#kindafked

[msredact]

[   @kindafked​ / continued   ...   ]   immediate regret sets in.   fuck you, jude.   hands reach for a tea towel to wipe gore off a kitchen knife                   dolores just watches him   &&   his stupid grin. eyes narrow with   ...   contempt ? a hint of adoration ? maybe even a bit of   challenge ?   moments like these make her realize that   ( besides there not being many alternatives here )   there’s really no one else she’d rather be doing this with. the   everything,   by the way   ...   not just the casual homicide.        “       fuck you                   don’t make this weirder than it has to be,       ”   spoken through a simper, with a tone that’s both playful as it is threatening. the odd confidence of knowing what he’s doing   ( though there’s definitely better things to be good at it, but these are not normal people to begin with ),   the way he bites his lip when he’s focused, the blood splattered across his shirt that’ll leave a hint of pink behind                   ‘ it’s from that one time you got a nosebleed, ’ she’ll improvise, in case anyone asks                   makes her   ...   who knows.   not to mention that stupid shit - eating grin he flashes every time he knows he’s about to get on her nerves   ...   for fucksake, dolores.   being so unused to this weird romance bullshit leaves her with a feeling in her chest that’s she’s still trying to figure out. tip of the blade gestures towards him while an eyebrow cocks   :   “       if you want me to say it again, you’re gonna have to come over here and get it out of me yourself.       ”

[petrovafired]

❛   how  many  more  rock  bottoms  are  you  going  to  have  to  hit  before  you  start  taking  care  of  yourself?  ❜

     —       jude   isn't   going   to   kid   himself   into   believing   that   he's   even   remotely   close   to   being   a   fully-functioning   adult.      even   a   human   being.      with   how   many   time   he's   danced   with   death,      even   letting   a   vampire   of   all   beings,      feast   on   his   lifeline      —      there's   really   only   two   logical   explanations   at   play      ;      one,      he   trusts   her     (     eh.      ).      two,      the   will   to   chase   one   high   after   another      +     with   one   bigger   than   the   last.         "         what      are      you,      𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗱      now     ?         "         perching   himself   off   the   bed,      one   hand   swipes   over   the   side   of   his   neck,      ridding   his   skin   of   whatever   excess   red   was   dripping.         "         say      anything      more     &&      i'm      'gonna      think      y'actually      care,         "

her  feast  has  come  to  an  abrupt  ending.  the  pleasant  anticipation  of  what  she  enjoys  so  much  got  inevitably  disturbed  by  a  rather  unwelcome  off-taste.  chemicals  overlaying  the  sweet  metallic  flavour.  the  bitter  taste  sticks  to  her  tongue  like  she  has  bitten  into  a  mouldy  grapefruit,  leaving  her  pretty  features  distorted  in  disgust.        ❛  oh,  i  do  care.  ❜        she  clarifies  before  she  crawls  up  to  his  torso,  slender  arms  embracing  his  shoulders  from  behind.        ❛  i  would  miss  you.  deeply.  ❜        the  tip  of  her  nose  brushes  his  ear    [  false  display  of  affection  right  there  ].    she  leans  in  a  little  closer,  lips  replacing  her  nose,  and  whispers:        ❛  interacting  with  you  shows  me  my  own  superiority  quite  plainly.  where  else  would  i  find  a  service  that  selfless?  ❜        lips  stay  parted,  awaiting  an  equally  venomous  reaction,  however  forming  into  a  grin.

[msredact]

[   continued   ...   ]   it’s not you, it’s me.   fuck off,   jude. dolores stares, watching him drum up vague excuses like it’s a boring comedy show. but could it be ? could it be that she feels just a skosh of offense ? a little, yeah.   hurt   :   even though she won’t admit it, and she’ll hold that dead stare until it nearly kills her. even at jude. but then, it’s like : come on, man. you kill together and suddenly you’re   keeping secrets ?   dolores almost laughs at this realization.      “       that’s   the best you can come up with ? do you think i’m stupid or something ?       ”   and finally, that hurt                   the hurt she promised herself a moment ago that she would keep under wraps                   breaks through in her voice. jaw clenches, and it’s tempting to just call him an idiot, to just insult him and tell him to go pout somewhere else, but this is the part where she tries to   ...   change. or whatever. legs swing off the counter, hands pick at the ends of her shirt   ...   this is as uncomfortable as it is annoying.   “       don’t shut me out like that.   don’t   pretend like you can shake me off that easy.       ”

[msredact]

