#i am feeling many things and I am extremely drunk on vodka and tequila and red wine and i spent all day emotionally regulating

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I know that people are rarely their best selves at a funeral, but do you ever just watch your family move through the process of mourning the Patriarch and have a sudden and violent and vivid understanding of Why Everyone Is The Way They Are

[blakelywintersfield]

I want to add two things to this:

Firstly, the insinuation that the medicated version of you is different from the unmedicated version of you is a false narrative. We are not 2D creatures. We are extremely complex beings. There are many "versions" of you and they're all you. The only way to actually become inauthentic is to literally have your brain destroyed in a matter that removes your entire personality (think: lobotomy). Medications do not do this. Drugs in general cannot do this unless they destroy a part of your brain. There are so many different things that make you the person you are (your likes and dislikes, your memories, your mannerisms, etc.) and no medication is capable of taking all that away. People will focus on the things they've "lost" and believe "I am no longer really me", when the reality is that it's simply what they were known for that was lost. And oftentimes what they were known for were the severe symptoms of their health issues.

As an anecdote, I was known for constantly being bitter about being alive to the point that I made it a joke. A bitter joke, but a joke nonetheless. "I can't die, the gods won't let me because I'm their favorite thing to point and laugh at as I suffer" was basically the attitude I was known for. On the surface, it was a bit, but the reality was I really wanted to fucking die and I was miserable waking up every single day.

To add to that, I was also known for sleeping. Constantly. I also made a joke out of that but I was genuinely tired 24/7. I never felt awake. I never felt rested. "Gotta get my quad shot coffee and three Red Bulls plus a Rockstar Energy for my Sleepy Bitch Disease" type deal.

I was also the alcoholic. I wasn't an aggressive or angry alcoholic so it didn't seem like a major problem to many, and I handled my alcohol well (only blacked out once, only threw up five times in the entire decade I'd spent drinking). My go-to spirits, my boisterous and jubilant behavior (around others), and my ability to drink people twice my size under the table and still be able to walk straight were key personality points for me.

All of these things practically defined me. Whenever I'd do DnD with friends, those traits were always key to my characters. These were the first things most people got to know about me. One could say they were the authentic me.

And they were killing me.

Sure, those were definitely authentic parts of who I was; I wasn't faking any of it, I wasn't putting on a show for fun. But they were unhealthy and actively inhibiting my ability to actually live my life in a fulfilling, meaningful manner.

Nowadays, the "Sleepy Bitch Disease", which is now officially diagnosed narcolepsy, medicated with a very heavily controlled substance. I still get sleepy, I still take a nap every now and then, and I can still sleep 14 hours straight, but I no longer need enough caffeine to kill a horse to get through the day. I no longer have to take two hours to wake up. I can get out of bed and be awake within 15 minutes. I no longer have to take a coffee break or get an energy drink every two hours. I'm no longer known for downing so much coffee that people question how I haven't had a heart attack.

Today, I'm no longer known for downing half a bottle of vodka just to catch a buzz. I don't do tequila shooters and go nuts. I'm not a rambunctious alcohol-pounding party boy who still can't get drunk enough to get past his self-esteem issues to tell the dude he thinks is cute "hi". (I would never be able to get that drunk, even now.)

And the chronic suicidal desire and the feeling that life isn't worth living are handled with medication and therapy -- which leads into my second point.

Sometimes medication isn't enough, which means to say that it can help, but you may need therapy in junction with medication. This is common if your condition is more severe (though all levels from mild to severe can benefit from the med/therapy combo). And most people who say "medication isn't for me / medication doesn't help" tend to be the same people who say "therapy doesn't help" as well, and are the same people who tried at most two different medications and talk-therapy.

Therapy is expansive. There is a wide array of therapy. And just like the doctors that provide medication, if you have a therapist and they aren't helping, find another! Look for therapists who specialize in certain conditions or certain forms of therapy! Look for different therapy groups! Try hybridized therapies!

Sometimes medication alone can help, and that's wonderful! And don't think that just because your condition is severe, you have to find a specialized therapy to help as well -- if medication does the job and you're able to live your life comfortably, that's good! But if medication seems to be only doing so much, on top of seeing about trying a different med, look into therapy as well. I hit a wall with medication with the chronic suicidal behaviors/ideation -- but therapy (specifically Dialectical Behavioral Therapy or DBT) helped me change my pattern of thought (along with teaching me coping and communication skills). That, alongside medication which helped on the chemical side (sorta; biopsychology is a complex study and the chemical imbalance theory is extremely simplistic but unfortunately the easiest way to explain medication) resulted in me being a happier, more productive person. And I don't mean productive in capitalist terms (well, kind of; I can actually hold down a job now) but I can actually write, and plan trips, and spend my whole day doing errands and going out and having fun! I couldn't do that before as the so-called "authentic" me. The friends I have who've been with me pre- and post-DBT/medicine all still love me, and the feedback has been unanimous: they're all happy to see me happy and healthy. None of them have hinted at me being fake, or not myself (and they would -- I've specifically asked that they watch for any behavior changes that seem out of the ordinary, just in case). I've gone off my meds before and it was always hell, every time. Your unmedicated self isn't more authentic than you medicated self. Your unmedicated self is your unhealthiest self.

Is the person using a wheelchair not being authentic? Is the person taking antibiotics to clear an infection not being authentic? Is someone with breast cancer undergoing a double mastectomy not being authentic? Change is authentic to the human condition, especially when that change is to better yourself and your life.

Stagnation is death. Don't be afraid of change. You will not lose your authenticity, just the chains that keep you down.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything​ in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

[latenitetea]

what a shame it would be - rodrick heffley

in which rodrick takes a few too many shots...

cw: underage drinking, swearing

word count: 3,228

~~~

Great victories deserve great parties.

That was the way of thinking at Crossland High School when it came to homecoming. After weeks of anticipation from the entire student body, the Crossland football team had defeated their rivals with one touchdown in the last five minutes of the homecoming game. It didn’t matter that half the school didn’t care much about football to begin with - with a victory that big, there were bound to be parties all over town.

As a varsity cheerleader, you weren’t surprised that you were invited to the biggest homecoming party in town. And you weren’t surprised by the atmosphere when you arrived, either.

Music blasted in your ears as you entered through the backdoor of the crowded house. Cheerleaders were laughing so loud you could feel it in your whole body, people were drunkenly dancing and making out with each other on the dance floor, and the football team was taking a celebratory round of shots for their biggest win. Hell, you even saw the student body council and academic decathlon team on the dance floor. Bottles upon bottles of all kinds of alcohol were being pulled out at the bar - kegs of beer, bottles of tequila and vodka, and a giant bowl of punch that was being spiked with a frothing drink. Still, the abundance of alcohol wouldn’t last long at a party this big. But before you could get to the bar to get your pick, you heard your name being called from across the room.

“Y/N!”

There were too many people covering your view to see who called you when you turned around, but you knew exactly who it was coming from. It wasn’t too hard to weave your way through the drunken couples and football players to find him.

Rodrick was leaning against the basement’s doorframe, wearing his favorite Converse, a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, and his Loded Diper t-shirt with a cargo jacket. He ruffled his unkempt, raven hair and took a long swig from his solo cup.

“Give me your keys.”

You raised your eyebrows, stifling a laugh. “Well, hello to you, too.”

After taking another sip of his drink, he held out his hand. Rolling your eyes, you took your lanyard and dropped your keys in his hand, which he put in the pocket of his jacket.

“There we go.” His mouth quirked up into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d never go to another homecoming party again after last year. You still owe me for that, you know.”

Memories of Rodrick holding you steady as you stumbled to his van and slurred your words resurfaced in your mind. You couldn’t hide the tinge of embarrassment that crept up on your cheeks.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Do you or do you not remember me having to brush your teeth because you forgot how to do it yourself?”

Your once pink cheeks now turned scarlet. Still, you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

“Fine. But I definitely don’t owe you anymore after being the only reason you didn’t fail physics last year.”

He paused, taking another drink from his cup. You could tell the alcohol was beginning to slow his thoughts already.

“I guess I stand corrected.”

You cursed yourself for being sober, wishing you had more confidence to flirt with him. You swallowed the forming lump in your throat and attempted a compliment.

“Look at you, making yourself look nice for homecoming. You even got the new converse and eyeliner and everything.”

God, that couldn’t have been worse. You mentally facepalmed yourself as the words left your mouth.

He chuckled. “Well, I’ve gotta make myself look nice if I’m gonna get one of these cheerleaders to go home with me, right?”

Your embarrassment dissipated into a twinge of disappointment. Quick to cover up any sort of reaction, you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna go get myself something to drink. See you around, Rodrick.”

You heard him call out a warning about “knowing your limits,” but you didn’t turn around or respond. At first, you were only planning to get buzzed tonight. Your disappointment, however, made a change to your plans.

“Hey, Y/N,” your friend, Allison, said from the bar with a wave. “What do you want to drink?”

“Something strong,” you insisted. With a nod, Allison filled a solo cup with vodka and topped it off with the frothing punch.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She asked as she handed you the cup. You took a swig, ignoring the way the alcohol burned your throat.

“Who knows,” you sighed. “I just got back from talking to Rodrick.”

Allison raised her eyebrows. You paused for a moment, but you gave in to the temptation of getting your feelings out. “Every time I try to flirt with him, I feel like he ignores it. Or worse, he just brings up other girls.”

“Maybe you’re just not flirting hard enough,” Allison suggested. Her comforting smile became smug, pointing to the solo cup in your hand. "Or maybe that liquid courage will finally get you to tell him how you feel.”

The taste in your mouth turned sour at her teasing. Last year’s drunken shenanigans seemed harmless compared to any hypotheticals of you blurting out “Hey Rodrick, I’ve had a crush on you since last homecoming!” and forgetting it by morning. You placed your cup on the bar, deciding that your original plan of a buzz was the safer option. “Actually, I think I’m gonna stick to beer tonight.”

Allison let out a laugh. “Whatever you say. But your feelings are gonna eat you alive at some point. You’re gonna have to tell him how you feel eventually.”

“Emphasis on eventually. See you, Allison.” You gave her a small wave and went out to the dance floor, hoping to find some of your friends and dance your way into forgetting about Rodrick.

~~~

As the wild night began to die down, waves of stumbling high schoolers started leaving the party. Watching the clock hit 3 AM, you decided that it was time for you to head home. Waving goodbye to your friends, you made your way out of the house and to your car, more than ready to open the door and practically fall asleep at the wheel and-

Damnit.

That asshole still had your keys, didn’t he?

Pulling out your phone, you called Rodrick, nearly praying that he didn’t already leave. As you put your phone to your ear, you heard another phone’s ringtone go off. Muttering a “what the hell?” under your breath, you looked up from your car.

Rodrick was standing on the sidewalk across the street, holding onto a streetlight pole as though it was taking everything in his power not to fall.

A noise of both amusement and concern left your lips, and you hung up the call and made your way over to him.

“Hi,” was all he said. His eyes were glazed over and a sheepish smile was spread across his face.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, how the tables turn, huh?”

