#i cannot wait to go back to school. shed off my coat to show my SLEEVLESS ARMS . . . the SCANDAL……..

[katierosefun]

bought a new sickass coat and also a white muscle tee and also black boots >:)

#caroline talks #the bisexual vibes in this house. #i cannot wait to go back to school. shed off my coat to show my SLEEVLESS ARMS . . . the SCANDAL…….. #god okay but my muscle shirt + leather jacket + jeans I cut on purpose + my new black boots. #god put me on this earth to be bisexual and also be sexc #guys I’m also considering getting another piercing. so like. #so.

[weasleyswizardpleases]

And the Living is Easy (Fred x reader)

Summary: You spend the first night of summer vacation getting into trouble with the Weasleys + Harry and Hermione. Fred x reader. Fluffy mischief mostly, but sex is discussed and implied. 

Warnings/Notes: Light sexual content but not all out smut, alcohol, heights, language. I wrote this to be a stand alone, but I enjoyed it so much that it might become part of a loose series of slice of life-y reader x twins fics set at the burrow over the summer! ps i did not edit this at all after writing it at 2am so. uh

Summer at the Weasley’s is my favorite time of year. After my mother passed, you were tossed around from boarding school to boarding school, relative to relative, never really having a say in where you went, or with whom. But ever since becoming fast friends with Fred and George while repairing brooms for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, you’ve pretty much been considered an honorary Weasley.

You stow your suitcases in the overhead and squeeze into a seat next to Fred and George. Across from you, Ron, Lee, and Harry are packed in. 

“Do you reckon you’ll ever make it out to the burrow, Lee?” asks George pointedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t know what you’re missing out on. Mrs. Weasley’s hotcakes are out of this world.” Harry says.

“And there’s loads of space to play quidditch.” you say.

“And loads of secret spots not even Mum knows about where we can basically do whatever we like.” adds Fred.

“You know my mum will hardly let me out of her sight for a day. Merlin’s sake, she’s practically ass to elbow on me all summer.” Lee says, faking a pout. “Quit ribbing at me, would you? Or I’ll spend the summer in my room coming up with derogatory names to call you on the Quidditch pitch.”

Murmurs of “Come on, we’re only joking.” and “Fine, fine.” fill the packed compartment. You lift your rat Pansy up to the window to show him the scenery.

“Bet you’ve never seen the fine English countryside like this, eh Pansy?” you baby-talk at him, scratching his little noggin.

“You know that thing is never gonna talk back at you, right Y/N?” says Fred, rolling his eyes. 

“You never know. Look what happened to Scabbers.” you say, wiggling you eyebrows. “This rat could also secretly be a creepy little pervert who watches me undress at night.”

“I suppose it isn’t unprecedented in the rat community,” agrees George. Ron scowls in disdain.

“That’s my pet we’re talking about!” he says, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Yeah, fine pet he was.” says Harry, grinning.

“I will say, Ron-” Fred begins, clearing his throat. “You’ll never find another like him.” He claps his little brother on the back and stands up, peering down the hallway. “Oi, it’s the trolley, look alive Georgie.” George rises and straightens his coat. The boys have been planning for ages to charm the trolley witch into selling their skiving snackboxes. They run off down the car towards her. You tuck Pansy back into his cage and watch the scenery go by yourself. Before you know it, you’re being shaken awake by Fred and George. 

“C’mon, Dad is waiting!” says George. 

“Got you some chocolate frogs, but that means you owe us one.” says Fred, shoving a wriggling paper bag into your hands. Delighted, you expertly open the bag, catch a frog, and slurp it up before it manages to escape. 

“Tank -ou” you mumble, your mouth still full. Lugging your trunks over to meet Mr. Weasley, you smile with excitement. Every summer with the Weasleys is a blast, but you know this one will start off with a bang because last week Fred absconded with a jug of top shelf mead from Filch’s office. You’d all agreed that you needed it more, since you want to have fun and have no money, while Filch obviously dislikes fun and ostensibly has some amount of money squirreled away from all his groundskeeping or lurking or whatever his job is. 

After greeting Molly, you and the twins bound up to their room- and, when you’re here, your room- pushing and shoving your way up the narrow stairwell. You toss your things down and throw yourself onto a bed, spreading your arms as if making a snow angel. 

“Oh, boys, it is good to be home!” you say, laughing. Fred and George always joke that their mother likes you, Harry, and Hermione better than any of her own actual children, and you love teasing them about it. 

“Speak for yourself, she’s already got that sending-us-to-de-gnome-the-

garden-while-hungover gleam in her eyes,” retorts George good-naturedly.

“And get your shoes off my bed! Mum will have all three of us beating out the rugs if she sees that.” says Fred. You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, baiting the boys into attempting to push you off the bed. You wind up making such a ruckus roughhousing that Hermione comes in looking concerned, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You all three pause from your compromised position to look at her, you releasing a vise grip on Fred, George dropping your left leg, which he had been twisting violently.

“When did you get here?” you ask, running to hug her. 

“Just apparated over, my parents would never forgive me if I didn’t at least drop by for dinner before practically moving here for the summer!” she replies, turning to greet the twins. 

“Are you going to be participating in our little soiree tonight, ‘Mione?” asks George, raising an eyebrow. 

“What are you three planning?” she asks sternly, stifling an excited smile.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” you say. 

“But don’t wear white shoes.” warns Fred. Hermione gives you all a funny look before running off to finish her greetings. 

“Where are we going tonight, Freddie?” you ask, looking up at your tall friend. He gives you a cheeky glance.

“Oh, out by the bog. There’s a huge hill between there and the house, so we can make a fire and nobody will see.”

“And there’s a huge stand of trees and a pond between that spot and the neighbors’,” says George. 

“You two have got it all figured out. And you’ve got the firewhiskey! What a night, what a night it shall be.” you say, your voice singsonging as you dance exaggeratedly. 

“Too bad nobody invited any girls.” says Ron from the doorway. He’s been standing in the hallway looking in the mirror for some time now, fussing with his hair.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Ginny shouts from her open door down the hall.

“YOU don’t count!” Ron replies.

“We know you’ve got someone else in mind, little brother.” George says, flicking Ron in the ear. 

“It’s pretty obvious,” Fred agrees.

“You get all flustered when she corrects your grammar,” you say.

“And you let her braid your hair.” says Fred.

“And you-” begins George, but Ron interrupts, his face beet red.

“Shhhh! Buzz off you two, or I’ll start blabbing on about who you’re interested in as well.”

The twins exchange a somewhat threatened glance, but say nothing.

“That’s right, I’m not as dull as you lot like to think, thank you very much. I notice things. So let me alone or I’ll sing like a canary!” Ron finishes, turning back to the mirror for a final glance at his hair before trotting downstairs. 

“You two have crushes?” you demand, turning to stare down the twins. Fred shrugs with his usual attitude but you notice a light blush spreading across each of their cheeks. You swat him across the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it? You motherfuckers.” You grab George by the collar. “George, tell me who it is! A crush, my god.” You throw your hands up in the air. They’re being super weird, so you decide to drop the subject. “When you snog every girl and half the boys in the school, between the two of you, you practically hold us all down to tell us the details but now you’ve got a crush and suddenly you’re like a couple of mimes.” You look each of them in the eyes, and both avoid your stare. “Fine! Don’t tell me.” You throw your hands up in mock anger and lead the charge downstairs to begin setting the table for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After dinner, you pass the evening playing cards and chatting until Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retire for the night. Then, you’re left with all your friends and Percy, who it has been agreed simply cannot know you’re sneaking out to drink in the woods, because he is a killjoy. Using a previously discussed maneuver, Hermione attempts to trick him into believing that she and Ginny are going to bed, hoping that he will get nervous about being bullied if left alone with you and the twins, and elect to follow them to bed soon after. However, Percy is in an unusually jovial mood, and so Ron and Harry are forced to retreat as well. As a last line of defense, you pretend to fall asleep on George’s shoulder, nuzzling into his sweater. When Percy gets up to go to the bathroom, you dash outside into the moonlit yard, covering your mouth so your giggles don’t give you away. You run to crouch behind the garden shed, doubled over with laughter. 

“I thought he would never stop yapping.”

“God, how are you two related to that bore?”

“We can’t help it.” Fred says, bending to gather rocks from the ground. 

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Watch!” he raises his hand to throw a pebble at Ginny’s window, but you grab his wrist.

“Have you lost the plot? Percy will hear! And probably your mum too, with your aim. I’ve got a better idea,” you say, peeking around the garden shed while gesturing for the boys to stay put. You pop out of the shed with a dusty, rickety broom. 

“Does this thing still work?” you ask.

“Well enough,” says Fred, getting a running start and jumping on the broom. Wobbling a bit, he sails up to Ginny’s window and confers with the girls, then moves on to Ron’s window, where he perches on the sill, one foot dangling out the window.

Beside you, you’re aware of George’s presence beside you in the cool, sticky night.

“Bloody brilliant,” he murmurs, elbowing you gently. “How’d you even know that thing was in there?”

“Lucky guess. I mean, with a family full of Quidditch players, there’s bound to be a broom lying about someplace.” 

Fred jumps down onto the broom and turns a few experimental loop de loops overhead before nearly falling and coming to a shaky landing near your feet. 

“That one belongs on the rubbish heap, honestly,” he says, laughing as he tosses the old thing aside.

“Oh, sure, blame it on the broom,” you tease.

He’s soon followed by Ginny and Hermione on Ginny’s broom. They glide down and come to a halt next to you, stepping down gracefully.

“How are Harry and Ron going to get out? They’d have to go right by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room, unless Harry has his broom up there with him, but I think I saw it in the foyer.” says Hermione, looking at Fred worriedly.

“Well, err, I told them to climb down,” says Fred earnestly.

“What?!” says Hermione. “They’ll be loud as bison, besides probably breaking their necks.”

“It’s not my fault they’re too dumb to pass their apparation O.W.L.S! They’ll be fine.”

As he finishes his sentence, Ron’s window slides open and Harry’s head pops out. He lowers what appears to be a rope made of sheets and blankets tied together. Hermione’s brow furrows as she watches, helpless, while Ron artlessly slips one leg out the window, before even checking to see that the “rope” is nowhere near long enough to reach the ground. Ginny giggles, biting her lip when she sees Hermione’s distress.

“Do something!” Hermione hisses, nudging her. Ginny groans and soars over to boost Ron onto the back of her broom, going back to do the same for Harry.

“Shite! The firewhiskey,” you whisper, smacking your forehead. Everyone lets out a collective groan, but before you can send someone back up to hunt down the alcohol, Ginny opens her backpack, revealing the gleaming jug. Everyone cheers, but then quickly realizes that loudly cheering may have blown your cover. Fred and George scurry off into the brush and you all follow them down a lightly trod path through the countryside, eventually reaching the open bank of a large, murky pond. This is a spot you’ve never been to before, probably because it’s a fair stretch away from the house, and apparently from any civilization at all. 

Hermione quickly conjures a large fire, creating a pocket of warmth in the chilly night air. You lean against a large rock and shiver when the cool stone brushes the back of your neck. Ginny pulls out the firewhiskey and hands it to Fred, who pops the cork, shouting with glee before knocking back a sip and passing it to George, who passes it to you. The familiar sickly sweet liquid burns your throat and warms your stomach, and you feel your (already barely existent) inhibitions begin melting away.

Before long, Ron suggests that you all play a game, and you run through your options: truth or dare, spin the bottle, a wizarding game you’ve never heard of, and hide and go seek. Hermione refutes hide and go seek on the basis of safety, and Fred refutes spin the bottle on the basis of the fact that four out of six of you are siblings. Not everyone brought their wands, so you can’t play the magic game, and you’re left with truth or dare as the apparent winner, which you were rooting for anyway, because you want to see what you can get the twins to do. It almost makes you wish Percy was here so you could put him in a compromising position, but knowing him, he’d find a way to make walking on hot coals boring. 

“I’ll start, I’ll start!” you volunteer, looking around the circle. “My first victim will beeeee…” you look at Hermione, who cringes nervously, then spin around to point at Harry. “Harry Potter. What will it be, Mr. Potter, truth or dare?” you ask.

Harry shrugs. “Hmm.. I’ll do.. Dare, why not?” he replies. 

“Alright Harry, I dare you tooooo.... Oh, easy. I dare you to smack Ron every time he says something you think is stupid tonight. And be honest, or we’ll smack you,” you say. The twins nod in agreement. 

“That’s not fair! That’s barely a real dare!” protests Ron. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, who turns and gives his friend a good wallop. 

“Alright Harry, your turn.” 

You play for nearly an hour, all the while passing the bottle lazily between you, until everyone’s good and tipsy on the strong liquor. Several good dares are exchanged: Fred is dared to give you a lap dance, which he does with gusto and an uncomfortable amount of eye contact. You dare Ginny to race you across the pond and back, and you both strip down to your skivvies and plunge into the chilly water. Ginny wins, of course, but you just wanted an excuse for a swim. Fred lends you his cloak, patting it onto your shoulders to dry them before you pull your pants back on. George dares Ron to walk back to the house and get food, which he reluctantly agrees to after everyone bullies him into it. By the time he gets back with a basket of pastries and jam, you’ve transitioned to mainly truths, because the well of dares has run dry. 

When it’s Hermione’s turn to ask Fred, she blushingly asks if he’s lost his virginity. 

“What, do you all think I’ve snogged every girl we know without scaring? Have a little faith, please.”

“Clever, but that’s not an answer!” slurs Hermione, pointing at him and grinning. “Have you actually had sex before, or do you just talk a big game?” 

“Well, have you?” you ask, laughing as he tries to bluster out an answer.

“”Course I have. Ask anybody. Everybody must think George and I are the male sluts of the century, the way you people talk.” 

“Still not an answer!” you say, looking at him mischievously. 

“How’s this for an answer, then?” he retorts, pulling you to his waist and kissing you on the lips melodramatically, throwing you up against the rock, practically fucking but for the clothes. What’s probably thirty seconds of kissing at most feels like an hour. Everyone goes “Oooooh!” and when he finally lets you go you’re flabbergasted, but you recover your senses.

“Point taken, then. Alright Freddie, your turn,” you say, straightening your clothes and trying not to look like you enjoyed that. 

“I dare Hermione to let us play hide and seek, for fuck’s sake,” he says, lazily.

“Ugh! I might be drunk but I’m not letting anyone stumble around alone in the pitch black plastered out of your mind. Ask me a real question!” 

“What if we weren’t alone?” Harry asks, looking around. “I mean, we could go in pairs or little groups. Like team hide and seek, basically.”

