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starlessea · 3 years

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𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 2. Manic Pixie Dream Bitch

A/N Make sure you read the prologue and other chapters first! Things are starting to pick up - I hope you stick around for the ride.

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 5374

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury, Domestic abuse mentions

The evening was cool, and a breeze hung in the air.

The midday Georgia heat had all but melted away, leaving behind tepid winds that rustled leaves on the trees — and the canvas tents. They fluttered around you as you walked, like the beating of butterfly wings, or ripples atop the ocean.

It was peaceful. It felt safe.

All eyes were on you as you followed Daryl to the firepit, taking a seat on a low log beside him — but not too close.

The night was still too young to turn in yet, so the man had begrudgingly led you out of his tent when the silence became stifling. For some reason, conversation didn't come as naturally to the two of you as it once had.

There was tension there. You could feel it.

But you didn't have the slightest clue why. The last time you had seen Dixon, it was in the midst of a tremendous thunderstorm. The two of you had laughed, and ran through the rain until your clothes were soaked through, and your skin was cold.

It was one of the best nights of your life.

Yet, here you were — sitting beside the man in stagnant silence as he kicked at coal embers with his boot, and pretended not to feel your stare seeping into the back of his head.

Across from you were the people you had briefly met earlier — the two officers by the names of Shane and Rick, or helicopter boy — the asian man named Glenn, and Carol who was sitting beside her husband. Their individual conversations were low, barely audible against the crackling fire, but one-by-one they seemed to filter off, until there was nothing but silence once again.

Shane stood up.

He stoked the fire a little with a branch, careful not to let the flames rise too high. "So, tell me," the man spoke, his voice wide and assertive,"how's a sweet young thing like yourself figure out how to fly a Sikorsky Hawk?"

His presence was big.

It made you shuffle in your seat as his eyes dragged down you, resting on your arm — which was bound by a sling. "Well, minus the landing part," he murmured below his breath.

You didn't like the way he smirked when he said that, like it had been amusing to him — funny to him that you'd almost died. Daryl let out a sound beside you, a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat that only you could hear. But you didn't bite to his words.

After all, men like that could only bark.

"I was in the military," you answered, meeting his eyes and not breaking the stare.

Your throat was still sore, but your words rang out clear, atop the thrum of the evening air, and flickering flames. Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked back on the balls of his feet — as though he was putting on some type of show.

"Air force, then?" he questioned, but it was starting to feel more like an interrogation.

You caught the whites of Carol's eyes across from you, as they darted between the officer and yourself, and to her husband, then back to the other officer. She seemed as skittish as a person could possibly be — just watching, waiting, for something to happen.

You cleared your throat and forced a smile. "Training to be," you clarified.

For some reason, the exchange didn't feel like a conversation. The mood was too tense, too untrusting. It reminded you of the few minutes you'd spent alone with Dixon, back at his tent.

Something felt wrong.

Shane stalked around the firepit, his police boots crunching against the leafy bed, and kicking up dirt where he walked. He stopped directly in front of you, looming a shadow down onto you and Daryl — and making the other man scoff as he looked up.

"So not actually a pilot yet?" Shane smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile faltered, he was asking too many questions.

The other officer, Rick, took off his sheriff's hat and tracked his partner's movements with his eyes, as though anticipating something that hadn't happened yet. It made you feel a nervousness you were ashamed of.

You never did play well with men like Shane.

"And tell me this," he said, lowly, as he crouched down to your level, "why aren't you at Fort Benning?" He looked back over his shoulder, at Rick who was sitting stiff as a board, before cocking his head back to you."Or were you part of the group that showered Atlanta with napalm?"

The word hung heavy in the air — even though he had practically whispered it.

Your mind flickered back to the day it rained fire down upon the city, to the sounds of screams, and the charred remains you'd stumbled across on the occasions you wandered too close to the centre.

You shook your head immediately, feeling the pain shoot up your shoulder. "I had no part in that," you hissed — much more viciously than you anticipated.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you curled in on yourself. You didn't miss the way the man recoiled slightly from your face, and you'd even caught a fleeting glimpse of your reflection in the blacks of his irises.

You wore a look of pure disgust.

"I was discharged," you whispered, after taking a few moments to collect yourself. "Couple months before all this." You glanced to your right, to where the former mechanic was sitting — trying to pretend like he wasn't watching you. "Got sent to Georgia afterwards, which is where I met Daryl," you explained, noticing his eyes narrow at your words. "Briefly."

He looked away. He didn't seem to like that choice, either.

Shane stood back up, stretching out his knees, and then his neck. He rolled his head back in a circle, before glancing to and from you and Daryl with a smirk.

"Makes sense," he murmured, before turning on his heels to walk away, "dropouts tend to stick together, no?"

And for the second time today, Dixon went wild.

The tension finally snapped, like an elastic band having been stretched to its limit, and Daryl shot up to his feet, lunging for the man.

But you reached out for him at the same time, trying to grab his hand so that the night didn't end in the way you were almost certain it was going to end.

After all, you'd only seen Daryl go off once before — back in the old world — which had left an aftertaste of bloodstains over your bar, and maroon-tinted bruised knuckles that needed tending to well after your closing time.

But now he seemed even worse — more tightly wound than a coil beneath your boot, always ready to jump up and spring.

He was playing the part of a man far more angry than you had ever known him to be.

Although you still couldn't figure out why.

The ticking of the wall clock was stark against the silence. Joe's Bar had been cleared out more than an hour back, but the two of you remained — like ghosts haunting whiskey bottles and looming around the jukebox until it played a song you liked.

Dixon hissed as you tipped alcohol over his knuckles, watching as it seeped into the cuts and spread over his bruises like a clear film. They weren't that bad, really — only a purplish hue to them.

After all, you'd seen the other guy.