“I don’t,” he paused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

“No, I’m not!” He blurted out defensively. You cocked your head, giving him a do-you-really-think-you’re-gonna-convince-me look. After a moment, he sighed. “Maybe I’m a little drunk.” He let out another sigh, but it quickly turned into a fit of giggles.

Suppressing the thought that his drunken giggles were extremely cute, you draped his arm over your shoulders. “Come on, drummer boy, let’s get you home.” Rodrick leaned his bodyweight into your side, trying not to fall in the middle of the street.

“I like that nickname.”

“Where’d you put my keys?” You asked him. Instead of answering, he broke into another fit of giggles. With a sigh, you pushed down your embarrassment and started rummaging through the pockets of his jacket. He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, making butterflies swarm in your gut. You tried your best to ignore them and finally pulled out your keys from his pocket, helping him into the passenger seat of your car.

“Wanna hear something funny? I wanted to take home the cheerleader with me. But now the cheerleader is taking me home.” His smile turned into a smirk as he buckled his seatbelt, and you reminded yourself that he was only joking.

“You’re a pervert.”

“You’re pretty.”

Your eyes widened at what Rodrick had just said. The next second, you couldn’t be more thankful that it was too dark to see the blush on your cheeks. You believed that he meant what he said for a second, but the smell of alcohol on his breath brought you back to reality.

“You’re really drunk.”

“You’re really pretty.”

Instead of responding, you started the car and turned on the radio, hoping that it would act as a distraction.

Pulling out of the driveway, you started the drive home. You heard Rodrick laugh again from the passenger’s seat. And then he placed his hand on your thigh.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you tried to stop your breathing from turning shallow. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting with you.”

Your cheeks burned at his direct manner, but you reluctantly took his hand off your thigh. “You can’t flirt with me when you’re drunk.” Pulling into his driveway, you helped him out of your car and to his front door. You grabbed the spare key from under the doormat and opened the door.

After helping him to his room, you filled up an empty glass with water and grabbed a bottle of pain medicine from his kitchen, bringing it upstairs and placing it on his nightstand.

“Here’s for tomorrow when you have a hang-“

“I don’t remember how to take off my shoes.” Rodrick looked up at you from where he was sitting on his bed, his blank stare turning into another eruption of laughter. “I sound like you right now.”

You sighed, letting out a chuckle. You took off his Converse and his jacket, placing them in his closet.

“Well, as long as you don’t need anything else I better get going-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Rodrick grabbed you and pulled you onto his bed. “Can you stay a little while?” Your cheeks burned even brighter, and you knew he knew it too. His flirting was overwhelming; you thought you were going to explode from the butterflies. Still, you managed to stay somewhat composed.

“You need to sleep.”

“I don't want to sleep.”

You shook your head, but the look on Rodrick’s pleading face was enough to convince you. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you let me flirt with you?”

“What?”

Rodrick was looking directly at you. “I always try to flirt with you. And then you act like I’m just joking.”

You wanted to tell him that he didn’t know what he was talking about, that he was just drunk and the alcohol was talking. But Allison’s words of advice were echoing in the back of your head.

You’re going to have to tell him how you feel eventually.

“Because I didn’t think you could ever be serious about actually liking me.”

His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Of course I’m serious. You’re the prettiest girl in school, you like good music, and you’re just so nice. And pretty.”

You let out a chuckle. “I bet you weren’t thinking those things when you were brushing my teeth for me last year.”

"Yes, I was," He moved a piece of hair from your face. “That’s when I realized I had feelings for you, Y/N.”

The smell of alcohol on his breath was enough to make you want to burst into tears. Here you were, laying on Rodrick Heffley’s bed, close enough to make out the dark outline of his pupils, and you were confessing how you felt for him. And he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning.

“Can I kiss you?”

His abrupt question silenced your thoughts. “What?”

He closed his eyes and started leaning in for the kiss, but once you processed what he had just asked, you pulled away. “Not right now.”

“Why not?”

You took a deep breath, trying to slow your racing heartbeat. “Tell you what. If you wake up tomorrow and you decide that you still want to kiss me, you can kiss me.”

He thought about your offer for a moment. “Okay. But tomorrow feels so far away.”

“Tomorrow won’t feel far if you go to sleep.”

He smiled and buried his head into your side. “You’ll stay until I fall asleep, right?”

“Right.”

“Promise?”

You felt the urge to cry again. You knew that every promise made tonight would be broken by tomorrow.

“Promise.”

You laid in his bed as his breathing slowed into soft snores. Taking one last look at him, you gently climbed out of his arms. As much as you wanted to stay, wanted to wake him up and confess every feeling you had for him, wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, you knew that would be wrong. You had to ease the inevitable future pain as much as you could.

So you grabbed your keys and left, not finding it in you to look back.

~~~

When Rodrick woke up, he could barely find the energy to open his eyes. The ache he felt across his entire body was throbbing, but he fought the urge to give in and go back to sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw a glass of water and pain medicine sitting on his nightstand.

Considering how awful he felt, there was no way he put that there. Taking two of the pills and downing the glass of water, he tried to connect some of his memories of the night before. As the medicine started to set in, some of his fuzzy memories began to clear. Taking a shot of tequila with his bandmate, taking another shot of tequila with his bandmate, your face turning bright red when he reminded you of when he took care of you last homecoming.

Even though he’d never find the courage to admit it, you looked cute when you blushed. And he always seemed to have butterflies in his stomach around you after last year's homecoming party. But there would be absolutely no way he would ever admit that.

You probably were the one that got him home last night. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that you saw him that drunk, even if he’s seen you even drunker before. He hoped he hadn’t said anything too humiliating to you last night.

His stomach twisted with another wave of embarrassment. What had he said last night?

He stood up, noticing your jacket laying on the other side of his bed. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and unknown embarrassment. He picked up your jacket and grabbed his keys to his van, ready to give it back and thank you for getting him home last night.

But when he picked up the jacket, more memories flooded his mind. You laying in his bed, him pulling the hair out of your face, you being close enough to him that he could have kissed you.

Oh, shit.

He ran to his closet and threw on his converse, too frantic to even tie them. Running out the door, he practically jumped into his van and started the drive to your house.

~~~

You sat on your porch, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying that crisp October air on your cheeks. Thankful that you didn’t have even the remnants of a hangover, you were certain that every upperclassman at Crossland was sporting a massive one.

You opened your phone and anxiously twiddled your thumbs at the keyboard. You wanted to text Rodrick and ask him how he was feeling, but you were too nervous to contact him after last night. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you would ever be able to look him in the eyes again.

Your concern for him overshadowed your embarrassment. No matter where your relationship with him stood after last night, you still cared about him. Pulling his contact up on your phone, you typed a short message.

Morning, sleepyhead. You feeling ok after last night?

But just as you were about to hit send, you saw a van barreling down your street from your peripheral vision. You didn’t need to see the messy writing on its side to know who’s van it was, either.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Did Rodrick remember what happened last night? Was he here to reject you, to tell you that he couldn’t even be friends with you anymore? You wanted to run inside your house and pretend you weren’t home, but you felt frozen in place.

The van pulled into your driveway, and Rodrick stepped out from the driver’s seat. He was still wearing the same outfit from the night before, but he had his drumsticks in one hand and your jacket in the other. He ran up to your porch, almost frantically.

“Y/N?” He said.

You took a shaky breath, trying to act as casual as possible. “Hey, Rodrick, you feel okay after last night?”

“I’ve had worse hangovers. Er, you left my jacket at my house.” He handed you your jacket.

“Thanks.” You shifted on your feet nervously, looking for the right thing to say. See you Monday? Sorry I confessed my feelings to you last night?

Rodrick looked down at his feet. “Can we talk?” He blurted out.

A plethora of curses went through your head, and you felt the urge to run into your house and curl up in a fetal position until you disappeared. Still, you stayed standing where you were.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Last night, did we,” he anxiously twirled his drumsticks in his hands, “did we kiss?”

Your eyes widened. He did remember last night.

“Well, you wanted to kiss me.” Your stomach churned, and your head was swirling with so many thoughts that you couldn’t stop talking. “But we didn’t kiss because it was just the alcohol talking and I know you didn’t actually want to kiss me and that last night was just the alcohol and I get that you wouldn’t want to kiss me which is totally fine and really it’s no big deal-“

“It wasn’t the alcohol talking.”

Rodrick looked up from the ground and stepped closer to you. You had never seen him look more serious in your life.

“Y/N, everything I said last night. I meant it.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve... I’ve felt this way about you for a while. And I know I’m not a serious person, but I am really serious about this. And I really, really like you.” He took another step closer, and once again, he was close enough that you could see the outline of his pupils.

“So about that promise we made last night,” your breath hitched in your throat, “I think it would be a shame if we broke it.”

“You’re right,” Rodrick’s shy smile spread into a smug grin. He lifted your chin so your faces were barely inches apart.

“It'd really be a shame, wouldn't it?.” He said, closing the gap between your lips.

[cherrybracelets]

call out my name [b. hargrove x reader]

song inspo | masterlist | smut playlist

word count: 4.2k / warnings: 18+, smut! alcohol mention

an: y’all i didn’t mean to go awf this hard but like. i did. i haven’t written in a while so i guess i came back with a bang (literally lmao)! pls leave feedback and reblog if you like!!!! and check out my masterlist for my other writing!!!

“You know how much I hate going to stupid shit like this,” you groaned, leaning back in the passenger seat of Billy’s car. You were staring out the window, moping and frowning.

“Oh c’mon, you’re always so negative. Can you try and have a little fun for once in your life?” Billy turned to you, rolling his eyes. This was a usual argument between the two of you- but somehow he always ended up winning and dragging you to whatever party he was excited for that weekend. And he was wrong- you never had fun.

You were great as Billy’s wing-woman, always talking him up to whatever conquest he was on that night. He would offer to do the same for you, but you were never interested in any of the boys that were at these types of events. You’ve tried it, and it’s never... well... satisfied you.

“Thank you for coming, really. I know you hate it... but I couldn’t do it without you,” Billy said, smiling at you.

“I’m glad I can help you get laid, kid. That’s all I’ve ever wanted out of life.” You jokingly gave him a slight shove on the shoulder, laughing as he rolled his eyes and groaned at your comment.

“I don’t want you to think that’s all you’re good for. You’re my best friend... honestly, my only friend. You’re more to me than that...” Billy sounded serious, and put a hand on your knee to reassure you that he cared about you. It was honestly the first time Billy had ever showed you any kind of affection, other than getting drunk and flirting with you.

“Thanks, B. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said,” you responded, placing your hand on top of Billy’s and squeezing it. You had always been attracted to him, but you knew everything about him, and it scared you a bit to get too close. But every time he touched you, even in a friendly way, it sent shock waves through your body.

You and Billy finally arrived at the party, fashionably late as always. Most people were already pretty drunk by then, and Billy did not hesitate to catch up, taking a few shots immediately upon arrival. You grabbed a beer from one of your friends, not wanting to get obliterated tonight, figuring you’d have to drive Billy home.

“We’re starting a game of truth or dare, you guys wanna join?” Steve asked you, downing a shot and gagging as the liquor hit his stomach.

“Seems a little childish, Steve,” you teased, taking a long swing of beer and letting the alcohol run through you.

