#/until patty pulled out the booze/ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wherevermyway · 4 years ago

Text

why can’t we drink forever? (1/2) // minsung // 18+

one: i will only complicate you series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: lee minho x han jisung rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit sexual content past character death, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, depression, edgy cynical depressed jisung, ambiguous/open ending. word count: 5,883 also on AO3

originally posted: 20 january 2021

After being arrested for driving under the influence, Jisung learns that money can buy his way out of jail time, but it can’t buy his way out of his feelings.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“I don’t know how things got this way, Sungie, baby. I’m worried about you.”

A sarcastic huff leaves the lips of the young man seated in the passenger seat of a sleek, new all-white Audi. He kicks his feet up on the dash, earning a frown from the middle-aged woman driving the vehicle. The young blonde stares out the window as he fumbles around his hoodie pocket. Out comes a white pack of Marlboro Gold cigarettes and an engraved silver lighter.

“You and me both, ma,” he tuts as he pops a white cigarette up from the pack into his mouth, flicking the dial of his lighter as he takes in a deep breath. He jams a finger down on the window button, the crisp winter air blowing the grey cloud around, the acrid scent of burnt tobacco filling the car. “Guess if we knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be in the car now, huh?”

“Maybe you’d have gotten into a better university,” his mother sighs as she shakes her head.

A devious smirk curls up on the young man’s mouth as he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, taking a long drag. He knows better than to verbally respond with a cynical quip.

Maybe I’d be fuckin’ dead.

Alcoholics Anonymous sounded like a cult following: a twelve-step programme where all of its members had to follow a strict code, be mentored by a sponsor, and thank some bullshit deity to be given a new chance every day. “Every day is a new chance,” the cult leader would say at the beginning of every meeting. “May God grant us the serenity…”

“I’m Jisung, and the courts told me I’m an alcoholic, so I guess I’m an alcoholic,” the artificial blonde shrugged his shoulders, the ghost of burnt coffee still dancing on his tongue as he spoke.

The mindless cult drones spouted off a casual “hi, Jisung,” in monotonous, unenthusiastic unity as the young man sat down.

“How did you get here?” The meeting’s leader was relentless in prodding the young man. “You’re not obligated to tell us, of course,” which was a boldfaced lie, “but acknowledging your problems might help your recovery.”

Jisung brought the styrofoam cup full of lukewarm, acrid coffee to his lips and took a long sip. He winced at the taste and pursed his lips as he made eye contact with the leader. “I was abducted by aliens, man, now I’m here. Shit was crazy.”

The leader frowned, ready to interrupt Jisung.

“Nah,” the young man kicked his feet out from under the metal fold-up chair, flipping his hood over his head with his free hand. “I got drunk, went out to get more booze, then hit a tree on the way back and the cops pulled me over since my headlight was out. The internet wasn’t lying when they said all cops are fuckin’ bastards.” His quip earned a laugh from a few younger members, whereas several of the older people shook their heads in frustration.

“Please,” the leader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s refrain from political commentary. Thank you for your,” there’s a pause as the leader clears his throat, “for your candor, Jisung. Now that we’ve introduced all of our new attendees, why don’t we move along with the next step in the meeting?”

The meeting was pointless, all of the same shit that Jisung had read about in the fliers that were handed to him with his sentencing. He had to endure twelve months of this, but it wasn’t like he was doing much else with his life, anyways. Jisung poured the last of the disgusting coffee from the cardboard takeaway box into his cup, then tossed the box into the large rubbish bin at the end of the table. One last cup of free shitty coffee before he left; it would pair nicely with the cigarette he so desperately craved.

“Hey!” A bright voice came up behind him and Jisung rolled his eyes at the way optimism dripped from the trill. He slowly turned around, taking a sip of the cold coffee in his cup. A young man with neon pink hair, probably the same age as Jisung, smiled widely as he stuck his hand out. “I’m Felix, nice to see someone here that’s about my age.”

Jisung gingerly accepted the hand and shook it twice before quickly sticking his hand back into his pocket. “Charmed. How long are you stuck here for?”

“Oh!” Felix shook his head, smile still wide on his face as he pensively looked down to his shoes. “I’m not here for… well, I’m a psychology major.”

Of course he was.

Felix tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and tapped his foot twice as he continued to smile at Jisung. “I’m also new here and was hoping I could make friends.”

Jisung shook his head, reaching into his hoodie pocket for his pack of cigarettes and familiar silver lighter. “I’m not a good influence. Don’t think I’d make good friends with someone so… nice.” He meandered a white cigarette out of the packet with a single hand, then tucked it behind his ear, lighter still tucked into his palm. “No offence, dude.”

The smile finally fell from the pink-haired man, who quickly pulled his hands from his pockets, “wait, wait!”

Jisung cocked an eyebrow at the man, biting his tongue as he felt the clawing at the back of his head, his synapses screaming a plea for him to get a hit of more nicotine.

“I don’t wanna sound desperate,” Felix ran his bottom lip under his teeth as he looked around nervously, “I just really wanna talk with someone that’s so different than me. I’ll even buy you dinner or something from the diner down the street.”

As insulting as the words ‘so different than me’ came off to Jisung, desperation was a bad look for anyone. “You got a car?” Felix nodded twice, biting his lip as he stared at Jisung. “Lead the way, psycho student Felix.”

Felix’s eyes went wide and his bright smile came back, beaming brighter than before. “It’s psychology, not psycho.”

The blonde rolled his eyes as he plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and tucked it in between his teeth. “I know what I said.”

The food at the diner was mediocre at best: rubbery scrambled eggs and burgers made from frozen patties that were likely a concoction of rejected organ meat slurry and textured vegetable protein. It was cheap, but it was always good. Rich in comfort, lacking in quality: the antithesis to Jisung’s life.

Jisung hadn’t been here in two years, not since his friend turned on-again, off-again boyfriend Changbin left for university, halfway across the country. This was the place they’d come to at three in the morning after hitting up a house party, where they would drunkenly curl up with each other and swap kisses that tasted like stale beer and watery coffee.

This was the place where Changbin broke up with Jisung for the final time, Changbin citing that they wouldn’t be able to stay in contact much anymore. However, he hadn’t told Jisung that he was sleeping with someone that graduated a couple years prior and was conveniently attending the same university as him.

That night tasted like vodka and strawberry soda, the latter of which Jisung never let grace his tastebuds again.

The blonde scowled down at his orange juice, watching the ring light above their table shimmer and ripple in the liquid. He hadn’t heard from Changbin in two years, and he was as bitter about it as the black, burnt edges of the hashbrowns that stuck to his plate.

“You okay?” Felix poked his fries with a fork, bringing one to his lips as he scanned Jisung’s expression.

“Are any of us okay, psycho student?”

Felix furrowed his brows and set his fork down against his plate, chewing on the crinkled french fry a bit before he swallowed. He folded his hands together and rested his chin against the interlaced fingers. “No, like,” he shrugged, eyes shifting around a bit, “I mean it. You seem kinda distant.”

Jisung rolled his eyes up to meet Felix’s and he cocked his eyebrow. He was starting to regret tagging along with this kid he barely knew, feeling like this was less of a potential friendship and more like a therapy session. “You don’t know me, man.”

“No, but I know people.”

“You’re a sophomore psychology student, dude. You don’t know shit.”

The pink-haired man sighed, back thudding against the plasticky booth. “I guess you’re right about that. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, though.”

“Your funeral, then.” Jisung followed suit, leaning up against the booth with a bit more tact, swinging his arm around the wood frame. “I had my first sip of alcohol when I was thirteen. Got bored when my parents fucked off to Italy on some shitty trip without me.”

Felix tilted his head up like a dog, suddenly alive with renewed interest.

“They’re only parents in blood and title.” Jisung looked down at the table, scratching inanely at a chip in the pale green linoleum. “I was raised by nannies and tutors until I was fifteen. Most parents would probably panic when they leave the house, coming back to an empty liquor cabinet. My parents? Nah, they just restocked it and told me not to drink too much at once.”

“That’s,” Felix’s voice trailed off as he looked away, milling over the new information.

“It’s fucked,” Jisung finished the sentence, then brought the plastic cup of orange juice to his mouth and took a long sip. He set the cup back down and pulled up the sleeve covering his left arm, presenting the flesh over the table. Felix visibly recoiled as he eyed dozens of scarred lines littered across the skin, some marks still relatively fresh. “Their response to this? ‘We’ll get you into therapy and you won’t do this again.’ It was always the best money could buy, but their money didn’t do shit to my brain.” He shuffled the cloth over his arm again, ignoring the look of pity Felix offered him.

“If money could buy them a better son, they would’ve traded me out, like upgrading a car on a lease.”

Felix stumbled over his words a bit as Jisung rifled through his pockets, pulling out his phone and his wallet. “You still wanna make friends with someone like me?”

It took a moment, but Felix tentatively nodded his head. “Doesn’t sound like you have many friends to begin with,” he nervously sputtered out.

Jisung cocked his head to the side and licked his teeth as he smiled. “I don’t do friends. But life’s full of surprises. Anyway, gimme your phone so we can swap contact info.”

They exchanged phone numbers and Jisung dropped a couple of bills on the table. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as soon as Felix opened his mouth to protest, “you’re a university student and I’ve got my shitty parents’ cash to burn.”

“I’ll see you next week?” Felix questioned as Jisung stepped out of his shoddy 2003 Toyota Camry.

Jisung nodded once, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead. “You got it. Thanks for the ride, mate.” He slammed the door with a fake smile that faded as soon as he turned around. Sure, Felix was the antithesis of everything Jisung was, but he could prove to be a source of entertainment over the next year.

Despite being cynical and vehemently anti-religion, Jisung always said a quiet prayer to himself as he opened the door, hoping his parents weren’t home when he arrived. Today, it seemed like luck was on his side: his mother’s keys weren’t on the key rack, and his father had yet to return from some bullshit ‘business trip’ off in China. Perhaps it was Morocco or Norway; they all blurred together in a haze of indifference. All Jisung was sure of was the fact that his father had probably taken one of his mistresses away to some foreign country he was pretending to secure a business deal in.

“Everyone’s favourite fuck-up is home!” Jisung shouted in the empty vestibule, his voice echoing against the cold walls. He didn’t expect a response, so when he was greeted with a comfortable silence, he smiled to himself. He kicked his shoes off and unceremoniously tossed them into the corner by the key rack.

His heavy, heel-first footsteps echoed as he made his way towards the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine out of a glass display cooler as he padded towards the main refrigerator. He pulled out a box of takeaway Indian curry from the night prior, setting both the box and the bottle on the marble kitchen island, shuffling his feet towards a drawer. He retrieved a fork and a wine key, tossing them onto the countertop as he pulled out his phone, pack of cigarettes, and his lighter.

Jisung opened the bottle of wine as he sat down on a stool next to the counter, tossing the cork towards the rubbish bin, shrugging as he missed. That was a problem for later, and he didn’t feel like dealing with it now. Completely ignoring the takeaway carton, Jisung grabbed the wine bottle, then took a long guzzle directly from it. He winced a bit as the flavour of fermented floral grapes perfumed his mouth with a sharp, sickly rotten scent. The bottle clattered loudly against the marble, the echoing reminding Jisung of just how alone he was in such a large house.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, bringing his phone up in front of his face, scrolling through one of his playlists until he found the right song. With a few taps, some Drake came through the kitchen speakers. Jisung turned up the volume to near max, his head subconsciously moving to the beat of “In My Feelings”. He took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it, the tip turning from paper and plant to a red, ashy ember as he inhaled.

Was he allowed to smoke in the house? Of course not.

Did Jisung give a shit? Absolutely not.

A text message popped up as Jisung aimlessly scrolled through his various notifications. He opened it, barely scanning through the entire message from his mother until his eyes stopped on a blue phone number. His eyes narrowed, poring over the entire message. “A coworker of mine offered to be a sponsor for you: Lee Minho. He’s a few years older than you, but he’s nice. Here’s his number, please reach out to him.”

Jisung sarcastically scoffed, locking his phone as he placed it back on the countertop, swapping it for the bottle of wine. He took a drag off of his cigarette, then took another long swig from the bottle. “We admit we’re powerless to alcohol,” he mutters the first step under his breath as he slams the bottle down on the counter.

“Maybe I don’t fucking care.”

Jisung woke up on the couch to the sound of heels clacking against the hardwood floor just before eight in the morning, his fingers jostling an empty bottle of scotch on the floor as he brought his hands to his face.

“Get cleaned up, please.” His mother’s voice was accompanied by bright spotlights suddenly shining directly on his face. “I’ve invited Minho over to meet with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” Jisung’s voice was low and gravelly, groaning as he sat upright. The world spun, his body carried by the false inertia his mind had created.

His mother trotted off to the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder. “I know you didn’t. I did it because I care about you, Sungie.”

The blonde rubbed his clammy hands against his face again, attempting to wipe the sleepiness from his eyes. He grabbed his phone off of the floor, then wobbled his way upright, the living room spinning around him in a familiar sense of uneasiness.

“You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself,” he muttered under his breath.

Somehow, Jisung managed to make his way upstairs to his room, stripping an article of clothing off with each lazy step from his bedroom door towards his personal washroom. By the time he got to the glass enclosure of the shower, he was totally stripped bare. Jisung distantly stared at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, a gaunt and ashy doppelganger staring back at him with a pained, empty look on his face.

Instead of stepping into the shower, Jisung approached the mirror, subconsciously bringing his hands to touch his flushed face. His cheekbones were more prominent now than they were earlier in the year, dark circles painted in broad strokes under his eyes. His gaze trailed down the scars he had inflicted on his arms and on his thighs, reminders of the failed attempts to take his own life that he was now forced to carry with him, wearing each line and mark as a badge of shame.

A warm tear rolled down his face as it contorted into an expression of terror and hurt, before he took his fist and crashed it into the mirror in front of him, a spiderweb of the impact left behind in the cracked glass as he pulled his bloodied knuckles away. Some glass shattered to the floor, some still wedged in the gaps between his fingers, and Jisung stared at the crack that split his reflection into several fragments.

How he was still alive was beyond him.

“Mrs. Han, please,” a lilted, unfamiliar laugh travelled up the staircase as Jisung slowly made his way down towards the first floor. He squinted at the noise that caused his head to throb, realizing that someone unknown speaking to his mother, likely the Minho she had mentioned earlier. With each step he took towards the drawing room, the voice got louder, each staccatoed laugh more pronounced.

“Jisung, come sit,” his mother said, replacing the genuine smile on her face with a fake, ‘Vaseline-on-the-teeth’ smile. She motioned towards the empty space on the couch, opposite from the young brunette that turned around.

Jisung met his eyes and it suddenly felt like his surroundings cracked and shattered around him, like the mirror upstairs. Rich brown eyes glistened behind the black and gold browline glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose. Rose-tinted lips curled upwards in a shy smile, revealing large, rabbit-like front teeth that rested softly against his bottom lip.

“Hi,” the stranger said with a gentle wave, “I’m Minho. Resident biochemist at the pharmaceutical company your mother works for.”

As Jisung made his way over to the open spot on the couch, he squinted, refusing to break eye contact with the strange invader. It felt like he was a wild animal on display, about to be poked and prodded by zookeeper staff or by scientists in some sort of underground, off-the-books laboratory. It would fit, after all, since the man was some sort of scientist.

“I’ll let you be,” Jisung’s mother says, rising to her feet. “Maybe you should tell Minho about your little misstep last night, hmm?”

Jisung rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head sarcastically. “Go enjoy your overfilled glass of wine at nine-fucking-thirty, ma. I’ll be here spilling my guts to a stranger that gives more of a shit about me than you.” Minho winced and his expression fell from cheerful to shocked.

The men stared at each other, Jisung’s gaze layered with arrogance, and Minho’s heavy with awkward discomfort. “So,” the younger man kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, pulling a pack of cigarettes and his trusted lighter from his sweatshirt pocket, hoping to wrap up the conversation as soon as possible. “I know you work with my mother, you’re an alcoholic, and your name’s Minho.” As quickly as Jisung could take in a breath, the cigarette between his teeth was lit, and he was glaring at the intruder through the grey haze that came between them. Their eyes met again, Jisung growing more and more wary by the second. “Why should I pick you as my sponsor, when I feel like you’re just gonna snitch to my mother?”

Minho’s jaw looked like it was clenched too tight, his bottom eyelids squinted upwards as he studied the younger man in front of him. They watched each other, eyeing each micromovement the other’s face made. About halfway through Jisung’s cigarette, Minho finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact, and took a deep breath. “I’m not asking for you to trust me, or to spill your life story,” he shifted, sitting upright, “but for you to see me as a mentor when things get hard and you want to dampen your feelings with alcohol. I’ve been there, Jisung.”

Indignation washed over the younger man’s face, quickly replaced by a familiar wave of arrogance. Jisung shook his head, ashing his cigarette directly onto the floor. “Doubt it,” he tutted, licking his teeth as he nodded his head, staring at the ring on Minho’s finger. He smirked to himself, then turned his head away and up towards the ceiling. “Looks like you’ve got someone that loves you. I don’t know what that feels like; never have, never will.”

The elder chewed on his bottom lip, clenching his fist as his eyes subconsciously scanned the ring on his finger. “Had.”

“What?” Jisung turned his head back towards Minho with a look of disgust on his face, ashes falling from his cigarette.

The brunette sighed, leaning further into the couch, nervously running his thumb over his balled up fingers. “He’s the reason I turned to drinking, to fill the void he left in my heart when he died.”

Shit.

For the first time in ages, Jisung felt a slight pang of regret twinge in his abdomen.

Minho swallowed hard, almost as if he were holding back his emotions. “We were married for five years, together since high school. You’d think I would’ve known the signs, but Chan was so good at hiding things, hiding his pain from everyone.”

The ember in Jisung’s cigarette died out as he found himself enraptured in Minho’s story.

Chan was Minho’s high school sweetheart. They started dating their sophomore year of high school, both attended the same university, and they got married when they were twenty. To Minho, Chan was everything. They supported each other, making the other man stronger and gave them a reason to go on.

Minho had no idea that Chan was severely depressed, holding his true feelings to his heart. Not long after Minho’s twenty-fifth birthday, Chan disappeared, only leaving a journal behind. It had started off with an apology, that if Minho found his journal, that it was too late to save him and that Chan had simply given up. On nearly every page, Chan reiterated that it wasn’t Minho’s fault, that Chan was just too far gone beyond repair, that Minho had given him a new lease on life, but it wasn’t enough.

Exactly three weeks after Chan had gone missing, police were on the doorstep of their shared home.

“Dental records,” Minho whispered, his eyes distant and glazed over as he lost himself in the memory. “That’s how they knew it was Chan. I don’t remember much after that, but I thought that I could find the answer to why Chan took his own life at the bottom of a bottle.”

Jisung’s grip on the arm of the couch was so tight, his knuckles had turned white and they were starting to ache.

“Several bottles,” Minho continued, “several bottles and several near-death experiences waking up in the hospital later, and I still hadn’t figured out the answer. I figured that maybe I’d see him again if I drank enough. Now,” he folded his arms, tucking his chin into his chest, “I’ve accepted that I’ll never know the answer to that question, that I need to live on for him. If there’s an afterlife, maybe I’ll get to ask him myself. Until then, though,” Minho rolled his teary eyes up to meet Jisung’s uncomfortable gaze, “I just want to atone for not doing enough before. I want to help others that are hurting, you know?”