“I call Fred and George!” you cry, throwing your arms around their sweaty necks. 

“Fine, but please be careful. And everyone should be on a team with at least one person with a wand,” says Hermione, who teams up with Ron. That leaves Harry and Ginny on the last team.

George produces his wand and casts an illumination spell.

“Not it!” You shout, immediately echoed by Ginny. 

“Alright, we’ll count to 50” says Hermione, but Harry and George protest until they finally agree to 3 minutes.

Fred tears off into the woods and you and George follow, bushes thwacking you in the face, vines snagging at your ankles. You break through the brush into a field, panting, and stop for a break. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, looking around. “And where are we?” 

“No idea!” Fred says gleefully. 

“What about over there?” George nods towards a patch of grass and trees down in a glenn. You lope down hill through high grass and crash to a halt in the stand of trees, crouching low. Fred huddles next to you and George clambers clumsily into one of the trees, flattening himself into one of its crooks.

You can feel your stomach churning after your run, but you manage to successfully push down the acrid taste rising in your throat. Above you, you hear George belch, and just manage to slip out of the way as he spits a pitiful glob of vomit to the ground.

“Oi, we’re down here, you lout,” hisses Fred, ducking.

“Look at the state of you,” you drawl, bumping into Fred as you readjust around George’s vomit. He groans from his spot up in the tree and lies back down sleepily. To your surprise, you feel the urge to pull Fred closer rather than pushing him away. The earthy smell of the forest floor calms your stomach, and you find your mind wandering to his lips, his hands on your waist and neck. Buzzing with drunken impulsivity, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and pull him to sit beside you. He looks surprised, but readily slouches against the tree trunk next to you. You can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. The air is still and cool in that settled way characteristic of the night.

Overhead, you think you can hear George beginning to snore. 

“Freddie-” you begin, but before you can say a word, his lips are on yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You push him down and roll over so that you’re straddling him, gripping his jaw in one hand as you kiss him, hard, then gently. His lips are softer and more relaxed than they were when he kissed you earlier, and his body less certain. There’s no false bravado in him now, and you bite his lip gently, your tongues barely batting together. You reach down to unzip his pants but he pulls back.

“Y/N- I- Look, I may have lied earlier,” he says, his face flush with desire and embarrassment. You look at him quizzically, your drunken mind not connecting all the dots. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I haven’t… done this before. I’ve only ever kissed. Although I’ve done quite a lot of that.” he says quietly. You blink.

“Oh. Oh! You total freak. Why go to all that trouble to convince everyone you have?”

“Have you considered that maybe I just wanted to kiss you?”

This shuts you up. He pulls you back down to kiss you again, this time on the cheek, on the forehead, the neck. 

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do,” you say carefully, brushing a bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“No… no, I’m ready. I want this now,” he says, tugging at your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it into the grass, the game of hide and seek forgotten. Let the shirt be a warning flag to any nosy passerby. Fred kisses across your chest. 

“Freddie, we’re drunk,” you remind him, your breathing growing heavier as his tongue flicks across your nipple.

“I want you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck in between kisses. “I want you, I want you, I want you,” he says. You kiss him in reply, and move again to unzip his pants. You feel his hard member ready to burst out of his jeans, and it sends a thrill through you.

You had considered that you might one day wind up with Fred or George, and honestly, you had figured it would be on some less-than-sober whim like this, but you never really pictured it. You certainly never imagined Fred like this, innocent and tame, hoping for someone else to take the lead.

“Will you show me how?”

“Yes,” you breathe your reply into his mouth.

“Will you go slow?” he asks sweetly, his coy submissiveness sending tremors through your body. 

“Yes. Come closer.”

In the morning, you groggily open your eyes at the sound of birds chirping. You sit up, your head throbbing, and look around. Above you and a few feet to your right, George is sleeping soundly on his belly in the flat convergence of an oak tree’s branches. To your left, shirtless and smeared with dirt, is Fred curled on top of his cloak, also fast asleep. 

“Guess they gave up on finding us,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to smooth it into place. You remember what happened last night well enough, although some parts are cloudier than others, and you don’t remember deciding to fall asleep at all. You suppose it just happened at some point. Your heart beats faster, wondering if you and Fred will be an item after this, or if he’ll want to keep it quiet, or if you just won’t talk about it. You’re not sure what you want, yet. It’s still purple pre-dawn in the countryside, the sun not quite peeking over the horizon yet.

You know you enjoyed yourself, and you adore Fred- as a friend, certainly. As something more? Maybe. You brush away your anxieties and trust that you’ll settle things when you’re less groggy. Suddenly, it dawns on you that you’ve got to get back to the house before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wake up and notice your absence. You stand up as though the ground caught fire, kicking at Fred and shouting at George to get down.

You fetch your shirt from a nearby bush, and pluck a twig from Fred’s hair as he looks up, dazed.

“God, my head,” he says, squinting up at you. “What the hell time is it?”

“Never mind that, you’ll have worse than a headache if we don’t get back to the house by like, yesterday.”

“Merlin!” George exclaims, perking up and basically falling from his perch to the ground. Recovering he stands up, taking his surroundings in. “Hold on, what the hell happened to you, Fred? Where’s your shirt?”

“No time for all that, go!” you say, shoving George in the direction you suppose the house is in. You muster as fast a pace as you can and follow him, Fred scrambling to gather his cloak and tee shirt before catching up with you. With George’s back to both of you, you exchange a goofy grin and a wave of relief runs through you. He obviously doesn’t consider last night a mistake, either. You slip your hand into his and make your way into the breaking dawn.

#fred and george weasley #fred and george #george and fred #gred and forge #fred weasley #george weasley #weasley twins #ron weasley #ginny weasley #fred weasley x reader #ronmione #fred weasley x y/n #harry potter #hermione #hermione granger #ginerva weasley #percy weasley #molly weasley #quidditch fic #the burrow #weasley family #weasley family fluff #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry x ginny #although.... yuck #relcutantly harry x ginny #and the living in easy fic #hp fanfic #fred weasley fanfic

[seventfics]

Love your writing. Prompt: Jaskier has abandonment issues, which he tries and fails to hide. Angsty shenanigans ensue

[Thank you! ☺️ I normally don’t do prompt requests but this is right up my alley of emotional suffering, so,]—x

So it’s true that Jaskier has everything anyone could ever want in life. He was born into comfort, held status and name, and had the fortune of education, though that last one was beaten into him mercilessly because he was not an easy child. He had it all—

He still has it all, if he wants it. Nothing stops him from returning to teach in Oxenfurt. No one will deny him his family title, of properties or inheritance. On the contrary, he’s earned even more renown by his lyrics and poetry and Continental ballads, his name known to every court and tavern. People flock to him for his tales of the White Wolf—and that too is part of his renown, for he turned the Butcher into a hero at no cost of his own but a few sore throats after eveningfuls of encores—

They invite him for festivals, banquets, courtly affairs. They propose to him, bed him, threaten him out of towns for having bed the wrong person. He is famous. He is the bard Jaskier. And when his fame and his charm are no longer a novelty, people are quick to move on. 

In Lettenhove, in his early years, there was a tutor who praised him for his sharp musical ear. The old man spent many hours of the day showing him the value of the arts, something that left an imprint in his very soul. Not a year later, his parents sent him to temple school to learn his letters. He never saw the old tutor again—

In Oxenfurt, there was a girl who loved him for his voice. She was beautiful and sweet, her laughter like winter bells. By Summer’s end, she found a painter who worshipped at her feet like a dutiful priest at the altar of the gods. He doesn’t remember her name—

There were many like that girl since, and every time, he learned to accommodate a little better to keep them longer, to no avail—

In Posada, there was a witcher who huffed and groused at his company, and yet allowed him to come along on his journey. He was kind in a guarded way, a way familiar to Jaskier—the echoes of someone who has given himself up many times, only to suffer loss and rejection. Heartbreak hangs about him like a cape. And it takes Jaskier some time but he accommodates, learning the witcher’s limits, his preferences, what’s a jest and what’s a jab at old wounds—

 “What’s this, you’re going to hunt the drowners now?”

The witcher is packing his bags neatly by the door. He offers a brief nod. “It’s early. They’ll be sluggish.”

“Give me a moment, I’ll come with.”

He’s given a strange look that says nothing of the sort will be happening. “No you’re not, bard. You’ll get yourself killed.”

Jaskier takes the threat of life in stride. “I’ll hang back, I swear, who wouldn’t want to see the great White Wolf in action!”

Sometimes the witcher huffs, indulging him. Other times, dreadful times, he orders him to stay put. So Jaskier waits in taverns, sitting on his hands. It’s the hardest thing for him to do. To wait. He does not sing, not while his gut twists and his fingers flutter nervously on wood. He simply waits and thinks about all the reasons why his company is but a burden on coin and travel, the witcher so used to traveling alone.

And every time Geralt comes barreling through the front door wet with gore, his mind and his chest empty of all aches.

“Oh thank the gods, you’re—still in one piece,” he says, because shouting you’re back, you’re alive, you didn’t die and leave me behind is far too much of a weight to throw on Geralt’s shoulders, he knows. 

Geralt merely grunts, shaking off some of the grime. “Of course I am.”

 It’s like that. The witcher leaves on a hunt, and on the times Jaskier cannot follow, he waits. Geralt always comes back—if not for him, then at least for the reward. It’s at the end of every crossway where they part face to face, never knowing if they’ll meet again.

And Jaskier continues his own journey, in search not of home, but its opposite. Of a place that will forever change to the years and the seasons and never bore him. Never bore of him. No one should know him any more than he is allowed to know another, except—

Except the witcher Geralt of Rivia who he meets again and again. Knowing him more with every meeting—

—A noise in the forest, distant, and Geralt gets up with his swords from camp.

Jaskier just fumbles, “You’re not just going to leave me here twiddling my thumbs in the dark, are you?”

“I’ll be right back, bard. I have to check—”

—A shared room on low coin, and never a problem between them. Jaskier stirs awake to the bed moving. 

“Sum’thing up? Y’have to go?” He tries to mumble through a dry mouth. Geralt nudges his head down.

“No, I just need to eat. You keep sleeping, Jaskier—”

—A storm, and they’re both holed in a damp cave. Geralt looks ready to throw himself out in the rain and hunt for the Kikimore queen anyway.

“Geralt, please don’t leave in—in this storm.”

Geralt does listen, perhaps because he sounds a bit more shaken than usual. They’ve already gone low on provisions because the rain soaked through their bags. They need the coin. And it would have been fine, if Jaskier hadn’t insisted they go through this town—

Foolishly, dangerously, he becomes attached. Years go by. A decade. Two. There is no one else Jaskier knows more in his life. Geralt’s mannerisms, his expressions, his disquiet. He knows them all in the silence across a campfire, and he hopes he is known in return. 

He hoped at the banquet in Cintra, barely whispering of a need that he dared not tell anyone else. 

He hoped in the chaos of Rinde, of the djinn and the witch, begging for the witcher to choose him first. 

And he hoped in the mountains of King Niedamir. 

And his hope is not enough.

Jaskier knows to bear smiles and jokes for the right crowds, and he knows how to be serious in certain company. He learned to accommodate a little better to keep people longer, of course, to no avail. Even with Geralt—

He should never have grown complacent, believing that things would be different this once. He became attached—beyond attached, beyond need, beyond affection—

“I'll go get the rest of the story from the others,” Jaskier says in parting on that mountain, because if he makes light of it, then it will sluice off his frame like water, undamaging. He can pick himself up to keep searching for that place—of that someone that will never bore of him, that will never forget him and throw him aside.

Despite his efforts, there’s a chasm in his chest. A breathlessness like a wound that doesn’t want to heal. And he lingers at the foot of the mountain when he sees Roach nibbling on dry grass, tethered by the inn’s poor stable poles. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays with her, petting her coat. She indulges him, preferring his company over the stablehand’s. There’s a joke there somewhere, about her being as obstinate as her rider, but he can’t bear to say it. Can’t bear to speak through the stone lodged in his throat—

And he shouldn’t be with her, not if he wants to avoid the witcher who so clearly and plainly told him to take off for good. But Roach is sweet. For once, she doesn’t bite his wrists. Instead she nickers, snuffling his dusty doublet. Maybe she’s learned to accommodate for heartbreak too, as it seems to follow where Geralt goes, whether caused by his hand or brought upon him—

“Jaskier.”

He freezes in place. He cannot turn. To see his blazing expression would be too much—

“Sorry. I won’t be staying. I’m just,” his voice fades as it starts to shake. How can he explain why he’s touching the witcher’s mare, for the simple comfort that she offers in not shying away from his touch?

“Jaskier.”

It is a demand for him to turn. He recognizes it in Geralt’s voice. Jaskier clenches his hands on Roach’s mane—

Refusing doesn’t work, as the witcher takes his shoulder to pull him back—

There are no fixed smiles left in him. No jest, no shrug. He hurts too deeply to put forth the effort. He is the bard Jaskier, but in front of Geralt of Rivia, he’s just alone. He has everything anyone could ever want in life, and not a lick of it matters with no one to stay for him, no one to call a friend—

But Geralt is not angry. He doesn’t quite look like anything except intense, keeping his wide yellow eyes on Jaskier’s own as he grips his shoulder tight. 

“Let me go,” Jaskier says because he cannot take being seen so deeply, so closely, and not being wanted—

“No.” Geralt’s grip turns painful. “You—don’t want me to.”

Something breaks in him at the words—the truth in them—and it burns in his eyes and it burns his throat—and burns to tears shed pressed to black leather, his hands scrambling at the hard surface of Geralt’s armor. 

He doesn’t want to be let go. Geralt holds him to his chest and he feels like stone cracking under pressure. Like gravel being crushed—

“I was angry,” the witcher says, swallowing against Jaskier’s ear, “I didn’t mean it,” tucking his face into Jaskier’s hair, “I don’t want you to go.”

And maybe it’s cruel or greedy but he wants for Geralt to ache like he does. To feel terror at being left behind. At it being Jaskier who walked away—hurting, choked by his own surging feelings—from the mountain first, by his offense—

Another part is relieved. Because Geralt does know him, after everything, after Jaskier’s efforts to know the witcher. He knows him well to strike where it hurts the most. He knew where to tear into with harsh words—

And that by doing so he went too far and tore into Jaskier’s heart too—

There are no apologies, but there are amends. There is a wavering conversation and one more stay at the inn.

At the crossroads they’ll part again, but not with goodbye. Not with tears or screams or hidden fears. They’ll meet again, like they always have. Better than they always have—

Because this time, and every time since, they part with a promise to see each other again.

