#Is two bottles of Coors Light

[gisellelx]

Twilight Advent Calendar, Day 10

Masterpost/Prompts

Dec. 10 - Pick one of the witnesses in Breaking Dawn. What was it like for them to stay at the Cullens' home for those two weeks? Who did they spend time with?

"Revolutionaries"

(~1300 words)

There was no question about it.

Carlisle’s family was weird.

He’d met them before, but in passing. Now, surrounded, Garrett understood that the meetings had been in the woods, on street corners, at night, not because that was normal for Carlisle’s coven, but for his benefit. He had heard Carlisle say the words “home” and call the rangy redhead his son, but it just hadn’t registered. He thought it was just language, that his old friend was making himself feel better about the state of affairs he lived in. But it wasn’t.

They had a goddamn Christmas tree. When it had been suggested that he go to the Cullen home, Garrett had assumed he’d find a coven playacting. Staying out of the way of the Volturi. Hiding from humankind. And surely, surely there couldn’t be seven of them as perfect in their records as Carlisle.

But, no, here they were. Half a dozen bedrooms, closets with clothes that weren’t purloined from victims. Carlisle, nerd that he was, had a whole fucking library on the second floor, with books he’d been toting for two centuries. Five bathrooms—for what? And a kitchen. Well, that was, oddly, going to use.

Garrett could hear her, humming to herself as she buzzed around, again making some sort of something for the werewolves who were sleeping on the doorstep, and realized he recognized the tune. Penny Lane.

Yep, he needed air.

There was a figure already on the porch when he exited, and even if the scent hadn’t registered before his eyes did, he’d have recognized the silhouette anywhere. The shoulders were slumped in a way that reminded Garrett of two hundred twenty years ago. The body of a man trying to convince himself he was happy, when he wasn’t.

“This is some endeavor, English,” he said, and the head whipped around. Garrett laughed. “Did I startle you?” Absurd.

A long sigh. “Oh, perhaps I was somewhat aware.” The face broke into a tired smile. “I’m just out here cogitating.”

Garrett cocked his head. “You do you know you sound like the most horrible snob when you use words like that.”

This, thankfully, elicited a smile. “Noted. What brings you outdoors?”

“Your woman was singing the Beatles; I had to escape.”

A questioning frown.

“I didn’t care for the first British invasion. I like the second even less.”

His friend’s bark of a laugh was familiar. Garrett grinned in return, and then joined Carlisle at his side, leaning against the thick railing.

“I will say, however, that her taste in music aside, Esme is quite the—”

“Garrett.”

“—lovely woman is what I was going to say,” he finished sweetly, flashing Carlisle a wide smile. His friend shook his head, rolling his eyes, but then they met gazes and Carlisle smirked. Both of them began laughing.

“I am a lucky man; I won’t deny it.”

“Hell yes you are, you bastard.” He punched Carlisle in the shoulder, and Carlisle looked down shyly, a wry smile playing on his face. “And here I thought you were going to go all eternity without ever doing the deed.”

Another laugh. “Truthfully? So did I.”

The moonlight glinted off Carlisle’s hair as they both fell into companionable silence again. They looked enough alike to pass as brothers; it had been something Garrett had liked all those centuries ago. Even though Carlisle was his elder by a century and then some, he had always struck Garrett as naïve. His hope, his steadfast confidence that if he just did things his way, it would all turn out right and well. It was as admirable as it was ridiculous.

And yet it was working.

Garrett didn’t have to work hard to make out the individual conversations going on in the expansive living room as he and Carlisle stared together out into the forest. The sisters—also gorgeous, talking with the Spanish woman. Her mate, locked in a quiet talk with Carlisle’s son. The weird kid, with her even weirder name, reading to her mother while Carlisle’s blonde daughter interjected every now and again. The lawn behind the house twinkled in color from the tree and the lights that went up the banister in the big room; the shadows cast by the roaring fire danced playfully across the porch.

“You succeeded,” he said finally.

“Mmm?”

He gestured widely at the house behind them. “You succeeded. At this. I thought you were bereft of your senses, with that diet and the doctor thing and everything but…you did it.” He turned, leaning against the rail. “Family life suits you. I don’t know why I am surprised.”

Carlisle made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “It’s not easy. At times, I envy your freedom.” He turned back to Garrett. “I wasn’t out here merely cogi—thinking. I was worrying, while Edward isn’t paying attention. I’m worried about Alice and Jasper, and I’m worried about Renesmee, and I’m worried what that will do to Bella, and what any of this will do to Edward. And then all of you…”

Garrett clapped a hand on Carlisle’s shoulder. “We chose to come. You can’t take that on.”

The brow furrowed again. “I feel responsible.”

“That’s your problem, not anyone else’s. No one is going to hold you responsible for”—he gestured widely in the direction of the field where the clairvoyant had indicated they would need to be—“whatever goes on out there. You’re responsible for this. This gathering. These friends. This…family. This is what you worry about. This is what you can control.”

They both glanced back in the doors. Someone had turned on Christmas music. The Spanish woman was slow dancing with her mate. One of the sisters—the prettier one—had accepted the offer of a a Santa hat. Muffled laughter. The sound of crackling, and the earthen scent of a fresh log beginning to burn.

“And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit,” Carlisle muttered.

“Huh?”

This elicited another chuckle. “The twelfth chapter of Luke, you heathen.” He grinned. “But it’s a welcome reminder. Thank you.”

The Bible. Of course. That hadn’t changed, either. Garrett stared. Carlisle’s expression seemed to have softened; the strange, amber eyes glowed differently. The two of them stared out into the blackness of the night, the moon glinting off the river so close to the house. They listened to this; the way the water pounded against what must have been much larger rocks further north, where the elevation was even higher, before coming whooshing through the woods behind the stately home.

It was a long while before Garrett got the eerie feeling of being watched. He turned back toward the hulking French doors. Esme standing there, her head cocked, her arms crossed over her chest.

“There’s a beautiful woman looking for you, English,” Garrett said, nudging Carlisle in the ribs.

Carlisle turned. “So there is.” He beckoned, and the door opened a crack as Esme leaned out.

“Your granddaughter wants to say goodnight,” she called. “They’re going back over to the cottage in a few minutes.”

Your granddaughter, Garrett mouthed. The words still felt strange on his lips.

Carlisle didn’t miss this. “It is amazing, isn’t it?”

Garrett stared back at the door. “Like I said. It suits you.” He nodded in the direction of Carlisle’s wife. “Go. Stop worrying. At least for the night.”

In the same instant that Carlisle nodded, he was at his wife’s side. He put his arm around her waist, and she tipped her chin up so that their lips met. It looked…familiar. Garrett watched the way their gazes followed each other’s, the way a hand around the waist slipped slowly over hips to become a hand in another hand. The way she smiled up at him. The blur of knee-high blue that was the little girl streaking across the living room for his knees. The way he lifted her into the air and how she giggled and squeaked as he tossed her before settling her, one-armed, onto his hip. That even amidst the worry, his face lit up as he pressed his nose to hers and she put her palm to his cheek.

He had thought Carlisle boring. Naïve. Even deluded. I envy your freedom, he heard his friend’s voice echo in his head.