They continued to stare at each other for what felt like hours, until Jisung finally shook his head. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. “Sorry,” his apology was shockingly sincere, “I guess I spoke before I thought.”

Minho awkwardly smirked, dismissively waving his hand in between them. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been at rock bottom and that there’s a way up and out, as long as you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Maybe Jisung was willing to give Minho a try.

At first, Jisung agreed to meet with Minho once a week after the mandatory AA meeting he attended. It took seven visits spanning seven weeks before Jisung eventually opened up about the neglect he faced from both of his parents, the emptiness he felt from being raised by nannies, feeling like money was more important than his own life.

Ten weeks in, they started hanging out on the weekends. Their relationship shifted from mentorship to friendship, and it was somewhat a relief that Jisung finally had someone he could trust enough to call his friend.

Week fourteen was when things started to shift further. Jisung hadn’t consumed alcohol in eight weeks, and things were clearing up, slowly but surely. He had been meeting with Felix more and more, too — maybe they weren’t quite friends yet, but Jisung was at least trying.

Things were looking up for the first time in Jisung’s life.

At week sixteen, Jisung stayed over at Minho’s apartment, convincing him that he needed to watch Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. The blonde had vehemently pressed that it was, quite possibly, one of the best series of all time, animated or otherwise. After some gentle pressure, Minho finally caved, and they sat on his couch, diving into the show and into some mediocre takeaways.

They had gotten through the first three episodes and Minho finally relented that, yes, it was a good show and that, yes, Jisung was right.

“I knew you’d like it, dude,” Jisung snickered, playfully poking at Minho’s chest. The corner of his lips tugged upward into a crooked smile, and he wore Minho’s seal of approval as some sort of badge of honour.

The brunette turned away, softly smiling into his shoulder as a rush of crimson started to tint his face. “You’ve got me trying all sorts of new things, Ji,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before he flashed his teeth at the younger man. “So much for me being the mentor here, huh?”

Jisung sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth at the nickname, trying to ignore the warmth blossoming up his face. He tried to stumble out some sort of response, but he caught himself getting lost in the way that the overhead lights shimmered in Minho’s eyes, highlighting the soft amber and warm bursts of hazelnut that erupted around his pupils. His expression started to falter, and he felt a familiar rush of excitement bloom in his chest, causing his nerves to come to life all around his body.

He remembered that this was how it felt right before he shared his first drunken kiss with Changbin, but something about this felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that Jisung was completely sober, but he desperately wanted Minho to kiss him, to want him back. However, Jisung wasn’t sure if it would have been a good idea, pondering over if Minho was really ready to start a new relationship, especially with someone he was supposed to be mentoring.

“Something on your mind?” Minho’s voice was soft as it gently guided Jisung back to the moment. “You’re kinda spacing out on me.”

“No, no,” Jisung stumbled around the words he wasn’t sure he could say, suddenly distracted by the television in the background. “I guess I was just thinking about the show.”

Minho’s head tilted to the side, concurrently lifting his brow in confusion. “You guess?”

Jisung waved his hand in between them and readjusted his posture so he was further away from Minho. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve seen it so many times, but it’s one of those shows that you watch and you see something new each time and—”

Warm fingers were suddenly on the side of Jisung’s face, pulling him back into Minho’s space. “You’re a terrible liar.” The voice was soft, yet assertive; low, but so loud. Jisung’s eyes went wide as Minho’s apartment blurred around him, his vision suddenly taken over by the sight of the brunette’s face right up next to his. In front of him.

Before Jisung could process what was happening, he was subconsciously pressing his lips into Minho’s, trying to remember exactly how kissing worked. It was years since the last time he had any practice, but it all came back to him as Minho helped guide Jisung’s face with his hands.

Minho’s tongue was soft, warm, and damp as it gently pressed up against Jisung’s lips, wordlessly pleading for entrance. Without letting his mind mill over the fine details and concerns he possibly had, Jisung parted his lips. Timidly, he rolled his tongue around Minho’s, his hands quivering as his fingers scrambled for purchase in Minho’s hair.

Unlike anyone Jisung had kissed before, this felt right, even if there were some uncomfortable grinding of teeth and awkward nose bumping. Within a reasonable amount of time, they slowly became experts at training the way the other wanted to be kissed. As if Minho could read Jisung’s mind, he would interrupt his soft kisses with gentle nips and grazes at Jisung’s bottom lip.

“Please,” Jisung’s voice cracked as Minho pulled his teeth down his bottom lip, “my neck, I…”

Minho swiftly moved his lips from Jisung’s, peppering tiny pecks against his jawline to his ear, stopping to take the blonde’s earlobe into his mouth with his tongue, grazing the tender flesh between his teeth. Jisung’s back involuntarily arched as the grooves of Minho’s teeth pulled at his sensitive skin, the sensation causing his nerves to come to life with an electrical jolt from head to toe.

The brunette chuckled, his warm breath brushing up against the tiny hairs on Jisung’s ear. He said nothing, simply moving down to press a few soft kisses to the skin just below the younger man’s earlobe. Minho’s lips were soft, gentle, only to be quickly replaced by a sudden, harsh bite into the tender flesh.

A yelp, accompanied by uncontrollable twitching, came from Jisung, who was simultaneously melting into Minho, but also pulling away. The elder’s fingers dug into the blonde’s waist, keeping him in the same position, not allowing him to escape. Jisung’s yelp had faded into a whimper, which evolved into a moan as Minho sucked the flesh between his teeth, quickly repeating the process several times in various spots along Jisung’s neck.

The moans were increasing in volume and breathiness, Jisung subconsciously, frantically rutting his pelvis into the couch. Minho must have caught on to this, letting go of Jisung’s waist to ease him down onto the couch. He pressed his lips to Jisung’s again, dancing his fingertips down to the waistband of the younger man, who was completely blissed out.

“Can I help you with this?” Minho’s voice was somehow both soft yet assertive as his palm pressed against Jisung's clothed erection.

Words eluded Jisung, verbal language suddenly turning into complex algebraic equations that didn’t translate from his head to his tongue. Instead, he groaned in affirmation as he hopelessly rolled his hips upward, finding himself pitiful that he was so desperately craving for Minho to just keep fucking touching him.

Things started to blur in a haze of wanton desire. Minho’s hand gently stroked Jisung’s cock, paying special attention to the way that his fingers and palm brushed against the head. Involuntary twitches took over Jisung as he whimpered and mewled, his shoulder blades grinding into the couch. Minho continued to nibble and bite at Jisung’s neck, occasionally whispering words of assurance and praise into his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” as he slowly dragged his hand from the base of Jisung’s cock up to his head.

“I can’t imagine how incredible you would feel around me,” as he gently thumbed the slit, rubbing precum around the sensitive head and causing Jisung to bite the back of his hand as he failed to stifle a cracked moan.

Jisung’s breaths turned erratic and he was nearly convulsing as his body started to twitch. Minho shifted his weight to his knees, slowing his strokes just enough so that he could awkwardly shift one leg off of the couch to position his head in a way he could take Jisung into his mouth.

“What are you—” Jisung started to question, until he found himself losing control of his body as Minho rolled his tongue around his cock. “Fuck, Minho!” He clamped his eyes shut, arching his back upward, hitting the back of Minho’s throat as he convulsed, his orgasm suddenly completely taking over him. “Minho,” he whined and unclenched his fists; “Minho,” he panted and opened his eyes; “Minho.” With one last breath, he was back to reality.

This had to have been the closest thing to heaven that Jisung thought he would ever experience.

Jisung had stayed over at Minho’s that night, too tired to function like a normal human. They slept on the couch together, necks crooned in uncomfortable positions all night long, bodies stiff from the unnatural firmness that Minho’s couch held. The next morning, they chose not to discuss the night prior, but they did exchange some soft kisses, until Jisung protested, mentioning that their morning breath was distracting him from actually enjoying the kiss.

Their weekends continued on like this: spending time watching a couple of episodes of their chosen programme until they got distracted and lost within each other. Nothing progressed further than handjobs, the occasional blowjob, and the one time that they rolled around naked, making out for so long and so intensely that the way they pressed their bodies together caused Jisung to come without any additional stimulation — and, hey, they liked it.

The budding relationship between them was confusing. During the week, Minho acted like the appropriate, wise mentor, with Jisung as his eager pupil. When the weekend came around, however, all bets were off. In everything but title, they were boyfriends for all intents and purposes. Every time Jisung tried to bring it up, Minho would shut down, saying that he wasn’t ready to really think seriously about it yet.

So, Jisung didn’t press. He was sure that their intimate interactions were causing conflicting emotions to arise within Minho, emotions he probably had been ignoring since Chan’s death, trying to shove them down as time went on. Even though he wanted to navigate the full spectrum of sexual experiences with Minho, Jisung remained silent until Minho was ready.

#why can't we drink forever?#skz fics #skz smut #minsung #lee minho x han jisung #han jisung x lee minho #minho x jisung #jisung x minho #wherevermyway

73 notes · View notes

butterflydreaming-writes-fic · 5 years ago

Text

“And the One Time They Did”

“And the One Time They Did“ by Looks-Clear (that’s me, yo!)

Word Count: about 3,400 Rating: Gen

@sweetness47, here is my gift to you for the Profound Bond Discord gift exchange! I hope you actually find it amusing. This is a “five times plus one time” fic, and since that’s such a well-used trope, I thought it would be funny to title each of the sections with an AO3 tag.

-o-

1. “that trope where it's a relationship told from an outsider's point of view”

The money is good, but the competition for gigs means that you take that delivery order even though it’s to a house way outside of town. Houses are good, though. Around here, that means honeymoon tourists and vacation renters, which might mean a better tip. “J. Page” is waiting for his order from Great Greens, so you pick up the bags from Yolanda’s new salad cafe and head out in your Jeep onto the river road.

The house is secluded on the less popular side of the river, off the narrow road that splits from the main. You don’t even see the black Chevy Impala parked along the side of the house until you’ve driven to the end of the tree-lined driveway. The two-story house is the kind of place you would love to live in if you wanted a lot of privacy. It’s well cared for to attract the short-term renters your town gets all summer. The house has a good roof, freshly painted siding, and healthy potted plants around the door you’re knocking on.

An upstairs window slides open with a thunk. Taking a step away from the door, you look up.

“Oh, hey.” The man leaning out the window has a smile that immediately puts you at ease. The frame catches at his flannel shirt, exposing a flash of skin above his faded jeans. He’s tall, with long hair, and the breadth of his shoulders make you glad you took the delivery job. “Would you mind… there’s a kitchen door at the back of the house. I’ll be down in a sec.” He pulls back in before you can respond.

You hesitate, thinking about the seclusion of the house and potential danger, but your gut tells you it’s OK. Nothing about the house or the classic car gives you that red flag feeling. The sun isn’t down yet. Plus, your holding an order of salads and cheesy rolls, Yolanda knows you’re delivering them and to where, and you can’t imagine it’s the dinner order of a creeper.

Things are a little unexpected when you get to the back door, though. The tall man — and he really is tall, six-four you guess — is pulling the curtain away from the window beside the kitchen door, but the door remains closed. “I have your Great Greens,” you say, lifting your two hands. You glance at the receipt and tell him the total. The food was paid with a credit card. You’re starting to despair about your tip, the line left blank to fill in.

“Great! Thanks. We really appreciate it,” he says, from the other side of the window glass.

There’s a dog door in the house door. The man disappears from the window and the door flap lift up. An envelope flips out. The man appears at the window again.

“If you could, um, put the order through the flap?” he asks.

“You don’t want to open the door?” Gingerly, you poke the dog door inward and push the bags through one at a time. The envelope turns out to have a few bills in it, a nice cash tip. You straighten up again and dust your hands off on your jeans after folding the envelope and tucking it into your pocket.

He laughs. It’s a breathy laugh, embarrassed. He ducks his head. “Can’t,” he says. “We’re, uh, sort of under quarantine.”

A surprised “Oh!” comes out of you before you can stop yourself. You wonder who else is with him in the house.

He’s quick to reassure you. “It’s not contagious. We just can’t leave the house yet.” He gives you one of those quick smiles again. The effective is magnified from being eye level and within three feet of him. You're a little glad there’s a window between you for protection.

“Thanks again,” he says.

“No problem,” you answer. With a small wave, you start back around to the front of the house, and your Jeep, only glancing back for a moment. The tall man is turning toward others entering the kitchen.

Before the curtain closes, you glimpse two other adults. You can hear them plainly through the window. A deep voice is at first excited about the meals. But then, suddenly:

“Sonoffabitch! SAM! What is this? Salad? Where’s the real food!?”

Back at your Jeep, just as a precaution, you rub your hands with the lavender scented hand sanitizer you keep in the glove box.

2. “(in my head the reader is a female but i didnt specify ir anywhere so ye)”

It’s Friday and a busy night, but when you see the delivery request come up for that same address, you take it. This time it’s for burgers from Jen’s Magnificent, which is locally famous for the MegaBurger, a four-patty monster with the works. You’re not surprised when the bags are heavy with three megas, fries and onion rings. What else would anyone order from Jen’s? The name on the credit card slip is “S. Denny.” You are wondering if the hot tall guy knows he’s not getting any veggies that aren’t deep fried.

Of course, you can guess what happened, and when it’s a different man at the front picture window asking you to go around to the back of the house, your guess is confirmed. The one with the deep voice is tall too, not as tall and not as lean, but still with nice muscle structure and also in a flannel shirt. Brothers, probably. You can see some familial resemblance.

As with the first delivery, you meet him at the back window. It’s earlier than last time and still full light out. He’s pretty anxious for the food, bouncing a little on his feet as he waits for you to slide the burger bags through the dog door.

You can’t help yourself. “Where’s the other guy?"

"Which?"

You pass the food through, straighten up and assess him. The cute one. Your brother?”

The man is already into one of the burgers. He shoves it in his face — you can’t take a bite out of a mega, you pretty much have to smash it into your mouth — and the moan he produces is, frankly, pornographic. This is a man who loves juicy meat.

You kind of want to leave him alone to it.

“The cute one," he repeats with a snort. He wipes a napkin across his mouth. "Researching,” he answers you, chewing on a mouthful. “This burger is awesome. Have you had these?”

“Actually, yeah. She makes good shakes, too.”

“This is going on my list of best burger towns,” he states. The burger disappears and when his hands are free, he wipes them on a fresh napkin. “You a local?”

You nod. He asks you a few odd questions about the town, a little bit about the history, and some information about how often tourists come through. You end up talking about your Jeep Renegade and auto maintenance, which helpfully gives you some points to go over with Roxy at the garage.

You’re back an hour later with another delivery from Great Greens, a single kale salad. You’re not surprised. The cute one is happy to see you. That's nice.

3. “Spells in general. Just spells and spells and spells”

You’ve come to think of yourself as their personal delivery person, to be honest, and it’s not only because J. Page aka Sam is a bright spot any time day or night. Feeling bold one evening, you scribble your phone number on the receipt and tell Sam, “If you guys need anything like from the grocery store or whatever, just call me. Anytime is fine.”

You’re snuggled on your couch watching Netflix when you actually get a late night call from Sam. He sounds apologetic and, weirdly, a little drunk. “Hi… Hi!” he greets a little breathlessly. “This might be a lot to ask but if you meant it about the help, I… we need someone on the outside to get these things. They’re going to sound strange, but I can’t explain what they’re for. Is that OK?”

“Does it,” you ask, “have to be right now?”

“Please, yes,” he says, words breathed out like an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know if I can take close quarters with these two past another moon cycle.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, uh. It has to be tonight because of the first quarter.” He names off some flowers, and then tells you the last one has to be picked after midnight and before dawn.

You actually have some of the list in your kitchen, dried, though it's not fresh. “The rest I can get, but I don’t know where to find that,” you tell him.

“Come to the house. It’s in the garden.”

And that’s how you end up picking lemon verbena by flashlight, in a hoodie and pajama pants, while Sam watches you from the kitchen window and points out the plants he needs. He’s glossy-eyed in the way of someone who’s had more booze than a few drinks at dinner, and pushing himself to act sober like someone who was drinking for a reason.

When you hand over the jasmine and vervain, he’s sitting on the floor at the other side of the door. You catch the dog flap on the backswing and hold it open. “Is that enough? I can get the other stuff fresh from Dara’s tea store tomorrow.”

He leans down to see you better through the opening and keeps going until he’s lying sideways on the floor. He seems vaguely surprised that the world has gone horizontal. “This is what I need to get started,” he pronounces carefully. He seems to consider getting upright. Instead, he rolls over onto his back. His hair, long and silky, flops beside his head, except for an errant lock that lays across his forehead. His beard is growing in, and the mountain man thing really works for him. He looks like he might nod off right there, lying on the floor.

“So… what are you doing, casting a love spell or something?”

He groans. “Those idiots activated one. I’m trying to…” he lifts a hand and makes a serpentine gesture in the air with his finger, “wiggle open a loophole. So we can leave. And Dean can stop punching holes in the walls looking for hex bags.” He wakes up more fully and sits up suddenly. Running a hand through his hair, he laughs. There’s a tint of panic to it.

You can see that he’s about to dissemble about what he said, so you cut him off with a change of topic. “I knew the lady that used to live here. When I was a kid, we called it the witch’s house. She had, uh, twenty cats.”

“This is a dog door,” he points out.

“I know, right?” You smirk. “Do you like dogs?”

“I do,” he says without elaboration. “Can you tell me anything else about this house? Past owners?”

He’s sobering up. You answer with a shrug. “I mean. It’s a rental now. As you know, obviously.”

“A lot of strangers come through town? Have you noticed anyone that stands out? People you know, acting out of character? Has anyone been sick with an unexplainable illness?”

“We get summer tourists, mostly.”

“Anyone weird?”

“We are the weirdos, mister.” You ease the door flap closed. “I’ll bring the rest of your list when you guys order dinner tomorrow,” you say. It’s late, and you need to go home.

4. “Destiel are lowkey pining in the background”

Mylene adds in a cellophane bag of shortbread with the pie order. The scents in the bakery make you wish you were taking pie home for yourself, but no, this French Apple, ordered by “John Paul Jones,” is heading to the house you’ve been delivering to all week. On the nights when you don’t have an order, they order pizza delivery, it turns out. Pia, who owns Ristorante Raduno, mentioned it when you were fulfilling your craving for her incredible lasagna. Piggybacking on the pie order is a double side of bacon that you pick up from Dee's diner.

You honk when you pull up to the house, knock at the front door, then walk to the back yard per the usual. The Impala has enough dust on it to dull the black finish, and that strikes you as evidence that they really aren’t leaving the house. It was clear when you where conversing with him that burger guy loves his “Baby”. He wouldn’t let that car languish, getting covered in tree leaves and windblown dirt.

“You must be Mr. Jones,” you say to the new face at the kitchen window. “Are there any more of you in there or is three your crowd?”

“You’ve met the other two,” he says. He doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes are kind, deep blue and full of unspoken thoughts. He has a voice like someone after a night of loud singing and drinking. It doesn’t match his appearance. Not with the suit ensemble including the trench coat he is inexplicably wearing indoors.

