer leaving his arms to rest on the edges of the table. “I mean, come on,” and he sang with that smooth and slightly husky voice of his. “She sang as if she knew me in all my dark despair and then she looked right through me as if I wasn't there. But she just came to singing, singing clear and strong... Strumming my pain with her fingers, singing my life with her words...” At least he knew she did kill him sometimes when she sang, enchanted him    e v e r y   t i m e . 

It had been ... such a long time since they had last spent a night together. Noah only hadn’t expected to ever wake by Morgan’s side again, yet this morning, as he turned his head, there was another, familiar body by his side.

A quiet noise, half surprised, half appreciative. So the last night had actually happened. Noah’s lips curled into a smile - and for once? There was no urge to sneak out, get up and go for an early morning run.

Send me ‘Try’ and a character and I will write how I would play that character ↪ @overdove // not accepting

       Theapartment reeked of whiskey and stale cigarette smoke—but that wasnothing unusual really. Just another day, just another bottle. Therewas a stack of them in the recycling bin by the door, enough of it toreally put a horse under with liver failure and yet Father Thomas wasstill on his feet.

Well,in a way.

Hewas currently crouched down on the floor, a rag in one hand and abook in the other. He'd knocked the whiskey over when he'd bashed hisshin into the table and of course ithad to be just his fucking luck that the cap wasn't on right and theamber liquid had spilled out on the desk, on the floor, on the biblethat he was currently waving around to try and dry it off before thealcohol did anymore damage.

“Awshit.” He muttered under his breath, and with a huff he chucked thebook onto his chair, abandoning it to try and soak up the rest of thedrink before it seeped into the floorboards. He'd try to sort thebible out after, dry it out on the windowsill or something. He picked up the bottle, now barely full and with a grimace he downed the rest of it. Waste not want not.

“Godfucking damn it all.”A string of curse words escaped him that would make any God fearing manblush Thomas threw the rag down into the puddle that didn't seem to bevanishing. He reached out, using the table to steady himself as he got to his feet.

Themop was in the kitchen and he walked straight past the front door tothe shadow of someone standing outside it.

Thomasignored them, busying himself with cleaning up the mess he had made.

“Ican hear youknocking.” He called out after several moments while he waswringing out the mop.

^ Karter’s potential descendants verse dad

His reaction:

“...”

          ‘ come on. come on. ’ twenty-seven. twenty-eight. he is panting, and the woman in front of him is not breathing. the pouring rain behind him and the freezing wind does not help at all. he is used to fishes and boats washing up the shore. once, there was even a beached whale. but somehow a person who is in the brink of dying is much more surprising. maybe because he knows the chance of lifting her from said brink relies on him. that scares him.

          twenty-nine. thirty. he stops pumping, then tilts her head and pinch her nose. he hesitates, staring at her blueish lip for just a moment. ‘ goddammit. ’ he mutters then shares his breath with hers. breathe, he prayed.