But as he listened to the laughter on the other side of the door, and watched the way the colored lights played off the planes of his friend’s face, Garrett wondered if freedom was really all Carlisle imagined it was cracked up to be.

~~~~

Note: A more modern translation of Luke 12:25 reads “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” (NRSV). But I feel confident that if Carlisle is going to quote the Bible, it’s the 1611 KJV that he has in mind.

[little-annie]

Cowboy!Steddie | PBR | Enemies with Benefits | Strangers to Lovers

Team #058 for @steddiebbang || @oriarts @lihhelsing

Now that the anonymity ban has lifted, here's a little sneak peek of my first steddie bang.

banner by @oriarts & moodboard by myself

🔞 Excerpt Under The Cut

8 seconds is all it takes to change Steve Harrington’s life. 

To give the woes of his past the potential to slip through his fingers and to finally find a sliver of happiness. To find someone that could bring him the joy in life that he lacks beneath the suffocating weight of his father's thumb.

7 to enter Nachbar on Charles in Louisville, Kentucky.

A bar he's frequented ever since he was two years shy of old enough—having been a patron simply for the fact of convenience and the pleasure of another's body pressed against his own. He wonders what his father would think if he knew every time Steve came to town with a load of cattle or horses that he too managed to find someone to swallow the stress of his life along with a shot of bourbon.

6 to order a beer and a shot of his usual in an effort to shut off his mind, hoping that at least he can get a few minutes of silence and a shitty drink out of such a worthless day doing his fathers bidding.

5 to choke the fucking thing down and chase it with half a bottle of Coors, trying his best to not shiver as the awful combination makes its way over his tongue and down his throat.

4 to notice the guy at the end of the bar whose eyes have yet to leave his lips. Who has an amber bottle of his own lazily clasped between ringed fingers, easily drawing Steve's attention to the porcelain skin of his hands.

3 to feel the rush of heat that floods his cheeks as he takes in those onyx eyes, that mess of whiskey curls, and the way sharp teeth bite into a plump bottom lip as Steve absentmindedly licks his own.

2 to take the first step in Mr. Brown Eyes’ direction.

And 1 to decide fuck it.

Falling into the wobbling barstool next to the mysterious young man, Steve feigns confidence as whiskey-sweet words fall from his lips. 

“Aren't from around here, are ya?” His resolve fractures only in the slightest as that damn bitten bottom lip pulls into an enticing smirk.

Before he knows it, he's a second bourbon in with his tongue down a beautiful man's throat and his hand shoved down the front of tight black Levi's. Feeling the warmth and weight held in his palm, he can't find it in himself to complain about the uncomfortable angle or the way his wrist feels like it just might fracture in-between them.

It's not like his usual bar bathroom hookup—not that he does this all that often—but Eddie—as Steve learned only sheer seconds before their lips collided in a desperate crash—is attentive, and somehow manages to be sweet and gentle even while rutting his swollen cock into the grooves of Steve's palm, and sucking on his tongue. 

With the taste of cheap cigarettes and shitty bourbon dancing over his taste buds, Steve hears himself moaning with every slow roll of his hips as he grinds against the solid line of Eddie's body and his groping hands.

Tangling in his hair and wrapping firming around his waist—while one hand seems to be preoccupied edging him nearer and nearer to his end—Eddie's other hand feels as if it's everywhere all at once. 

Each grip, dizzying. Every caress, tantalizing. The very feel of those ringed fingers gliding over his skin and beneath the fabric of his shirt only pushes Steve nearer to his climax.

Pale blue light buzzing above them, somehow even in such artificial rays Eddie's the most beautiful thing Steve’s seen. 

The lighting of a dive bar bathroom has never seemed to do Steve justice, but with raspy words slurred over his tongue calling him every version of beautiful in the book—well—maybe he could consider himself wrong.

He's never had a hookup moan against his lips purely due to the fact that his neck is littered with moles or that his ‘eyes glitter like the gold scattered through the Arizona desert.’

Nor has he had anyone notice the skip in his heart rate when his shoulder flares with pain upon raising his arm—ghosting gentle fingers over the still-clothed joint, only to pull the fabric aside to reveal the raised pink of scarred skin and press gentle lips to the still-healing riding injury. Then to his neck, his cheek, and back to his lips. 

Something about Eddie's kisses taste sweeter then. As if in his detour to lay affections to Steve's skin, he somehow managed a spoonful of sugar in-between.

He can't remember the last time someone's lips had tasted so sweet.

Greedy for every grain of sugar-sweet that he can bear to stand, Steve hums and tries his damndest to not devour Eddie entirely.

In his restraint, time slows. Though only for a short while as Eddie pulls away to gently cradle Steve's jaw in his grasp. Brushing his thumb along Steve's bottom lip and looking him in the eyes, he tells him—for not the first time—just how beautiful he really is—as if he says it enough, Steve will have no choice but to believe him.

Leaning into Eddie's touch to nose along his palm, Steve thinks it's a wild thing to feel so cared for in an otherwise shit-hole of a place.

The lights are flickering, the stall door hardly concealing them is hanging uselessly from a single hinge, and lord only knows what their boots are standing in—but with Neon Moon by Brooks and Dunn playing over the speakers, and the smell of cigarette smoke and bourbon flooding his senses, Steve feels so easily adored and hungered for at the same time.

He hopes Eddie feels a similar sort of comfort, even if all Steve believes he can offer the man is a good time and words just as sweet as the ones falling to his kiss-bitten lips. There's no way he's going to let Eddie leave this bathroom without.

Eventually they get off—Eddie into Steve's palm and Steve into the cotton of his underwear—and surprisingly, it's not awkward from then on. Not as they wash up, not as they sit back down at the bar, and not as Eddie chooses to stay when Steve offers him the easy out he does to all of his one time hookups.

He can't remember the last time anyone bothered to stay—can't remember the last time he didn't feel like somebody's one-and-done either.

They don't stick around for long—what with the bar growing busier and the night stretching on—and find themselves taking a cab back to Eddie's apartment before the clock manages to strike midnight.

The drive is short and though they know to keep their affections from the eyes of their unknown cab driver, they still manage to trade knowing glances, brushed fingers, and a handful of whispered words when they know the driver is otherwise occupied.

Eddie repeats his earlier praises of Steve's beauty, and Steve—while helpless but to blush what Eddie tells him is a stunning shade of pink—presses a quick kiss to Eddie's cheek and lets him know exactly what he plans on doing when they reach his home.

[nizhspo]

hi!!! i literally LIVE LAUGH LOVE for your writing.... could i ask you to write about any character from hq i honestly don't mind with any associated with the song

Signs by Justin Timberlake, Snoop Dogg, and Charlie Wilson

i have actually only heard this song like three times in my life so listened to it on loop to get like the vibes and THIS is how i interpreted i think so i hope i deliveredddd

the club is packed.

not shoulder-to-shoulder, but pulse-to-pulse. bass heavy, red lights sharp, bodies close enough to blur. someone’s got a fog machine going in the corner, and the air’s wet with sweat, perfume, and tequila fumes.

your heels hurt, your gloss is sticky, and you haven’t stopped dancing since your second drink.

you don’t plan to. not tonight.

“signs” is playing, bold, loud, cocky, and the energy shifts the second that hook hits.

you feel it. the way the room warps around you. the way the stares lock in like heat-seeking signals. and you know why.

you’re it tonight. not just pretty. not just hot. you’re untouchable.

and they feel it too.

from across the club, osamu is watching.

he hasn’t moved from the bar all night. coors light in one hand, the label peeled halfway off. his shirt’s black, rolled at the sleeves, chain subtle under his collar. he doesn’t chase. he doesn’t speak unless spoken to. but he watches.

the kind of watching that feels like confession. the kind that says i want her, but i won’t say it first.

he sees you laughing, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, mouth wrapped around a straw, and he swears under his breath.

“you gonna make a move or what?” suna mutters next to him, not looking up from his phone.

osamu doesn’t answer at first. just nods toward you, lit by neon, moving like music made you in its image.

“girl like her?” he says eventually. voice low. unreadable. “she don’t need someone like me dragging her down.”

but he doesn’t stop watching.

because damn if you don’t look like sin wrapped in strobe light.

…

atsumu is already halfway to you.

gold chain swaying. shirt unbuttoned just low enough. eyes on lock. he’s too much, but he knows it. that’s the trick. he’s not apologizing for the attention. he thrives in it.

he leans in toward suna on his way out: “she’s lookin’ right at me. you saw that, right?”

and you are.

you smile. because you know he’ll take it personally if you don’t.

he approaches like it’s his birthright, cocky grin and all. his hand hovers just short of your waist, close enough to feel but not enough to touch.

“that smile for me, sweetheart?” his voice is sweet tea and danger.

your brow lifts.

“depends,” you say, sipping slow. “that cologne versace or gas station special?”

he loses it. doubles over like you shot him.

“oh, i like you,” he laughs, clutching his chest. “ain’t nobody ever caught me slippin’ like that.”

then he leans in closer, voice dropped low like a dare. “you with your friend tonight?”

you glance over your shoulder at the girl in the booth still texting her ex and sipping watered-down cranberry. “yeah.”

he tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “she cool with you bringin’ any dudes over?”

“nah.” you say it too fast. too smooth.

he hears the lie. doesn’t call it out. just grins.

“mm.” he murmurs, leaning into your ear. “that’s fine, i got a place we can go if you just say the word.”

you laugh. throw your head back. maybe to drown the flutter in your chest. maybe to distract him from how you’re already scanning the room for someone else.

because the truth is—you’re not seeing anyone else in the club right now.

you’re seeing everyone.

…

suna doesn’t move until you do.

when your legs finally give out and you perch on a velvet stool near the wall, sipping water and watching the swirl of the floor, he’s there.

not flashy. not obvious. just there.

he hands you a cold water bottle, unopened. “figured you might need it.”

you squint up at him. “what are you, the hydration police?”

“nah.” he leans against the wall, one shoulder tipped lazy. “just grabbed two.”

he doesn’t look at you. just scans the room, like he forgot you were even there. like he’s not waiting for anything back.

you crack the seal. take a sip. he doesn’t say a word.

just stays there. quiet. like he’s fine with not being noticed. then stays there like he might leave, but hasn’t decided yet.

“but if i were trying to impress you tonight…”

he takes a sip of his own drink, glances at you sideways. “i’d start with saying you look better than the music sounds.”

you cough. smile. maybe blush.

he sees. doesn’t gloat. just lets the silence sit between you, heavy like a held breath.

…

you’re the center of the storm.

glitter caught in the low light, sweat shining at your temples, your hips keeping time with the bass like it’s written into your bloodstream. every move you make draws eyes, intentional or not. every turn of your head, every flick of your wrist, every low laugh you give to someone who doesn’t matter.

atsumu finds you again.

this time, he doesn’t come cocky. doesn’t lead with a joke or a dare. just steps in close. close enough that you feel the heat of him, the faint scent of whatever cologne he probably stole from his brother, the steady thump of his pulse where his chest brushes yours.

his voice drops low, velvet and earnest. “lemme take you home.” his lips ghost near your ear. not touching. but not far.

you tilt your head, just a little. smile slow. “you drive?”

he scoffs, almost wounded, but amused. “nah,” he says, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “but i got a guy.”

you huff a laugh. “of course you do.”

and you’re already turning, already gone, leaving him grinning in your wake, shaking his head, hand dragging through his hair like he might just follow anyway.

he watches you walk off like he knows you’ll haunt him for the rest of the night. like part of him hopes you do.

…

osamu meets your eyes from across the room like he never stopped. like he’d been watching since the minute you stepped in. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t nod. just holds your gaze with that steady, unreadable calm, shoulders relaxed, one hand around the neck of a dark glass bottle, the other tucked in his pocket like he’s got nowhere else to be.

you move slow when you pass him. not to show off, not exactly, but enough that he notices. the brush of your dress, the shift of your hips, the barest skim of your fingers as they trail the rim of his glass. cold against warm. silk against calloused skin.

he doesn’t flinch. just tips his drink toward you in a lazy kind of toast.

“you always this quiet?” you murmur, not stopping.

he watches you. eyes sharp, mouth unreadable. “only when i’m thinkin’,” he says.

you glance back, one eyebrow raised, lips curled at the edge. “thinkin’ about what?”

his head tilts just slightly, like the question amuses him.

“trouble,” he says. voice low, smooth, like smoke curling out the back door of a bar. “and how i’d chase it if it looked like you.”

that makes you laugh. a soft, honest thing from the chest, like it snuck out before you could hold it in.

he watches that, too.

but you don’t stop walking. just circle around him like a cat might—shoulder brushing his as you pass, catching the faint scent of something clean, woodsy, grounded. like cedar and salt and restraint.

you glance over your shoulder. “you got a twin in here or somethin’?”

he leans back on one heel. “depends.”

“on?”

“you askin’ ‘cause you’re curious,” he says, taking a slow sip, “or ‘cause you’re hopin’ there’s more than one?”

you grin. don’t answer. just keep walking, and let him watch.

…

suna’s back on the couch, long legs stretched out, one arm hooked lazily behind his head like he owns the corner. there’s a drink in his free hand, mostly melted ice now, beads of water sliding down the side. he’s sunk low into velvet cushions, hoodie bunched at his elbows, face tilted toward the ceiling like he’s tuning out the club, letting the bass rattle through his bones instead of his thoughts.

you drop next to him, warm from the tequila and the attention, skin still humming from the dance floor. your thigh presses against his as you settle in, closer than you need to be. glowing. grinning.

“you keeping tabs on me?” you ask, voice light, teasing.

he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even shift. just tips the rim of his glass toward his mouth, sips once, and says, “nah. you’re just hard to miss.”

you scoff, bump his leg with your knee.

he blinks slow. turns his head like it’s a chore. finally meets your eyes.

and then, barely, smiles. not with his teeth. just the corner of his mouth. just enough to make your breath hitch. just enough to let you know he’s been watching you all night. and liking it.

“what?” you murmur.

he shrugs. “nothin’,” he says. “you’re just… loud.”

“loud?”

“not like that.” his gaze dips, once, slow, deliberate. “you just take up space.”

you don’t know what to say to that. so you don’t.

you just lean back into the couch beside him, heart kicking a little faster, knee still pressed to his. and neither of you moves.

…

the song loops again—“cupid don’t fuck with me!”

the bassline snaps through the floorboards, rattles through highball cups and glass bottle necks and the sweat-slick bodies moving in rhythm. the lights strobe low and golden, like honey spilled across skin, like the night wants to lick every inch of you clean.

you’re in the center of it. orbiting. untouchable.

they’re still watching—all three of them.