#reply #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #abandonment (: #prompt #did i go full into post ep6 fix-it? y eh #1k

[notbecauseofvictories]

so, um. if you have any particular feelings about labyrinth--specifically Sarah--uh, go wild.

WILD PEACHES  [AO3]

.

The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time. 

It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.

The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”

Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—

(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)

Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.

.

It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)

Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”

Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.

She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid. 

It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips. 

She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.

Not long after, she comes home from school to find a piece of parchment, folded over many times and sealed with wax, sitting on her bed. I do not think it wise for me to return so soon, Didymus writes. I do not know—what chanced that night, but I cannot risk such debasement again. Many apologies.

In a different style of handwriting—spiky, with too many flourishes on the ‘t’s—someone has written a postscript: stop turning my subjects into yours. they lose too much in the transmutation.

Sarah pretends she doesn’t know who left it there.

.

The thing about humans, he would say, if she asked (she’s never asked) is that there’s too much iron in them—iron in their blood and iron in their bones. Teeth. Iron enough to make a nail so they made nails, and swords, and hammers, and walls and ships. Everything Aboveground is cold iron, leeching into the soil and the water and the air. It means that everything rusts, all things move towards entropy, even magic.

But down, in the Underground—

.

She can feel him, sometimes, testing his limits. Not the owl—though occasionally she sees feathers from the corner of her eye—but more a sense of pressure, a heaviness. Static electricity, jumping between her and door handles. Once, she’s walking home from school with a friend and they look up, suddenly. “Do you feel that?” Denise Yarmley asks, squinting up at the relentlessly blue sky. “I wonder if it’s going to storm.”

Sarah lets him. Mostly because it’s…strangely reassuring, to know he’s there, even at sixteen, at eighteen. Sometimes she tests him back—walks along the edge of the bridge with her eyes shut, goes down dark alleys by herself. She’s pretty sure she imagines the hand between her shoulder blades, steadying her, or the sound of heeled boots on pavement, just step behind.

Still, she’s alone, the first time he tries to pass the threshold.

She’s alone, and her ears pop with the sudden shift in pressure; the air tastes sickly, like rotting honeysuckle. Worse is the sensation of being watched; she can practically feel him breathing against her skin, hot and damp and full of sparks.

Anger is a whipcord, and she grabs a hold of it, lashes out. When she stands, her biology textbook and sheaf of college-lined notes all slide to the carpet with a thump; she ignores them. She can feel him breathing, how dare he—in this house, where she lives, where Toby lives—

“I did not give you permission,” she says, and her voice comes out clear and cold as iron, or running water, other things she thinks his kind hate. (They didn’t exactly discuss what ‘kind’ he is, but she’s read enough fairytales to guess. Even if Andrew Lang left out the leather pants, and drugged fruit.)

The air feels like it’s holding its breath. Sarah Williams exhales, curling her hands into fists. “I said, get out.”

The presence vanishes.

Afterwards, every time she turns on the radio, it’s playing a song she likes. She can’t decide if it’s an offering, and whether to accept it.

.

“You look different,” she says to Hoggle. She’s eighteen and trying to decide what to bring with her to college; he’s supposed to be helping her, but actually she’s spent most of the past twenty minutes trying to explain the entire concept of college, and why she won’t be living in her father’s house anymore. 

“Well, it’s a different sort of you, looking,” Hoggle says in that matter-of-fact way he has. 

Sarah scoffs. “That’s not how it works. Things don’t change how they are just because I’m different.”

Hoggle, who now looks like something from a Rackham illustration, all floppy ears and abnormally-long, smooth limbs, huffs. “Shows what you know. Hope they teach you some common sense, at your fancy school.”

They don’t, really. Her roommate thinks she’s insane, for tucking the little bag of herbs and rocks into the corner of the windowsill, and thumbtacking another beside the door. She claims it makes the room smell bad—like honeysuckle and rosewater and something rotten, something off. But neither of them is ever late for class, no uninvited guest passes the threshold, and when Jason MacAllen sets off the sprinkler system on a dare, their room is dry as a bone.

“Maybe I can change you back,” Sarah says, her head propped up on a hand as she watches Hoggle eat his body weight in hostess snacks. Mostly her roommate’s. (She’s been reading a lot of horror lately, his mouth has taken on a grotesque slope, with too many teeth.) “Do you want to go back to—what you were?”

Hoggle shrugs. “T’wouldn’t be much of a point. You’d still be looking, wouldn’t you?”

(The observer effect, Sarah’s physics class teaches her. The act of looking at a thing changes the thing itself.)

The roommate moves in with her boyfriend halfway through the year. Sarah doesn’t miss her at all.

.

The thing about iron is that it draws all things to it. Even just to rust.

.

She honestly thought he’d show up—well, when she was seventeen and Peter Jacobson took her to the prom, then to a motel after. Even before she wrote her Comparative Lit final on psychosexual angst in fairytale reinterpretation, she knew maidenhood was important. (It was always Snow White and Red Riding Hood sent into the forest, not their stepmothers. Adventures happened to fifteen year old girls in white dresses, on the cusp of becoming complicated. Never those who have gone over.) 

Sarah had been so sure that she had sat up awake afterwards, shivering in the too-cold motel room and peering into the dark, waiting—

But the Goblin King had not come. He had not come the first time, or any of the times after. She’d stopped expecting him, really. 

Which is why Sarah stops dead at the sight of him, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He’s shed the feathers, the glitter; if it weren’t for the long blue velvet coat and the shock of white-blonde hair, she wouldn’t have recognized him at all.

In the weak morning light, he looks almost…tired.

“Any further, and I will come into your kingdom,” he says, while she stares. The wind almost steals the words away—there’s still yards between them, more than a few sidewalk blocks, with weeds growing up through the cracks.

She laughs when she realizes he’s standing at the very edge of campus, where the public concrete turns into brick. One more step, even if he just leans, and he’ll cross the boundary. 

Sarah didn’t know she owned a college. 

She has to walk around him—skirting the edge of his long coat, which overflows the sidewalk, and drags on the grass—to plant her feet on her kingdom. She think she imagines the way he bends, just slightly, like a plant following the sun, as she moves past him.

His face is changed. His eyes are not. 

“Hi,” Sarah Williams says to the Goblin King. She wishes she’d redone her makeup, or borrowed one of Steve’s jackets. Not that the Goblin King is staring (it would be easier, if he were staring) but she wants more armor for this fight than a miniskirt and a blouse wrinkled from a night on the floor.

He is looking at her, and it’s an awful cliche how much he looks at her like a man dying of thirst. Like she’s water. When he notices her looking back, his mouth twists in a small smile. “You are cruel as iron, Sarah Williams,” he says, finally.

She waits for him to go on. “Is there anything else?” she asks, when he doesn’t.

“Is your intent to taunt me with them?”

“With who?”

“The—whelps, the boys you lay with. I thought they merely the indulgence of youth, but this one has lasted almost a twelvemonth. Are you trying to wound me?”

Sarah stares. She can’t help but laugh, breathless with how presumptuous—“If you disapprove, don’t watch.”

For a moment, he looks like she remembers—cold and fey and strange as he had been amid the ruins of the Escher room. Then it slides away, and he is tired again. “Fidelity is supposed to be the great virtue of your kind,” he says, and she can’t help laughing, still.

“You have no power over me, Goblin King,” she says, and his eyes (unchanged, after all this time) narrow. “So you have no right to my fidelity. You can’t ask that from me.”

“A fact you taunt me with!”

“I’m not taunting you! I barely think of you at all!” Sarah shouts, and he jerks back, cringing away

It’s early and the world is quiet, but the silence is somehow deeper, between them. Sarah licks her lips, swallows. “I don’t—I don’t think about you,” she repeats, more quietly. “It’s just my life.”

The Goblin King is staring blankly; no emotion in his face at all. Without his smirks and songs to distract her, it’s almost terrifying, to watch the inhumanity of him laid bare. (There’s a part of the human brain that remembers what it was like, to be something small, cowering from beautiful monsters with cold blood. It screams, in recognition.)

Sarah shuts her eyes. When she opens them again, he’s still looking at her. “Is it the one you want?” the Goblin King asks Sarah Williams, there on the concrete sidewalk that spans the chasm between her kingdom and his. “This life you have here, with the whelp—is it the one you desire?”

Sarah laughs quietly, crossing her arms over her stomach. The chill of the morning is finally getting to her; she can feel herself shivering. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s—it’s still better than peaches.”

She’s cold, so he gives her the blue coat in exchange for a kiss, her mouth with fading lipstick pressed dryly to his cheek. She almost loses her balance, and she can feel him shudder, when she digs her fingers into his shoulders to steady herself.

The hem of the coat drags across the grass as she makes her way back to the dorm. That afternoon, none of the students know what to make of all the cornflowers, growing up from the dust.

.

The other thing about iron: it always knows where north is, seeks it. You cannot lie to iron.

Ludo is the only one who’s never changed, in all the years between. He’s still burnt orange, with horns like a brindled goat. Sarah couldn’t count the hours she spends curled up against him, studying or reading as he brushes out her hair, sings nonsense songs. Sometimes his teeth look a little sharper, or his paws become talons, but Ludo is himself, ever

Which is maybe why she’s so surprised when he comes to her with a cream letter in a silver envelope, stamped with wax and signed, jareth, the goblin king. She hadn’t expected it from a creature so straightforward as Ludo.

“I don’t like him,” Sarah says, holding the silver letter in her hand.

Ludo moans, and she scowls at his tone. Uses her nail file to break the wax seal open.

She doesn’t blush, reading it. It’s not an offering, a favor, or a gift; there’s nothing flowery there, no compliments or flattery. It’s a plain apology, which is rarer, and more precious. She isn’t so young she doesn’t know that.

Sarah tucks it into her desk drawer, attempts to forget about it. How he called her, dearest one, nearest my heart.

.

Her senior year, she goes down to the sea—with her friends, the ordinary human ones—to celebrate spring and their last grasp at freedom. Sarah honestly forgets the name of the town when she tells this story. It was cool and smelled of the tide; she ate shellfish, and built fires on the rocky beach. She fell asleep that way almost every night, listening to cold-water mermaids sing about oil tankers, and sailors who stopped breathing when they dragged them under.

No one else can hear them, but her.

And maybe that’s—her ears are full of mermaid song and her belly is warm with beer and wine spritzers, and she decides to walk back from the bar alone, through dark alleys and down the rocky beach. A test, like when she was seventeen and guiltily enjoyed the idea of a Goblin King in love with her. (Hold me fast and fear me not, and she could never decide which of them was supposed to be Janet and who was Tam Lin.)

She smiles, when she hears heeled boots, a step behind her in the alley. 

“You should walk with me, Goblin King,” she says, but she’s still surprised when he does. It only takes him a few steps and he’s there, dressed in blue-black shadows and smelling of honeysuckle, carrying the heat in his wake. His makeup is darker around his eyes and mouth; it looks like bruises.

He is very beautiful. Never let it be said that Sarah Williams does not know how beautiful her Goblin King is.

“You’re drunk,” the Goblin King says.

“A little,” Sarah says. “But you shouldn’t complain, you know.”

“I’m not complaining,” Jareth, the Goblin King, says. “I’m noting.”

“Oh, fine then,” Sarah says, and takes his arm, laughing when he puffs up, his feathers ruffled like a bird’s by her closeness. His eyes are animal-black, and frightened. (Sarah does not sing for him, though she might, if she thought it would soothe the wildness, chase it from him.)

She says, “I can’t eat peaches anymore, you know.”

He says, “I hardly see why that’s my fault.”

“I liked peaches.”

“So eat them.”

“Trauma,” she says, and he snorts. It is very unmythical

“Yes, my sincerest apologies for a sparkly dress and a ball.”

The sky is clear when they step out of from the shadows, onto the water front. Starlight makes him stranger still, and Sarah spends a few minutes deciding that she will not touch his skin, no matter how beautiful he is in the jagged, silver starlight. 

“I was trying to save my brother. You just have terrible timing, Goblin King.”

“So if I asked you to dance now—?” he asks, and somehow they’re on the rocky beach already, the sound of the sea crashing against the shore in her ears. (Here is the secret about mermaid song: they love the oil tankers, all those sailors with slick black painted on their bodies. Never underestimate the capacity of a thing to love what can destroy it, or to destroy it in turn.)

“You haven’t asked me, Goblin King,” Sarah Williams says, and he catches her, when she trips over a rock. The moonlight is weak, but his eyes still burn silver, and she burns too.

Sarah Williams has read all the fairytales and folklore. She knows exactly how to ask, to count out pomegranate seeds and give real consideration, weight if she’s heavy with child or just desperate. And she knows exactly how to turn up the next morning, her eyeliner smudged and lipstick worn away, but smiling, still.

Her jewelry was gold, the night before. Moonlight turns all things grey, and bright.

.

The thing about goblins—or fairies, she’s still not sure what he’s supposed to be—is that there are rules. (Not like iron, the Goblin King would say, if he were invited to take part in this conversation, which he isn’t. Iron obeys no laws except its own will. Like her.)

But goblins have rules. They are cruel, and unjust, but they are rules all the same. Stricter than laws. Cold as iron.

The rules say: a favor for a favor. The rules say: you cannot take what isn’t given. The rules say: one, and that’s all and everything.

The Goblin King called fidelity a virtue of Sarah’s kind, but he was the one who picked her. All and everything. No takebacks. Not ever.

.

The celebrations have subsided. She’s a graduate now—Latin, prayed over her degree, summa cum like an invocation (though there was an invocation, and Sarah had wanted to laugh at it. Or not laugh, but maybe question which god, and why. Didn’t they know how cruel some of them could be?)

This is her own private ceremonial; apart from the school-sanctioned or family-attended. Sarah had to search three different liquor stores for mead—actual mead, that smells like honeysuckle and the sharpness of alcohol, underneath. She takes a nervous drink from the bottle, even as she kicks off her shoes and walks barefoot, across the grass.

She’s technically not supposed to be in the park after sundown, but she’s also not supposed to open-carry alcohol, or pour a little out onto the dirt. She’s not supposed to feel the dull ache of desire, hoping her prayer is answered—

This is an offering, but she’s still surprised how quickly he comes.

He looks around anxiously, taking in what is her kingdom, and has been for the past four years. “I was summoned here,” Jareth, the Goblin King, says.

“I know.”

“I did not trespass.”

“I know that too. I invited you.”

He stares. His eyes are ever the same. “Why?”

“I wanted to see you.”

