#microwaves him :) puts him through the spin cycle :)

[churchyardgrim]

thinking abt…. him <3

my bb boy Theophrastus Bombastus Van Hoenheim. local prettyboy wizard’s apprentice and possessor of the tightest pants one can legally buy. ask him about alchemy and arcane nerd shit and how to extract cyanide from cherry pits. ask him how he gets his hair so poofy and soft. do not under any circumstances ask him about where he came from. also maybe don’t ask if that fifteen syllable pileup is even his real name.

#theo #dnd #iron crown #chews on him gnaws on him he’s my favoritist most specialist little man #microwaves him :) puts him through the spin cycle :)

[youknowiknowhan]

First smut here you go😌

It’s been a rough couple of weeks for Felix. The boys had just ended their comeback promotions and went straight back to work on the next, restarting the cycle of writing, producing, and choreographing. The more work they put in, the more work they wanted to do. Mornings with Felix turned into being awoken by his goodbye kiss, seeing his retreating back through groggy eyes. Meals together went from dinners to suppers, and eventually eating alone, setting aside a plate for him with a sticky note. Heat this in the microwave. I love you. You wondered when you should step in - you’ve seen him work himself to the point of exhaustion, shadows taking over his face, falling asleep in the practice room, eyes turning distant and hollow.

The alarm bells went off when he didn’t answer his phone throughout the day. You racked up 15 missed calls, heart creeping towards your throat as the hours passed and worst case scenarios raced through your head. You grabbed one of his hoodies and started for the company, calling Bangchan on your way out.

“Hey, what’s up?” He sounded tired, but that was par for the course.

“Hey, have you seen Felix? He hasn’t answered my texts or calls since this morning. I haven’t seen him in days,” Your voice breaks a little and you swallow, gritting your teeth to keep your composure.

“Huh… I saw him in the practice room yesterday but I’ve been in the studio since.”

“Chan…” You sigh.

“I know, I know… but I’m okay. I’ve been eating and going home, just that last night was a marathon session. Are you on the way here?”

“Yeah. Come get me from reception?”

“Okay. See ya,”

You feel the rush of air conditioning as you enter the JYP building. Bowing slightly to the receptionist, you stuff your hands into the pocket of Felix’s hoodie as you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You see Chan exit an elevator and give a slight wave.

Chan pulls you into a bear hug and you realise you can’t remember the last time you saw Felix, let alone touched him. The thought makes your eyes sting and you step away, shoving your hands back into the pocket and quickly turning towards the lifts. Chan eyes you curiously, but whether it’s fatigue or empathy stopping him from saying anything is unclear. The two of you step into the lift and Chan presses the button for 7.

“Hey.” You startle as Chan interrupts the thoughts spiralling in your mind. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

“Yeah… Thanks, Chan.” You mumble as the lift bell sounds.

He pats your shoulder as you part ways, heading opposite directions down the hallways.

You wring your hands as you peer into every practice room, opening the doors and turning on the lights to double check the interiors. There aren’t many people in the building at this time of night, and the knot in your stomach winds tighter with every empty room you sweep.

Finally, you reach the final practice room at the end of the corridor. It’s dark and silent, and you contemplate calling Chan again if your search turns up fruitless. You press your face and hands against the small window and almost fall face-first when the door is yanked open from the inside, a hand reaching out and grabbing your arm harshly, pulling you into the dark.

Your scream of surprise is muffled by a warm palm, your back slamming against a hard body and a strong arm gripping your midriff painfully.

Your nostrils flare as you try to breathe around the hand over your face, and that's when you smell it. That familiar scent masked by the sweat of hard work and the chill of late nights. Sugar and sunshine - home. You cease your struggle, wrapping your fingers around the arm gripping your waist in an effort to turn yourself around. He doesn't budge though, and in your confusion, one of your feet lands on his, causing him to cry out softly in pain and stumble backwards, loosening his grip on you. You spin around and grab him by the shoulders. The sight that meets your eyes snatches the air from your lungs.

He's exhausted - that much you expected. But the desperation in his eyes catches you off-guard. He looks, for lack of a better word, hungry. His eyes meet yours for a beat, taking in your face and lingering on your lips. He leans in, a trembling hand coming up to cup your neck.

"Felix..." you whisper, concern blooming in your mind. He catches your lips with his and a groan escapes him, his grip tightening on you as he manoeuvres you to the mirror. The cold glass meets the back of your head as Felix chases your mouth with his own, the heat of his body seeping into your own. Your hands fist his shirt, the oversized fit tangling in your fingers and making you whine in frustration. With a growl, he slams a hand next to your head, making you jump as he leans away and pulls the garment over his head, flinging it to the floor. He caresses your face with a warm hand, his expression stony as you lean into the touch. You never break eye contact and the look in his eyes is… haunting. They’re empty and passionate at the same time; cold yet affectionate. A shiver goes down your spine as you realise you don’t know this Felix. You have no idea what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling… what he wants.

“You look so good in my clothes.” His voice is deep, deeper than usual, raspy and rough against the silence of the practice room. His eyes rove down up and down your body, raking over your collarbones and down your thighs. You move your hands in front of you, an unconscious response to feeling so exposed, but his eyes narrow and he pins your hands behind you, forcing your back to straighten and your chest to press against his. His eyes are dark as he assesses your face.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” his breath ghosting against your neck. “Things have been so tough for me, but you…” he feathers kisses along your jawline. “You’re my light,” he drags his nose along your cheek. “My sunshine,”

“All mine.”

In a blur of action, he releases your hands and hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and slipping his hands up your body, sucking in a sharp breath when he registers the absence of your bra. Clicking his tongue, he reaches up to rid you of his hoodie before burying his face between your breasts, licking and groping, groaning against your skin. You reach down to grip his shoulders, the action pushing your breasts closer together. You look down and see Felix’s eyes, wide and dark. The sudden crease between his brows is all the warning you have before you’re hauled unceremoniously off the mirror and tossed onto the couch.

You land on the couch with a bounce and have barely a second to regain your bearings before Felix is on you again, skin on skin, licking and touching any part of you within his reach. His fingers tug at the waistband of your jeans, silently asking permission, and you fumble with the button before he takes over, undoing it quickly and pulling them off you along with your underwear. You reach for him but he gets to you first, one hand pinning your hips down while the other drags demanding fingers over your heat. You cry out - there’s so much going on yet it’s not enough, but it’s all you can do to muffle your moans as Felix coats his fingers in your slick and toys with your clit. You hear his sigh and the swoosh of fabric before he’s lining himself up against you. His face enters your vision, a fresh layer of sweat clinging to his bangs, his hand gripping yours so tight. He lowers his head to yours and snaps his hips, burying himself in you and ripping a scream from your throat that you muffle in his shoulder.

He sets a punishing pace, hands wandering all over your body, breaths coming loud and fast. You vaguely register your reflections in the mirror and the clothes strewn across the floor, leaving no doubt as to what was happening should anyone walk in. All the thoughts leave your head, though, the moment Felix catches your eyes straying, a snarl leaving his curled lips and his hand leaving yours to squeeze your jaw almost painfully, turning your head back to face him.

You hear Felix’s grunts faintly over the rush in your ears, feel his fingers dig painfully into your hips before his thrusts stutter and still. He collapses onto you, his weight bringing you back down from your high. You stare up at the ceiling, riding the wave of relief and pleasure, relishing the blankness of your mind and the looseness of your limbs.

[oyesmendes]

i keep on missing you

a/n: so remember when i said there would be a part two to “all i wanted was a happy ending” ? ya its here.... this was largely inspired by Missing You - The Vamps and i miss you, i’m sorry - Gracie Abrams. hope you guys got some tissues ready HAHAHA sorry in advance! @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @lonelyreputation​ 

read part one here

'Cause I'm sat here in my front room with a girl who ain't you / Hopin' and prayin' you're breakin' up with another fool

The sunlight that streams through the small crack between his curtains is what wakes Shawn up. He has his hand draped across a body - or should he say, his girlfriend’s body and he finds himself frowning at the lack of the olive skin he’s grown so used to waking up to. He’s quick to change his facial expression once he sees the body roll around to face him. The girl grins at him, stroking his cheek and pressing a soft kiss on his lips which he struggles to return.

“Morning, sunshine”

“G’morning” He mumbles back. They don’t say much, only sharing a few kisses and cuddle for what felt like too long before they both stumble out of bed into their morning routines.

Shawn is sitting at the dining table, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram like he was reading the morning papers. He likes a couple pictures posted by friends back in Toronto, before he lands on one that makes his breath hitch.

@kiara_hammani: everyday is worth celebrating with you. happy three months, sweet pea!

It was a picture of her - Kiara. His finger hovers above her face, wanting nothing more than to feel her skin against his. She was in that blue sundress they bought on impulse during a trip to Hawaii two years ago, and she was posing at the beach. Wrapped up in the arms of another man. He’s contemplating if he should zoom in or tap on the tagged account of the man, but decides to just stare at it for a couple more seconds instead. It’s only been less than five months since she moved out, how could she have moved on so quickly?

“Shawn? Hey you there, gorgeous?” Shawn blinks his eyes a couple of times to bring him back to reality. He quickly places his phone face down on the table and smiles softly.

“Yeah? Sorry I got a little distracted.”

“That’s alright, would you like coffee or green tea today?” She was holding up a French press in one hand and pack of teabags in the other. She smiles sweetly at him and Shawn feels himself cringe internally. This girl was everything but Kiara. The tone of her voice constantly laced with sweetness, and pale skin covered with fake tan which made her look orange. He thinks back to all the times that Kiara would purposely use a high-pitched voice to mock the waitress or random girl that was trying to get in his pants and they’d have a good laugh about it. He knows she would’ve done the same right now. Shawn looks at the girl standing in front of him and he hides the disappointment that fills his chest when he realises that she’s not here.

“I’ll have the tea, thank you Chris.” She nods and spins around to make him a mug.

Christine was your typical LA girl. Yeah, the ones that have beach blonde hair, holding a hydro flask and wearing cut off denim shorts all year round. How she and Shawn ended up together for the last two months? Ask management. They initially paired him off with another girl but she was way too much of a blonde that Shawn ended up ditching her on their first meet. He put up a strong fight with the team afterwards and they eventually settled on Christine. She was no where near Kiara, but according to Shawn’s publicist - Christine was the cure to his falling reputation.

So they’ve spent every single day together for the last two months, drowning out all the dirty news of their breakup. Shawn didn’t hate it completely, Christine was too nice to him that he forced himself to enjoy every moment. But he does catch himself comparing her to Kiara, and he can’t seem to shake himself out of it. He watches as Christine turns around, two mugs in her hand. At first, he doesn’t notice the pastel pink mug that belonged to Kiara. But as she places it down on the table, he sees the faint lipstick stain on the edge of the mug and he stops her from lifting it up to her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Christine asks when Shawn’s hand lands on top of hers.

