books-and-cookies:

I wish it were possible to re-read my favourite books and experience them as I did that first time. The wonder, the excitement, the heartbreak. Everything. I want that first time with a book again.

(via strong-but-breakable)

holysheerios:


Quick oneshot based on the song ‘Stay With Me’ by Sam Smith, hope you enjoy xx

// 

Alcohol makes people into the exaggerated versions of themselves. It peels away the rough edges and smooths them out, puts a clear covering in place of our skin so we can see down into our bones. Ed was a perfect example of that.

Alcohol put a transparency over him and it made everything visible, and I knew that. And oh, how I loved to take advantage of it. 

Nearly a year, going on two, after we’d broken up, I found him at the bottom of a bottle, in a local pub, so drunk his eyes were hazed over and he didn’t even recognize me. 

"Hey," he had called when I had my back to him, avoiding him to the best of my ability. "If you, if you uh, want a drink I can—"

I turned around and met his soft face, sweaty and with circles clinging underneath his eyes, but he had never looked so beautiful to me, because it was him. 

I choked out the syllable of his name under my breath and then withdrew it in the same exhale, realizing that his eyes told me he knew no familiarity. Nothing clicked. They were hollow, he was empty. 

"Of course," I slurred, and he waved for the bartender, and I let him because my set of morals is a crooked one, because I’m selfish. 


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holysheerios:

Quick oneshot based on the song ‘Stay With Me’ by Sam Smith, hope you enjoy xx

//

Alcohol makes people into the exaggerated versions of themselves. It peels away the rough edges and smooths them out, puts a clear covering in place of our skin so we can see down into our bones. Ed was a perfect example of that.

Alcohol put a transparency over him and it made everything visible, and I knew that. And oh, how I loved to take advantage of it.

Nearly a year, going on two, after we’d broken up, I found him at the bottom of a bottle, in a local pub, so drunk his eyes were hazed over and he didn’t even recognize me.

"Hey," he had called when I had my back to him, avoiding him to the best of my ability. "If you, if you uh, want a drink I can—"

I turned around and met his soft face, sweaty and with circles clinging underneath his eyes, but he had never looked so beautiful to me, because it was him.

I choked out the syllable of his name under my breath and then withdrew it in the same exhale, realizing that his eyes told me he knew no familiarity. Nothing clicked. They were hollow, he was empty.

"Of course," I slurred, and he waved for the bartender, and I let him because my set of morals is a crooked one, because I’m selfish.

Read More