“I guess pie and bacon is your thing?” you ask, covering a laugh, and pop the bakery box through the dog door. He takes the box once it has passed the threshold. "Whatever makes you happy." You hear his “thank you” before the dog door swings closed.

“The pie is for —” he catches himself. “Sandy.” He was about to say a name that started with D, you’re sure of it. Dean, you recall, from Sam’s slip up. “He likes pie. And bacon.” He stares at the pie as if it is about to impart hidden wisdom. "It makes him happy."

Your tip was included when the bakery was paid, so you don’t have a reason to linger, but you do anyway, curious. “This lockdown is hitting him hard, isn’t it? Not being able to take his car out for a drive?”

He gives a helpless little micro-shrug, but concern shows on his face. You think you see some guilt there, too. What had Sam said about it, that “those idiots” had activated the spell?

“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but…” you hesitate, just for a minute. “Pie is good and all, and that pie is really good, but words are good, too?” His piercing attention actually makes you take a step back. You break eye contact, kicking the brick paving at your feet with the toe of your shoe. “Saying your feelings instead of, um, eating them?” You’ve probably blown it, so you scram without a backward look.

5. “Pray for Sam”

You glare at your phone until you wake up enough to recognize the text as Sam’s. Then you stare at it, trying to make sense of what it says. Meet him? The coffee hut he’s talking about is at the edge of town. It’s the one thing open at this time of day, since Tena is one of those disgusting morning people.

When you get there, you see that Sam is one of those disgusting morning people, too. His hair may have been tied back during his run, but now it’s loose. The sweaty and wild thing works for him even better than the mountain man look. He’s shaved the beard. You hop out of the Jeep and stroll up to where he is doing some stretches. He straightens up and shakes the hair out of his face.

“You’re out of quarantine,” you say.

He answers your smile with his own. His eyebrows go up when he smiles. “You helped. With those herbs you picked, and everything else. I wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you formally reply. “I notice you got out of that house as early as possible this morning.”

When he rolls his eyes, you have your confirmation. “Ha ha, yeah,” he answers. “Gotta, you know, have some space. From the lovebirds,” he adds with a sound that is part relief and part exasperation.

“Are you getting coffee?”

“I’m picking some up to take back,” he says. “No rush on that.”

“Tena makes a mean superfood smoothie.” You gesture at the espresso hut. “Would you like to get smoothies, go sit by the river, and watch the ducks? Until you’re ready to head back to the house?”

6. “If you think this has a happy ending... you're right well done you”

You figure, that’s it, good-bye, they’re gone, the three that were trapped by the spell on the house. Either Sam figured out how to loosen the spell long enough for them to exit, or burger guy and pie guy hooked up and completed the spell’s requirement. You couldn’t exactly talk about it with Sam, while you sat by the water and drank your breakfast smoothies. You’re pretty sure that he knows you were giving them hints, really vague hints but still hints, but it’s not like you could ask if he knows, even now that the spell is broken.

They’re not gone yet, as you find out when Kitty from the General Store asks you to run a delivery out to the house. You stop by the General Store to pick up the bag. It’s heavy with an assortment of stuff indicating wall repair: sandpaper, drywall patch kits, a paint tray and paint roller. They’ve paid with a credit card again, a tip included.

You text Sam to let him know you’re the one bringing their supplies, and ask if they need anything else, which is how you end picking up another pie and a trio of sandwiches. When you get to the house, you see that all the windows and doors are open. Sam is sitting in the Impala with his long legs sprawling out of the open car door. He puts down a book when he sees you get out of your Jeep.

“Let me get that. Must be heavy, sorry,” he says.

“Could be worse. Megaburgers, or cans of paint.”

His hair slides over his ears as he shakes his head. “My brother found paint in the attic, at least.”

“I’m glad this is ending with some DIY, instead of you burning the place down or something,” you say without thinking. “It’s usually newlyweds that stay here. We’re a quiet community.”

He gives you an assessing look.

You hand him the bag from the hardware store. You hand him the food, too, before he steps into the house. You hate to see him go, but watching him walk away? That’s worth the price of admission.

He yells up the stairs that food has arrived. In a minute, the other two guys come down, both suspiciously dusty on their backsides and elbows, both looking stupidly happy. Dean puts his arm around his sweetheart’s waist. Pie guy leans in and blesses Dean with a soft kiss. Pie guy must be Castiel, the angel.

The infamous Winchesters. As hunters go, they don’t seem all that bad.

Like every other kid that grew up in your town, you know how the house spell works. The couples that honeymoon here don’t even notice when they get locked in, and they usually break the spell within minutes with their easy “I love you”s. Castiel and Dean were in love but must not have said the words to each other, yet, when they entered the house, and Sam was caught as a bystander.

You slip away before they catch you watching, get in your Renegade, and head out to the main road. At first, it had seemed like everyone’s bad luck, that some travel blogger had written about the weird little house in an idyllic riverside tourist town, and that particular trio had come to check it out. Your town has been a quiet haven for witches since before you were born.

In the end, it turned out OK. Better than OK. Who doesn’t like a happily ever after?

-o-

#profound bond gift exchange: quarantine & chill #pbgiftexchange #profoundnet #sam winchester/reader #supernatural #destiel #fluff #5+1 things

25 notes · View notes

skittlesfics · 5 years ago

Text

Blind Date - Jack Barakat x Reader

Title: Blind Date

Pairing: Jack Barakat x Reader

Word Count:1653

Author’s Note: Okay, okay, so I’m not supposed to write RPF on this blog BUT I’m going to see All Time Low THIS WEEKEND and I found this in my drive. based on the prompt: “It’s nice to meet you and I love your songs but wow, now that I know who you are and you’re paying for dinner and all I feel really bad for pirating all your music.”

P.S. Requests always open (especially for Harry Potter and Dragon Age)

“I swear you’ll love him. Have I ever steered you wrong?” Clara called through your bathroom door as you changed into outfit number three. You frowned, stepping into another pair of heels that was somehow taller than the last. If your friend hadn’t arranged this date as a huge favor to you, you would think that she was trying to kill you.

“Yes.” You said as you walked out of the bathroom. “Two weeks ago at that club downtown.” Clara wolf-whistled and stood to get the full impression. Outfit number three was braver than what you would have picked for yourself, but Clara had insisted that outfits one and two were too conservative for the guy you were meeting.

“He’s not like that guy at the club. You’ll really love him.” She assured you, already approaching you to do something with your hair, now that you had found something that she approved of. You stood still, letting her style your hair and decide what to do with your makeup.

"I don't have to love him, Clara. I just have to get him to fuck me."

She choked for a second before bursting into laughter, thumping you hard on the shoulder.

"With this outfit? If he doesn't fuck you, I will." She insisted with just enough of an eyebrow raise that you believed her, too. You rolled your eyes and let her guide you over to you vanity so that the two of you could finish the look.

By the time you were all dressed up and Clara was driving you downtown, you would have fucked you.

"I'll be in the area for the first hour or so, but if you need to bail after that it might take me a bit to get to you." Clara said. "Remember the code word?"

"Weightless." You replied, scrunching your nose at the laugh she tried to stifle. There was something about this date that she wasn't telling you and you hadn't been able to figure out what it was. You knew her well enough that she wouldn't pull a harmful prank on you, but that didn't mean that she didn't have something up her sleeve.

"What did you say his name was again? And how do you know him?" You asked, switching gears. She gave you a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye, but returned her attention to the road as traffic inched forward again.

"Jack. I met him through work." She answered. You tried not to wince as she sped up, sliding into a spot between two cars that her car barely fit into. You should have known better than to accept her offer to drop you off, but you weren't too keen on letting a blind date have your address.

"He worked with you on a music video?" You asked when you were sure that death was no longer imminent. She hummed as if considering and gave you a shrug.

"Something like that. He's a cool guy, really easy to work with." She finally replied. It wasn't an answer, but you knew by now that you weren't going to get any more out of her. You huffed dramatically and sunk low in your seat, closing your eyes. She laughed at you and turned the radio up, the sound of a new Simple Creatures song playing on the radio.

You opened your eyes just to glare at her again. You were glad that Alex was having fun making music, but you really wished he would release another album with All Time Low, and Clara knew that. She shrugged at you and you closed your eyes again, trying not to be nervous about the date.

The Black Sheep was a gastropub on 6th that you had been meaning to check out for a while, but you never seemed to be downtown after 7pm, at least not with the intention to eat. Now that you were going on a date there, you wish that you had managed to get there at least once so that you could have at least scoped out the place. As Clara pulled up slightly down the block, you swallowed your nerves. You were hot, you were confident, and you would take someone home tonight.

"Love you, get laid!" Clara called from the rolled-down window.

"Love you, I'll try!" You called back, blowing her a kiss. You watched her drive off and then took a moment to confirm that you had your phone and your clutch. You wished that you had done more than drink the single glass of rose while Clara was destroying your closet, but the plans for the night were gastropub, nightclub. There was plenty of time to take the edge off.

You took a final steadying breath and walked towards The Black Sheep.

It was still relatively early, but you weren't the only person dressed up for a night out. You felt less insecure about the leather clinging to your legs and the deep v of your bodysuit that went down to the high waist of your pants. The looks that you got were mostly appreciative, and that did a lot towards calming your nerves. As you neared the door, you heard someone shout your name from behind you.

You twisted around, eyes scanning for whoever called you, but freezing when they landed on Jack Fucking Barakat. Living in LA, running into celebrities was a common occurrence. You went to the same gym as Ariana Grande and Brie Larson, and had showered in the same room with them. All Time Low, however, had been the soundtrack of your emo years. You still had a poster of Jack folded up with some of your other memorabilia from going to Warped and other festivals.

You realized with horror that you were staring, and that he had noticed. He was half-jogging, but he slowed when he got to you. When he opened his mouth, you thought he was going to call you out for being a total fangirl and you started to apologize. Instead, he said your name and your brain short circuited.

"Sor- I'm sorry, what?" You asked, stumbling back a half-step, wobbling on one precariously high heel as you caught yourself. He reached out and steadied you with an arm on your elbow and you thought that you might explode. Your biggest teen fantasy was touching you. And then he said your name again.

"Clara's friend, right? Sorry, I thought I saw you back there but I wasn't sure until she sent me a picture of the back of you. I'm Jack." He held up his phone, showing you a picture that Clara had snapped as you were walking towards her car. You were still mad at her for the heels, but damn you looked good from behind.

"You're Jack? " You asked incredulously before realizing how stupid that was. Of course you knew his name was Jack. "Actually, I knew that. What I meant was, you're the Jack I'm meeting for a blind date?" You asked, eyes still wide. He grinned, running a hand through his dyed silver hair and you thought you might melt into the sidewalk right there.

"Yeah, lucky me, right? Come on, this place has great burgers and booze, and I didn't get to pre-game like I wanted." You let him pull you along into the gastropub. That made two of you, at least.

You settled in at the bar and ordered your burgers. Jack got the Macho Patty Melt and a Hell or High Watermelon, while you got the titular Black Sheep burger and a pear cider that didn't have a cute name. As you reached for your clutch, Jack waved your hand away and handed his card over, telling them to keep the tab open.

You wanted to text Clara to scream at her for not telling you that your date was Jack Motherfucking Barakat of All Time Low, but you didn't want to look rude in front of JACK MOTHERFUCKING BARAKAT OF ALL TIME LOW.

"Hey, you okay? You look nervous." He said softly, or as softly as he could while still being heard over the general noise of a gastropub. "Clara mentioned that you were an ATL fan, so you don't have to worry about that." You smiled at his concern and shook your head.

"It's not that." You admitted, biting your bottom lip, "It's just... Well, I know who you are and obviously I really love your music but... With you paying for dinner and all I feel really bad for all the albums I torrented."

Jack's eyes widened slightly and you worried that you had upset him. Had you really just told a music artist that you pirated their music instead of paying for it? Oh, fuck. Clara would be so pissed if you struck out on this date.

You started to apologize but he burst into laughter, his body shaking as he laid his head on the table for support. You managed a weak smile, taking a sip of your cider to calm your nerves some. The laughing fit passed and he looked up at you, still grinning.

"How about I consider your company as a repayment of your debt and call it even?" He said, reaching out to shake your hand.

"I don't know... It's a lot of debt."

"Guess you've got a lot of repayment to do, then."

You regarded him for a moment, looking from his hand to his face. You had never shaken hands with a first date before, but you did it anyway.

His hand was big and warm and you could feel his callouses as it engulfed yours. The contact lasted only the briefest moment, but you were already starting to feel warm. You swallowed, reaching for your drink immediately.

Oh fuck. You were on a date with Jack Barakat, oh fuck. You downed the second half of your cider.

#Jack Barakat x Reader #Jack Barakat Imagine #All Time Low Imagine #All time low Reader insert #lmao why am I like this

57 notes · View notes

caps-lockdown · 5 years ago

Text

Party Crashers (One Shot)

Steve Rogers x Reader where her friends jokingly send him an invite to his fan mail address for her birthday party. And Tony finds it and forces him to attend the birthday party. Reader being 100% oblivious to all of this until he literally walks in the door! 🤣🤣🤣

Here it is as requested by @katurrade my wonderful friend! Ask and you shall receive lovely! Hope you like it!

Party Crashers One Shot

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Rating:PG:13 (For jokes, booze, language, the usual) Pretty much all fluff, but there is a slight panic attack (although poorly written I can assure you)

Summary: You reluctantly agree to letting your friends throw you a birthday party, but when they send an invite to your favorite Avenger, how will things pan out?

Words: 5,576

It is AU in the sense that I’m having Tony live through endgame, and obviously Steve didn’t go back in time. Because I can’t move on. I don’t own anything but the reader and her family and friends. And the cat.

(Also the house pictured is NOT MINE. I wish it was, but sadly no. Just used it for imagining the party venue. And the dress isn’t mine either, but I can see myself owning it before the house.)

It’s also in Y/N L/N format. Enjoy!

Party Crashers

Two days before your party

“I’m. Not. Going. Stark. ” Steve Roger’s tone had a sense of finality to it, his body in a tense stance as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the patriotic themed party invitation that Tony was holding. A huge grin plastered on the billionaire’s face.

“Yes. You. Are. Rogers.” The man adjusted his glasses as he brought the invitation to his line of sight. Steve had tried to conceal the bright blue and red card when he got it in his fan mail that morning, but of course Stark being the snoop that he naturally was, he found it and brought it to everyone’s attention later in the Tower. “Look it’ll be good to keep in the fan’s good graces. After everything that’s happened recently, we could use the good PR.”

The blonde man sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. Everything that had happened with Thanos was over and done with, but yet the people were still terrified and on edge. Rightfully so too. He didn’t understand how going to some grown woman’s birthday celebration was going to help, especially when he had never met her. So he thought.

“Did you read the note that was attached? It’s quite cute. Ahem.” Steve rolled his eyes as Tony cleared his throat, developing a shrill feminine voice as he read it aloud to the rest of the room. “Dear Captain America. You don’t know us but our friend Y/N has a birthday coming up and we figured since you both share the same birthday it would be awesome if we invited you! We just got her back and wanted to make up for missing her these last five years. You’re her absolute favorite superhero and she’s totally had a crush on you ever since you saved her life during the Battle of New York. Not that she’ll ever tell you that. Anyways you don’t have to RSVP or anything, and you aren’t required to take pictures. Hell you could show up, say hi, and leave with cake for all we care. Hope to see you!

Stacy and Jim Higgins” The rest of the avengers were laughing at the annoyed blonde’s face when Stark finished.

“They even included a photo!” Bucky and Sam were the first to look at the picture the brunette man was holding, Sam letting out a long winded “Daaaaang” upon seeing the woman’s face. Steve had to admit that Y/N was very attractive, immediately noticing her thousand watt smile as she snuggled what he was assuming to be her pet cat.

“Tony I don’t want to do this..” Steve tried to reason with him, losing all hope when his friend typed the number on the invite into his phone, tossing the taller man the device and making a “go on” motion with his hands as it began to ring.

Rogers was beginning to think of all the ways he could get away with killing the asshole philanthropist when he heard a voice call from the other side of the line. “Hello?”

“Yes...uhm uh is this Stacy?”

“Who’s askin?”

“It’s Steve Rogers. I’m…uh.”

“OH MY GOD NO FUCKING WAY! JIM GUESS WHO’S ON THE HORN? CAPTAIN FUCKING AMERICA!!! No…No I’m not kidding you asshole.” Steve couldn’t help but give a nervous chuckle as the female voice proceeded to call the male voice a bunch of inappropriate names. He heard her take a deep breath and continue. “Sorry bout that Mister America Sir. To what do I owe the pleasure of your phone call?” He shook his head, smiling as the woman made an attempt to sound polite.

“I just wanted to RSVP for Y/N’s birthday party. Fourth of July right?”

“Yea! Five o’clock at the address on the invite! You can show up whenever though, oh man Y/N is going to FREAK OUT! Thank you so so much for doing this! I know you must be really busy. Dealing with everything going on around here.”

“It’s no problem at all…” Tony smacked the man’s arm as he grimaced, biting back a few choice words for his teammate. “I’m looking forward to it.” His comment sounded forced and fake but the woman only giggled, buying his terrible performance.

“Great! I won’t tell her you’re coming, but we can’t wait to see you! Have a good night!”

“Of course, you too.” Steve’s face was void of all emotion as he threw the phone at Tony head on, clearly trying to wipe the satisfied expression off his face.

“There that wasn’t so hard was it Rogers?”

“Go to hell Stark.” The blonde man muttered, the other raising a hand to his chest, feigning hurt feelings.

“Language Cap. You kiss your mother with that mouth? It’s not like I’m going to make you go alone. I want to see this train wreck first hand.” Mentally exhausted from today’s turn of events Steve didn’t even bother with a retort, walking out of the room to head to his bedroom. He was too old for this crap.

Day of Your Party

Lake George, New York

“No, No, I specifically told you Patty NO FIREWORKS! Y/N gets all jumpy and she’s bringing Tigger too…yes, her cat. YOU ARE NOT MESSING THIS UP FOR US PATRICIA! I WILL END YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY TREE WITH A TABLESPOON OF GASOLINE AND A MATCH! Do NOT try me today! Tell your mom I said hello. See you soon!”

Stacy ended the phone call with a huff, her eyes sweeping the large group of people that were attempting to set up last minute decorations for your birthday. Of course they would have it out at their astonishing lake side house in upper New York, away from the city and away from the seas of family reunions at Central Park. Considering the holiday, Stacy was hell bent on making sure no explosions of any kind would be happening today. She wanted everything to be perfect for you, and she wasn’t above murdering your cousin to obtain that goal. She didn’t care if she was only eleven years old.

“You threatening children again honey?” Jim quirked an thick eyebrow at his wife, watching the woman deflate just an inch before she ran off to scream at someone for hanging the wrong colored lantern above one of the large tables. He was fairly certain his wife was going to have a stroke when all of this was over. He could hope anyway. She had been a nightmare planning this whole affair for you, and that was only because you had eventually given in to her demands. It was like negotiating with the government. And he had willing married her.