“Throw it out.”

“What? Babe, I just made this-“

“I said THROW IT OUT!” She jumps slightly in her seat when Shawn raises his voice and he immediately regrets it. Christine pushes her chair back, letting them scrape the hardwood floor because she knows how much Shawn hates it when she does that. She gets up from her seat and stalks to the front door.

“You can throw it out yourself.”

Nothing happened in the way I wanted / Every corner of this house is haunted

The front door slams and Shawn is left with the same deafening silence from two months ago. His eyes focus on the mug and then roams the house. Every corner was filled with the essence of Kiara. After their heated argument, she moved out the next morning, taking everything that she could without the need to turn back. Naturally, she left a few shared pieces in the house which Shawn never touched, and it was starting to feel haunting. Each object that she had left - the dark blue curtains from Ikea, the cream coloured throw from a boutique in London, and even that chipped porcelain vase she bought from a kid at a yard sale held three years of happy memories. Memories he couldn’t bear to relive or throw away. Shawn would much rather be alone than to share this special place with someone new, but he couldn’t lose Christine now, especially when his career’s on the line. So he forces himself to grab his keys and pull himself out the front door. He’s out on the streets and thankfully, Christine hasn’t made it too far from the apartment building.

“Christine!” She increases her footsteps but before she could make the corner, Shawn grabs a hold of her arm.

“What do you want, Shawn?” He pulls her closer to him and she’s resting her hand on his chest. Her touch felt different. But Shawn settles for it in the moment.

“You, me and the grocery store.” He smirks at her. A small smile erupts on her face and Shawn knows he’s immediately been forgiven. It’s been a vicious cycle that’s got them through the last 8 weeks - Shawn does something stupid, then he makes it up by suggesting Christine’s favourite activity which he would hate, on a normal day. He knows this isn’t the way to love someone, especially someone who only has good intentions for him. But he needs Christine to stay, at least he thinks he does. She makes the silence less deafening, and it stops Shawn’s head from reeling into his horror movie of thoughts. She was his imaginary safety net, somewhere he could fall into for a moment and not think until reality hits him like a truck again.

-

The store was quiet, and Shawn is thankful for it. He doesn’t need to put on a loving couple front for the cameras or fans that would recognise him from a mile away. He’s pushing the trolley behind Christine, empty focus on the squeaking of the wheels.

“Should we try cashew milk this time? I was watching Claudia’s vlog the other day and she was raving about this brand.” Christine holds up the cartons in front of Shawn’s face. He smiles at her, knowing well that he has to give her some sort of attention or care in order for this relationship not to crumble.

Kiara couldn’t care less about the type of nut milk we had at home. He stops himself before he dives further into that part of his brain.

“Well if Claudia says it’s good, I don’t see why we shouldn’t try it.” Her face immediately lights up when Shawn showed the slightest interest in her rambling. She drops the carton of cashew milk into the trolley and scampers off while he trails behind her. They wander around the fresh produce, and while Christine goes on about which kind of salad she wants to make next week, Shawn hears the distinct laughter and voice.

His eyes dart around the store until they land on a specific couple and he sees her. In all her 5’7” glory, Kiara stood next to the same man that was on her Instagram post, trying to catch her breath from all the laughing the pair had been doing.

“You’re telling me, you microwaved eggs?!” She’s still laughing, shaking her head as she placed the carton of fresh eggs into the trolley in front of her.

“Hey, no shame in that! We were in college and really dumb. Besides, you’re the one that burnt the kettle to a crisp while making tea last week.”

“Well, we’re both to blame for that.” Shawn watches as Kiara gives the man one of those cheeky smiles that she used to give him. He watches as he attacked her sides, tickling and then peppering kisses down her neck as she squeals in excitement. Shawn should look away, he knows he should before he gets caught, but he can’t help himself. Before he knows it he hears Christine next to him,

“Shawn? Did you hear me? What are you- Oh for god’s sake!” The couple turns when they hear Christine raise her voice and Shawn snaps out of his trance. His eyes meet briefly with Kiara’s and her face falls just enough for Shawn to notice. Christine shoves the packet of spinach she has in her hands back on the shelf. She shoots Kiara a death stare before pushing Shawn out of the way and storming out of the grocery store. He doesn’t go after her, instead his hand tightens its grip around the handles of the trolley and he forces himself to breathe. The man with Kiara is rubbing both sides of her arms, a concerned look on his face as he mumbles something to her. She’s shaking her head, giving him a reassuring smile as they continue with their shopping, not taking another look at Shawn.

I still love you, I promise / Nothing happened in the way I wanted

Shawn abandons his cart, the Canadian in him feeling guilty about not placing the stuff back on the shelves. But his mind is running too fast that his legs couldn’t comprehend his own actions. He finds himself squatting outside the store, baseball cap pulled far down on his face. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting for some damned miracle to happen. Something to fix his heart.

“I’ll drive the car up here? That way we don’t have to push the cart back.” Shawn recognises the same voice and he peers up slowly.

“Sure, I’ll wait here.” Kiara.

He waits for a couple moments before he scrambles to his feet and it makes Kiara jump out of her skin.

“Pinché pendejo.” She mutters under her breath. Kiara’s about to push her trolley further away, when she recognises the white and pink Dodgers baseball cap that used to belong to her.

“Shawn?”

He feels like a deer caught in headlights, looking down at her with widened eyes. The look on her face was unreadable as she puts her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie. He tries to drink in as much of her looks as he can - the change in the way her hair now falls just above her shoulders instead of having it in those long beach waves; how she now has the confidence to be out in public with barely any make up on. The moment of staring doesn’t last too long though, when Shawn hears a voice call out for her.

“Babe, you good?” Kiara and Shawn both seem to be shaken back to reality quickly. She’s pushing her hair out of her face and smiling softly to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Let’s load her up.”

And I know you said that we're not talking / But I miss you, I'm sorry

“Wait.” Shawn says barely above a whisper. Both of them stop in their tracks and look to him.

“Can I-can I talk to her for a second? I promise you it won’t take long.” Kiara’s boyfriend is already dropping the bags back into the cart, trying to go in front of her to give Shawn a piece of his mind.

“Ryan,” She pulls his arm toward her and he switches his attention to his girl, “I’ll talk to him. I won’t take too long.” Ryan looks at Kiara then back at Shawn and he stalks toward him, chest out, looking like he’s ready for some brawl. Kiara’s holding her breath as she watches him walk, the anxiety in her chest just become worse by the second. Ryan has his pointer finger up, voice low as he stares at Shawn in the eyes, “you hurt her again and I guarantee you, I will ruin you.”

He turns back around, kissing Kiara on the cheek before he loads the groceries into the car.

Shawn smiles awkwardly at her, “well, he seems nice.”

“I’m so sorry, he’s just protective.”

“That’s okay, I understand.” An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them and Kiara think’s this is probably the worst idea in the entire world. To be standing out on a cold day in LA, next to her ex, with her boyfriend waiting less than 10 feet away. She’s wrapping her arms around herself, bouncing on her feet to keep herself warm. Shawn doesn’t say anything for awhile and Kiara’s growing frustrated by the second.

“Did you want to-“

“So I-“

They start at the same time, and it makes Shawn chuckle. But it makes Kiara sigh and she’s hugging herself tighter. Shawn finally sees the hint of annoyance on her face and his mind scrambles for the right words. (Though, I’m not exactly sure these are the write words, Shawn)

“How are you?” Kiara gives him a look, and she couldn’t believe her ears. After standing out in the freezing cold weather, he just wanted to ask how she was doing?!

“Get to the point, Shawn. I don’t have the time for small talk right now.” He’s fiddling with the loose thread from his sweater, trying to avoid Kiara’s intimidating brown eyes when he speaks.

“I just-I, I just miss you, Ki.” Kiara scoffs, very audibly and she takes a step back to look at him.

“Cariño,” He recognises the same sarcastic tone that her mother uses, “don’t you have a girlfriend you should be with?”

Breaking dishes when you're disappointed / I still love you, I promise

“Yeah I do, she’s standing right in front of me.”

“You did not just-“ Kiara mutters under her breath, shaking her head violently. She looks around her to ensure that there’s no one in earshot, then steps toward him and pokes his chest.

“Shawn Peter, you do not just squat out here wanting to talk to me after you argued with your current girl and then say that you want me back. You do not just walk up to me and say all those things after what you did, how you hurt me and-“

He grabs both her wrists and Kiara stops mid-sentence.

“What are you doing?” She mutters under her breath. Kiara knows that Ryan would be watching them both, and any bigger movement would send him running out of the car to punch Shawn in the face. She looks over her shoulder and she already sees the door of the Range Rover opening slowly.

“I miss you, I really do. I still love you, Ki, I still fucking love you.” He tries to lean in and Kiara finally had enough, pulling her hand out from his grip.

“Fuck Shawn, I’m happy now can’t you see? We’re over, it’s over.” Kiara turns around, her eyes meeting Ryan as he stands next to the car. She musters up a smile for him before she hears Shawn shout from behind her.

“Does he love you like I do?” She stops in her tracks and looks over at him.

“No Shawn, Ryan has done a better job in the last three months than you ever did in the three years I’ve known you.”

With that, Kiara walks away, and Shawn is left with half of his heart and the image of her back burned in his mind.

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes angst

[johannstutt413]

(requested by e-ven-eve)

“Just one more.” The Doctor, hands cramping and head spinning, had been staring at his computer monitor for over five hours straight now, more if you didn’t count the five-minute break he’d taken to down a microwave burrito. “This is the last one for the day, and then...and then I can go home.” As his fingers fell upon the keyboard in a hailstorm of keystrokes, his mind ascending to an almost hallucinogenic zen state of empty-headedness (not unlike Skadi during combat), he knew with absolute certainty this was his limit. He finished the paragraph, clicked through the menus to save the file, and flung himself backwards in his chair, away from his keyboard...as another report hit his inbox. Physically ill at the thought of typing another, he grabbed his coat, staggered out the door without putting it on, and went home.

Crossing the threshold of his apartment, he flung his coat over his couch, and then quickly followed it, rolling over the side and landing back-first with a groan. Could he really keep doing this? He enjoyed the company of the people he worked with, but this was...this wasn’t healthy, having to work to the bone every day like this. But what could he do? Maybe...was there someone who’d be free to act as his assistant? “Amiya...I should ask Amiya tomorrow...uuuuuuhhhh.” Losing consciousness, visions of Chimera Cautus flashed across his eyes. That cute little bunny-girl would make a great assistant, but she must be too busy to help him, right? The idea was silly…

It didn’t stop the dream, though - an idyllic work day with both bearing an equal workload, making idle conversation as they typed, taking lunch together...maybe dinner, if he could work up the nerve to ask her...he could almost hear her voice now, even.

