#like even if i did throw my plastic cup full of vodka at a baby from the stands

[paprikamahomes]

I would be the BEST nfl wife like ppl already hate nfl wives by default because of the whole being a woman thing so I would literally be able to do anything. The power I would have. I want to walk around on all fours get super fucking high on rich ppl drugs and cannibalize his teammate on live TV like a wild dog ❤️

[ptersparkers]

vodka dreams (the adventures of y/n stark)

summary: a regularly updating collection of vignettes, which can be read in any order, that detail the life and adventures of y/n stark, a self-proclaimed baker, thrill seeker, and an all around good person.

warnings: underage drinking and probably some swearing.

masterlist / taglist

“You seriously want to go over to Flash’s house on a Friday night?” Peter asked you as you grabbed your purse and slung it over your shoulder.

You shrugged. “I mean, he said it was gonna be us two, MJ, Harry Osborn, and Ned.”

“Well what if that was a lie and we turn up to some crazy party?”

“Either way, free alcohol,” you said, winking as the uber pulled up to the front of the tower. “You coming or not?”

Peter groaned internally and thought about what choice he was going to make. You were responsible, yes, but he felt like he needed to look out for you and make sure nothing went wrong. He sighed, looking over his left shoulder at the doors of the tower, and reluctantly got into the uber with you. You grinned and greeted your driver before taking off into the bustling night of New York.

“Your dad’s going to kill you,” Peter said.

“My dad’s in Sydney until Tuesday night. Pepper’s our with her friends on a vacation until dad comes back and that leaves two bored teenagers to find something fun to do.”

Peter rolled his eyes and adjusted himself in the seafbelt while you played with the material through your fingertips.

“It’s good to let loose every once in a while.”

“I thought you weren’t the party type.”

“I’m not,” you replied. “But I like having fun sometimes. If Flash lied and his house is a target for cops, then we take whatever we can and go find a quiet place to hang out. Sound good?”

Peter nodded and soon enough found the car parked outside of Flash’s house. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not that there seemed to be only one room lit and not a raging party like he had thought.

After you had set Flash straight and told him you had the power to expunge him from any college he applied to (you didn’t, but your last name being ‘Stark’ has some advantages), Flash kept the teasing to a minimum. Sure, he called Peter ‘Penis Parker’ every once in a while and brushed his shoulder against Peter’s but even Peter has to admit the teasing didn’t seem like bullying anymore. It was kind of weird. But he was fine with it.

“Hey guys!” Flash said as he opened the door. He was holding a red cup and you saw MJ, Ned, and Harry inside the living room with various bottles of alcohol on the kitchen’s island table.

“Want a cup?” MJ asked.

“What are you serving, bartender?”

“Well, Flash has a lot of stuff I could mix together. How about we just start with a vodka-cranberry chaser?”

“Sounds good to me!” you exclaimed as you handed MJ a plastic cup. She poured three shots worth of vodka into the cup and filled the rest, until half the cup, with cranberry juice.

“I hope you ate a full meal before you came,” Harry said as he leaned his side against the counter. You turned around and faced him, taking a large gulp of the liquid that tasted more vodka than cranberry.

“I forced Peter to share a whole box of pizza with me for this exact occasion, Harold,” you said with a wink as you set your cup down. Harry laughed and grabbed some potato chips in a colorful bowl and wiped his hand on a spare napkin.

“You and Peter are really something else,” he noted.

You looked over your shoulder to see Peter and Ned mid-laugh before he looked at you and shot you a separate smile. You crinkled your nose and waved before turning back to Harry.

“He’s my best friend,” you declared. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Well, I wouldn’t eat an eggplant for him, but that’s a story for another day.” 

Harry chuckled and you both turned to where Ned and Peter were, having moved from their spot to the middle of the living room. Flash and MJ moved the furniture to form a makeshift circle and you took the spot next to Peter in the smaller couch meant for two. 

“My forehead feels a little hot,” you confessed. MJ had replaced the alcohol in your cup with the same drink as Peter felt your forehead. 

“You’re not even that hot,” he said, looking at you with a dramatic expression. 

“Excuse me? I am extremely hot, thank you very much,” you scoffed. Ned laughed at your joke and you reached over Peter to give him a high five as Peter rolled his eyes and shoved your shoulder with his. 

“I’m gonna be honest,” Flash started, hiccuping after he spoke. “Harry and I pregamed a little before this.” 

“A little?” MJ said, trying to stifle a laugh after he barely missed the couch. 

“You look more sober than he does,” you said to Harry. 

He shrugged. “I’m a heavyweight. Flash practically slurred his words after two shots.”

“That’s NOT true!” Flash exclaimed. You all chuckled and settled in your seat and you crossed your legs on the couch cushion, scooting closer to Peter and taking a sip of your drink.

“Okay, we’re going to play spoons,” MJ said. “Here are the rules. We have two deck of cards and one’s going to be used for later. I’m going to pass around one card at a time and you all have to pass it to the person on your left. You need to get a four of a kind and when someone does, you have to yell ‘spoons!’ and grab a spoon.”

“This sounds lame,” Flash teased. MJ shot him a look and grabbed the second deck of cards and placed it on the table, shuffled. 

“The loser has to take a shot of whatever’s in front of us or gulp down whatever’s in their cup. Then, they flip over a card,” she said, flipping the first card on the deck, which showed a three of heart, “and they can appoint shots to people. For example, I could tell Flash to take three shots or make Ned take one shot and Peter two.” 

“What if someone picks a ten?” Ned said, grimacing at the thought of ten shots. 