He laughed as she opted to forcefully take the lantern from his brother Tyler, dragging the chair to another table and hanging it up in its rightful spot. All it took though was one saucy wink in his direction and he could feel his body relax. She was going to be the death of him.

~~A short while later~~

“I hope there isn’t too many people Mel, you know I hate feeling crowded.” You pulled into the long driveway of your best friend’s home. Mel, your sister sat strangely quiet in the passenger seat, lovingly petting a sleeping Tigger in her lap. Before Thanos she was merely a teen, now a high school graduate and looking into medical school. Tigger was barely a year old and just starting to be harness trained, the orange tabby loving the outside and you didn’t have the heart to keep him inside all the time. Now older, he still loved being outside but had gotten pudgy in your years away. You had missed out on so much, but Mel was never this quiet before. In fact, she had pretty much been silent the entire four hour drive to Lake George, only saying a few words here and there as you rambled on. “Why are you being so damn quiet? It’s creeping me out.”

Your sister only smiled at you, her eyes misted over just a bit as she shook her head. “I’ve just missed hearing you talk sis. Five years…” A small sob escaped her when you threw your car into park, reaching over to pull her into a hug.

“Hey now, it was five years for me too alright? We’re together again yeah?” Brushing the tear off her cheek you held back your own when Tigger let out a cranky mewl. That was one thing you would never get tired of. A joyful laugh left your mouth as you began to break away from the embrace, looking into your sister’s brown eyes. “Alright get out of here before you make me ruin my makeup. And just so we’re clear I expect a full blown alien conspiracy lecture tomorrow on the way home.” You jokingly scolded, watching her light up before taking the cat and dashing out of the car. Well at least she had stayed the ball of energy you had remembered.

Stepping out of your vehicle before locking the doors, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp at the house in front of you.

“I see you guys finished the remodel!” You called out when you entered the foyer.

“Y/N! You look amazing!!” Stacy yelled, coming to give you the biggest hug as if you hadn’t been back for months now and she hadn’t just seen you a couple days ago. “Where did you get that banging dress? Did they have one in purple?!”

You lightly shoved your friend, looking down at your outfit for the day.

“HEY EVERYONE, Y/N’S HERE!” A large amount of screams were heard throughout the house and soon you were being flogged by tons of family and friends. Most of them you had seen since you got back, but all of them at once was kind of suffocating. You tried to hide your nerves as you greeted the seemingly endless crowd of smiling, teary faces.

“Happy birthday Y/N!”

“You look great!”

“You got a boyfriend yet?”

“How’s work?” Holding your temple, you started to struggle to breathe, overwhelmed by all of the questions and closeness. A knock at the door seemed to stop everyone in their tracks, and you smiled gratefully as Stacy swooped in to shoo them all away.

“Let our girl breathe a little! Fuck! Buncha vultures.” Your brunette friend whispered the last part, you giggling as she led you away from the prying eyes and invasive questions. It had been nearly a year since you had come back, it wasn’t as if it was just yesterday or anything. Taking a seat on the back porch, you gladly took the mojito Jim handed to you while Stacy went to get the door, opening it widely and immediately looking confused.

“You…you aren’t Captain America.” She managed to get out as Tony Stark took off his sunglasses, reaching to take her hand and giving her a grand smile.

“Well spotted. I’m not. Tony Stark. I however, was under the assumption he was already here. “

“He’s not with you?” Your friend asked as he went to dart his eyes to his phone, a frown on his features as he went to call the avenger in question, holding a finger up to Stacy.

“He didn’t want to carpool and save the environment. He insisted he took his bike. Maybe he took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Excuse me.” That was a blatant lie, as Tony had told Steve specifically to take his bike and offer Y/N a ride as an attempt to break the ice. Perhaps the good captain was in fact lost. He listened as the phone rang, clucking his tongue in disapproval as it went to voicemail.

“Sorry Stac, looks like you just have me for right now. I’m more than positive he’ll be here soon. I know he wouldn’t miss something like this. He loves birthday cake, as do I. But you know war heroes, always fashionably late. Shall we?” Your friend could only nod slowly, the information sinking in and Stark taking his cue to head into the large home. “Your home is stunning.”

“Thanks. Y/N should be out back.” Stacy waved him on and Tony took his time enjoying the lovely large windows and high ceilings. He also took the time to send a very strongly worded text message to Steve about punctuality, and the fact he should have beaten Stark here considering Rogers had left nearly two hours before he had.

It didn’t take him long to find you, halfway through your glass and staring out onto the massive backyard. People were playing volley ball, four or five men were manning the grill, women laughing in groups as they caught up. Even surrounded by everyone you still felt a little isolated. Not a soul paying attention to you. Noticing you were almost out of alcohol he backtracked into the house, grabbing a couple fresh minty drinks and heading back out.

“Y/N I presume?” Tony’s voice shook you out of your daydreaming, you jumping at recognizing his face. Iron Man Tony-fucking-Stark was standing just to your right, and you placed a hand over your chest in a poor attempt to steady your heart beat.

“Uhmnh…Yea….Yea that’s me.” You choked out, taking the billionaire’s drink offering and setting it down before coming back up to grasp his hand and giving it a firm shake. “I’m Y/N.”

“You sure?” His jab made you blush, you finishing your first drink before moving your steel straw into the next one. The brunette man smiled, sipping on his own drink and nodding at it in approval.

“What…what are you doing here?” Your question was blurted out at a rapid speed, the skin on your neck tingling again as Tony looked down to meet your eyes. You could tell that he had been waiting on you to ask, as it wasn’t everyday random world saving superheroes showed up to a woman’s birthday party.

“We got an invite from Stacy and her husband, but superhero business would have it that only I could make it tonight. I’m sorry if you were expecting someone taller. With blonde hair and devastating blue eyes.” You sputtered into your glass, giving Tony an incredulous look while he laughed at you. What had your friends mentioned in that invitation?

“No um, this is really wonderful. Thank..thank you for coming.” You nearly squeaked, trying to guzzle down the rest of your drink and standing from your chair. Jim signaled it was time to eat, Stacy starting to hand people red, white, and blue plates and napkins while the masses began to form a line for food. “I guess that’s our cue. Everyone will be really excited to meet you. And in case I don’t get the chance, thank you. Ya know, for saving the world.”

“All in a day’s work Y/N. Let’s get some grub, I’m starving.” You laughed as Tony extended his arm, helping you down the stairs into the party space, people offering him thanks and asking for pictures once they caught on to who he was. “No no, I’m just here for the free food and Y/N’s birthday cake. But maybe we’ll take a few photos after yeah?”

The two of you took a seat at the large long picnic table after piling your plates with ribs, potato salad, corn on the cob, and other fourth of July staples. Tony kept everyone laughing, telling stories to you and the twenty four other people that were there to celebrate. You secretly wished that you could be this outgoing, most of the time shying away from social interaction and people altogether. It would certainly help you and your lackluster personal life.

After everyone was on the brink of a food coma, Tony suggested the game of charades to help burn off some of the food to make room for cake. With it being after seven, some of the guests opted to leave for the evening, wishing you well and stealing a couple of photos with Tony before exiting. None of them seemed to notice the motorcycle parked alongside the driveway.

Steve’s eyes watched with amusement as you attempted to use your cat to imitate a machine gun, shouting Scarface quotes and Tony being the first to answer correctly. His breath was taken away by how beautiful you were in person, the picture being five years older after all. He loved the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, and how your smiles always looked warm and inviting, even when you were clearly not doing the best at charades. Steeling his nerve he climbed off his bike, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms onto his pants and heading up to the front door of the large home. He took in a deep breath and knocked, staring into the rich oak and waiting.

“I’ll get it!” You shouted, hopping off the couch and dodging popcorn Mel was throwing at you along the way. You stuck your tongue out playfully, turning to open the door and finding yourself face to face with freedom in the flesh.

“Happy birthday Y/N.” His stunning blue eyes and even more attractive smile was too much for you and the room began to spin. “I’m Steve.”

You took his hand, suddenly feeling really light headed. His expression changed to one of concern as you took a few fumbling steps back, his strong arm instinctively reaching out to grip your waist and steady you.

“Hey you’re alright. I’ve got you.” His words had your brain going into overdrive, your mind flooding with the memory of the only other time you had heard him say that.

~May 4th, 2012~

“Why the hell should I take orders from you?!”

You heard the cop ask the man in the blue suit, you hiding behind a nearby car as you watched him interact with the officer, chaos erupting throughout the city. The entire office you worked in had evacuated in a panic, but you were one of the last ones to leave, narrowly escaping death a few times over just getting out of the building. Your eyes were glued to the man, never seeing him before in your life. He was extremely handsome from what you could tell, and clearly he wasn’t taking no for an answer. You watched as he proceeded to defeat a few of the strange creatures easily, and you couldn’t help but let out a raspy laugh as the officer quickly changed his tune.

“I need men in those buildings. Lead the people down and away from the streets. We’re gonna set up a perimeter all the way down to 39th street.” He had said the last bit into his radio, walking away and you gladly decided it was time to get your ass out of there. Standing up and headed towards the street you began running towards the nearest subway entrance. Your heart was hammering in your throat and you were sure you would have to throw out your heels and now ripped to hell dress when this was over. Turning a corner you let out a blood curdling scream as a truck came barreling through the air, you being directly in its way.

You shut your eyes and awaited death, but it never came. Instead you were grabbed roughly and tucked in between a set of buildings, a shriek leaving your lungs as you watched the truck go flying by. Your hands shot to cover your face as your panicked sobs came out before you could stop them, realizing you were alive.

“Hey you’re alright, I’ve got you.” Your hands were brought down from your face and you looked up to see the hero in blue staring intently at you, brushing some of your now loosened hair away from your face. You were certain your makeup was smeared along with dirt and dust from all of the debris floating around the city, but he only continued staring into your eyes.

“Boy do you ever.” Was all you could get out, a small smile lighting up the mystery man’s features as he grabbed your hand, looking into the street before nodding to you.

“Good. Now let’s get you to safety Doll.” You swooned and fought to keep up with the man as he started jogging back into the street, careful to help you dodge and duck the ugly looking creatures along the way. Stopping at the subway entrance he gave you a once over, making sure you weren’t bleeding as you fought a heart attack from all the cardio today had put you through. His hands on your shoulders weren’t helping things.

“You get down there and you stay safe alright miss?” You could only nod like an moron again, watching him turn to walk away.

“Hey wait!” He turned around at your newly found voice, you pointing to an alley that wasn’t under attack. “You’ll get to where you’re going faster if you take that way. It’ll lead you back to where you saved me.”

He cracked a smile, appreciating your kindness as he took off. You got all the way down the stairs before realizing you never got to thank him. Or learn his stupid name.

~Now~

“Boy do you ever.” Your words came out in a whisper, his gaze turning to one of calculation as you smiled. There was no way he could have remembered saving you. He has saved thousands, millions of people in the past, and you weren’t that memorable.

“You…you were the woman I saved from the flying truck..weren’t you?” His voice was soft as he whispered back. You nodded with wide eyes, taking note how his arm hadn’t detached itself from your waist yet. Not that you minded.

“You remember me?” You stuttered out, trying to keep your shocked nerves at bay.

“Doll I couldn’t forget you even if I tried. Those directions saved my skin that day. I’m glad to see you survived.”

“Because of you! I didn’t even know trucks could fly.” Your comment made him laugh out loud, his arm leaving your waist only to cover his stomach as he filled the house up with joy. Everyone else laughed nervously, clearly not having heard the conversation between you two and therefore not having the slightest idea what was so funny.

“I see you cut your hair, your picture doesn’t do you justice you know.”His normal voice and remark set your face on fire, you whipping your head to look at your best friend, who only sheepishly shrugged and avoided making eye contact with you. “But I like it. Suits you.” Receiving another compliment from the blonde had you grinning like a goofball.

“Thank you….and uh thanks, for saving my life all of those years ago. I never got the chance to do it back then.” You rambled, before widening your eyes again and taking a breath. “And thanks for helping bring back everyone from the decimation too! I mean I was part of that and I know everyone is really grateful and all.” Finishing your long winded spiel you began studying the designs in the hard cherry wood floor, embarrassed at how the Captain only continued to chuckle at you.

“You’re welcome…and you’re welcome.” He beamed at you, Tony loudly coughing to bring the two of you out of whatever bubble you seemed to be in together.

“This is ADORABLE to watch. Seriously. But uh, I was promised cake and I’m not leaving until I get some.” Stark whined, your friends all agreeing before wandering into the kitchen, you motioning for Steve to follow. Stacy smiled warmly at you as she took the glad cake topper off, your mouth watering at the beautiful cake she had made. It was three layers, all different swirls of red white and blue adorning it along with simple gold stars.

“Oh Stac…it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Hey that means we can sing happy birthday to both of you!” Jim clapped Steve on the back, shaking his hand as he went to light the one huge candle that sat on top of the cake.

“As long as you don’t sing Jim I think our ears will be okay.” Mel quipped, everyone laughing as they began singing to the two of you. Your eyes welled up with tears, looking at all of the faces of people you honestly weren’t sure you’d ever see again. And two of the people that helped make that happen were here as well. How about that. Once everyone had a piece of cake you all took to sitting outside on the back porch again, watching the summer sun begin to set off in the distance. It reflected off the lake beautifully, the reds and oranges in the sky extending over the water.

“I’ve missed how peaceful it is out here Stacy. You and Jim have an absolute paradise out here.” Your friends nodded, both too busy with cake to really take in the splendor.

“I think this cake is paradise.” Tony muffled out, mouth full of the sugary treat, Steve’s shaking of his head had you and Mel giggling into your forks. “You have to get me the recipe so my wife can make it. Or we can just pay you to make it.”

“Anything for one of the guys who saved the world. I’ll write it down for ya.” Stacy’s smirk made you chuckle, her fingers snaking out to take your clean plate from you. Walking back into the kitchen, the now very happy Stark following her, Mel sighed as she looked at her watch.

“It’s not even ten yet! What are we going to do!?” Her complaint reminded you how much younger she actually was, you perfectly fine with calling it a night. Your ears perked up at the sound of soft jazz music beginning to pour out of the speakers located on the corner of the deck, Jim turning on the assortment of lanterns. The whole back yard was aglow with twinkling lights and you started to subconsciously sway to the beat. Steve’s jaw working as he began to walk over to you, shrugging out of the brown leather jacket he had been wearing and setting on a chair.

“Well I know what Y/N and I are going to do.” Steve stuck his hand out to you, you smiling timidly before reaching yours to grasp his. “Care to dance, Doll?”

“Well I’m not going to say no.” He laughed at that, bringing you over to the side of the deck that was serving as a makeshift dance floor, Jim and Stacy following your lead when she returned from the kitchen. You got a chance to take in his outfit, nice gray slacks and a simple blue button up shirt rolled up at the elbows. It wasn’t much but he didn’t need much when he looked like he had been carved out of marble by Michelangelo himself.

“I have to admit, I don’t have that much practice with dancing.” The blonde admitted, your heart fluttering as a flush crept over his face. You squeezed his hand reassuringly as he dropped his other one to sit on high on your waist.

“Is the great Captain America flustered right now?” You giggled, allowing him to spin you around. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. But for the record…” You gingerly took his hand at your waist, lowering it a little to where it sat just above your hip. “Your hand will be a lot more comfortable here. And you should relax some. I don’t bite.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, you both swaying to the music in a comfortable silence as it played on, Jim making sure the songs stayed slow so you wouldn’t part ways so quickly. Eventually you began making small talk, asking him about his life and interests, Steve obviously very interested in what you had been up to since Thanos’ defeat. You found him extremely easy to talk to, your jokes making him laugh, his eyes crinkling with joy as the time passed.

“So we might as well start making wedding invitations now.” Mel uttered to Tony when he curiously eyed the Captain, your sister and Stark looking to each other before chuckling. “She’s not going to let him go now that they’ve met officially.”

“That’s funny, because I was thinking the same thing. About him. Maybe he’ll find that life I told him to get.” Mel laughed at the brunette, both of them nodding to the other couple to vacate the dance floor. Stacy couldn’t help the sly smile as you and Steve continued to talk, so enamored in each other you didn’t notice everyone else leaving the back yard to give you some privacy. Ten minutes later the next song came to a close, Steve attempting to lower you into a small dip that made your knees weak in more ways than one.

“Thanks for the dance Y/N.”

“Dances Mister Rogers, and back at you. They were lovely. Now where did everyone…. “ You began to look around, a slight familiar panic setting in as your eyes searched for your friends and the billionaire. You sighed in exasperation as you watched them scatter. Failing miserably at making themselves look busy and like they hadn’t been watching you two. “Go.”

“I’m sure they mean well.” Steve’s eyes sparkled as you rolled your own.

“Sure yea. They’re probably in there planning our first date.”

“Our first date?” You went to cover your face with your hands, a high pitch squeak coming out when you came to terms with the fact you had said that out loud.

“OhmygodI’msososorry” You rushed out, continuing to hide your face as you were certain you were the brightest shade of red in the rainbow.

“Y/N it’s alright…”

“No it’s not. You’re out there saving the world, and I’m sure that coming to this dumb party my exhausting friends probably blackmailed you into was the last thing on your to do list. And then I have to go and ruin a perfectly nice moment by opening my big mouth and asking you out when knowing my luck you’re already dating some stunning Amazonian woman who can cook and makes you stupid happy!” Anger boiled in your veins as the blonde could only stare at you, partially concerned you might combust, and partially endeared that you clearly had a big crush on him.

“For the record, Tony made me come tonight. But you’re the sole reason I’ve stayed.” Steve took your clenched hand, giving it a soft squeeze and the noise that died in the back of your throat couldn’t have been remotely human. “And secondly, I’m single, and extremely flattered. But I’m afraid there’s a small problem.”

“You’re afraid I’m crazy and will probably burn down your house if you ignore me for too long?” He blinked at you, taking a moment to let that sentence sink in before shaking his head.

“No, I don’t know if you’re a cup of coffee or dinner and a movie kind of girl. “ His grin had you seeing fireworks and holy star spangled banner Steve Rogers was asking you out! Quickly jolting out of your over-excitement you managed a coy giggle, you removing your hand from his before placing it on his right cheek. Bringing yourself up to your tiptoes you allowed your lips to lightly kiss his left cheek, feeling the warmth radiate through his skin upon contact.

“Well in your case Steve, I’m both. Dinner tomorrow night when I get back into town?”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, you sliding your hand away only to have him take it again. Your heart raced as he placed a chaste kiss on your knuckle, grinning at you like a love struck puppy.

“I’ll pick you up on the bike at seven o clock. Hope you like Italian.”

“I do.” You nodded, you immediately missing his hand when he let it go.

“Great, then it’s a date.”

“So it is.” You bit back a girlish scream internally as he began to walk away, before turning around and bashfully asking for your phone number. You typed it into his phone, laughing the entire time. Everyone gathered outside for a quick photo with the two Avengers, Steve staying right next to you, a hand on your waist and the two of you looking nothing short of smitten with each other. You gave both of them a quick hug goodbye, Tony’s being longer because he complained about you not dancing with him at all and he deserved better treatment because he was there first.

“Goodnight Y/N. Happy Birthday.” You smiled at the blonde, giggling as Tony had to physically grab the back of Steve’s jacket to pull him out of the doorway.