“Doctor?” Her hand was on his head. “You have a fever...Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I’m going to make you some soup, okay?”

“Thank you,” he croaked. Come to think of it, he had been feeling under the weather lately; even in his wildest dreams, he was sick and tired. Heh. Art imitates life, he supposed.

The microwave beeped a few minutes later, and now that he could see the ceiling of his apartment again, he saw her as well - that angelic creature who called herself Amiya, bowl of soup and spoon in her hands as she returned. She blew on a spoonful and fed it to him, and it felt so real. Also, it tasted delicious. Had chicken noodle soup always been this good, and he just hadn’t had a chance to open a can and find out? Hard to say, but in any case, it sure was nice to see her. Oh, she was talking to him. “...so don’t go to your office tomorrow, okay? I’ll let Kal’tsit know you’re taking a sick day.”

“Thank you, dear.” They were close enough by this point in the dream cycle, certainly. “You’re so good to me.”

“Oh, you poor thing...” She blushed as he spoke - how cute! Even after weeks and weeks together, she still reacted like- hang on, how long had it been? Surely, there was a calendar somewhere…

No, there wouldn’t be; he didn’t have any dates to keep track of, so he’d never gotten one. His phone probably had one, though. “Amiya, do you know where I put my phone?”

“Don’t worry about that.” More soup - still delicious. “Go to sleep, Doctor...darling.”

“Mmmmmkay...Could you...” No, even for a dream, that was pushing it-

She set the bowl aside and leaned closer, her head, sideways, taking up the majority of his vision. “What do you need?”

“...Will you...nap with me?” He shivered. “It’s so cold.”

“I’ll get us a blanket.” Amiya unhooked his mask and set it on the other side of the table from the soup before standing up. She walked around for a minute, looking for a blanket - so silly, she ought to know by now - before finding one. Once she did, she brought it back to the couch, found a way to settle with him on the couch without falling off or pushing him off, and covered them both with the warmth. The Doctor smiled and closed his eyes-

Wait. He opened them, and sure enough...it wasn’t a dream after all. “Amiya? Could you pinch me?”

“Why would I do that?” She adjusted so she could brush his cheek. “You should get some sleep, Doctor.”

“But...but I thought I was dreaming. I...We...” Nope, too much thinking. He could feel himself shutting down again.

Amiya simply patted his chest. “We can talk tomorrow. Right now, you need to sleep.”

“I guess...” The Doctor lifted his head off the couch. “The bed is bigger, though.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

He nodded. “Please.”

“Okay.” She gently moved off of him - which sent him shivering again - and helped him to his feet. “This way, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry I called you ‘dear,’” he mumbled over the span of the forty steps it took to get from the couch to the threshold.

Amiya squeezed his hand as she walked him to his bed. “I don’t mind. Do you want me to stay?”

“Um...” The Doctor looked blurry-eyed at his bed. “I...yes?”

“Here. Left hand first.” She moved the covers and helped him crawl under them before watching him for a moment, standing at the side of his bed, wavering in her own resolve. She’d come this far, and even if it hadn’t been her plan, it...he was so gentle, and fragile, not unlike she used to be before...before-

He held out his arms to her. “Amiya.” Did he have to sound so cute when he said it? Now, it wasn’t even a choice for her next move.

“I’m coming.” She crawled over his feet and around to his side, slipping under the sheets to rest her head on his chest with a smile. “Now are you going to go to sleep?”

“I’ll try...I’m already in a dream, but I’ll try.” The Doctor threaded an arm around her back to stroke her hair, and after reassuring himself she was really there, he let unconsciousness take him again.

He couldn’t say how long he was asleep, but the next time he woke up, Amiya’s forehead was set against his. She smiled. “Your fever’s weaker than last night.”

“That’s good.” He didn’t dare close his eyes again, lest she disappear by dream logic. “Thank you for taking care of me. I...I didn’t know how bad I’d gotten.”

“You didn’t get bad, Doctor; you got sick. We’ll have you on your feet again once you’re really feeling better, and I won’t leave your side until then.”

The Doctor sniffled. “You um...you don’t have to leave then, Amiya...I was wondering if you could be my assistant.”

“You were?” She handed him a tissue so he could blow his nose, which he did. “But...”

“If you can’t, that’s okay-”

Amiya shook her head. “No, I want to, it’s just...Before you lost your memory, you said I couldn’t.”

“...Why?”

“You wouldn’t say.” She put on a smile. “But if you say I can stay by your side, I won’t say no.”

He sighed in relief. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“But I worry a lot.” The Doctor felt his head split open. “Owww.”

Amiya kissed his forehead. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”

“Thank you...dear.”

“I’ll be right back.” She hesitated before kissing his forehead again and walking off to find him some aspirin. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He watched her leave with a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

#arknights #amiya (arknights) #y'all the archive's tag counts are a trip for me #like #amiya texas and silverash are tied for most stories #like WHAT #and i thought there were more Hoshi stories than there are apparently #it's so weird #anyway more amiya x doc b/c honestly i just wanna cuddle this bunny #she deserves it #arknights fic

[jamkookies]

Jealous, much?

Description :  A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You just wanted to wake up in peace for once.Was that too much to ask? For the second time in a row, the booming knocks on the door wipe off any remaining traces of sleep from your eyes. But still, you can't help but smile when you see who's laying beside you. Jungkook's chin rests on the top of your head and your arms are linked behind his back like he was your own personal pillow.

Being a heavy sleeper, he doesn't even  stir from the loud noise making the door almost come off its hinges. However, it only takes a slight move from you for him to wake up.

"Where you goin'?" he says in a groggy voice.

"Someone's at the door. Get up." you whisper.

The hand resting on your shoulder now snakes its way around your waist.

"Who cares? Let them knock all they want."

"Come on, Kook. Get up, please. They can't know you're here."

He groans lowly in annoyance but finally obeys and sits down cross-legged behind the door, hiding himself from view. You go to the door and barely open it half-way when a high-pitched voice makes you want to put your hands on your ears.

"Do you know what time it is?!"

"Good morning to you too, Val." you deadpan.

He ignores you.

"You're late. The shift was supposed to begin ten minutes ago."

He squints his eyes suspiciously.

"You're never late."

You avoid his eyes and laugh nervously.

"Oh..umm.. I couldn't sleep last night, that's all."

Jungkook snorts behind the door.

"What was that?" Valentin's ears perk up and he tries to take a look inside your room. You cover the sound with a cough of your own.

"It was me." You cough again. "I think I have a flu."

"Well, be careful, will you? How else do you expect to work?"

Taking advantage of the fact that only half of your body is showing through the door, Jungkook tip-toes his fingers from your ankle up to your knee.

He was in the mood for teasing, you see.

You kick his hand away, earning a choked grunt, inaudible to Valentin's ears. The latter, however, notices your jerk movements.

"Y/N, are you okay? You're acting a little strange."

"These."

Kick.

"Damn."

Kick.

"Mosquitoes."

You pretend to scratch your leg, and pull off a grimaced expression.

"They're all over the place, I know." Valentin says. "Anyway, hurry up and get ready. The manager's gonna be pissed."

"All right. I'll be there in a minute."

Valentin pivots, about to leave, but you stop him.

"Oh and Val? Next time, send someone else to call on me. I don't have to see your ugly face first thing in the morning."

He sticks his tongue at you and proceeds to walk down the hall, unbothered. As soon as he's out of sight, you shut the door  roughly and whirl on Jungkook.

"What was that for?"

His eyebrows scrunch up and his eyes widen innocently.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You grab a cloth lying on the floor and throw it at his face. When the cloth slides down, you see a devilish smirk on his lips.

"Go to your room now before someone sees you." you warn him. "I have to work."

Your words make him look genuinely sad.

"But I don't wanna leave." he whines.

"I'm already late, Jungkook. Plus, I have to change so if you please.." you gesture to the door.

"Okay then, go ahead and change." he gleefully says and doesn't even move.

You're starting to get impatient.

"Out, Kook."

"Fine, I'll leave," he says and you almost sigh in relief, when suddenly, he continues. "But only if you give me a kiss."

This boy was in for a beating.

"Okay." you simply say.

Apparently, he didn't think you would give in so easily, as his lips shape in a surprised "O".

You close the distance between the two of you and just as he is about to loom over you, you reach on your toes and give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Wait, that's it?" He stares at you incredulously.

"You never said what kind of kiss." you explain.

"You little-"

"Out."

The boy plants his feet stubbornly on the ground, but you pull his shirt under your fists and drag him to the door.

"Look, Kook-"

"Heh, that rhymed." he giggles.

"Shut up."

You sigh in frustration, feeling suddenly conflicted.

"Look, Jeon. You probably think I push you away on purpose, playing hard to get and all that, but I don't. If it were for me, I would literally lay down here with you all day."

He can't seem to believe his ears.

"That's the boldest statement I've ever heard you make." he breathes.

"Oh, I can be bold. Just not now. If they fire me, we're screwed."

He links his arms behind your back and lifts you up, burying his head on the crook of your neck.

"Sorry. Sometimes, I forget that this is serious business. But I'll behave from now on, I promise."

You caress the material of his shirt on his back, feeling the warmth of the skin underneath it. He lowers you down and there's a soft smile playing about his lips.

"And.... last night was.... nice." he says coyly.

"Nothing really happened, Kook."

"I know but..... it was enough for me."

You feel warm, fuzzy stars shooting from the bottom of your chest, splaying out like gleaming fireworks. Your hands itch to squish his cheeks affectionately, but you keep them where they are, scared you might ruin the mood.

"I can't believe I'm in love with a moron like you." you sigh dreamily.

His face lights up in a whole hearted smile.

"Beats me." He boops your nose and opens the door quietly, scanning the hall for people.

"I'll see you later." he says and blows a kiss in the air towards you.

There is nothing more hilarious than the sight of his bare legs making quick, furtive steps along the hall and when he stumbles, almost losing his balance, you clamp your hand on your mouth to hold the laughter.

What in the world had you gotten yourself into?

* * *

An endless cycle of pain and misery, that's what you had gotten yourself into.

By the time that cursed fifteen-minute lunch break came, the exhaustion of having to clean thirteen rooms in the span of just six hours had already weighed you down like a blanket of rocks. Your limbs were sore and aching and you could barely feel them. When you sit down for a minute, it's like the tiredness seeps out of every edge of your body.