“You can only take three shots in a row,” said MJ. “We want to have fun, not get alcohol poisoning. You can only make someone drink three shots in a row and you have to give one or more to someone else. Got it?”

“Got it!” you all said back.  

MJ smirked and rubbed her hand together. “Let the games begin, baby!” 

MJ quickly passed one card to Flash, who passed it to you, then Peter, Ned, and finally Harry. The game was intense and you could feel your heart racing and you were sure Peter could feel how fast it was beating. 

“SPOONS!” Harry yelled. You all scrambled to grab a spoon, knocking some cards over in the process, only to leave Flash without a spoon. 

“Damn it,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Shot time!” MJ said, pouring him a shot of tequila. He downed it without much thought and flipped over a card to see a two of spades. 

“Drink up, MJ,” he said, scowling at her as she laughed and took two shots for herself. 

"Wait, can we appoint shots to people who are out?” you asked. 

“You bet,” MJ said before passing out the cards once again. 

Peter almost knocked the cards out of your hands and you pretended to scold him, holding your cards towards your chest so he wouldn’t see that you had three of a kind. Everyone was panting and anticipating someone to call out spoons and it wasn’t until Ned cracked his voice while yelling did the room consume itself with laugher. 

“Are you kidding me?” Ned said as he was left spoon-less. 

“Sorry, buddy,” Petter said, patting his back to mock him. Better luck next time.”

Ned scowled at him and gulped what was in his cup before turning over a card, laughing to himself. He showed the group a ten of diamonds and pointed at Peter. 

“Three shots for you, idiot,” said Ned. Peter opened his mouth in fake shock. “Two for Y/N, two for Harry, and one for MJ and Flash.” 

“I hate you,” Peter muttered before taking three consecutive shots. You downed your two shots, feeling the alcohol slide against your throat and shook your head. 

“Oh goodness,” you said, leaning your side against Peter’s arm. “I can feel it now.” 

“Don’t wimp out on me,” MJ said before passing out the next round of cards again. 

This time, Peter was the one who yelled spoons and you, unfortunately, lost. 

“Aha!” Peter yelled, grinning like a cheshire cat. 

“Shut up, Parker,” you said, taking a shot that Harry had poured and you grimaced. “Whatever that was, it tasted awful.”

“Eh, a friend of mine bought it last week and said it was different,” Flash said, shrugging. You threw your middle finger up at him and flipped a card. Five of spades. 

“Two for you, Peter,” you said, saluting at him. He groaned and drank anyways. “One for Ned, and two for Flash because of that awful substance.” 

You watched the three of them drink at the same time and laughed when Peter dripped the alcohol on his chin. 

“You dumbass,” you said, grabbing a napkin and wiping the sticky substance. Peter smiled gratefully and you moved his arm away so that you could situate yourself in between his arms, relaxing your body after the alcohol consumption. 

The same continued on until MJ eventually won and you drank only a little more than you thought you would. 

“I have a hangover to last me a lifetime,” Harry complained as he grabbed his head. 

“I’m almost there,” said Ned. 

Everyone was off in their own little world, trying to either stay awake or fall asleep when you felt Peter stroke your hair. 

“Wanna go home?” Peter asked, somewhat sober than the rest because of his senses that were trying to ward off the alcohol. 

“Too tired. Can’t walk properly,” you said, nuzzling your cheek into his sweatshirt. Peter chuckled and held you tighter against his chest and let his cheek rest at the crown of your head. 

All of you found yourselves slumped over the floor or couch and you made Flash turn the light off, to which he groaned because the last thing he wanted to do was move. 

When the light turned off, Peter searched for your hand and grabbed it, stroking the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You didn’t reply and Peter heard your soft snores, and smiled. 

***

Taglist:

@songforhema, @kath94210, @sessi03.

[prettylittlebrownskingyal]

I hv this college AU in my head where all the bat kids (of age so i guess no Damian) are in uni and meet/hang with the teen titans and young justice bunch Wally snd Dick do sports together, Steph and Duke judge from afar while fooling around with board games. Jason and Victor Stone play beer pong idk i fuck with it

Note: you know, I was just gonna say YES, I LOVE THIS and then my dumbass brain went, “Write a thing. Write a thing. Write it hoe.” so here’s 1.5k of utter madness.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Lot’s of it.

He may not remember how he made it back into his bed, with only one shoe, no socks and glitter in his hair. But he definitely remembers how it all started.

The break begins with Dick banging on his door at the ass crack of dawn, a disgruntled Tim in tow and a bellini in hand.

“Carpe diem, baby bro.”

They fumble their way through making breakfast, keeping Alfred on facetime even with all the swearing and cursing and dropped utensils. Damian pops across the screen from time to time to whine about being bored at home and mock their collective incompetence.

It’s a huge spread; they’re cooking for mostly college athletes, after all. Dick goes around forcing extra bits of bacon and pancakes and fruit onto the freshman’s plates. Bart and Jaime dig in earnestly, but Tim takes an extra dose of coaxing because he’s too stubborn for his own good. Dick persists though, roping in a sagely Steph to remind Tim that he’ll probably be the first one to pass out anyways.

“Hey. Hey! No assignments at the table, today’s about getting wasted.”

Raven flips Wally the bird, slapping her laptop closed and leaning over to slip it back into Kory’s tote.

“Do something productive,” Garfield says. “Take this and knock it back. Show us who’s boss.”

She leers at the offered beer with disinterest. “It’s not even 10 yet.”

“Exactly, daylight’s burning.”

“I seriously doubt our only goal today is to just get wasted.” Duke’s worried voice draws the attention of all the seniors. They exchange amused glances over his head.