“Happy birthday Steve. See you tomorrow.” You waved them on, leaning against the frame as the two men became shapes in the dark. It wasn’t long after you heard the rumble of a motorcycle and a car start up, headlights pulling down the road as they drove off.

“I’m sorry they had to go.” Mel patted your shoulder as you shut the door, locking the bolt and turning off the porch light. You smiled at your sister saucily, throwing her a wink after she shut the blinds behind the couch.

“Me too, but god did I love watching him leave.”

Her response was a pillow. To your face.

The End

Tag List: @kaytizzle @giggleberts @cuffski

#steve rogers x reader #the avengers #marvel #fanfic #fluff #captain america #fanfiction

120 notes · View notes

collapsingintojupiter · 5 years ago

Text

Sunshine and Storm Clouds: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 1.5 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Yes, this is the story that originally spawned from drabble prompts, and lemme tell y’all I have some fun stuff planned. Enjoy!

Warnings: Exactly one curse, alcohol mention. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Also before I begin this chapter I just want to send a huge shoutout to @just-perhaps for being such a freaking amazing friend! Like guys he was so patient with me, and just let me bounce chapter ideas off of him and helped me come up with a lot of this stuff that you’re reading now--because I have such a disastrous brain I have trouble with that kind of thing a lot, and thanks to him I’ve been able to sort a lot of these ideas out so that you can enjoy them. So if you like what you see--thank him too! He’s awesome!

That is all. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

___

Roman tried not to look tense as he followed Logan and Virgil into the kitchen; sure he was excited for a free meal but Virgil's presence especially put him on edge. He was pretty sure that the purple-and-black clad father hated him, and the almost robotic demeanor of the other one didn't help with that much.

"Can you take Patton and sit down with him while Virgil and I get dinner?" Mr. Sanders held the child out to him and Roman nodded, taking Patton into his arms.

"Ready to eat?" He asked the little boy with a grin. He felt better just holding Patton--the little boy's very presence seemed to make the world feel a little better; a little brighter. I guess I can understand why Virgil's so protective of him, he thought.

"He seems to like you," the other Mr. Sanders nodded to him with something that might have been approval.

"Thank you, Mr--"

"Virgil."

"Mr. Virgil?" The one in the patch jacket groaned, turning to his husband.

"I'm not professional enough for all that garbage," he shook his head and waved one hand vaguely in the air. "Just call me Virgil."

"Yes sir."

"Virgil."

"Right." Roman was blinking as he carried Patton into the dining room and away from that awkward conversation. He busied himself settling the little boy down to his chair; before he sat down next to him and turned to watch Mr. Sanders and Virgil as they worked together on the burgers.

"There's three of us, Logan," Virgil reminded his husband when the blue-tied father only got four hamburger buns from the pantry. Mr. Sanders nodded, quickly correcting his mistake and throwing the buns into the toaster while Virgil got out pans to cook the burgers.

"What kind of stuff do you like on your burger?" Logan asked Roman, heading over to the fridge to get out condiments.

"You guys have teriyaki sauce?"

"Yes." Logan pulled out a small bottle of it, following that with mayo, ketchup, relish, and cheese.

Plates and utensils were brought out and arranged, and Virgil helped Mr. Sanders arrange them on plates. Mr. Sanders sniffed at the air when they'd finished, then frowned.

"Virgil, your burgers are burning." Logan's husband spun around when he heard that, eyes wide.

"Shit!" Virgil dashed back into the kitchen and Logan watched him go, a half-smile on his face as he shook his head.

"Maybe one day we'll make these correctly, eh Patton?" He looked down at his son, suddenly seemed to realize Roman was there, and his cheeks turned red as he looked away.

Roman didn't say anything, but he was more intrigued than anything by the two fathers' almost clumsy attempt to make dinner for him. He felt almost...honored. People rarely shared themselves with others so easily, especially when they weren't "perfect" at whatever it was. Seeing these two was almost...refreshing, in a way, a good break from too-perfect Hallmark families and idiocy painted over with smiling faces.

Virgil and Logan seemed to exist in their own dimensions, yet acted as anchors for each other in the real world. It was such an odd relationship Roman couldn't quite figure out how it worked, but he didn't doubt it either--the adoration in the teacher's usually stony expression when he looked at Virgil, the way Virgil's eyes softened whenever they saw Mr. Sanders. That's love, he thought to himself. That…that's real love.

Virgil came back into the room with a plate of steaming burger patties (which were hardly burned at all, Roman couldn't help but note), and the two arranged everything on the table before sitting down next to each other.

"We have enough for each of us to get two, but we can make more if you'd like," Logan stated, and everyone dug in. Virgil tried to ignore his food and feed Patton instead, but one look from Logan and he begrudgingly began to eat while he fed the child instead.

Roman forced himself to eat slowly, taking small bites from his burger and ignoring the ravenous hunger that burned in his stomach. The burgers were delicious, and as they ate Mr. Sanders questioned him about...well, the list of things he didn't ask about might've been shorter. Roman kept his answers short, hoping he'd stop, but Logan just kept talking. He hadn't realized that the teacher could say so much.

"What school do you go to?"

"Rachedale Highschool."

"And you're in what grade?"

"I'm a junior."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"No, it's just me at home."

"Have you read any good books lately?"

"...I don't read much, sir. I don't have time."

"Do you have a favorite subject in school?"

"I like History, I guess."

Logan opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could Virgil bumped him with his knee under the table. Roman could tell he was trying to be subtle, but he tended to notice things a lot of other people didn't, this included. Logan glanced at Virgil and shut his mouth, then looked back at Roman.

"I apologize, Roman. Am I talking to much?"

"No sir," Roman lied. "I don't mind." The teacher narrowed his eyes.

"Roman, I want you to be honest with me. If something is bothering you, or if I am making you uncomfortable, please say something. I don't want to distress you."

Roman blinked several times, surprised. Since when did adults care about what him, a teenager, had to say? But Logan looked so serious, and Virgil was nodding.

Maybe he doesn't hate me. Man, these two are weird...but cool. I like them.

"Um...I guess yeah, then? I don't really like being, um, questioned like that." He ducked his head after saying that. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize, Roman," Mr. Sanders answered quickly. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll avoid it. Alright? But you have to tell me."

"Y-Yes, sir."

Logan nodded. "Is there anything you wish to talk about instead?"

Roman actually grinned that time. He hadn't really expected to enjoy the meal, but this was actually turning out to be quite interesting.

"So, earlier Patton and I…"

The three talked about the little boy in blue for a while, sharing a few stories and laughing at Patton's antics over burgers and fries (Virgil claimed that they too had burned, but really they were fine). Roman finished his burger first, and while his stomach still roared with hunger, he didn't touch the second one once he'd fixed it.

"Ah…Mr. Sanders?"

"Yes?" Logan looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Can I get a plastic bag to put this in? I'm not hungry...I was wondering if I could take this home and eat it later?"

Logan looked at Roman, adjusted his glasses, and shook his head.

"Falsehood," he stated calmly. Then, before Roman could protest, Virgil spoke up.

"Eat at much as you need, kid. I'll make more and you can take that home with you. Deal?"

Roman looked at the purple-and-black father in surprise, and when their eyes met he almost wished he hadn't looked up at all. There was an understanding in Virgil's eyes that was a lot more knowing; a lot more unsettling than he would've liked. How does he...

"Deal," Roman answered, trying to keep his voice from trembling. Virgil nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, coming back sometime later with more hot burger patties. He also had a few bags of chips, an apple, and juice, which he'd arranged in a plastic bag.

"Take it all," he told Roman, setting it down in front of him. Roman didn't argue, finishing off his second burger and packing up the rest.

"Thank you so much," he told Mr. Sanders and Virgil earnestly. "I'd love to stay for longer, but I probably should get back. I don't want my mom to worry." Oh whatever, she probably wouldn't notice if you never came back, the voice at the back of his head snickered. Shut up, Roman thought back at it. He wished that the voice wasn't right, desperately trying to block it out with something here and now.

"Thank you for taking care of Patton," Mr. Sanders said with a nod. "Will you be willing to return should we need help with him again?"

"Yes sir!" Roman forced energy into his voice that he didn't know he had. "I'd be glad to help with Patton anytime!" Logan nodded.

"Until next time then, Roman." Roman waved to them and smiled at Patton as he opened the front door.

"I'll see you later!"

He shut the door behind him and started the walk home.

---

About a half hour later, Roman pulled an old key from his pocket and slid it into the doorknob that belonged to a small dilapidated house.

"Mom?" He called as he stepped inside. "I'm back."

"Oh, hey honey." The lilting voice came from the living room and Roman followed it, clutching the plastic bag in his hands. In front of the TV his mother was sprawled out on the couch, her clothing battered and dirty. Had she looked so bad that morning?

"Mom… Please tell me you didn't buy more of that stuff."

"Oh honey...I promised you, remember?"

"Mom, you're drunk." Roman let out a quiet sigh. "How are we going to pay rent this month if you keep spending everything on booze?"

"Oh relax honey, it'll be alright." Mrs. Emerson smiled at Roman, and he shuddered.

"I brought you dinner," he said, taking the plastic bag over to his mother. She took it and frowned at its contents.

"But, darling...I'm not hungry."

"Mom, please eat?"

"Maybe later." Roman sighed; dropped it. There was no use chasing subjects when his mother was like this. Maybe he could heat it up later for her, or eat it for breakfast tomorrow.

"Did you get the job?" He asked instead. Of course not, idiot. She wouldn't be drunk if she had.

"No, I didn't…" his mother sighed. "But don't worry about it, hun. I'll get something eventually."

"Yeah," Roman nodded. "You'll get it." He hated how hollow the words sounded, even to him.

"You'll get it, Mom."

___

Taglist.

@antisocialsilvermermaid @just-perhaps @ghostintimelostintime

#sunshine and storm clouds #fanfiction #sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #analogical #alcohol mention #cursing

47 notes · View notes

jonathanalumbaugh · 7 years ago

Text

Weekly Digest

Dec 16, 2017, 3rd issue.

A roundup of stuff I consumed this week. Published weekly(ish).

Read

Whoever your graphic design portfolio site is aimed at, you have to remember that people’s time and attention is limited. Employers, to take one example, may look at dozens of portfolios in the space of 10 minutes. So you only have a few seconds to really grab their attention and enthuse them.

—8 great graphic design portfolio sites for 2018

Paying for more than 3,500 daily drinks for six years, it turns out, is expensive. The NIH would need more funding—and soon, a team stepped up to the plate. The Foundation of the NIH, a little-known 20-year-old non-profit that calls on donors to support NIH science, was talking to alcohol corporations. By the fall of 2014, the study was relying on the industry for “separate contributions to the Foundation of the NIH beyond what the NIAAA could afford,” as Mukamal put it in an e-mail to a prospective collaborator. Later that year, Congress encouraged the NIH to sponsor the study, but lawmakers didn’t provide any money. Five corporations—Anheuser-Busch InBev, Diageo, Pernod Ricard, Heineken, and Carlsberg—have since provided a total of $67 million. The foundation is seeking another $23 million, according to its director of development, Julie Wolf-Rodda.

—A MASSIVE HEALTH STUDY ON BOOZE, BROUGHT TO YOU BY BIG ALCOHOL

When Starbucks (SBUX) announced that it was closing its Teavana tea line and wanted to shutter all of its stores, mall operator Simon Property Group (SPG) countered with a lawsuit. Simon cited in part the effect the store closures might have on other mall tenants.

Earlier this month, a judge upheld Simons' suit, ordering Teavana to keep 77 of its stores open.

—America's malls are rotting away

The Dots claims to have a quarter of a million members and current clients include Google, Burberry, Sony Pictures, Viacom, M&C Saatchi, Warner Music, Tate, Discovery Networks and VICE amongst others.

—Aiming to be the LinkedIn for creatives, The Dots raises £4m

The Cboe's bitcoin futures fell 10 percent Wednesday, triggering a two-minute trading halt early Wednesday afternoon.

—Bitcoin futures briefly halted after plunging 10%

Through a very clever scheme, the people behind Tether can continue to send Bitcoin into the stratosphere until it reaches a not-yet-known breaking point.

—Bitcoin Only Has One Way To Go If This Is True

—Bitcoin Price Dilemma: Bull and Bear Paths in Play

—Botera – Free Font

"He is being a huge assh*le and avoiding you so it literally forces you to be the one to break up with him because he's too much of a coward to do it himself. GOD, I HATE GUYS."

—"Breakup Ghosting" Is the Most Cowardly Way to End a Relationship

—Britain rejected the EU, and the EU is loving its new life

“Although the science is still evolving, there are concerns among some public health professionals and members of the public regarding long-term, high use exposure to the energy emitted by cellphones,” Dr. Karen Smith, CDPH Director and State Public Health Officer, said in a statement.

—California Warns People to Limit Exposure to Cellphones

There is a way CSS can get its hands on data in HTML, so long as that data is within an attribute on that HTML element.

—The CSS attr() function got nothin’ on custom properties

“The recent coverage of AI as a single, unified power is a predictable upshot of a self-aggrandizing Silicon Valley culture that believes it can summon a Godhead,” says Thomas Arnold

—Former Google and Uber engineer is developing an AI 'god'

Here are two facts: 1) Throughout the tail end of Matt Lauer’s tenure at NBC’s Today, ABC’s Good Morning America beat it in the ratings, and 2) In the two weeks since Lauer was kicked to the curb for sexual misconduct and replaced by Hoda Kotb, Today’s viewership has surpassed GMA’s by a considerable margin.

Here are two opinions: 1) No one ever really liked Matt Lauer, but tolerated him as you would a friend you’ve known for 20 years but have nothing in common with anymore, 2) Hota Kotb makes everything better.

—A Funny Thing Is Happening to Today Now That Matt Lauer Is Gone: Its Ratings Are Going Up

The game challenges you to build an empire that stands the test of time, taking your civilization from the Stone Age to the Information Age as you wage war, conduct diplomacy, advance your culture, and go head-to-head with history’s greatest leaders.

—Get the newest game in 'Sid Meier’s Civilization' series for 50% off

Amazingly, despite the mind control and hypnosis, the girl resisted being totally drawn into her father’s “cult of three.” But she suffered from self-loathing and took to self-harm as a coping mechanism.

—Girl’s father tortured her for a decade to make her ‘superhuman’

The most searched for dog breed was the golden retriever.

—Google's top searches for 2017: Matt Lauer, Hurricane Irma and more

"A few months ago, I started collecting stories from people about their real experiences with loneliness. I started small, asking my immediate network to share with their friends/family, and was flooded with submissions from people of all ages and walks of life.

"The Loneliness Project is an interactive web archive I created to present and give these stories a home online. I believe in design as a tool to elevate others' voices. Stories have tremendous power to spark empathy, and I believe that the relationship between design and emotion only strengthens this power.

—Graphic designer tackles issue of wide-spread loneliness in moving campaign

While the Windows 10 OpenSSH software is currently in Beta, it still works really well. Especially the client as you no longer need to use a 3rd party SSH client such as Putty when you wish to connect to a SSH server.

—Here's How to Enable the Built-In Windows 10 OpenSSH Client

In America we have settled on patterns of land use that might as well have been designed to prevent spontaneous encounters, the kind out of which rich social ties are built.

—How our housing choices make adult friendships more difficult

Today was "Break the Internet" day, in which many websites altered their appearance and urged visitors to contact members of Congress about the pending repeal (see the gallery above for examples from Reddit, Kickstarter, GitHub, Mozilla, and others).

—How Reddit and others “broke the Internet” to support net neutrality today

“He’s the Usain Bolt of business for Jamaica,” Richards said. “For each Jamaican immigrant, Lowell Hawthorne is me, he’s you. He was the soul of Jamaica, the son of our soil, and all of our struggles were identified with him.”

—How the Jamaican patty king made it to the top — before ending it all

—How to break a CAPTCHA system in 15 minutes with Machine Learning

After the trap has snapped shut, the plant turns it into an external stomach, sealing the trap so no air gets in or out. Glands produce enzymes that digest the insect, first the exoskeleton made of chitin, then the nitrogen-rich blood, which is called hemolyph.

The digestion takes several days depending on the size of the insect, and then the leaf re-opens. By that time, the insect is a "shadow skeleton" that is easily blown away by the wind.

—How the Venus Flytrap Kills and Digests Its Prey

Back at The Shed, Phoebe has arrived. She's an intuitive waitress who can really get across the nuances of our menu, like how – by serving pudding in mugs – we're aiming to replicate the experience of what it's like to eat pudding out of a mug.

—I Made My Shed the Top Rated Restaurant On TripAdvisor

In order to create a candlestick chart, you must have a data set that contains open, high, low and closevalues for each time period you want to display. The hollow or filled portion of the candlestick is called “the body” (also referred to as “the real body”). The long thin lines above and below the body represent the high/low range and are called “shadows” (also referred to as “wicks” and “tails”). The high is marked by the top of the upper shadow and the low by the bottom of the lower shadow.

—Introduction to Candlesticks

The object in question is ‘Oumuamua, an asteroid from another star system currently zipping past Jupiter at about 196,000 miles per hour, too fast to be trapped by the sun’s gravitational pull. First discovered in mid-October by astronomers at the Pan-STARRS project at the University of Hawaii, the 800-meter-long, 80-meter-wide, cigar-shaped rock is, technically speaking, weird as hell—and that’s precisely why some scientists think it’s not a natural object.

—Is This Cigar-Shaped Asteroid Watching Us?

I tried out LinkedIn Career Advice and Bumble Bizz over the course of a work week and compared them in terms of how easy they are to use and the kind of people they introduce you to.

—I tried LinkedIn's career advice app vs. dating app Bumble's version and discovered major flaws with both

“The Bitcoin dream is all but dead,” I wrote.

—I Was Wrong About Bitcoin. Here’s Why.

—Jessen's Orthogonal Icosahedron

In the study, depressed patients who got an infusion of ketamine reported rapid relief from suicidal thoughts—many as soon as a few hours after receiving the drug.

—Ketamine Relieved Suicidal Thoughts Within Hours in Hospital Study

We are trying to create an Open Source Website that searches through an open database of Interactive Maps focused on learning in a linear way. It leverages all of world’s knowledge in a unique way. It takes the Wikipedia model of curating knowledge but applies it to curating links in a meaningful and visual way.

—Learn Anything White Paper

"It was a very new word [in 1841]," Sokolowski said. "[Noah Webster’s] definition is not the definition that you and I would understand today. His definition was, 'The qualities of females,' so basically feminism to Noah Webster meant femaleness. We do see evidence that the word was used in the 19th century in a medical sense, for the physical characteristics of a developing teenager, before it was used as a political term, if you will."

—Merriam-Webster's word of the year for 2017: 'Feminism'

The Wall Street Journal issued a new note on its style blog earlier this week, suggesting the publication not write about millennials with such disdain.

"What we usually mean is young people, so we probably should just say that," the new WSJ note reads. "Many of the habits and attributes of millennials are common for people in their 20s, with or without a snotty term."

—'Millennials': Be Careful How We Use This Label

As of writing, the CoinDesk's Bitcoin Price Index (BPI) is at $16,743 levels. The world's largest cryptocurrency by market capitalization has appreciated 0.72 percent in the last 24 hours, going by CoinMarketCap data.