It's okay.

I'm doing this for Jungkook.

I'm alright.

That's what you had been repeating in your head all day, like a mantra, desperate to keep yourself going for just  a little longer.

Holding on to the ledge of the stairs for support, you rise to your feet and make your way down.

It was 1 pm.

You had fifteen minutes to get some rest and then you were back to being Cinderella.

Before she met the prince.

"Hey, Y/N."

Liena greets you with a radiant smile when she sees you coming into the kitchen, but it turns into a frown when she notes the way you're dragging your feet.

"Inti għajjien?" she asks.

Tired was an understatement.

You felt like you'd been trampled by a herd of angry bisons.

"No." you answer, too proud to admit it.

Liena doesn't seem to believe you for a second but she nods nonetheless and offers you a bread roll . You gladly take it, munching on the milky, cotton-like texture.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" she asks in her thick accent.

You could understand most words, but she would switch to English to make it easier for you.

"Until I collect enough money." you answer.

"You are over-working yourself."

"I don't have any other choice, do I?"

Her eyes soften in a melancholic way, and you can hear the sympathy in her voice when she says. "Y/N, ħanini, you should tell him."

"He would be furious."

"As he should be. You agreed to work double time and to shorten your breaks just so he could work here."

"The manager wouldn't take him otherwise."

She sighs deeply and shakes her head.

"Inti stupidu."

"No, you're the stupid one." you retort.

Like a five year old.

Suddenly, she straightens up and you feel callused hands on your eyes, your vision momentarily blocked.

"Guess who it is." you hear a voice behind you.

"Hmmmm. Probably someone who is scared of microwaves?"

Jungkook's hands retract and he spins you around.

"Hey! I thought we agreed not to tell anyone about that."

"I also thought we'd agreed for you not to bug me when I'm working, yet here we are."

For a moment you scan his face, wondering if he had heard anything from your conversation with Liena, but he seems clueless. Then, your eyes dip down to his red uniform, fitting his every curve. It was a little bit too tight and you were not so sure if he was comfortable in it.

"Nice shirt." you tease him.

His hands subconsciously make an attempt to cover his front.

"They didn't have other sizes." he admits, embarrassed. "And technically, you're not working. You're on your break."

"Which, by the way ends in ten minutes." you say, looking at the clock on the wall.

"What?! That's so little."

"I've been here for like twenty minutes." you lie. "How is your first day of work going?"

"Pretty good. It's not that hard. I just carry suitcases all day."

He grabs an apple from the counter and munches on it, then offers you a bite.

"Nies diżgustanti." Liena makes a face when she sees you eat from the same apple Jungkook had.

"What? I've been living with him for five years." you cry.

Jungkook laughs.

"I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend."

You hear the words before Valentin has made his dramatic entrance into the kitchen.

"Well..." you hesitate, but Jungkook shoots daggers from his eyes at you.

"If you're not sure about it, then I'm completely available." Valentin says and winks.

You grip Jungkook by his uniform before he can lunge for the guy. There's pure hatred on his face as he rolls his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

Was he...jealous?

"Hey, hey... relax, big guy. I'm just kidding." Val raises his palms face up in surrender.

"I suggest you leave, Val, before you lose a toe or two." you say quietly, still holding onto Jungkook's shirt.

Valentin's lanky frame would definitely not help him if he got into a fight with Jungkook. He would be crushed in seconds.

"God, what is it with these foreigners?" he huffs and retreats slowly.

Liena watches all of the scene unfold in front of her with fervent eyes. The only thing missing was a bowl of popcorn in her hands.

Jungkook's tenseness had disappeared as soon as Valentin had left but he still scrunches his fists on your shirt and pulls you to him.

"He was just kidding, Kook."

He only takes the unfinished apple and forces it into your mouth.

"Eat it." he says.

The corners of your lips perk up in amusement and you happily comply to his request. Still, deep down, you couldn't deny the guilty pleasure you felt.

So, he was jealous and protective.

Interesting.

"Come with me, I wanna show you something." you say and grab his hand.

"In here? Are you sure?"

"You pervert! I meant the cat."

"Cat? What cat?"

You pick up a slice of bread on the counter and drag him outside of the back door.

"Nochuuu, pstttt. Nochuuuuuu."

The orange-striped fluffball appears out of nowhere, its tiny legs speeding towards you. She nibbles at the food in your hands and meows in satisfaction.

"You named the cat after me?" he asks.

"I like your old nickname."

"I wouldn't mind new ones from you, though." he muses.

"Shut up or I'll tell Nochu to bite your head off."

Jungkook smiles and scratches her back affectionately, making her purr.

"Oh sh- Break's over. Gotta go!"

You don't give him time to object as you raise to your feet and hurry towards another session of inhuman torture.

* * *

You concentrate hard on putting one foot after the other.

Slow, heavy steps.

Fifteen hours.

You had been working for fifteen hours.

Goodness, how were your legs even holding you up right now? You had never imagined you'd be able to resist up to this point.

The door creaks when you turn the knob  and you lean on it for a moment before getting in. It's completely dark but you don't even bother switching the light on.

Suddenly, a pair of familiar arms envelop you in their warmth and you feel at home again.

"Are you gonna sneak in here every night?" you whisper.

"Yes."

"I figured this might happen."

"Where were you? I've been waiting for over an hou- Whoa, are you okay?" Jungkook panics when you sag into his arms.

"Yeah, I'm alright." you slur and try to straighten up a little. "Just a little tired."

Without warning, he scoops you into his arms and lowers you onto the mattress.

"You didn't have to carry me. I can walk just fine."

"Yeah, I can definitely see that."

He reaches behind you and pulls out a box filled with heart-shaped chocolate bonbons.

"Here, I got these for you." he says and hands you the box.

"Where did you get these?" you gasp, but you've already shredded the lid off and popped one in your mouth.

" I stole them from the kitchen."

You stop chewing.

"Jungkook."

"What? They were lying around anyway. That woman wouldn't take the box from her boyfriend since they got into a pretty bad fight."

"Thieving is still a sin." you say.

"Adding milk before cereal is also a sin."

"Hey, that way I know how much cereal to put!" you blabber with your mouth full but stop again after noticing how he's not eating anything. You pick up two bonbons and try to shove them into his mouth.

"I'm not hungry." he says.

"You're a living food demolisher. Now open up."

He tips his head back and laugh, cheeks stuffed with the chocolate, but in a matter of seconds his expression turns dead serious.

"Y/N, it's better if you don't talk to that Val guy. I don't like the way he looks at you."

You raise your eyebrows in mockery.

"Jealous, much?"

"Hell yeah, I am. May I remind you that you're my girlfriend?"

"I still haven't agreed on that."

"Deny it all you want. You're mine."

You choke on your bonbons.

"There's no need to be so posessive." you croak, teary eyed from the sting in your throat.

With a devilish smirk, he leans himself forward and rests a hand on your knee but you cry out in pain.

"Wh-what happened?" His playful demeanor turns alarmed, eyes flickering up and down with concern.

"Nothing. It's just my knee. I banged it on the table."

"Does it hurt?"

"A little." you admit.

"Lay down." he orders.

"Hey, now."

"I'm not gonna do anything, you idiot. Just lay down."

He cups your knee and applies pressure on it, testing it. It feels like a pair of pincers are twisting it left and right and the pain is unbearable, but you refuse to make a sound. He lightens his fingertips and starts massaging the area in round motions.

"Our trainer taught me this when I hurt my leg. " he says.

You nod, painfully remembering how miserable he had felt for not being able to dance. His absence had been evident.

"I can't wait to get away from here." he whispers, out of the blue.

"Are you already tired on your first day of work?"

"No. It's you I'm worried about. You get up early and come back in the middle of the night. I don't like it."

Your mouth tastes sour after you roll the lie from your mouth.

"I didn't work all day, Kook. I was just helping with some things."

He seems to consider your words for a moment when his phone buzzes. You'd completely forgotten about it, only now being reminded that he actually had it with him. He checks the notification and then slams it face-down on the mattress angrily.

"Who is it?" you ask.

"Namjoon-hyung. He's been asking me where I am for two days."

"Did you reply?"

"No. I don't want them to panic. It's better if they just keep going on by themselves."

You put your face in your hands and sigh deeply.

"I still can't believe you left the band for me. You're crazy."

"Crazy for you."

"That's so old."

"Old but gold."

You laugh heartily.

He smiles and glances at the phone once again.

"You know, I tried to see if I could transfer money, but it didn't work. I don't know how he did it, but that bastard has blocked every way to connect to someone."

"It's better this way." you try. "I don't know how would we explain to anyone about all we've been through."

"You're right." he says and resumes the massage in your knee.

"Does it feel good?" he asks you.

"That just sounds weird."

"You know, most of the time you take things the bad way yourself."

You scoff in displeasure.

"But it does feel nice, though." you hear yourself mumble.

His lips twitch.

"I'm alright now, thanks." you say and pull your knee back.

"Anytime."

* * *

You had trained your eyes to open up by their own accord, having to get up early but you're surprised to see a wide-eyed Jungkook staring at you intensely while sitting up.

"G'morning, Kook." You yawn and stretch your arms but he stays unmoving, not answering.

"Kook?"

Something was wrong.

"Y/N, did you convince the manager to get me the job?"

#bts #bangtan #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts scenarios #jeongguk #jeonggukie #kookie #kook #jk #jeon jungkook #ot7 #bangtan sonyeondan

[josefkavalier]

His past unfurls before her slowly, not without pain, for both of them. But that comes later. At the beginning, she feels such intense sympathy for him. Not pity, because he’s still okay, she can feel his okay-ness deeply, and he’s successful. If she was successful, they never would have met. Unless she had become a doctor herself, or maybe a nurse. She envies him for a lot of things, but he is cursed in matters of love.

If he’s been cursed by the gods of love, they seem indifferent to her. Despite her best efforts, she has had boyfriends, too many boyfriends, and all of them so briefly that half of them might think the term boyfriend was putting it too strongly. He has loved, twice at least (more times she will learn about over a late dinner of microwaved pasta leftovers while sitting on the kitchen island stools) so he at least knows what it’s like. Even when she starts knowing what it’s like, she doesn’t realize. She’s in love for months before she notices.

She learns while watching a crappy new rom com that Ariel, at such a young age, has already broken three bones. The clumsy (what else could she be?) lead is riding a bike and nearly crashes into her love interest, who is carrying a stack of baguettes. It’s the worst meet-cute she’s ever seen. And she’s something of an expert, like many women her age. She went through all of high school with streaming services readily available and he worked in a Blockbuster during college.