one leaning against the kitchen doorframe, jaw tense, eyes hooded behind the rim of his beer.

one sunk into the corner of the couch, gaze sharp, unreadable, like he’s trying not to stare but failing.

one posted up near the speaker, arms folded, pretending to be lost in the music, but the moment you laugh, his head turns.

none of them move. none of them interrupt.

and maybe you won’t kiss any of them tonight. maybe you’ll smile and vanish into the night with your lipstick still perfect, your pride still intact, your mystery still intact.

but god, do they want you to. want you close. want to be the one you let in, even just for a second.

and that’s the fun of it: being the storm in the room. the maybe. the if. the want.

[i-heart-yellowstone]

52 - When Norris’s Fight

( gif belongs to @forcestruck )

Part 53

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Alissa’s pov

Kayce held the main door opened for me as we entered the bar that was called The Patch according to the sign out front. Making our way up to the bar I climbed up onto a bar stool and my husband sat right beside me. The bartender came over, eyeing the two of us with curiosity. “I haven’t seen you two here before. Are you just visiting for the weekend?”

“Something like that you could say.” Kayce tipped his black Cowboy hat not feeling out of place wearing it considering almost everyone in here was wearing a white ten gallon hat.

“What can I get you two to drink?” The bartender asked us.

Holding up two fingers I answered his question. “Two Coors lights, please.”

“Coming right up, ma’am.”

Crossing my arms and laying them on the countertop of the bar I eyed my husband. “So do you think this Tommy guy is going to try and pull one over on us?”

“I ain’t too sure. Luckily if he does my sister will wipe the floor with whatever bull crap he attempts to come in our direction with.”

Footsteps came up behind me where I glanced over my shoulder. “It’s strange to me how much you two seem to fit in here sitting at this bar.”

“You told us to come here and you’d answer our questions. So sit down and start talking, Thomas Norris.” Glaring at the oil man in the cowboy hat he nodded his head taking a seat on the other side of me.

“Michelob Ultra.” The bartender opened up a beer bottle, sliding it over to the oil man. Tommy takes a long sip from his drink, looking back over to us. “So do we want to have the lady ask the questions first or are we just firing them off randomly here?”

“Why the hell is our daughter dating a worm on a drill crew when we thought he was going to Tech?” I fired off a question.

Tommy dryly laughed. “I guess firing off is what we’re going with.”

“Answer the question, Thomas!”

The oil manager sat his drink down on the bar top with a heavy sigh before he began speaking. “Mrs. Dutton, look I started looking into your daughter to find out if she would be able to convince my son to go back to college.”

“Why does he not go to college anymore, Tommy?” Kayce asked, gripping the bottle in his hand, taking a drink.

Tommy bent his head down briefly. “He dropped out. He told Faith it was because of grades. But that wasn’t the truth, he chose to not finish the last three months to get a degree in Geology.”

“Oh boy. Why did my daughter have to fall in love with a boy who always finds trouble.” Placing a hand to my forehead I closed my eyes thinking back on me and Kayce when we were younger.

Kayce glared at the oil man, finishing off his beer and ordering another one. “Texas sure is interesting.” I hoped that my daughter and Beth were having a less stressful day then we were at the moment.

Faith’s pov - the next morning

Coming out of the kitchen I sat down on the couch in the living room hearing footsteps nearby stumbling down the wooden stairs. “Cooper! Are you alright?” Jumping up from the couch I came around the corner to find him holding his lower right side of his ribs.

“Urr. I’m fine, Faith. I’m just sore.” He responded to me nearly limping over to me.

Wrapping my arm around his waist I led him in the direction of the couch. “Come on, let’s sit down. We don’t need you tearing your stitches.”

“Where’s your Aunt at?” He grunted plopping down on the couch with me sitting down by his side. He had some scars on his face but I knew his bruised ribs and healing lung was really hurting him.

“She’s off somewhere ruining someone else’s day more than likely.” Shifting my body more upright on the couch I gently ran my fingers through his messy brown hair, getting some of it out of his line of sight. “How are you feeling, babe?”

He heavily sighed attempting to reach for his phone on the table that had started ringing. “I’ve been better - uh could you hand me my phone?”

“Sure. It’s Ariana. What could she want?” Picking up the phone I read her name on the screen of his phone.

He put the phone up to his ear. “Hey Ariana. What’s going on?”

“Cooper, there’s some attorneys at my house rambling on a bunch of stuff I don’t understand. Can you come over and help me sort this out with them please?”

He didn’t waste a second before he hung up the phone and tried to stand on his own two feet. “I’m on my way.”

“What did she want - what do you think you’re doing?” I gasped seeing him collapse against the armrest of the couch, holding on his lower side where he was injured.

“I’m going over to her house to help her deal with some lawyers - aw god Jesus!”

Raising from my spot on the couch I ran over to him, letting him lean his body against mine for support so he didn’t fall on the ground and hurt himself even more than he already was. “Cooper! I’m driving you over there.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

I interjected his comment. “Yes, I am.”

“Faith, you don’t need to come.”

Glaring at him I grabbed the side of his face so he’d look me in the eye. “You can barely walk across the room. The doctor told you that you can’t drive for at least a few weeks. And plus I’m not letting my boyfriend go over to another girl's house who I have never met - at least not without me tagging along.”

“Fine. Help me get my jacket on.” He agreed with a simple head nod. Thankfully for us my dad had driven Cooper’s truck from the mancamp back to here so we’d have a vehicle while they were out on the town. Cooper glanced over at me when I put the truck in park in the girls driveway. “You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to, Faith.”

“Cooper, I’m your girlfriend. The last few times I’ve left you on your own you’ve nearly gotten blown up or beaten to death.” Turning the engine off I hopped out of the front seat coming over to help him out of the passenger seat. “I’m not going anywhere else but where you go.”

He weakly smiled, draping an arm over my shoulder and I put one around his waist walking up to the front door together. I didn’t bother ringing the doorbell and just helped him step up in the doorway hearing one of Tommy’s roommates speaking. “Ariana, this isn't

an attempt to coerce you. We are trying to help you and your son.”

“I think it's worth pointing out if you refuse, we will be forced to withhold

payment to the other families.” A woman with straight brown hair dressed in a business suit spoke.

Ariana trailed off sitting on the living room couch. “The other families signed.”

“They signed an agreement that we have yet to sign. Because we are waiting on you.” The attorney declared eyeing the girl.

“Agreement to sign what?” Cooper interrupted their conversation squeezing my hand hobbling over towards Ariana with my assistance.

The attorney glared at the two of us. “That didn't take long. This is a private matter, sir, ma’am.”

“I'd like him to see it.” Ariana asked holding out the papers to him. “Would you look at this for me?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, removing his hand from mine once he was sitting on the armrest of the couch next to the girl. Crossing my arms over my chest I leaned against the wall behind the pair.

The attorney scanned my boyfriend from head to toe. “And you are...?”

My boyfriend replied to her. “Cooper.”

"Cooper." The attorney woman tilted her head. “Cooper Norris?”

Entering the conversation I made a snarky comment, holding in a chuckle of embarrassment at how she didn’t know who he was. “You’re not from around here are you, lady. Cause if you were you’d know who this guy is.” Pointing my finger at my boyfriend, the woman’s expression slowly changed.

“We've been looking everywhere for you.”

Shaking my head slightly I smirked knowing this woman was going to be a bitch for sure. “Oh my Aunt Beth is going to have a hay day tearing you apart.” Midland Texas didn’t know what was coming next when my family came into town.

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @whatelsecouldgowrong @lover-of-books-and-tea

[starr666]

No Sleep in the Sheets

IB: Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

gn!reader;unspecified reader parts

Cw: angst???, light smut???, mentions of hallucinating, light knife-play???, sadzawa, idk what im doing???

minors dni

by scrolling below this, you agree to view this 18+ content

Context??: You are Aizawa’s past lover that passed away in a tragic accident. Aizawa struggles with the reality of what has happened and even started having hallucinations …or at least that's what he thought it was.

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

…One…two…THREE empty Coors Light boxes scattered across the room as the sleep deprived pro-hero tried to drown out his sorrows. To wash away the pain of seeing your reflection in the mirror once more after his shower.

“I’m going fucking crazy” he mutters to himself, wiping the stray tear that fought to fall down as the glass bottle hits the hardwood floor. There it goes again, the random wafts of your thrifted perfume that you wore often when you first started dating flooded his senses. He picks up another bottle, removing the spiked cap with his calloused fingers to inhale the yeast stench that overpowered your flowery but rustic scent, even if its effect only worked for less than a minute.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Not seeing your lover cope in such a way. It's been weeks. He already barely gets a wink of sleep on a daily basis but lately Aizawa has been going on 3 day long benders, stumbling into work despite being given paid leave to deal with the grief. Always trying to save everyone but himself.

Ghosts are not to interfere with the daily lives of the living, no matter how badly it hurts to see.

“He seems so lonely”,you found yourself whispering every now and then as you watched him from various spots in the now trashed apartment you shared. It was often followed by a soft cringe from him…as he could hear the sharp and piercing version of your voice. He just chalked it up to paracusia.

wOOSH, you snatch up the bottle from his weak grasp

He stares at the floating bottle making its way to the dresser with wide eyes.

“This isn’t the way, my love.” you whisper, knowing he will flinch from the altered version of your once light and comforting voice. You needed to find a way to tell him that you were there. You find your legs making their way over to your side of the bed that he refused to sleep on and you pull him into you.

“Y-Y/N?” He stuttered in confusion. He had so many questions but they were muffled as he found himself sinking into your familiar warmth. His 5 senses being fulfilled by you.

Your smell, even if it wasn’t real, the comfort the smell brought him was too much to pass up. He found himself wrapping his arms around your figure and nuzzling his head where your neck would be.He missed your touch. He felt your small kisses showering his forehead. Being able to feel him again just made you want to do more. And luckily, he still knew your body like the back of his hand. ‘Just a taste’, the both of you think before finding yourselves in a deep kiss. One filled with love, hurt, and desperation. His kisses were still a bit sloppy due to the beer but who cared when your tongues danced their familiar tango? Hearing your soft pants that overrode his whines as he used his knee to get you aroused while your hand rubbed and squeezed at his ever-growing bulge. The sight of the knife you kept in the dresser next to the bed from your friskier nights together against gently pressing against his stomach as you rode his length. The knife pressing deeper into him as your hole consumed him further.

The familiar pain only turned him on more, which was apparent in the way his member twitched inside of you, ready to burst as blood began to trickle down to where both parties’ joint arousal pooled.

“Shit, you still take that dick like a champ…”,he mutters under his breath, struggling to keep his composure but with the sounds of your bodies colliding it was impossible. You use your free hand to choke him, hard. He relishes in the feeling, being completely fine if this ended up being the thing that meant he’d be able to be with you again.

“Gonna c-cum- ah shit-“ he curses through his release, his thick spurts of cum coating your walls, causing you to also finish. You both let out heavy breaths as you recover. You subconsciously let your ghoulish body rest upon his chest, a gentle sigh escaping his lips from the feeling. Neither of you are moving in fear of the consequences of this.

Bonus Angst based on Francesca by Hozier

Aizawa’s dream that night included fleeting flashes of your memories together as he feels the ghost of his lover slipping away slowly as you’re drawn back to the afterlife to deal with the consequences of engaging with the living. You either have to kill him, or he’ll have to have all memories of you two together wiped so he can move on.

“Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I” is what you mutter to yourself as you have to watch the memories of you two being extracted from his brain.

[shyphonics]

Salad Days Chapter 4: When Archeologists Dig This Up, They'll Either Laugh or Cry

(babypunk!Rodrick Heffley x reader)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

also, please take my favorite live performance of rise above by Black Flag as a companion piece

Hey!

I do not like you college brat

I do not like you and your frat

I do not like you at the shore

I do not like you drunk on coors

I do not like your average life

I hope you do not take a wife

I hope you don’t decide to breed

Cause that’s one thing I do not need

~

Well, they did it. They’ve got a van full of booze, and a sense of self satisfaction.

It had taken a while to fit everything in, and the guy at the pickup spot hadn’t been very nice, but they did it.

Mike seems more calm when they show up to The Strike, happy to see them, even.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, you giraffe of a man!” He pulls Rodrick into a hug, heartily patting him on the back. Rodrick does kind of feel like a giraffe, Mike only comes up to the middle of his chest.

“Hey, if there’s anything else you need, just let us know!” Rodrick gives him a smile.

He grabs a box of bottles and heads through the back door of the bar. The guys work like ants; grab a case, march to the walk in, march back. They’re done in no time. He wonders if the delivery center is hiring, because that was easy.

Mike shoves a bundle of money into his hands, and gives him another pat on the back.

“She was right about you.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve got the spirit,” he smiles, “like a young Henry Rollins, slingin’ ice cream. See you tomorrow. Show up at 5 PM, load in here. Got it?”

“Got it,” Rodrick nods.

The spirit. He has no idea what that means, but he’s grateful for the sentiment. Especially if you’d said something nice about him… he finally has ammo to tease you back.

Mike disappears into the back of the bar, and the guys regroup to count their unexpected pay.

“Dude, he gave us a hundred dollars!” Chris says, shocked.

They recount again and again, coming to one hundred every time. They can’t believe it, and they speed away from the bar with the radio turned all the way up.

The rest of their day is spent planning. They craft the perfect setlist, they find their tightest jeans, they even find time to learn a surprise cover song. It's one he'd heard on your radio shift, and it's been stuck in his head all day.

Everything has to be perfect.

Rodrick is sure everything is gonna be perfect.

~

It’s only 5:30 by the time they’re done setting up, and they find themselves just standing in front of the stage, awestruck.

It’s not huge by any means, but it’s high off the ground and covered in lights. There’s a full PA system, and even a pole to hang their homemade bedsheet flag from.

The bar is empty, except for a guy in the sound booth, Jimbo by the door, and two bartenders prepping. Rodrick doesn’t see you, and immediately gets a pang of sadness.

“Hey,” he starts, leaning on the bar.