But you'd never seen Dixon get so riled up before. He'd always been a cocktail of shy glances and dumb wonder around you. That was until tonight at least, when a drunken customer slapped your ass at the bar, and the mechanic beat him bloody.

He'd probably seen how rattled it had made you, and how you looked ready to either snap or break.

"Ya don' have to do this," the man rasped, purposefully avoiding your eyes. "Save the vodka."

Your hand stilled over his knuckles, as you breathed in the strong, sharp scent which made your lungs burn. You laughed, pointing back over your shoulder at the shelves atop of shelves — stacked with an array of bottles, all different shapes and sizes.

"We've got plenty to spare, don't you worry," you hummed, before tipping more Smirnoff onto a cotton pad. "And you didn't have to do that, either," you chided, narrowing your eyes at a particular cut — which had already begun to crust over. "I could've handled him."

The mechanic scowled, glancing back over his shoulder to the place where it had all gone down — as though watching the scene play out once more in his mind.

He shook his head. "Ya could'a lost yer job."

"I'm used to that by now," you bit back, not once looking up from his bruise-splayed knuckles. "But Dixon," you cautioned, "don't go doing that again."

A car drove by outside, its headlights streaming in through the window and illuminating the dark husk of the bar — the pool tables that had been otherwise cloaked in shadows, and the expression of the man sitting opposite you, studying your every word.

"Joe might bar you next time," you whispered, screwing the lid back onto the bottle.

But Dixon only laughed.

"Barred from a bar?" he scoffed, stretching out his fingers to inspect your work, "he ain't gonna do tha'."

The stool squeaked as the man stood up, dusting off his jeans and retrieving his jacket. It was long past midnight, and you knew you'd be catching a ride back with him as he sped down the streets, reminding you to hold on tighter.

"What makes you so sure?" you teased, untying your apron and leaving it at the end of the counter.

Daryl held the door open, and fished around in his pockets for something that jingled — pulling it out to show you.

It was a set of car keys, with a tacky coke-bottle charm hanging from them.

"Still got his truck sittin' in the shop," he smirked.

The scuffle between Shane and Daryl was interrupted before blows could even be exchanged. Rick grabbed a hold of his partner, whilst you pulled the former mechanic back down to his firepit seat, trading places with him until you were face-to-face with the other asshole — a few inches shorter but a whole lot more pissed.

Daryl tried to stand back up again, but you flashed those eyes at him — the ones that made him immediately second guess the action.

"Sit down," you seethed, punching out each word as you spoke them.

And surprisingly, Dixon did as you said.

You weren't angry at him, exactly, but you didn't want him fighting your battles for you anymore — especially not whilst he had a chip on his shoulder more noticeable than the sling on yours.

Then you turned back to Shane, looking up at him as he stood with his chest almost flush to you, completely ignoring Rick's pleas behind him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That comment wasn't off-handed — he made sure you could hear it.

"I don't like you," you said lowly, not backing down from the glare he shot your way.

You didn't want things to turn out like this. There was nothing more you hated than making a scene.

Well, there was one thing, you thought.

You couldn't fucking stand men who abused their power.

"Don't have to like me, princess," Shane retorted, reaching out a hand in your direction. "I'm just here to keep you alive."

You smacked his palm away — as though it were a fly buzzing much too close — before he could make contact with your skin. And you saw red.

Daryl would have punched a man for less, if you'd so much as given him the right look. But this time, you shot a warning glance at him, telling him to stay put.

"Don't fucking touch me," you whispered, but your words held more weight than if you'd screamed them — and Shane retracted his hand. "I can take care of myself."

Except, he made a point of letting his eyes drag over your injuries, lingering on the makeshift sling, before settling on your stomach — as though he could see your stitches underneath the material of Daryl's shirt.

"Clearly," he remarked, before turning on his heels once again.

Nobody stopped him this time — not even Rick — as he stalked around the fire, and into the night. You caught a glimpse of his metal dog tags as he did, glinting off the light of the flame and jumping around his neck with every step he took. You thought it was ironic for him to even wear them.

Or maybe not.

After all, he seemed the same as every other military man you'd encountered — a goddamn animal.

"Make sure you take care of your manic pixie dream bitch," he yelled, probably directed at Dixon. "Wouldn't want anymore helicopters fallin' from the damn sky."

And so Shane disappeared into his tent — into the shadows you couldn't quite make out — and Daryl stood up straight after, heading in the opposite direction. The remaining group was uneasy, tentative almost, as they watched your head whip back and forth between them and the mechanic as he left.

Dixon stalked away into the brush, despite the shouts and warnings not to stray too far from the campsite.

And you followed him.

With each step further from the flickering flames of the bonfires, it became harder to navigate the night. Your injuries had slowed you down, and you flinched every time a twig snapped, or leaves rustled near your ear. You didn't even have a weapon anymore — since it had burnt up with the rest of your gear in the crash.

But it didn't take you long to track down Dixon. After all, his smoke trail gave him away.

He was sitting on a grassy bank, over facing the quarry waters. There was a full moon out, and you could now see it peering above the tops of the trees — ghostly white against the stark, black sky. And cigarette smoke swirled around it, leading back down to the shadowy figure on the ground, legs tucked up to his chest as he breathed deeply.

You approached, wincing as your shoulder caught on a low-hanging branch.

"Yer gonna bust ya stitches messin' 'round like tha'," Dixon spoke, not even turning around to confirm it was you. But still, he outstretched a hand, helping you sit down beside him.

The moonlight was beautiful. It drizzled over the treetops in the distance, and the spindly branches that reached up to the sky. It even reflected off Daryl's skin as you glanced at him in the corner of your eye — watching as the smoke poured out from his lips and settled in the air.

You tucked yourself into his side just a little, missing the heavy feeling of your jacket which smelt like him — and was almost just as warm. Part of you expected him to shrug you off, or make some remark in-keeping with how withdrawn he'd been throughout the day.

But, he didn't.

