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bbrandy2002 · 4 years

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Happy Birthday Burnsy!

@burnsoslow

Burns,

You probably don't remember this, but the first time I ever talked to you was a reply to your comment on my fic, The Breakfast Club, in early July. I'm not sure what possessed you to reach out to me a week later in chats but, you did and its been one wild and crazy ride since then. You've certainly come a long way since we were new and mulling over those earlier stories-or in your case-Heavier Things, Chapter 1 (YOU ARE STILL WRITING THAT...LOL) . And while you have sooooo many friends here, for some reason you chose me to be your Tumbler Bestie. I hope you know you are so much more than that though ... you're my sister, my twinsie, a truly good friend. You've inspired me in ways you'll never know. I have watched you grow in your craft and reach an unprecedented level of talent that is evidenced in the quality of your work and through the amount of enthusiastic readers who can't wait for you to post the next epic chapter. You did it all through a tremendous amount of hard work, lot of tears and because you have a likeness that draws people to you. You're just truly an incredibly, special person who possesses a certain spark that makes this crazy place even better. And I think I tell you enough, but you really are one of the best writers in this fandom. And as you say to me all the time, I'm gonna say to you ... I'm one proud TBFF!! I can't thank you enough for all the late night laughs, bull sessions, real talks, 6 hour chats about nothing, letting me know when I'm being a dumbass or just being there when things get really, really tough. The fic I wrote isn't anything special and definitely could have been better, however I hope in some small way it captures the essence of our crazy friendship. Keep growing and shining and being your amazing self.

Love you my friend and Happy Birthday!!

Brandy

**You asked for Drake, Alyssa, Riley and Liam shenanigans. I don't know if this will be what you were expecting, but its what I came up with after 20 different versions. You'll recognize some of this as inside jokes or dialogue and situations from your own stories (yep, I stole them...lol). This is wacky and crazy and makes no sense. Okay Im shutting up now.

Thank you @sirbeepsalot for gutting the hell out of this on Monday night and @emceesynonymroll for SO MUCH of your help and suggestions. Also to my lovely pre-readers/keep me saners @jessiembruno and @loveellamae

Song Inspiration: You're Still The One by Shania Twain. **Drakes final dialogue will come from these lyrics.

Alyssa pulled her black mini-van through the palace gates, running over a cone and nearly taking out Michael, the security guard, in the process. Her hair was swept up into a very messy bun and her sunglasses were perched atop her head. She was wearing a blue, faded Bears sweatshirt, black leggings with a small hole in the crotch, and a mismatched pair of flip-flops -- both were for the left foot. Unable to find a close parking space, she double-parked her van in two handicapped-accessible spaces. She checked her reflection in the rear view mirror and wiped away the smudges of mascara that had run below her eyes.

She was hurt and mad as hell, yet waited until, 'DIRRTY’, finished on the radio before shutting the van off and tossing the keys in her oversized mom purse. Alyssa’s dainty fingers fumbled hastily as she tried to release the lock on her seatbelt with no luck. "You son of a bitch! Let me go!"

After pulling and tugging, twisting and karate chopping at it as hard as she could, she finally freed herself.

“HAHA! MOTHERFUCKER! GOTCHA!”

Alyssa snatched her purse and cell phone before she swung the door open, hopped out, and kicked the door shut. Still mumbling obscenities, she walked a few paces before turning back around and hitting the van’s hood with her swinging purse. “Fucking hold me hostage like that again and I’m driving your ass into a ravine!”

Everyone who knows Alyssa Walker would say she is generally a fun, loving, and sociable little woman. She’s a devoted wife who has been married to the man of her dreams for several years and a wonderful mother to their children. She's very successful professionally, having served as the Royal Education Director for 8 years. A social butterfly of sorts, she’s been known to give Maxwell a run for his money, in regards to being considered the life of any party. On most days, Alyssa is typically outgoing and joyful.

Today is not one of those days.

Her flip flops were barely hanging on as she trudged across the lawn that led to the palace gardens, thoughts of her morning crossed her mind.

For every single birthday since marrying Drake, she would wake up to the smell of bacon, scrambled eggs, and french toast wafting through the cabin. She would lay in bed and pretend to sleep until Drake and the kids burst in with a tray full of freshly prepared foods, a hot cup of coffee, and a glass of orange juice. They would shower her with kisses and hugs, sing Happy Birthday, and then wait anxiously as Alyssa took the first bite to see if their mother approved of the time and effort they put into making her birthday morning special. When she finished, like clockwork, Drake would send the kids outside with the eldest child and give Alyssa a gift that only he could give her; one that required the skilled use of his lips, hands, and the colossus that was his … well … colossus.

Except, there were no bacon, eggs, or french toast. There were no kids jumping on the bed to wish her a happy birthday and fighting over which one hugged her first. Drake did not send the kids away when she finished her breakfast nor had she risen from the bed barely able to walk from the most mind-blowing sex she’d ever had.

None of the things she expected happened.

When Alyssa woke up this morning no one was home. All she found was a letter by the coffee pot from Drake, telling her the kids went with Maxwell for the day and that he would see her after work. To make things worse, her 20 attempts to call him that morning went straight to voicemail.