—No Stopping? After New High, Bitcoin Price Eyes $20k

People who tested as being more conscientious but less open were more sensitive to typos, while those with less agreeable personalities got more upset by grammatical errors.

"Perhaps because less agreeable people are less tolerant of deviations from convention," the researchers wrote.

Interestingly, how neurotic someone was didn't affect how they interpreted mistakes.

—People Who Constantly Point Out Grammar Mistakes Are Pretty Much Jerks, Scientists Find

Hydrogen particles are made up of an electron and a proton. Exciton particles, then, are made up of an electron that’s escaped and the negative space it left behind when it did so. The hole actually acts like a particle, attracting the escaped electron and bonding with it; they orbit each other the same way an electron and a proton would.

—PHYSICS BREAKTHROUGH: NEW FORM OF MATTER, EXCITONIUM, FINALLY PROVED TO EXIST AFTER 50-YEAR SEARCH

For reasons that people are now trying to determine, this weekend the internet turned its collective gaze to a short story called “Cat Person.”

Response to the story has varied from praise for its relatability to flat dismissal to jokes about how everyone is talking about a—Who’da thunk it?—short story of all things.

—The reaction to “Cat Person” shows how the internet can even ruin fiction

—Regular Icosahedron

—Repeal Day Poster – Summit Brewing Co.

[Dr. Simon Bramhall of the UK] pleaded guilty to charges that he etched his initials, “SB,” onto the livers of two transplant patients with an argon beam in 2013. Bramhall admitted the assaults in a hearing in Birmingham crown court on Wednesday, according to several news outlets.

—SB WUZ HERE: Surgeon pleads guilty to burning initials into patients’ organs

I get what you’re doing. Really, I do. You’re trying to shit on people’s musical tastes to either appear more well-versed in music than them or you just want to see the shocked look on people’s faces as you besmirch their favorite band. And listen, I don’t blame you for either. They’re both fun activities that I partake in on the reg. If you name me a band you like, I will find a hundred different ways to judge you on your taste. If the band happens to feature a white guy with dreads, make it three hundred. But The Beatles, dude? The fucking Beatles? You are really scraping the barrel if you are knocking people for liking The Beatles, you moron.

—Shut Your Dumb, Stupid Mouth about the Beatles Being Overrated

—Sonakinatography I Movement #III for Multi-Media

The font the menu is written in can convey similar messages; for instance an italic typeface conveys a perception of quality. But using elaborate fonts that are hard to read could also have another effect – it could alter how the food itself tastes.

A study conducted by researchers in Switzerland found that a wine labelled with a difficult-to-read script was liked more by drinkers than the same wine carrying a simpler typeface. Spence’s own research has also found that consumers often associate rounder typefaces with sweeter tastes, while angular fonts tend to convey a salty, sour or bitter experience.

—The secret tricks hidden inside restaurant menus

On Allison Benedikt, Lorin Stein, and the perils of extracting universal principles from fairytale endings...

“My career, at the time, was in his hands,” Allison Benedikt wrote at Slate this week, about the beginning of her relationship with John Cook, her husband of 14 years. They were colleagues at a magazine when they first kissed, and he was her senior. That kiss took place “on the steps of the West 4th subway station,” Benedikt writes, and Cook did it “without first getting [her] consent.” The piece is an intervention into the conversation on office sexual harassment, with Benedikt fearing “the consequences of overcorrection” on this issue.

—So You Married Your Flirty Boss

“We encourage the use of Teslas for commercial purposes and we’ll work proactively with these customers to find charging solutions that work best for them,” the statement said.

—Tesla Tells New Taxi, Uber Drivers Not to Use Its Superchargers

The deep web refers to anything you can’t access in a search engine, either because it’s protected behind a password or because it’s buried deep within a regular website. The dark web is a subsection of the deep web that you can only access with a special browser like Tor to mask your IP address.

—Things You Can Do on the Dark Web That Aren't Illegal

—This Graphic Explains Just How Crazy The Cryptocurrency Bubble Is

One such study published in the journal Neuroimage and highlighted on PsyBlog actually found that some forms of daydreaming cause measurable changes in the brain. This suggests that, done right, daydreaming actually requires attention and control.

—This Is the Correct Way to Daydream, According to a Harvard Psychiatrist

"VR can be stored in the brain's memory center in ways that are strikingly similar to real-world physical experiences," said Stanford's Bailenson, author of the forthcoming book "Experience on Demand," about his two decades of research on the psychological effects of virtual reality. "When VR is done well, the brain believes it is real."

—The very real health dangers of virtual reality

Respect for children means respect for the adults that they will one day become; it means helping them to the knowledge, skills, and social graces that they will need if they are to be respected in that wider world where they will be on their own and no longer protected. For the teacher, respect for children means giving them whatever one has by way of knowledge, teaching them to distinguish real knowledge from mere opinion, and introducing them to the subjects that make the mind adaptable to the unforeseen.

—The Virtue of Irrelevance

—You Will Lose Your Job to a Robot—and Sooner Than You Think

Watched

youtube

—Jessen's Orthogonal Icosahedron

#weekly #digest

3 notes · View notes

mikescharriesme-blog · 6 years ago

Photo

Number 90 Bar & Kitchen in Hackney Wick, east London, recently celebrated its fifth anniversary with an epic weekender of top DJ sets, burgers and booze until 6am.

Founded by two music industry experts and Hackney Wick residents, Number 90 is a buzzing canal-side warehouse venue with a fantastic music and art programme. It’s a landmark of the creative community with a local vibe and can easily be identified among the area’s colourful industrial buildings by its two recently finished 70ft murals by renowned street artists Dale Grimshaw and Zabou.

I visited for dinner on the first night of birthday merriment and feasted on burgers and cocktails with a warm-up soundtrack courtesy of Stranger Than Paradise Records, the independent record store based at Mare Street Market.

The menu is all about comfort food with a twist, featuring some tempting Greek-style kebabs and glazed ribs, loaded burgers, luxury fries and creative vegan dishes.

The rather enormous TNG burger was smokey and flavourful with a high-quality, well-seasoned beef patty in a fluffy, seeded TNG activated charcoal bun. It was taken to the next level with fruity and tangy chutney, moreish baconnaise sauce, smoked cheddar cheese, brie, baby gem, beef tomato, sweet red onion marmalade and smoked bacon.

The Chicken burger had a lovely home-cooked taste and was a real contrast to the TNG burger. The tasty Italian herb bread bun was packed with tender, crispy chicken schnitzel, baby gem, red onion, tomato, subtle aioli and punchy chorizo paste.

It’s hard to pick a favourite dish, but I was really wowed by the Slow-cooked duck confit dirty fries. The generous portion of classic skin-on fries were topped with flaky pulled duck confit (just like the kind you’d find in a French bistro), rich cheese sauce and mouthwatering red wine gravy, finished with a scattering of fresh pomegranate seeds. They were incredibly decadent and a real treat – ideal for sharing along with a burger.

Our second (and thankfully more modest) side of Sweet potato fries was exemplary – definitely some of the best in town.

The cocktail list is a well-edited mix of classics done well. 90’s Elderflower pisco sour was potent and refreshing, made with Macchu Pisco, St Germain, lime, simple syrup, egg white and Angostura Bitters. We also loved the sweet and aromatic Iced 9Tea – Earl grey tea mixed with Martini Rosso, Southern Comfort and lemon.

Number 90 Bar & Kitchen is perfect for a night out in Hackney Wick and I can definitely see myself spending the warmer nights on that glorious terrace overlooking the water.

For more information, menus and booking, visit: www.number90bar.co.uk

Chérie City was a guest of Number 90 Bar & Kitchen

All photos by Chérie City

0 notes

jaywrps · 8 years ago

Photo

kasper wiley || 22 || tech support/hacker || sunset marina

he wasn’t really sure why he was hanging out with these people, he didn’t really know them but he had been drinking and they had more drinks and a warm fire, and he liked warmth and booze plus the men were shirtless and hot and cane wasn’t around to entertain him with his sexiness so he had to make due okay. so when he grabbed another hard lemonade the pretty red headed girl asked him how he ended up on the beach and he grinned and stood up.

“it all started when one heather mooney met a man named ---” he was rudely interrupted by one of the dudes when they cut him off to try and explain she only meant like what he was doing on the beach, so he put his finger to the guy’s lips and said “shhhhh, i am getting to that but to get to one’s present one must start from the beginning. that’s from a fortune cookie, so you know it’s legit.” he cleared his throat and began again.

“it all started when heather mooney met a man with the unfortunate name of wyatt wiley, they had what was most likely very disappointing sex considering they were both only sixteen, but out of that very disappointing evening came me. i was born on march 9th, 1995. i was a healthy baby, and very smart, my mom says so all the time thank you very much. anyway daddy dearest really only stuck around long enough to give me his name and then bounced to go to college, leaving my mom to pick up the slack and raise a little boy all by her lonesome… or well with her, my grandparents, my 2 aunts, four cousins and our three dogs.” he said taking another sip of his drink and looking around the fire. “if i could sing i’d win american idol just on that sob story alone.”

he took one more sip before continuing “nothing of importance really happened when i was a kid, i grew up on the outskirts of dallas, as you can probably tell from my accent, and my ability to handle alcohol. also you should see me ride a di---- horse.” he moved a little closer and tossed another log on the fire “anyway nothing really important happened until i was seven, it was christmas of 2002 and the only gift i got that year was a computer. it was a mac, and not one of the skinny ones now, the thing was thick but i loved it. i had always been interested in computers but only got to play with them in school, the teacher told my mom i was a natural and could do something with computers one day.”

his drink was finished now so he grabbed another one, popping the cap and taking a swig. “over the next few years, a two computers later, i was miles ahead kids my own age when it came to those things, while they could barely work excel i was designing my own little codes and already hacking into games to cheat and stuff. i had even began to build my own stuff by that point. i was thirteen, so this was 2008, when i had actually put all my families files online and taught them all how to use a computer, it was also the age i began to make some money by helping the old people in the neighborhood with their stuff, i was basically neighborhood tech support. and it was the first time i actually realized i could do something with it to make a living.”

“and make money i did, over the next three years i had developed a program to help hack into teacher’s grade books and change grades, as well as began to make fake ids and things like that. it was lucrative really, kids would pay good money for that stuff and i had no issues helping them out.” he smirked, they were transfixed now, for some weird reason, wrapped up in getting to know about a complete stranger. “but right before my seventeenth birthday, in april of 2012 i believe it was, i got caught and expelled from school. luckily the judge went easy on me and i was just forced to do community service at a retirement home, in tech support obviously. i lucked out with no jail time, but it ruined my college hopes and instead i got my g.e.d and got a job at best buy with the geek squad.”

he sat back down on one of the logs and looked at the redhead who was looking at him with a little bit of sadness. “hey don’t worry patty ann, one door closes and like another opens right? cause it was around the time with the geek squad i also began to hack a lot more, which eventually led me to the love of my life hurricane, or cane as i prefer to call him.” he grinned thinking of his boyfriend, with the pretty blonde hair and gorgeous body who puts up with his bullshit on a daily basis. “apparently he had been following my hacking and asked me to help him with a job, he was willing to pay and well i like money, so i agreed, this was august 14 2015, i remember the exact date because it was the day i first laid eyes on him and i’m pretty sure i had a sex fantasy right then and there too.” he said with a laugh “so i helped him hit a few atms to help fund a job he was planning, but that wasn’t as important as the crazy good sex we started to have and i guess it was also when we became a thing, at least that’s when i start the count.”

maybe it was weird to be telling people he had just met all this stuff, but he knew after this next part they would think the majority of it was complete bullshit so he wasn’t scared. “soon he was ready for the big job, stealing from emilia conner, businesswoman, political fundraiser, trump supporting bitch. seriously google her, she shady. so early 2016 we began to recruit a team to help pull it off and spent the next few months planning and learning her routine. then on october 31, 2016, at her halloween party we pulled off one of the biggest heists known to man, but she never reported it because the money we stole was all money she made from the black market, backdoor business deals, and other illegal activities. so we split the money, cane and i moved here, bought a cute little house a few months back. i went out drinking tonight, kept playing call me maybe on the jukebox so got kicked out and then ran into you guys, so alas here i am and that’s how i got here.”

he bowed at his sit after his story as the group started cracking up and the girls looked amused but slightly annoyed, telling him that was a long bullshit story to get to him being kicked out of a bar. he just shrugged and smiled “thanks for the drinks guys, i’m going to head home.” he gave them a ten to cover what he drank and when he got home he cuddled up next to hurricane kissing his shoulder “you’re wrong you know, it never gets old seeing people’s faces when i tell them my story.”

#eswrp challenge #eswrp #no one is going to read this novel #i had a lot of fun writing it though #pretty sure it's not what the admins are looking for at all lolol #but i'm proud of it #i should get a life tbh #this is what happens when you have a ton of muse and time to kill

2 notes · View notes

redlipstickandthewinchesters · 8 years ago

Text

Bring me Back

Characters: Sam, Y/N, Dean, Cas, Mentions of Crowley

Word Count: 1211

Warnings: Demon!Dean, normal Dean, Drinking A/N: I am completely open to requests! Feel free to drop off some ideas! I don’t know how many parts this is going to be but if you want to be tagged let me know. I had only been moved into the bunker for a few months when Sam came back with Dean. Except Dean was dead, limp in Sam’s arms, and completely covered in blood. I helped Sam put Dean into his room and carefully laid his cold body on the bed. Sam and I both cried to each other because he lost his brother and I lost my best friend. Sam decided it was best that we summon Crowley and try to get Dean back, except we didn’t think Crowely would have taken Dean and given him back the first blade. Sam immediately went looking after him and I stayed back to help Cas when he needed it and also help Sam locate his brother. After a few months of Sam and I trying to locate Dean, Sam finally was bringing Dean home.

........

When I finally saw Sam I was just coming back from a supply run. “Hey Sam,” I went to hug the giant Winchester when he pushed me straight into my room and closed the door quietly. “(Y/N), I don’t want you to freak out but Dean is a demon. I have been injecting him with my blood like we did with Crowley to heal him. It’s almost done I promise I just need a little bit more time and I think it’s best if you didn’t see him until he’s fully healed.” My face instantly dropped, “Sam, are you okay?” Sam nodded at me blinking back tears, I pulled him into a hug. “(Y/N), I’m fine and so will De…” Before Sam could finish his brothers name the lights went out.

I instantly went for my guns and Sam left the room running to see exactly where Dean was at in the bunker. I tried my best to find a place to hide when I heard, “...The less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that Devils Trap? Well, I just walked right across it.” I tried to make it into the other room when I felt Dean’s arm wrap around my waist. I found myself pressed up against the wall, Dean’s hand covered my mouth and I closed my eyes not knowing what was about to happen. “Hello sweetheart, what you don’t recognize me?” I closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes again Dean’s green eyes were still on mine, then all of a sudden Cas grabbed Dean and exorcised the demon out of Dean.

“Jesus Cas, you couldn’t have done that earlier?” I said to Cas, taking in a deep breath. “Sorry (Y/N), I got here as fast as I could.” Sam ran into the room and took in the scene taking in a gulp. “Thanks Cas,” Sam grabbed Castiel’s shoulder and Cas nodded. The guys brought Dean back to the room where Dean originally was before he escaped and finished healing Dean. Sam told me it would be better if I just waited outside for them, but I still stayed next to the door. As Sam kept injecting Dean with his blood I finally heard, “You look worried fellas.” At that time I knew Dean was back so I moved from my spot next to the door and went to the kitchen to start cooking something to eat for all of us.

I was in the middle of making hamburger patties when I heard Cas say, “You realize one problem is solved, but one still remains. Dean is no longer a Demon, that’s true. But the Mark of Cain he still has, and sooner or later that’s going to be an issue.” I figured Dean must be back in his room, “You know what Cas? I’m beat. One battle at a time, you know?” I heard Sam respond. Then Sam came into the kitchen looking for something to get for Dean when he noticed me cooking cheeseburgers and also some bacon. “Thank you (Y/N), you didn’t have to do that.” “It’s okay, I think we all need a nice juicy burger. Especially after today.” I smiled to Sam who was leaning against the stove drinking a beer. “I what I need after today is a drink… Actually a lot of drinks, I think I’m just going to get drunk.” I raised my eyebrow at the youngest Winchester making sure he was okay. “I’m fine (Y/N) and yes you can drink with me.” I smiled at him cause honestly I could use a few drinks or a liquor store right about now.

As soon as everything was finished I brought Dean his cheeseburger, the way he likes it, with extra extra bacon. I knocked on the door, “Come in,” I heard Dean say. I slowly opened the door and leaned on the frame, “You hungry, I made your favorite, cheeseburger with extra bacon with a side of seasoned steak fries.” Dean smiled at me, “sweetheart I thought you’d never ask.” He smiled at me flashing his green eyes at me. I brought the plate to him and he sat the plate down next to him on his night stand, he stood up towering over me just a little bit. The next thing I knew Dean had me in his arms whispering “I’m sorry” over again. I could feel my eyes tearing up because I knew he felt bad. I pulled back, “Dean, it’s okay. We all still love you, I know you feel horrible but you still have us despite the fact you tried to kill us.” Dean kept a straight face, “(Y/N), I feel worse than horrible cause I did try to kill you guys but I’ll be fine. We just need to get this thing off my arm.” I looked down at this arm and noticed the mark that had turned Dean into a demon. I grabbed Dean’s arm, “This isn’t you, we will find a way to get this stupid thing off your arm, I promise. Dean why don’t you come out and join Sam and I at the table?” Dean nodded, “I’ll be there in a minute (Y/N).”

I walked out and swore I heard Dean mutter, “Jesus Christ, I love her,” but I just ignored it and figured he was probably talking to himself. I walked back out to the kitchen and made myself my burger and sat down. Dean came in right after I had sat down, Sam was already half way finished. Sam looked up, “hey man, how are you feeling?” Dean just made a face that signified that he was fine. I got up and grabbed Dean and I some beers, “So how many of us are getting fucked up tonight?” In unison the boys said, “Me.” I laughed, “Okay well Sam do you mind going to get more booze?” Sam shrugged his shoulders.

Sam left Dean and I back while we finished our second burger. I started to look at Dean and realized that I really liked maroon on him. “(Y/N) what? Do I have something on my face?” I must have been staring. “No I was just noticing that you look really good in that shirt.” He smiled towards me, “Well then keep on staring.” I looked down and blushed while I hid my face behind my burger.

121 notes · View notes

sunriseoverastorea · 8 years ago

Text

“And he said to me, Marea, I made you, you'd be nothing without me, if I hadn't fucking chopped off your hand and gouged out your eye and made you half bald for three months! And I'm standing there like, I have no idea what you just said. But I really wanna kill you. And then Raigar starts saying something, and everybody at the bar is staring at us, and it was just, it sucked.”

Marea slides her dagger through a fistful of bluish locks, watching them flutter and drift to the sandy stone floor. Across from her, a wooden toy beagle, with little wheel legs and a sproingy spring tail, stares at her with googly eyes. Forever attentive, an excellent listener. She grabs her next chunk of hair, lining up the blade just so.