“You poor, innocent little bean,” Zatanna says, throwing her arms around him. “You’re in a frat house full of NCAA athletes and scholastic decathlon nerds who don’t get the chance to drink for most of the semester. Today is absolutely about getting wasted.”

***

He’s somewhere between buzzed and tipsy. Happy in the warmth of the sun.

It’s the first time in a while that he’s felt the tension of school slip away from his shoulders. His assignments are done, his family and friends are all around him and he’s having the time of his life watching Cass mix extra vodka into the already triple spiked rum punch. It’s both disgusting and delicious. And judging from the way Kon’s draped himself over Tim in a nearby lawn chair, it acts fast.

Barrelling straight towards blackout drunk for no other reason than the glory of college is an utterly fascinating idea and Jason finds it hilarious how willing most of them are to participate.

Dick’s already been amped up to giggly and incoherent. He and Wally are hunched over a phone, snickering at something Jason hopes is just the front camera opened up to their stupid faces.

“Here you go, buddy.” Roy’s voice grabs his attention as he passes over a plastic-wrapped sandwich to him. “You good?”

It’s the third time he’s asked for the day. Despite the fact that Jason is kinda wasted, he knows that Roy’s probably a little uncomfortable being around most of the people he loves, watching them get hammered while he’s stone cold sober.

“Yeah. You?” he asks through a bite of tuna on whole wheat.

“Peachy. Wanna go let Steph and Babs crush our asses at poker?”

****

“Can we go get fro-yo?”

Tim’s voice is soft and buttery, the way it gets when he’s shit-faced. Jason can hear Kon murmuring in agreement and Duke’s firm denial over the base of a Rihanna song. They’re a mess of gangly legs, draped over each other on the lumpy couch. He’s so caught up in watching they way their alcohol-induced affection is driving Duke up a wall that he misses Raven taking her turn.

He groans as the ball lands in a red solo cup. Kory grins wildly, hooking her chin over Raven’s shoulder; their both wearing looks of smug victory and he just knows he’s going to have the worst hangover tomorrow as he plucks another half-filled cup between his fingers, forcibly gulping down the amber liquid it holds. Vic slides over for his turn. He throws the ball and lets out a hiss as it misses the cup in the middle of the table, completely. Garth gives Jason a sympathetic head shake as he steps up to throw back the beer.

“It’s not fucking fair. How are you both star football players, bro? You guys suck at this.”

Vic laughs, pointing a finger at him. “I’m letting that slide because you’re the one throwing back my drinks for me.”

“Hey,” Raven intones. “It could be worse, Kory wanted to do this with tequila.”

“I’m actually hoping to leave college with my liver intact. Please, and thank you.”

Steph’s laughter, bubbly and sharp, cuts over the music. “Remember in freshman year when you got high and asked me how likely it was you’d survive a liver transplant?”

“You’re in med school, I thought you would know!”

She still laughing at him when she turns back to the complicated game of jenga she and Cass have had going for the past hour. He’s way too mellow to even begin to understand it, but he strongly suspects Cass is cheating.

***

Somewhere along the lines of beer pong and pizza Artemis Crock and Cissie King-Jones, the ace co-captains of the archery team, talk Duke and Tim into doing shots. He watches for a good ten minutes before he’s suckered right in alongside them. When Tim does inevitably pass out, Kaldur— who’s sober and very amused— lugs him off to bed.

That’s right along his memory get’s fuzzy. He knows there was dancing. He remembers being tugged along by Kory, yelling Beyoncé lyrics at the top of his lungs as he’s sandwiched between his siblings and his friends.

There are flickers of Kyler Rayner doing body shots and double dog dares with Mia Dearden and Connor Hawke. He has a video on his phone of Bart doing a keg stand while Wally looks on with a mixture of horror and pride plastered across his face. There’s a whole album of Dick trying to pet a stray cat, his nose red and the pictures getting blurrier and blurrier as his allergies set in.

After that, he thinks it was suggested that they all go outside to watch the sunrise. Someone— one of the redheads — had placed a steadying hand on his back as he swayed from foot to foot. He’s pretty sure he confessed his undying love to them.

****

When he does wake up, it’s because his head feels ready to fall off his shoulders and his mouth tastes like ass. The whole house stinks of sweat and the floors are sticky with spilt drinks. He bumps into Kon in the hallway, they exchange withering stares and a fist bump before parting ways.

He finds everyone in the kitchen— with the exception of Roy, whose a chipper bastard— in a similar state of dissonance with their bodies. Dick’s got his head in Kory’s lap and his feet in Wally’s. Tim sits across the table from them, staring at a glass of water like it personally offended him and Steph’s on the floor to the left of him, forehead pressed to the fridge. She has glitter in her hair too.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Roy laughs. “You look like shit warmed over.”

“Thanks, man.” He spares him a glance, “Did you put me to bed last night?”

“I did,” Kory answers, her voice rough like gravel.

“Thanks, dude. Where’d my shoe go?”

“Dunno. Found you without it, I think.”

In the living room, Jaime’s lying face down on the couch with a pillow over his head, Bart keeps shuffling over to check his pulse and then back to the kitchen to gulp down water. Roy feeds them all toast and grins when a fresh-faced Cass breezes in through the doors. She plops a bottle of Advil onto the table gently and then sweeps away to watch the ensuing chaos.

“Me. First.” Tim growls, snatching it out of Dick’s hands.

Steph rouses herself then, looking around the room bleary-eyed. She clocks Jason and his head full of glitter, raising one hand to twist her fingers through her blonde locks, and then her other one to point at him like, “Hey, same.”