Drake had been working late and acting shady for months, telling her he was helping Liam take care of some horses they were preparing for next month's derby. Lately, she was beginning to wonder if there was something more he wasn’t telling her.

Now she was late for her luncheon with Riley.

As Alyssa rounded the corner that entered the gardens, she saw Riley on the patio arranging a tray of fresh fruit and sandwiches on the table. An array of metallic birthday balloons danced and bounced from the chairs with the changing breeze. Alyssa frowned with resentment towards her best friend of over 20 years. Bitch is still in her 30s.

Riley’s focus was averted when she heard the sound of rustling leaves behind her. She turned on her heels and said, “Happy 40th Birthday, Old Lady!” Her cheery voice trailed off when she caught sight of her disheveled friend.

“Lyss? What the hell happened to you? You look like shit.”

Alyssa strode past Riley and threw her purse on the ground beside a chair before she slumped down into it.

Riley furrowed her brows with a snicker. “Bad day?”

Alyssa reached for a strawberry and dipped the entire berry, stem and all, into a dish of melted chocolate before leaving behind a trail of droplets from the dish to her mouth. As she chewed, she mewled. “Ma life if ofer!”

Riley scrunched up her face and arched back in an attempt to avoid the spittle of food that sprayed from her friend’s full mouth. She sighed heavily, grabbed a napkin, and wiped away the chunks of fruit-and-chocolate-mixed saliva that landed on her arm. “Oookaay, what’s going on? Why is your life over?”

Alyssa threw the stem on her plate and leaned forward into the table, gesticulating dramatically. “He didn’t tell me happy birthday, Ri! There was no breakfast, there was no spoiling, there was no fucking, colossus dick! There was nothing!”

“Who? Drake?”

“No, fucking Santa Clause! Of course Drake.”

Riley bit into her sandwich as Alyssa complained about Drake’s lack of attentiveness over the past few months. It wasn't the first time her friend had mentioned this to her; however, judging by how upset she was and the fact that she was dressed like a $2 hooker, she knew it was really serious now.

Alyssa continued to point out how Drake was always working and, supposedly, was helping Liam out with the horses too. When he returned home each night, his clothes were sweaty and dirty but never smelled like horse shit. To make things worse, the sex had dwindled. Alyssa could give up a lot of things in life, but Drake's dick was not one of them.

“I know he’s cheating, Ri,” she lamented, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“Nooo.”

“YES! He’s found another woman … someone younger, sluttier, who hasn't popped out a bunch of kids!”

Riley scoffed. “Lyss, everyone knows Drake worships the ground you walk on. I’m sure there is a good reason why he hasn’t paid as much attention to you lately.”

“But he KNOWS I’m needy and clingy and desperate for love!” she wailed.

Riley lifted the napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table. Her friend was a hot mess -- a more than usual hot mess -- and she wanted to help. She stood and walked around the table to her grieved friend and grabbed her tiny hand. “Come on.”

Alyssa’s weepy eyes stared up at her in confusion before she let out a small sniffle. “Where are we going?”

“We are going to the stables. You said he is there today, so let's go talk to him.”

Alyssa sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not going, Ri. He needs to come to me!”

Riley began pulling on her friend's arm, but Alyssa was not being very cooperative with her efforts. “Get your ass out of the chair, Lyss, and go get your man.”

Alyssa pulled back harder. “Get off me, you skank ass ho!”

Riley continued to tug at her, surprised there was so much strength in such a little body. “Bitch, I will drag your ass and this chair all the way to the stables!”

“I’d like to see you try, dumbass!”

With a hard jerk from Riley, Alyssa’s chair tipped over and she landed on the ground. Her resolve never once faded. While Riley continued to tug at her arm, Alyssa reached over and grabbed her broken flip flop and began smacking vigorously back at her.

Riley immediately let go of her and stumbled backwards. “You have gone insane!” she groaned. “I tried to help you and, if this is how you’re gonna act, leave me out of it!” She turned to walk away and glanced back quickly. “You know the way out.”

“Ri … wait.” Alyssa called out softly to her.

Riley stopped and quirked her brow with a huff. “What?”

“Can palace security take us down? You know my ass ain’t walking that far.”

Riley called for a guard to take the 30-second drive to the stables. Both girls hopped off the cart and entered the empty barn. Riley called out for members of the stable staff while Alyssa’s eyes roamed the perimeter for her husband.

“Your Majesty? Did you need something?”

Riley turned to face the man in charge as he walked around the corner wiping his hands off with an old cloth. Before she could acknowledge him, Alyssa popped in front of her, nearly knocking her over.

“Eric!! Where’s Drake?”

The Queen smiled at the stable manager. “Eric, we’re looking for Drake.”

He looked between the two women, confusion etched across his face. “Is he supposed to be here, ma’am?”

Riley looked at Alyssa, who looked like she was ready to snap at his question, then back to Eric. “Um … yes. He told Mrs. Walker here that he would be helping in the stables today.”

“Hell … I’d say its been a good --” Eric paused to calculate before turning his attention back to the women. “--three … maybe four weeks since I last saw Walker here. Came down with King Liam to take the newest horse, Driam, out for a ride … it made me real hard ma’am”

“Hold the fuck up!” Alyssa yelled with one hand on her hip and the other covering her forehead. “He told me he has been helping out here for the last several months. Is that not true?”