“Oh, fuck off. You know you want to play,” he responded, shoving a bottle of vodka in your face and forcing you to take a sip. You took a small swig, feeling the liquid burn your throat as it went down. You felt more alive immediately, deciding to agree to whatever antics your friends were getting up to tonight.

“C’mon, everyone’s in the living room!” Steve lead you and Billy into the room, where everyone was sitting around and chatting amongst themselves. You took a seat next to Nancy and Jonathan, who were all over each other, sloppily kissing between sips of tequila. You rolled your eyes at the duo, but deep down longing for someone to love you the way they loved each other.

Steve plopped down on the couch next to you, causing a little bit of your drink to spill on you. You yelled at him, pushing him away jokingly as you dumped a little of your drink on his lap to make him angry. He put his arm around you and kissed the side of your head. Billy was staring daggers at the both of you, flinching every time Steve put his hands on you.

“(Y/N), you wanna come sit by me?” He asked calmly, trying his best to not punch Steve right then and there. He didn’t know why he got so angry when another guy touched you- you watched girls touch him all the time and never said a thing. But his blood was boiling, and he couldn’t take another second of it.

“I’m fine, B. I don’t feel like moving,” you responded, not picking up on Billy’s anger.

“Yeah, B! You heard her, she’s fine right here with me,” Steve teased, clearly way too drunk since he thought it would be funny to make Billy angry. Steve brought his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You didn’t mind it, although you both knew the two of you would never do anything in a million years. He wasn’t your type, and you weren’t his. Steve was just trying to see how mad he could make Billy before he blew up. It was just a stupid dick measuring contest that they had ever week, but this was the first time you’d ever been in the middle of it.

“Okay, but let me know if he starts bothering you at all. I promise I’ll take care of it.” Billy didn’t take his eyes off Steve’s arm, his nails digging into his skin to stop him from yelling. Billy was trying to be a lot better when it came to his anger- especially around you. He knew what he was capable of, unfortunately, and never wanted you to see that side of him.

You caught a glimpse of his face for just a moment, his eyes dark with rage and jealousy. You’d never seen him look at anyone like that- especially you. You just chalked it down to him being angry at Steve, because they were always fighting, but something in the back of your mind kept telling you it was you. He was mad because it was you.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, are we ready to get started?” Steve clapped, finally removing his arm from you to officiate the game. You immediately watched Billy loosen up as Steve let go of you.

“Ready as ever,” Robin responded, taking a drag of a cigarette and winking at Steve.

“Well, I’ll start us off then.” Steve searched the room, looking for his target. His eyes locked on you for a moment, making your heart stop as you thought about whatever he was going to throw at you.

“(Y/N),” he said, deviously. He grinned at you, a chaotic and devilish sort of grin that made you extremely nervous.

“Oh god. Why me? I’ve barely had half a drink!” You laughed nervously, trying to avoid eye contact with Steve.

“Truth or dare, babe,” he flirted, eyes wide as he waited for your response.

“I’ll stick with truth, I think.” You took another large swig of your beer, trying to numb your anxiety over this stupid game.

“Who in this room would you have sex with?” Steve smiled at you, eagerly awaiting a response. You glanced around the room quickly, not sure how to respond.

“Well, it’s definitely not you Steve, sorry to break it to you,” you responded, hoping your funny answer would shine away from the actual question. The whole room burst out laughing, including Steve.

“Yikes, Harrington. That’s gotta hurt, doesn’t it?” Billy responded, feeling relieved at your answer. “How many girls in this room have rejected you now? Three?” Nancy and Robin looked at each other and laughed awkwardly, and Steve just threw back another mouthful of vodka.

“Hey, she didn’t say she’d fuck you either, alright. Don’t get too cocky,” Steve said, darting his eyes between you and Billy. “So who would it be then, (Y/N)? If it’s not me?”

Your eyes glanced around the room again, momentarily catching Billy’s. You didn’t want to say it, you didn’t even want to feel it, but it was him. You’d been wanting him to touch you for so long, to feel his lips on your skin, his hands tracing up and down your body. But you couldn’t say it- not here, not ever. He was Billy Hargrove, he fucked models and milfs and pageant queens. He didn’t fuck girls like you.

“I guess I’d fuck Robin. Only girls know how to please girls,” you responded, raising your eyebrows and winking at Steve.

“Anytime, gorgeous,” Robin responded, blowing you a kiss and giggling. Billy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the thought of you being touched by her, being kissed by her, turning him on a lot. He tried to shake the thought of his head, but couldn’t get it to go away. He was staring at you, wondering what you looked like under that stupid shirt that was covering way too much.

“I wanna go next.” Billy said, his eyes locked on you, almost as if no one in the room was there except for you and him.

“Alright... have at it,” Steve answered.

“(Y/N), truth or dare?” Billy was leaning over now, inching closer to you as he awaited your response.

“Jesus, can you guys leave me alone?” You laughed, rolling your eyes at the group. You were watching Billy, though- the way he was so focused on you. You were a little curious at what exactly he had to ask you. “I’m going truth again. I don’t trust you guys.”

“What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” Billy stared at you, and the whole group was staring at you as well, eager for whatever story you were going to tell. It wasn’t exactly the question you had planned for him to ask, and you didn’t understand the point. Why would he want to know that?

“Um... I don’t really know,” you responded quietly, racking your brain for something to say.

“C’mon, just think! Who’s given you the best orgasm?” Nancy asked, leaning in towards you. You still didn’t understand why anyone was as curious as they were. Who gave a shit about your sex life?

“Honestly... I haven’t actually...” you trailed off, your words only coming out jumbled and confused.

“Wait... are you a virgin?” Steve asked, looking at you shocked.

“No! No... I just haven’t had a guy... do that for me, I guess?” You looked around awkwardly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone for too long. You felt extremely uncomfortable, even though this wasn’t your fault, you still felt embarrassed.

“Shit. That’s unfortunate. Well, if you ever want to see what a real man is like... I know what I’m doing. I think Nancy can attest for that,” Steve laughed, giving Nancy a little shove and taking a drink.

“I am absolutely not getting in the middle of this, thanks,” Nancy answered, rolling her eyes at Steve and moving closer to Jonathan.

“Oh please, if anyone can show her a good time you know it’s me. And she already said she wanted it,” Robin responded, sticking her tongue out at you and Steve and winking.

“I’m gonna grab some water, I’ll be back,” you said, standing up quickly and walking away from everyone. They quickly moved on from you and continued their game, laughing away at whoever else they could poke fun of. You walked into the kitchen, unaware Billy had followed you in.

“Hey...” he said, making you jump a bit as his voice broke through your thoughts.

“Hey, what’s up?” You folded your arms and turned towards him, a little annoyed at him for asking that question in the first place.

“I’m sorry I asked that. I honestly didn’t mean to make you upset.” He genuinely looked sorry, his eyes avoiding yours as he stared at the ground.

“It’s fine, it’s just a little embarrassing...”

“How is it embarrassing? I guarantee you that you made all of those guys finish. It’s on them for not being good enough.”

“But what if it’s me? What if there’s something wrong?”

“Well... have you ever... on your own?” Billy was shaking, the thought of you touching himself sending rushes of hormones through his body.

“Yeah...”

“So then it’s clearly nothing wrong with you. You’re just not with the right guys.”

“Well who is the right guy?” You almost immediately regretted saying that, knowing exactly what you were implying when you said it. You knew it was him, you knew what he was capable of, what he could do. You wanted him to take you so badly, to show you what it felt like to have a real man fuck you.

“I could think of a few people.” Billy responded quietly, his mind racing. The thought of making you cum for the very first time was already making him hard. He was digging his nails into his palms to keep his composure, but it wasn’t working very well.

“What are you trying to say, Billy?” You looked him over, seeing the tension building in his body.

“Nothing... I mean... why don’t we go home. I want to go home.” Billy turned around quickly and grabbed his keys from his pocket, heading for the door. You followed without saying a word, worried that whatever you did upset him. You felt a nervousness grow in your stomach as you trailed behind him, his steps angry and fast as he headed outside.

You didn’t even say bye to your friends, sure they have already drank enough to forget you existed all together. Your mind was only focused on Billy, trying to figure out what was going through his.

“Billy can you slow down!” You yelled to him, walking faster and faster to keep up as he sped towards his car.

“What do you want (Y/N)?” He snapped, turning around towards you and gritting his teeth.

“Why are you mad at me?” You pouted, feeling your heart sink as his eyes were dark with anger. But what you thought was anger was actually lust.

“I’m not... mad at you,” he responded, his voice softening as he realized he had hurt you. “I just... it’s complicated. You’re my best friend... the way I’m feeling about you right now... it could mess everything up.”

“How are you feeling about me right now?”

“Like I want to make you fucking cum.” His eyes were staring at your lips, his body shaking.

“You think you’re the guy to do that?” You teased, placing your hand on his face and rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

“I fucking know I can.” He was tense now, not used to be talked back to in the context. He didn’t like it.

“Then show me, Billy. Fucking show me.” Billy walked away from you and into the drivers seat of his car, without saying a word.

“Get in.” He commanded, starting the ignition of his car. You quickly slid in the passengers seat and he started driving before you could even close the door.

“Billy-“

“Don’t say a word. I’m taking you home, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” You turned towards him, focusing on the way his jaw shifted as you called him ‘Sir’. He wasn’t sure he could make it all the way home. He had never wanted- or needed- anyone this bad.

He sped quickly down the back roads to get home, ignoring speed limit signs urging him to slow down. You were soaked, never having a guy treat you like this before. He was on a mission, and he wouldn’t stop until you were screaming his name.

He pulled in the driveway of his house and turned his car off quickly. He got out of the car and slammed his door shut without saying a word. You knew you were supposed to follow him, he didn’t have time to tell you what to do. He was saving all of his energy for what was about to come.

The moment you walked through his front door, he had your back against the wall and his tongue shoved down your throat. Kissing him was just how you imagined- perfect. His lips still held the subtle taste of tequila and the chocolate cupcakes you had shared earlier.

“Billy... your parents... Max...” you tried to whisper, urging Billy to move you to his room before someone caught you.

“Fuck everyone except for me and you.” He looked in your eyes for a moment, his body pressed against yours. You felt him growing in his pants, wanting desperately to feel him inside of you right then and there.

“Yeah. Fuck everyone. But also, fuck me. Please, B. Fuck me,” you said, giggling as Billy sloppily kissed down your neck, leaving little bite marks to mark his territory.

“C’mon, lets go.” Billy took your hand and led you to his bedroom, the two of you quietly sneaking down the hallway.

Once you got in the bedroom, he had you back against the door again, kissing you. He bit down on your bottom lip, making you squeal and giggle a bit. You felt Billy smiling through kisses- he loved your laugh, nothing made him smile more than hearing it. Especially now, knowing you were happy made him happy.

“Get down on the bed. Clothes off!” He ordered, turning away from you and pulling his own shirt off. You nodded at him and did as you were told, taking off your shirt and shorts quickly. You were hoping to get some action tonight anyways, and were wearing one of your favorite lacey black bra and thong.