Donna drags herself in a little bit later. She immediately flings herself into a chair and drops her head down onto the table with a clunk that surely worsened her hangover headache. Vic and Kaldur, fairing better than the rest of them, snort through their breakfast as Roy peels off his sweatshirt to place it under her head.

He finds his shoe floating in the tub of quadruple rum-punch when their cleaning that evening. Garfield laughs so hard at him for a good ten minutes before clutching his skull and dropping down onto the porch steps, weakly.

At a quarter to four, Duke walks down the steps wearing the face of a man who knows nothing but utter betrayal.

“I’m letting you all know,” he calls. “I am not doing this again next year. I feel like death and I wanna call Alfred and cry.”

“Aw, Duke,” Dick coos. “Same.”

[ageeksnerdyworld]

Lost in The Static

Characters: Aisling O’Connor, Kelly Ronan O’Connor, Brady O’Connor

Word Count: 2,464

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing, Drinking

Summary: A moment in Aisling’s day as she tries to deal with raising her two boys by herself.

Notes: Another product of me getting the most random inspiration for a thing and just going with it. So yeah. This is a thing. The end is a little abrupt but whatever. Click the read more if you’d like.  As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Aisling sat on the sofa in the front room of the house. The TV was on, some useless midday talk show, but she wasn’t watching. A cup of coffee sat on the coffee table in front of her; still full. The coffee inside was now cold and a thin film began to form atop it. She still had the tablet in her hands and the unfinished crossword puzzle remained on the screen. The light reflected in her pale green eyes and brightly illuminated her face.

But she stared off into space; oblivious to the world around her.

Her thoughts swirled like a violent hurricane in her mind; rapidly switching between all kinds of different feelings. Running through emotions and expletives like a dealer at a casino dishing out cards to players.

How could you leave us like this?

The boys miss you. Kelly asks about you all the time. He remembers you a lot. And, Brady, well…

No, fuck you. You left without any sort of explanation. No note, no voicemail, not even a damn text.

It was my fault, wasn’t it? Things I did, or said, slowly pushed you away until you had no choice.

I miss you. I miss you so fucking much you stupid bastard.

In her daze she sets the tablet aside and gets up from the sofa. Walking around the coffee table she crosses the room. Approaching the fireplace she lifts her outstretched arm; reaching for something on the mantle. Standing right in front of the mantle, against the metal fireplace grate, her hand grabs hold of what she was looking for.

She pulls down the picture frame and runs her fingers along the glass.

The picture is of the four of them; her, the boys, and her husband. They stood in front of one of the many outdoor parks in the district. She held an even younger Brady against her hip. Kelly, who was also a lot younger at the time, stood in between them. Happily holding both of his parents’ hands. Big, bright, smiles ran along each of their faces. Despite the years that have passed that day remains as fresh and clear in her mind as the morning he disappeared.

“We were happy,” she says aloud to the picture. “I don’t see why you had to leave.”

Tears begin to fill the edges of her eyes. She instinctively brings her hands up to cover her face. The picture frame falls from her hands and crashes to the floor. The glass shatters all over the floor and the frame breaks. The picture itself remains unscathed from the incident; laying perfectly still amidst the wreckage.

A loud, mournful, wail erupts from her lips as she crumbles to the floor.

Sobs rack her frame; violently shaking her body and her wings.

She remains that way until the sound of her son’s cries break through her own.

Her head jerks up in the direction of the sound. She doesn’t know if the breaking glass, or her cries, woke him but it doesn’t really matter. He’s awake and she most likely won’t get him to go back to sleep for a long while. Getting up she wipes the tears from her eyes and wipes nonexistent dust from the front of her light blue jeans. She carefully steps around the broken glass; hoping she didn’t step on any shards she couldn’t see.

She reminds herself to clean up the mess later.

Aisling tries to fix her hair so that her son won’t notice she had been crying. Then she remembers that he’s still a baby. He won’t see how much of a mess she is. He’ll just see his mother’s face. Turning the corner, and walking through the interior archway, she approaches her son’s bedroom.

Walking through the open door she rushes to the crib that sits along the opposite wall.

Brady lays in the crib, on his back, face red and mouth open. His legs and arms flail about in an awkward manner. Somehow his bright indigo veins seemed to glow brighter than normal. Seeing him cry, in whatever pain he had no other way of expressing, hurts her heart. She reaches into the crib and carefully slides her hands underneath his body. Placing one under his head and the other under his back; supporting his small body. Lifting him out of the crib she brings him to her shoulder.

Bouncing him on her shoulder she pats his back and whispers to him.

“Shh, darling, it’s okay. It’s okay tá mé anseo, tá mé anseo,” she says.

Unsure of what to do she holds him tighter against her chest. Rubbing his back she begins to pace the room. His cries continue despite her best efforts to calm him. As she walks she starts to softly sing a lullaby. When the sound leaves her lips Brady stops crying instantly and settles against her shoulder. She continues to sing until she finishes the song.

When he falls back asleep once more she carefully lays him back in the crib. Running her thumb along his cheek she smiles. She waits a couple minutes; watching her son peacefully sleep.

She walks out of the room and closes the door behind her. She heads to the kitchen and grabs a broom and dustpan. Returning to the front room she picks up the picture before beginning to sweep up the broken glass. Aisling lays the picture on the coffee table. When the glass is all cleaned up she returns to the kitchen and grabs a plastic bag from underneath the sink. She throws the shards of glass in the bag and ties the top in a knot. Aisling puts that bag in another bag, ties it, before throwing it the kitchen garbage can.