“I mean, what kinda asshole just goes strolling into the place where you always hang out, with your friends, who own the damn thing, and starts shit-talking your dead mom? Who he fucking killed! Stupid asshole.”

More wisps of hair gather on the worn floor tiles. She looks up, out the archway, at the monolith above her doorstep. The dull roar of machinery is white noise to her, now, though the clink and clang of gears and chains adjusting and revolving sometimes disturbs her in the night, and the hiss of steam, great billowing mists, blown right into her room, is doing a serious number to her modest library. But still, she has the best seat in the house. She falls asleep with her eyes to the sky, slowly shutting on a dark, looming shadow that blocks out the magnesium stars of the desert night. And in the morning, as the sun just begins to rise, it crests and splays golden rays over the edge of the airship, turning murky, worn metal to vibrant pinks and purples. The ship reflects its destination, and every moment she spends on her pile of pillows, gazing at it, dreaming of it, the more real it becomes. Almost like a living being—the Rogue, not the name she would've chosen but certainly not too bad, a living, breathing ship. Gargantuan puffs of steam, its breath. Grinding gears, its bones. Flapping, screeching fins, the legs. What would you feed an airship? Maintenance? Oiling and tuning? No, a living ship wouldn't be so easy, so practical. It needs adventure, space, fresh air! Using the ship would keep it alive, no food required. A journey around the world, once a day. A journey that never ends.

She looks back to Bagel the Wheeler, bopping him on his smooth wooden nose.

“How does my hair look? Is it even? You wouldn't know, your eyesight's probably all funky. Since your eyes point in different directions. And they shake around whenever I touch you.” She pushes him back a foot, just to make a point, and he bumps into Rajya's mystery box. Dark metal, slightly melted on one side, waiting to be opened once more. She's been taking out one item at a time. As long as there are still things inside the mystery box, there are still new pieces of Rajya to discover, to enjoy. Scholarly notes in the margins, lists of supplies long forgotten, and the constant wonder, endless question, of how did she get this? And that? Marea wants to hear the stories, but she knows she never will. So she focuses on the things themselves.

She hefts open the lid, putting her whole body into it. A chest made for a massive charr, no doubt about it. She closes her eyes, shuffling around inside blindly, until she thinks her fingers close around something solid, and she pulls out a thin, worn journal. On the front, almost completely covering the brown leather, is a drawing, with a little note, written in jagged, chicken-scratch letters.

To: Daddy. Love: Rebekka. Daddy plees com home safe frum the campane. Me yu and momy wil eet cake. Cake is gud.

And beneath that, a stick figure of a little girl, standing beneath a malformed tree, holding hands with a vaguely more manly stick figure, covered in squares. Armor?

She flips open the journal, a random page, and picks at her chapped lips.

Colossus, 1299. Gillfarn Plains.

The charr are relentless. We've held our position for weeks now, but they keep coming. I wish that it would end. I can admit, I'd rather be home. But we must fight for that privilege. What is rightfully ours. With Ebonhawke standing as strong as ever, you would think the beasts would be discouraged. Go back to their own share of Ascalon, give us a few months rest. But this is another night, drinking booze that tastes like piss and eating moa patties stripped of any resemblance to food. I watch the charr now, as I eat. They've camped on a hilltop, where they can watch us from above. They all look the same from here. Probably the same up close, too.

Marea snorts, flipping to the next page. She leans back in her pile of pillows, propping an arm behind her head. So this was how it happened. Rajya, an absent-minded, docile degenerate to begin with, started stealing the journals of dead human soldiers. She can't say she understands how the sympathies budded, how Rajya grew to love the people that despised her, how she fled her home for a new one in a city where she could hardly step outside. But if this journal was in the metal box, then it must be important. And she will read the whole damn thing, every last word, thanking her lucky stars that the racist fucker who wrote it is dead.

She turns the page again, smiling to herself.

#rp post #marea the silent

1 note · View note

sueboohscorner · 6 years ago

Text

Wynonna Earp S3 Ep3 : "Colder Weather" (A Time To Mourn)

Dolls is dead. It appears with all certainty that he is dead for good. Death itself is easy for the one dying, but the ones that get left behind are trying to pick up the pieces and figure out a way to mourn the loved one that passed away. That requires some time. What I like about this show is that they never just pass over the feelings. This is a big one and the greatest thing this show did was to allow an entire episode to see how all of Dolls' new "family" deal with him being gone and to allow us fans to mourn right along side them.

The opening is stunning.

A beautifully haunting song and Melanie Scrofano's close up of her face, mainly her eye with tears and the tears falling down on Dolls' dog tags. No other way to describe the feeling of losing Dolls. Dolls was the voice of reason, the rock that helped to anchor Wynonna and even helped to keep the team together. What are they to do now?

Wynonna is definitely not taking it well.

She is outside in the cold weather and snow in the woods near the Earp Homestead shooting off Peacemaker and screaming for Bulshar to show himself and come and face her. She is stone cold drunk off her ass. Bulshar doesn't show up, but a revenant does. "Not the prick that I was looking for, but a prick none the less." she tells him. He smiles and says " That's what my first wife said and I killed her for it." He goes on to say that he is surprised to even see her there. Doesn't she have a funeral to plan? She swings at him and misses him by a mile (yes, she is that drunk) and falls down. See raises the gun and then basically to hell with it. "I'm too tired to kill you." But he isn't too tired to try to kill her, but before he can, Waverly and Nicole come out and Waverly fires a shot and the revenant runs off. Wynonna has to chuckle "You shot him in the dick! That is so sweet!"

They help Wynonna back and Waverly says "No one goes anywhere for awhile until we ....." "Until we say goodbye." Nicole finishes. Wynonna stares at the fire and says "I don't know how I'm gonna put Dolls in the ground."

It should be noted here that the theme song that came after this scene was still the same opening song, but acoustic and mournful sounding in honor of Dolls and how everyone is feeling.

We go to Doc's bar and he picks up a piece of clothing and hears a noise. Kate is sitting at the bar. "The last time we met you had me tied to a stripper pole." he says. "You used to like that kind of thing. However, if we are keeping score, you shot me!" "And you did not die." Doc points out.

Kate tells Doc that the cards (her tarot cards that go everywhere with her) told her about the death of the great warrior (as she turns over that card).She apologizes for Dolls' death but Doc stops her and says "I am sorry, but that is not for you to apologize for." He means that she didn't know Dolls, so she doesn't get to give him (Doc) sympathy for someone who meant something to him and not her. "I can tell you where he's gone." Doc gets closer and stares her down. He knows exactly where a man like Xavier Dolls is and he is at peace. "My hero, the one who took down your vampire kin, she is hurtin'. She is the one who needs my help. Kate tells Doc "You might as well stop chasing that girl. You'll competing with a ghost for the rest of your days. It never ends well." This doesn't help to improve Doc's mood and tells Kate to leave. He asks what does she want from him. She replies that she just wants him to say her name (real name is not Countessa), but if he won't do that can she at least meet his friends. "Absolutely not!" Doc says to her. As she walks to the doors she says "We always did have terrible timing." "No, we were just terrible." Doc replies.

Back at the Earp house, there is a funeral director showing Nicole and Waverly types of coffins and all that good stuff. The funeral director at first assume they have husbands, but they hold each other and he gets the message. Nicole tells Waverly that when she dies, she wants to be put on a high platform, eaten by vultures and pooped out back to the Earth. The look on Waverly's face is priceless. "Wow. That's.....very graphic." Waverly brings up that she will probably be buried with her family. However, the funeral director points out that Ward Earp only had 2 additional plots besides the one for their mother. One for Willa and the other for Wynonna. Ouch.

Wynonna comes in, sees the coffin photos, etc and says she is definitely not dealing with that. Death is permanent and they have all the time in the world. She heads outside with her gun and a bottle of booze.

Doc comes up and finds her shooting stuff off the rail with precision. "Finally planted that left foot I see." he says to her. "No, more like I stepped in a frozen cow patty and now I'm kinda stuck." Doc reply? "Well, it looks good on you." LOL.

Wynonna says how she is supposed to face the facts, again. She's done this before. WIth Daddy, Shorty and Willa. Doc says "Twice." and Wynonna agrees that yes, she dealt with it twice with Willa.

"This was a real kick in the box." she tells Doc

"Yes, ma'am." he replies.

Wynonna goes on to say that she just doesn't understand what happened to him out on that ledge.

"We were dyin' Wynonna. Dolls, he saved us." Doc says

Wynonna begins to cry and falls into Doc's arms. He hold her tight with a hand in her hair and on her back.

"Oh, love. Love, sometimes you get and sometimes you get got." he says and then starts a conversation of "Back in my day...." He tells how gunslingers would die and be buried with their boots on. To be buried on Boot Hill and it became a popularity contest.

"However, the ritual of it. Setting a man's horse loose to run, placing a fine bottle of whiskey on his grave." Doc says and Wynonna thinks that sounds nice. "Whiskey, I would then steal because a good liquor should never go to waste on the dead."

"Death must have been cheap then." Wynonna comments.

"Death is never cheap." Doc replies

Wynonna tells Doc that (as he gently wipes a tear away from her cheek) that they need to get Bulshar. Doc informs her that they really should do right by Dolls first. Wynonna asks if Doc knew Dolls was from Arizona. He did not ask to go back there. "Dolls chose his family and we are it." she tells Doc. Doc smiles a little and says "Poor asshole." They shut up then and hug some more, silently holding each other on the hillside.

I LOVE LOVE this scene. First, I love the Wynonna and Doc love that is there, but they fight it like it is something so scary, but then fall for it again and again just to run away once more. You can see how much Doc really loves Wynonna when he is holding her and talking to her. He even makes her smile, which is something no one else has been able to do so far.

Back inside the house, Wynonna sits in her spot on the couch while Waverly and Doc argue about the idea of a wake. Waverly thinks it is a bad idea to celebrate and be merry when someone has died. Doc says it is necessary and is the proper thing to do. When a man dies, you celebrate his life. Nicole agrees with Doc. Waverly then decides a wake it is and starts manically listing sandwiches she will need to make and how can they eat when Dolls will never eat again. She starts to nervously giggle. Doc tells her she is being disrespectful and Waverly calms down and tells Doc that what, to be more like him. Lifeless with no feeling. Doc pauses then slaps his glass across the room and it smashes against the wall. "Is that enough feeling for you?" he asks. He then gets up, and walks out.

Wynonna finally speaks up and asks what do they do now. Nicole suggests that maybe she and Waverly can go to Dolls' hotel room and find him something nice to wear. Waverly asks how are they going to get in. Nicole discloses that she has a key (which gets a look from Wynonna) and explains that it was in a professional capacity. Two officers in the line of duty. There is more to that story, but we will never see that side of the conversation. Wynonna puts out there that she doesn't even know where Dolls is. Nicole says that Jeremy is doing the autopsy which upsets Wynonna greatly and she rushes out of the house.

Doc back at the bar is in his basement. Apparently there was a break in and he is none too happy about the lack of respect. However, all he sees missing is the banana liquor. However, what he doesn't see is that the BBD serum for Dolls is missing. He hears a noise upstairs and pulls his gun and goes to investigate. He finds a man in his bar saying he just got off the bus and could use a beer, but instead has found himself at gunpoint. He is also pointing a gun at Doc. Doc says it seems they have "a classic Mexican standoff" to which the man points out that is is probably not very PC to refer to it that way anymore. Whatever. Doc informs the man that the bar is closed and will remain closed due to them having a wake. The man claims he knows that it is for Xavier Dolls. Doc is still not convinced and cocks his gun.

At the hotel room, Waverly and Nicole are looking through what there is of Dolls' stuff. "I have seen monks who have more shit." Waverly observes Nicole chuckles. Somehow the conversation turns to Nicole's story of when she was young and went to a music festival here in Purgatory with her aunt and uncle. There was an attack and a lot of blood and screaming. She thinks it was the demon that dolls killed. She was lied to for years that it was a forest fire, but as she has looked into it, it seems that Black Badge didn't want info leaked and burned the forest to cover stuff up.

She made it to a boat and someone eventually saved her, but she couldn't save Dolls. She begins to cry.

Back at "basecamp" Wynonna comes bursting in yelling at Jeremy to put down the scalpel. He puts his hands up. He has no scalpel and there is no body as she can see.

He doesn't need to do an autopsy on Dolls because he knows exactly what killed him. Wynonna knows now that Jeremy knew something was wrong with Dolls and didn't get told about it. She's mad. Jeremy says that he was ordered by Dolls not to tell anyone and that he was respecting his wishes. Wynonna doesn't care. She thinks that more could have been done, but Jeremy tells her that there is absolutely nothing anyone could have done. He himself had tried. It was the Black Badge serum. Wynonna tells him that she will never forgive him for this. Jeremy pauses for a sec and then says, "I get it. It's easier to blame me than the dead dragon." Wynonna gets pissed and tells him to pack his stuff and leave, he is not needed here anymore.

Wynonna goes back to the bar, only to find Doc laughing and drinking it up with a man she has never seen before, but his hands are bound with christmas lights. Doc introduces him as Ramon Quinn. But the man says that just "Quinn is fine." Wynonna asks Doc if he knew about Dolls dying. Quinn steps in and says that of course Dolls was dying. His body couldn't handle the stress of it anymore and it was amazing he lasted as long as he did. "Probably by sheer will." he says. Wynonna asks if he knew Dolls. "Better than anyone." he says showing a bunch of dog tags. He adds that now that Black Badge is in the wind, no one has that serum anymore.

Meanwhile in some cafe nearby, a revenant shoots himself up with some of the stolen serum. They want the power that the Black Badge agent had and then they will be unstoppable. Or so they think. He starts to change and goes bezerker mode on a fellow comrade.

Back at the bar Wynonna finds out that Quinn found out from an ad in the back of a magazine that Jeremy probably was told to do by Dolls when he was gone. Apparently it was in a special code that only their squadron knew so that when one of them died....they are all dead now.....they could attend the funeral without Black Badge showing up. He talks about how Dolls was a rebel. He escaped the facility six times in three months. Wynonna wonders why Dolls, if he knew he was that bad, didn't seek help. "Maybe he stuck around for you." Quinn remarks. "No maybe about it." Doc adds. Wynonna leans into Quinn and says he is allowed to stay for the wake, but then he is leaving and he had better not try anything while he is there. Especially today.

Waverly and Nicole are still at the hotel room. They had found an envelope for Wynonna that said "When I am gone" on it. They are shocked to think that Dolls knew he was dying and didn't tell anyone. They talk a bit about how Nicole doesn't want Waverly's pity and Waverly counters with that it is going to take a little bit to process the fact that her girlfriend was involved in a supernatual massacre. They promise each other not to die and kiss. Then they see a shadow of someone running past the window. The only problem.....they are 3 stories up and no balcony out there.

They run outside and Waverly is trying to guess what or who it is. A voice says, "You can call me Katelin." and Kate grabs Waverly's purse and runs. They try to run after her, but as Nicole points out, she "can run pretty fast for a hot chick."

There is a sweet moment with Wynonna and Nedley in the morgue.

He was there to make sure no one did anything with the body. Wynonna admits that she used to think he was an asshole and Nedley says that he used to think the same thing about Dolls, but he saw that when it comes to saving the world one had to have some selfishness. He tells Wynonna that the body will be there for as long as she needs. Thank you Nedley.

The wake begins. Whiskey is poured and a toast made to Dolls.

Waverly got to make her sandwiches after all and everyone seems okay. Waverly sees Doc across the way and goes to talk to him. He interrupts her and apologizes for his behavior earlier. Also, he wishes he could take back the last words he said to Dolls which was they were both destined for Hell. Waverly is shocked and Doc confides in her that he himself has been there. He went there when Dolls shot him in the alternate reality. He has come to the conclusion that he is destined to return there no matter what. (Somehow I REALLY don't think that is going to happen)

Waverly understands and feels for him, but she needs Doc's help in the now. She explains about the envelope for Wynonna from Dolls and that a hot chick with a perfect purple pout came up and stole her purse and that was in it. Doc curses under his breath and says he knows who the thief is but they need to keep it on the down low. They quickly go out the back and take off.

A quick moment with Wynonna and Quinn. Quinn wasn't one of the ones (who have some weird nicknames...like Jingles) who were experimented on because he was the wrong blood type. However, Black Badge would never simply give up Dolls and that there is a good reason his other team members are in unmarked graves.

Jeremy and Nicole are in the basement. Nicole looking for some more vodka and wonders why Jeremy is down there alone. He is looking over the carnage of the break in and just shrugs when she says that he should be upstairs too. He looks and sees that the BBD serum is all gone. Someone stole it! Just then you can hear demonic voices coming to the bar.

When Nicole and Jeremy arrive upstairs, a bunch of revenants come bursting in totally high on the serum.. A fight ensues with Wynonna having a few good one liners as she shoots them back to hell. "This is a memorial dipshit. Did you even bother to bring a casserole?" When there is a small lull in the fight, she quickly calls Doc, but gets Waverly. They are on an errand Waverly explains and will be back real soon. "In the middle of a wake?" Wynonna asks. She goes on to explain what is going on there and for them to get the hell back to the bar ASAP.

Doc and Waverly arrive at the house. Waverly asks who this woman is, even though she suspects who it might be. "My wife." Doc says simply. "Is there anyone in this town without a secret wife?" Waverly asks.

Inside, Kate is waiting for them. Waverly gives her a talking to and Kate turns over a card and it is the angel card, but it is upside down. Waverly says something to Doc about Kate being such a.....and Kate gets offended. Waverly just threatens her with a stake. She wants her purse back. Kate gives it back and Waverly makes sure the envelope wasn't open. Waverly points out that if they are to exist together in this town, they all need to learn to live together in it and leaves. Kate stands next to Doc and says she sees why he likes the little one. A lot like Wyatt, full of spirit. Doc says, that Waverly isn't even an Earp and walks out,

Kate picks up the angel card and says "She is something alright."

Wynonna has a quick conversation with Nicole who gives her some tough love. The grief is not only for her to bear and the wake isn't for her either. They all loved Dolls and they all can grieve for him. Wynonna says she told Jeremy to pack his stuff and leave and Nicole tells her she had better go stop him.

Wynonna gets to the station to find that Quinn has Jeremy tied up to a chair and is "doing bad things with [Jeremy's] best stapler". He knows that Jeremy can synthesize the serum and wants it. Jeremy of course is trying to tell him that is the problem. It was stolen and even if he did make the same stuff, obviously it didn't work. Of course, he gets hit with the butt of the gun. Quinn says that he didn't do the experimentation, but he did help in other ways and he is pissed at Black Badge and wants to take the serum and storm the headquarters. Jeremy is Black Badge, so in his eyes, shouldn't be trusted.

She slowly puts her gun down (with the whiskey bottle of course). Wynonna says she trusts him and goes on to tell Quinn that he really shouldn't do what he is thinking of doing. Being that angry and retaliating will not bring Dolls back. Everyone, including herself, has had to deal with the death of loved ones, sometimes in horrible ways. It is how they choose to deal and mourn the death of those loved ones and it is their burden to carry throughout time. Besides, she says, Dolls would not want any of them, including Quinn to do this. Quinn hands Wynonna his gun. Later, he leaves on the bus and Wynonna hands him the dog tags and tells him that he had better not be seen back here or she will come after him.