He let you sit beside him, as he blocked you from the breeze — as though you weren't the one person who would be used to it.

"Got a spare?" you asked, eyeing his packet of cigarettes.

Dixon hesitated for a second, before placing them down in the space between you. "Thought ya didn't smoke," he replied.

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't."

In truth, you'd only recently taken up the habit — smoking much too scarcely to even call it a habit, really. It had all started when you'd stumbled across a rundown convenience store, and looted a packet of cigarettes without thinking — just because they were the brand that Dixon smoked.

The first time you lit one, you'd cried. They smelt like him.

They'd smelt like your only friend, and reminded you of just how lonely the end of the world was. So, you started to smoke — only when you missed him — and you continued because, even though he was now sitting beside you, for some reason you still felt empty.

Neither of you said anything after that, but you could hear his thoughts — those questions he wanted to ask but didn't. After all, he'd voiced them once before, back before the world ended. Except, it was you who wasn't willing to answer.

"What'd ya do tha' got yer ass sent here?" Dixon asked, one day whilst you were hanging around at the auto-shop, watching him scrub down that Honda bike. "Y'know, locked away in rural Georgia."

You laughed at his words, taking a swig from the ice cold cola you'd skimmed from Dean's fridge.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I was training to be a helicopter pilot," you admitted into the air, answering that question truthfully for the first time.

But he'd already guessed — after the day you'd both had.

"Why didn't it work out?" Daryl mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between his lips as he spoke the words.

You watched as the smoke formed white clouds against the black night, before finally reaching for the packet yourself.

"Fear of heights," you told the man, letting out a breathy chuckle that blew out the lighter's flame.

It was a lie, but the truth was much more bleak.

Though, perhaps that was what nights like this were for. Out here, there was no one else to hear you speak your thoughts, or even see the two silhouettes sitting in the dark. Maybe you could even start trusting the man called Daryl Dixon, since he'd done nothing but pick you up and set you back onto your feet ever since you fell from the sky — and even some time before that.

"No matter how long I would fly for, I always had to land at some point," you explained, though it didn't really sound like much of an explanation. "But the people on the ground made me wish that I never had."

Daryl met your eyes, and in that moment you swore you saw a glimpse of that former mechanic — the one who was street smart but still clueless to people.

"That was until I met a man at a garage who promised to show me the world on his bike," you smiled, before letting the smoke trail from your lips, "but we ended up watching the stars instead."

Dixon didn't smile back.

And somehow, the smoke on your lips tasted more familiar — felt more like Daryl — than the man sitting beside you.

"Ya can take the tent tonight," he mumbled, snuffing his cigarette butt out on the grass.

You pulled a face, but he didn't retrieve it like he normally would — he probably thought there was nothing left in the world worth preserving anymore.

"And what about you?" you asked, making an expression he couldn't even see. "You should rest up before tomorrow."

But the man shook his head in the dark, pushing back on his knuckles to stand up — and offering you his hand once more.

"I ain't none of yer concern," he dismissed, whilst his palm was still warm in yours, "'m gonna sleep out under the stars."

The stars were bright overhead, with no light pollution, or mysterious blinking flickers that could have been mistaken for planes of satellites. But somehow, you didn't fully believe his story.

You laughed, but it wasn't the warm kind. It was the kind that felt foreign on your tongue, because it was a far cry from the fits of giggles the man normally had you in.

"Well, enjoy the view," you replied, shortly.

But you failed to notice the way Dixon watched you the entirety of the way back to camp — as though he already was.

Once Daryl had walked you there, and left you at the tent doorway, he did indeed roll out an old blanket over the grass, to lay back underneath the stars — just as promised.

He was far enough away that he didn't feel like you were right beside him, but still close enough to make out your silhouette against the lamp-lit canvas walls of his tent. That way, he didn't have to worry about walkers — but he didn't have to worry about you, either.

The night was quiet. The full, bright moon beamed down on him like a streetlight and the stars blinked in the sky like peering sets of eyes — staring back at him whilst he looked up. Daryl sighed, and crumpled his packet of cigarettes in his fist, crushing any left inside.

He needed to stop smoking them, because now they'd become tainted by you — and had become another thing that inescapably reminded him of you.

The lingering scent of them on his fingertips alone made him remember just how intoxicating you were. It made Daryl feel like he'd gotten a high from the scent of unbottled moonshine, or from that smile of pure starlight which could make a man go blind.

Though, he'd only had the pleasure of seeing it once today. The rest of the time you'd been pissed, confused, hurt.

He'd probably caused a lot of that — he wasn't that oblivious.

But you were the type who could break his heart without even knowing, and then offer to mend it like it had been someone else who'd done the damage.

He didn't understand how you could act so nonchalant, so blasé, as though you hadn't nearly died, and as though you hadn't just come back from the dead — where Daryl had thought you'd been this entire time.

He laughed, and it almost sounded as cold as the one you'd directed at him earlier.

Merle always called him naive, but Daryl often overcompensated for the fact with blind curses and bruised knuckles from butting heads those who suspected him of being as much.

But it had been the truth.

He was naive — especially when it came to you.

But, Daryl was also angry and hurt. And he didn't know how to fix that without bruising his knuckles — or his ego.

He bit his lip, wetting away the dryness with his tongue, whilst trying not to focus on how dry his throat felt, too. Then, Daryl rested his arm over his eyes.

He didn't feel like watching the stars anymore.

When you awoke, light had filtered into the tent through the mesh netting, speckling over your face like glittering gold as you blinked.

But when you awoke, the man was gone — leaving only another shirt behind in his place.

It almost made you cry, because of how familiar it felt. It smelled like Joe's Bar, of Marlboro cigarettes, of Georgia, and of home.

But you couldn't cry; you hadn't done since the day everything fell apart. So instead, you pulled on your big-girl shirt — the one belonging to the man twice the size of you — and grit your teeth as you threaded your bruised arm through the sleeve, and caught your stitches on the buttons.