Eric, realizing what is going on, backed up defensively. He could sense this was not something he wanted to be a part of. “Nope. I'm not getting in the middle of your marital woes, Ms. Alyssa.” I just want in the middle of your husbands.

Alyssa approached him and aggressively poked at his chest. “Oh, you are in so far in the middle of my woes now, Ricky boy! So drop the bros before hoes bullshit and spill what you know.”

Riley grabbed both of Alyssa's shoulders from behind and pulled her aside. “It’s not his fault, Lyss. Plus … I think Eric’s the ho in this case”

Alyssa shrugged her away and began to pace back and forth frantically. “I’m seeing sounds, Ri. I am seeing fucking sounds all over this bitch!”

“Oh God, Lyss! No! Don’t look at the sounds ... Don’t look at the sounds” She turned her frantic friend around to face her, squeezing her arms soothingly. “Look at me.”

Alyssa’s lips quivered as she stared back at her best friend. “I’ve lost him, Ri. I’ve lost him.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Alyssa sniffled through her tears and wiped her nose on her shirt sleeve. “Can me and the kids live with you now that I’m a single mother with a cheating ass husband?”

Riley pulled her into a hug, rubbing comfortingly along her back. “Of course you can, but maybe we should talk to Liam first.”

Lyss wiped her tear-stained face on Riley's shoulder and pulled back. “Liam loves me. He won’t care if I stay with you.”

Riley smiled with a nod. “Yes, he does love you, but Drake loves you too and you know that. There has to be a good explanation for everything.”

“Then why did he lie? He’s never lied to me, Ri.”

Riley gave her friend a sympathetic frown and shrugged. “I don’t know, girl, but let’s find out”

Palace security was once again summoned to haul the girls back to the palace.

Liam was in his office taking part in a video conference with Queen Elizabeth when his door burst open.

“WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?!”

His eyes went wide as he cut them to the flash of Alyssa barging in and stopping behind him at his desk; Riley was just a step behind her. Liam’s face flushed as he looked back at the camera and apologized for the interruption.

“Alyssa, dear,” he whispered. “Now is not a good time.” He motioned to the video feed on his laptop.

Alyssa turned to the laptop with the 106-year-old Queen’s face still illuminating from it. “Turn the hearing aid down, Lizzie! Unless you know where Drake is, this conversation doesn’t concern you!”

“ALYSSA!!” Liam stood, towering over her petite frame. “Are you coming for your King?” (had to put that in there lol).

“Liam, she's had a rough day and, remember, we love Alyssa,” Riley interjected with an innocent smile.

“We do, but she can’t just barge in here while I’m working!”

Alyssa grabbed his tie and yanked him down closer to her face. “Please, just tell me you know where Drake is. He said he was working for you and he’s not. He didn’t tell me happy birthday, he didn’t make my breakfast, and he didn’t fuck my brains out this morning!”

“Oh My!”

Alyssa turned back to the laptop. “I thought I told you to turn your hearing aid down, you old coot!”

Liam’s hands covered his face in embarrassment as he fell back into his chair.

Alyssa crouched down in front of Liam and pulled his hands from his face. “Real talk, Li. Did you or did you not ask Drake to work for you?”

He stared at her for a moment with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He knew exactly where his best friend was and what he was doing -- he had known for months -- but he couldn’t tell her that.

Nervous, Liam knew there was one way to solve this problem. He reached over to his intercom and pressed the call button. “Bastien.”

A split second later, the door to Liam’s office opened and the head guard entered. “Your Majesty?” he said as he bowed.

“Yes, could you see Alyssa and my wife out, please.”

Exasperated with Liam's request, Alyssa stood back up and eyed Bastien with a steely glare. “I’m not afraid of this bitch! He’s the one who raised the man whore my husband became with all his hookers and shit. My children are fatherless now because of you!”

Refusing to leave, Alyssa plopped down on Liam’s lap and gripped the armrests of his chair tightly with both hands. Her bony ass caused him to yelp as it dug into the muscles of his thigh. She reached for Liam’s scotch and took a sip before leaning down so that her face could be picked up by the camera.

“Alright, Liz, help a fellow girl out here! You have a lot of experience with a cheating ass spouse and son … should I rip his big, beautiful nuts off? Orrrr … just take it up the ass like you did?"

The Queen of England clutched her chest with an exasperated expression. "Little lady … your behavior is simply prudish and insulting. I highly suggest you learn proper etiquette when addressing me … and, as for your husband, I can see why the poor man's eyes have roamed with such an immoral and, need I dare say, crazed woman such as yourself for a wife."

"Conversation over, bitch!" Alyssa threw the rest of Liam’s drink at the screen, hoping it drenched the queen and slammed the laptop shut.

"God Dammit!" Liam yelled out while he wrapped his arms around her from behind before standing up and handing her off to his guard.

With Bastien holding Alyssa in his arms, her little legs dangling and kicking at his shins, Riley took action.

The Queen grabbed her friend's feet, which were now bare from her crumbled flip flops, and tried with all her might to pull her back.

"You’re gonna break her hip, Bastien! She's an old, feeble woman now! She could have osteoporosis or the menopause!”

Giving their best efforts to escape, including Alyssa's teeth being firmly sunk into Bastien’s upper arm, neither were able to overpower his strength.