Then she goes over the spot with a wet paper towel to make sure there are no tiny shards left behind.

She takes the cup of coffee as well and empties it in the sink. Tossing the paper towel into the garbage she opens the fridge. She looks through the fridge for a minute or so before finding what she needs in that moment. Aisling runs a hand through her hair and sighs; giving this decision a second thought.

But her emotions, and the burning need, drown her rational side out.

She reaches in and takes out a half finished bottle of whisky and an unopened bottle of vodka. The vodka bottle, which is normally clear glass, is now blue from the cold of the fridge. She grabs a bottle opener from the utensil drawer and returns once again to the front room.

She sits on the sofa and sets both bottles on the table.

Taking the picture from the table she looks at it again. Waves of mixed emotions suddenly overtake her again but she bites back the tears. Her brain keeps telling her that she needs to move on. But her heart, still aches, still wants to know why. Looking at his smiling face her brows furrow and her mouth forms an angry snarl. Aisling throws the picture on the table and aggressively grabs the bottle of whisky. In the same movement she twists the cap off. It comes off with ease.

“Down the hatch,” she says, raising the bottle and, toasting to no one in particular.

The bottle of whisky is polished off in less than four minutes. She sets it back on the coffee table and picks up the vodka without a second thought. Taking the bottle opener she positions the rounded opening over the cap. Adjusting the opening the small lip slides under the edge of the bottle top. Pulling up the cap comes off the neck of the bottle. This takes about a few seconds and she sets the bottle opener on the surface of the coffee table.

She closes her eyes and drinks the vodka.

It doesn’t burn as it goes down her throat. The liquor tastes subtle and smooth with a bit of a floral flavor. She pulls the bottle away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Setting the bottle down; she leans her back on the sofa.

Aisling lets the liquors calm her mind and heart.

After a while she gets up and throws the empty bottle of whisky in the trash. Returning the vodka to the fridge the bottle slowly starts to turn blue once more. Closing the door to the fridge she smiles to herself. She’s doing her best. And no one can take that away from her. Who cares if she needs a bottle or two to get through the day? At least she’s not doing drugs.

Or leaving the boys to fend for themselves, her conscious echoes.

That moment the front door opens and immediately slams closed.

The loud slamming is quickly followed by rapid footsteps rushing up the staircase. She knows exactly who that was and what it all meant. Rubbing her hands over her face she hopes she doesn’t look like the pile of crap she feels like. Kelly would definitely notice. Despite how much his teachers want to say he doesn’t pay attention in class Aisling knows her son better. She knows how vigilant he’s become to any change in her emotions in the recent months. She quickly throws some water on her face before heading up the stairs to comfort her son.

She takes her time going up the stairs because she understands that sometimes people don’t want to talk about what bothers them. Or the hardships they’ve suffered. She knows that all too well.

When she reaches the landing she turns left down the hallway.

The bright blue door, that the young boy insisted on painting himself, stuck out like a sore thumb in the entire house. As if that wasn’t enough to tell whom the room belonged to her son’s name was displayed on the door itself. His name was spelled out in wood block letters which were painted white. Aisling smiles as she remembers when the family took that trip to the craft store.

She runs her fingers along the letters; tracing the edges. Kelly was so excited that day. He wanted to spend the entire day in the store just exploring. It was a memory of a time well missed by both of them.

Aisling brings her hand to the door and raps her knuckles against it.

“Go away,” the voice calls from within.

She tries the doorknob and to her surprise it isn’t locked. She opens it slowly and peers in the room. The light from the hallway barely illuminates the room. It was obvious that Kelly had left the lights off when he entered his room earlier. The glow-in-the-dark star stickers that lined the ceiling gave off a faint greenish-yellow glow. Aisling reached for the light switch and tapped the flat panel on the wall. The room light up instantly and she could see the entirety of the room.

The stickers on the ceiling faded back to their non-lit white coloring.

Toys and clothes littered the floor. A pile of papers were neatly laid on the floor in the far left corner of the room. The curtains were drawn over the window; blocking out the light from outside. Kelly lay on the bed on his stomach; face buried in the pillow. He still wore his shoes and the clothes he had worn to school. The laces of his left shoe were untied and poked out from under his foot. His backpack was thrown against the wall and now sat in a sad slump.

“What’s wrong, a stór?” Aisling asks as she sits on the edge of his bed.

“Nothing,” he replies; voice muffled slightly by the pillow.

“Don’t try that, Kelly Ronan O’Connor,” she says only slightly scolding him. “I know when you’re lying to me.”

“How?”

“A mother always knows her son,” she says simply.

She lays a hand on his back. He sighs under the pillow and lifts his head. Turning his head to look at his mom his bright blue eyes were red at the edges. It was clear that he had been crying. His hair was a tangled mess, some in his eyes, sticking out at odd angles. Aisling motions for him to sit up. He does and she wraps an arm around him.

“What’s wrong, a leanbh? Maybe we can find a way to fix it.”

“You can’t.”

“Says who?” she asks with a worried look.

Kelly stares at the floor and says nothing. Aisling waits patiently; her arm still around her son’s shoulder. Her son was an open book in every other situation. He would even tell strangers whatever childish thoughts popped into his head. But now, after his entire world was turned upside down, he shut down when something upset him. There’s no point to trying to push him to open up. That hadn’t worked with him so far and it probably never will.

After a few minutes he mutters under his breath; “I don’t want to go back to school. The kids are mean.”

“Times are tough, darling, but they won’t be that way forever.”

“They won’t if I go to a new school.”