You spent the whole morning trying not to notice the glaringly obvious absence in the camp — the men who'd left in search of Merle Dixon. But at the same time, you grimaced at the sight of the ones who hadn't left, the ones like Shane, and Carol's husband — who leered at the women as they washed his fucking underwear.

"Carol, why don't you ask Ed to come and help us," Andrea remarked, glancing towards the man resting languidly by his jeep, "make himself useful instead of just standing there smoking cigarettes."

Beside you, Jacqui laughed a high-pitched laugh, as she wrung out another damp t-shirt in her fists. You had only been formally introduced to her this morning, but her smile was infectious — and for a minute, it made you forget about the anxiety deep in the pits of your stomach.

Carol was quiet, but eventually chirped up once she mustered enough confidence.

"If I knew how to get him to do that, I would have done it years ago," she muttered, and shyly rolled her eyes.

Andrea boomed out a laugh, whilst the others chimed in at the appearance of Carol's unexpected humour. You tried not to let the chuckle wrack up your body, since every slight movement sent shockwaves to your injuries. But at this moment, you didn't really mind.

Carol had a pretty smile, and an even nicer laugh.

Except, her husband didn't seem to think so.

He stalked over with the same bravado Shane had mastered the night before — probably taking inspiration from the other man who wore boots three times his size. You could make out the sneer on his face before he even got within a few steps of you all. It was just that deep.

The man flicked his cigarette in your direction, and it barely missed the toe of your boot.

"What's so funny, hmm?" he jeered, but his tone was anything but light. You didn't have to hear them twice to recognise those words as a threat. "Gotta be somethin' if it's got you ladies so distracted."

Each of the women stayed silent as a grave — as though in some secret pact Ed was unaware of. He sauntered around, weaving in between Jacqui and Andrea, until the latter eventually snapped.

"Is it really any of your business?" she remarked, frustration clear in her voice. "After all, we're the ones doing your laundry."

She thrust the damp clothes she was holding at the man's chest, before letting them fall to the floor. The moment you heard them hit the ground, your hands were already shaking with adrenaline. You knew that look — the one Ed wore — and nothing good ever came from it.

He stepped up to Andrea, his pride damper than the shirt at his feet. "Know your place, little bitch," he hissed, shoving her back with his shoulder.

And chaos broke out.

Jacqui's screams sounded very much like her high-pitched laughs had done, and Lori called for Shane like a broken record that only knew a single name. You wanted to get everyone to calm down. You wanted to diffuse the situation like how you'd been trained to do.

But all you saw was red.

Carol interjected, lacing herself around her husband's arm as she begged for him to stop. "Ed, please don't-"

The man backhanded his wife, sending her to the ground with a single strike.

And that was your queue.

You rushed over, feeling your feet sink into the pebbles deeply with each step. You had a dozen stitches in your stomach, but you would rather pop every damn one open than let him get away with that.

"You dare lay your hands on her?" you roared, approaching the man — the monster — from behind as he loomed over Carol like a shadow of cowardice.

Ed reacted out of instinct, flailing his arm backwards and hitting you across the jaw with his elbow as you tried to pull him away. Immediately, your mouth pooled with the taste of copper, and you spit it out onto the pebbled stones beneath your feet.

You looked over at Andrea, who was dumbstruck as she watched blood drizzle from your lip, before you wiped it away by the sleeve of Daryl's shirt — with your one good arm.

"Get Carol out of here," you said, so quiet that it might as well have been a whisper.

You looked at the man, sizing him up as he stared you down.

"She isn't gonna want to see this."

The evening sunset was a vibrant salmon, tinged with deeper, darker hues the further you got from the sun. Those parts of the sky were the same maroon colour as your jaw — you'd caught glimpses of it in Andrea's compact mirror.

You'd spent the latter part of the day avoiding Shane's lectures, and the women who meant well but fussed over you far too much. So, you retreated back to Dixon's tent — icing the ripe bruise on your chin with a pack from Dale's RV cooler.

The scent of Marlboro cigarettes lingered around you — faint but still present in the fibers of the blankets beneath you, and in your shirt which was now bloodstained. You tried to ignore the pull of it, not wanting to smoke.

The tent puckered as someone fumbled with it, and soon the entrance flap was unzipped — revealing Carol, who timidly ducked inside.

"We meet again," you greeted her, thinking back to how she'd tended to your wounds in this very spot, not even a full day before. "I was going to apologise for beating your husband into the ground, but I couldn't bring myself to say that I'm sorry."

You grimaced as the words left your mouth. They sounded a lot more sharp than you'd intended.

But she still smiled warmly at you, a smile that you didn't think you deserved, and shook her head. The woman sat down on her knees opposite you, coaxing the ice-pack away from your skin for a second to inspect the damage.

"I don't blame you," she said, as gentle as her touch. She smelt like citrus, and summer days as her palm ghosted over your face. "I came to thank you, actually. For being the first to stand up for me."

Your gaze dropped down to where her sleeves had risen up, revealing the yellowish bruises dotted over her arms — in the shape of fingerprints.

"Well, someone had to," you noted, sadly.

She caught the way your eyes lingered, and quickly adjusted her shirt, pulling it back down to her wrists.

"Was it really that obvious?" she chuckled, nervously.

But you felt like she already knew the answer.

Her stance was practiced, even sitting down. She wasn't at all relaxed, hovering on her knees like a small rabbit, ready to dart to safety at a moment's notice. You felt like you were looking into a mirror — one that only reflected the past.

You nodded. "When you know the signs, it is," you admitted, sitting back against Dixon's pillow. "I had my suspicions before."

She hummed in return, acting much more casually around you than she had done a mere moment before. "What gave it away?" she asked — curious more than anything.

Light streamed in through the little plastic windows on the tent, falling in a stream between you — warm against your lap.

"Your hair, for one thing," you confessed, gesturing with your free hand. "You shave it yourself? To stop him grabbing it during fights?"