While carrying Alyssa and dragging Riley -- who was still holding onto her friends legs -- Bastien was able to get the two of them out of Liam's office and into the main corridor.

Alyssa followed Riley back to her quarters, where she was given a pair of flip-flops and new leggings from Riley’s 12-year-old daughter’s closet. The hole in the crotch of her leggings had completely blown out during the struggle with Bastien. There were still no answers or replies from Drake, and Alyssa was beginning to feel utterly hopeless.

Alyssa started to raid the royal couple’s liquor cabinet, happy to swipe a bottle of Balkan vodka, when Riley had an idea. She snapped her fingers with a sly grin. “I know someone who can help us find Drake.”

“Who?”

The ladies left the quarters and walked downstairs to the ballroom. Once inside, Alyssa took a hard swig of vodka and eyed the utility closet Riley stopped in front of with a questioning look.

The Queen gave four quick knocks followed by two slow ones and the door unlocked. Mara had been working out of this closet for years, having been fired after a fall out with Alyssa during a costume ball that nearly got her killed. The former guard walked in there during that ball and just never came back out. Riley and Bastien were the only two people who knew about this and told no one -- Bastien purely for comical reasons and Riley for a certain skill the woman possessed.

Alyssa was surprised to find the woman hiding out there after all these years. "I thought you fired her ass! I nearly got a traumatic brain injury and hearing loss from her incompetence!"

"Shhh!" Riley pulled her friend inside, peeking around the ballroom to ensure no one was looking, and shut the door quickly.

Riley explained how Liam revoked her cell phone pinging privileges with the guards before the costume ball all those years ago. Apparently, he wasn't too keen on her stalking the entire cast of Friends. He did what he had to do when a restraining order from Matthew Perry came across his desk. Mara, however, was still able to ping into anyone’s phone, thus, the Queen allowed her to stay.

“That's amazing,” Alyssa remarked. She pursed her lips as she scanned the tight space of the closet. “Can she find … maybe … Dwayne Johnson?”

Riley nodded. “Bitch can find anyone.” She looked to Mara, who was sitting at her desk, and winked with approval.

“Okay,” Alyssa clapped and leaned over Mara’s shoulder. “Let’s find him … I wanna know where Drake is!”

Within several seconds, an unfamiliar address popped up on the screen. It was close to the Walker cabin but still not somewhere Alyssa knew of.

She reached for a pen and a pad of paper from Mara’s desk and started to write down the location. “I can’t believe he lied to me this whole time! I must be really stupid for him to think he could actually get away with this.” Alyssa tossed the pen back on the desk and ripped the sheet of paper off the pad. “They’re gonna write a country song about me, Ri,” she cried. “Poppa’s in the graveyard and Momma’s in the pen! I just need a shotgun and for my damn dog to run away and I’ve got a hit!”

The two snuck out of the utility closet and ran to Alyssa’s van. Alyssa pulled the ticket for double parking in handicapped spaces from her wiper blade and threw it in her glove box with the rest of her parking tickets. Riley shoveled away the piles of empty, diet coke cans and cheese whisps bags from the passenger seat into the parking lot when she opened her door.

Alyssa squealed her tires as she burned rubber down the palace drive, taking out the same cone again, nearly running down Michael again, and driving straight through the lowered arm of the security gate.

“WOOOO!” Riley yelled as they sped through the streets of Cordonia into the countryside. “This is just like old times in college, huh, Lyss?”

“I suppose. We’re just not high as fuck.” Alyssa raised her eyebrows and grinned slyly with an all too familiar gleam in her eyes that Riley recognized immediately. “Say … grab my purse, Ri.”

“Oh God! I know that look. We're gonna get smashed aren't we?" Riley extended her arm behind the driver's seat. Alyssa reached into the side pocket of her purse and pulled out the rolled up, clear baggie and tossed it to her friend.

Unrolling the bag, Riley began to bounce in her seat with anticipation of smoking weed for the first time in 15 years. The excitement quickly faded.

“Um, Lyss?”

“Hmm?”

“I know I haven’t smoked pot in a while, but this looks like a bag of carrot sticks.”

“Give me that, dumbass!” Alyssa glanced over and snatched the bag. She held the bag over the steering wheel and examined it for herself. “Well fuck!! Looks like one of my kids had a really interesting snack yesterday at school. Oh well”

After a twenty-minute drive from the palace into a forested section of Cordonia, Alyssa and Riley stopped in front of a long gravel road. Riley double-checked the address on the van’s GPS with what was written on the paper.

“It says this is it. Look’s kind of desolate,” Riley mused, not sure where the isolated road would lead.

Alyssa turned the steering wheel of her van, probably a little too tipsy to drive considering she had consumed a quarter of a bottle of vodka (that the author of this story forgot about). They made it there, nonetheless, and no one was hurt. Never drink and drive!!

Lush, plentiful trees and a wooden fence lined the gravel road that seemed to lead to nowhere until they came upon a clear view of Lake Cordonia. Drake’s truck was sitting in front of a large wooden cabin with a huge, flat yard and one of the most stunning views of the lake either woman had seen anywhere. Alyssa tried to keep it together ... until she didn’t. When she saw Drake standing on the front porch, casually drinking a beer, shirtless and wiping his forehead with his denim shirt, she skidded the van into park next to his truck.