She kisses her son’s forehead and wipes away a tear that fills the corner of his eye. He stares at the floor. His hands remain at his sides tightly clenching the blanket in small bunches. She holds his face in her hands and tries to meet his eyes. But he continues to avoid her gaze.

“Look at me, ceann beag,” she whispers calmly.

The boy sniffles and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking up he stares into his mother’s eyes. The expression in them is sad but, somehow, still hopeful. He doesn’t understand how she can feel that way but her hand is warm against his cheeks. It’s a welcome comfort in these dark days.

“It’s not fair,” he cries.

She nods; “I know, I know, but that’s just the thing, Kelly. Life isn’t fair all the time.”

“But why not?”

“Oh, darling,” she sighs pulling him close. “If life were fair all the time then no one would grow and learn and become a better person.”

Kelly leans against his mother’s shoulder. He does so gingerly so that he does not bump her wings. Biting his bottom lip he tries to stop the tears. But his efforts are useless in the end. Grief, and confusion, filled tears begin to roll down his face once more. The warm, salty, tears fall on his mom’s shirt; darkening spots of the pale pink.

“I don’t want to be better. I don’t want to grow. I just want dad back.”

“Me too,” Aisling says as she runs a hand through her son’s auburn hair.

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

The Golden Girl-Lip Gallagher Imagine

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Underage drinking, drug use, sensuality, sexual implications, and language

A/N: Y/O/B/F/N= your other best friend’s name

Sequel: The Morning After

   “Why didn’t I skip class today?” Mandy groaned, throwing her head back.

    “Because if you got caught skipping again, you would get suspended...again,” Lip muttered behind her.

    They were sitting in their eighth period British Lit class while Mr. O’Neil talked about some dead poet. Lip was only paying half attention since he already knew most of the information and he got good grades without even trying. He had a few more important things on his mind like Fiona and his other siblings and the trouble he and Ian could get into over the weekend. However, the other kids in the class could hardly afford zoning out in the way he did. 

    “...and that is how Edgar Allen Poe invented the modern detective story,” Mr. O’Neil concluded with a small smile under his wiry gray mustache. “Now, before you leave, I have to return your midterm essays.”

     “What’s the point? I know I failed,” Mandy muttered.

     “You never know. You could’ve gotten a D this time.”

      Lip smirked as Mandy turned around to slap his arm. It stung a little, but Lip laughed it off. 

       “We can’t all be weird geniuses like you.”

       “Most of you did not seem to grasp the concept I was looking for, which is confusing since all I requested was for you to dissect and analyze a piece of literature we previously discussed in class,” Mr. O’Neil said as he began handing back papers.

        A lot of the kids rolled their eyes, laughed, or groaned when they received their papers. It took a minute for Mr. O’Neil to get to Mandy and Lip.

       “I expect more from you, Miss Milkovich,” Mr. O’Neil said.

        “Have you met my brothers?” Mandy retorted.

        Mr. O’Neil cast a distaste look in her direction, but recovered a little as he handed Lip his paper. “Very good work, Mr. Gallagher.”

        “Thank you, Mr. O’Neil,” Lip said.

         Scrawled on top of his paper was a 90 along with the comment “Good work, Mr. Gallagher. Your input was interesting but the dissections were a bit off.”

          “Not bad, Gallagher,” Mandy muttered.

          “Thanks.”

          Lip couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He was always the smartest person in the room, even though the room primarily consisted of idiots. It was nice to be reminded of it. 

          “Miss Y/L/N, I was quite impressed with your work. I have never read such original or thoughtful input on Emily Dickinson.”

          The girl had a small, wan smile on her lips as she accepted her paper. “Thanks, Mr. O’Neil.”

           “In fact, you scored the highest on this assignment.”

           Y/N smiled shyly yet again and muttered a polite “thanks” to the teacher as she placed her essay neatly in her English folder.

           “Looks like Little Miss Perfect beat you out,” Mandy teased in a whisper.

           “I’ll let her have it, this is probably the only pleasure she gets out of life besides reading and studying all the time,” Lip muttered.

             Y/N Y/L/N had to be the most innocent girl Lip had ever encountered and she was also his biggest competition when it came to academic standing. She was smart as a whip, but she didn’t flaunt it like Lip did sometimes. In fact, she mostly kept to herself, save for the two girls Lip saw her hanging around. Y/N was every parent’s wet dream: quiet, polite, kind, and a bit of an over achiever. She was the class president, captain of the debate team, and captain of the girl’s tennis team. In fact, the only trouble she probably got in was for jaywalking. Lip didn’t really have anything against her but he also didn’t really like competition.

           Finally, Mr. O’Neill released them, and Mandy and Lip were the first two out of the classroom.

          “Just admit it, Lip, you don’t like that Goody Two Shoes beat you out for the highest grade,” Mandy said.

          “It’s just a stupid essay, Mandy, besides, getting good grades is probably the only way Y/N could experience an orgasm,” Lip said.

          Mandy burst out laughing and Lip smirked deeply. “That is true, I don’t think Y/N would know what to do with a dick if she ever saw one.”           As Mandy and Lip laughed, they were interrupted by someone running into Lip. 

          “Hey, watch where the f--ck you’re going,” he snapped.

          “Oh, sorry!” Y/N squeaked.

          Lip instantly regretted his words when he saw how Y/N clutched her book to her chest. “It’s fine, forget about it.”           “Hey, Y/N,” Mandy said.

          “Hey, Mandy.” Y/N readjusted the strap of her messenger bag. “Have any fun plans for this weekend?”

          “I might go to a party or two. You?”

          “I am keeping my options open.” 

          “Y/N!” Y/B/F/N yelled from across the hallway.