She remained silent at the accusation, but her eyes gave her entirely away.

You nodded. "They always tend to stoop that low."

And Carol bit her lip in response, not pointing out how you'd done the same with your braids — keeping them tight to your scalp, not even a strand out of place.

She excused herself then, making some remark about how she best ought to go check on her husband, before letting you catch a glimpse of the brave scowl which made its way onto her face as she said it. The sun hung high in the sky as she ducked back out, almost as bright as that full moon had been the night before.

"Hey, Carol," you said, loud enough for her to still hear it, "if he gives you trouble again, don't hesitate to come find me."

The woman nodded once more, and waved you off.

"Just you wait until my good arm heals," you called after her. "My right hook's even better than my left."

Then, you winked — watching as she debated letting out the laugh she had stifled — as you recalled the actual reason that got you hauled off to Georgia in the first place.

Dishonourable discharge, my ass.

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poguesofthebau · 4 years

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hi! if youre still doing them can i get a ship? my name is sam, im a straight female and i have brown eyes with kinda long brown hair. im about 5'7. im pretty quiet unless im with friends although i can be very talkitive, im very sarcastic. at times i can be stubborn. i care a lot about other peoples feelings and opinions more than i probably should. lowkey a hopeless romantic. i mostly listen to pop and sometimes rock music. i like to draw, watch movies, and hang with friends.

first and foremost... i love your blog. okay now let the ship begin :)

i ship you with jj!! (honorary mention: a lot of the time, you’d seek refuge in pope. aside from jj, pope matched your energy the best of all the pogues, and you often found yourself plopping down next to him on a log at the Boneyard when jj was being annoying, or on the couch in The Chateau when jj wouldn’t get out of the hammock after the nap you’d taken together, or in the back of the van when jj insisted on riding shotgun instead of kie for once. you and pope would just be like... bros. half the time you had super quiet conversations that no one else could hear until one of you burst out laughing. then jj would make a sarcastic comment about pope stealing his girl, and john b would make one about the two of you secretly plotting to dismantle the government or something)

you would be the pogue who insisted on a weekly movie night every thursday during the summer. in your mind, there was no excuse for any of the pogues to miss it, and because they knew how much it meant to you, none of them ever did miss it. eventually, these movie nights led to you and jj’s relationship, so he liked to tell everyone who asked that you made the first move. (not directly true, but we all know how convincing of an argument jj could make, no matter how absurd the lie.) the first few times you guys met up at The Chateau for movie night, summer had barely even started. school had ended on a thursday night, and all five of you had gone straight to john b’s after last period, immediately breaking out the celebratory beers and joints before settling in a few hours later for a movie. the entire time, jj would be snuggled up right beside you, arm tossed around your shoulders, whispering little comments about the film in your ear every few minutes. you’d laugh quietly when he started ranting to you about how much of a rip off the movie re-make you were watching was, and the tiny giggle you let out was apparently enough to light a fire among the pogues. john b and pope were convinced that the two of you secretly had something going on, and, no matter how much you both brushed it off, you knew the taunting and teasing was there to stay for the summer.

unsurprisingly, you were right. john b and pope wouldn’t let it go. the following day, the first official day of summer, the five of you would spend the day on the hms pogue, swimming and fishing and drinking and laughing. when jj grabbed you by the waist, both of you laughing loudly and uncontrollably, and dragged you off the boat and into the water with him, the other boys started up again. “jesus christ, jj, at least act like you’re not desperate!” john b would call as you and jj paddled around to the other side of the boat. “i know, dude,” pope would jump in. “just because you’re in the water now, doesn’t mean you washed the love off your face.” you’d snort at that, jj throwing his friends the finger. kie simply sat there, observing the interaction between her friends with a smirk. she, too, had her own little theory that jj felt some special kind of way about you, but she was holding on to it until she could get one of you alone to discuss it. little did you know, she actually would get jj alone the next day. after your day on the water, everyone would return to their respective homes to clean up and get a good night’s sleep before the first saturday night Boneyard party of the summer. the next afternoon, when kie and jj both coincidentally arrived at jb’s at the same time, she saw her opportunity. “hey, by the way,” kie would say after greeting the blonde, pulling him back by the shoulder with a sweet, sarcastic smile. “how long have you been in love with sam?” his face would pale for a second, but just as he regained his composure to jab back at her, you were stepping out of the Chateau with a grin on your face. “who’s ready to fuck the Boneyard up this summer? come on, losers, me and john b already started pregaming!” with one last knowing grin thrown at jj, kie was scurrying up the stairs and grabbing a beer and getting the party started. that night, jj got totally sloshed and fully confessed his feelings to kiara. he also made her swear on the pogues not to leak his secret before he could confess it to you.