Drake’s eyes widened when he saw his wife get out of the van wielding an ice scraper in one hand and a tire iron in the other, a look of pure hell in her eyes.

He took a small step back. He hadn’t seen her like this since a drunken Olivia grabbed his ass at a Beaumont Bash two years ago. Drake waved his hands in front of her defensively. “Baby girl … wh … what’s going on right now?”

“Don’t you baby girl me!” Alyssa threw the ice scraper and Drake ducked just in time as it flew over his head.

Drake had no idea what the hell she was so pissed off about, but she was approaching him quickly and twirling the tire iron in her hands. He jumped over the railing of the porch and took off running around the side of the house. As he rounded the rear corner of the home, he ran directly into Riley, who was waiting to block him. The plan was a good one -- it really was -- but her thin frame was no match against the much larger Drake. With a hard thud, Riley fell backward, which caused his body to trip over her and land face down on the ground.

Drake rolled over on his back and shook his head in an attempt to get the daze out of his frazzled brain. There she was, standing over him, holding the tire iron like a bat, ready to pounce him without a second thought.

“Baby! Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“You … you’re a cheater and a liar!”

Drake went to sit up but laid back down when Alyssa flinched the hardened steel at him. “The fuck you talking about, Lyssa?”

With months of building suspicions and hurt, Alyssa took a long, deep breath and let it all out with a wail.

“I’m talking about the late nights, the shady-as-shit lies you have spewed to me over and over again. I’m talking about you missing out on dinners, coming home and falling on the bed without a word to anyone. I’m talking about only having sex with me every other day and forgetting my birthday. Now, me and the kids have to live with Liam, who hates me now because I told Queen Elizabeth she got fucked in the ass! It’s because I’m old now, isn’t it? You wanna be a Bastien and have bunga bunga sex parties with skank ass whores who have big boobies and wear their panties around their ankles! And … I just can’t compete, Drake … I just can’t.”

Drake held his hand up to block any sudden swings in his direction. “Can I get up?”

Alyssa nodded her head before she turned away from him and dropped the tire iron to the ground. “Just tell why, dammit?” she whimpered. “Was I not enough?!”

“Not enough? NOT ENOUGH?!!” He quickly rose to his feet, twisted her around and brought her flush against his hard body. With tears in his eyes, he kissed the top of her head, his thick hands sunken into her lush, brown hair. He was barely able to mutter a single word. He was visibly shaken and broken by her accusations and that she held those feelings about herself for so long.

With both hands now on the sides of her face, he tilted her head so that she was looking directly at him. “Alyssa!” he sobbed softly. “Don’t you dare ever say you aren’t enough for me … ever! You’re literally my whole world. In every single life, in any alternate universe … I choose you every single time. And you wanna know what I’ve been doing? Look!” He turned her around to face the house.

“This is what I’ve been doing all those months! I built it, with my bare hands, just for you, for your birthday. I wanted you to have a bigger home so you could get out of that small cabin and have the view and the yard you always dreamt of. I wasn’t cheating and I didn't forget your birthday. I just wanted you to have everything you deserve”

Alyssa gave Drake a quizzical look. “But … you’re terrible at woodworking.”

Drake chuckled. “Maybe I love you enough I learned.”

Alyssa sunk to her knees, not to give a blow job, but realization and understanding of the last few months had set in. She stared up at the beautiful, two-story log cabin that had every bit of her husband’s heart and soul for her in it and wept. “Drake.” Her voice was raspy and full of guilt. “I’m so, so sorry.’

He crouched down behind her and wrapped his loving arms around Alyssa before placing a gentle nip at her ear. “You've nothing to be sorry for. I guess I gave you plenty of reasons to think that, but I was crunched for time and wanted to surprise you. Just hope you like it.”

“It’s magnificent … and it’s our home?”

“It's our home. Happy Birthday, Baby girl.”

Drake and Alyssa checked on Riley, who was still knocked out cold. After assisting her and giving her a moment to collect herself, Alyssa thanked her friend for all of her help and gave her the keys to the van to return home in.

Drake showed his wife around their new cabin, pointing out the lowered cabinets in the kitchen that would be easier for her to reach. He had built her a library where she could work from and read without the noise and chaos of a house full of children running around. She was thrilled over the balcony that sat just off their bedroom, overlooking the lake and featuring private jacuzzi tub where they could relax together and, of course, have sex in.

Drake took her outside and walked down to the lake, where he had put a gazebo in overlooking the water and ushered her to the center of it.

“Drake! This is amazing. How did you know I wanted this?”

He drew her closer to him and kissed the tip of her nose. “I know everything about you, Lyssa … there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.”

She smiled up at him lovingly. “And I love you so much for it.”

He reached for one of her tiny hands, brought it to his chest, and wrapped his other arm around her back. With very little room between them, he kissed her lips tenderly. “Dance with me, Alyssa.”

Alyssa gave him a knowing look with a grin. “Drake Walker doesn’t like to dance.”

He began to sway with her to music that wasn’t there, but he felt it in his heart. “Drake Walker will always dance with his girl.” Kissing her once more, they began to slowly dance together and Alyssa had never felt more alive or loved in her life. He has that effect on her--always had and always will.