“We can’t serve yet, sorry.” A girl with tight blonde curls shuts him down.

“Oh, no, I was gonna ask… where’s the other girl that works here?”

She thinks for a moment, then makes a face of realization.

“Oh, she’s not working tonight. She’s headlining.”

Rodrick’s eyes go wide. Headlining? You? His mind is blown.

The bartender goes back to prepping without giving him a second thought. Rodrick walks back to the stage, zombie-like, deep in thought.

Now they really have to be perfect.

A few people have come in through the back, and they’re setting up portable tables along a wall.

“You guys need one?” A girl with tall, spiked hair asks.

They look at each other. Merch. Duh. They're pretty sure they have an unorganized cardboard box of t-shirts and buttons in the van. Ward had spent all his high school graduation cash on some real ones from a print shop.

Ben and Chris wedge the table out from between two vending machines, and Rodrick digs the box out of the van. It’s not a very impressive setup, but they’re pretty happy with themselves.

The doors open at 7, and it doesn’t take long for the place to fill up. Mike comes by and gives each of the guys three little paper tickets, like you’d get at an arcade.

“Beer tickets,” he says, before they can ask, “one of these gets you anything canned or bottled. Be nice to the bartenders, please.”

Ward and Ben high five and head straight to the bar, Chris heads to the bathroom, and Rodrick does a full scan of the area by the stage. Where are you? He needs to make fun of you for being nice to him, dammit.

Ward and Ben get back, looking a little shaken up.

“Rodrick, hey, do you want us to get you a beer?” Ben chuckles nervously.

“Nah, I can get it myself,” Rodrick starts to walk towards the front.

“No, no,” Ward puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You should really let us get you one!” Ben makes urgent eye contact.

“Why...?” Rodrick is starting to get freaked out.

“‘Cause we’re buddies!” Ward pats him on the shoulder.

Something is definitely up.

Rodrick pushes past Ward, walking through the tall arch that leads to the bar area. It’s absolutely packed. His heart skips a beat when he sees a flash of golden blonde hair.

Oddly familiar golden blonde hair.

The girl turns around.

No. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell that it’s-

“Heather Hills,” Rodrick whispers, grateful for the loud house music.

She’s sitting at the bar with a large group of people. Some douchebag with a double popped collar has his arm around her. They’re all laughing- the kind of laugh you do at someone. Snotty.

Any attraction he’d had to her has been completely gone for years. He feels a mix of hatred and nausea. They’re at the far end of the bar, by the door, so Rodrick blends in at the other end.

Please don’t look at me.

He gets a beer from the bartender from earlier, making sure to tip as your snarky reminder rings in his head. Also making sure to avoid Natty Light. He turns fast to get back to the stage, and right before he’s through the arch-

“Rodrick? Rodrick Heffley?”

He wheels around. She’s right fucking behind him.

“Oh, hey, what was your name again?” He rolls his eyes.

“Real mature, asshole.” She scoffs, “What are you doing here?”

“Playing a show. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Aww, you don’t wanna play nice with me?” She drags a finger down his chest. It enrages him.

“No. And you know why?” His voice goes low. He leans down so his face is close to hers, and he’s about to let everything out. Her face is smug, and she raises her eyebrows.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his back.

“Hey, you’re on in ten. Soundcheck time.” You peer around to see Rodrick's face. He looks pissed. You’re not sure what’s going on, but it’s none of your business. You’re just the messenger.

Rodrick’s eyes bug when he sees you, and his face relaxes a little.

“Um, excuse me, we were talking.” The blonde girl sneers at you.

“You can talk later. We gotta get this shit rollin’.” You don’t wait to see her reaction. You just turn around and head back to the stage.

If you’re honest, it's a little disappointing seeing Rodrick with, you assume, his very pretty girlfriend. It makes sense though. He's a nice looking guy. Your official assessment is toxic on-again, off-again high school sweethearts. Oh, well.

Just keep walking. Stay on schedule. Five bands, twenty minute sets, ten minutes for stage change. You repeat it in your head like a mantra.

Heather’s mouth is hanging open. Rodrick winces.

“Gotta go,”

He practically runs to the stage.

They’ve never done a real soundcheck before, and it’s kind of an intimidating process. The sound engineer is very no nonsense. Rodrick checks his drums one by one. Then bass, guitars, mics. Each adjustment is barely noticeable to them, and they end up just giving a thumbs up every time the engineer asks a question. Finally, they run through the whole chorus of a song to hear everything together. By that point, the dance floor is almost entirely full.

Rodrick takes a deep breath, scanning for Heather. He hopes she just left.

They've come a long way since their high school days, no longer unpracticed wannabes. Their sound has become pretty good, if they say so themselves. Tonight's only adjustment is to play faster.

The sound guy points at them, and Ben clears his throat.

“We… are Löded Diper!”

The chatting in the crowd subsides, and falls silent.

Rodrick hears snickering, and a voice saying oh my god, that IS him!

He panics, and right when the tension is almost too much to bear, a loud WOOOOOOOO comes from the very front. He looks and sees you, trying to rile up the crowd. It seems to be working. Other people are giving half-hearted cheers, which is something at least.

“That's more like it!” Ben yells, and they launch into their first song.

They only have a five song set, so everything has to count. Ben’s wails are powerful, he's really embodying a frontman. Chris is whipping his hair around, and Ward is the true picture of a bassist. Strong, still, and holding it all together.

Rodrick is hyper-focused on keeping the rhythm. And maybe showing off, just a little bit. He puts his whole body into hitting the drums, his mouth pulled into a tight “o”.

You have a perfect view from the front row, and what a view it is.

He's killing it. So focused and steady, but it looks like he's having fun. He leans into the mic to sing backup, and you get a flash of his sharp canines. You can see the muscles in his arms clenching, and the front of his hair is wet with sweat.

You feel your face getting hot, and you're reluctant to admit it's not just from the packed room. You’re suddenly faced with the very real possibility that you're very attracted to him.

He gives you a huge grin and a wink between songs, and it's no longer just a possibility. Fuck.

Blasts of air from his bass drum cool your face down, and you stare at him a little closer, analyzing.

You've been infantilising him a little bit, you'll admit it.

Kid. Cute. Baby boy.

Although you’re pretty sure the two of you are the same age, he just comes off like a teenager. You couldn’t help but haze him a little bit, especially after he just wandered into the bar with no plan. He’s really proving himself right now.

The crowd is going crazy. You’re holding yourself up on the edge of the stage, but behind you, a sizable pit has opened up. People are loving them.

“We have one more!” Ben shouts. People are screaming.

“We learned it just for you!” Rodrick yells. There’s something snarky about his tone. You like it.

You recognize the song immediately. Their rendition is just a little clunky, but it works. You can't help but smile, and wonder if Rodrick somehow heard your radio shift last night.

It's such a good choice for a first show. Perfect, really. It's like they're saying, we're here, fuckers.

You let the crowd swallow you up as you sing along.

Society's arms of control

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

They think they're smart, can't think for themselves

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

Laugh at us behind our backs

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

I find satisfaction in what they lack

(Rise above, we're gonna rise above!)

We! Are Tired!

Of your! Abuse!

Try to stop us!

But it’s! No use!

The aftermath of their set is chaos. Good chaos, but chaos. They tear down their gear and load up the van. On their way back in, people are yelling and patting their shoulders as they walk by.

Hell yeah, dude!

Good set, bro!

It feels good.

A small crowd has formed at their merch table. Chris takes on the task of handling the sales, and before they know it, their box is nearly half gone. They hadn't expected that.

Another unexpected side effect of playing a good set: booze.

Once the merch crowd is gone, old rocker types materialize, holding out shot glasses and cans. One guy hands Rodrick a shot of something that burns, and puts a heavy arm around his shoulder. He starts up a conversation about drumming, which is really more like a monologue.

You were great out there, man. Who's your favorite? Like, who's your guy? It's Lars for me, bro, 100%. I saw Metallica in ‘88, bro. Busted a knee in the pit, and now I can’t play a double pedal no more. Where'd you learn to play like that? You could play like Hellhammer with those arms. Fuckin’ rock on, brother. Oh, hey, sorry, I was supposed to give you this lime to help with the tequila...

Rodrick’s head swims as the guy babbles, nodding his head like he's listening.

“Thank you,” he finally sighs out. He’s exhausted from just listening to the guy. He pops the lime in his mouth, and it does help quite a bit.

People just keep coming with shots, and beers, and stories, and the guys end up piss drunk before the second band is done setting up.

Rodrick smiles and looks around. He's having fun. They did what they came to do, and people actually liked it. The rest of the guys are making conversation with the other bands. Heather and whoever else had been laughing at him are nowhere to be seen, and he's happy.

Even happier when you appear in front of the table.

“Heyyy!” He yells, giving you a singular finger gun, his other hand occupied with a beer can.

You take one look at his half lidded eyes and lazy smile, and realize he's wasted.

“Are you drunk?” You cackle, “It's not even 8:30!”

He turns, and spits a sucked-dry lime slice into the trash can next to him.

“Shut up! You're drunk!” Rodrick points at you, smile still wide.

“Oh, man. You're gone. Your girlfriend is gonna be pissed!” You laugh.

The drunk-happy look fades from his face.

“My huh?”

“That girl you were talking to you. Girlfriend, right?”

“No fucking way!” he bursts out laughing, “She’s a rich, stuck-up asshole! She's an evil witch from hell!” He downs the rest of his beer.

“Harsh, but I believe you.”

Well, that settles that.

You wonder if Rodrick has ever been this drunk in his life. He doesn't seem like he knows how to handle it, but he seems to be having a good time, at least.

“Hey. You did really, really good. You killed it. I mean it.” You lean on the merch table and smile up at him.

Rodrick’s eyes are sparkling, and his smile is somehow bigger than before.

“You liked us?”

“I loved you guys. Everyone did. They're totally gonna have you back.”

He looks like he might cry.

"Hey, don't I get a shirt? Wasn't that part of our deal?"

Rodrick thinks hard, finally remembering.

"Oh yeah!" He shouts.

He ducks down under the table and rifles through a big box. You lean over and tell him your size. He looks deeply focused.

He finally resurfaces, and holds up the shirt, triumphantly. You take it and sling it over your arm.

"Thanks," you smile, "I'll wear it all the time."

He beams.

You hold out your hand, and he hesitates for a second before grabbing it.

“You wanna come stand with me? The next band is up.”

Rodrick’s heart soars.

You lead him to the middle of the crowd, where three other people are gathered, talking.

“This is my band: Maureen, Jessica, and Eddie.”

Rodrick is seeing double at this point, but he smiles and waves. He thinks he sees a girl with ridiculously long black hair, a girl with very short green hair, and a guy with little round glasses.

“Good set,” the guy gives him a fist bump.

Before they can talk any more, a microphone squeals. Everyone in the crowd is at attention. Rodrick blinks to try and focus in on the stage; the next band has set up a giant, inflatable palm tree and some yard flamingos. They're all dressed for the pool, it seems like. Big, bright board shorts and floaties. The singer is barefoot, and has a megaphone in hand.

“May I have your attention please, may I have your attention please,” his distorted voice comes through the megaphone, “The president of the United States is an insect! All your lives are a lie!”

The next few minutes are a blur of sound and color. Rodrick can’t process anything that’s happening in front of him. The music is weird, but good. Messy. The words don’t make any sense. His body is starting to sway uncontrollably, and he’s worried he might topple over.

His shoulder bumps yours, and you look up. He doesn’t look so good. You grab his hand again and lead him out of the crowd, all the way to the front patio, stopping to grab a water on the way.

Cool air hits Rodrick’s face, and he feels at ease. You help him into a low metal chair, and he stares up at you, helplessly.

“Are you good?” You push his hair up, away from his forehead, and hand him the cup of water.

“That was a lot,” he breathes, dazed.

“Chug that water, you’ll feel better,” you lean on the railing next to his chair, “and no more booze, big boy.”

“I thought I was baby boy,” Rodrick slurs, smirking.

“I think you’ve transcended that term,” you laugh, “unless you want to be baby boy.”

“What if I do?”

“You’re so weird,” you give his chair a little kick.

He sticks out his arm to catch your leg, and chugs the whole water in one go.

He lifts your leg a little higher, slinging it over his shoulder. You’re speechless. That’s pretty smooth.

"You said something nice about me," he slurs in a sing-song voice, "Mike told me."

"Oh yeah? What did I say?"

Rodrick thinks hard. What was it again?

"Something about... spirits? And ice cream."

"Okay, buddy." You shush him, "Just take some deep breaths."

It’s kinda nice, just sitting with him in silence. The last bit of daylight is leaving, and everything is shrouded in a faint blue.

“I think I like you,” he says quietly, not looking at you.

“I think you’re drunk. Get back to me in an hour.”

“Can I like you in an hour?” He holds your leg a little tighter.

“Go nuts,” you chuckle.

You don’t move your leg, though.

You sit together until the set ends, and people start to file out onto the patio.

“You wanna go back in? Your friends are probably worried.” You bounce your leg a little to get his attention.

“Yeah. I have to pee so bad.”

Another trans-am’s wrapped itself around a telephone pole

“I ain't drunk, officer, I just fell getting out of my car.”

Don't worry about it, son. We were that way when we were young!

You've got all the skills to make a damn good business man!

~

Rodrick stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, breathing deep. He feels a lot better after some fresh air and the longest piss of his life.

A stall door opens, and a familiar face shows up next to his.

“Heffley? Shit, that really is you.”

Bryan Kent is a bonafide asshole with a football scholarship, who'd made Rodrick’s life a living hell back home. He really doesn't feel like reconnecting right now.

“Yep. It's me.”

Rodrick turns to leave, but Bryan blocks the door.

“You're not even gonna say hi, diner dork?”

“Fuck off, Bryan. I'm not in the mood.”

Bryan pushes him, and Rodrick feels all that old rage bubbling up. He's still a little wobbly on his feet.

“Did the cops ever catch you for what you did?” Bryan takes a step towards Rodrick. He feels all the blood leave his face.

“Actually, one of my buddies from back home just passed police academy. You wanna come back to our table and put in a little confession?”

“Fuck off,” he pushes Bryan back hard, sending him right into the door.

You're waiting outside the bathroom, and starting to get just a little worried. One of Rodrick’s bandmates- Ward, you're pretty sure- is still by their merch table.

“Hey,” you smile at him, “Rodrick went into the bathroom kind of a long time ago. He was pretty wrecked, and I'm starting to get worried. Could you…?”

Ward is around the table before you can even finish your sentence.

“Don't worry, I got him.”

As Ward opens the bathroom door, another guy walks out, laughing.

“What the fuck?” Ward yells.

You come up behind him and see Rodrick, lying on the floor, face bloody. Your mouth twists into a sneer. Fucking frat boys.

You march to the front of the bar, and lean in towards Jimbo’s ear.