so a few more weeks would go by, jj and kie both keeping his secret perfectly. they’d have short interactions of just the two of them, where the two would gush like teenage girls over the cute thing you’d said to jj one afternoon, or how beautiful you looked in that one sundress you’d worn for a day of hanging around at john b’s. during all the following movie nights, jj would be sure to save you a seat next to him on the couch, always slyly putting that arm around you and telling you little fun facts about the films you’d watch. eventually you caught on to jj and kie’s behavior, and how sneaky they were being. on top of that, you finally admitted to yourself how special jj made you feel. funny enough, you’d wind up confiding in pope and john b about your newfound feelings for the reckless blonde. there’d be one day a few weeks into the summer when kie had to work at The Wreck and jj had to work at the kook hotel, but the rest of you had the day off, so you, pope, and jb would take the boat out for a chill day of fishing and tanning. you’d be laying out on the front of the boat, pope in the driver’s seat and john b throwing a net out to try to catch something for dinner. (the vibes that i am imagining on this boat... immaculate. something about pope x john b seems so comfortable and just literally vibey to me idk but i love it.) you’d have your eyes closed and a hand thrown over your face to block out the sun as you chatted with the boys, and eventually the topic would flow over to jj. “i dunno, i think him and kie might kind of have a thing or something,” you’d admit, disappointment prominent and obvious in your voice. “which, like, i don’t really care, but it’s just kind of... i don’t know.” pope would be looking at you from his spot on the boat, a slightly concerned look on his face. john b would just shrug, shaking his head a little as he spoke despite your eyes being closed. “i don’t really think it’s serious. i’ve noticed them like, whispering a little, too, i guess, but i don’t think it’s a big deal.” you’d sigh at john b’s words, your hand falling from your face as you flipped onto your side to look at your boys. “can i just admit something to you guys? but it has to stay on this boat. no kie, and no jj. this is between the three of us only. promise?” john b would draw an invisible cross over his heart as pope raised his right hand and gave you a quick scout’s honor. “it’s stupid, but i just thought maybe jj had a little thing for me. so with all this kie shit, i’m just kind of confused.” pope’s eyes would widen and john b’s eyebrows would raise. “seriously, do not repeat what i just said. i will kill you both.” “maybe you should just tell jj before either of us get the chance, then,” john b would offer. you’d roll your eyes, laying flat on your back again. “no, seriously,” pope would agree. “just because he’s been spending some extra time with kie doesn’t mean he feels that way about her. maybe they’re talking about you all the time. you never know.” although you didn’t know that pope’s idea was actually the truth, it really got you thinking.

the next thursday on movie night, you decided to sit between pope and john b instead of snuggling into jj’s side. it seemed like a harmless change to the other three pogues, but you could see jj burning up inside. he sat through the entire movie with his jaw locked, grinding his teeth when he heard you mumble something to john b about the movie. by the time the film was over, jj was about to explode, and everyone noticed. “you good, buddy?” john b would ask twenty minutes later when he saw jj’s knuckles going white from how tight his grip on his beer was. he’d glare at his friend before turning to you. “can you come outside with me for a second?” you’d glance at pope in a panic before quickly nodding and standing. jj stormed out of the house in front of you, dropping into a hammock and running a hand through his hair as you nervously followed. “what’s up?” you’d timidly ask. while your voice was steady, your mind was running a mile a minute. he knows. he hates me. i should’ve known not to tell the boys. with their big fucking mouths, they probably-- “do you have a thing for john b, or something?” you were stunned out of your thoughts, freezing where you stood at the (seemingly impossible) question. “why would you think that?” you’d finally ask, jj letting out a puff of air. “i-- can you just answer the question?” you’d shake your head, causing him to sigh. “then why’d you sit next to him? you always sit with me on movie night.” you’d shrug, shuffling your feet and avoiding eye contact. “i dunno. i thought you’d wanna sit with kie.” there was a moment of silence then, and you could’ve sworn you felt your friendship dying. you were gonna lose jj, because of some stupid crush, and you were going to absolutely break over it. “you’re an idiot,” jj would mumble under his breath after thinking for a few moments. as you looked at him, completely puzzled by his words, he was standing swiftly from the hammock and approaching you quickly. “such a fucking idiot, sam.” those would be his last words before his hands were suddenly on the sides of your face, tucking your hair behind your ears, his lips kissing you. barely seconds into the kiss, you heard whooping and screaming from behind you. when you pulled back from jj, he was smirking, raising his middle finger once again to pope, john b, and kie, who were all standing in the door of the Chateau, cheering you on. you, however, were still confused beyond belief, unable to move your eyes from him. he finally looked back to you, still smiling. “are you okay?” he’d laugh, tucking another stray hair behind your ear. “what was that?” he’d tilt his head at you, smile now replaced by a smitten look. “i thought-- i thought you and kie--” you simply shook your head in place of words, causing jj to laugh. “i told you you’re an idiot. every time i was with kie, it was to talk about you.” your jaw dropped at that, and you spun to face your friends. “pope, you fucking genius! you were right!” as per usual. pope was always right, especially when it came to his best friends.

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[RF] The Part-Timer

\beep beep\**

“Okay Doodle, stop.”

It promptly stops.

Time for another day.

“Okay Doodle.” It lights up, showing me it's listening. “What’s up?”

“Here’s ‘What’s up’ today. The high today will be 72 degrees, expect partly cloudy skies and..”

As it's words melt together and my attention loses focus I stretch and sit up and bed. Reluctantly, I step out onto the floor and so starts my day.

I head towards the bathroom, piss, shower, brush my hair. A routine so automatic that it makes me feel like a machine, like I’m running on steam and doing what someone else built me to do. As I look in the mirror I notice the bags under my eyes,they’re especially heavy today. A little work on my face and off I go, and as I stand by the door fully clothed in my WcDonalds uniform I turn and look at my Doodle Home.

“Okay Doodle.” It’s light turns on, it’s listening. “Simon says …’I love you, have a good day’.”

It’s light blinks for a second.

“I love you, have a good day.”

I smile and walk out my apartment, locking the door behind me, my small handbag thrown over my right shoulder as my body carry me to a place where my brain doesn’t want to be. Thursday afternoons are pretty hit and miss, maybe we’ll be slow today, and I’ll be able to take it easy.

As I walked in the door, I couldn’t believe what I saw.

“That’s what I get for wishful thinking.”

“Oh! I’m so glad you’re here, I know you technically have another 15 minutes until you clock in but as you can see, we’re a little swamped here, would you mind starting a little early?”

I sighed, “No problem.”

Walk in the back, punch in my card and take my place in front of a register. Just like usual.

I turn to my manager, “Hey, how come we still have a punch clock, isn’t that a little old fashioned?”

“If it’s not broke then don’t fix it, right?”

“That’s the thing, it IS broke, I usually have to punch in my card four or five times before it’ll actually punch it, I got lucky today though, one punch!”

I can tell she wasn’t fazed by my half-assed enthusiasm.