He spun her in a twirl and pulled her tiny body back into his own. “Ya know, Lyssa … when I first saw you, I saw love.”

Drake reached down and lifted the bottom of her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it on a nearby bench. He caressed her cheek and trailed a gentle line down her neck and across her shoulder. “And the first time you touched me, Baby Girl ...I felt love.”

His lips found that sweet spot just behind her ear before he whispered to her. “And after all this time ...”

Drake’s thumb grazed across her bottom lip before he stared into the blue eyes of his yesterday, today, and forever. “You’re still the one I love.”

What happens next? .......

#drake walker #drake x ALYSSA #alyssa devereaux

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maverick-werewolf · 6 years

Text

Just some werewolf (and writing) thoughts

I had another moment tonight. I get these moments sometimes. This one actually stems from my writing.

Why can’t people take werewolves seriously anymore?

I’m going to just clip this here because this is going to get very long and inane and now you’ll find out why I’m going to have to just tag some posts as “rambling.” Keep reading if you’re curious as to what’s bothering me. But if you don’t want to drown (seriously you will drown, I didn’t hold back) in unorganized walls of text, wait for this Wednesday’s werewolf fact instead.

Whether werewolves are from the beginning or turn into one, they’re jokes. Whether the person telling the story intended it or not - jokes. Ha ha, dog jokes. Sometimes that’s fine. I enjoy it, I even dabble in it myself. I’m not completely innocent of that, and I’m not completely bashing everything that does it. I think it’s fun and it can be really super cute and entertaining. Especially if it’s reached at a point later in a story or a relationship (I know some of you you know what I’m talking about).

But the problem is that werewolves have been degraded into just something funny, or something average. They’re just one of those monsters you randomly throw at your players in a tabletop session, or they’re a boss fight in a video game. There’s an evil pack of them your heroes have to slay. By default, no one takes them seriously.

Where’s the depth? Where’s the meaning? Where’s the horror, the torment? The challenge?

That’s another thing. They’re almost “normal” by the standards of a lot of settings they’re in. It’s “normal” for a guy to turn into a horrible man-beast that eats people. Yeah, that’s not really that scary, I’ve seen those before and killed like half a dozen. It’s not too uncommon out here in [insert setting/region], the only hard part is figuring out what werecreature the person is turning into while they’re seizing around in throes of desperate agony.

Let’s fight something bigger, badder, scarier. Werewolves are so blasé. And it’s not a setting they’re in, it’s werewolves as a whole - in popular culture. It’s part of the reason why we see all these people trying to “change” them in some way or another, to try to make them “different” or “unique” - and we’re back to bigger, badder, scarier.

Say for example you run a zoo. Someone sells you a tiger. A TIGER? But tigers are NORMAL! We’ve all seen tigers before. These enormous, endlessly majestic animals that can easily kill a man with a single effortless swipe of its massive paw, with teeth longer than your forefinger, whose tawny hide has since time immemorial stricken a primal fear into anyone who sees it - as it should. Yeah, those are boring. They’re not good enough anymore.

Let’s genetically engineer dinosaurs and bring them back instead. Tigers are so blasé.

Only then dinosaurs aren’t good enough anymore. A fucking tyrannosaurus rex? That’s not very scary. We’ve seen those now. Let’s amp it up a little more. Let’s genetically engineer a big freaky albino auto-cloaking horror monster dinosaur straight out of your nightmares because we’ve reached a point now where, to modern audiences, a T-rex is normal, and we need something - what? Bigger, badder, scarier.

And as for werewolves, where’re they? Down there on the bottom of the totem pole somewhere with the “lowly” tiger.

(note: this isn’t a dig at Jurassic World or its plot, I’m just using that general idea as an example :P)

Anyway, I love Jurassic Park with all my heart and soul and that isn’t even a very good comparison as to what exactly is bothering me.

So what do you mean, Mav? What’s got you so upset tonight?

I’m upset because I feel like no one will ever take werewolves seriously again. Not really. Yeah, some things might try, but they won’t get very far. Because in the end, werewolves will always be relegated to what they are now.

Werewolves are essentially one of the most primal and terrifying concepts that have captivated the imaginations and nightmares of mankind in some way or another for the entire existence of humanity, even since the days of cavemen. Throughout our collective history and across every single region of the world, we have werewolves.

But now the average person struggles to care about a story if it focuses on werewolves. What a silly, cheesy fantasy thing. Tell someone your story has werewolves in it and you’ve probably already lost them, because to them, the word “werewolf” carries a lot of connotations and assumptions that are premeditated and inescapable thanks to this greater hive-mind conception of them shaped over the years by overwhelmingly bad media, with far too few diamonds in the rough to change most anyone’s opinion about anything.

Because, to the average person, what are werewolves? They’re B-movie monsters. They’re old news (despite never really being much news at all). They’re some shirtless romance model. They’re a random encounter, or just that one boss fight earlier in the game.

They’re paranormal romance novel material or something similar that serious authors won’t touch with a ten-foot pole, because the second you have a werewolf in your story that isn’t just a one-off, lame, monster-of-the-week creature (hi, “Silver Bullet”), your story acquires a very, very specific audience and becomes one of four things: a young adult paranormal novel ala Harry Potter, a romance novel ala Twilight, a standalone horror quick-read, or a book no one wants to read because you can’t quite fit it into any of those specific boxes, and those are the only boxes in which werewolves are now meant to exist.