She offers the bottle of mead out to him, and he drinks. His eyes never leave her face, even though the dark of almost-night envelops them both. “You have no power over me,” Sarah says casually, and watches him choke.

“Yes,” the Goblin King rasps, once he has recovered his breath. “This is true.”

“What about you?” she asks, and the Goblin King shudders, the way he did when she dug her fingers into his shoulders, nails-first. “Do I have power over you?”

She takes his mouth, pressed to the pulse-point of her throat, as an affirmative.

.

A final truth about iron: it alloys with silver only rarely. It takes too much pressure, and heat, and what some—the uninitiated, fools—might call magic.

#labyrinth #this is a thing I made #long post for ts #this isn't good but I WROTE A THING BE PROUD OF ME

[sadjuggie-blog]

Smile - Jughead x Reader

Request — Can you do a jughead x reader where the reader is very shy but has a huge crush on jughead? Then she walks by and sees in a window Betty and jughead kissing then she runs away? Thanks, I’ve had this in my mind for so long ♡

A/N — I am so happy to write this request as I have been meaning to write something similar for a while, yet again I changed it up a bit. Also, I’m at 100 followers so thank you guys for supporting me and my writing. Also I’m down a couple tags since the buzz lately is everyone getting Bughead smut in tags like Reggie or Thornhill, shit like that, so I’m sticking to the tags that matter to Jughead. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this imagine because I have a feelings it’s going to be adorable as heck.

Words: 1310

Warnings: None

(Y/N) , (E/C) , (H/C) , (S/C) — Your name, eye colour, hair colour, skin colour.

—

You sat on the bleachers at the Riverdale Bulldog’s first game of the season. You held your camera in your gentle small hands, watching the intense football game as high school heart throb, Archie Andrews, got the crowd’s attention as he was a fan favourite. (Y/N) waited patiently for the half time cheerleader show to start in just a few minutes, as it was her job working for the Blue and Gold as the yearbook photographer, she took the chance to grab some photos.

That Autumn night was chilly, as the students clung onto their coats and scarves, baring the weather to come and support the game. Finally the half time show arrived, the River Vixen’s ran onto the field with their leader, Cheryl Blossom, front and centre. You sat up from your seat, squeezing through the rows of crowded people to get down to the front of the stands. The camera strap slung over (Y/N)’s shoulder as she managed to finally get down, bumping into someone. Unaware of her surroundings, she had the close call of almost dropping her beloved camera, but luckily that figure caught it in time to shatter. And that figure happened to be her ultimate crush, Jughead Jones.

“That was a close one.” Jughead chuckled as he looked down at the camera before staring straight into your (E/C), making your knees easily give in. She was so shy whenever she was around him, she didn’t know what to do or more importantly what to say whenever she had the chance.

“T-Thanks, Jug,”  was all she managed to blurt out to stop herself from rambling on with anxiety. And then the unthinkable happened, she quickly propped up her camera into her hands as she looked through the lens which aimed straight at Jughead. “Smile!” Jughead blinked a couple times, getting use to the sudden flash that caught him. (Y/N) quickly slung her camera over her shoulder, a red blush spreading brightly over her (S/C) complexion. “S-Sorry. Uh, yearbook features, y’know,” she awkwardly chuckled. “Speaking of which, I gotta go!” She flashed Jughead a quick smile before turning away, just when Jughead laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“I didn’t know you did photography until I saw your camera. Maybe one time you could show me whenever I’m in home room or at the Blue and Gold.” Jughead suggested, making you pause a couple seconds to just soak in what she just witnessed. ‘Jughead Jones literally just asked to see my photo’s, is this real?’ Is what she thought to herself.

“Uh, s-sure. Yeah, I-I guess so. Um, I gotta go and take more p-photos… bye.” She once again awkwardly said before this time getting the chance to run away, leaving Jughead staring at her before breaking into a cheeky smile and walking off.

—

Later that week, (Y/N) was sitting at the computer uploading her photo’s from the game for the yearbook. One picture really captured her eye, and that was Jughead’s. Although it caught him by surprise, the photo turned out to be quite photogenic. He still managed to look perfect as always, yet half of his face was covered by his hand blocking the flash from my camera. Suddenly she heard the sound of a door opening. First reaction: hide. She had no thoughts about minimising her computer tabs and ran to hide behind the couch, as the door swung open with a very anxious Betty Cooper and concerned Jughead Jones making an entrance. (Y/N) noticed that Betty had something on her mind as she paced around in the same spot for a couple seconds.

“I don’t know what to do, Jug. There’s so much going on, my parents, the Blue and Gold, Jason’s murder. I-I don’t know what to do.” Betty closed her eyes, taking a deep exhale out. You peeked out from behind the couch from the side, watching as Jughead stood there staring at Betty. Betty opened her eyes to find Jughead staring straight at her.

“What?” He just kept staring, Betty now slightly getting a bit agitated. “..What?” Suddenly Jughead cupped Betty’s cheeks and kissed her softly. That’s how easy it is to break a heart. (Y/N) quickly yet quietly turned back sitting against the back of the couch, closing her eyes as she quietly sobbed into her sleeve as the tears started rolling down her cheeks. She heard their lips finally pull away which felt like forever, then a door once again closing. Your sniffled quietly, wiping your tears away as you finally stood up, turning around to find a speechless Jughead standing right there staring at the photo you took of him. You bit your lip to stop your tears from shedding yet again, running over to the computer as you closed the tabs, Jug placed his hand right back on your shoulder.

“(Y/N)… what’s wrong?” He asked concerned for your sake now, staring deep into your red puffy eyes.

“What’s wong? W-What’s wrong? What’s wrong is the fact that I just had my heart shatter for a boy I never had a chance with at all.” (Y/N) yelled at him, before grabbing her bag and storming out the room.

—

You let your grieve last your for another week. You stood at your locker in the famous Riverdale hallways, placing your books into your locker along with the rest of your belongings. All that was in your mind was that picture of Jughead kissing Betty. That’s a photo she couldn’t erase. She rested her head against the locker next to her, soon interrupting her daydream as someone cleared her throat. She closed her locker door to find a sad Jughead appear in front of her.

“Can we talk?” Jughead asked, almost in a whisper. His blue eyes pierced into yours as he watched you fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. You just shrugged, but shortly after nodded. “About last week, and what you said… d-did you really mean it? I mean, I have no feelings for Betty whatsoever. I freaked out and didn’t know what to do to make her stop freaking out, s-so I just kissed her.” (Y/N) sighed, still not persuaded enough. “Hey um, I don’t know if you noticed, but I think you left behind last week something important.” He then dug his hand into his satchel, pulling out your camera. With all the emotions hitting you at that time, you must of not looked back to notice that you forgot your camera still hooked up to the computer. You took your camera from his hands, turning it on to make sure all your photos were still there.

“I-I saw your photos of me.” At the mention, your heart sunk once again as you looked up at them. “And I think they’re wonderful. In fact.” He paused, taking out his own camera, turning it on and turning it to face you, many photos of you taking photo’s at the Bulldog’s game that night displayed on his. You never noticed that Jughead brought a camera to the game, you thought he only went to go and judge. “I-I thought you looked beautiful that night, I just had to.” And like that, your frown turned into a smile.

“Hey, I-I was wondering if you wanted to go to Pop’s after school? On a d-date?” You asked shyly, but it earned another cheeky smirk from Jughead.

“I’ll walk you there, meet me near the bus stops.” He blushed, before putting his camera back in his satchel, slowing leaning down to your height to place a kiss on your cheek before walking away. You shortly after found yourself standing against your locker, eyes closed with the biggest, goofiest, smile on your face.

—

A/N — I hope you enjoyed this imagine and it was hopefully like you wanted it to be in a way? Also, my laptop has decided to fuck up suddenly so I might have to wipe my whole laptop and start again because all the settings and everything is locked and I cannot access important files for school and stuff like that, so that might mean I won’t keep up to date with the requests in order for a bit until I get everything settled. Anyway, I hope all of you guys are well and are having a lovely day!

#jughead jones #jughead jones x reader #jughead x reader #jughead imagines #jughead #riverdale #cole sprouse imagines #riverdale imagines #cole sprouse #cole sprouse x reader #dylan sprouse #cole sprouse imagine #fandoms #wattpad #tumblr writers #archie andrews #bughead #betty cooper #veronica cooper

[bloodinhershoesrpg]

Congratulations Becky, you have been accepted for the role of Barbara Donne with a faceclaim change to Kat McNamara! Your application was the first I read over and to say it provided a great start would be, quite frankly, an understatement. I am absolutely enamoured with how perfectly her struggles and reasoning for being who she is to date resonated within your app, how vividly you have portrayed the many facets of Barbie and how well they harmonise within your writing which I can’t wait to see liven up the dash soon! Please send in your account with 24 hours and have a look at the checklist before you do!

REGARDING YOURSELF

Name / Age / Pronouns: Becky, 19, she/her.

Activity: Activity is subject to heavy fluctuation (anywhere from a 4-7), depending a lot on my uni schedule and when my tests are. However, I always will ask for a hiatus when it’s necessary and let anyone playing with me know what sort of activity they can expect from me.

REGARDING THE STAR OF YOUR SHOW

Character name and faceclaim: Barbara Donne – with a FC change to Kat McNamara? :)

CHARACTER DISSECTION

BARBARA. Hailing from the Greek word barbaros, meaning foreign or strange - she’s always figured that she had been named aptly. Always an outsider, always a stranger, even in her own skin, she takes comfort in Saint Barbara, in her strength. She knows how the story goes: every wound inflicted upon her healed, every fire brought near her skin extinguished. But she knows how the story ends and sometimes, in the dead of night, Barbie wonders if she’ll end up like her: end up the martyr, end up the sacrifice, with the insides of her veins painting the ground. ANAIS. French for grace, her middle name always seemed like a taunt to her – in her former years, she had always been lacking grace, been too much raw power and not enough silk covered elegance. But in recent years, she has lived up to it, coating her movements with an old world finesse like a second skin, moving through the ranks without a ripple, leaving onlookers always confused as to where she came from and how she ascended. (Surely, she cannot deserve it.) DONNE. Rooted in Irish mythology as Donn, the god of the dead – her last name always felt like a little bit of a promise, and a little bit of a curse.

PERSONALITY. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be? Barbie thinks she remembers being soft, being kind in the beginning – and part of it stems from her looks. She was born with delicate features, handpainted on a canvas of porcelain, doe eyes that changed with the context of her background (green in the woods, golden on cloudless mornings, honeyed hazel in the pale afternoon light), and hair so bright it was only rivaled by her smile. When people saw her, small and lithe and fragile, flighty in essence, a little dove that alighted in the palm of their hand, it was hard not to trust her, an impossibility to expect cruelty from her. And because the world craves sweet things, beautiful little souls, because it aches in constant hunger for a minute kindness, it swallowed her up, turned her softness into a warzone and layered her edges into knives.

So she remembers her obsidian mouth, flinty and stone cold but still beautiful – tongue cutting through skin so thinly, down at a molecular level, that most of the time, people didn’t even notice blood being drawn until they left, drained and cold. But she believes that everything has a purpose, and this portion of her life is no different. She remembers that it feels just as empty, just as painful, to be throwing words like punches as it does to receive them, and how truly heavy lies the head that bears the crown. She dissembles her weaponized empathy, sheds her cloak of cruelty – it never suited her well anyway.

So here she stands, bearing kindness around her neck like a cross on a chain, letting it glint and dangle in front of everyone, takes the shattered glass hate and grinds it to dust beneath the molars of her smile. She tastes war, heavy on the back of her tongue, and everyone knows the innocents are the first to go. But here’s the beauty of being delicate: when she shatters, all her broken little pieces will cut them right back. And everyone leaves none the wiser; everyone thinks that it’s their fault for breaking it in the first place. Everything has a purpose, everything is by design.

BACKSTORY.

i. dig up the bones

Her father likes to talk about the day she was born – about how when her mother finally had her after an exhausting eight hour labor, she had said, half delirious, “She will have a hard time of it.” He likes to talk about how her mother had cried and held her close after that, rocking her gently as tears dropped from the tops of her cheeks onto Barbara’s forehead. “She is so beautiful, and the world will not stand for it. Don’t argue with me. Just answer me this, my love: why do flowers wilt? Why do they wilt, when they should bloom forever?”

He has no answer for that question, and Barbara learns early on not to ask it.

But her mother is right, in the end. She spent her childhood tucked away and loved, hiding like a little mouse from the rest of the world, spoiled sweet to the core. But the world finds you eventually, and everything will come all at once.

It starts because her hair gleams like a halo of fire around her porcelain skin, and the kids at school tug at it and make fun of her for the translucence of her cheeks when blood rushes to the surfaces and matches her hair. They call her carrot-top and throw the baby carrots from their neatly packed lunches at her, and she finds out everything can hurt her, no matter what it is.

She goes home and cries in her room, cursing her hair and her fair skin and her thin frame. She wishes she were big and burly and tall, so no one would dare hurt her. She begs her father to let her take self-defense over dance, but can’t find her tongue when he asks why. So she channels her hurt and her anger into ballet – it makes her feel beautiful and strong, this tulle-layered corner of hers, far away from playground wounds. (All this hurt and loneliness and spite bites her in the ass one day, when they say her dancing is too much the raw provocateur and too little of the soft princess they’re looking for.)

Either way, her wishes aren’t heard, and this is how she learns the casual cruelty of children.

It changes in high school – while she’s not big and burly and tall, no one dares pick on her because her beauty becomes her sword and her armor. Boys who used to pull her pigtails find themselves wanting to tug her hair for different reasons, those who laughed at the easy blush of her cheeks covet how naturally color comes to her, and with time, they want to press bruises into her skin with their lips and not the packaged contents of their lunches.

She is a stroke of lightning upon her childhood tormentors, just how a vengeful god smote St. Barbara’s killer where he stood after her death. She hides wolf grins behind demure hands, sharp teeth snapping, blood-hungry. Is she not made from the gilded dust of monarchs of ages past, sitting pretty with a crown tipped on a bed of curls?

Payback feels like freedom until you stop and realise you’re still just as pissed as before.

ii. but leave the soul alone.

In the end, it’s love that unclasps the years of trauma she wore swathed around her delicate shoulders, that pulls her down from where she played judge, jury, and executioner in her academy. They find her in an empty training room, lights dimmed and pushed up against the mirror, only it’s not any of the boys they find her wound around, and the lipstick prints on her neck attest to that fact.

Barbie is all little red riding hood to Isa’s big bad wolf, and she’s homesick for a sixty second love, hungry for the sink of her canines.