“Him. Out.” You point at the offender, who's still flexing his busted knuckles like a jackass. Like it's something to show off.

“Had a feeling.” Jimbo sighs, standing up.

Rodrick’s head is pounding.

He opens his eyes to see Ward, looking devastated.

“Dude, what happened? Can you get up?”

“Fucking… Bryan Kent,” he coughs out.

Ward helps him to his feet and hands him a bundle of paper towels. Rodrick dabs at his bloody nose and lip in the mirror.

Of course. Of fucking course one of those assholes would show up tonight, of all nights.

He takes a few moments to just stand there and recover.

“That was fucked up.” Ward breaks the silence.

Rodrick just nods.

They emerge from the bathroom and there's what looks to be a full on brawl at the front of the bar. Rodrick sees you walking quickly towards him, eyes wide.

“Are you okay? Jeez, look at your lip.”

You bring your hand to his face and take a closer look. It doesn't look like he needs stitches or anything, but his bottom lip is swollen, with a dark line in the middle. Blood is quickly drying up in one of his nostrils.

Rodrick jumps a little, and suddenly feels a whole lot better under your gentle touch. He gets lost for a second, just looking down at your worried face.

“I shouldn't have let you in there alone, I'm so sorry.” You murmur.

He smiles, but a yell from up front brings him back to reality.

“It’s cool, I'm fine. What's going on up there?”

“Well, we asked your... acquaintance to leave, and he didn't want to. And he's got friends.”

“Should we go up and help?” Ward clenches his fist, smiling slightly.

Rodrick’s other bandmates have joined the circle.

“I'd stay out of it, they've got it.”

You all observe as Jimbo drags Bryan out the front door by his ear. A second drunken dickhead is yelling I'm a police officer! Get off me! as a second, equally huge guy hauls him off.

Rodrick notices Heather following them out, rolling her eyes.

“Are we all good?” Someone from the stage asks into a microphone.

Oh yeah, there's still a show going on.

You all shrug, and head into the crowd together.

You take Rodrick's hand again, and give it a little squeeze. He turns to look at you, and smiles.

"Are you really okay?" You yell over the music.

"I'm really okay." He squeezes your hand back.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

[aylin-archer]

[ you, me, & the vinyl spins ] You never seem to leave my mind. You’ve packed your bags and taken the highway that leads straight to My Heart, USA. You’ve decked out your new place with brand new furniture to match. Soft loveseat placed in front of the television. A kitchen to bake your favorite desserts. Queen sized bed that i know holds two so comfortably. Black cowboy boots left near the front door next to some black converse all stars. Silver fridge containing your bitter coors light bottles and my sweet twisted teas. Matching black hoodies tucked away in our shared closet. Framed pictures of us rest on the white walls. A vinyl spins on the table that softly emits Frank Ocean through its speakers. Home.

- aylin a.

[saintsturn]

gentleman | matt sturniolo !

summary: you have a smoke sesh with one of the cute guys your friend brought over

cw: stoner! matt, fluff, light petting, kisses, flirting, mentions of alcohol

(bruh i haven’t been on tumblr in yrs i’m scared to post ts i’m bout to shit myself)

lowercase intended

• • •

you sat upon the granite island in the kitchen of your apartment as the sun was setting through your window. all the contents of your randomly designated weed box scattered in front of you, leg dangling off the counter. tucking your hair behind your ears you read the time on the oven — 5:27PM.

jane— your bestfriend was coming over any minute now as she did every friday, to hangout. the two of you would fill your apartment with love and laughter, empty bottles and cans of any spirits you guys would have a taste for that night, snacks after joints or bong rips, gossip and intense conversations into the early am. this friday was a little different though. jane wanted to bring a few of her friends along to which you lightheartedly agreed, you didn’t mind.

they were triplets. now you’d already met nick, as jane and him are pretty close — and you absolutely loved him. you’d not met the other two but you’ve heard all about chris. jane was absolutely and almost insufferably whipped over the young man. countless conversations were had about him after she’d leave their house hanging with nick. every detail about how he looked at her, or smiled at her — like basic human interaction right? with a toothy grin on her face, later stressfully shoving her head in a pillow and whining because she’s too scared to tell him how she feels. i always end up shaking my head with a smile and a playful eye roll but i love her and i wish her the best.

you take one last sip of your coors light and set the empty can onto the counter, emitting a rattling noise. “alright,” you mumble under your breath, preparing to roll a communal joint. colorful, dollar store rhinestones cover the grinder now held between your polished fingers. humming to yourself, you hear a group of people talking their way down the hall getting closer to your apartment door. your head pops up towards the door following a knock. “come in!” you lazily yell in the direction of the door. jane enters with a warm smile, nick beside her and the other two boys following closely behind.

you greeted everyone, hugs and hello’s filling the kitchen. chatter engulfs the room as you continue to pack the joint, looking up every now and then to chirp into the everyday conversation, jokes and laughter— sometimes shooting jane a sneaky smile when she’d talk to chris. you gulp a bit with a smile, biting your lip as you refocus on the joint. they were all very attractive guys but one in particular kept catching your eye. you were a sucker for tattoos and stubble. matt’s eyes were basically burning a hole through your head and every time you’d look up he’d be smiling at you, laughing at every joke you’d make and intently listening to what you’d say, with a nod every time you joined in the conversation. you pushed the thought to the back of your head as you got back to your craft.

“oh my god, you have smirnoffs?” nick asks, stood at the open fridge with a knowing look.

“have at it,” you smile “they’re in there for everyone,” you watch as he grabs a screwdriver out of the cardboard party pack box.

“you’re the best,” the boy says with a smile and a nod.

jane chirps in “oh my god, you guys,” gaining everyone in the room’s attention “we should doordash taco bell, yeah?” she suggests, looking at everyone, eyebrows raised.

as everyone agrees, phone in hand she makes her way to the living room as nick and chris follow behind her, leaving matt and i alone.

you started to feel your tummy turn out of nervousness, wondering why he decided to stay behind. beginning to roll the joint, you felt him glance at you every now and then. matt makes his way over to the barstool in front of the island you’re perched on before sitting down.

“nice work,” he says, nodding to the joint in your hand you were rolling. you look at him letting out a breathy laugh and uttering a “yeah? thank you.”

the boy continues to stare you down, making small talk as you give the wrapping paper one last subtle lick to secure the finished product.

“you know.. i don’t wanna come off as strange or anything, but you’re just really pretty,” he compliments you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. taken aback, your head snaps to meet his eyes before giving him a toothless grin.

“really, you think so?” you ask, flustered and struggling to keep eye contact.

matt nods.

“thanks,” your smile lingers as you look at the joint and then back at him. you catch jane making her way to the doorway before spotting the two of you, giving a confused look and then a knowing smile, slowly walking backwards into the living room. you mentally shake your head and laugh.

“how about you get first hit?” you suggest, holding the joint up to matts face. his polished fingers grab it from you, holding it as if it were a cigarette. matt shakes his head before flipping the joint around between his fingers and placing it to your mouth

“ladies first,” he grins, before grabbing the random lighter strewn across the counter along with all your other belongings and lighting it. you inhale, your chest filling with smoke and your throat burning before exhaling a white cloud tinted a faint yellow, letting out a cough.

“good girl,” he drawls, grabbing the joint back from you. “shut up,” you giggle, playfully hitting his shoulder “you’re so dumb.” you joke, ignoring your stomach tying in knots. matt stifles a laugh, shaking his head before taking a hit.

• • •

your phone reads 8:43PM. shoving your hands into your hoodie pocket, you look at matt as he now rolls up your second joint of the night — the warm breeze blowing in your faces. the two of you wandered off to the bench on your balcony as nobody else inside wanted to go round two. they were busy playing some overpriced card game from target that had the same concept as all of the other ones. you were glad though, matt was sweet and you really enjoyed talking to him.

“here,” he says, snapping you out of your thoughts as he holds the joint to your mouth. “lemme light it for you,” he suggests, eyes hung low, focusing in on the lighter. you both go back and forth, hit for hit, letting out a cough here and there. you began to feel fuzzy, sinking into your seat as your eyes hung lower and lower.

“mmm..” matt trails off, ashing and tossing the roach into your ashtray before looking back at you, his face an inch away from yours. “hey,” he says with a lazy smirk and bloodshot eyes. you both chuckle. “hey, matt,” you smile. bringing your leg up so you can turn to face him, you continue to stare at eachother as if you were two tweakers. just met this dude.. this is so strange. you shake your thoughts away before snapping your attention back to matt who was now briefly adjusting himself.

“i really like talking to you,” he says, his voice low. you look up at him with a cheesy grin.

“i like talking to you more.”

you keep trying to stop your eyes from wandering and looking at his lips, soft, pink and wet from him licking them over and over. your insides began to feel warm, your face flushing and ears burning red. looking back up at matt, you make eye contact again as he had his eyes on you the whole time. he watches your eyes flicker between his and his lips again. it’s almost like there was some hunger inside of you that was not being fulfilled and the nerves tied up in your stomach didn’t know what to do about it.

matt gave you a cocky nod as if he was saying do it. it’s almost like he was reading your mind. you’d think you wouldn’t be too scared to kiss him since you were both high off your ass. quickly, pushing your nerves aside you give him a swift peck on the cheek, earning a drawn out chuckle from him.

“c’mon.. you’re too cute,” he beams in your face, eyes almost closing giving the illusion of him squinting. catching you off guard he gently grabs your chin between his index and thumb before planting a slow, gentle kiss on your lips. your insides were practically melting as you adjusted yourself, feeling arousal in your lower parts. this time you go to kiss his lips, and he kisses you back of course— and it feels like there are stars jumping all around in your head, you’re dizzy and drunk off him. once you move your hands up to his neck, he stops you, breaking the kiss. you look at him confused, like a lost puppy.

“you know i’m a gentleman,” he says, with a goofy smirk, his lips plump and glossy from the kiss you shared. you figured he didn’t wanna move so fast, hell, you guys just met. part of you was disappointed but you also liked it, you thought it was attractive.

“oh, really?” you ask, sarcastically

“you know it,” he nods

“you’re so corny, matt,” you chuckle, running your fingers across his tattoos as his eyes follow. he gives you a warm smile.

“you like it.. you like me,” he taunts, getting closer to your face. you gulped softly and slightly opened your mouth to say something but focused back on his arm again. you had butterflies in your stomach.

“look at you, ma, you’re so nervous,” he taunts again, his voice slow and low, ultimately running his fingers through your hair as you sunk into his chest. your heart was beating out of your chest at the mention of the pet name.

“i’ll tell you what, pretty lady,” he started. you looked up at him, intrigued. “you gimme your number— how bout i smoke you out sometime?” he asks, playing with your fingers.

“wow, you not gonna take me to dinner first?” you banter with the boy. he bites his bottom lip and smiles.

“damn, you’re right. i did say i was a gentleman, huh?” he responds, playfully raising his eyebrow. you pull out your phone to a ridiculous amount of missed text messages from jane asking you what the hell you and matt have been doing outside. you smile to yourself and hand your phone to the boy so he could add himself as a contact.

“don’t worry, i’ll take you to dinner first,” he reassures you with a light chuckle.

• • •

[priincebutt]

Nico!!! hello dear here's my request for the heart kiss thing

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy - liam/pez plz

send me a kiss, get a snippet

Liam loves the post-rodeo high. There’s something about the adrenaline rush of bull riding, feeling like you’re unstoppable and on top of the fucking world, that just leaves him spinning out after all of the events are over. He knows he should be exhausted – bull riding is a physical sport that leaves him sore and hurting for days after he competes, but it’s still the day of, and the pain hasn’t set in yet. So instead of sleeping, like he should be doing, he’s at the damn bar, fingers wrapped around a bottle of Coors light, listening with a wince on his face as some girl in a floral dress attempts to sing Carrie Underwood’s Before He Cheats on the mic provided for karaoke.

It’s not well known, but at the end of the day on Fridays at the Denver National Stock Show, down in the underbelly of the arena by the corralled cattle and sleeping horses, a karaoke bar pops up for those in the know, or those lucky enough to stumble upon it when they’re trying to find the parking lot. There’s probably thirty people in street clothes present, and a handful of riders like himself, and everyone seems tipsy enough. Hell, Liam’s on his third beer, and while he’s not drunk he’s definitely feeling the effects. The warmth coursing through him is lush, and he sips at the cool beer as his eyes scan the crowd, looking for anyone he knows or some one interesting enough to strike up a conversation with.

His boredom is relieved when a man in a fringed pink leather jacket sets an empty glass down on the bar beside Liam, orders a whiskey neat, and turns, letting his gaze rove from Liam’s worn, dusty boots up to the cowboy hat that sits atop his head at a minor tilt. He’s not subtle in his looking, and his full lips part in an easy smile as he leans against the bar, folds his arms over his chest and nods approvingly.

“See something you like?” Liam drawls, his Texas accent thick thanks to the beer. He’s never been subtle in who he loves, and while being a gay bull rider hasn’t been easy by any means, it’s worth fighting for who he is. He can’t imagine hiding himself away.

The man’s grin only widens, and he accepts the whiskey and stops the bartender. “What’s your shooter of choice?” He asks Liam. One of Liam’s eyebrows go up, and he steps in a little closer, intrigued.

“Tequila with salt and a lime.”

“You heard the man,” his companion chuckles darkly. “Two tequilas, though I might regret this in the morning.”

The bartender delivers the shots, and they clink their glasses together before licking the salt rim, downing the shot, then sucking on the lime. Liam manages to get the liquor down without wincing, and his new friend does the same, his features smooth as he then sips his whiskey like this is all in a day’s work. “I’m Percy,” he extends a hand, his fringe swishing at the motion, and Liam grins and accepts, shaking his warm hand fondly and nodding. “Liam,” he offers as he sips his beer to chase down the fire of the tequila.

“I knew you were gay,” Percy says as his head tilts and he looks up at Liam, who has a good few inches on him even in his shiny black heeled cowboy boots.

One of Liam’s brows arch, and he keeps his features schooled into neutrality at the statement. “What gave me away?”

“Well, you were the only cowboy wearing a pink shirt,” Percy says with a shrug. “And I just… knew. Sometimes you just know things, and it’s always a sweet victory when you’re right. Because you’re extremely hot, and I’m very glad I’ve run into you down at this little bar.”