“God damn...” Billy whispered, letting his eyes trail up and down your body. He hand instinctively reached down to his dick, where he started slowly rubbing himself over his boxers.

“Come over here, B... let me take care of that...” you flirted, getting on your knees and begging for him to come over to you.

“No, not tonight. I’m gonna take care of you, princess.” Billy grinned devilishly at you, licking his lips as he thought about his plane to devour you. “Have you ever had a guy go down on you?”

“No, honestly.” You laughed, your whole body shaking as you imagined Billy’s tongue playing with you.

“What a shame. Can’t say I’m upset about being your first, though. Just know no guy will ever compare to me,” he winked, walking over to you and pushing you down on your back.

Billy started kissing your lower stomach, his lips tickling your flesh and making you giggle. He moved onto your inner thigh, sloppily kissing and licking you, making you squirm as he slowly trailed to your cunt.

He toyed with the edge of your thong, pulling at his as he continued to kiss around you. You bucked your hips towards him, trying to non verbally tell him you wanted more. He got your message, and pulled down your panties completely. The room was cold, and made you shiver a bit as your icy air hit your bare skin.

Billy finally moved his lips to your sweet spot, kissing you lightly before flicking his tongue quickly. He moved rhythmically, each movement planned out perfectly. He had a routine, he knew what worked. And it was working. You were dripping, your whole body filling with pleasure with each second of Billy devouring you.

He started moving his tongue quicker on your clit, making it unbearable for you to stay quiet. You let out a small moan, throwing your head back to the ceiling as you felt yourself get closer. Billy stopped for a second to look up and smile at you, enjoying every minute of this.

“Don’t stop, B. I was close!” You yelled, running your hair through his curls and brushing it out of his face.

“Shit... already? I guess I am pretty good,” Billy responded, winking at you and giggling.

“Oh fuck off, pretty boy. Don’t get too full of yourself, it’s unattractive.”

“Are you saying you don’t find me attractive?” He pouted, jokingly.

“I’m saying if you don’t make me cum soon I’m gonna find someone else who will.” You winked at him and crossed your arms, trying to be serious.

“Damn... whatever (Y/N) wants (Y/N) gets, I guess...” he responded, before biting his lips and going back down on you. He moved faster this time, and a bit sloppier. His tongue seemed to be focusing everywhere, not just your clit. You grabbed onto his hair and ran your fingers through it, gripping his head as he worked his magic.

You felt a wave of pleasure come over you, your whole body shaking in delight as it knew what was about to happen. Billy knew, too, and started moving rhythmically around your clit again.

“Holy shit, Billy,” you moaned, reaching your climax intensely as he continued to taste you. You felt it through your whole body, something you had never experienced before. You were shaking, coming down from the best high of your life. Billy sat back from you, licking his lips to get one last taste.

“Now it’s time for the real show,” he teased, blowing you a little kiss before digging into his drawer and pulling out a condom.

“I don’t know if anything can top that,” you responded, taking off your bra and throwing it to the ground.

“Just wait, baby doll.” Billy took off his boxers and you saw him for the first time- all of him. He was hung, unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. You were a little intimidated, but you had never wanted anything so badly.

Billy tore open the condom and slid it on, slowly pumping himself a few times as he looked at you. He positioned himself at your center, toying with your clit with his tip. You moved your body towards him, not liking all this teasing. Billy just smiled at you, before slowly sliding himself in.

It took a minute to get adjusted to him, feeling a little uncomfortable at first when he had his full length inside of you.

“You okay?” He asked, noticing you flinch.

“Yes. Just not used to... well...” you giggled, running your hand over Billy’s face as he laid above you.

“I’m huge, you can say it,” he winked, kissing you lightly on the lips as he started to move slowly inside of you.

“I’m sure you’d love for me to tell you how big and hot you are, huh?” You kissed him again, bringing his face closer to yours.

“And I’m sure you’d love for me to tell you how fucking hot you are and how much I love your body?” He was moving quicker now, his pumps rhythmic. He grabbed underneath your thigh and brought your leg up over his shoulder, letting him pump deeper and faster in you.

“F-fuck,” you muttered, throwing your head back in pleasure as Billy fucking you deep enough to hit your special spot with every thrust.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he muttered, fucking you faster and harder. His other hand was holding your face, his thumb running over your chin and lips.

“You’re gonna make me cum again, you’re so fucking good Billy. Holy shit,” you whispered into his ear, knowing how much he loved to be praised. He was smiling flirtatiously, loving the way you sounded when you moaned his name.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how good I fuck you.” He got on his knees and pulled your waist up towards him, continuing to thrust deep and fast into you. You knew you were close again, the warmth and excitement growing through you again.

You couldn’t seem to get any words out at this point, just small moans and nodding to let Billy know to keep doing what he was doing. Billy understood, and didn’t stop or slow down. He brought his hand over to your clit and started rubbing lightly, just enough pleasure to bring you over the edge.

You moaned loudly this time, your vocals of pleasure echoing through the quiet room. Billy just laughed, continuing to pump, getting close himself. He slowed down a little bit, knowing you were probably exhausted and ready to tap out.

“Billy... you’re literally so fucking good... and so fucking pretty,” you said to him, bringing your hand up to his face and holding it in your hand. He smiled at you, but not the lustful smile you were used to seeing. A small, warm smile, his brain flooding with happiness at the sound of you calling him pretty.

You felt Billy getting a little sloppier with his movements, and speeding up just a bit. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and let out a low groan, cumming inside of you, filling you with warmth. He pulled out quickly, discarding the condom in the trash and laying back on the bed next to you.

The two of you sat for a few moments in silence, his hand holding onto yours tightly. You were staring around his room, a room you’d been in a thousand times before- but things looked different now. You didn’t exactly know what different, maybe it was yourself.

Billy turned towards you, his hair messy and sweat still layered on his forehead. He smiled at you, bringing his lips to your cheek and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“So, I have to ask... am I the best you’ve ever had?” You asked, kissing his neck and tickling him with your lips.

“Well, I know I’m yours,” he responded, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Whatever, don’t flatter yourself,” you said, rolling your eyes and pushing at Billy’s chest playfully.

“You might be my best, though.” He looked at you, a small grin forming.

“I’ll take that.”

[slice-of-horan]

5SOS Preference #1: First Meeting

Luke: “Two tequila shots please.” Your best friend slurred at the bartender, spinning around and nearly falling off her barstool in the process. It was a Friday night and the bar was full, the music was loud and your best friend was hammered. 

“I’m going to be carrying you home Y/BF/N.” You jokingly rolled your eyes and took one of the shots, downing it and quickly sucking on the lime to lessen the taste.

“Damn right you are, unless I can find a sexy man to take me home instead.” She giggled, scanning the room as you ordered another drink, it was a Friday after all. 

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

30 minutes later and Y/BF/N was pretty much passed out and you were attempting to navigate both of you around the crowded room to the exit. However you had severely underestimated your ability to do this and you had nearly tripped several times. 

“Omfg Y/N, we should totally go back to the bar and do more vodka shots! First one to puke loses” Y/BF/N slurred as she feebly attempted to drag you back towards the bartender. 

“Next time girl, first things first we need some food to sober your drunk ass up.” You giggled and dragged her out on the sidewalk, attempting to flag down a passing taxi while also keeping your friend stable and away from any tempting alcohol. After the fifth taxi went past without stopping, you were getting pretty fed up. 

“For the love of God, this shouldn’t be this difficult” You huffed, running a hand through your tousled hair and checking the clock on your phone. “3.37 am, fan-fucking tactic.” 

“Er.. excuse me?” You felt a sturdy hand pat your shoulder and turned around, coming face to face with a tall handsome stranger. “Sorry to disturb, I just thought you might want to take my taxi instead, seeing as you might be struggling.” He gestured to your drunk friend, you glanced up, trying hard to make it seem like you weren’t totally checking this stranger out. 

“That would be amazing, thank you so much.” You flashed him a smile and grabbed your friends hand, following the man to the taxi he had pulled over. “I’m Y/N by the way and you have just completely saved me from walking 12 blocks in heels.” 

“Glad I could be of service Y/N, I’m Luke.”

“Hurry up Y/N, get the hot guys number and then take me to get some god damn food.” Y/BF/N yelled out from inside the taxi, flashing you a mischievous smirk. You felt your cheeks grow hot, and silently vowed to get your friend back later, and smile shyly. Luke awkwardly shifted, his cheeks tinging with redness. 

“Well she clearly read my mind.” Luke chuckled deeply, handing you a piece of paper he had messily scrawled his number onto. “Call me Y/N, I’d love to see you again.”

Ashton: “Milk, eggs, bread. Check, check, check.” You muttered to yourself as you leisurely strolled your trolley up and down aisle fourteen. It was 2am on a Wednesday and in typical you fashion, you had procrastinated grocery shopping for so long you were forced to do it at this ridiculous hour. 

“Now, do I want chocolate or ice-cream? Who am I kidding I 100% want both.” You laughed at yourself, plucking a block of milk chocolate off the shelf and into your trolley. 

“Wow, you sound awfully upbeat for someone doing grocery shopping at 2 in the morning.” A deep voice sounded out from behind you. You turned around and saw a tall, muscular dark blonde man with an infectious smile plastered on his extremely cute face.

“I could say the same about you. I’m surprised someone else is up and shopping at this hour.” You continued walking down the aisle, surprised when the handsome stranger follows you. 

“Well its not everyday I see a beautiful woman buying my favourite chocolate, I have to admit I am intrigued. I’m Ashton by the way, Ashton Irwin.” He smiled at you and you felt butterflies in your stomach, how was it possible someone could have such an attractive smile. 

“I bet you use that line every time you food shop but anyway its nice to meet you Ashton Irwin, I’m Y/N Y/LN.” You extended a hand for him to shake, which he did with a crooked smile on his face and his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“I promise I can think of 100 better lines, I’m happy to try them out on you if you'd like, maybe over dinner? My shout of course.” You fought hard to keep the smirk from taking over your face and nodded at him, taking out your phone to give him your phone number. 

“I suppose it’s only fair, besides if I don’t do this some poor other girl will have to suffer and I am not that cruel.” 

Michael: Excitement was bubbling in your stomach, midnight screenings of new movies were always a fun time, especially when it was the newest marvel movie and fans in costumes were everywhere. 

“Y/N, come on! We need to get our seats before the trailers finish, if I miss one second of this movie I’m going to be pissed.” You laughed as your friend grabbed your hand and dragged you into the movie cinema. People were everywhere, there was not one empty seat in the entire theatre. You checked your ticket and realised you were sitting next to a stranger, although a very cute stranger. There were definitely worse people to sit next too that's for sure! You sat down, trying not to make it obvious you were checking him out. If your friend saw you, they would give you hell about it for the entire movie. His hair was dyed bright and he was wearing a top with your favourite band on it, what were the chances! You settled back comfortably in your chair and focused on the newest trailer.

“Gotta say, this movie looks like complete crap. Don’t you think?” You looked surprisingly as the stranger sitting next to you whispered to you. Now you could look at him face to face you couldn’t believe how cute he was. 

“Oh totally, I could make a drinking game out of how many movies are ruined by John Cena cameos. He’s in every stupid movie ever.” You and the cute guy laughed as John Cena came on to the screen,. 