She is quickly and swiftly ousted from the uppermost echelons of academy hierarchy, but she can’t bring herself to mind. (What she does mind are the slurs pressed in whispers behind her back, dyke dyke dyke.) So she goes back to drinking venom insults and letting it drip off her lips like honey instead, lets herself be repainted kind-bubbly-weak-Barbie, kind smiles reaching welcoming eyes, the Sistine Chapel amongst a sea of sinners, a safe harbor in a storm. She pats the seat next to her and her quick taps sound like welcome home, stay for a while.

CONNECTING THE DOTS

LINDSEY DAVIES. Barbie offers smiles and hugs like an olive branch, offering a friendship. With all the attention driven her way, the whispers plaguing her have abided, instead bitterly haunting Lindsey. They’re a strange duo, abrasive as Lindsey is – but they work surprisingly well. Barbie tries to be a cushion, a buffer of sorts, in social situations, working to smoothing the edges of Lindsey’s demeanor, acting like a balm in hostile situations. While she comforts those left in the wake of Lindsey, a small part of them rejoices to see them put in their place by her words.

CRISTINA REYES. Like attracts like, no? Despite how the rest cage around Cristina like she’ll pounce at any moment, expecting the flower to sprout a pair of fangs, Barbie edges closer and closer, curious to see what sort of kindness the other girl offers, and for what reason. After all, there’s an explanation for everything, and nothing comes without a reason.

REGARDING YOUR INSPIRATION

HEADCANONS.

PICK UP YOUR HEART ON THE WAY OUT. Barbara’s always been in the minority (her name taunts her, foreign, strange little Barbie). Statistically, less than 2% of the population possess either red hair or green eyes, not to even touch upon having both – she honestly doesn’t know why she expected to be part of the majority when it came to love. Boys have wanted her since middle school – since they discovered redhead was a porn category – but she has never wanted a boy; not in the same way they want her. She’s tried, really, she has, to convince herself that she wants them – she’s kissed many a boy feral and left them to scramble in her wake as she leaves. But let’s just say it straight: she’s not.

FAIR FOLK. Barbara doesn’t lie – much like the mythical fae of fables long forgotten, she only speaks in truths or not at all. Of course, this doesn’t stop her from concealing the whole truth, letting others falsely assume their own truths or speaking poison edged half truths. But a full on lie, she cannot and will not do.

NICOTINE FROM A SILVER SCREEN. It’s a stereotype, rail thin ballerinas who have a cigarette for dinner; but it’s the truth. It’s not uncommon to find her outside, white Insignia hanging off her lips, exhaling tobacco smoke like it’ll cleanse her.

ANIMAL PERCEPTION. Ever heard of a saying that animals have a sixth sense? Barbie bonds with animals of all kinds, offering birdseed in her palm, petting every dog or cat she comes across, and those who look at her and see undeserving written across her hiss in anger. Fuckin’ disney princess or some shit.

Thank you for reading! i would have written more but i’m also really guilty of always writing last minute apps; best wishes & really great job with everything even if i don’t get the part x

MOCK BLOG. https://barbiemocks.tumblr.com

#accepted #accepted:barbara

[wants-to-sleep]

All these Years

Sooo... I am a horrible person who can’t stick to deadlines if her life depended on it (can my trip to Australia be an excuse for this?... *insert nervous laughter*).  Anyways, this is my late gift for my Dead Puppies Secret Santa. Half written before I left but then left untouched because I didnt bring my lappy with me to Sydney. I’m so sorry!  Either way, @keepshiningon, hope you enjoy!

Christmas is nonsense, Cora says, her tongue sharp and her tone as icy as the winds that nip at Regina’s cheeks and turn her nose cherry red.  Mother’s claws sink into the tender flesh of her coat-covered arm, her touch burning despite the layers of clothing that shield Regina’s small form from the cold.

Come now, Regina.

Reluctantly, Regina follows as she is dragged away from the magical tree at the town square, away from the glowing light of candles nestled between sweet smelling branches of pine, and away from the other children who scamper around the plant, struggling to place colorful ornaments onto the tips of tiny twigs. 

She is a child and Christmas seems forever foreign, and the village with its twinkling lights and festive cheer seems a lifetime away.

Daddy’s eyes twinkle in the firelight, glossy and warm like the mug of hot chocolate cradled in her lap.

It’s her very first Christmas. Mother had left with only so much as a brush of icy lips against Regina’s cheek, and Daddy had seized the opportunity to sneak Regina down to the village, bundled up in layers upon layers of clothing (You cannot get a cold, Regina. Your mother would know what we’ve done.), her heart skipping and her stomach tingling in joyful anticipation.

Regina’s first Christmas is a single day spent at town square. It’s cool air against her face and small flames dancing in her eyes. It’s the flavorful sweetness of caramel-coated apples on her tongue and a small, hand-crafted ornament sitting in her palm. It’s shaky fingers placing it onto the perfect branch and an unexpected squeal of laughter when she lets it go and it swings happily, surrounded by a thousand more of its kind.

She is thirteen and Christmas is a magical day spent in the cold winter winds. It’s father’s crinkling eyes and a mug of hot cocoa in her lap when they return to an empty estate. It’s an apple pendant in a box, and father’s thick fingers closing it around her neck. A reminder of this day.

 She’s eighteen, a new bride and a lonely queen trapped in a castle that oozes Christmas from every pore. But there’s no magic in the coiffed trees and the lavish meals, and she suddenly longs for the emptiness of her childhood home.

 There is no escaping the endless halls of fake festivity, especially not with Snow stuck to her side like sticky remnants of candies that are stuck to the girl’s pudgy fingers.

Regina endures in silence safe for the occasional hum to demonstrate investment in the princess’s tales.

She is Leopold’s Queen, and Christmas is a day full of mindless chatter and sickening amounts of food. It’s Snow’s wide-eyed joy and her own quiet suffering as the King puts a heavy arm around her and squeezes her side in a promise of a sleepless night to come.

Rage is blinding in the years following Leopold’s death. Her heart is heavy with hatred and her mind is spinning with thoughts of mindless torture and revenge.

Christmas is meaningless in the bottomless pit of dark magic and ferocious anger, and it doesn’t occur to her at all until she destroys another village, but finds the burnt remnants of a decorated pine tree amidst the ashen bodies of her victims. And for a moment, she thinks of father’s glowing eyes and a wooden ornament dangling from the perfect branch.

The thought is fleeting and gone as fast as it occurred, swallowed by the twisting vortex of darkness in her mind.

Christmas in Storybrooke is an endless repetition of the same mindless songs and the same amateurish play of the biblical Christmas tale, directed by none other than Mary Margaret Blanchard and starring the same cursed children in the same roles every year.

Regina knows that the woodcutter’s son will stutter. She knows that his insipid teacher will come and comfort him after he runs from the stage teary eyed. She knows that she’ll watch on and feel nothing but the gaping hollowness in her heart.

A void you will never be able to fill echoes in her mind, the warning creeping up on her with the same punctuality every year as the boys sudden stutter ten minutes into the play.

She goes home and makes herself a hot chocolate (spiked ever since the 5th year of watching little boys run off stages in embarrassment) and takes a moment to stare into the swirling liquid in her cup. The warm sloshing is a soothing balm, if only for a moment.

She takes a sip and closes her eyes, sighing and waiting for the day to pass.

Christmas with a child is everything she’s ever wanted.

Henry is a giddy mess all December, tugging at her hand with his pudgy fingers, dragging his mother across the road and up to everything shiny and loud.

“Look, Mommy,” he calls as he presses his little face up to the display window of the little toy store, enraptured with the miniature train that goes around and around in circles through a tiny winter wonderland of now-dusted plastic trees. “Can I have it?”

It’s not for sale. That’s what the former fairy running the store tells Regina when she comes back the next day to make her purchase. For a moment, Regina is furious, and echo of that old coiling rage of days long past. She makes her way to Henry’s school in long, angry strides and scowls at the entrance as she waits.

Henry comes out the doors as a mass of tiny preschooler wrapped in way too many layers of clothing. A marshmallow of scarf and coat. He runs up to her, beaming, exposing the gap of his first missing front tooth.

“Miss Blanchard said I could be Joseph in the play!”

And for the first time, the little boy doesn’t run off the stage ten minutes in, because its not the woodcutter’s son. It’s Henry, and his nervous whisper at the start. It’s his bright, second-grader smile as he bows to an audience of various townsfolk after the show, radiating pride, and Regina finds herself with a matching expression and just the faintest shine of tears in her eyes.

Three years later, and Regina is back to staring into a lonely cup of hot cocoa.

Her house is silent, empty safe for herself.

Her own son won’t be home for Christmas.

He’s with his other mother, the woman who birthed him and who might not have broken her curse (yet), but who’s already exceptional at taking what is hers and leaving her with the hollowness of countless Christmases spent alone. Her rage keeps her company, just enough to stifle the urge to do something embarrassing like shed some tears.

She swallows a mouthful of hot chocolate and hopes it also takes away the lump in her throat.

Swallow. Slosh. Stare.

Knuckles turn white on fingers curled around the white handle of a painted porcelain mug.

“Best Mommy”. The letters are a bittersweet reminder of what has been taken from her.

Regina shakes her head, tries to shake the tugging in her sternum.

On Christmas morning, she finds a small box on the front porch, haphazardly wrapped by the messy hands of a ten-year-old.

It’s a wooden ornament; an echo of Christmases spent picking the perfect tree and decorating it with a special new ornament every year. It’s the foggy memory at town square a lifetime ago.  

“Merry Christmas, Mom” a scribbled line on the tag says, and Regina allows herself to cry, if just for a little bit.

Regina stares, stares at the oversized pine tree in the middle of the palace gardens, at the fake cheer emitted by Snow and her (their?) following.

“We need to set a good example. We can’t let the world go by because we’re grieving,” Snow tells her as she comes to sit on the log beside Regina’s stiff form.

Watch me, Regina thinks. But she doesn’t say anything aloud. Instead she sits. She sits and glares at the twinkling fairy dusted ornaments sitting on the branches of a tree that shouldn’t look this festive… this bright. Because her baby is gone, and he’s taken all the light in her life with him.

 “That’s an awfully angry expression to aim at an innocent tree.”

She jumps in her seat, then straightens, sits up taller to hide the sudden embarrassment at being caught unaware.

It’s the thief. Of course.

“Keep this going and you’ll find yourself at the end of it.”

It’s supposed to be a low growl but comes out pathetically flat. She turns away from him, continues to stare at the twinkling in the tree instead. She can feel him approach, feels the log shift as he sits down on the space Snow occupied just a couple of minutes before.

One nagging nuisance for another.

She expects him to speak, but to her surprise, he stays silent. It’s a good silence, a strangely comfortable silence.

He sits with her for a while, watching darkness fall and the twinkling fairy lights in the trees turn brighter as dawn creeps in.

She’ll never admit it, but its strangely comfortable.

 She sits in the same spot the very next day, watching the children scamper around the tree with their hand carved ornaments (in various degrees of ugliness, as kids’ crafts tend to be).

She remembers her 13th Christmas. She remembers the soft weight of her own, gifted ornament in her palm. She remembers a scribbled note of “Merry Christmas, Mom” and blinks as her vision turns blurry.

There’s a soft tug on her skirts, and when she turns she sees a tiny hand grabbing at the side of it. Her eyes travel up a small toddler frame, up a tiny arm and toward a sweet, dimpled face.  

The thief’s son.

She thinks it the same moment she spots him standing behind his child, all soft smile and crinkled eyes.

“Pardon, your majesty, but I believe my son has something for you.”

She turns back to the boy, the child she saved at her very first day back in these despicable lands, the boy who doesn’t look much like her own son at all, but whose toothy grin still pokes at memories of countless of the same kind given by a smaller Henry. Her heart feels suddenly even heavier than it did before.

“Majesty!” he addresses in what is meant to be a formal tone but comes out anything but. The corners of Regina’s mouth twitch against her will.

The boy, Roland, rummages in a satchel by his little waist and pulls out a wooden block that vaguely resembles a misshapen horse. An ornament.

“It’s for you,” he needlessly announces as he holds it out for her to see. “Because you’ve been watching the tree. Now you can come decorate it with us!”

He grins again, white baby teeth and his father’s dimples.

Regina reaches out, hesitantly, and takes the wood from his little hand, turning it around in an effort to have something to do while she gathers herself more than anything else.

“Thank you.”

It comes out flat and void of emotion, and so she clears her throat, lifts her head to meet his twinkling eyes.

“Thank you, Roland.”

She means it.

 Roland insists on dragging her up to the tree and watching her place his gift on a branch, and so she lets him pull at her hand, followed by the boy’s father who seems a little too amused for her liking, showing those disarming dimples he’s passed on to his son.

“Put it on the tree, Regina!” Roland exclaims, all formality forgotten.

She gives a small smile and selects it. The perfect branch. Against her will, she finds her fingers shaking again as she slips it on until it nestles in that beautiful spot between to fairy lights.

Roland squeals in delight and smiles up at her once more before he leaves to play with the other children. His father lingers.

“I can’t begin to imagine your pain,” he says, a useless statement but she can tell its sincere, “I’m sorry your son can’t be with us today. But I imagine he would’ve wanted you to enjoy the holidays at least a little bit.”

He nods toward Roland’s wooden horse in the tree.

“Roland thought this could be Henry’s ornament. All the children get one to put on the tree, he wanted you to have your son represented. That’s why he gave it to you. I do hope he didn’t overstep.”

Regina blinks, shakes her head.

“No,” she says in a voice so low and thick with emotion it’s almost a whisper. “Henry… he would’ve liked this very much.”

She smiles, pained but genuine, and finds him smiling back in that soft way that’s somehow just the right amount of sympathetic. Something stirs within her, a kind of anger at how he and his child dare make her feel anything but miserable when Henry will forever be a world away, and suddenly she wants to lash out again and play their usual game of biting remarks and banter, if only to stop this traitorous spark of happiness.

“In that case,” Robin interrupts her thoughts before she can find the best biting remark to make, “It was my pleasure. And I shall let Roland know the gesture was deeply appreciated.”

He nods as a form of goodbye and gives her one last smile before he leaves towards his son.

Regina turns, looks at the child-crafted piece of wood in the branches, and dares another tiny smile.

And if the thief is watching, Regina decides that so be it.

Maybe having this moment is okay.