Liam’s feeling bold thanks to the tequila. The shot is like liquid courage through his veins, and he crowds into Percy’s space, unthinking about the very real possibility that this virtual stranger might want nothing more to do with him than to say he met a bull rider and be on his way. “Well good thing for me you’re also hot,” Liam says as he finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle back on the bar. Percy’s looking up at him through his lashes now, in a way that has Liam absolutely losing it because it’s been a while since he’s gotten lucky and he thinks tonight just might be the night for it. “Do you want to come back to my hotel?” He asks, voice husky, emboldened by the look Percy’s giving him and the liquor.

There is no answer – Percy surges up on his toes and pulls him in by the collar. Their lips meet and Liam sighs into it, lets himself melt into this man he hardly knows, kisses him like there might not be a tomorrow. Percy is soft and pliant against him, and he tastes like smoky whiskey on a warm Texas night. He tastes like home, and Liam thinks he might go feral for it.

Liam pulls back, a lopsided grin on his lips, one hand at Percy’s waist and the other steadying them against the bar. “I take it that’s a yes?”

“Oh, that’s a fuck yes.”

[climbingmountainsblog]

Bad Parenting: The Views Of An Angry Ex Barmaid

Nov 16th, 2018

*Names have been changed to comply with the data protection act 1998

As most of you are aware from my last post, I worked in a bar for a long time, and as I have said in my previous post "Alcohol and Pregnancy - The Views of an Angry Ex Barmaid",  I have seen it all, pretty much everything you can think of I've seen at one point or another, either in the previous bar or another one I have worked at in the past.

I also stated in the previous post mentioned above how a lot of things have bothered me about the things I seen on a daily basis in that industry, especially the neglect parents have shown towards their children. Here I am, yet again, with another rant from my bar tending days to get off my chest - and of course again it is about the neglect people show their children on a daily basis.

I am not a parent yet (unfortunately), but I do understand parenting can be tough, and I do not aim to judge people, and I do understand for the most part a lot of people are doing the best they can to raise their kids, however in some of these cases they could do better, and should do better.

Take this instance for example.  I was standing at the bar serving a customer two pints of Coors Light lager, they'd been sitting in the bar drinking for at least three hours by this point, and as I was in the middle of pouring the first pint the man's daughter came running up beside him and asked her father "Daddy can I have a sandwich", to which he responded, "no *Molly you can't have a sandwich, do you think I'm made of money". Instantly I was enraged, this man has been in the bar drinking all day with his wife, they have spent at least forty pounds minimum on alcohol, however he can't spare his four year old daughter  two pounds for a sandwich! "This is ridiculous", I quietly thought to myself inside my head. It's times like this I really wish I could tell the customers how I actually feel inside, unfortunately I would lose my job if I were to do that, so again I keep my rage bottled up inside and continue to serve as normal, keeping my happy face on as always.

As I sat the second pint I'd poured down on the bar in front of the man, *Molly started shouting out rather loudly how hungry she was, she screamed "please daddy I'm so hungry my belly hurts" to which again he responded "you can wait till you get back to the caravan!" in an abrupt and slightly aggressive manner. I decided to politely say "come on, give the kid a sandwich", I made sure to make it come across in a slightly jokingly manner but secretly wanting to throw his pints he just asked for over the top of him and tell him to stop being a selfish so and so - I did refrain though. He responded to me "she had crisps less than an hour ago, and had lunch a couple of hours before, she's not hungry". I said nothing, I could not even bring myself to think up any sort of reply, inside my head my thought process was screaming "WHAT!?!?!?" "It's 7PM! FEED YOUR DAMN CHILD". I somehow though, managed to keep my cool and did not say a word.

The fella paid for the pints using his bank card, thanked me and walked away with his daughter who was now at this point crying with tears streaming down her face, they returned to their table where I overheard the child's mother tell her to "stop crying or she will be going home to her bed". I was due to explode with anger, and expressed my concern to a colleague who didn't seem to see why I was so angry, she just nodded in agreement and told me to take a chill pill.

After a few minutes I was a little calmer, and decided to fetch a sandwich, pay for it myself and take it over to the table and give it to the little girl - maybe I was in the wrong for undermining her fathers decision and maybe I shouldn't of done it, but I really couldn't help myself. I told her and her family the sandwich was on the house, they thanked me and then proceeded to say "you shouldn't have bothered, she was just being a brat!". *Molly stopped crying and said "yay" extremely loud, and shouted "thanks, you're my favourite girl". I returned to the bar and she sat happily and quietly eating her sandwich. After she'd finished she went back to the soft play area and started running around with friends she'd met in there earlier.

I still can't believe they wouldn't pay two pounds for a sandwich but can sit in the bar drinking for hours on end every single day.

Some people's priorities are all wrong, if you can afford to pay three pounds and twenty three pence per pint of Coors then you can afford two pounds to feed your child, I don't care if she has had a packet of crisps, or a big lunch, If you've been in the bar for three hours and lunch was five hours ago, no wonder your child is hungry.

As a barmaid I see it so regularly, more than what you would think, people happily paying over the odds for their round of drinks but refusing to buy their kid a fruit shoot or a packet of crisps, or anything really, claiming it's "too expensive" all the while never complaining once though about the price of drinks they're paying for, as long as they can sit there and get pissed they're not bothered.

That isn't the only parenting problems I am faced with on a daily basis, every weekend people have their kids in the bar until closing time, which for us is 12.30am, the kids are wandering around absolutely shattered wanting their bed, or falling asleep on the chairs and the parents or "responsible adults" continue to drink instead of taking their kids home to bed where they belong at that time of night. Some of them, instead of heading home at closing time a lot of the time they make their way to another bar.

That leads us to the next issue - Kids in bars, yes in a holiday park the rules are different, but parents come in and get so smashed they don't even remember what happened when it comes to the next day - how can these people be responsible for looking after multiple children when they can't even look after themselves in some of the states they leave in? As a barmaid all I can do is stop serving when I feel they have had too much and could potentially cause problems, but that's all I can do. I can't stop them getting drunk when they are looking after kids as it's their decision.

Most of the time the kids are running around the bar unsupervised, which as a barmaid is very frustrating having to constantly tell kids to stop doing things, or having to remove them from the over 18's area, or having to intervene when they start fighting with other kids, or taking glasses out of their hands when they pick up someone alcoholic drink which has been left lying unsupervised - believe me this list could go on forever. If you have a child then you are responsible for that child, yes everyone deserves a break but if you don't have a babysitter then you have to take care of the child no matter what, that is what you sign up for when having children. It is not my job to look after other people's kids, especially when I am working in a busy environment serving customers, collecting glasses, ensuring the venue stays clean and tidy, cleaning up spillages, I don't physically have the time to add babysitting to the list, but yet I find myself doing it anyway because I am genuinely worried about the welfare of the children, I am worried in case they come to any harm.

The soft play area is through a set of double doors and round a corner, yet adults let their kids run riot unsupervised, and they can in no way even slightly see their children from the bar seats or tables.

There are so many times I have to ask adults to supervise the children.

I should not have to ask people to look after their own kids.

REALLY. LOOK AFTER YOUR KIDS. IT IS YOUR JOB.

I'm glad I got out of bar tending, I hated the job for so many reasons.

[deputygonebye]

Roasted over a small fire, more charred in certain spots than others, fish had been the meal of choice that night. Every alternative depleted - bellies so full of fish already, yearned for a taste of something new - minnows and minuscule bass, barely able to fit between both hands. Cooked over flame as best as could be done; seasoned with wild herbs gathered by the women survivors, accompanied by a simple mushroom dish fixed by Amy. Mushrooms tossed with rosemary - prepared in a skillet pan over top the same fire, until softened and browned to perfection. All hands gone into creating the feast that nourished an entire camp, from where he sat, chewing his ration of roasted bass, still pained by hunger but nonetheless fed, Shane noted the toll. From his plastic throne - a piece that matched Jacqui's, a garden area set, so ivory and dusty - Lori's hands appeared crusted over with dirt. Carol's nails were painted burden-brown rather than a color deserving of her. Andrea's cheeks burnt from the sun; the pan that Dale wielded to serve what was left, the blackened scraps at the edge, trembled.

Paper plate discarded, placed with the other garbage that would be used to light and keep bright more fires, the fish to be cooked tomorrow, Shane wandered into his bachelor tent without a word. Promised to secrecy, buried deep in the back corner, nearest where his cleanest clothes and other possessions occupied, he fetched two beers. Glass unbroken and still intact; paper logo untouched, unaffected by the end of the world. Miracles of gold they were, a burn that Shane desired more than he initially believed himself to. It had been too long since the taste had been upon his tongue. Bitterness of good memories - hops and malt that balanced just as was needed - the days before survival was all that mattered. Life hardly a guarantee; an oath that Shane couldn't renounce. Never to relinquish, merely to distract by the pop of a bottle, entertain, rather, with the bliss of a summer's temperature beer. Peace within golden bubbles.

Brown eyes shifting from left to right, Shane exited his shelter and headed for the woods. Surrounded by an army of trees, dense bush and weed, there was no need to voice the question, for he already knew. Someone had decided to follow. A curious onlooker, a nosey neighbor who wanted further contact than just what tent holdings would allow. Familiar footsteps that smothered grasses - he would've known her pattern of walk anywhere - akin to a wolf who was on the hunt, silent but deadly. Back still toward her but smile across his lips, Shane could find humor in their secret. An almost childlike experience; the past come back to haunt them both. It was stupid and ridiculous. Perhaps borderline witless, but even so, it made Shane relax. Dropped the tension from his shoulders, the crosses that he carried for himself and others. Shane was normal again.

"You sure do like watchin' me, don't you?" Shane teased as he turned around, a proud radiance about him. "Didn't have to say nothin'. You knew just where to find me. You're somethin' else, you know that, Juniper?"

Shane laughed, handing her the second beer, keeping the first within his own grasp, tight and unwilling to drop so precious a discovery. "As promised, a drink. Ain't cold, like I said earlier, but I think we're luckier than most folks. Ain't too often somebody comes along somethin' like this. I think I'll make a toast. Here's to us and our camp! Here's to these Coors Lights! And here's to you, Ms. Juniper Wolfhart, the best mechanic this side of Georgia! Don't know where we'd be without you."

She hated it for Carl that he had to grow up in all of this. At least the adults like the two of them standing here taking care of this car were able to grow up in a normal world doing normal things and only having to worry about the little things instead of life-and-death situations. They could run around the streets and all they had to worry about was making it home in time for dinner before their parents began to grow concerned over their whereabouts. You ran around out here and you were bound to run right into the hungry creatures with their guttural moans and groans who didn't want to leave you alive for nothing.

Back then, you worried about first dates, good grades, finally getting your license, and turning twenty-one so you could say that you legally had your first drink. You didn't have to make sure you were armed to the teeth at all times in case you ran into a walker or just another human being who would kill you for what little supplies you had on you. Carl would only hear stories about what it was like at his age before the world shut down. All of his firsts would be unique compared to that of his mom and dad's.

❝ Sounds like you had a hell of a time though, ❞ she joked with him. Stealing a parent's car to go out for a joyride was something that she could relate to. Where she lived out in Texas, there were plenty of empty roads that she could take in her father's car and press down on that gas pedal, letting that acceleration stick turn and turn until she was nearing 80MPH. The exhilaration from it all was an adrenaline rush like no other back when she was sixteen. Hell, she was lucky a cop car wasn't planted behind a bush waiting for an idiot teen like her to shoot by 'em. Juniper was also a bit jealous of Shane and Rick - their friendship stretched back that far and they still had each other in all of this. She didn't even know if her friends from way back in school had even made it this far.

Juniper smiled, just as flattered as could be that someone would want her of all people to teach them how to drive, especially someone else's son. If Lori and/or Rick wanted to sit there in the car with her while she taught their son to drive she was completely fine with that, maybe even expected it for the first driving test, especially if it meant making Lori warm up to the idea of someone else teaching her son something important. More than that, it was nice to be recognized among the group. Everyone was skilled in some way, shape, or form, and she was recognized for being so skilled when it came to vehicles, and how slick she was behind the wheel, too. ❝ Thanks, ❞ was all she mustered up at that moment, not even able to really touch on what his words meant to her just yet. Maybe later over that beer.

The mechanic had to give it to him - he did a terrific job cleaning the car. So instead of holding her applause, she went ahead and clapped her hands together a few times. ❝ You know, if the whole sheriff's deputy hadn't panned out for you, you would have made an excellent car detailer. I can even see my reflection, ❞ she said, leaning it to dramatically look at her reflection in one of the windows, brushing a stray piece of chocolate brown hair behind her ear.

Leaning back again, her lips grew into a wider smile when he mentioned the story about how he managed to get his hands on some beers. Nothing said celebrating a job well done than some cold beers later tonight. ❝ Hey, that doesn't sound half bad. Beer is beer, warm or cold. ❞ She shrugged her shoulders; preferably cold, but beggars couldn't be choosers anymore. ❝ Yeah, Shane, I'd really like that, ❞ she agreed to it.

[coloredsenses]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜰꜰɪᴄᴇ, ᴘᴛ 2

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: au where no outbreaks have occurred. chris, jill, leon, and you all work for the RPD, you working as the STARS secretary. you’ve had a crush on a certain blue eyed officer for nearly a year, and chris and jill are getting impatient.

warning(s): bestie!chris redfield, kissing, swearing