“Let’s chat later shall we? We’ve got hungry customers!” she said with half-assed enthusiasm of her own.

“Sure.”

Almost immediately a line formed in front of me.

There I saw the first customer I fell in love with that day.

He was about five foot, seven inches tall, and a bit chubby, especially for his age which looked to be about twenty. His mossy eyes were a beautiful dark green and his shaggy brown hair was just frazzled enough to be cute. I could tell he was a wonderful person just by what he ordered.

“Uh, yeah, let me get a number six with a watermelon soda.”

The number six was a grilled chicken sandwich with lettuce and tomato on a wheat bun. Instead of regular fries it came with sweet potato fries, and the watermelon soda although tastes rather sweet, actually has less sugar than most sodas we have here. I can tell that even though maybe he was maybe not the best looking for his age that he was at least trying with the lower calorie meal. It wasn’t long after he ordered his meal that I realized I loved him, his passion, his aspirations, his willingness to succeed, was just so inspiring. To see someone push themselves the extra mile, to see them persevere, to see someone who recognizes their faults and seeks to improve speaks volumes about their courage and is a testament to how wonderful they are as a person. I knew for sure I was in love.

I stared at him while he ate his meal, half-heartedly taking other customers orders. He mostly stared down as he ate, looking up at me every now and again. I suppose I’m not the only one who felt what I was feeling. Within minutes he was gone, he must’ve been in a rush because he ate rather quickly. Regardless, I look forward to seeing him again some day.

The second person I fell in love with today was a bit different.

He was very tall, at least over six feet. He had a clean haircut and was dressed somewhat formally, with a dress shirt unbuttoned at the top but still tucked into a pair of slacks.

He ordered the number three, the double burger with bacon and fries, which surprised me a bit considering he was a rather slim man. He must’ve been one of those extremely fortunate souls born with a naturally high metabolism. People like that tend to take things for granted although I suppose it's not really his fault. It's like when people say not to feed the baby animals near your home otherwise they’ll never learn to get food from themselves, he’s simply used to living a certain way because he was never taught any better. I would love to give him the helping hand he needs, to be there for him when he needs me, and to help him be the best version of himself he could possibly be.

He took his meal to go, which was sad as I wished I could’ve watched him eat but it’s only a simple matter of time before I see him again, I’m sure.

The third person I fell in love with today was completely unlike the two before.

She was rather short, with beautiful brown eyes and blonde hair, but what really got me was her sense of style. She was wearing black bell bottom jeans with white boots, and a white crop top.

She ordered the-

“Um, excuse me! I think you were supposed to clock out an hour ago!”

“Uh, no I’m pretty sure I was supposed to clock out at four.”

“Yes, well, it’s 5:45 now.”

I looked at the clock behind me and sure enough it read 5:45.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry let me clock out-”

“Honey, Let's make sure that we pay closer attention to the time tomorrow, and also try not to drop another order of fries or else soon enough we’ll have potatoes coming out the ground.”

I don’t even remember doing that.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Walk to the back, clock out, grab my bag, go home, the end of another day.

As I’m walking home I check my phone for notifications and get excited as I see a text message in my inbox, but when I click on my inbox I see that it's just an automated message reminding me to vote during the next election, funny how I’m still not even registered to vote yet.

Slowly but surely the embarrassment from my mistake at work starts catching up to me, and my thoughts take over my mind for a short time.

I can’t believe I made myself stay in that place any longer than I possibly had to, and worst of all was the way my bitch of a manager handled it, everybody makes mistakes right? Nobody’s perfect right? That doesn’t mean you should treat people like shit, right? Maybe she doesn’t think I am people, maybe she thinks I’m just her robot, maybe I am.

As I finally make it back to my apartment I feel an almost overwhelming sense of relief and comfort now that I’m home. From there it's just the end of another day. I go to my room where I practically rip my clothes off me and throw them on the floor, walk to the living room and put The Workspace on my TV as background noise, walk to the fridge and get a beer and chocolate bar, plop on my couch, browse random social media apps on my phone.

Eventually it gets time for me to do my nightly ritual, I put on a face mask and grab my journal and pen. My black composition book. I open it up and begin logging down all the people I fell in love with today, writing in detail all of my thoughts and giving them a cute name I think would fit them. Three more were added today. It's funny to think but I didn’t always keep one of these but I read online once that keeping a journal can help with depression so about a year ago I started keeping track, every day I would log every person I fell in love with. With these three additions that brings the total up to 567.

I close the journal and hold it to my chest, hugging it firmly. When my journal is against my chest all I can feel is warmth, and love, overwhelming love. I carry it into my room, still hugged tightly against my chest, and lay down with it. This time every night is when I feel the most loved. With one arm hugged snuggly onto the journal, I use my other to pleasure myself. Using my fingers, wishing it was someone else.

————————————————————————

\beep beep\**

“Okay doodle, stop”

Another lousy day.

“Hey doodle, what’s up?”

Another blur before I’m about to walk out the door.

“Okay doodle, simon says “I love you have a nice day”

It blinks it’s thinking lights.

“I love you! Have a nice day!”

What day is it today? Doesn’t matter really.

Lock the door.

Walk to work.

Small talk with manager.

Clock in.

Stand in front of register.

Here I am, yet again, as the gatekeeper of the obesity epidemic. Today’s a slow day at least, not too many in, not too many out. It’s almost too slow of a day in fact. I’ve only seen a few dozen people, and none of them yet have been worthy of being my lovers.

As the day draws to an end, I look at the clock, “this time for sure, I won’t go over”. Just five more minutes. On a slow day like this, probably just one more customer.

I look towards the door eagerly, when finally I see a plain looking man walk in. Probably around his mid twenties, pretty unremarkable.

“How can I help you?”

“Uh, yes can I get a number six with a watermelon soda?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Um, could you repeat my order please?”

“A number six with a watermelon soda?”