          Y/N sighed a little. “I have to go, sorry about running into you like that, Lip.”

         “Don’t worry about it.”

          Y/N hurried off to meet her friend on the other end of the hallway and they immediately began giggling together. Y/B/F/N said something to Y/N that made her eyes widen and take a quick glance at Lip. When she saw that he was looking at her, she quickly turned back around to her friend, who began snickering.

           “Hello, earth to Lip?” Ian asked.

          “What?” He turned to face Ian and Mandy.

          “I was asking if we were still going to Rose Martin’s party tonight,” Ian said. 

          “Why wouldn’t we be?”

          “Because it’s in Old Town and we’re south side trash.”

          “Hey, we’re only trash if we think we’re trash, so stop thinking we’re trash,” Lip said.

          “Fine. Now tell me, what had you so distracted that you couldn’t answer me?” Ian asked.

         “Nothing.”

         “Bullsh-t!”

         Mandy smirked. “It was because of her wasn’t it?”

         “Who?” Ian asked.

         “Shut up, Mandy,” Lip said.

         “Y/N, Lip’s got a thing for her,” Mandy said.

         “Y/N Y/L/N? The same girl who cried when Eddie Carver kicked a baby rabbit over the school fence?” Ian asked.

         “That was third grade,” Lip said. “And I don’t like her like that.”          “Why not? Because she’s too good for you?” Ian teased.

         “No, because she’s too f-cking innocent. It would be like being with a little kid all the time,” Lip muttered. 

          “I would believe you if you hadn’t been eye-f-cking her a second ago.”

        Lip didn’t respond, and he didn’t really know why he had gotten so defensive when Ian and Mandy began suggesting that he liked Y/N. He barely spoke to her except in passing and there was no way she would go for a Gallagher of all people. Somehow, he still found himself attracted to her innocent, shy nature. He would ruin her and she didn’t deserve that.

        Late that night, the party was in full swing at Rose Martin’s penthouse in Old Town, Chicago. Her father had won the lottery two months ago, so the penthouse was filled with gaudy art, strange mini statues that were considered art, and stainless, techy everything. Waka Flocka’s “It’s A Party” was blasting through the speakers as teenagers grinded to the beat throughout the penthouse. In the kitchen, a group of people were playing drinking games; the bathroom was dedicated to cocaine; the bedrooms were used for coitus; and the balcony was for the cigarette and pot smokers. Lip, Ian, and Mandy were in the living room in the middle of the chaos, dancing as they drank. Lip was near the threshold of being drunk, but was still in the place where the colorful lights didn’t transfix him and he still had control of himself. 

          “This is the best night ever!” Mandy shouted over the music.

           Ian and Lip shouted in response before they toasted her words and downed the vodka in their cups. It went down smooth since Rose could afford not to scrimp on the alcohol anymore.

         “I love Rose Martin!” Ian exclaimed.

         “You can’t, you don’t swing that way!” Lip shouted back.

         “F-ck it!”

        Lip and Mandy burst out laughing. In the midst of the madness, Mandy ended up grinding with some guy and Ian disappeared. Lip ended up wandering out of the living room and went outside to light up a cigarette. The sky was completely ink black with a few stars scattered in the mix. A few people were smoking pot or cigarettes around the balcony. In the corner was a group of girls wearing short dresses and skirts, giggling. One of them looked extremely familiar to Lip but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She flipped her y/hc ponytail and burst out laughing at something before turning around. Lip nearly dropped his cigarette.

        “Y/N?” he whispered.

        She was wearing an oversized blue button down shirt that managed to accentuate her curves with a pair of black over the knee boots. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail with a few strands falling around her face, which was made up in a tasteful fashion with gold eyeshadow bringing out her y/e/c eyes and blush to compliment her skin tone. She was holding a plastic cup filled with white wine and her friends had sneaky smiles on their faces when they saw Lip.

        “Lip!” Y/N stumbled over to him, managing not to spill a drop of her wine. “It’s so good to see you.”

       “What are you doing here?” Lip asked.

       “Drinking.” Y/N took a long swig of her drink to prove her point. 

       “I can see that, it’s just, this isn’t really your scene.”

       “I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” She managed to smolder at him which managed to both amuse and arose Lip at the same time.

        “How many of those have you had?” Lip asked.

        “Don’t worry about it, Dad, I can handle my alcohol, see?” Y/N downed the rest of her wine and smiled.

         “Maybe you should go back to your friends.”

         “I’m sick of them, I want to talk to you.” Y/N leaned more of her weight into Lip and he paused to grab her. 

          He kept his lit cigarette between his lips as he pulled her to stand upright. “Fine, let’s talk.”

         “Can I try one of those?”

          “Why would you want to smoke?” Lip asked.

         “Because I can.”

          Lip looked at her skeptically before handing her cigarette and lighting it for her. Of course, Y/N almost immediately began coughing, making everyone turn to look at her and Lip. Lip shook his head as he patted her back.

          “You have to inhale deeper before you exhale, like this.” Lip showed her and Y/N nodded before following his lead. “See, it’s easy.”

          “Thanks,” Y/N said.

          “Geez, I feel like I’m corrupting you.”

          “You’re not. I’ve done a lot more than you think I have.”

          “What does that mean?”

         Unfortunately, Lip was interrupted by the strains of “Hips Don’t Lie” coming from inside. Y/N squealed. “I love this song!” 

          She tossed her cigarette down and ground it out with her toe before hurrying inside.

         “Y/N.” Lip got rid of his cigarette as well and followed Y/N’s lead.