The lead takes her love interest’s offered hand and stands, barely scratched or scraped, all bones intact. He laughs, and she agrees that it’s awful writing, but instead of making fun of the movie he tells her the story of how his daughter crashed her bike and broke her first bone. The next two doctor’s visits followed in relatively quick succession. Once, there was a visible protrusion.

He looks ill at the remembrance and this time, she’s the one who laughs.

“You’re a doctor,” she points out. In case he forgot.

“It’s different when it’s your own kid,” he says, somehow defensive while smiling.

***

The four of them go back to school shopping and she’s too busy staring down puppy-covered notebooks to notice the way parents’ eyes follow her. She holds them both up to Micah, and it’s clear that he has no opinion, he actually doesn’t care remotely as much as she seems to, and furthermore, he’s missing a Fortnite campaign with his friends for this or whatever it’s called. She isn’t old but she’s too old to know what he’s talking about when it comes to how he spends his time on the computer.

Micah wanders away while she’s distracted, still holding one notebook in each hand, and Jed appears behind her to gently pluck one from her hand. “This one. Definitely this one.”

He doesn’t care either, she knows this, but he sounds convincing, somehow. She spins around to look at him, coming nearly face to face, him standing closer than she was expecting. They stand looking at each other for a moment before he looks down, walks away. It’s the kind of thing that’s been happening a lot lately but she doesn’t know what it means, that it has meaning.

She forgets to move until Ariel comes running over and grabs her by the hand because they have scented erasers and you gotta smell them, Gemma.

***

More times than she can count, which is to say too many times, she has fallen asleep on his couch after his children are in bed and he is still attending to newborn babies and expectant mothers. The thing she feels worst about is how often she leaves his television on, never remembering how to set the sleep timer and probably, she would forget to set it, either way. Tonight, she made a special effort to turn the TV off before falling asleep, even if it meant admitting that she hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep watching Bob’s Burgers again. With everything in the room turned off, the room is almost bright with the full moon pouring in through the living room windows.

She stirs when the front door opens. Quietly, he deposits his keys on the rack by the door, but the sound still manages to wake her. It takes a long time for her to register her awakeness. Somewhere between sleep and waking but this isn’t a dream, it just feels like one. The moon lights his path to the couch and he says something she isn’t capable of hearing in her current state.

She makes a confused sound, her eyes dropping closed again. In college, in psychology, back when she thought it might be useful, she learned that it’s harder to wake up during certain stages of the REM cycle. Or she thinks she learned that.

There’s a gentle hand on her shoulder and she opens her eyes again. “Gemma,” he says, whispers, even though there’s nobody he’s trying to avoid disturbing with his voice. “Time to go home.”

No, he doesn’t say that. Her brain autofills in the rest of his sentence, but he stops after “to” and her drowsiness is finally lifting.

She wants to apologize, even though it’s 2am and past her bed time, so she is legally allowed to sleep on his couch. He reaches out towards her cascading hair as she sits up, his fingertips only grazing past the ends. She shouldn’t feel it but she does. They stay there for a moment, looking, just like they always seem to do and she wants to do something but he probably doesn’t.

Despite knowing that she shouldn’t, she leans towards him, and he looks down again. He tilts his head so their foreheads touch but he doesn’t meet her eyes. “Gemma...” He says again.

She closes her eyes and waits for him to exhale, regretting what he did or maybe what he didn’t do, before climbing off the couch and leaving his house.

***

Three days later, she’s back at his home like she’s supposed to be. Nothing has happened, nothing will ever happen, and since she was half-asleep and he was exhausted from 15 hours at the hospital, the nothing that has and will not happen doesn’t have to change anything. It doesn’t have to be awkward. Her palms don’t have to be damp enough to leave sweaty streaks along her steering wheel.

He comes to the door and seems surprised to see her before he smiles, but it’s not his real smile. She flashes a fake smile of her own in return.

The children are with their mother today, actually, so.

“I’m sorry you wasted your time driving all the way over here.”

Her feigned smile fades, the corner of her mouth twitching as she prepares to say it was no problem at all and turn back to her car. But instead, she says, “You’re not busy, then, are you?”

She can see him trying to think of a believable excuse, but she’s watching him too closely and eventually he gives in. “No. What did you have in mind?”

Nothing, was the answer, so they end up at a café not far from his place. Sometimes she would bring his kids there for hot chocolates and chocolate croissants.

They sit for a while, letting the awkward silence fully immerse them even as other patrons are chatting around them. She looks up from her coffee and his eyes are traveling the line of freckles bridging across her nose. It’s obvious. If it’s obvious to her, it must be obvious to everyone else, so there’s no point in continuing their mutual pretending.

He has one hand wrapped around his coffee mug and the other clenched into a fist on the table. She runs her finger tips along his nearly-white knuckles and they loosen slightly before tightening even more. There are too many things she wants to say to him. Why won’t you kiss me or, simply kiss me or, not so simply I know it’s complicated and you don’t want to go through it all again but I think we’re worth it. But she’s inexperienced in these matters, which means naïve, which means anything she says will sound silly and untrue.

So instead of any of the things she wants to say, she looks at him and he looks back. And he doesn’t look down.

He unfurls his hand and offers it to her, palm up.

#i was bullied into posting this and nobody has permission to read it ty my lawyers are watching #s: jedma #writing

[jamesbvck]

New Rules | Young Falice

Type: Ficlet Rating: Teen Words: 2.4k Characters: FP Jones, Alice Cooper

No matter how hard she tried, Alice couldn’t get FP out of her head. She was hoping that scribbling out all her thoughts into a journal would clear her mind but no such luck. Her heart was stuck on a man that made her feel like she was one in a million, the only girl in the world. Yet at the same time, the damage he did on her would last a lifetime and leave severe impact.

Fuck.

FP was a drunk, he was inconstant and moody. Some days he loved her and others all he did was yell and cuss. It was blood ridden coursing through his entire body passed down from his great-grandfather onto him. So he couldn’t help it and Alice wanted to try and make him a better man. There was always of glimmer of hope in FP until he was four beers in and staggering in his own living room. His father was never home and his mother worked night shifts at the hospital. Alice was always there to pick up the pieces and the broken glass.

It was the same story every Friday night where he would end up at the Whyte Wyrm and call her from a payphone; sloppily drunk with a slur in his voice.

“Ali, come on… You know there’s no other girl but you for me.”

“It’s the same story every time, FP.” She leaned against the kitchen wall, twirling the phone cord around her fingers. “I can’t be with you like this. We’re going in circles.”

“But I– I love you.”

She sighed. “I know. That’s the problem.”

FP was the issue. But no matter how many times they went in circles, Alice would always fall back to him. She’d go to the Wyrm and pick him up in her old station wagon and bring him home. They kissed, he mumble into her ear the things he knew she loved and before she knew it was the morning after.

She’d kiss his cheek before slipping back on her shirt and her jeans, quietly leaving the trailer. Her forehead rested on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. How much longer could she deal with the same cycle? It was tiresome and mentally exhausting.

How do you let someone go when you are their anchor?

“Don’t answer the phone.” Mary’s tone was stern. Alice eyes locked on the phone mounted against the wall as it rang and rang and rang. There was a twinge in her stomach that knew it was him. It was nearly midnight, the next Friday night. “You can’t fix him. He’s drunk, alone, broken.”

She stared until it stopped ringing. “He’ll call again.”

“I’ll gladly disconnect the phone.” Mary dipped back into pink the nail polish she was using for her toes.

Alice knew she shouldn’t have felt so guilty. She felt like she was leaving him stranded when she knew he’d be fine.

“You can’t keep letting him in, Alice. It’s only going to fester.” Mary carried on a moment later. “You have to let him go for your own sake. You have to get over him.”

Alice laid silent in bed until four in the morning. It was the first Friday night in months she wasn’t in FP’s bed and it felt beyond strange. His arm wasn’t strung over her hips, hugging her close to his chest in a protective manner. His breathing wasn’t on her neck and his scruff wasn’t tickling her soft skin. There wasn’t the smell of alcohol and cigarettes and more importantly, there was no body next to hers.

“I’d die for you, Ali.”

“Shut up, Junior.” Alice rolled her eyes, laying back down on his bed with one of his shirt draping over her body.

He pulled her over to him, nuzzling his face into her neck. “You don’t think so?”

“I know so. You’re also inebriated.”

“Mmm I love it when you use big words.”

She pushed his head away as he gave her a cheesy grin. FP was an idiot.

Alice grasped onto the snake pendent of the necklace she was wearing. It belonged to FP but she took ownership after he got her to fix the broken chain. She always had a part of him with her wherever she was. She took her journal off her desk, turning it to the last written in page.

New Rules:

1) Don’t pick up the phone.

2) Don’t let him in.

3) Don’t be his friend.

There was that twinge in her stomach again, she felt like she wanted to throw up. Her eyes slipped shut with a single tear running down her cheek. Alice did not cry, not unless it was completely necessary and in a understanding matter. She sure as hell wasn’t going to cry over a boy either. At least she thought she’d never would. However, practice made perfect and if she could somehow make it through the first night, she could make it through the rest.

“Don’t pick up the phone. Don’t let him in. Don’t be his friend.” Alice murmured to herself, shutting her journal and tossed it across the room. She curled into a ball of her side, the blankets up to her neck as she willed herself to sleep.

Relentless was an understatement. FP went above and beyond to get Alice’s attention. Somehow Alice had blocked him from her sights even if her moral compass was spinning out of control. Every part of her lead back to FP but she couldn’t submerge herself to that low anymore. She busied herself picking up more shifts at Pop’s. Pop was slightly suspicious but Alice was a tremendous worker and knew all the regulars.

“Are you okay, Alice? You haven’t taken your break yet.” Pop wiped down the counter as he looked at the young girl.

“I’m fine, Pop.” She replied, filling some glasses with sodas. “I can stay late tonight if you need extra hands.”

He chuckled wholeheartedly. “No, you’ve stayed late every shift these last two weeks. You deserve to go home on time.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I admire your work ethic, but I’m sure you have some party to go to with your friends.”

Alice half smiled out of politeness to Pop. She really wanted to kill another two hours so she didn’t have to be at home when the phone rang. At the same time, she knew Pop would keep badgering her to leave. When it hit eleven o’clock, Alice reluctantly punched out her timecard at Pop’s. There wasn’t even the chance of going to crash at Mary’s because she was having family in town that weekend.

She drove herself home, tossing her keys onto the kitchen table. There were leftovers she heated up in the microwave. Night Court was on with back-to-back episodes. Alice sat herself cross-legged, chowing down on her borderline cardboard tasting lasagne. A few bites in and there it was: the sound of the phone ringing. Her eyes slowly moved to focus on the phone. The ring sounded like sirens in her ears, blaring as loud as they could.