“One more time, I love the sound of your voice!”

“Um...a number six with a watermelon soda.”

He chuckles, “Yes, that’s right. You’re very pretty, y’know?”

I can’t help but blush just a little bit,

“Uh, thank you.” I say with a bit of a nervous smile.

He pays, I give him his food, he sits down to eat. I can’t help but stare at him, I thought he was rather plain looking but he was actually kind of sweet. His kindness, made me fall in love with him.

Just like with all of my other lovers I just stared at him as he eats, but unlike my other lovers he actually was staring at me right back! Smiling, as he messily eats his food, and I just blush and smile as we stare at each other.

As he finishes his meal and throws away his trash and walks up to the counter.

“Anything else I can help you with sir?” I say cheerfully.

“Yes, actually, are you busy tonight?”

He suddenly has a bit of a cocky smile on, which I didn’t quite expect.

“Well, um, no, not particularly.”

“Well how about this, you give me your address, and at six o’clock tonight I meet you there, you let me in, and we can get to know each other, sound good?”

I nod my head nervously as I struggle to maintain eye contact.

“Sir, um, I can give you the address right now, if you want to put it in your phone.”

“Oh yeah, of course!”

I give him my address and he puts it in the notes of his phone.

“Thank you, sir.”

He grins a bit, “Y’know I do like being called Sir but my name is James. And let’s see, your name is...”

He kinda looks at my uniform kinda weird, scanning me up and down.

“Huh, you’re not wearing a name tag are you?”

I touch my chest trying to feel for my name tag there, shit, out of all days for me to forget it has to be today!

“Hmmm, well, we’ll have plenty of time to figure that out later! I’ll see you at six!”

He walked out, and my time was up, I clocked out but didn’t start walking home until I noticed he was long gone, I didn’t want him to think I was weird, I probably should’ve told him I got off sooner, ugh, why didn’t I tell him I got off sooner!

Actually this is good, this gives me time to go home and clean up.

Clock out.

Grab bag.

Run out.

It’s almost as if I can’t get home fast enough. I’m running, when was the last time I ran?

Finally I rush in my apartment and start tidying up best I can, spraying air freshener everywhere to try and mask the scent of beer.

Before I knew it, six o’clock is here, and I hear a knock on my door, right on the dot.

I let him in, he smiles.

“Oh, sorry did you just get back from work, we could’ve done this later on if it would’ve been easier for you!”

I was trying to figure out what he was talking about but then I looked down and realized I was still in my uniform, I was so busy trying to tidy the apartment up that I totally forgot to change.

“Uh, no, it’s fine, Uh, you wait out here let me get dressed! Talk to doodle in the meantime.”

I dash to my room, which at least is tidy, I threw all my clothes on the floor and grabbed a t shirt and some sweats then went back out to meet him.

“Ah, the casual look, I like it!”

I just chuckle a bit nervously, “...thank you…”

I point him over to the couch and we both sit, I just kinda look at him awkwardly, but he’s unbelievably calm and poised, I guess I’m the only one at this age who hasn’t done this a million times already.

Eventually he breaks the silence,

“So, what sort of stuff are you into?”

“Oh! Uh, I like cartoons and uh, chocolate, and beer.”

What am I saying?

He just burst out laughing, almost hysterically, which puts me at ease a bit.

He rubs his eye and says “You are funny, y’know?”

I smile kind of nervously as we look each other in the eyes. He starts to lean forward, oh god, is this it? He closes his eyes and puckers his lips, this is all too fast, I don’t even know this dude, he doesn’t even know me, this just doesn’t feel right.

I backed away, he looks surprised.

“Um, I’m sorry, I just, maybe we should get to know each other first?”

I see him pull away and kind of look at me for a second, giving me one of the warmest smiles I’ve ever seen. Then before I could even react I see him rear his hand back and slap me in the face, knocking me down on the floor.

He stands up, still smiling and chuckling a little bit.

“Y’know, I knew you were gonna be one of these types, I’ve done this many times before!”

I’m crying on the floor, he calmly gets on top of me and holds my arms down.

“You type of people make me sick y’know, too scared to do anything.”

He rips open my shirt.

“This is too easy.”

He starts rubbing his hands all over me. I feel disgusting, I don’t love this man, I don’t love anyone, I’ve never loved anyone. How could I let him do this to me?

My arms are no longer restricted, his hands are violating my body, I have to do something. I look at his face almost helplessly, and he still has a big smile, grinning ear to ear. So I shoved part of both of my hands in his mouth and started pulling his cheeks apart as hard as I could, almost as if I was trying to tear his mouth open. He tried to bite down but my fingers were on the outside of his teeth, and I was tearing apart a lot of his skin.

Eventually he pried me loose and fell backwards. I ran to the kitchen to grab a knife from a drawer. Right as I pulled it out, he pulled out one of his own from his pocket and stared right into my eyes, blood oozing from his mouth.

“C’mon then, bitch.”

We both stood there, looking at each other, knives in hand, he runs towards me and lifts his knife in the air.

My knees were barely holding my body up, and my body was only running off pure adrenaline.

He lets out a loud shriek into the air, his intense yell eating up the deafening silence in the room as he runs toward me about to bring the knife down into my neck.

I stick my hand up in the air and let him pierce the knife right through my hand, I can’t help but feel the pain, and let out a loud scream of my own as I plunge my knife right into the center of his stomach. As soon as I do so he coughs up blood onto my face, his face only centimeters away from mine.

He chuckles a bit and looks at me with horror in his eyes, but he still has that damn smile on his face, distorted, bloodied and hanging off what used to be his mouth.

“Guess ya got me, huh?”

He fell straight on top of me, his blood pouring out all over me as I just sobbed silently.

“Hey doodle, call the police.”

It’s thinking lights blinked.

“Okay, dispatching the police to this location.”

“Hey doodle, I love you.”

It’s thinking lights blinked.

“Thanks!”

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