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Chris.. why are you here?” Leon had his front door open directing a deadpan stare at Chris Redfield, who stood at his doorstep with a 12 pack of Coors Light under one arm and about a dozen magazines under the other. Leon was a bit mopey that weekend, his year-long crush had just told him she liked someone else. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin the friendship they had, so he kept himself silent. All he wanted was for her to be happy and if this was the way, then so be it. He could move on. Hopefully.

“I heard.” Was all Chris said before he pushed passed the young officer and into the small apartment. Leon stared at the now empty hallway in front of him where Chris used to be, shaking his head in exasperation. Not like I wanted to relax on my day off.

“Yeah, sure, come on in!” Leon spoke sarcastically into the air, shutting his door and locking it. He turned on his socked heel and watched as Chris placed the beers on his coffee table and plopped the stack of magazines next to them.

“May I ask what you heard, exactly?” Leon folded his arms together in moderate annoyance, and Chris placed his hands on his hips and observed his friend. Leon had on a plain black wrinkled t-shirt, a pair of gray sweatpants, and a pair of white socks on his feet. His hair was frizzy, telling Chris he’d been in bed all day.

“Come on, it’s four in the afternoon and you’re not even dressed, which is not you. There’s only one explanation for this behavior, Kennedy, and I think it had to do with our favorite secretary.” Chris’ implication coaxed a groan from Leon’s lips, and Chris hummed in contentment and Leon’s reaction.

“How the hell do you know about that?” Leon finally made his way to his couch, practically flopping down on the soft, blue cushions, crossing his ankles on the coffee table. Chris followed suit, cracking open two beers in the process.

“I know everything.” Chris spoke as if his statement was the most obvious thing in the world, a sarcastic shrug eliciting a light scoff from Leon, who accepted the beer from his friend reluctantly. Chris sighed in preparation, staring at the magazines.

“Should I even ask what those are for?” Leon sipped on his beverage as Chris tossed one onto Leon, taking another one from the pile for himself.

“We’re coming up with a plan to get you the girl.” Leon stared in bewilderment at the magazine in his lap that read Cosmopolitan across the top in big, pink letters. He then shot a glance at Chris, who was already reading the How to know a guy likes you article in his Seventeen magazine.

“Uh.. Chris, I don’t think this is gonna help me much.” Leon picked up the magazine, Britney Spears staring back at him with a pout. Tell me about it. He turned his gaze to Chris, who sagged his shoulders and let the magazine fall limp in his grasp.

“That’s exactly what Jill said.” Chris murmured, closing his eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Chris yanked the magazine from Leon’s hand and threw them back on the pile, sitting back against the couch and sighing dramatically, “so what the hell are we gonna do now?” Leon furrowed his brows and scoffed.

“That was your big plan?”

“I had to call my damn sister for these,” Chris sighed in disappointment and sucked on his teeth, “anyways, it’s more than you’re doin’, buddy.” Chris took a few chugs from his beer, then let it rest on his thigh. Leon rolled his eyes at his friend. I can’t believe he actually thought I’d read these for advice.

“Seriously, though. What are you gonna do?” Leon sighed and shook his head, simultaneously tapping his finger on the neck of the bottle.

“Nothing. She likes somebody else.” Chris rolled his eyes at his oblivious friend.

“Right,” Chris said flatly, “somebody else. Who is this somebody else, may I ask?”

“She didn’t say.” Chris hummed in an exaggerated acknowledgment of Leon’s answer.

“She didn’t say, huh?” Leon looked at Chris with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Chris was stroking his chin as if he were in deep thought. Yeah as if there’s anything up there.

“What do you know?” Leon finally asked. Chris’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“I may or may not know who this mysterious crush is.” Leon straightened his back on the couch, practically throwing his beer on the coffee table.

“You do?!” Chris nodded.

“Mhm. Matter of fact, we both know him. Well.” So he works at the station. I could’ve guessed that. Probably one of the older guys, they usually have a good reputation with the women in the department. Well we did get a few new recruits, but they seemed too immature—

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Nope.”

“I bet he still has no fucking clue.”

Jill was standing next to you in your kitchen as you washed your dishes, her arms crossed over her chest. She called you while you were stress cleaning your apartment, so she came right over and was trying to talk your anxiety down.

“Why can’t I just tell him? Or kiss him? Or.. do something other than kiss him?” Jill gave you a look and you sighed.

“We’ve been over this. It’s way more fun to see him squirm.” You groaned as Jill chuckled.

“But I’ve liked him for so long and only now figured out that he likes me too! Now I won’t be able to focus on anything else,” you gasped, “how am I gonna be able to work?! Before it was just daydreaming about his face, but now I won’t even be able to look at him without thinking about how big his—“

“Okay, okay! Down, girl,” you giggled at Jill’s disgust, “if you really want him that bad just go to his place now. Chris told me he’s home, just give me the word and you’ll have him all to yourself.” You gaped at her and she raised a brow, pulling out her flip phone from her pocket. You threw your eyes back and forth from the phone to Jill’s smirk. Dreams really do come true!

“..really?” Jill rolled her eyes and pressed a button on her phone and placed it against her ear. You dried your hands off in your towel and kissed her on the cheek, taking off to your bedroom to change out of your lazy day clothes.

“Hold on, man, it’s Jill.”

Leon sighed heavily at the suspense as Chris pulled out his phone.

“Yes, Schnookums?” Chris cooed, and Leon groaned, chucking the throw pillow he previously leaned against at Chris’s head, eliciting a cackle from the larger man.

“I can’t believe you just called me that— Anyways, our girl wants alone time with the Rookie, so make sure he stays home until she gets there.” Chris gasped softly and glanced his eyes down at Leon, who had a scowl on his face from the disgusting pet name, his beer raised to his lips.

“Already?” He mumbled into the phone, and Jill laughed.

“Just stay there, and let it be a surprise.” Chris and Jill said their goodbyes and hung up. Chris looked around the room, trying to find a viable excuse to stay. He spotted a set of dvds in Leon’s entertainment center below his TV.

“Boys night!” Chris hollered, and Leon groaned into his hand loudly, throwing his head back against the couch as Chris shuffled through his movie selection.

“I knew I should’ve never told you where I live.”

*✩*

“Alright.. how do I look?” You wore the best date outfit you could find, and you were currently nervously fiddling with the strap of your purse hanging from your shoulder. What if it’s too much? What if I read him wrong? Oh fuck what if I try to kiss him and he totally rejects me!I’d have to quit my job—

“Hot!” Jill exclaimed, mouth gaping open. She looked you up and down and you felt your cheeks turn red, shifting from foot to foot. The skirt of your dress flowed freely to just above your knees, the bodice hugging your chest in all the right places. The dress was casual enough that it didn’t look like you were trying to hard, but sexy enough to catch someone’s eye. You had put on light makeup, just your mascara and eyebrows with a bit of lipstick.

“What if I totally read this whole thing wrong?” You admitted your doubts, and Jill’s shoulder sagged.

“Trust me, you didn’t. I’ve been telling you the whole time that he likes you! You only thought I was teasing because you couldn’t see it for yourself.” Jill’s words of assurance relaxed you, and you nodded, gaining some of your confidence back. She stepped forward and rubbed her hands up and down your arms soothingly.

“You look hot as fuck, and I would be truly surprised if he doesn’t see that. I would also be red hot and murderous.” You giggled at her temper, taking her hands in yours.

“Okay, okay, I’m hot. Thanks, Jill.” She nudged your cheek with her knuckle and nodding her head at the front door.

“Now go get him, Tiger. I expect details in the morning.” She winked and you groaned.

“I swear you’re just like my mother. Although I’m not particularly opposed—“

“Just go!”

*✩*

Leon was currently staring at his television screen, four beers in, and absolutely hating Chris Redfield. He glanced over at his friend who was currently sobbing at The Notebook, two throw pillows clutched to his chest.

“They loved each other so much.” Chris cried, tears streaming down his face. Leon threw a hand onto his back with a sigh and rubbed between his shoulder blades as Chris buried his face in the pillows.

“It’s okay, buddy. Just let it out.” Chris’s sobs continued and Leon rolled his eyes.

“Could you believe Jill has never cried to this movie? She’s made of stone, man!” Could this night get any worse?

A knock on his front door freed him from his current suffering.

“I’ll get it!” Leon jumped up and briskly walked to his front door, throwing it open, but stopping short.

“Hey, Leon.” You shyly smiled up at him. You giggled as his mouth flopped open and closed, staring you up and down. You blushed, shifting on your feet.

“H-Hey! What are you doing here?” A smile quirked up on his lips, and you were about to answer when Chris interrupted, no trace of tears on his face.

“I’ll see you later, Rookie!” Chris walked past the both of you, patting your shoulder and giving you a wink, the blush on your cheeks deepening. Leon was giving him an incredulous look before shaking his head.

“Come on in.” He chuckled, and he stepped aside for you and closed the door behind you. You looked around his apartment, cocking your head at the sight of the stack of magazines on his coffee table.

“Why do you have, like, thirty Cosmos?” You chuckled, picking one up with Lindsay Lohan. Leon made his way over to you and laughed with you, though his sounded a little more nervous.

“Oh, you didn’t know? I love these things,” you quirked an eyebrow, “y’know, hair care is everything.” You giggled at his nervousness as he plucked the magazine from your fingers and placed it on the stack.

“So this is how you get it to look so good?” Leon’s eyes widened at your flirting, and you smiled with feigned innocence. Then he started thinking about his hair, and he almost panicked when he realized he probably looked like a bum. I didn’t even do my hair today!

“Speaking of, I didn’t actually expect to see you today.. especially at my place.” You laughed nervously and glanced down at your shoes. You can’t go back now, just say it!

“About that, Leon..” You plucked up your courage and took a step towards him, closer than you’d ever been, looking up at him through your lashes. He looked as if he were frozen as he stared down at you, a light red gracing his cheeks.

“There’s something I need to tell you, but I think it’s be better if I just showed you..” Leon nodded mutely, and you took another step. Your chests brushed up against each other and you heard him suck in a breath as you raised a hand to drag it up his arm, the muscles feeling better than anything you’d imagined. Your other hand raised to connect with his other arm and his large hands instinctively snaked around your waist, resting on your hips. His touch sent sparks throughout your whole body, like an unseen force pulling you closer to him.

You reached your nose up and brushed it against his, as light as a feather, asking him for permission. A beat passed, your heart was in your throat in doubt, but your eyes fluttered closed as his lips finally pressed themselves to yours.

The butterflies in your stomach erupted like a volcano as you dragged one of your hands to place on his chest and the other to his cheek, resting them there. One feather-light kiss turned into two, then three, and soon they were deepening as you brushed your tongue against his lips.

Leon’s grip on your hips got tighter as he pulled you impossibly closer to him, his warm, wet tongue licking into your mouth seductively. You let him kiss you silly, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your fingers impulsively run through his soft hair. My fucking god what conditioner does he use? Okay not now—

You tugged on his hair just a bit, not even paying attention—maybe a little, and Leon moaned into your mouth, making you weak at the knees. Leon broke the kiss with a pop to look at you with hooded eyes, his lips now plump and wet. They then turned up into a playful smirk.

“So the guy-?”

“Is you, Leon.” You both smiled wide and Leon chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

“I should’ve known.” You giggled as he took you lips once more, and gave you arguably the best night of your life.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

[A/N] im so sorry i robbed y’all PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!! but thank you guys so much for reading part 1!! i didn’t expect the amount of support and it means so much! i had a lot of fun writing this i hope you had fun reading <3

[[decided to tag everyone who asked for a part 2 <3 @drizzyxrs @kittenkiryu @angiekurosaki @wanderlustingcastaway @dargoww @worriedweirdo @brittlecakes92 @quartzzzzzzz]]

[repairgirl]

michelle || leo valdez x fem!reader songfic

a/n: #2 in songfic series! song: michelle- sir chloe

t/w: alcohol, cursing, substance abuse, mention of vomitting, super smutty and super nsfw

word count: 1.2k

You swayed back and forth to the boom boom boom beat of the music, sipping the raw, bitter alcohol. Travis's party was just what you needed: shots, random boys you didn't care about to grind on and distract yourself with, getting blackout drunk, and basically anything to make you get your mind off of him.

Just thinking about his name made you want to vomit. You were reminded of walking in on him with that other, terrible, Nemesis girl, the half-assed breakup, never getting closure, and endless nights of sobbing and feeling sorry for yourself. Two weeks later, and his words were fresh in your mind like a fresh cut he had just re-opened yesterday. You drank more, feeling dizzy, praying the alcohol would numb your brain.

Fuck him, anyway. You'd show him you could do better. 

"Woah, calm down," a random boy said, approaching you. The darkness and flashing lights of the cabin made it hard to see his face, so you could barely make out his gleaming brown eyes and sepia skin. "You might wanna be careful with that much alcohol."

"You don't know what's best for me," you snapped, your words slurring. The bass pumped in your ears, making your head feel like it was going to explode. 

To your surprise, the boy laughed rather than acting offended. "Okay, I guess you're right. I shouldn't be talking, anyway. I just finished shotgunning this beer,” he answered, showing you his tattered-up Natty Lite can.

Lightheaded and unphased, you allowed yourself to plop on the tattered sofa, the boy crashing next to you. His breath smelled of beer and straight tequila, and you only imagined that yours did too.

"Why?" you asked, inching close to him. His hand rested on his thigh, barely grazing yours under your ripped denim shorts. 

"Why what?"

"Why do you drink? I mean, we all drink for a reason. We're either mad at someone else, or ourselves."

He paused, tapping his leg. 

When you got drunk, you got angry and philosophical. Mad at the world, hyperaware of everything wrong with everyone, the reason why many people couldn't handle you drunk. The reason you usually drank alone. 

The boy leaned back, resting his head against the seat. "I'm lonely. I'm fucking tired of being the seventh wheel, and always feeling like everyone's life is better than mine."

"Hey, I'm lonely too."

"You?" he asked. "Once everyone heard you were single again, they all wanted to get with you. Thought you would even be taken by now."

You scowled. You hated your reputation at camp: the pretty girl who everyone thought they could take advantage of just because she was from Aphrodite. You were tired of being treated like a sex object, especially by your ex, and you wanted to prove them all wrong. "That's exactly the point. All anyone ever wants me for is my body. But apparently even that wasn't good enough for... him."

The boy paused, almost looking sorrowful, and like he regretted saying anything. What was that look he was giving you? Pity? 

"He cheated? I'm sorry... That's rough."