Don’t pick up the phone.

Her appetite was lost in the matter of seconds. Her fork clanged against the plate as it slipped from her fingertips. Every muscle in her body was holding her back from lunging off the couch. Four rings. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip to inflict pain as a distraction. However her mind was more powerful, willing her way to her feet and raced over to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

There was a slight pant to her breath. Alice cupped the phone in her hands, pressing it firmly to her ear. There was a pad of silence.

“Ali.” FP’s voice rang out through the receiver. She could hear the music in the background and deep laughter from the older men of the Wyrm. “You picked up the phone.”

“What do you want, FP?”

“You know what I want.” He replied coldly, though his voice softened quickly. “You. Always you.”

“You’re drunk and you’re lonely. We can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m not drunk.” He retorted. “I’m not drunk, I swear.”

It was so hard to believe his words when the past was so prominent. She couldn’t trust him to be sober when this was routine. “I have to go.” She murmured.

“Ali–”

“– I can’t do this, FP.” The phone was slammed onto the base.

Her heart sunk. Her head was dizzy.

Alice dragged herself back to the couch. She shoved her plate onto the coffee table. She felt sick again, curling into a ball on the couch. Whatever was being said on the TV was muffled in her ears. If she couldn’t follow the first rule, at least she could stick to the others.

Three hard knocks banged against her front door an hour later. Alice nearly had a heart attack, jolting up from the couch. She hadn’t realized she had passed out. She knew he must have been her dad, he always forgot his keys. Her legs swung over to stand, pushing her hair bag as she went to unlock the door. Alice wasn’t sure why she was so optimistic. FP stood on her front porch disheveled, his hair falling in his face with his head tilted down.

Don’t let him in.

Neither of them said anything for several moments. Alice was staring but FP barely made eye contact with her.

She broke the silence. “You need to go.” His head lifted. The porch light casted along his face reveal a bad cut above his right eyebrow and a black eye. There was another small cut on his left cheek. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Alice grabbed his jacket and yanked him inside.

FP had a cheesy grin on his lips. “I fell.”

“Fuck off you fell. What did you do?” Alice pushed him to sit on the couch as she went to find whatever she could to fix him up.

“I got into a fight.” FP kicked off his boots, putting his feet up on the table. “After you ever so politely hung up on me these assholes started talking about you. I didn’t like what they were saying to I put them in their place.”

Alice returned with a bowl of warm water, a cloth and an ice pack. She sat next to him, her head shaking. “I don’t care what people say about me in this damn town.” She dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it out before dabbing his eyebrow. He winced.

“Well I care. They were disrespecting my girl.” His eyes stayed on the TV but there was truth. “I’d rather something happen to me then to you.”

Alice didn’t reply, she took a closer look at his eyebrow after the blood was gone. “I don’t think you’ll have to go to the hospital to get it stitched up. Should be fine.”

“Thank you, nurse.”

His breath did smell like beer before it wasn’t as strong as usual. His eyes were more white than red. Maybe he wasn’t drunk but she still couldn’t have him here. She was severely failing following her rules. Alice set the bowl of water and the bloody cloth on the table.  

“You can’t stay here.” Alice told him.

“Why were you ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you.”

FP was displeased, putting the ice pack to his eye. He sucked his teeth making a high pitched sound, briefly looking at her. “Don’t bullshit me.” He said. Alice’s blue eyes flickered downward as she turned her head away. FP caught her chin, gently swerving her head back in his direction. “What do I gotta do?”

Alice pushed his hand away, getting up. Her arms folded firmly over her chest as she distanced herself to the other side of the room. “Do you even care about me?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“You’re drunk all the time and say all these things that sound special, but are they? Do you even mean them?”

FP tossed the ice pack onto the table, taking his feet off the table. His elbows rested on his knees with his hands running through his dark hair, bracing the back of his neck. “What do you want me to say, huh? Everything I tell you is always the truth.”

“When’s the last time you did something for me? Everything I do is for you.” Alice frowned, her eyes straining. “You call, I pick you up and drive your drunk ass home. I stay so you don’t do anything stupid. It happens every goddamn week and nothing. No thank yous, no nothing. I’ve tried to help you but there’s nothing I can do anymore.”

“You don’t think I try?”

Alice breathed a laugh, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “No you don’t. You don’t want to try. I know things are fucked up, you’re fucked up but so many other things are too.”

FP got up. He crossed the room to her, who braced herself. There was anger and frustration in his tired eyes. He had never laid a hand on Alice, not once had it crossed his mind. His arms reached out and placed his rough hands on her velvet skin, carefully grasping her arms. His eye contact varied, trying to look at her but he couldn’t.

“I can’t… I can’t lose you. You’re all I have.”

Don’t be his friend.

Light rain pattered against the window. It was nearing six in the morning and Alice hadn’t slept. She had sat with FP until the early hours going back and forth about their situation and why things had to change. If he wasn’t willing to put in the effort then essentially they were doomed and one of them would be dead.

Through it all, she loved him. Through his flaws and his obscurities, there was a man underneath it all that wanted to be the best he could be. He wanted to be the best for her. Everything he said was truth, he loved her, he’d die for her, he’d married her if she didn’t constantly tell him he was an idiot (which he was).

He was going to change for her.

FP lied with his nose nestled to Alice’s neck, sleeping soundly like he usually did. His breathing quiet and his arm wrapped over her waist. Perhaps she’d never learn. The new rules were now old rules replaced by the will to commit, the will to be better.

She was never getting over him.

#falice #fp jones #alice cooper #fp x alice #riverdale parents #riverdale fanfiction #new rules

[starfairyqueen]

Speaking of my mom, its odd, last year she was talking about how Yule (Christmas) had to he canceled because she couldn't risk catching covid from having a bunch of people over. She usually throws what she calls, munchie parties, and everyone comes over and hangs out and eats and stuff. She said the magic was gone there. She doesn't see, she IS the magic. She's the first sign of spring, and purple flowers, and spring faries, and sunlight through the trees. She could make a train wreck look like a ballet. She has this wonderful talent of spinning shit into gold. She could make the worst situations good. We lived through a lot of rough shit, but she was always there trying to make it better and it amazes me cause I dont know where she got it from, her parents weren't affectionate at all. Her father was so abusive he was the cause of my grandmother's brain hemorrhage that killed her from bashing her head in all the time. My grandmother was kind but very proper so affection just wasn't really one of those things she gave easily. I'm sure she loved my mom, but in many ways, lacked the ability to show it. My mom was basically a doll. Dressed up, trained and made to act right and sent to boarding school. By 10 she had a mental break down from all the abuse, she said she used to run in the snow barefoot in NH with her mom in her nightgown cause her dad would get drunk and shoot a gun at them. And I grew up to watch my mom get beat too but she was smart enough to get out eventually. I've also landed myself in abusive relationships but also got out but it scares me for my daughters. Hopefully the cycle doesn't repeat itself. But through everything we lived through, she'd make cake with broken fingers and black eyes and act like she was ok the whole time, she never let it show that she hurt because she was always trying to be strong for us. She'd make dinner every night almost. I literally ate mc Donald's like 10 times my entire childhood cause mom made sure we ate real food. She taught me to read, to speak, to cook and clean, to stand up for myself, to fear no one. Her infamous words "pick yourself up, dust yourself off and keeo going" I really don't know how she did the things she did. She had me at 38. I'm 31 and if I had a kid now it would be very very hard, let alone at 38. Jesus. I couldn't have even blamed her if she didn't keep me. I dont think I could at that age. She's what kept all of us together. Without her, ill probably never speak to most of my siblings again but most of us, with the exception of one, our oldest brother, he's a sociopath and would microwave his own baby let alone ever loving his mother. I swear that man is not my moms child. Switched at birth of something. None of us are perfect but nobody else acts like the career con he is, but the rest of us all have a common love for my mom so we at least come together enough to be civil to make her happy. But without her, there is no common ground really. I never knew my father, he died when I was 12. Three months before I was able to find him. Thats my luck lol. So mom has been my mom and my dad. Besides my kids, she's all I really have for family. I feel like I will feel so alone without her. Sorry. Just a lot on my mind and nowhere to put it. My fiancee lost his mom a year ago so I don't even want to talk to him about it because I know it'll just remind him of his mom and make him sad too. I'd get therapy but there's nothing anyone can do or say to make it better, when the time comes, it's just gonna hurt and that's really all there is to it and I'm gonna have to let myself be sad for a while. Somehow, I know I'll go on, but right now I feel like I wouldn't be surprised at all if everything just dissolved and the sun stopped shining and nothing existed without her. I'll be amazed when the sun rises again because I don't know how anything could exist without her, she's always been here. At least in my existence. I don't know one without her but it scares the shit out of me. I'm 800 miles away and I don't even like not being able to see her often. 😪

[jackiebluzer-blog]

Photo procured from UnSplash by Sahin-Sezer-Dincer

Exile to Long Island: A Refuge from Catastrophe

“The precinct is firebombed.” The railroad is down. We have no choice. Nick hollered from the bedroom. “Pack up; we have to move.”

My parents begged me to travel out to the island just two days before, but I didn't want to leave the sexy cocoon of Nick's Chelsea apartment. I thought it was standard parental hysteria, but I was so wrong. Backpacks jammed with water, protein bars, and other essentials; we crept down the stairs of his apartment building, which was morbidly quiet.

In the distance, the zing of bullets had sweat running in rivulets in my bra and down my back. The slamming of my heart drowned out Nick's instructions. He took me by the shoulders and stared fiercely into my eyes.

"Focus! Stay by my side." No problem; where would I go? Even though it was a chilly 44 degrees out, Nick's hair was plastered to his head as he tried to peer out the window on the ground floor.

The acrid smell of smoke lingered in the air along with a blanket of gray haze. He edged the door open and peered into the bleak night. It seemed strange that the man in the vestibule across the street had no coat or shoes, dressed for a couch potato night by the TV. The glass splintered in the door, which hung on a hinge. Was he trying to get in or out? Nick ripped me out of my fog and yanked me through the doorway, and we took to the streets skimming the walls and ducking in alleys as if in a thriller flick.

The subway loomed as a dare across the broad avenue. It was the only escape from the city.

A burst of gunfire exploded several blocks down, and my ears rang with horror. Nick is gigantic but not a superhero that deflects bullets. Any other day him being a cop would have been an assist, today it is an obstacle. Everyone is a target, in particular, NYPD.

We broke into a run and flew down the subway stairs. I was about to pull out my Metro Card but saw no point as we pressed into the families, crying children, and the masses drowning in alarm.