“Totally agree with you, a shot every time he’s on screen would get you wasted in less than 15 minutes.” You guys laughed, trying to quiet down as people in the cinema stared. 

“I’m Michael by the way.” 

The rest of the movie was spent with you and Michael cracking jokes, it was by far the most fun movie experience you had ever had, and it only got better when Michael asked you on a date after the movie.

Calum: House parties were usually super fun, however when you only know one person and they disappear immediately, they can suck major ass. You were nursing your drink in the corner of the room, surrounded by smoke and a variety of drunk/stoned people. Your friend was currently rolling around on the couch with a guy she met 45 minutes ago leaving you to awkwardly pretend you couldn’t see what she was doing. You glanced around the crowded room before noticing the balcony, a perfect place to escape and not feel as awkward. You clambered across the room, avoiding the drunk guy throwing up in the kitchen sink and burst through the door, savouring the peaceful fresh air. It was only till after you were leaning against the balcony rail that you realised you weren’t the only one attempting to escape the party. A tall, dark haired and extremely hot guy was sitting on a chair, chuckling amusedly at your look of surprise. 

“I can see I’m not the only one who needed a break.” He sat up and extended a a hand towards you. “I’m Calum by the way.” You took his hand and shook it, trying to ignore the way a handshake gave you butterflies. 

“I’m Y/N, sorry to ruin your peace but I had to leave before Y/BF/N decided to jump her guy in front of my eyes.” You laughed, Calum’s deep chuckle joining in as well. 

“Well I’m glad you found your way out here, I was getting pretty lonely by myself.” You took a seat next to Calum, where you guys continued to talk into the late hours of the night about anything and everything you guys had in common. 

A.N: Message me any requests, I do 1D and 5SOS. Thank you! 

[uniqueharreh]

Guys My Age

A/N: First of all, I want to apologize for being MIA for past three months, they’ve been so hectic and crazy, I started a new job, had to learn so so many things and pass a very hard exam. But right now, I am inspired and looking forward to putting things out time from time. 

Summary; Harry and Y/N broke up, meeting in a bar later that year. 

Warnings: angst && strong language!

Word Count: 1.3k

It is normal, that sometimes two adult people in a relationship realize, that they are not good enough for each other and with the good intention they decide to break up. For the better of both of them. Y/N was in her early twenties, just about to finish her studies and try to move forward to adulthood. When she met Harry, she was just about seventeen, he was already the rockstar he is and she fell in love immediately. 

He didn’t though. He was a tiny bit of a dick to her at first. She was just a little girl having her eyes crying for his love. And he wasn’t up to giving her that. 

Before he started to take her seriously it took some time. She matured in some way, yes, but she also stopped seeing him as someone she would be able to ever spend a night with. Even that seemed so out of reality to her. And she had to remind herself that he is nowhere near to be hers. 

It was a difficult truth to swallow. To realize he was this famous guy, who was incredibly fit in a physical way, but also overall very kind to people around him. And as much she would love to hate him for not being hers, she couldn’t. Because even though he sometimes was a bit of a dick, he never tried to make her feel anything less, to belittle her. 

And Anya, her friend always insisted on her hanging out with them. Going to bars when he was in the city, to go to dinners with them. Y/N was happy to be in his presence, but not in this scenario. It just seemed so unnatural to her. 

But somehow, it all worked. After a few months of them being friends, he saw what she yet had to offer. 

And they started spending time together and alone. Before she knew it, he was taking her on tour around the globe and she was this mysterious girlfriend that everyone wished to know. 

It would be pretty pathetic to think she enjoyed the attention, she did enjoy his attention though. She felt like a queen in his presence. And it seemed like long-lasting love like the one everyone writes songs and poems about. The dying, good sweet love. 

But the longer they were together, the more they were drifting apart. 

She stopped counting how many times they started fighting over nonsense. 

He stopped counting how many times he thought she deserved more. 

It was toxic never-ending self-blaming for something they could never influence and it was eating both of them alive. 

And so they said their goodbyes, cried their portion of tears and she packed her bags and left. 

They haven’t seen each for a couple of months. He was extremely busy with finishing his next album, that based on her and their love. And she was busy trying to find the love of her life, reading romantic books and sometimes crying in the club, while everyone around her was getting high and probably time from time exchanged some illness at the toilets. 

Their lives changed a lot, but not at all at the same time. And as much she wished he would be holding her in his arms, she would never call him. She felt like she had no other choice but to move on. 

Sometime she would end up in the arms of much older guy, feeling like guys her age can’t understand her. 

Sometimes he would end up in the arms of a random guy in a gay bar, feeling like guys his age wouldn’t understand him. 

Their hearts cried for love, yet their minds screamed for peace. 

* * * 

Y/N walked into the club full of sweaty bodies swinging against each other, moving their hips offbeat to the songs the DJ poorly tried to claim as his. She was already a bit tipsy, a bit high from the previous bar. She was looking for someone who would fill the void in her body, to have someone to sleep in the same bed with and never see the person ever again. 

She ordered herself a straight vodka before a known voice took her back to reality. 

“Straight vodka, that’s so you.” Harry’s voice appeared to be a little bit too close to her ear and it sent shivers down her spine. 

“Never claimed to be changed a woman,” she mumbled before downing her shot of vodka. 

“You look wonderfully damaged.” he chuckled, looking into her eyes, his smile slightly present, yet with the pain inside of him, it faded a notch. 

“Love does wonders, huh.” 

“Still?” 

“Always, you idiot.” Y/N looked into his eyes, trying to read his face for more instructions, for any clue of what he was feeling. But remained emotionless. At least his facial expression did. 

“Should have moved on.” 

“But did you? Walked right back to me in a crowded bar.” she snapped a little, but if he would leave, her heart wouldn't take it. She felt full, complete, homey in his arms. Even though she would never admit that loudly. 

Not in his presence. 

"Wouldn't let anyone take that occasion from me." his tongue was a little bit heavy for him to speak clearly. She knew it must have been a couple of Tequila shots. 

His favorite. 

The scent of his kisses at parties. 

Mixed with mint. 

God, how much she hated him. 

How much she hated herself for falling in love with him. 

"Want me all to yourself all of sudden, huh?" she turned completely to him, her back pressed to the bar, staring into his tired eyes. 

"You know I could have fucked you right there and you would beg for more, can see it in your eyes," he whispered softly, caressing her back with his right thumb. 

"You wish you would see that." she nearly moaned, just the thought was driving her crazy. 

"Oh we are so not good for each other." he laughed all of sudden "Yet you attract me like a beacon in a crowded room." 

"Should do something about that then." 

"Take you home and fuck you like a little slut, you've been?" 

Her cheeks turned a few shades darker. 

He loved that particular shade of pink. 

"I ... I haven't?" she mumbled, her voice trembling. 

"Oh you think our friends didn't notice your taste in much older men?" he laughed a little, pressing her firmly against the wooden bar. 

"You think I didn't notice anything either?"

"No. But I don't claim to be an innocent little girl." he laughed into her face. 

"Yeah, you're busy being an asshole." she pushed him a little of herself, but just enough to get past him. She rushed to the exit of the club, in desperate need of fresh air, of fresh air without his scent hugging her. She felt as if she was drunk, yet she knew it was just the effect he had on her. 

And it was scaring her. 

But even though she got outside the club, a hand reached for hers. 

"Y/N stop." 

"Why?" 

"I.. I need you." his voice broke. 

She didn't expect to see his face to look as desperate, even more in the night lights, his pupils dilated from the sudden change of lighting around them. It was nearly light outside, the night was over. 

Yet two broken hearts were trying to find the way back to each other. 

[winterromanov]

i want to hold your heart (in both hands) - bechloe fic

No-one else gets a Beca to go home with. She’s literally the only person on this Earth who can say that. (or, the five times Beca Mitchell was really fucking drunk, and the one time it was chloe instead. 4k words. prompt - how drunk was i?)

(i) why did you have to go like that

The ICCA’s are the biggest win the Bella’s have had in years, so understandably the after party has to be pretty spectacular. Spectacular turns out to be Stacie and Cynthia-Rose’s hotel room, apparently—not that Chloe’s complaining, because everything she needs is right here, her weird and messed-up family high on adrenaline and drunk out their minds.

Well. She says high on adrenaline. But Beca is just high.

“Where did you even get pot from?” Chloe asks, as she watches Beca spin round and round and round in the hallway, her shirt a blur of blue mixing with the cream of the walls. There’s a glass of wine in her right hand but most of its now on the floor or her shoes. Chloe’s actually kind of glad, because Beca really doesn’t need any more to drink, but Beca’s the kind of person who adamantly argues she’s sober when puking up vodka in the bathroom. “You can’t have got it from one of us. Aubrey has, like, a sixth sense when it comes to illegal substances. She’s a human sniffer dog.”

Beca laughs, stumbling violently as she finally stops spinning. Luckily Chloe’s not a total mess yet so she reaches out just in time to grab her, gripping onto Beca’s floppy forearms. “Chloe. Chloe. Why are you all blurry? And why is everything green?” Her hands reach out and start touching Chloe’s face, fingers prodding at her cheeks. “God, your skin is so soft. Like, if I could make a blanket out of your skin, I totally would.”

“You’re not making a blanket out of my skin, Beca.”

“A blanket out of your skin?” Beca says, like this is a completely new concept to her and not something she mentioned seconds earlier. She steps back but Chloe clings on, because someone has got to keep this bitch from falling over and slamming her head on the wall. “That’s gross, dude! Why would I even do that?”

Beca’s look of total outrage is so fucking funny but Chloe chews her lip, trying to supress a laugh. “Did Jesse give you the pot?”

Beca narrows her eyes in an extremely drunken way that makes it look like she has no idea who Jesse is. Chloe’s heart shifts uneasily in her chest, thinking about Beca and Jesse. It’s weird. She doesn’t know why its weird, because that whole thing was far from a surprise—she arranged a mix for him, sang to a TV audience for him, kissed him like the whole world wasn’t watching except it was—but she’s the one who has seen Beca naked, so—

“It might have been Jesse,” Beca says, her words slurring and tripping over each other, “But it might have been someone else. Wearing red. But he smelt amazing.” She makes a point of sniffing Chloe’s shirt, her face suddenly inches away from her skin. “You smell amazing too. Like fucking—rainbows, or some shit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Chloe asks, humouring her, “Because last time I check rainbows didn’t smell like anything. Maybe damp air or something.”

“No, no, no! Don’t be stupid. Rainbows are the best smell ever. They smell like…”

For a second, time stops, and Chloe can see the way Beca’s eyes drift to her lips and she wants to (like, so, so much) but Beca’s sort-of got a boyfriend now and Chloe’s many things but she’s not that girl. “You’re very drunk right now.”

“I am not drunk,” Beca says, as expected. The moment is snuffed out like a candle but the electricity remains, stuttering under the surface. Beca squirms out of her grip and it’s like she’s miles away, not metres, because Jesse just so happens to open the bedroom door opposite and catches her like a safety net.