“ i love you like an ocean loves water. ”                   @kindafked

“       jude                   ”   dolores should just fucking say it back. but instead, face turns to a grimace and eyebrows press together. there’s disbelief in her expression                   ‘ you are such a fucking idiot. ’   but then there’s a hint of adoration in sparkling irises, as if she’s equally in disbelief that this is   her   idiot. and oh my god he means it. he said that with his full chest. he must think it’s so poetic. she can’t stand it, but in the most affectionate way possible. he doesn’t need to compare to comparing it the ocean loving water when pancakes in the morning say enough. but still, she replies with an exasperated sigh   :   “       the ocean is water.       ”

[philomelia]

cassie’s in the front seat of her van,  legs curled under her as she peers over the side of the seat.   her hands had been busy with the cd player   (one of her old cds had gotten trapped in there months ago:    currently,   the sweet tunes of cyndi lauper were the only thing filling up the night,  even if she was desperately trying to switch to the radio).     but her attention was pointed at @kindafked​ now as her eyes twisted into little slits.     ‘‘    yeah,  okay,   i get your point,   asshole.   you know what?   listen to cyndi lauper and suffer.     ’’     she wiggles between the space between the two seats,   dropping ungracefully onto the floor of the van.    ‘‘   i just want it,  like,  officially on the record?    people have really cool dreams about me.   all the time.     ’’     continued.

[lem0nsheadz]

nails tap tap tap against her skin. she doesn’t want to be here, pacing across her living room in her  most ‘ I’m extremely normal ’ clothes. she agreed, and she’s not a big enough bitch to cancel on a friend last second like that. she’s not going to put Jude into a place where he has to go through a whole break up arc or make some lame excuse as to why she’s ditching their now very regular one saturday a month dinner date with his mom.

it’s not Mrs. Lars, of course, she’s nice in a way no mother figure in Lemon’s life has ever been. but that’s also kind of the fucking problem. “ ugh! ” her hands tear through her hair, forcing her bangs flat for what must be the 100th time, nails digging little half moons into the pink skin of her forearm. 

she hates this. she hates it, she hates it, she hates it, she hates it. eyes screwing up tight into a furrow that twists her face into something close to anguish. ever since that . . . thing Jude did. that damn night under the streetlamp she hates being around him. every time she does her skin crawls, stomach flipping + that awful, awful, fear.

she could just leave. disappear into the streets. take a plane, a bus, a train, somewhere far enough Jude would never reach. he wouldn’t really come looking anyway. she knows he wouldn’t. no one ever does.

but then she thinks of Mrs. Lars, and her slightly chipped plates, and the little smile she gives when she says ‘ you two look so nice together’ and Lemon buckles beneath the weight.  so she’s going. in her best good girl clothes, with the best makeup she could manage. with her soft girl perfume + her bow buckled mary jane shoes. just one last time so the guilt won’t eat her alive.

“ where the fuck is he? ” she looks at her watch for the fifth, or maybe it was the twenty-fifth, time. he’s not even late yet, not more than usual anyway, she’s just crawling out of her fucking skin with surges that run up her nerves like Father’s ‘training’ used to. it makes her want to shove her palms into her eyes until the pressure makes it stop. “ come on, come on, come on. ”

                                             @kindafked​ 

[msredact]

[     continued     /     @kindafked     …     ]       how unfortunate he won’t be handing her his keys, and even more unfortunate that she’s incredibly distracted. a thought said out loud, a half - baked quip. dolores will technically regret this                   she gets that look of disappointment and flashes that oh - so - typical annoyed stare, but she’ll recover. easily.   “       the car sex or the regular sex                   ???       ”   wait. pause. eyes narrow suspiciously. she’s standing now, mimicking and effectively mocking his stance. arms crossed, chest puffed, face hardening into this grimace.   “       what is this ?   what are you doing ?   are you trying to   peacock at me   right now ?       ”

[veilgrave]

❛ why are you still here? ❜      :      @kindafked​​

the   proverbial   cat   is   out   of   the   bag.      she   has   no   obligation   to   stay   in   this   city   now   that   she’s   fulfilled   the   one   thing   that   kept   her   going   for   several   years      :      finding   her   brother.      still,      the   question   stings.      maybe   it’s   because   she   expected   them   to   spend   days   and   weeks   catching   up,      sharing   memories   and   stories   from   their   separate   lives   before   they   finally   caught   up.      it’s   a   big   revelation,      to   have   a   sister   you   didn’t   know   about.      she   supposes   she   didn’t   factor   in   the   possibility   he   might   not   even   want   her   around.      her   hands   clasp   together   in   front   of   her,      and   she   scratches   at   the   pads   of   her   fingertips.      oh,      it   is   a   hard,      hard   thing   to   feel   so   small   and   unwelcome.      “      i   don’t   know,      “      eleanor   admits.      “      i   guess   i   thought   we   could      ...      be   like   real   siblings      ?      like   the   ones   you   see   on   tv      ...      “