#dpss #i wrote a thing #sorry again #im a terrible person for making this so late #ugh... #also if the second half of this is crap its because I'm a jet lagged mess

[sere22world]

modern life causes tooth decay, and care is unaffordable

Light gently touches the town on the morning of fall Friday: farmers and miners Bank, grocery store

Letteredsignboard is a yellow brick court that advertises sugar for sale.

In many ways, this is Jonesville, the county seat of Lee County, the poorest county in Virginia, and the farthest Appalachian county here.

On this day, all the attention is focused on the suburbs, where the preparations for the free health clinic will be held on the weekend at the small airport are in progress.

The first group of patients will begin to arrive in a few hours.

They will come from roads and highways, nearby towns and valleys further away from southwest Virginia and Kentucky.

Some people hardly have enough gas to go to Jonesville.

A woman drove from Tennessee with her broken glasses in her arms.

Truck and chestx-

Raymachine has stopped at one end of the runway.

When the sky is a little clear, an old plane will fly on the mountain, bringing folding dental chairs, medical equipment, surgical gauze and glove boxes from Knoxville.

The clinic is organized by the medical volunteer team in remote areas (RAM)

This is a non-profit organization that has led hundreds of missions since its inception in 1985 and has brought medical aid to some of the poorest places on Earth.

This will be Ram\'s first visit to Jonesville.

But health problems in the Appalachian region

Cancer, diabetes, joint injury

Nothing new.

Bad teeth are nothing new.

Toothache is nothing new. In LeeCounty —

Remote, isolated and poor

The shortage of various health care is a long-term problem.

Insufficient staff in main and mental health care.

The shortage of dentists is the worst.

According to federal estimates, about 49 million Americans live in communities designated as dental specialty shortages --

One of them is LeeCounty.

If there is a shortage of local dentists like Li county, there is also a shortage of money to pay them.

\"These people are not forgotten,\" explains John Osborne, head of dental at RAM, a Knoxville dentist.

\"The system has passed.

\"At these free weekend clinics, hundreds, sometimes even thousands of sore teeth are pulled out.

Loss of teeth due to illness may indicate other loss of quality of life.

In terms of oral health, complete tooth loss or tooth loss is called \"the ultimate sign of the burden of disease \".

This is a symbol of failure.

The teeth after tooth extraction will not grow back.

However, when routine care is delayed for a long time, when more complex procedures cannot be realized or selected, the extract meets the urgent need to relieve infection and relieve pain.

The news of the Li County RAM clinic program captured headlines in local newspapers.

People talked about it in churches, gas stations and coffee shops in the United States for a few days. S. 58 bypass.

At the airport this Friday, as volunteers struggled to build a field hospital with tents and folding tables, excitement filled the air.

Volunteer doctors, nurses, dentists and health workers are from out of town \".

A man with a \"friend of coal\" bumper sticker on his truck came here with a pizza.

A member of the high school football team, General Li county, is waiting in a red-numbered jersey to help unload the plane and eat pizza on the runway quietly and hungry.

Then there\'s a deep one.

You can hear the roar of throated, and everyone looks up at the sky.

\"Here comes the plane!

Shouted someone.

WarII-vintageC-World

47 freighters landed smoothly, then glistening on the narrow runway at the foot of the mountain.

Stan Brok, founder of Ram, a skinny, charismatic Englishman

Bornadventurer greeted the crowd in a calm, serious way.

As usual, he was wearing a rustic shirt and trousers, all brown.

Block was known for its water dragon fish in the 1960 s-wrestling co-

Star of Omaha Wild Kingdom TV show mutual aid.

When he launched RAM, his initial goal was to provide health care to people living in remote areas

He visited the third world during his trip.

But when he found out that the United States had someone in urgent need of help, he began organizing clinics closer to home. (

Block died in August 29, 2018 after the book was published. He was 82.

The organization he created, \"Medical in remote areas\", is continuing his work. )

Brok told the football players that the plane they saw was used to invade.

One day, young people of their own age parachuted out of the plane at June parach6, 1944.

\"A lot of young people didn\'t come back,\" he explained, as the football players listened with a shy attention.

Then it\'s time to go to work.

These actions honed by Brock over the years are military-accurate and help convey their urgency.

In the direction of Brok, football players began to transport carefully organized boxes of materials from the plane.

Slowly and methodically, the hospital finally took shape on the weekend.

Areas are set up for medical tests and exams.

Glasses are provided free of charge.

Airport waiting room transformed into asix-

President of dental clinic

When the cold of the evening fell on the mountain, a row of cars and pickup trucks were already formed on the way to the airport.

In the darkness before dawn on Saturday, about 400 people were waiting. Worn-

Out-of-town miners, old farmers, tired housewives, and unemployed workers all took their numbers at the door, wrapped in coats and blankets.

Charlton Strader, a retired construction director with tremor and chronic blocked lung disease, said he had dental benefits in the past, but he lost them.

He said his teeth had begun to \"break \".

\"I have always had a problem that bothers me,\" he said . \".

Randy Peters, a former miner and bed-pad worker with multiple hardening, also suffers from his teeth.

\"I have several broken and several bad tooth decay,\" he said . \".

\"So I can\'t eat.

Ernest hodeway, a disabled miner, said he was here to pull his teeth.

\"It won\'t hurt you, but it will,\" he predicted . \"

When he had to leave the coal mine, his dental insurance was over.

Now his teeth are beginning to disappoint him.

\"My teeth have been fine until I start taking arthritis drugs,\" he explained . \".

\"No one wants to lose their teeth.

I heard you have a good life for a few years.

\"He said he had just paid off the $1,500 he owed for pulling out three bad molars teeth, and he was told to pull out these bad molars teeth before knee surgery.

He is still fighting to save his leg. He showed it.

Terrible swelling.

\"I\'m a good person, but I\'m sure I \'ve been tested,\" he said . \".

When the sun rises completely, the city center of Jonesville is empty.

\"Everyone was pulled out of their teeth at Ram,\" said the waitress at the coffee shop . \".

Throughout the day, the patient came out of the dental clinic and clenched the gauze between the remaining teeth.

They sit in the folding chair under the tent to recover, or wait for friends and relatives who are still in service.

\"I \'ve been pulled twice,\" said unemployed nurse Emma Marcy . \".

\"One was infected under the filler.

Marsee\'s daughter, a waitress, is also waiting to be taken care of in the tent.

Marsee says her financial security depends on her smile.

\"It\'s all about appearance,\" said Marsee, a strawberry blonde with golden eyes.

Who wants a waitress with bad teeth \"if you\'re not healthy --

Look at the individual ,[customers]

Don\'t want that person to take care [them].

Everyone in that big tent is struggling.

\"It\'s hard in this area because there\'s no work,\" Marsee said . \".

Even if people are sitting in folding chairs, some people\'s behavior shows fatalism and they are tired of themselves.

Destruction: The girl with her teeth badly rotted drank another Coke.

A thin mother holds a cup of sweet juice waiting for the baby to see the dentist.

The woman who smoked the cigarette coughed so badly.

A study by the Southwest Virginia Federation of graduate medical education found that \"nerves\" are a common complaint in the region.

\"The neural cause that is often reported is that there are too many problems and too few solutions,\" the authors of a study on the problem found (

Southwest Virginia Federation of graduate medical education, \"Report to the Virginia Parliament, January 2008).

The consortium concluded that residents in the area were more likely to commit suicide than people living elsewhere in the state.

Marsee is also familiar with the dark side.

\"Drug abuse in this area is terrible,\" she said . \"

It\'s shown in some hopeless drugs. Black Teeth

The region has long been poor, but people hate to move on.

\"Your roots are here,\" Marsee said . \".

\"It\'s hard to leave it.

\"There is an ancient and beautiful theme --

The green woods are shrouded in the mountains.

The love of family, the good of neighbors, the good of strangers.

When they die, the teeth burn.

This is a very old pain.

There is silent evidence on the human fossil record: the unearthed ancient mummy with a parcel on the lower jaw.

Alaska\'s front teeth, tired of a simple tool, sometimes between 1300 and 1700. D.

Apparently to relieve the abscess.

The teeth of the Danish people in the Middle Ages have a rosary (

Charlotte Roberts and Keith Manchester, Archaeology of diseases, 82).

Decay is a progressive disease that, if not controlled, causes extreme pain and tooth shedding.

There are many factors.

Diet plays a major role.

In a very old age, when there is less and less exquisite food, toothache is a curse of privilege.

When sugar becomes cheaper, tooth decay, the main cause of toothache, becomes more common.

The habit of drinking sweet soda has been widely influenced.

A stable bath of sugar will never allow the teeth to be repaired and remineralised on their own.

Now, hundreds of ordinarythe-

Prescription drugs taken by millions of Americans make teeth more prone to illness.

One of their side effects is dry mouth, which reduces the natural flow of saliva to clean and buffer teeth, helping to protect teeth from decay.

If there is no fluoride to strengthen the teeth, there is not enough regular home care, and there is no timely professional care, the process of the disease will progress.

Severe toothache is not uncommon.

Millions of Americans experience toothache.

A study by the American Dental Association found that economic factors were the main reason why Americans delayed access to the required professional dental care.

Private or even public dental benefits can help pay for services.

But in 2014, it was estimated that there was a complete shortage of Americans.

While the national health care reform plan, which signed into law in 2010, took significant steps to expand access to dental services for children, it did less in addressing the system of adult fragmentation.

Even many working adults with private health insurance do not have adequate dental insurance.

While regular preventive visits can be covered, beneficiaries typically need to pay a percentage of the cost of surgery such as filling, Crown, root canal and implants, which can run to hundreds, thousands of dollars. Among U. S.

A 2015 survey found that for adults struggling with unpaid medical expenses, 12 u202f % of dental bills accounted for the largest share of the bills they paid for the problem.

The researchers concluded: \"Insurance is not a panacea for solving these problems . \"

Most people with dental benefits will lose them after retirement.

Health insurance is a health care program in the United States that covers about 55 million elderly and disabled people, but does not include regular dental services.

Of the more than 1 million residents in nursing homes in the United States, many have particularly severe dental problems.

Since 1987, when federal law sets new standards for institutions receiving health insurance and Medicaid funding, nursing homes are required to provide oral health care services.

However, in the daily cycle of cleaning, turning over and replacing bedridden and disabled patients, simple brushing and dentures care is often overlooked.

The authors of a survey note: \"Clinical studies in most nursing home residents report that oral hygiene is generally inadequate and that related dental, gum, and periodontal conditions are also prevalent . \".

\"Medical and care services are provided almost uniformly, while dental and mental health services are rarely provided.

\"Visits by dental professionals are also rare in many institutions.

Many patients at Louis Anna State dentist Gregory Falls say he has been in his rounds of nursing homes and has not been cared for years.

When he looked at the mouth of a new patient, he was not surprised to find rotten, rampant infections, broken limbs in his teeth, and even cancer in his mouth.

As the dental director of these families, he was given an allowance.

Most patients receive Medicaid, but there are very few adult dental benefits in the state.

Folse estimated that he donated more services than he charged for Medicaid.

He said that he travels 40 to 50,000 miles through the jungle and the Bay every year, drives a pickup truck, carries portable tools and instruments, sets up facilities in nursing homes, community rooms and beauty salons to repair false teeth, tooth extraction.

\"900 patients with severe gum disease or abscess.

Half my patients.

I took all the swollen ones away.

Everyone is in pain.

All the loose teeth

I help them as much as I can.

No money, no money.

Families pay some, nursing homes.

Nobody pays sometimes. I do it.

\"It\'s a challenge for some patients to have dementia and let them open their mouths.

The work is rewarding, he said.

\"I have a patient in a wheelchair.

She had a stroke.

She was happy to have her dentures.

She reached out and grabbed her wallet.

She got inside.

She found a piece of bread. ‘Here doc. Take it.

\"I don\'t want to eat her last piece of bread,\" FRES said with a smile . \".

\"I don\'t know how long it took to put it at the bottom of her wallet.

We have to give up because we are rich.

She gave me her poverty.

\"The rate of tooth damage is a serious economic indicator.

The poor are more likely to suffer from toothache.

Their oral health is worse and it\'s hard to find a dentist who will treat them.

The lack of funding to pay for health care is a major hurdle: one out of every five Americans is covered with Medicaid, a huge federal

The national health care program for the poor.

However, since only a small number of dentists see Medicaid patients, insurance does not guarantee access to treatment.

Under Medicaid, children are entitled to dental care, but often face difficulties in accessing services.

Less than half of dentists see any Medicaid patients in most states included in the 2010 study in the United States. S.

Office of Government Accountability

A 2016 study by the American Dental Association found that in the program\'s database of insured children, the proportion of dentists registered as Medicaid providers nationwide was 42.

But this percentage does not necessarily reflect the percentage of dentists actually participating in this program.

\"That doesn\'t mean you see a child with Medicaid.

That doesn\'t mean you have an open date, \"said Marko Vujicic, an economist who helped lead the study.

\"Think of it as what it is.

This is the best data we have.

\"This is more difficult for adult beneficiaries of Medicaid.

Adult dental benefits are an optional part of the state Medicaid program.

They are the first line of projects during the fiscal tightening period and will eventually become the chopping board for the budget.

Toothache is the destroyer of sleep.

They make it very painful to eat, work and raise children.

It is the poor who are most likely to pray to heaven for relief.

They resort to legal and illegal drugs and civilian remedies.

Some even pulled their teeth out of despair.

In the free clinic in Li county, in the solid, stoic mountain people, Tabitha Hay, her fragile face and dark eyes looked like a lost Tropical was blown away by the storm.

She and her motherin-

Lao and her husband arrived at the clinic after the 13 th.

Bellevue, Florida is an hour\'s drive away. They were self-employed.

They clean the house and take care of the pets. off retirees.

After work on Friday night, they drove all night to Jonesville.

All three of them need to be taken care of, but Tabitha, twenty

Six, the most needed.

She was hurt by a molar tooth that rotted under the filling.

\"I feel like my chin is squashed,\" she said . \".

\"Sometimes the pressure is like an explosion.

I\'m hungry, but I can\'t eat it.

In order to sleep, I have to put a heating pad on it and nothing can eliminate the pain.

\"After missing a week of work, she tried to get back to work the day before her trip.

\"I try to work.

I can\'t do anything.

I cried in the back seat.

A dentist in Florida told her that the cost of the withdrawal would reach $500, she said.

That\'s the money she didn\'t have.

She arrived too late to receive care at the free clinic on Saturday.

She was told to wait until Sunday.

At night, she slept in red Kia with her husband and mother --in-

Face another night of pain.