“Ah, Mr Bond,” Jesse says, in a low purr—his limbs are as loose as hers are but he somehow manages to scoop her in perfectly, like she’s always belonged inside his grip. Chloe smiles at the exchange. She’s never noticed the way her stomach just falls before, like the floor is going to swallow her up, forget she was even here. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Beca smiles giddily. Chloe wishes it didn’t kill her, seeing her so happy with someone else. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

And they kiss, again, like there’s nobody watching, except there is. Chloe tears her eyes away. There’s a Sia song playing in the other room and a shit-ton of tequila and they’re still ICCA champions, which is something, even if it’s only half the happy ending she kind of wished for.

-x-

(ii) just because i’m a mess doesn’t mean this has to end

Chloe knows something’s up the minute she walks into the Bella house and sees Jessica, sitting at the kitchen table, chewing aggressively on a pale-pink thumbnail. When she closes the door, the noise alerts her as well as Stacie, Lilly and Cynthia-Rose, who are all sat round the corner on the couches. They’re giving of the weirdest vibe and it makes Chloe feel very uneasy.

“Why do you all look so terrified?” Chloe asks incredulously, dropping her bag by the coffee table. “Did one of you smash my Spice Girls mug? Because that was limited edition and one of my favourites, so if you have—“

“Beca’s in the closet,” Stacie blurts out, “And she won’t come out.”

“In the closet?” Chloe manically turns around and spies at least half a dozen shot glasses littered across the kitchen table, which can only mean one thing. “Okay. So which one of you let Beca day drink?”

“We couldn’t stop her!” Cynthia-Rose squawks, arms flailing madly, “She said she had a taser in her purse!”

Chloe narrows her eyes. Cynthia-Rose shrinks back on the sofa, as if she’s attempting to melt in between the cushions. “Really. Where do you think Beca would get a taser from?”

“I have a supplier,” Lilly says. No-one hears her, as per, so Chloe just stares at her, faintly annoyed. “Do any of you guys want a machine gun?”

Chloe shakes her head. There’s a loud bang from upstairs and the light-fitting shakes, and everyone in the room looks unanimously terrified. It’s… not the first time Beca’s got in the closet and it never usually ends well. She’s pretty sure Ashley still has a scar. She breathes deeply, in and out, mentally preparing herself for the shitstorm that is inevitably occurring around them. “Okay. Okay. Is anyone up there with her?”

“Amy is,” Stacie says, “But we haven’t seen her in a while so who knows if she’s still alive.”

She’s probably still alive, Chloe reasons, because Beca can be a fierce little fuck when day-drinking but at the end of the day she’s still only five foot two and Amy has vividly retold the time she wrestled six crocodiles and The Rock simultaneously on numerous occasions, so. Amy’s resourceful. She’ll have fashioned a makeshift weapon from tampons and pencil shavings if needs be.

Chloe grabs a bottle of water, a packet of chips and a hockey stick for good measure, before heading into battle solo.

-x-

Beca and Amy’s room looks like the aftermath of a tsunami.

Chloe wades through piles of clothes and toilet roll and notebook paper. A broken toaster lies desecrated on the carpet (she’d always wondered where that had gone) and a string of photobooth pictures are half-melted inside. She can just about see that the warped, grinning faces are Beca and Jesse.

Oh, honey.

She leaves the hockey stick by the door and follows the muffled shouting. Amy’s trying to wedge open the closet door with a spatula, her face streaked in black warpaint (eyeliner) and a very determined expression, gritting her teeth. Beca is basically just screeching. Every so often she can see a glimpse of her tiny fingertips, fighting to keep the door shut.

“What is going on?” Chloe whispers harshly. Amy breaks off her mission for a moment, panting, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She eyes the chips in Chloe’s hands and takes them for herself.

“You brought snacks!” she says, ecstatic, ripping into the bag. “I have been working pretty hard. She’s being a hot mess. Emphasis on the mess. Also hot, because it gets toasty in there if you sit with the door shut for too long. Trust me. Just because it has no windows, doesn’t mean you should make it into a sauna.”

Chloe doesn’t want to know the story behind how Amy managed to work that out. Like, ever. “Why has she been drinking? Is she okay?”

Amy swallows a mouthful of chips. “Movie nerd dumped her. She’s a bit bummed about it. Started slamming the vodka as soon as she got in and hasn’t stopped for several hours. She also smashed your Spice Girls mug, so don’t blame me for that. I told her it was limited edition and she just started crying.”

Okay, so her assumptions are basically confirmed, and she’s not even that upset about the mug, not when Beca’s in this state. A broken heart is more pressing that some broken china, even if that china is a limited edition signed-by-Baby-Spice mug and everything. “Yeah. I saw the… toaster.”

“She tried using the barbecue, but that thing is definitely broken and I thought she might accidentally set the house on fire. I was like Beca, yes, I totally understand why you’d want to burn everything that reminded you of that dick, but maybe not our house too? Because I know we all have little regrets after we’ve been drinking but that would be… like, quite a big and expensive one and also you might go to prison for arson.”

“True,” Chloe nods. She leans forwards, knocks lightly on the cupboard door. There’s definite movement from inside but no response, like Beca’s trying to pretend she isn’t in, which doesn’t really work with a closet. “Beca, I know you’re in there.”

“Fuck off, Amy!”

Even when drunk, it astounds Chloe that Beca can’t tell the difference between their voices. “Beca, sweetie, it’s Chloe. Can I come in?”

There’s a moment of quiet, then a small voice: “Chloe?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she says, “I’m coming in, so, like, please move any sharp things you’ve got in there—“

She slowly pulls the doors open and Amy stands on guard, spatula at the ready. The sight she beholds is both extremely sad yet somehow adorable. Beca’s curled amongst a fur coat and several pairs of boots, a huge beanie covering her hair, her face streaked with tears. A half-finished bottle of vodka hangs loosely in her left hand.

When Chloe crouches down and brushes some of her damp hair away from her face, Beca chokes out another sob, a loud wail which is totally unlike Beca—she’s the kind that usually sits on her emotions until she eventually bursts, days’ worth of anger or anxiety or depression exploding out of her without limit, usually when drunk. This is Beca blown wide open. The side that nobody is usually allowed to see. Maybe that’s why she’s in the closet, after all. Maybe this is what this whole thing is.

“Oh baby,” Chloe murmurs, wrapping her in the tightest hug imaginable, “I’m sorry. I know, it sucks, I know.”

“I was going to dump him anyway,” Beca says, definitely wiping snot on Chloe’s sleeve, “He wasn’t supposed to do it first.”

Chloe’s not sure how much of that is true. Beca’s always been quite reserved about her relationship, like it was only ever hers, not to be discussed with anyone else. Maybe it would have helped if she had.

(Maybe it would have helped if Chloe didn’t try to change the subject every time Jesse was brought up in conversation, reminding her of what he’s got and she doesn’t.)

Chloe clambers into the closet beside her, shutting the doors, Amy knowing where she’s not needed. They hold each other for a long time. She’s not sure how long, but it’s safe and warm and home, and maybe Beca’s realising the same things she is. Or maybe she isn’t.

“I’m sorry about your mug,” Beca says hoarsely after a minute or maybe an hour. “Sometimes I get mad and inadvertently break things. I never mean to, you know? I don’t break anything on purpose. Things just… naturally shatter around me.”

Chloe presses a kiss to her forehead. Yeah, she breaks things. Everyone does. But Beca—she always tries to put things back together again. And that’s the important thing.

(A few weeks later a mug appears on the sideboard. It’s a Spice Girls mug, signed by Baby Spice, and Chloe grins as she unfurls a note.

I got this shipped over from the UK as nobody over here listens to the Spice Girls anymore, so you better appreciate it. –B

P.S. I promise I’ll never break anything of yours ever again.)

-x-

(iii) you’re alright love

“Hello, you’ve reached Chloe Beale! Pretty please leave a message after the tone and I promise I’ll get back to you!”

Message One (1:56am) FROM BECS

Wow, okay, so you’re not answering, which is—cool, I guess, it must be pretty late in Atlanta? I can’t remember. I’m fucking stupid. Anyway, call me back when you get this. Bye!

Message Two (2:03am) FROM BECS

Yes, I know, another message but like… I’m stuck at this party the label are doing and it’s so dull, you know? It’s like I keep scanning the room looking for you. But you’re not here. And whenever I realise that I think of you waving me goodbye at the airport and I—okay, I’m way too sober and this is way too sappy for me to even begin, fucking Christ. Talk to you later.

Message Three (2:46am) FROM BECS

Holy FUCK these drinks are strong. I feel like I could be in space, but I’m not in space. I’m in LA. And you’re in Georgia. Why are you in Georgia? Can’t you come over here? My apartment is so lonely without you

Message Four (3:15am) FROM BECS

CHLOE!!!!! Oh my god, I’m so fucking drunk and one of the guys I work with keeps giving me the eye and I’m like dude? I’m gay? And I have a girlfriend who I love very much? And she’s two thousand and one hundred and seventy-five miles away which I totally did not just Google on my phone in the bathroom or anything?

Message Five (5:38am) FROM BECS

I don’t know what I’m doing, Chloe. I don’t think I can live here much longer. There’s like this… hole, yeah a hole, and I thought I could manage it like I always do but I can’t and the only person who can fix it is you, and… holy shit, what am I even doing? Is this vodka talking? I think it might be, but also I think it might not be, and I just want to be in bed with you right now and not at this stupid party with these stupid people who aren’t you. I love you so much. It’s actually sickening. Freshman me with her earspike and Doc Martens is looking at me right now thinking who the fuck are you? But freshman me was me before you, and thinking about a time in my life without you in it actually makes me want to cry. Ugh. How many months is it until I see you again?

Message One (7:59am) TO BECS

Okay so you’re the one who isn’t picking up now, which is a bit much to be honest, after all those messages. They were beautiful, Becs. Very poetic, but also very drunk. I’m sure you won’t remember any of them but don’t you worry, I definitely will. I’m not going to forget gems like I love you so much it’s actually sickening in a hurry. For the record, everything you said was what goes through my head on a daily basis. My life is so empty and boring without you in it. I miss you more than Brownie Batter Ben and Jerry’s and believe me, that’s quite a lot. I totally love you, Beca. And to answer your question, it’s exactly three months and twelve days until we’re reunited at the airport like all my favourite romcom couples rolled into one. I’m definitely going to catch you in my arms and spin you round, by the way. Just so you can prepare for it. Call me back when you get this.

Message Six (12:07pm) FROM BECS

I have just woken up discovering that last night I left you exactly five voicemail messages, one about fifteen minutes before I passed out on a fucking garden table. Excuse me while I die of shame then set myself on fire and never live this down for the rest of my life. I still totally love you, though.

-x-

(iv) i’d be a fool to let you go

“Fuck. How drunk was I?”

Beca’s stood barefoot in the kitchen, staring at some rather impressive handiwork—every inch of their kitchen is covered in post-it notes, top to bottom, in a range of colours and sizes. The grill, the counter, the back wall, the television: literally every available surface is electrified with fluorescent pink or yellow or green. There’s a leftover sandwich out on the table (evidence of Beca’s late night snacking) and even that has a post-it note, Chloe peeling it off with her finger and sticking it on Beca’s forearm.