Oh yeah, or straight-up comedy.

Bring up werewolves in a conversation - what do you get? Any number of, or all of, these responses: Oh yeah, I saw [insert horrible movie here], it was really funny. Haha, [dog joke]. Hey what about were[whatever]s. Let’s talk about all these other wacky werecreatures and make endless jokes about those instead. How about wereannelids and werehumans? Oh I’m sorry, were you trying to have a serious conversation? Well then how about you answer this completely off the nut question instead? What would happen if a werewolf swallowed silver? Wouldn’t that be funny!?

What about discussing them in relation to some particular setting? Oh yeah, it’s just that ONE setting that treats them that way, right? No. No, it’s not.

My whole life, I’ve just wanted to find some way to encourage people to take werewolves seriously again. I don’t know why or how this became my passion, but that’s what it’s always been.

This blog has actually helped a lot. So thank you all.

But here’s my problem. And now things are about to get personal and move away from broader territory. I’m about to talk about writing fiction.

My primary means of showing the world that werewolves can be awesome, I had always planned before, was to write some novels about them and attempt to tell a story as deep, as moving, as powerful, and as emotional as I think one could tell with a werewolf protagonist. Those novels were going to be called The Prophecy of the Six, set in my world, Wulfgard. And my protagonist? My once favorite character I’ve ever made, Tom Drake. But now I’m struggling to love these things again, to the point of being deeply and emotionally upset with myself.

Because in my mind, he isn’t even “the werewolf” anymore. He’s barely even a scary monster anymore. Which, in my world, he is supposed to be all of those things. He is my ultimate werewolf, and beyond that he is the ultimate monster. Or at least he was/is in theory. For quite a while now, he hasn’t been. There are other werewolves, and for some reason or another or in some way or another, they’re better at being werewolves. They’re, put simply... better werewolves.

And I have to be reminded time and time again that werewolves “aren’t even that scary.” Which I know is a statement bred in the pop culture we have to work with today, and it’s statements like that that should - and sometimes do - spur me on to work even harder. But when I’m down, it’s hard to deal with. And there’s not really much to stop all of these things from coming close to breaking me. Breaking my spirit, in terms of the werewolf thing, and breaking my heart, in terms of my personal issues with Tom right now.

So next time you leave a comment on some story you read online that you really enjoy? Thank the writer simply for writing it. It’ll mean a lot to them. It’ll mean the world to them.

Being a writer can tear you apart. Being a writer is very, very hard.

And on top of that, next time someone talks to you about something that they’re truly and deeply passionate about, no matter what that thing is, do me a big favor...

Don’t shoot them down.

Even if, yes, their passion is trying to prove to the world that something as “silly” as werewolves holds a much deeper and more profound meaning than your average direct-to-DVD horror flick is going to convey.

#rambling #brain weasels #I hate being passionate about a thing other people dismiss #or don't take seriously #not that this is the only one of those things #you know what I'm talking about #personal stuff #please be excellent to each other

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cosmosogler · 7 years

Text

hnngngh it’s already 12:20. i was going to start writing as soon as i finished the picture but the internet went out for like 15 minutes.

i got up at 10... my dreams were ~wacky and silly~. there was a musical number. it was about as good and relevant as this one:

youtube

at first i was stuck in a dark mansion with a bunch of people i haven’t seen in a long time. i was also naked. i was also looking for a wet swim suit to put on. there were lots of second hand sweaters and pool noodles and board games stuffed into every closet but i needed that wet and sticky swim suit i guess! the last part was like a cross between mary poppins and peter pan. i was doing the chimney sweep dance with a bunch of chimney sweep guys dressed in black when pirates showed up and wanted us to walk the plank. there were suddenly children in pajamas there. i got shoved off the plank since i was procrastinating about jumping off but a chimney sweep caught me at the bottom of the building so i guess it was fine.

i woke up irritated and exhausted. i only slept for maybe 7 and a half hours.

i don’t really remember what i did all morning! i was on the computer. i received some emails from my new classmates about studying for some kind of intake exam which immediately stressed me out a lot. i scanned in my art so i could digitally color it after therapy. i microwaved my leftovers from yesterday. oh, and i showered.

i got to therapy on time. it was hard to focus on my daily check in paperwork. when asked about which medications i was taking i just scribbled “the usual suspects” and was unable to figure out what my goal was for the session.

i was able to avoid talking about myself for quite a while! but unfortunately everyone else finished with time to spare so i had to talk about how i was feeling. or rather, not feeling, i guess. we talked about how i seem to be unable to form normal relationships with other people. my therapist said i rarely ever talk about myself, but i worry that i talk about myself too much around friends. i guess that’s the point she was making.

for some reason my mind wandered to craig. he wasn’t the start of the phenomenon of course but... definitely the worst offender aside from maybe mother, but that’s mostly just because i have spent far more time with mother. i quickly brushed over our relationship saying he “did stuff” before trying to move on but the therapist stopped me and asked what he did.