[davidastbury]

2020 c

Heart To Heart

In the gentlest way she was reminded of how life can upset the most careful plans and how our affections and wishes sometimes change. It is difficult for young people to appreciate this. There can be massive personal changes when careers and locations and ambitions are being settled. It needs to be carefully thought over. As if to consolidate these important points it was also mentioned (again in the gentlest way) that the commitment to love doesn’t always survive physical impairment or the loss of features that may have played a big part in that love.

She replied - ‘I would never, never give up someone I loved. It wouldn’t matter what happened to him; I would love him the same as I always did. It wouldn’t change my feelings at all - nothing like that would change my feelings - I would love him just as much - I would love him more!’

Young people eh?

Skill

I like watching snooker, particularly the drama of the opening shots. This comes over on TV, but there is nothing like being in the atmosphere of a sports hall and seeing it live. I particularly like the opening shots when the strict formation of the balls is shattered and multiple patterns of possibilities flash across your eyes. And then you marvel at the mastery of the player’s plan - at his skill and intelligence.

It was similar to when Ian terminated his contract with us. We didn’t understand what was happening. One eye closed to avert distraction, he sent off a perfect screw-ball curling around a delinquent red and knocked a pink on a straight run towards the cushion - where it wobbled deliciously and then plopped into the pocket.

‘Engineering Mechanics’ by Timoshenko and Young - 4th. edition

(Тимошенко Степан Прокопович)

In the 1960s it was unusual for girls to study engineering - but I do remember one! She came into the bookshop quite regularly, lingering in the sections marked - ‘Engineering, Civil and Structural’, ‘Reinforced Concrete Methods’, ‘Materials Management...’ and so on. My colleague Frank, gazing at her in wonderment, would sidle up and ask if she needed help.

If thinking about someone continuously, and being disinterested in nearly everything else - and if the focus of each day is the possibility of seeing that person is an indication of being ‘in love’ - then Frank, poor susceptible Frank, was truly in love.

At the start of the new academic year I would set up tables and load them with titles on the student’s book-list - many published in the International Student Editions of John Wiley and McGraw-Hill. Frank’s dream-girl would leaf through certain ones, sometimes smiling to herself, sometimes frowning. Once she came to the desk and spoke to Frank - I moved away.

After she had left the shop I went across to him.

‘If only you had heard her!’ He said.

‘Heard her - what do you mean?’ I asked.

‘If only you’d heard the way she said “Timoshenko”’.

American Literature

A friend invited me to go along with him to an open lecture at Manchester University. The subject was ‘The Modern American Novel’ - my friend was actually studying fluid mechanics but wanted to ‘broaden his outlook’.

About twenty of us turned up - bunched together on the first three rows of the lecture theatre - mostly students but also a few lost souls needing to pass a few hours somewhere warm. The lecturer gave a long introduction of the area to be covered - lots of names - Hemingway, Faulkner, Steinbeck and so on. And then he asked us to name the writer who had done most to create our understanding of the American psyche and the American way of life.

Working along the line the names were trotted out - mostly what you would expect - but a girl near me said ‘William Burroughs’ and the chap with her called out ‘Jack Kerouac’. I tried to be honest - after all I was only eighteen years old - I didn’t want to sound pretentious and I was prepared to be laughed at.

I called out ‘Grace Metalious’.

This Morning

Dead fox lying at the side of the road. Hit by a vehicle but had somehow made it to the pavement. Hated by everyone - hunted by toffs on horses, shot at by farmers, gassed by the men from the ministry - living a life of hiding by day and searching for food at night.

I once fed a fox all through a winter. Every night I put food in a dish and every night the fox came. One day, in springtime, this same fox came to the garden with her cubs. She let me get near but wouldn’t allow me to touch them. Friends thought I was being fanciful when I said that she had come to show off her family, but I didn’t mind. They sometimes tried to cut through my illusions by asking - ‘Do you know what happens when a fox gets into a hen-house?’ My only reply was that hens should not be crammed into sheds like that - you cannot blame the fox - it’s not likely that he would take a single portion as if in Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Anyway ... it’s all over for this one. Lying on his side, eye open, lips pulled back in a snarl. That snarl says it all - his final comment on the whole rotten lot of us.

K.

She keeps busy - supporting many social issues - animal welfare, children in central Africa. She attends all sorts of committees, and being competent in bygone office skills, takes minutes and types reports. An active church member, skilful and good humoured In ecclesiastical politics; she has served a long line of encumbents and keeps contact with many of them. She achieved newspaper prominence in the 1960s as a champion for coeducation - speaking of the benefits of educating boys and girls together. Perhaps she was remembering her own mixed schooling - the creative aspects of competitiveness - the happy knockabout for those who didn’t have brothers or sisters - the blossoming confidence in dealing with the opposite sex - the buzz and thrill in remembering those wonderful years, all neatly packaged in her memory. But one aspect she keeps to herself - (but who am I to say that?) - is how quiet the school was within minutes of the final bell - the noise of her shoes on the corridor - the sunshine - the smell of polish - the boy waiting for her in the bicycle sheds.

Summer ... 1958

A hot afternoon. Unable to decide whether to stay or go. Russell looking at me - those eyes - as biologically close to Caroline’s as it was possible to be. And she was in the next room practicing at the piano. I could actually hear the thud of her thumbs and imagined her splayed fingers - stabbing through the octaves - wrists arched, skin stretched. And the noise - it couldn’t be called music - the noise made my head spin until I had no thoughts at all - just the start of a strange, painless ache that would never get any worse - and would never go away.

Old Photograph

The photograph is from the winter of 1963. Two young people standing in the snow. That winter was one of the coldest on record; the snow came and the snow stayed. The photo shows the two of them, smiling, holding hands, with snowflakes in their hair and icicles dripping on the railings behind them.

It’s interesting and rather dramatic; the couple are in dark coats - creating a sharp contrast to the absorbing white everywhere else. They have a strong presence - you cannot stop looking at them.

So what happened? The snow eventually stopped. The ice thawed. The two young people no longer held hands and smiled at each other ... everything melted away ... back in 1963.

Then

She had been his girlfriend for a few weeks and the boy decided to introduce her to his parents. They liked her instantly and soon she was frequently calling at the family home. More than that, they got along so well with her that the girl visited when her boyfriend was away - working in other cities and sometimes overseas.

When he was home, he invited his dad to meet up with the two of them in a nearby bar. They spent the evening talking - talking about everything. And then, this became a fairly regular thing; the three of them at a little table, drinking and endlessly talking.

Once, he said to his dad - ‘We’ll see you later as usual’ - and his dad replied - ‘No, you don’t want me around. Let it be the two of you’.

The son replied - ‘Of course we want you to be with us!’

And so the dad did as he was told.

Sorrento ... 2016

Sabrina is our new friend - she is taking a break from singing opera in Naples. She strides along the cafe jetties waving to everyone and everyone waves back - she waves to the men in the boats, flicks off her sandals and spreads her arms to embrace the world - what a magnificent exhibitionist.

Everything with Sabrina is 'Che bello!'

As she jumps into the sea she calls out 'Che bello giorno!'

As she splashes a waiter she laughs and calls out 'Che bello ragazzo!'

And when nothing at all is happening she calls out 'Che bello - Che bello - Che bello!’ so loudly that everyone smiles.

Carly Simon has written a book telling of her friendship with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Carly, as a rock star, a famous person with famous friends, acknowledged that Jackie was ‘on a different level altogether’. However they developed a warm relationship and appear to have been good for each other.

Once Jackie showed her a huge leather-bound book. She had copied the entire Odyssey in Greek - with its English translation on each facing page. ‘There must have been a hundred pages of Jackie’s own ink drawings of Ari as Odysseus, depicting his long siren-filled excursion home’... Carly continues ... ‘I can imagine her doing it when he was away on his tankers and she was on the island of Scorpios, making her drawings’.

I can take this one step further! How amazing that this woman - perhaps the most celebrated of the twentieth century, was working on the most celebrated book of any century - and like the beautiful Penelope in that book, nervous and fearful, enduring endless separation, endless longings.

Something Wrong

I once saw a rabbit hit by a speeding car - it was thrown up in the air; then rolled; then settled at the side of the road. A few seconds later I saw his/her mate - ears raised, looking back, confused, aware something was wrong.

And then the realisation that he could not get up, or move - and their world was broken, as broken as the sharp bones in that scrap of warm fur.

[captainalwayslazycollectort-blog]

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

"Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

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I was wondering why it is recommened that I add my boyfriend to my car insurance policy, just because he lives with me? I've talked with my insurance company and I know that my car is still covered in an accident if someone else is driving it, so why would it matter that my boyfriend be listed on the policy?""

""I live in California and need a good health insurance, what do you guys recommend?""

The health insurance will only be for me and my husband. Not too expensive, maybe like $250 the most as far as monthly payments. However, although I'm not pregnant, my husband and I do plan to get pregnant by the end of this year, therefore thats another thing I'm looking for that it will cover maternity. What health insurance do you recommend?""

How much will car insurance cost?

i know you cant exactly guess the costs but can you give me an estimate? i live in va im 17 years old i have 3.81 GPA i am a female how much does it cost a teenager each month?

About how much will car insurance cost me?

I'm 17, I live in texas, I have never gotten into an accident, ill be driving a 2002 SUV and I want to buy it for six months so about how much will it cost""

Does it matter how old your vehicle is to get full coverage insurance in oklahoma?

1996 chevy cheyenne

Does anyone know anything about car insurance or adding a car?

So im 18. I have car insurance with my mom and at country financial insurance. I am tryin to add a car that i have on the policy. But am i able to add if im 18 and the only one on the car title? I thought yes since im 18, but need another opinion.""

""Republicans, Why doesn't the affordable health insurance website work?

Web page design is easy. I make websites about how evil Republicans are and websites where I give people free Walmart gift cards.

Car Insurance Question?

I am 25 today and was always told that your car insurance rates will go down when you reach this age. Is this true? If so, how much can I expect my insurance to drop? Im a male. Im insured through Allstate. No accidents. 1 speeding ticket in 9 yrs of driving. I drive a 2007 f-150 4x4 v8""

Why is insurance so high on the scion tc?

what is the best/cheapest insurance out their for the scion tc and why is it so high?

What online auto insurance gives you multiple quotes and is free?

?????????? free quotes????????????????

Is it true because of government changes my car insurance bill should be lower?

some lady @ work told me 0bama passed some kind of bill so i should change my insurance so it can be lower...its currently @ $400 a month i cant afford this anymore PLEASE HELP

Insurance on a 2004 nissan 350z?

OK... I'm a 17 yr old male, have a solid part time job during school and full time I'm summer... I have found a 2004 Nissan 350z tourister with 58,000 miles, the owner is asking 10,000 for it it great condition... I would be putting 3k down and financing the rest... I would like an estimated price on monthly insurance... I'd be with both my parents and 4 other vehicles I believe, I don't know if its possible but any estimate is good... Thanks""

Can you have Medicaid and insurance?

I live in Nebraska and I am pregnant. My husband does have insurance with his employer, but it has a super high deductible. I think we would be eligible for Medicaid based on income. Can I have both insurance and Medicaid?""

I need a site where I can compare health insurance quotes from the top companies. Any help will be appreciated?

Health Insurance Quotes Needed Online...

How to buy car insurance and get license plate?

I decide to buy a used car but I do not know how I am supposed to buy the insurance and get a plate? My friend told me to get some information about the car, get a quote from the insurance, purchase the insurance and get the place, then go see the seller to complete the trade. Is that correct? If it is, what kind of information do I need to get from the seller to buy insurance? My other friend who bought a car from a dealer said after buying the car he was given a temporary plate, then he went to buy insurance and got the plate later. So can anyone show me step by step how to purchase insurance and get the license plate? Thank you.""

""Minor car crash, no insurance?""

So I got into a minor car crash, I believe my insurance expired. I only have a few scratches on my car, but for the other driver her side view mirror broke. I was wondering just to pay out of pocket because side view mirror repair isnt that much and she probably has a few scatches on her car as well, and going through all the hassle is to much time and work. She wanted to exchange insurance info but wasnt able to provide because I wasn't sure if I was insured or not. What to do? My first car accident! :(""

Car insruacne quote?

im gonna book car insurance with diamond if the annual amount of my quote on their website says 353.95 i worked it out to be 29.50 per month, its says if i want to pay monthly i need to phone. i want to pay monthly, will it be just that amount per month, or will they try and add stuff on? also will they take payment instantly or only on the direct debit date? help""

Bike insurance vs car insurance?

im 18 years old currently going after my A2 restricted licence and drivers licence, what i dont get is why a 27 year old 1.6L car will cost me 5,500 a year to insure while a 1.6L cruiser bike will only cost me 512 a year

Do You Know Any Affordable NY/NJ Dental/Health Insurance Plans?

My father's company insurance plan will no longer cover me as a dependent. I need to find some sort of dental/health insurance of my own. My status is as follows: I live in NY My parents live in NJ I am self-employed out of MD My father claims me as a dependent on his taxes I am presently a part-time student...and will be a full-time student in Fall 2008. What can I do with this...to make something happen? :-)

If i drive less than 40 miles a day am I really entitled to more affordable car insurance?

You probably notice these ads on yahoo saying if you drive less than 40 miles you are entitled to cheap insurance to click on their ads to find out more. I was wondering if that true, what 's the trick?""

How can i get cheap car insurance?

How can i get cheap car insurance?

I am looking for a good insurance company. Do you have any recommendations?

I am a full time student and require more insurance than just what I can get from being a student. Does anyone know of a good insurance company for the state of NC?

What are the cheapest high risk car insurance companies? I have 2 DWI's!?

I recently got my 2nd DWI. I am looking for some of the cheaper high risk auto insurace companies that I can get in Missouri. Thanks for your help

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

Whats the cheapest way to haul my truck around.?

jsut got a mud truck with no titlte or insurance obviously so i need to tow the truck to the woods. whats gunna be the cheapest way?

What is the grace period to drop one car insurance company an get another 1?

My car insurance restarts September 24 I pay more for the 4month plan an want to switch. to a cheaper insurance company

""Question about health insurance, dental insurance?

Hey so my tooth is really hurting? I'm thinking of getting dental insurance and then going to the dentist. If it turns out I need a root canal or something really major-- will they pay for it? I mean-- do I have to declare tooth pain before hand or how does this work exactly? So confused...

Does installing a new stereo into your car affect your insurance?

A lot of car insurance companies ask whether any modifications have been made to the car and I was just wondering on whether this included stereos.

Car insurance question ?

I am now 20 and i am planning on buying a car. I heard that the insurance price is high for beginning drivers so I was wondering if the price goes down as I age...what are the best insurance companies that do this ? Thanks !!