“You’re alarmingly precise when fucked,” Chloe remarks, “These are all, like, perfectly symmetrical.”

Beca narrows her eyes then nods. She wanders over to the refrigerator and opens it, letting out a sigh of relief on noticing that the inside has been left untouched by her post-it rampage. “Where did I even get all this shit from? I don’t remember going to a stationery supply store. Or did I? Those places aren’t usually open at three am, are they?”

“None that I’ve heard of,” Chloe says. Beca turns, utterly stumped. She looks really adorable when confused. It’s hardly Chloe’s fault that she’s just so kissable—even if she’s basically destroyed their tiny kitchen with her late-night interior design sessions. She slinks her arms round Beca’s waist and Beca grins, ridiculously happy, kissing her back with a fervour that having their own apartment together allows.

It’s perfect. She’s in her pyjamas, with her girlfriend, in their own little apartment. It feels like a reward. Something they both deserve. Finally.

“I can’t believe I’m here, with you,” Chloe murmurs softly, “I’m actually living with my crazy girlfriend.”

“You’re going to start regretting it when I keep pulling stunts like this,” Beca says, snatching a quick kiss, “This is why you should always come with me to parties. Then at least we can cover our whole house in sticky notes together while drunk out of our minds.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” Chloe says, and it’s the complete and honest truth.

(It’s something Beca always has to hear. I won’t leave you like everyone else did. It’s everything. It’s everything.)

-x-

(v) i’ll still fall in place

FAT AMY

So which one of you bitches gave short-ass a triple fucking vodka

The girl is off her FACE and embarrassing me in front of my boyfriends

STACIE

Boyfriends? U bitch. Unfair that u get all the dick

FAT AMY

It’s my birthday Stacie the least I deserve is some mediocre ex-Treble dick

AUBREY

???

FAT AMY

Oh my God Aubrey you cannot tell me that the vow was a lifelong thing

Because if that’s the case Beca literally dated one of those douchebags for 2 years

Also: she’s just started twerking

She’s killing my vibe and it’s MY BIRTHDAY

LILLY

I killed someone once for a twinkie.

FAT AMY

…

@chloe please come and pick up your gf

I’ve told her I’ve recorded her dabbing on snapchat and she still doesn’t seem to give a shit

CHLOE

Where the hell r u ????

FAT AMY

Outside by the speakers

She’s started beatboxing and it’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever seen

And I’ve seen Bumper’s cock

AUBREY

AMY

DON’T EVER SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT EVER AGAIN

ASHLEY

I’m near the speakers, I could come and help sober her up a bit?

FAT AMY

Sorry who are you?

Doesn’t matter anyway, Red’s claimed her

And NOW they’re kissing

I can’t believe that twerking-beatboxing-dabbing mess is getting some and I’m not

IT’S MY BIRTHDAY

CYNTHIA-ROSE

Wait Amy where are you?

FAT AMY

Bitch don’t even pretend you’re looking for me

I know what you want

And they’ve both disappeared sooooo

CYNTHIA-ROSE

:(

EMILY

I’ve just seen Chloe and Beca go upstairs! Are we having a slumber party? I forgot my pajamas but I could go back and get them?? :)

FAT AMY

You sweet summer child

-x-

Interlude – i filled a little book with your poetry

Fat Amy’s bed is big, like if she moves she’ll fall off the edge of the world.

But her whole world is right here, her head resting on her chest, eyelids fluttering shut and a smudge of red lipstick on her cheek.

Her world is five-foot-two and feisty and drunk and she’s beautiful.

-x-

 (vi) kiss my first love with you on repeat

It’s three am and Chloe’s head is all swirly and her whole body feels weightless, like if it wasn’t for Beca’s arm anchoring her to the sidewalk she’d just fly up and up and up, sitting among the clouds. Today has probably been the best night of her life. But then—she’s with Beca, so every night is probably the best night of her life, and its days like these that she realises she’s the luckiest person in this entire world. No-one else gets a Beca to go home with. She’s literally the only person on this Earth who can say that.

“Dude,” Beca says, her voice the only sound in the silent street, “Can you at least try to walk in a straight line? I can’t keep you balanced and I’d rather you didn’t get run over by a truck. The medical bill would be monster, to start with.”

“Yes, Beca,” she replies, folding in a little too far and causing Beca to stumble, “But I’m not straight, am I? How can you expect me to walk in a straight line when I’m not even straight?”

Beca bites her lip, grinning. “Oh. Wow. You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I? God, I’m so funny. You’re so pretty.”

“Thanks, Chlo,” Beca replies, smirk prevalent, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Chloe’s smile is giddy and contagious, happily drunk, her heart beating twice as fast in her chest. Because it’s 3am, and she’s with Beca Mitchell, and everything couldn’t be more fucking right.

“We should get married,” she says, suddenly, like a revelation. They pause in the middle of the street for a second and Beca looks back at her, eyes wide. “Wouldn’t that be the best? We’d be like… we’d be us, but married.”

Beca doesn’t say anything, and looks like she might cry. Then she bursts out laughing.

“Chloe. We’re already married, you weirdo. You really are drunk.”

Chloe presses a hand over her chest, overwhelmed, tears pricking at her eyes. It’s like she’s been told the most wonderful thing ever. Oh yeah. She’s already put a ring on it. “Oh my god. That’s awesome. You’re beautiful. I love you.”

Beca grins and it starts to rain, like actually pour, the clouds rumbling with thunder and soaking them through. Beca gasps, looking up, water trickling down her cheekbones. It’s honestly too perfect a moment to waste.

Chloe grabs her face and kisses her, in the middle of the street, the air smelling like heat and summer and tequila, and she’s kissing her wife and she’s drunk and yeah, this is definitely the best night of her life.

[swimmmusic]

The Lambskin Condom Apocalypse Clinking and clanking in its hinges. The wind off the semi-trucks rattles the gate. Its joints lightly rusted from recent rain. Rain that makes LA drivers scramble around the highway in the kind of frenzy that will ensue when the Zombie Apocalypse actually does take place. Devouring us all and our gluten-free cracker boxes, over-sized paper towel squares, essential oil tinctures, anti-aging Vitamin E lotion bottles, medium Frie cardboard holders, once worn and now forgotten stilettos, chipped red tool boxes, popsicle sticks, Blow-Pop wrappers, secret-wielding journals, waterproof phone cases, twice-thrifted vinyls, temperamental mirrors, auspicious to-do-lists, lambskin condoms, ankle socks, initial-bearing handkerchiefs, futon frames and carbonated mixed-drink cups. Yes, all of that. Gone. Accompanying the rattle of the gate is music from the Cross-Fit Gym a block away. It’s aggressive. Though it does sound motivating, in a foreboding, militant manner. It could either be the Cadence to the Wehrmacht or a new Disturbed song. Either way it’s offensive. On many levels. Today is Sunday. It is usually quieter. Alas it is relatively still at my place. My ‘front yard’ is a driveway, splattered in dust and oil stains. As if a Cal-Arts sophomore became obsessed with Burnt Umber and disenchanted with the restrictive nature (or perhaps just the tedious up-keep) of brushes, thus deciding to throw paint at a canvas for a semester. (Surely leading to a C minus but much fun in the form of psilocybin induced Pareidolia.) The driveway bakes in the dry air. The tequila seeps through the pores in small beads of sweat… Back in the concrete jungle. But just a few hours ago, in the latter part of an unexpected wild night, I sat on the lavish deck of a mansion in Beverly Hills with 4 models discussing what they had stolen from the patio bathroom. The patio was as far as they were allowed to go. With me that is. A giant Samoan bouncer in a bespoke suit told us, apologetically, that the pool, hot tub and tree house were restricted to female guests. The girls had my back. Or at least no interest in swimming in the pool so we returned to the deck. Other girls in tight dresses wandered in and out of the bar area. Caterers were packing up food. One told me, “you should have been here a few hours ago.” ~~~ “A few hours ago” ~~~ We stood outside of a club called Warwick. One of the girls I was with knew a promoter so we waited for him to come outside while everyone looked each other up and down and evaluated in their own minds who was in fact, better than who… strictly in the terms of social status, wealth and beauty. The thing is, until someone grants you access, the people working the door look at you like you are the gum that stuck to their shoe in the parking lot; utterly annoyed that you exist, slightly confused as to why you exist and determined to get rid of you without getting any sticky residue on their fingers. This usually makes me feel small and very insecure. A little sad too I think. Not for myself, but that humans can ever take part in such grotesque behaviors such as war, theft, and in this case, human denigration via low admittance door policies at ‘da club’. Just as I felt me, myself and my self-worth sinking down between the cracks of the sidewalk, a guy with a tight shirt, feathered hair and a middle part came to let us in. (The middle part looked surprisingly good for a middle part.) I have met a few of these promoters and they seem to have the same demeanor with me each time. They glance at me for a second, realize I am part of the package deal, begrudgingly shake my hand and move on to the ladies. There is a part of them that remembers I am a human but that part has been suppressed so strongly by bottle service guidelines that trying to make any meaningful contact feels like someone from the aforementioned zombie apocalypse trying to talk their bitten friend into staying human. We are escorted to an elevated lounge area with a table. Tequila and vodka bottles twinkle on the table like jewels in a Tiffany’s display case. The promoter asks me what I’d like to drink and pours it strong. I’m undeniably charmed a little. Before the alcohol takes effect I gaze around the giant club. I have been to Warwick a couple times and experience the same anxiety in the first ten minutes each time. The ceilings are high. The music is very loud. The people are very handsome. The shirt collars are very sharp. The fedoras are very fedora-y. The high heels are very high and make most girls walk very awkwardly. Along with my anxiety, I feel myself start to judge. But I don’t want to. So I take some deep breaths and ask to see it all differently. I tell myself, “Chris, people have different tastes. It’s ok that people enjoy this. Maybe you can?” Then something magical happens. After the fourth time my friend tells me to take a shot with her and after the fourth time I oblige, I find myself laughing, dancing, hooting, and hands-in-the-air-fake-rapping along to a song I don’t know the words to. DAMMIT! Despite all best intentions, I am now having an absolute blast at Warwick. I can blame it on whatever I want. Booze? Good friends that are unfairly attractive? Infectious party music? Booze? Surprisingly short unisex bathroom lines? Booze? Surprisingly congenial girls in the surprisingly short unisex bathroom lines? The bouncer’s feathered, weightless hair that somehow looks great with a middle part? BOOZE!!! But hey, no matter the cause, I had a mother fucking blast in DA CLUB. Fast forward now passed all these shenanigans to the end of my wild night in Hollywood. What kind of an ending could such an adventure close with you must be wondering? If you guessed a skinny dip in the mansion’s heated pool with pre-paid escorts and the most legendary game of Marco Polo since Ian Zeiring and Scott Baio took on the Grotto… you would be wrong. Optimistic. But wrong. However if you guessed a mud bath with four models in the bed of a Ford Ranchero, where the mud was replaced with Nutella while Gala apple slices rained down from the heavens burying our extremities leaving only our mouths to dip, snap and crunch our way to open air… well… again, you would be wrong. An ambitious little crépe you are, but wrong. Ok, but really now… guess how it could have ended. Yes! Taco Bell! Taco Bell, indeed. We made it in the doors just before closing time. CONFIRMING GOD WAS ON OUR SIDE! But moments later, when it was our turn to order, they refused us service because it was 5 minutes passed closing time. SOLIDIFYING GOD HAD FORSAKEN US! Judging from our reactions, one would have thought we were being ushered into the unlucky side of a Zombie triage line. Luckily, the girls knew a different promoter that was also denied Cheesy Gordita glory. (And yes, in Hollywood promoters are everywhere… like Maserattis… any time you turn your head one is whisking by with some blonde happy to be along for the ride.) He told us of a different Mexican place that would serve us. (Sidenote: Is Taco Bell actually considered Mexican? #deepthots) The girl driving us parried, “But it’s not Taco Bell! Is it good?” He sighed and replied, “It’s open.” I remember thinking to myself in my drunken state, “Damn, that was wise as fuck.” I squinted and shielded my growing respect. The real point of this part of the story is that I have met this promoter multiple times. Each time he barely looks at me in the eye, sadly realizes I’m part of the package deal and begrudgingly shakes my hand as if we have never met. And he does it again. I’m too drunk to think all zen and woke-like so I don’t take any deep breaths. Judgement begins to swirl fiercely around the Sammy Hagar-branded Tequila river rapids in my head. But before I know it, something magical happens! Again! He goes and pays for all of our Mexican food! But get this! Then he just leaves! Like Batman saving us from impending doom! Disappearing before he can collect on his munificent errand. Consider me CHARMED much! I went from commiserating over whether or not it’s a power play for him to be so flippant of my existence to fantasizing about him adopting me as his little Ahijado! I ate a quesadilla. Then I ate two pastor tacos. Then I ate half of one of the girl’s enchiladas. Then I sighed and looked down in defeat. *Earlier that day I had promised myself I would not drink or eat past 9 pm for the rest of the week. So how do I judge Warwick if I had a great night that I’ll always (barely) remember. How do I judge promoters for treating me like a sub-human if they buy me Quesadillas that I’ll never (kind of) forget?!! Ugh. I suppose it is possible to ‘see things differently’. No matter where you are, judging only leaves ya less likely to have fun. Or less likely to stuff your face with a hangover-assuaging enchilada. The end… well, at least for the human portion of my audience… The rest is for God, of which whom I was abandoned by in Taco Bell, but have come to peace with since. Ok, thou One and Only-est… despite all these diplomatic mantras I have reached in my enlightened state… I must address that zombie apocalypse… with all its fleshy deserts and carnal terror? Well Lord, I still ask you please, please take Warwick first; but also please let me have one more night there before you do. I know what you’re thinking, God. But who knew Hell on Earth could be so fun?! -Cookie da Club Crasher * Note from author about title. As for all the things that will go in the end of days… Perhaps not lambskin condoms. I believe those are a myth, produced to drive guilt into the hearts of those without a latex allergy, still too careless to wrap it up. ‘What never existed can never be relinquished’. Which metaphysically speaking, makes Lambskin condoms the most durable form of protection on the market! Now ya know! Be safe kiddos.)