         He almost immediately lost her but quickly spotted her dancing with Ian. They had created some sort of salsa two-step that mostly consisted of Ian twirling Y/N around and dipping her. Though Lip trusted Ian, he couldn’t help but feel protective over Y/N. It was strange how worrying about her sobered him up.

          “You’re being ridiculous; you barely know her,” he hissed to himself.

          He decided he needed another drink and headed into the kitchen. That’s where he found Mandy, mixing drinks at the kitchen counter while another group of people played flip cup.

           “Hey, stranger,” Mandy said as she poured a drink into a glass.

           “What made you hide out in here?”            “Tyler Sanders’ hands kept wandering to places I did not want them to. I decided to see how good of a bartender I am.” Mandy handed him the glass she just poured.

           “Thanks.” He took a sip. “Not bad, what is it?”

          “Dirty martini.”

           “Of course. Did you know that Y/N was coming?”

           “No, but I saw Y/O/B/F/N leave the bathroom wiping her nose and figured Y/N had to be around somewhere. She is full of surprises.”

             “Yeah,” Lip muttered.

             “Do I need to make you another drink?”

              “Maybe later.”

             “That sour look on your face wouldn’t have anything to do with Y/N being into the party scene, right?”

             “Not really, it’s just weird seeing her drunk.”

            “I like it, it makes her more relatable. She’s not better than either of us.”

            “Of course she’s not. She goes to a Chicago public school.”

            “True, but maybe you’re so weirded out by it because you liked the idea of her being super innocent and you don’t like that you can’t be her first, well, whatever.”

             He hated how right Mandy was sometimes. While it was kind of cool to see Y/N let lose, Lip kind of liked the idea of making her do something bad just for him. He had no idea when those feelings started but seeing her act so drunk was bringing them out.

            After a couple more drinks, he and Mandy made their way back into the living room, where Y/N and Ian were the center of attention. It made sense since the openly gay Gallagher was grinding with the supposed sweetheart of the south side. 

             “Y/N’s got moves,” Mandy said.

             “Uh huh,” Lip said, trying to ignore the tinges of jealousy creeping up on him.

            However, everything came to a head when Y/N pulled Ian close and they began making out, causing everyone to scream and yell. That was the last straw. Lip quickly broke them up, much to the crowd’s chagrin.

             “What the hell, Lip?” Ian demanded.

            “Ian, you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re drunk and you have a boyfriend,” Lip hissed.

            “Not really, besides, Y/N’s a good kisser. Were you jealous?” Ian shot back.

              “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?” Y/N slurred. Then she grinned. “You wanna dance with me, Lip?”

                She wrapped her arms around Lip’s neck and leaned into him. Lip’s arms immediately wrapped around her waist out of instinct but he didn’t start dancing. Mandy and Ian had begun dancing together somewhere else in the room.

               “Y/N, you’re drunk.”

               “I wanna dance.” She turned around in Lip’s arms and began grinding against him, leaning her head against his chest.

               Lip gulped before hesitantly grinding with her, holding her hips and keeping her pressed against him. He didn’t know what got into him but he began kissing down the side of her neck. Then, he turned her to face him and grabbed her face in his hands and really looked at her. Her eyes were completely dilated but she was so beautiful.

                “I can’t do this.”

                 “Do what? Dance with me?” Y/N teased.

                “Not just that, it’s, you’re too perfect. You deserve better than this, better than me.”

                Lip moved to pull away from Y/N, but she grabbed him. Her eyes held a deep sincerity in them, albeit they were extremely dilated.

                 “You’re perfect,” she said with a large smile. 

                  “You’re drunk.”

                  “Yes, but I know that you’re funny, really smart, and loyal, a little impulsive, and a bit self-destructive. And you’re daring and really, really, really hot,” Y/N said.

                  “You really think all that about me?”

                   Y/N nodded. “Ever since second grade, but I thought I wasn’t cool enough for you, but I do go out sometimes and I have made many questionable decisions.”

                  Lip had a lot of questions, a majority of which had to do with what questionable decisions Y/N had made. But, all he could think about was how Y/N thought she wasn’t good enough for him. 

                 “You’re cool in your own way.”

                  “Now that’s a load of bullsh-t.” Y/N started laughing, a sound that made Lip smile.

                 He cupped her face in his hands again and slowly, she stopped laughing. Lip stayed quiet and leaned towards her slowly. Y/N closed her eyes, awaiting to be kissed only to be surprised when Lip kissed her on her forehead.

                 “You missed,” Y/N said.

                 “No. I want you to remember the first time I kiss you and you’re way too sh-tfaced to do that right now. If you still feel the same way about me when you’re sober, we can pick up where we left off.”

                 “But I want you now. I promise I won’t regret it.”

                 Lip didn’t listen to any of her protests as the night went on. So, they continued dancing, earning winks and rude gestures from Ian and Mandy. When the party was over, Lip took Y/N home to make sure she was safe. 

                “But who’s gonna walk you home?” Y/N asked as Lip helped her walk up the steps.

                  “I am.”

                “Why do you get to walk yourself home and not me?”

                “For one thing, I wouldn’t fall if you let go of my shoulders,” Lip said.

                Y/N huffed and leaned against her front door. Lip fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door for her. 

                “All right, now be quiet. The last thing we need is your parents coming after me.”

                Y/N nodded and wrapped her arms around Lip’s neck, giggling quietly. Before Lip could stop her, she pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek before pulling away. “Good night, Lip.”

               “Night, Y/N.”

               She slipped into her house and Lip closed the door behind her.

               All he could do now was pray that she felt the same way about him in the morning.