Auto insurance for daughter's boyfriend?

My daughter's car is covered under our policy but we do not want to add her boyfriend. She (20) is losing her license for 3 months and wants the boyfriend (21) to drive her car. Can he get insurance that would cover him while driving her car? The car is in her name and my husbands.

Will my insurance company keep me with them once i buy a new car?

I am an 18 y/o female I was recently involved in a serious car accident 3 days ago. so here is what happened, I was traveling southbound and there was an 18 wheeler traveling northbound. I was moving over into my left lane because I was soon about to turn onto the highway.the light was green and I must admit I did see the truck but it was further back so I decided to try and make the left the light was turning yellow and I wanted to beat the light but my main focus shifted to my left rearview mirror because I wanted to make sure there weren't any cars in my blind spot..next thing you know I looked up and the truck was swerving out of control obviously he was trying to beat the yellow light as well and since he is driving a truck it is way much harder to complete an abrupt stop without gliding practically 100 yards..he smashed right into me and dragged my car along with his truck until I was facing northbound with him..my car is completely ruined and totaled..I know for a fact that if I would've had a passenger with me they would've died on impact, I am so blessed because i wasn't injured that bad beside a little torn tissue in my knee,the pain from my seatbelt, minor scratches,bruised lips, and the small cuts from small glass and powder from the air bag, I did however immediately jumped out of the car cause I didn't want to get blown up or anything...anyways the police came..come to find out the truck driver didn't have proof of insurance with him..and we both got a ticket..mines was failure to yield and his was failure to slow down at yellow light so we both were at fault that was my first car and I only had it for a month and I have full coverage..now the big question is once I buy another car will my insurance company let me stay with them?..because I really like them and they are loyal to their words and customers..I also realize that I caused them to lose alot of money compared to how much I paid...""

Can anyone recommends a good and cheap car insurance in CA? Thanks

Can anyone recommends a good and cheap car insurance in CA? Thanks

How much is your car insurance?

How much are you paying for full coverage or what ever you have and where do you live. $265 a month in New Orleans LA Full coverage.. is this a lot compared to your state?

Questions about letter from insurance company?

I got a letter today from my insurance company who insures my homeowner's insurance - it said that they need to do an inspection of my home to see if I am maintaining it properly. I've been here since November 1999 and I've never gotten a letter like this before. But I was with another insurance company for several years - but I've been with this one for about 3 years I guess. if this were normal practice then why would I get a letter now and not every year? Is this normal insurance practice? This is the first time in my life that I've gotten one of these letters about a homeowners policy if it is not normal practice would this be because someone said something?

is it a good idea to get life insurance

is it a good idea to get life insurance at the age of 22. and if so any suggestions about a company that`s affordable

Is insure.com legit?

I was wondering if the site insure.com is legit and If they have good rates

""Whats a good, less expensive, insurance for a younger driver?""

i'm 19 and have had my liscence since i turned 16, i have a clean driving record and even got a perfect score on my driving test 3 years back. My car's been under my dad's name for the last three years but i plan to move out soon and want to switch the car into my name. does anyone know of a good, less expensive car insurance that would be affordable, and not have high rates just because i'm a younger driver.""

What's a good life insurance I can get for my parents?

They're old life insurance just ended and are now charging $299/month for both of them...they only give $100,000 policy each. Mom is 61 years old and Dad is 65 y/o.....lives in California.""

Car insurance address different on license?

My drivers license and car registration address is at my mothers house which is my permanent address and my car insurance address is where Im living now which is a rental house. Do I need to change the address on my license and car registration? I'm always at my mothers house if it makes any difference. Is this illegal? How would i go about making changes if they need to be done and does it cost money? Thank You!!!!!!

How much is a doctor visit without insurance?

My friend hasn't been feeling well for a few days now and needs to see a doctor. Does anyone know how much a doctor visit would be if she went to a walk in clinic? She doesn't have any insurance. By the way we live in Miami, Fl.""

Subaru Impreza WRX STI a Sports car to insure? ?

Are the 04-07 Subaru WRX STI consider as a Sports car to the insurance? Or is it a family car since its a 4door?

Should I get insurance for my new puppy?

Just got a new pitbull about 2 weeks ago should I get insurance for her?

Insurance question for sport bike?

Ok so I drive already and im going to be 18 very soon. I'm thinking about getting a sport-bike for college mainly because they have very good mpg and are fairly cheap.Once i get my m1 licence im thinking on getting a kawasaki ninja 250 or a suzuki gsxr 600. How much would insurance cost extra on the gixxer than for the ninja, thanks !!!""

California state medical insurance?

I have to have my gallbladder removed and i want to know how long did you have to wait to have the surgery done? I am in Merced, County if that helps.""

""Rear ended by unlincensed driver, insurance refuses to pay?""

Hi all, I was hoping that I could get some guidance as to how I should proceed with this. Thank you in advance. The accident occurred 7 days ago in CA. I was driving home from work in the 4th lane of a 4 lane highway. There was a gap of approximately 4~5 cars in the 3rd lane, so I switched into that lane. By the time I finished the lane change, there was approximately 3~4 cars distance between me and the car behind me. I then drove for approximately a 100 yards, at which point the traffic suddenly slowed and I decelerated. The guy behind me, however, seems to have been looking elsewhere and rear ended me. However, before he collided, he managed to swerve his car and hit the corner of my rear bumper with the corner of his front bumper. We pulled over to the side of the road and exchanged information. It turns out that he does not have a driver's license (or any California/U.S. ID; he showed me a Mexican ID). He begged me not to call the police, admitted fault and said that he would settle it through his insurance (he is insured with a VERY shady place called Access General). I took pity on him, especially since it was very likely that he is an illegal immigrant, so I just took his information down and moved along. Fast forward a few days, and I find out that he has told his insurance that I cut in front of him and that he is not at fault. Since there are no witnesses or a police report, his insurance takes his side. Meanwhile, since I only have liability with Geico, they are saying that they can't help me. The damage to my car is between $4~5k, and that is not even taking into account devaluation of the car's value. I feel very cheated because I took pity on him and I am rewarded with a repair bill that nobody wants to deal with. I have called him multiple times and asked him to tell the truth, but he just ignores me. I am now very angry and want to do 2 things: 1. Get my car repaired. 2. Screw up his life. Hopefully get him deported (very strong liklihood of him being an illegal immigrant), or at the least bankrupt him. I took pity on him because he was in a time of need. All he had to do was tell the truth to his insurance, but he was afraid that his monthly bill would go up... so he lies and screws me instead. Do you have any recommendations for lawyers who would be willing to take on property damage lawsuits? What are my options?""

What is some cheap medical insurance?

I am 18 and I live in alabama and I really need to know what some good cheap medical insurance any suggestions?

I'm switching car insurance and it's stressing me out?

The reason why it's stressing me out because the insurance company I had raised my insurance and I never been in an accident etc. I tried telling them I'm on a fixed income and I can't afford alot. I don't know what to do anymore I'm fed up with everything. This other insurance company asked me if I have any lapses if so then he can't give me a low rate for insurance and I never heard of that before? What is that?

I was banned for drink driving does anyone know any cheap insurance companys?

before anyone says i know i was stupid but i was just over the limit, im looking at buying a nissan micra or something small and i wanted to know where to get the cheapest car insurance""

On average how much would monthly insurance be on a 2012 rolls royce ghost?

On average how much would monthly insurance be on a 2012 rolls royce ghost?

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

Quick question about car insurance?

I've been with a car insurance company for 3 years now and have been lucky enough to not have to file any claims with them, I just had my policy renewed and the premium went up about $100 from the previous year. Prior to this it had always gone down and when I called to ask why it went up they said because of an increase in claims in my area, now I know insurance has many factors such as the area you live in, and even if that is true I feel as if I should call and mention that I've had no claims in my three years with them, no tickets on my record and always pay my 6 month premium at once, would this be a useless attempt at getting them to lower my premium or could this possibly help me? I just don't want to seem like a fool on the phone.""

Will the eclipse GSX make my insurance more than the GS?

Ive been trying to to see if the insurance is cheaper on the GS than the GSX because i dont want to get ripped just because it has a turbo. But i also dont want to buy the GS and then have to buy a whole bunch of new stuff just to put a turbo on it.

Insurance agent won't write the homeowner's coverage she wants?

My fiance owns an old home in northern Ohio and was paying over $1,300 a year for homeowner's insurance until last year. She can't afford over $100 a month in premiums so I looked into trying to get a lower rate. All three agents that I contacted about the matter assumed a replacement cost for her house of around $157,000 which resulted in premiums of exactly what she had last year. The very idea of insuring her house for $157,000 is absurd for two reasons. The first is that I personally built a house in an upscale neighborhood which was almost three times as large and also had an attached garage. I sold that home for around $150,000 and made about $40,000 profit. The second reason that $157,000 is absurd is that any day of the week you can buy a much better house in the neighborhood for less than $60,000. I was able to find a lower rate of around $600 a year through the Ohio Fair Plan website by assuming a realistic replacement cost of $60,000 and not including such things as jewelry coverage (she has no valuable jewelry), and other coverages that don't make sense. Unfortunately, and after contacting several insurance agencies, not a one will write the coverage as specified. The gave me the flimsiest of excuses. It appears to me as if all the insurance companies doing business in our area may have colluded to lock in homeowner insurance rates far higher than is justified. I hope someone out there can tell me if there are laws that require some insurance company to issue a policy as specified by Ohio Fair Plan. Thanks in advance...""

Can a 73 year old man get life insurance for $100K? What would the approx premium be if so?

I know it would be expensive-anyone have an idea? Thanks so much!!

Who do you think has the best car insurance rates?

Who do you think has the best car insurance rates?

Rough Insurance Quotes (Guesses welcome)?

I am first in line for several used cars I'm considering. The only thing I'm worried about are insurance rates. I'm only 19 and I've had my license for less than 6 months. I will be signed on with my parents, and they are with Geico. The three cars I'm considering are a 2000 Ford Mustang, a 2004 Honda Civic and a 2001 Kia Rio. How much would you guess it would cost me a month/year to insure?""

""Im 19 Before buying my truck, insurance, down payment?""

Okay so I'm gonna finance a truck next week with 2,000 down is that too much ? 377 a month! I'm 19. I make 2,000 flat a month pay 250 for rent I live with my prents so 1,750 are for me(: my job is 15 minutes away (: Anyway do I need insurance too take the car home ? Can I get it later ? I asked for a over the phone quote with adranas insurance and it was $200 and they want $300 upfront for the first month that's way to much! Would those $200 a month go down ? And how long do I need full cover on the truck I would buy? I never had an accident never had a ticket or anything my license is clean I got it about 9 months ago! Can I put the insurance under someone else's name ? Like my dad ? Or what can I do ? It's a 2004 silverado v8 2 door! They said I need insurance with 500 deductible what does that mean ? I live in Los Angeles 90018 CA""

What is the typical cost of condo insurance in florida?

I'm trying to understand what homeowners insurance woul cost in florida for a 2 bedroom condo. I'm not ready to call an insurance company. I'm looking in Ft.Myers. Just want to know is it thousands of dollars and out of my range or a few hundrend per year. Say for a 75k condo.

Are jeep wranglers expensive to insure?

are jeep wranglers more expensive to insure than other cars? and how much is the average insurance rate of one?

Where is the best place for me to get car insurance?

My policy on Geico expired recently. Right now I'm trying to think of all the money I'll be saving without using Geico. Their rates were outrageous. Those cavemen are smart not to use Geico. Every lie has some truth in it. Anyway, I need to renew my insurance, and I'm fed up with Geico. Are there any other companies that are reasonable like Nationwide, State Farm, All State, Progressive, and whatnot?""

Can i pay gor someone elses car insurance?

Right so my mum bought a car and I love my mummy so I offered to pay for her car insurance but she said I won't be able to do that for some reason so (I'm her son btw) what I'm asking is if I put all the details in her name but put me down as an additional driver can I pay for the car insurance ?, it's cheaper that way too (for me) lol""

Motorcycle insurance?

how much would it cost to insure a 16 year old male for a 230cc motorcycle in Ca ??

When does insurance rates go down?

I been in an accident in 2006 and I was looking for insurance quote for less and I wanted to know if it will lower in 3-5 years. start with a clean slate. Thanks

How much is car insurance for new drivers a month?

I'm planning on to buying this car peugeot 206

Car Insurance Question?

Im Getting My First Car In A Few Weeks and Im Wondering About Car Insurance Is $225.55 alot? How much would I Have To Pay A Month/ Every 6 Months Thanks :)

Car insurance question?

My car insurance is under my brother's name, but it is my car. If someone hit my car, would I be able to handle everything myself? My brother is out of town for a week. Or should I wait for him? Thanks.""

Will the premium for my car insurance go up ? =(?

Hi, I live in Connecticut and I just began having insurance under my name about 4 months ago. Recently a guy hit me and damaged my car but when I tried to get his insurance to pay for it he lied about the whole thing and the police report stated both our stories so I was denied liability. Now my insurance company has to pay for the damages which come out to around 2400 dollars. I was wondering if my premium will go up next time I renew... I already pay $2700 a year and am worried =(""

Would Jesus want health care for ALL americans?

Or would he worry about the Big insurance companies not being able to compete with a public option?

How to get cheaper car insurance in bc?

How to get cheaper car insurance in bc?

I am confuse in my shop insurance?

Insurance company says your insurance in under insure so you can not get full claim amount. What can I do?

Does anybody know of a cheap insurance company for eighteen year olds?

I just turned eighteen and I'm looking for car insurance since what I'm paying right now is really high ( 290 for minimum) Everywhere else I look wants like 1000 dollars a month for minimum coverage thats crazy how can anyone afford that? Are there any good companies in specific for someone in my position?

Who has the cheapest renters insurance in california?

Who has the cheapest renters insurance in california?

What is a private jet's insurance price? and maintenance costs? Averagely.?

For College I have to do a business plan. We are creating a fictive private jet renting company in Colombia but i can't find these informations. It is really important as i is part of our financial statements. Thank you very much.

Was done for drink driving what car shall i buy when i get my liciece back for cheap insurance?

Was done for drink driving what car shall i buy when i get my liciece back for cheap insurance?

""For my roads test, do i need to have insurance on the car i use (virginia)?

I am 19 years old and I am long over due to get my license. My mother let her insurance lapsed and she is the only person who's car I can use. Do I have to provide a insurance card when I go to take my roads test

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

Toledo Ohio Cheap car insurance quotes zip 43654

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