i guess... while i was trying to describe the many fun experiences i had with him, particularly the whole “ignoring my firm no to climb on top of me” episode, i started crying really hard? it was embarrassing. i don’t know why it was so hard to talk about at that moment. i have talked about it before without that violent of a reaction. i’ve been so dang weepy all evening since then. i cry more over my dogs than anything else.

i kept getting upset over and over again while i drove home and fed the dogs and cooked a semi-nice dinner for myself and walked wiley. remembering stuff. i’d forgotten that mom blamed me for everything that happened. it wasn’t important for other people to know. i kept getting the urge to, like, email the group therapist with everything i was thinking about, but i don’t really want to spend all my therapy time whining about stuff that doesn’t matter...

like... hanging out with other people, getting to know them, learning about their lives, i don’t want to think about this stuff! it’s upsetting. and i don’t want to upset them. craig was very careful to tell me i was “too much” anyway.

all my interests are stupid. i mean, i don’t think they’re stupid, but other people will think i’m stupid for liking them. all my friends already treat me like i’m a kid. i’m “cute.” how is anyone ever going to take me seriously if i tell them i like pokemon?

i know that my friends, like asher, say “cute” with the best intentions. i’m glad they like what i do, i guess. and i am small and get flustered easily. but it dovetails so nicely with the “aww, sammie’s growing up!” comments whenever i bring up anything vaguely sexual as a joke. i’m not 12. i’m 24. i know what a dick is. i have a large mental collection of really stupid bedroom ideas from urban dictionary. “how/why do you know that?” my friends ask. like i don’t come across these things just by existing on a college campus.

like, if they’re not going to take me seriously anyway, why bother with anything but stupid jokes. my “no” doesn’t mean anything obviously. no one in my life, for so long, wanted to hear about anything i had to say. i can count on my fingers the number of times i got someone to listen all the way through a monologue. i don’t know why my middle school friends stuck around. maybe there wasn’t anywhere else to go. i certainly wasn’t nice about it.

it’s so hard to accept the idea that people might be interested in something i am also interested in, and want my opinion on it for real. asher at least humors me, though he does remind me often that he’s not able to follow my long diatribes on steven universe or adventure time or stock science fiction plots. and i’m afraid to make new friends in a fandom. what if i don’t like it as much as they do and i turn into That Guy? what if they also immediately decide i’m “cute” and that’s all i am after that?

it’s easier to just show people things they will think are cute. cute emotions. cute stories. that sex subplot in that story was really out of place. you should cut it out. cute jokes. cute personality. cute dreams (nightmares). cute approaches to problems. cute anxieties.

i might sound angrier than i actually feel right now. i’m actually just really tired. and i do think my jokes are pretty funny. it’s not that those things aren’t genuine. but they are also cherrypicked from the overwhelming noise to make other people less unhappy. and when i get negative feedback i load up on the “cute” so that the bad thing is... less.

maybe that’s why i’m so miserable. it’s hard to make connections because i feel like people wouldn’t take me seriously anyway. and then they stop taking me seriously so it’s hard to make a connection.

i’m not entirely sure though. i mean, yeah, that’s probably exactly why jay was kind of a dick to me. but at the same time, i feel like i do make, if not entirely, then at least a little more serious, connections? or do i always water down my emotions when conveying them to other people? do i only tell people things i don’t care if they know on purpose? when’s the last time i told someone something really for real private about how or what i think?

it was craig, wasn’t it. i bring up concerns with other people now, things relevant or likely interesting to them, not secrets.

but why would anyone listen to something i say if it was only about me and nothing else? that’s not useful information.

before i left my therapist asked if i was going to be able to rest better tonight than last night. i said probably not. it’s after 1 again now. tomorrow i’ve got a party with raven and my other graduating classmates at 6... i wonder if i’ll be able to sleep.

the group mentioned self care. asmr, soaking in the bath, using essential oils, that kind of thing. i don’t really like any of those things. i was thinking about that... i don’t like feeling relaxed. paradoxically, the thought puts me on edge. i just drew my picture for a couple hours instead and i hurt my hand and fingers because the tablet is so low quality haha. but i finished it, and i practiced with the tablet a little bit, and that has to count for something, right? even though it was so that it could be used by someone else. i mean, i draw my own characters for myself, but...

everyone thinks my characters are “cute” too. even kyral i guess? i mean, there’s a degree of “not taking it too seriously” to all my stories. and kyral does, objectively, overreact to almost everything. but if i didn’t goof off with the characters a little bit i’d just make myself depressed. it can’t all be horrible. even my life isn’t all horrible.

i tried to at least stay hydrated. and have some chocolate milk, because i like chocolate milk. but the box exploded on my desk so i had to mop up chocolate milk instead of drinking it. i didn’t have as bad a stomachache today as yesterday. i tried to play it a little safer food wise for dinner. that may have helped.

i will try to sleep now. at least i talk more or less honestly about myself on the blog. there are probably things i don’t realize about myself that i don’t write about, but that’s because i haven’t thought of them yet. but of course, as always, reading my blog is totally optional. i try not to talk about my friends too much though, even when i do think about them, because it’s not generally nice to talk about people while they’re not around. i just spend a lot of time talking to asher is all.

i hope he is doing ok in canada.

ok, going to bed for real. i think i said everything i wanted to say. i hope you are also doing ok.

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