The hours dragged as we neared the edge of the platform to maneuver our way onto the subway car. The plan was to switch trains and get to Queens, and then?

The doors open, and we shoved in with just enough room before they slid shut. The scream of faces left behind, glared with hatred and contempt as the train sped out of the station.

It was as if everyone held their collective breath; it was silent except for a few whispers. A few gasped when the lights momentarily went off, even though it's a regular occurrence as a seasoned subway rider. I held tight to Nick. We swayed, being simultaneously pressed in and held up by the humanity around us. Where did we think we were going, or if we would ever get there?

"Don't offer any information. Respond to direct questions, otherwise don't speak," Nick ordered.

"Who do you think…?" The words crunched out as my teeth chattered, even though the car smoldered with oppressive heat and heaviness. Nick cut me off.

"Don't talk." He saw my startled expression and soothed, "We don't know if they're listening."

The train screeched to an abrupt halt and went black. A sharp edge dug into my side and knocked out my breath with a wheeze. Nick asked if I was alright, but I had to be. It became apparent after minutes, then an hour, we were at the end of the line. A disembodied voice came over the speakers.

"Everyone, get out." That was it, not please exit the train in an orderly manner.

People pushed out the emergency windows with no idea of what nightmare hid in the dim tunnels. It was more organized than you'd think; one person jumped to the tracks to aid the next climb out and fall to the ground. They say New Yorkers rise to the occasion in a crisis.

We made our way like expatriates from a 3rd world country. The dread was palpable. It reminded me of the news feeds I ignored on cable of the refugees dragging children and belongings out of Turkey or Lebanon. The graphic 24-hour cycle makes us oblivious to their pain and devastation. It changes when you are entrenched in the riveting reality of the catastrophe.

We crawled along until we got to Jefferson Street Station, not far from my apartment on Melrose. Sleep for a few hours, hit a bodega for some food, and continue on foot. My naïve brain thought it would be an easy trek two blocks to my apartment and relative safety.

As we approached the top of the stairs, the familiar storefronts of Bushwick came in to view, so did two armed men in full riot gear. They were actual NYPD, not the militia. It seemed they were spinning the war-weary around and sending them back into the inferno. For once, Nick's badge broke down a barrier instead of a cause to run for cover. Even with that, I had to dig out my license to show my address. Relief flooded through me like a cold stream; no mobs or bullets, but smoke hung like a curtain.

The relief fled fast as I came to terms with my neighborhood burnt out like a journalist's montage of shock. The bodega was an empty shell.  How could this be Brooklyn?

The outer door to my apartment was intact. I dug out my keys and was relieved to find my apartment as I had left it, in its usual state of messy disorganization. My roommate had flown back to her parents the week before and left some dinners in the freezer. She ate crap, but we were grateful for it and stuck them in the microwave one at a time. The city was falling apart, but we had Wi-Fi and cable—a small crack of normalcy.

The shower was lukewarm but refreshing. We plopped in front of the TV, flipping between news channels. The objective was to get to safety until the streets were vacant of gun-toting combatants. Nick's lap was a welcome pillow, and I crashed as he continued to scramble for ideas on how to ditch the city for Long Island, our new oasis. Never did I think Long Island would become a sanctuary.

The warm whispers in my ear sent a thrill down to my toes; till his murmurs became frantic as voices drifted in from the hallway and neared my apartment. Fists began to pound on the door along with rapid-fire Spanish. Grabbing our bags, we made for my bedroom, which gives way to a small courtyard. We dashed out and made for the fence.

The railing is wrought iron about five feet with spikes, and although I am in decent shape, I am and never will be an athlete. Climbing the rope in gym was a nightmare. An old plastic table served well enough for Nick to catapult over and then help me until a spike snagged my pants in mid-air. I ripped free as three ragged men charged out waving bats.

We shot down the block, which was obscenely empty when I realized I had dropped my bag.

"Wait my bag." Nick whipped around.

"Crouch down here; I'll be right back." He charged down the block, swiped up the backpack, and pressed into an alcove. I was fixed on Nick and didn't realize the door had inched open behind me. A gruff voice said, "Get in," and wrenched me through.

"My boyfriend is down the block," I squeaked out, not sure if this guy was a friend or otherwise. His cascade of braids whipped around as he slammed in the bolt after Nick slid in.

"I'm Jerry, come." We followed him up creaky stairs to a small apartment filled with six people sitting on chairs and cross-legged on a threadbare rug. They scarcely noticed us as they stared laser-focused on CNN.

There was a spot near the window where we collapsed, and I lay my head against the wall. "Where is he? I croaked.

A pretty girl of about 14 looked up, "They don't know," she said in a hushed tone and returned to the TV with intense concentration like there would be a pop quiz. Jerry handed us water bottles and returned to his chair.

"The bastard is in some bunker shooting out Tweets," Jerry spat with disgust.

We slept crunched up in our little circle wrapped in a patchwork quilt with bright flower patterns. Nick shifted, and I woke up startled. He put a finger to his lips. “I’m scared, I mouthed.”

“Me too,” he mouthed back as he slowly stood up, limping a bit from the tight position on the carpet. Jerry looked up and started to rise; Nick put a hand to his ear to signal he was listening, but Jerry nodded attuned to the subtle squeaks in the hallway.

“Fire escape?” Nick asked, drawing his pistol from the back of his pants.

“Backroom,” Jerry hissed as he dug under the large, crocheted pillow for his piece. He corralled everyone to the bedroom and, with stealth, opened the window. “It’s going to make a hell of a racket when it slides down. Move fast.”

“Jen, go with them. Jerry and I will hold them off, then follow.”

“I can’t leave without you.” I held on to him like an anchor.” With a gentle shove, he pushed me off in the direction of the bedroom.

The escape cranked down, and the others began to negotiate the steps with trepidation. With one foot out the window, I heard the door blast open and several shots fired. I sprang out, flying down the steps at what seemed subhuman speed.  At the bottom, I waited for Nick for what seemed as if forever.

“Run,” I heard someone shout, and I did.

To be continued…

#fiction shortstory thriller dystopian election2020

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #79: Altered.

Written: 3/28/2017

After several years of binge drinking, glass punching, drunk driving, unmemorable one night stands, mysteriously appearing tattoos, burned bridges, broken bones, and many other troubling behaviors, Linda had finally decided to put her addiction behind her, and decided to swear off alcohol for the rest of her life. It was difficult not to drink, and withdrawals were, in her words, “A bitch”, but she had a trick up her sleeve to keep her from drinking, it was the same trick that her sister had used when attempting to get herself off of xanax: smoke pot all day, every day, make sure you only use indicas, just to make sure that you will never leave the house, maybe even your room, and before you know it you’ll have the addiction behind you, and instead you could try to stop smoking pot. It wasn’t exactly fool proof, especially since her sister ended up relapsing and over dosing, but Linda had to try something.

The worst part, for her, about trying to kick her addiction wasn’t the withdrawals, she had spent four years in the hospital when she was a child, and was used to feeling sick in the same way that teachers are used to being screamed at by shitty parents, or comedians are used to feeling dead inside. What really got to her was the fact that she had to be sober, that she had to deal with everything while in a lucid state, and she just couldn’t stand that at all. It drove her crazy, and she would often become agitated at every little thought that popped into head, as if she were being intruded upon while in the midst of a very private act. Liquor used to quiet these thoughts, used to make her a woman that only had to think through actions, or primal urges, and life was easier. Those were the days.

With cannabis, it was like she was thinking more and less, simultaneously, but a lot of the times she would have to put in strenuous effort to remember what she had previously thinking about, and occasionally, when she did remember, she would remember that she was trying to remember something earlier, but got distracted, and then she would get sidetracked while trying to figure out what had sidetracked her, until one word triggered a completely different thought process, and she would forget about that everything that happened prior. However, half of the time her thoughts were mainly hypnagogic, as she would lull on her couch, not quite able to sleep, not able to get up, eyes closed, letting whatever strange thoughts, sounds, false realities, dream like situations, enter her head and whenever she would open her eyes, it would be sort of confusing to remember what the world was actually like.

At a point she forgot that she was weaning herself off of liquor, and confused her nausea, the constant discharge of bodily fluids, but just assumed that she had smoked way too much, and was just paying the price for it. Sometimes she did smoke too much, and it was too terrible for her to handle, so she would just lie on the couch, paralyzed, feeling like she had died but her soul was still trapped in her body, so she had to stay there and feel her body break down in the process, the relaxation of the bladder and intestines (which later required her to throw away her pants and underwear, and flip over her couch cushion after spraying it down with half a can of air freshener), the rigor mortis, the bugs that would soon come and tear her to pieces, slowly burrowing inside of her and using her as both a food source and a place to raise their young, her brain slowly decaying, which caused awful head aches and didn’t let her have any abstract thought (or at least that’s what she assumed, but this whole experience had, obviously, been related to abstract thought, her brain was just too fried to realize that), only let her focus on the pain of her body, and the whole process felt like it had lasted for a lifetime. After she was finally able to snap out of it, to walk around without everything spinning, for everything to just cool down, she figured that it was probably her bong that had caused the awful experience, and she vowed to never smoke out of it again.

After a couple of days, she had gotten tired of having to roll joints all the time, and decided to hit the bong again, forgetting why she stopped using it in the first place. Again, she felt dead, and then swore to never use the thing again, but the cycle continued for a whole month before she threw it at a tree in her backyard, and that was that.

When the spell was finally broken, and she decided to stop smoking swamp, she had completely forgotten why she decided to start in the first place, and was surprised to see that three months had gone by. Three months spent surviving on junk food, microwavable pizzas, cereal, all sorts of easy to make foods that she would have delivered to her house, taking advantage of her trust fund to pay for it all. It was like, for a small stretch of time, she simply hadn’t existed. The world kept moving and she didn’t move with it. Having no idea of what the next step was supposed to be, how she was supposed to continue on with her life, she decided to call one of her friends, and then she suddenly remembered the reasons of her shut in lifestyle. However, she didn’t know anyone other than her drinking buddies, so she figured that they may as well be good enough for her.

As she returned to her old group, she realized that all they did was drink. Hanging out sober was a foreign concept to them, and they didn’t see that mindset as bad, or didn’t see themselves as alcoholics, because they claimed there were people who drank way more than them, so it was okay if they were always getting drunk. At first they agreed to be sober around her, but after a day or two of this, they had enough and started drinking beers, just to “take it slow at first, you can’t expect us to be full sober can you? Its just a couple beers, we’re just getting buzzed, not drunk.” That would lead to chugging contests, shotgunning, drinking games, which would eventually lead to harder alcohol to be brought out, then proposed trips to their favorite bar, and the whole time they would keep offering Linda drinks, not understanding how she could be alright with only drinking ginger ale.