A little later, Wynonna finds Jeremy at the morgue and he nervously replies that he is relieving Nedley to watch over the body. They kind of talk and make up and Wynonna says that Dolls' body can never be used for currency.....ever. There has only been one option. Jeremy agrees.

The next scene is probably the saddest. There is only a sad song playing about "going home" and Wynonna brings the ashes of Dolls in a wooden box up the hill. The others are waiting at the grave. She gently puts it in the grave and then everyone adds something. Waverly adds a scarf, Nicole adds his credentials and badge, Doc adds that fine bottle of whiskey, and Jeremy adds Dolls' favorite mug.

The last is Wynonna who puts the necklace she has worn forever not in the grave, but hangs it on the tombstone.

They all stand, some hugging, silently and mourn their friend Xavier Dolls.

Later at night, Waverly and Wynonna are sitting outside in the cold all bundled with blankets around the fire. They talk of what their plans might be when they die. Waverly tells Wynonna that she found out that there is no plot for her with the family. Wynonna waves it off and says that is fine, she wouldn't want to be buried there anyway, because the view sucks. It is a view of the high school and who wants to see that. Wynonna says that in 80 years or so she and Waverly can be buried right there on the homestead anyway. She has always watched out for her little sister and Waverly is stuck with her forever. That is fine by Waverly. When Wynonna says that Nicole can be buried with them too, Waverly tells her about Nicole's vulture idea. Oookaay.

Waverly hands Wynonna the envelope from Dolls. When she opens it there is a big picture of all of them at a restaurant at a table with Dolls taking the selfie so he is in the foreground. Waverly says she remembers that night, but what does it mean? "Keep going. Keep fighting." Wynonna says as she looks at a smaller black and white photo that was also in there. One of just her, that must have been Dolls' personal photo he kept of Wynonna. He wants them to LIVE.

The episode could have ended there and I would have been happy, but no.

Doc returns to the Gardner house to see Kate. She is sitting by the fireplace playing around with her tarot cards again. "Is there nothing you would do to get under my skin?" Doc asks her when he comes in. "You keep pushing me away. You gave me no choice." she replies. "He (Wyatt) also never stopped looking for you. Spent thousands. Hired trackers. Ultimately, it broke his heart." she adds. Doc says he thought he had a full life and died in Hollywood as a stunt rider. Kate says that is true, but when she had learned Doc was gone, it nearly.......but when Wyatt told her before he died that Doc was still alive, she knew what she had to do. "And what is that?" Doc asks as he removes his gun belt. Kate comes up to him, removes his hat and says anything she has to. "No teeth, Kate." Doc says to her, finally giving her what she wanted, for him to say her name. I am both mad and confused at the same time. What the hell is Doc playing at. Does he still love his wife (who btw in REAL LIFE they were notorious for their loud and sometimes violent fights) and is going to screw over Wynonna's feelings, or is he playing both sides of the fence? UGH.

Overall, a very satisfying albeit sad episode. We didn't want to lose a main character, but if you watch enough of these supernatural shows, a character we love tends to sacrifice themselves to save others and we have to say goodbye. Goodbye Dolls. We loved you too.

0 notes

comedianseriously-blog · 7 years ago

Text

You are appreciated

The first stitch of clothing I ever wore was a red, velvet dress. No, my parents weren't anti-gender role progressives; my mom just really hoped I'd be a girl and bought a pretty dress to put me in before the sonogram dashed her dreams. She put the dress on me anyway. She was a stubborn woman.

My mom became a mother at 15. She was a mother longer than she was anything else. She never graduated high school or put together anything resembling a career. I'm not sure how to best explain my mom's method of parenting aside from simply saying "she loved us.". I don't mean that in the basic way that it sounds. I mean that, above all else (preparing us, disciplining us, raising us, teaching us) she loved us. She didn't give a damn about what we were supposed to do or be as long as we were happy. She loved us when we were despicable. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but it's true.

When I was 4 years old I sat in the living room of my aunt's home. My aunt began to playfully tease me. "Hey little boy. Why are you so ugly?" She said with a smile as I ignored her. "You sure are an ugly little boy." She elbowed my mom playfully as I ignored her again. "Hey little boy..." I cut her off. "You're an ugly bitch and your momma's an ugly fat bitch." Her jaw dropped as she looked at my mom. My mom smiled and said "I guess you'll stop fuckin with him now, won't you?" That was my mom.

She worked jobs that I'd honestly probably kill myself if I had to do for a living. Convenience store clerk, vending machine operator, school bus driver, cafeteria lady. When I went to Hunt School(located square in the slums of Columbus, MS) she'd pick me up on Wednesday's mid day for lunch. She told me how she used to go to school here and how she'd skip school to shoot dice across the street. "Don't do that or you'll be driving this damn bus like me." Every Friday she'd buy a different Disney movie from a coworker and watch it with me. The Big Green was my favorite.

I was 11 when my mom had her first stroke, which caused her to have major trouble speaking and walking after. My dad was deployed to Iraq and my older brother was in prison. During this time I believe my mom, my little brother, and I created the type of bond you can only form when you go through really fucked up things together. We ate fast food every day and stayed up way too late making fun of the world. If you didn't want to see roaches and rats then you better keep the lights off. One night we had no groceries in the house and Nathan and I were hungry. He found a bowl of cool whip in the back of the refrigerator and started eating it. "You want some of this cool whip with blueberries?" he asked after several bites. I looked at him, puzzled. "We don't have any blueberries." I replied. He showed me a cool whip bowl filled with mold. Shit was just like that. We probably fell through the societal cracks a bit, but we made it through together.

I used to get in a lot of fights. I had anger and pain and emotional problems I didn't know how to deal with....and I was good at fighting and not much else. I kicked the shit out of my teacher's son, who was 2 years older than me, one day and she called my mom to the school. She told my mom I was an awful child who only wanted to fight and would never amount to anything. My mom took her earrings out and said "say one more thing like that and you and your son can compare ass whoopins tonight." That was my mom. She could barely walk, but she was ready to scrap for me.

I grew up and started working pretty decent jobs and got into standup and life changed. One of my proudest moments is having taken my mom to Paradise Island in the Bahamas. As a kid I'd ask her "When I get rich and famous, where do you want to live?" and she'd tell me an island. I never got rich and famous, but I got her to that island. We drank booze out of coconuts and we accidently wound up at a nude beach. I was almost assuredly the only guy pushing his mom's wheelchair around a nude beach that day.

Life wasn't always particularly kind or fair to my mom. She found happiness in her children. I was sitting in a bathtub in my old apartment in Birmingham when I got a call that she'd had another stroke. I drove back to Mississippi thinking it'd be a lot like the first one. It wasn't. She could no longer speak at all and most of her brain was destroyed. They were preparing to airlift my mom to Jackson when she motioned to Nathan and I(who were somewhat on the outs at the time) that she wanted us to hug. We did and I promised her we'd be ok in time.

The last time I visited my mom in Jackson, I knew she'd be gone soon. She was on a breathing machine and hadn't woken up since being airlifted to Jackson. The nurse came in and told me visiting hours would be done soon and I leaned down to kiss mom goodbye before heading back to Birmingham. She popped her eyes open and squeezed my hand. She couldn't speak at all and her tongue was hanging completely out of her mouth. "Mom...can you hear me? Squeeze my hands 3 times if you can understand me." She squeezed strong 3 times using the one limb she still had mobility in. I've never cried harder in my life. "Mom, I know it's hard and you're trying to hang on. I want you to know I love you. You know that don't you?" She squeezed my hand harder. "You were an amazing mom. I remember all the things you taught me. I'm going to be ok. We all are. Thank you for everything you were for me." The nurse came back to the room saying time was up. I started to say goodbye, but mom pulled my hand toward her. I nodded. "This is her first time being awake since this happened. I'm going to stay until she falls asleep." The nurse smiled and walked away. She fell asleep 20 minutes later and never woke back up. She died a week later.

Home never felt much like home after that. I needed to leave it all, so I did.

I spoke at her funeral. I didn't want some preacher who didn't really know her trying to sum up her life while pimping his church. I wanted to speak from the heart. I don't really remember a lot of what I said, but people seemed to like it. When I was 8, my mom told me she wanted me to play "How Can I Help You Say Goodbye" by Patty Loveless at her funeral. I always remembered that. The song, if you haven't heard it, is song about a mother helping her child through loss. "How can I help you say goodbye" First to a childhood best friend moving away, then to someone they're in love with who has chosen to leave them, and, ultimately, to her at her own death. Mom knew. She knew how life is sometimes. She knew I was like her...that things hurt harder. The song she wanted played at her funeral wasn't a hymn or her favorite song. It was a song about helping her children be ok. That's my mom.

0 notes

jackblankhsh · 7 years ago

Text

Wedding Crash

Because I did not receive an invitation to the wedding I felt a desire to attend. I reasoned if they really didn’t want me to come, the bride and groom could’ve taken better steps to prevent me from knowing about the impending nuptials. Seeing how they brazenly mentioned it on social media, I felt indirectly invited. Alluding to an open bar, frankly, they might as well have told a moth about a flame. So, in the interest of saving money, with hope of kindling a chance of romance, I ventured downtown to the wedding of Jackie Sanchez and some guy.

I met Jackie in high school. The first time I saw her I learned an erection can swell to a painful degree – dick feeling like a rock about to explode apart. Long licorice colored hair, caramel skin, and sneakers decorated in white out doodles, she inspired feelings I’ve never learned to properly express. Mainly that’s because there’s no way to charmingly say, “So I was jerking off the other day, thinking of you, and…” whatever comes next is irrelevant. For some reason most folks aren’t flattered to learn they’re in the spank bank. Maybe it’s something everyone fears they won’t live up to. I don’t know, I’ve never had a problem failing people.

Hitching a ride from my buddy Sid, I told him to head to the Art Institute. He pulled over to the curb, put the car in park, and said, “Do not go to Jackie’s wedding.”

Struggling to put on a tux while seated passenger side, “I resent the implication of your accusation.”

He sighed, “You had four years in high school, four years to ask her out.”

I nodded, “Truth fact. However, life is a continuous opportunity for those willing to try. I’m not dead. Ergo…”

“Fuck yourself,” Sid said, then for emphasis, “Error go fuck yourself.”

“Are you gonna drive me to the Art Institute?”

Shifting the car into gear Sid remarked, “Only to see you fail.”

I truly believe it’s the amount of faith we have in one another that explains why the world is the way it is.

Sneaking into any kind of event is an art form. The amount of security dictates the level of infiltration skill required to achieve a successful sneak. For instance, breaking into an eighth grade graduation is very different from photo-bombing the President at the State of the Union. One simply requires ice cream cake and a hammer, while the eighth grade graduation involves chloroform, white wine, peanut dust, and a child sized coffin.

I originally considered crashing the actual wedding, but since it took place in a church I could not. God and I have an understanding, and though we clearly have little respect for one another, I abide by our agreement: I stay out of the churches, God stays out of evolution, and the Winter Olympics. So instead I aimed at the reception.

Security didn’t appear to be anything other than Art Institute guards. Instead of preventing flash photography two doorstops in blue blazers checked invites and IDs against a list on a clipboard. Once again I felt like they left the door wide open. Out of myriad gambits, the way one guard blatantly scratched his ass, hand down the back of his pants to get at bare skin, I decided to go with the maneuver known as the Hideous Hideaway.

I called up a video on my phone then approached the entrance.

A guard said, “Good afternoon. May I see your invitation?”

“Sure thing.” Smiling I fumbled in my pockets, pretending to be unsure of its location. In the process I pulled out my cell phone which seemed to inspire my remark, “Oh, hey, have you seen this yet?”

I pressed play on the video. It featured insects devouring a man’s penis while he writhed in agony. The millipede scrambling down his urethra is as far as most get, missing out on the young woman who comes along to save his cock by stomping the bugs to death. These two made it all the way to the end. That made things easier.

As expected, one guard asked, “Where’d you get that?”

I informed her of the link’s location, and while the two hurried to share the hideous spectacle with their friends, I slipped inside. It almost felt too easy. Then I stepped into the banquet hall where I immediately bumped into Jackie’s brother Alvaro.

Alvaro Sanchez Junior always impressed me until he spoke. He possessed the regal bearing and beauty of an Aztec emperor. Unfortunately, he often spoke with a toxic tone symptomatic of silver spoon poisoning. This stemmed from the fact Sanchez Senior held a low level, but well connected political position; and many expected Alvaro, as eldest, to assume his father’s spot; regardless of the realities of democracy that political seat belonged to him – voters be damned. Groomed, practically from birth, to be, as Alvaro liked to say “a leader of men,” he took a method approach to his future. Like a Strasburg disciple, he stayed in the character of king almighty every moment of the day.

We literally bumped into one another when, as I stood perfectly still, he walked into me. For a moment I tensed, expecting him to recognize me. Alvaro never cared for me. I based this on the fact he often told me, “I don’t care for you.” However, he assumed from the second rate quality of my tux that I worked as a server. An assumption made plain when he said:

“Watch where I’m going, and get me some crab puffs, or I’ll have you fired.” He and a buddy high fived, yet didn’t linger. So I headed for the open bar.

There I collected a pair of cocktails, one for each hand. Draining the glasses steadily, I orbited the banquet hall. Staying in one spot ran the risk of prolonged conversation, chancing the development of holes in my cover – anonymity my best camouflage. Still I paused every so often to dance in and out of conversations, killing time saying things like:

“Baseball is a hell of a game if you can stay drunk… I’ve never been to Guayaquil, but that iguana park sounds fascinating… well, you’d be surprised. Tuberculosis kills all kinds of career opportunities lemme tell ya (cough, cough)… Oh, I know the best man. We used to sell runaways to the circus… No ma’am, I don’t think the bride’s dress is too tight. She’s having trouble sitting because the groom, well, he likes to drill that ass.”

In retrospect, I could have been milder in some regards. Yet, no one caught on to the presence of a crasher. I’ve been to several weddings. They all tend to be the same affair. A nebula of tables adorned with floral centerpieces, ringed by a smattering of guests with various degrees of connectivity. Wedding receptions are the only occasion where it’s okay to openly rank family and friends, status defined by seating assignments. Therefore, the trick to remaining discrete involved finding a table with the least desired family and friends. There I could sit, pretending to share in the minimalist joy of having at least been invited.

“That’s better than Aunt Frida. No one invites her anywhere.”

“That’s because she’s dead.”

“Only on the inside. She’s a real downer.”

Still, I occasionally chanced brief hellos with those I recognized. Her Aunt Morena, who wrote Xicana literature, a woman with a helmet of hair redefining Chicana archetypes. Grandpa Emilio, whom I always thought of as the old guitarist. I saw his beloved instrument beside his chair – Ana from the alley of the kiss – and hoped I’d get a chance to hear him play once more. Cousins Fabiana and Facundo forever locked in a debate about the realism of football. Friend of the family and party regular Vincent Redon in the 800th retelling of the woman at her toilette he saw after the hurricane ripped her house open. Jackie’s family and friends gathered, while I snuck booze in the background – it felt like old times.

When dinner arrived, instead of eating I slipped outside for a smoke. Exiting the room, I jokingly asked the guards if I needed a hand stamp to get back in.

One laughed, “Nope, but you gotta watch this.”

He showed me a video of four women explosively shitting on the floor. They then used the excrement as finger paint to draw floral designs on one another like sewer hippies. I made an exaggerated display of comical disgust. Delighted, the guards waved me off, and returned to finding more revolting videos.

Outside I felt my phone buzz.

Sid texted, “I can’t believe you’re still in there.”

“Believe it,” I typed back.

“How much longer?”

Good question, I thought.

After high school Jackie and I didn’t keep in touch. By then we’d gone down very different roads. We used to be kids searching for how to be who we wanted to be, following breadcrumbs laid out by albums, films, and books. We could agree on the significance of a song, but not the whole album; the brilliance of a line from, though not the entire film, or book. It seemed to me we were only off by a slight degree, that one shared element would bring us into sync. But by the time we graduated… we took comfort in dissimilar realities, that one thing never having materialized.

Over a decade later, when social media blossomed, we got back in touch; however, it rarely amounted to more than peripheral interactions.

Post: Look at dis cutest kittie!

“Liked” by Jackie Sanchez.

Strolling back to the banquet area, it dawned on me my infatuation with Jackie stemmed mostly from not dating her. We never had a romantic relationship, so it never failed; therefore it could’ve been anything. Possibilities are endless in the absence of contrary evidence. Because I could only imagine us together I could always imagine us perfectly. And oddly enough, fantasies have a way of making promises.

Promises like if I got the DJ to play Patti Smith’s “Because the Night”, the song would inspire the words I needed to say to win her heart. Seizing one last bold chance for love go up to the head table while the song fills the air, and speak – about this time I realized I hadn’t merely been vividly imagining the scenario, but actually now stood in front of the head table, Jackie staring over her pollo relleno in wide eyed disbelief.

“Howdy do?” I said, immediately regretting my very existence. If nothing else, I doubt any romantic victory ever began with howdy do, although I could be wrong.

Jackie blinked, “I’m good. How… how are you?”

“Not bad.” I put my hands in my pockets, wondering how many times I’d have to punch myself in the throat with my keys before I finally killed myself. I said, “It’s been a while.”

“Yes it has,” she nodded, “The last time I saw you, you set my boyfriend’s car on fire.”

“This is that guy?” her husband said. He suddenly looked desperate to call the police.

Smiling, I said, “That is indeed me.”

“What are you doing here?” Jackie asked.

I sincerely believe honesty is the best move. However, on this occasion, I lied, “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m here to steal a painting, saw y’all in here, and thought I’d stop by to say congratulations.”

“Thanks?” her husband said.

“Thank you,” Jackie smiled. She got up, hurried around the table to hug me. She smelled amazing, the kind of aroma that cures depression. She whispered in my ear, “You’ll go to jail if you steal a painting. Please tell me this is some deranged romantic stunt.”

It felt like an opening, yet I oddly enough knew better. I squeezed her gently, “Nope.” Stepping away from her I waved to the groom, “Once again, congratulations. I’d stay, but timing is everything. Don’t want to miss my moment.”

Heading out, feeling several eyes on me, I texted Sid: "be out front, engine running, backseat open.“

Minutes later, running down the steps of the Art Institute, carrying one of Monet’s “Haystacks” – I had to steal something to diminish the lie – I found myself wondering what else I needed to let go of. Diving into the backseat of Sid’s car, we peeled out, rocketing home.

Glancing in the rearview Sid said, “What the fuck is that?”

“One of six, 25 technically – they can spare one.”

He cracked a beer, “So how was the reception?”

“A little too clear.”

My impression of the past would no longer be the same, but that’s just growing up. I tapped Sid on the shoulder. He handed me a beer. Opening it I thought, "Here’s to you Jackie. I’m glad you’re happy.”

Sid said, “You know alotta marriages end in divorce.”

“Yeah.” But I didn’t feel like hoping for that. I felt like finding another dream girl, only this time actually trying to hold her instead of chasing the mirage.

#writing #satire #sliceoflife #honestyisnotcontagious #humor #comedy #comedywriting #fiction #weddingcrash #chicago art institute

0 notes