"Yeah, but it's whatever. That's why I drink, anyway," you said, gulping down more of a Coors bottle someone handed you. He looked concerned. 

"You and me, we're opposites. I have to rely on my personality to get me anywhere. All my friends have amazing good looks to rely on.  I have to work for that shit, to even be slightly noticed."

The strobe light shined on him, and you could see his features more clearly this time. Unsure of whether it was you or the alcohol speaking, you noticed his chocolate brown hair, beautiful curls you wanted to pull. 

Most guys repulsed you, especially after the breakup. You wanted them to get their hands off of you, because no one felt right the way your ex did. But every move this boy made, every hungry look he gave you, all of that just made you want him more. He made you feel different. 

"Then we would fit together perfectly," you said, inching towards him. 

He moved his hand to your thigh, rubbing your leg with his thumb. The lights dimmed as the party entered its peak, and the sexual tension between you two increased. 

The boy inched oh-so-slightly to the left so that his hot breath was on your ear, close enough to bite it. "Maybe we would."

Agonizingly slowly, he put one hand on your waist and used another to cup your face. You stared into his eyes, mesmerized by his gaze, your ears and head buzzing from the alcohol. Finally, you both shared a drunken kiss. You didn't even think about what you were doing.

He gripped your waist, and you climbed on his lap. He bit your lip, then sloppily put his tongue in your mouth, not bothering to ask for permission to enter. You kissed back, your tongues swirling together, making out like you were running out of time, running away from the world, running away from your ex, running to each other. 

Once you slowly started grinding on him, he pulled away and whispered in your ear. "Let's take this to a room." 

Once you got to an empty room, the boy twirled you around and pressed me against the wall. He tightened his arms around your waist, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, having to stand on your tiptoes. You pressed your body as close to his as possible, sticking your knee in between his legs for extra friction. 

"Jump," he growled.

You did as you was told and jumped up so you were face to face, straddling him. He connected his lips with yours and squeezed your ass as he held you, making you moan into the kiss. 

You urgently ran your fingers through his hair, feeling his curly locks. You grinded into him, and he moaned into your mouth.

He set you down and pushed you onto the bed, never letting your lips disconnect. 

One you were on the bed, him towering over you and shoving his tongue in your mouth, he finally put his hands under your shirt, feeling and squeezing your tits. He grinded his member against you, and you shivered in delight, running your fingers over his well defined muscles. 

He started trailing kisses down to your neck, trying to find your sweet spot. Once he did, you let out a loud moan which you had been holding in, which of course only encouraged him to suck harder. Once he was done covering your neck in red spots, he pulled back, giving you that lopsided grin, then he finally hungrily kissed you again. 

Whatever you felt- buzzed because of the alcohol, eager to get a rebound to prove your ex wrong, or solely just sexual attraction, you knew it felt right.

He was taking off your shirt after already discarding his on the floor when you stopped him.

"Wait," you panted. "I don't even know your name."

"Leo. Leo Valdez," he responded, and as he did, you watched his lips, wishing they were back on yours. "You?"

"Y/N L/N."

Leo trailed kisses down your chest, seductivley looking up at you with hungry eyes.

"Y/N L/N, you are a monster from hell."

leo valdez taglist: @slytherindaughterofposeidon0​ @persephil​ @mmmelanie-blog1​ @blue-violin​ @goldengoddess​ @dee-zbignuts​ @animes-trash​ @nottherealslimshady​ @cellias​ @lovemss​

[dead-twink-storage]

Dumb moments in time

More story time bullshit from my college days. Got invited out to go to a gay bar by a whirlwind trainwreck goth girl I was friends with a girl of constant tall tales and many adventures and her obnoxious aspiring drag queen friend;

her boyfriend ditched on going with us probably because gay clubs and being around her drag friend was a bit too faggy for his liking. After her and I got all retro goth’d up and her drag friend did the most piss poor make up smear job I had ever saw we went into the communal patio area of her rundown roach motel apartment where some middle aged white trash poverty wage man was drinking beer alone after his long shift on one of those old metal patio tables that had been over painted with so much white paint over the years that you could tear off balls of just clumpy paint.

So the three of us sit down to pre-drink and of course we strike up a conversation with him so it’s two goths explaining yea we’re goth into the music and all that; short, sweet, and easy for a layman to wrap their head around. The drag gay with us? Proceeds to go into the entire rundown of every last bit of drag drama from his show with the guy who has no idea what the fuck an alaskan thunderfuck is but he doesn’t want to be rude so he just tries to tune it out and focus on the bottom of his coors’ light bottle after what felt like an eternity of watching this poor blue collar white trash dude try to understand what hunty and slay means we finally fucking leave for the club.

We get to the club, doorman lets us in after the typical ID check and all that and immediately upon entering I see one of my brother’s exes hanging out with her friends watching the drag queens do their awful attempts at Britney Spears and Lady Gaga performances. Realizing I was not going to hear any music I could stomach I b-lined it for the bar where the girl behind the bar managed to put together 3 Amaretto sours, one for my fellow goth and two for myself by this time her Drag friend was far off trying to interact with the drag performers trying to get his foot in the door. Some chatting about random stuff with the bartender, my friend, at one point even my brother's ex and a few more drinks in I needed to find a washroom. Upper floor was filled no spare room and no urinals so was directed downstairs.

 On my way down I would end up cornered in a dark small stairwell down by some guy twice my age trying to press against me much to my distaste, after some drunken scowls on my part and insistence to fuck off I would elbow and knee my way out of his grasp absolutely livid and pissed a thousand violent thoughts coming and going all while the fucking shittiest gayest pop music was playing only making it even more unbearable. I would take a minute to calm myself and continue my descent down this dark grey black painted stairwell.

When I got to the basement and went forward I saw the second lower bar; the bear den, a bunch of fat hairy, large gay men shooting dagger eyes and sneering faces that some make up wearing goth twink faggot would dare tread in their part of the club. Bartender down there was kind enough to direct me to the washroom where I would proceed into what was the most vile looking washroom I ever set foot in, imagine the washroom from SAW 1 imagine broken stall doors, non functioning toilets, and enough grime, filth, and used condoms that you would be at ground zero if airborne AIDs was a thing. I made my stay down there short, trying to use as much paper towel to keep myself from having to make proper physical contact with anything in there. I would finally ascend out of whatever the fuck I interrupted down there.

Not long after I return to the surface we are hanging out on the patio chatting with some other patrons having a good time when some yuppie homos twice the age of my friend and I start laying into us for wearing goth fashion “in the current year” because it’s so outdated and not in fashion anymore or whatever. We ignored the first barrage of comments but they kept nagging and insulting us thinking they were being oh so catty and witty. Well the thing about trailer park goth girls who may or may no be using hard drugs is there is little in the way of fucks to give so it wasn’t long before she would go on the offensive calling them every homophobic slur she had in her repertoire after the most impressive linking of slurs and them fucking imploding in anger and crying to the doorman we got kicked out including her drag friend who was pure collateral damage in our little verbal scuffle we managed to talk the doorman into letting us hangout infront of the club until her boyfriend came to get her.

So there we are outside the club fence chatting to each other about whatever it was we were chatting about while her friend was leaning over the fence to keep talking to the queens. The guys who got us kicked out left and gloated and acted like they won some great victory and weren’t fucking overgrown school kids who cried foul.  After sometime and phone calls her boyfriend finally arrived they went off to do meth, the drag gay went home, and I would try to find a public washroom to strip off all the baby bat eyeliner, black lipstick, and nail polish before heading home with results as equally disastrous as what I had just been through.

[n1ccult]

Welcome to My BPD blog

Hi, my name is Nicole. I’m nineteen and I’ve been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder for nine months, but I’ve exhibited symptoms of BPD since I was eleven or twelve. I’m starting this blog to help myself heal from BPD.

I’ve always had a strained relationship with my parents. My father wasn’t the father people saw on TV shows. My mom wasn’t perfect either, drowning her sorrows in a bottle of tequila or two 20-ounce cans of Coors Light. They always forgot I was there. Being an only child I was so alone and I started exhibiting attention-seeking behavior such as pathological lying and self-harm. The self-harm was originally for attention from those around me, but then it turned into a way to release my pain, then it turned into a way for me to feel something. I would abuse substances at very young ages and was sexually active very young. At fifteen I had even attempted to take my own life. Just to preface, I’m not judging anyone who is recovering and struggling. These are just self-destructive behaviors I took part in which made it so much worse for me.

As I got older fifteen and sixteen I would have sex with men who were often older than me to feel loved. They were pedophiles who just wanted to get laid. Even though these men just saw me as a piece of ass, I would cling to them and when they would block me I would feel so devastated I would have suicidal thoughts. Was I not good enough for these men? No, I was too good for them. I was just in such a bad place not receiving love from my family, I would try to fill the void with sex, drugs, and a new friend group every other month. I only had one friend who stuck by my side in high school until one day she blocked me on everything, because “I was too much.” I saw her as Satan after she did that. I felt like she had ruined my life. Let’s just call her Kathy. However, after that happened I was alone. Had no friendships and I realized, maybe I was the problem. On top of that the guy I was seeing called me a whore and a mistake and once again I heard the phrase “you’re too much.” It clicked and I knew I couldn’t live like that anymore. Being late in 2020 in the middle of my senior year of high school which was all online, with no job, I knew I had to pull up my big girl pants and start recovery. That recovery started with a Bipolar II diagnosis, which many people who are Borderline get. However, that was not the truth. I lived with that diagnosis for a year and a half, but it never resonated with me.

I moved from California to Montana for college which was a huge part of my recovery. Within a week I had already had my “favorite person” picked out. His name was Sam and I spent every single day of orientation week with him. End of the week we ended up hooking up, and afterward, I flipped. I would get paranoid he was going to ghost me. I would Snapchat at him saying he didn’t care about me and one day I threw his sweatshirt out the window at him from the fourth floor of my dorm. I blocked him and cried every single night. There it was, not the Bipolar disorder, but the BPD. That’s when I seriously knew I wasn’t Bipolar, but something was wrong. However, I still continued that toxic behavior. For the rest of the first semester of college, it was just a pattern of Sams. Then I went home for Christmas and there were no more Sams. I couldn’t bring myself to text any of the old hookups I had in California because I was embarrassed. I was able to go back to the job I had before I left for college and I spent my nights journaling and watching youtube videos about BPD. I reflected on my past behaviors from the past semester and I just felt embarrassed. I didn’t want to be like that anymore.

In February 2022, I deleted my own social media so things to be quiet. I figure my shit out. Being in the second semester of my first year of college I was still adjusting to the move and trying to figure out what was wrong. I had therapy once a week. I talked about my past traumas as a child, I dissected all my behaviors and started plans to help me cope with my destructive behaviors.

A year later, I’m still on my BPD healing journey. There are so many more details I left out of this, which I want to cover more as I continue this blog. I’m doing this as a way to help me heal and hopefully, it can inspire others while I go on this journey. If I even help one person from this post or blog I will feel like I have done something to help. 

[bayisdying]

Second Chance at Love| Prologue

Delilah Shadley isn't sure she still believes in soulmates and true love. She has her daughter Baylie and that's all she needs anymore. Until one day she meets William Steele and it's like the universe is telling her that maybe just maybe she's getting a second chance.

A/N: this is the first part of just a handful of chapters about Delilah and William aka the poor couple who raised our favorite hot mess, Lucky.

Tagging my babes: @dragon-kazansky @mrsjaderogers @gracespicybradshaw @callmemana @askmarinaandothers @starlit-epiphany @ladylanera

-----

"I'll have my findings on your desk before end of day tomorrow." Delilah slammed the phone down and ran a hand through her hair. She'd gone to law school, just the same as these jackasses but they still bossed her around as if her law degree meant nothing.

She looked at the clock on the wall, the babysitter still had Baylie for two hours. Her sweet girl who just turned three a few months prior. The picture on her desk was from the birthday party, the mermaid theme was evident. That was all Baylie talked about these days, how she was actually a mermaid. Delilah smiled, being a single mom was not in her life plans but she'd never dream of trading her daughter for the world even though they'd definitely hit the three-nager years and the sass was very strong.

She turned off her computer and started to pack up, there was that new bar the opened up in town. She'd stop and have a quick drink before picking Baylie up she decided. She'd earned it this week, the cases she was assisting on were not their normal workload. Plus, she would be supporting a local business and she decided that was her good deed for the day.

When she parked, she noticed that there was only three other cars in the small parking lot. It was still early on a Thursday she supposed but she walked in anyways. The bar was nice inside, Delilah was impressed, ever since she'd moved here for college this building had been abandoned. Her roommates used to sneak in because it was supposedly haunted by jilted lovers. Delilah never joined them, mainly because the thought of being stuck together for entirety with someone who did her wrong sounded like hell.

The bar was empty, but a small group of men were playing pool at one of the many tables. She took a seat at the bar and pulled her book out of her briefcase, if she had to wait to be served she'd at least find out if the couple in her book would ever admit their feelings for one another.

That's when the door to the back opened and a man came out carrying boxes of booze. She looked up briefly and had to take a double check. He was attractive, of that she was quite sure. Even the little of his face she could see from above the boxes.

"What can I get the prettiest woman I've ever seen in this bar?" The man asked and she couldn't help but smile he was definitely attractive now that the boxes were out of the way.

"I'll take a Coors Light, bottle please and my name is Delilah. But prettiest woman ever is a nice nickname."

"Delilah, it's nice to meet you." He said opening the bottle and setting it in front of her. "I'm William."