Linda had become their designated driver for the night, but none of them were thankful, because they would claim that, “Chet can drive drunk better than anyone could drive sober. He could take ten shots and take the drivers test to get his license, but he can’t take the test because he can only drive well if he’s drunk.”

“Well, is he actually a good driver when he’s drunk,” Linda would ask, having to repeat this several times throughout the night, “or is he just so drunk that he thinks he’s just a good driver. From what I remember, Chet had wrecked not one, not two, but three cars total from drunk driving.”

The responses given were:

“He really is a good driver, I’ve been in the car with him and I never, never noticed any problems. None whatsoever. And, actually, my dear, dear, compatriot, it was sober people that had run into him. So really, if you think about it, the system is just rigged against him, because even though he is an amazing drunk driver, people will, they’ll just always trust the sober person over the drunk, and, its like unfair-” this shifted into some confused rant about how PC culture is to blame for the idea of alcoholism, and how people just call others to lazily discredit their viewpoints, and shut down any form of serious conversation, but every time Linda would try to argue back the guy would just interrupt her with more of his rant. Eventually, he ended up standing on a pool table and tried to get everyone to do the macarena, and when everyone told him to get down from the table, he claimed that they were infringing on his free speech, and that they were displaying a clear lack of American values.

“If he believes he’s a good drunk driver because he’s drunk, then that makes him a good driver, good at driving, because if you have confidence, you can do anything. Like, think about it, all you need to do, to do anything good, to be good at anything, is to believe in yourself, and then when you believe it you see it, cause seeing is believing” Nodding to themselves, seven shots and six beers deep, “Like, I believe that I am going to be the next big, you know, great American author, and in a way that is proof that, can’t you see? I’m going to be the next best thing, I’m going to be good with words, and put all of that shit on paper, and as you can tell I am, I’m way better than a lot of people, because people don’t believe in themselves. But I believe in myself.” When Linda asked her what her book was going to be about, the girl just shrugged and said, “I don’t know, trains or something.”

“Drunk drivers, they are the ones that survive the crashes anyways, so what’s the problem? If you don’t want to be hit by drunk driver, then don’t be outside. Its not his fault.  They’re the ones messing up, its not going to kill him, and then we thin out, you know, the whole population and everything so that the dumb people can’t reproduce, and next thing you know the gene pool is all good again. Like, the problem with society is its too, like, too easy to survive nowadays, and evolution doesn’t know what the fuck its doing, and the gene pool, oh man, its all fucked up. Its all filled with idiots, who are the reason, have you paid attention to politics lately? Have you heard all of this stuff about China, apparently they’re growing too, and, well, everyones growing. If you ask me China fucked up big time, they should have, like, gone back to throwing excess babies into rivers and shit,” pointing aggressively with her rum and coke, spilling it on the table, “Now that’s a good, that’s where politics are doing real good.”

“Yeah, he may have wrecked three cars, but he’ll never wreck pussy as good as I do.” Then he raised his hand for a high five, a waitress thought he was flagging her down, and, to hide his embarrassment from this miscommunication, he ordered a glass of wine. After the waitress walked away, “I hate wine, but, that’s what classy people drink, so she probably wont notice my mistake anyways.”

“I agree with what you have to say, and you know that, you know, Linda you’re the best. I’m always going to agree with you, but right now, at this very moment, I need you to help me get to the bathroom quick. Like, asap. I haven’t gone to the bathroom in the longest time, and, my bladder, it feels like it made of concrete, you know? I don’t think I can walk on my own, I need you to, you gotta help me.” After she walked the girl to the bathroom, she could hear the girl say, in her stall, “Oh man, its not coming out. I think I have to, I gotta push on my bladder and try to squeeze it out. Stay with me, wont you? I need, I don’t want to be alone.” Linda waited for three minutes straight as the girl relieved herself.

The bar was a terrible place to be, but the group had loved it because they never cut you off from drinking, making it just shady enough for them. At first the owner couldn’t stand this rowdy group of trust fund assholes, but eventually she realized that her business was going under, and she could hike the prices up on them, without them batting an eye, so she began to grow fond of them, and made a rule to never kick them out. Although, running the business this way made her feel like she was running a tourist attraction, where affluent people could visit when they wanted to spend a little bit of time in poor areas.

After Linda got her third refill on ginger ale, the group all began to whisper amongst one another, and she was trying to figure out what she did wrong. Did she ask too  many questions, show too much judgment after having disappeared for so long? Did they think that she felt as if she was somehow better than them, and was only hanging out with them in a false sense of pity?

“Linda,” Chet finally spoke up, stroking his stubbly beard, looking concerned, “We’re worried about you.”

“What?”, Linda said, taken aback, “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re, we feel that you’re not as fun as you used to be, you know? We’re your friends, we care about you, and we feel like you’re on a dark and dangerous path. Sobriety doesn’t seem like it would be good for you, its like you’re dead inside without it.”

“Where,” asked the great writer, “Where is the, where’s the Linda that believed in herself, who believed that she could be fun and was fun. Ya know? The girl who would, always having a good time, would drink a fifth of whiskey and, just like,” making an explosion sound with her mouth, “jump through, right through, a window or something. That was great.”

“You think,” Said Linda, “that its a bad sign that I’m not getting so drunk that I’m jumping through windows?”

“Life is short,” said the political activist, “you don’t know when you’re going to die, and it could be all, any of the time. The infrastructure, man don’t get me started on that, its all regulated and messed up,  its so-”

“Kafkaesque”, the endurance pisser pitched in.

“Is that even a word?” Asked the great writer.

“Uh huh,” said the activist, nodding, “Its all kamanesque, and you’re lucky if you’ll even like to be like forty, or whatever, whatever the age is. Big Pharma has everything messed up, they keep having everyone live longer, but, that’s just not right, because like they’re making the bad people live longer, and that means.. It means that you’re life span, its all shortened now, because your chance of being murdered, or being tied up, and left on a train track, its gone waaay up, like right through the glass ceiling.”

“That’s terrible,” said the endurance girl, who was blowing out a flaming shot of Sambuca.

“Yeah, they’re, the government doesn’t understand that by giving other people rights, they’re taking it away from us.”

“And,” the wine drinker pitched in, on his third glass since the waitress keeps asking if he wants a refill, but he’s to embarrassed to correct her, “you’re taking our right to have fun, real good times, by being a wet blanket. You’re a real life, walking party foul.”

“Do you guys just want me to leave?” Asked Linda.

“No!” Yelled Chet, veteran drunk driver, “You’re missing the whole point! If you leave, then you still wont be here, having fun with us! Off you disappear again, and we have nobody to, remember when you got that, the tattoo you have of the bear, and it takes its head off, and there’s the garden gnome inside-”

“No, wait,” Said the great writer, “That’s my tattoo, I got that. It was, I think it was from a book or something, see?” Awkwardly turning around in the booth, presenting her backside to the rest of the group, and pulling up her shirt to reveal the strange tattoo.

“What book is that from?” Asked the endurance pisser.

“I think, maybe it was Paradise Lost?”

Linda was starting to see that everyone was alive and excited by this very confusing conversation, and she was beginning to wonder if she should get drunk, again, just to make all of this more bearable, just to make it fun again. “So,” She asked, “All you guys want me to do is to drink with you?”

“Yeah!” Shouted the activist, “You have to, its like your manifest destiny, and you have to not tread on us. That’s what we’re, what our country is all for, you know? Lincoln didn’t die at Gettysburg, so that his country could be filled, with, with people who tread all over each other. Like, people who don’t like freedom, and you’re hurting our freedom, you know, by not doing what we want you to do. Like, its your body, you have the freedom to own it, but you don’t, you don’t get to choose what you do with it because that might, like it treads all over our beliefs, so as Americans-”

“Hell yeah!” Shouted the wine drinker, who pounded on the table and spilled the Sambuca shot, which just became cool enough to drink.

“-Americans in America, we have to make sure that people won’t tread on our beliefs, so we have to make sure everyone has to follow our beliefs, and won’t do the things, they want to, because we want to, and in the end that’s just what liberty is all about.”

The table cheered, inspired by the speech, and they lifted up their drinks in celebration, and proceeded to make their liver’s jobs just a little more stressful. “I think,” said the author, “I think I know what my next book is going to be about.”

“What is it going to be about?” Linda asked.

“Freedom.” Everyone at the table applauded, except for Linda, who was trying to think of what she wanted her next drink to be. In a way, she felt that it was alright that she drank, because if she didn’t really want to, then she wouldn’t have gone to a bar in the first place, she wouldn’t have hung out with a group of alcoholics. And how could a drink or two do much damage? Plus, she was going to have to drink to ignore her impulses to smoke, and if you think about it, if you squint your brain, alcohol is much less dangerous than the devil’s cabbage. Her friends had a point, too, that everything was pretty boring when she was sober, and she did owe them, like, she was their friend.

When the waitress came back to their table, Linda made sure to add in her order, stressing to her friends that she was just going to get something small, to get her buzzed to appease them, then proceeded to order two tequila sunrises. After those were brought to the table, she ended up knocking them down without waiting to savor the taste, and started to order shots, then her friends ordered more shots, with several cries of “Get on my level”,  and everyone proceeded to have a genuinely fun time, even if there was a point where Linda was crying because she hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. After the crying session she bet that she could jump over one of the tables, made a running start, and then crashed into it, face first, and caused the two legs, that were facing her, to snap and the table folded over.

Midnight hit and everyone started to get tired of the bar, and figured that they could head somewhere more interesting, which would mostly likely be the playground they used to drink at when they were in high school, that they would often visit for the “nostalgia”, even though they went at least two times every week. However, there was plenty of arguing about who would drive, but it wasn’t a long argument because Chet took the keys, and told Linda that he was going to prove that he was an expert driver, when intoxicated, and she dared him to put his money where his mouth was. After connecting his phone to an AUX chord in his car, and spending ten minutes trying to find a good driving song to put on, a task made difficult with everyone shouting their own preferences, and after a long deliberation he finally said “Fuck it”, and decided to press the shuffle button, which caused Madonna’s Like a Prayer to fill the car.

After his seat belt was placed on, the car stared, and the chorus hit, he turned to Linda, who was in the passenger’s seat, and gave her a cocky smile. He proceeded to drive amazingly, and it seemed like he wasn’t drunk at all, until he had to throw up and the car swerved past a red light, and slammed into a sedan containing a family of five, who was coming home from a long vacation. Everyone in the driver’s car was fine.

#Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Alcohol #Addiction