[thcpcnguin-blog]

TFLN Starters

{90 textsfromlastnight text starters}

[text]: i need to stop establishing animals as safe words. Giraffe and Penguin are really awkward words to say during sex [text]: I'm committing myself to dance. Also, I'm unsure if you said space party sounded lame because dude was old, but I hope you're over it because I love space, and I love David Bowie and I love to dance, and you need to embrace this with me. [text]: i have nothing going on in my life. unless a toxic love triangle with netflix and jack daniels counts. [text]: You were a cyclone of alcohol and bad decisions - like a gay Tazmanian devil [text]: learned the hard way that breakfast jack daniels is a lot stronger than lunch or dinner jack daniels. [text]: alcohol and riverdancing are a dangerous mix. have a spraind ankle. i die now [text]: im getting a BJ in a closet and a penguin just handed me a bong [text]: Got a snapchat from Megan last night showing you sobbing about a burrito on the floor with Dan in the background trying not to laugh his ass off [text]: He kept spanking me and talking about biomedical science. [text]: oh, well, if you all need a good laugh, by all means endanger my life. [text]: For breaking and entering. I think neighbor dan cared more about me puking in his backseat than the surprise of me waking up there [text]: He carried you out but the best part is you kept saying "can't I keep dancing" as you were gushing blood [text]: Whatever. We're stealing a penguin. Your not allowed near him... You did this to yourself. [text]: I don't know when he had the time to do it but he dug a hole in our basement like the shawshank redemption [text]: He broke his arm in a fistfight with the bouncer. it was neat. [text]: I'm sorry for what I said when I was orgasming [text]: He says the sweetest things but also that he wants to choke me when we fuck so it's kinda perfect. [text]: Your vagina is not a steamboat from the 1800's [text]: As long as there aren't any pictures of me humping the penguin, we are good, [text]: Vacuum the place before you go out of town there are random glitter cocks everywhere [text]: long story short, the bouquet was used as a sacrificial torch [text]: And by not handle it I mean it makes me want to sit on his face [text]: MIND BOGGLER: batman and jesus are the same person. Think about it. [text]: I'm sorry about the spring break comment. I won't make anymore pornos, I promise. [text]: I hate him but I love him for what he does which is me [text]: they asked me about my neuroscience major and I said 'the brain is the outer space of the body' and passed out. it appears my ivy league education is not going to waste [text]: my goal was to make out with as many people dressed as batman as possible. I have my priorities. [text]: Did we do drunk science last night? There's tequila in the test tubes... [text]: You didn't try to help me when I fell on the dance floor. She brought me cupcakes. You're a shitty friend, suck your own dick. [text]: also, what is the correct term for a shit ton of clowns? [text]: "Stranger danger aquaman" were the last words i remember. help me. [text]: no homo or anything but the way you were dancing with that girl gave me a boner [text]: It's one of the many facets of my drunken alter egos. I'm like substance abuse batman. [text]: Being hungover in this office is the actual worst. Like they look at me and know I was wasted at 1 am, karaokeing Billy Idol at a gay bar. [text]: i'm not a human right now. not even a dancer. [text]: I bet your mom's never met a girl who's thrown up at the presidential inauguration before though. [text]: I will teach you the ways of the ho life, my little gay grasshopper. [text]: Holy cold harsh reality of sobriety batman [text]: I am an emotionally compromised bisexual. [text]: so I guess it's not okay to mix vodka and ..everything and then proceed to offer a lap dance to ...everyone. [text]: Just banged your ex. So it really is 'him, not you' in that he's gay. Rodeo champion gay. [text]: I thought the Bane mask would really repel dudes but instead I ended up grinding on a frat dude that whispered "bad bitch contest, you in first place" in my ear in a Batman voice [text]: It began the way the best stories do—with some naïve jackasses in a place they had no business being at. [text]: I'm the kind of gay who carries his anxiety medication in case the club scene gets too fierce [text]: His ex told me that she wanted me to "take care of" him but from the way she said it I couldn't tell if she wants me to look after him or murder him. [text]: I was working er so they smashed a vodka bottle over dan's head so they'd have an excuse to visit [text]: Holy sore nipples Batman [text]: He;s fine. He just kept saying "hurricane Gordon is coming to shore" and flexed his muscles a lot. [text]: after I lost so many games of beer pong they made me be a troll, I sat under the table and told riddles while retrieving balls. [text]: hell hath no fury like a questionably-gay best friend scorned [text]: Quick question—how good are you at digging holes? I mean, besides the one you've dug for yourself. asking for a friend [text]: Just asphyxiate me and toss my corpse in the Ocean. It'll be easier than whatever the next four or eight years will bring. [text]: If you fuck up my birthday by dying I will kick your fucking corpse. [text]: I have a drinking game planned. Were gunna watch empire records. Everytime they say rex manning we have to take a shot [text]: OK. i'm going to add "riddle me this, brodawg" to the list of things i'm never gonna say to my boss again while i'm high. [text]: I DO have hobbies! I drink. I drink more. I catfish men on Grindr with photos of guys who are less attractive than me. I listen to Lovecraftian podcasts. I'm very well-rounded. [text]: I mean, I'm shallow, narcissistic, and selfish, but I'm an amazing friend sometimes [text]: I sang him a lovely rendition of 'So Long and Thanks For All the Fish", but replaced fish with dick. [text]: Between randomly bursting into tears and the reappearance of my lost sex drive, this break up has left me bizarrely damp. [text]: I'm slightly more gay than I thought. I'd go so far as to say I'm a top. [text]: party started at 10. cops are coming to shut us down now and its 11. i already lostmy underwear and im wearing a sparkly thong on my haed. this has to be some kinda record. [text]: i found you laying on the floor staring at the ceiling and you kept muttering "why" in various inflections. [text]: CNN just did a special on how to do heroin safely.. I recorded it for us [text]: Eddy, if you don't want to roll play then say so. This is just obnoxious [text]: you called me and cried until i agreed to record a rap about our lives with you [text]: He left his umbrella behind in my bed to 'keep me company', then stole my front door key before he went to work [text]: you know you're in deep when you watch fear and loathing in las vegas and every damn scene is relatable. [text]: for the record, you never really realize how drunk you still are until you get on rollerskates... [text]: I watch one musical on Netflix, and the "Suggested for you" section is literally almost the entire gay movie category. I feel profiled, and netflixs' accuracy about my sexuality is both impressive and offensive. [text]: ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS FOR YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONCE [text]: 2016 was supposed to be my year of being a ho, but I guess 2017 might be too. [text]: You drunk? Cause I have a terrible idea... [text]: Eventually the creepy theater major quirks will come out. Probably in bed. Like role playing as the Phantom of the Opera [text]: Oh dear. If we're both hearing alien sounds then perhaps they're real. [text]: Actually I was drinking whiskey straight from 3 bottles, but that is neither here nor there. [text]: He left, I think he got uncomfortable when I started singing 'oompah oompah doodley do, I have a special riddle for you' [text]: Can we just get drunk and watch the Birdcage please I have no tolerance for straight men today [text]: Came home to my roommate drinking a 40 in the shower. Chugging with his hair still fully shampoo'd. [text]: People are talking politics and I have had 9 mimosas [text]: You leaned over to me in the elevator and whispered "how long do I have to pretend to be sober?" [text]: Vibrator fell off the top of the dresser and hit me. This might be the most embarrassing black eye incident ever [text]: I think we’re only still together so we can make each other miserable [text]: Girl you know I'm an advocate of debauchery but you might wanna check yoself. [text]: don't worry, i'm not mad. i'm just angry. and furious. and about to set your ass on fire. [text]: Sharknado 3 is going to bring us to alcoghol poisonign [text]: That’s not a That's not a current picture, because if you look deep enough into my eyes you can still see morals. Not these days. [text]: The cop told me I was the prettiest guy he'd arrested in a while. I'm still not sure if it was a come on or not. [text]: Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. [text]: He literally chugged a bottle of wine in under 2 minutes. Stood up, said "fuck what ya heard" and stabbed the bottle into their drywall. [text]: We are 100% horrible people, and im extremely happy we are friends