#(I just want a relatively nice Christmas okay...I am already having a Not Good Thanksgiving)

[bradleysbradshaws]

@unrealwasteland

small talk? it was quite big to me. i love you

[babbushka]

Wreck The Malls: Flip Zimmerman and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

6.2k ; cw: mentions of gun violence, blood and injury ; NSFW (shower sex, injured sex, PIV, oral sex)

Available on AO3

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It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. But it is also universally acknowledged, that a lucky man in possession of a good wife, should want to get her something special for the holidays.

This is the story of how one Detective Flip Zimmerman of the CSPD, goes on a journey through hell and back to obtain such a gift, and might just learn the true meaning of Christmas along the way.

Now, though this story takes place on Christmas Eve, it should be noted that our Mr. Zimmerman does not actually like Christmas. He doesn’t celebrate it, and he thinks the entire holiday is one big headache. Does it bother him that his own holidays always seem to be overlooked in favor for the goyishe celebrations of December? Yes – but that’s not the reason he dislikes it so much. If you were to ask him, he would say something akin to;

“I just don’t know why the fuck everyone makes such a big goddamn deal.” He huffs and puffs on his cigarette in the parking lot. Flip rolls his eyes, “All month long, stores have been playing this shit music since the day after Thanksgiving.”

Sitting in his car with Ron – the only one of his friends patient enough to listen to him complain for an hour straight – Flip turns the radio down just low enough for Jingle Bell Rock to sound. They’re outside the big mall, something shiny and brand new, just in the nick of time for the holidays. Ron shrugs, going over his last-minute shopping list.

“We can go home, no one will know.” Ron points out for what must seem like the eighteenth time.

Flip had asked Ron to accompany him both for emotional support, but also to get a second opinion on the gift he was picking up for you. Flip loves you more than anything else in the entire world – yes, even more than his buc-wheat cereal and Greek yogurt – and even though you had already exchanged presents during Hanukkah only a few days prior, that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Of course we can’t go home, I want to get her something nice.” He says as much, flicking the ash of his cigarette out of the car window, the oppressive commercialism of the mall looming ahead.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like Christmas either though.” Ever the practical voice of reason, Ron tries giving Flip one more out, one more chance to turn back now, “You don’t have to put yourself through this, you know.”

“It’s not a Christmas present,” Flip shakes his head, finally turning the car engine off entirely, and silencing the radio once and for all. He steels himself, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror, “It’s a just-because present. I already have it all picked out and everything, I just need to go in and pay for it.”  

“You’ve got some real brains underneath those flowing locks of yours man.” Ron smiles, gets out of the car and stretches out his muscles for what he’s sure will be a ton of walking through angry mobs, “Minimizing the amount of time in there is probably for the best, considering.”

It’s the way that Flip hesitates that clues Ron in that maybe, Flip didn’t have as many brains as he had thought.

“Considering what?” Flip asks, the second clue.

“Flip, it’s Christmas Eve.” Ron spells it out plainly, and wishes he had a camera to capture the exact moment that the next thought enters Flip’s mind, and subsequently spills out of his mouth:

“…Oh fuck.”

Shaking his head fondly, Ron claps a hand on Flip’s shoulder as he rounds the front of the car, and the two of them brave the great unknown together.

 Flip was not nearly as familiar with the mall as he likes to think, but he knows where the jewelry store is, and really that’s all that matters.

They make their way down to that section of the enormous space, and it’s almost impossible to ignore the sheer abundance of Christmas Cheer that surrounds them. Nearly every store had something in its window display: lights, statues, mannequins modeling holiday attire, some even had moving animatronic animals that gave Flip the shivers. Every pole and railing and kiosk in the place was covered in garland and lights, and in the grand atrium, enormous ornaments were suspended from the ceiling.

Pausing for a moment and looking up at them, Flip wonders what the likelihood would be for them to all come crashing down.

He’s so caught up in fact, that he nearly misses Ron branching off in another direction.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Flip jogs a couple paces to catch up, a frown already forming between his brows.

“I need to pick somethin’ up for Patrice.” Ron explains, holding up his little shopping list. Flip gives him a mildly panicked look, but Ron only reassures him with, “We’ll meet up at the food court?”

I can do this, Flip thinks to himself, it’s one store. How bad could one store be?

“Sure, don’t take too long.” Flip eventually agrees, swallowing down the feeling of impending doom – otherwise known as “acid reflux” according to you – and squaring his shoulders.

He didn’t need Ron, he was a grown man after all. He fought in Vietnam twice! Surely he could go to the jewelry store…right?

Making his way over to the escalator, Flip has his eye on the prize; Goldsmith’s Jewelry is just off to the left, he can see it coming. Playfully taking the five golden rings theme and running with it, large decorations spin gently in the window, glittering in the light. Flip’s relieved to see the place relatively empty.

Not completely dead, but definitely not a line out the door the way that the toy store had. As a matter of fact, when Flip walks through the glass doors, he’s greeted by less than ten people, including the owner himself, who lights up when he spots his friend.

“Philip! Good to see you son. Here for those earrings you were looking at?” Carl, a fabulously eccentric man with no less than fifteen pieces of jewelry on at any given time practically jingles when he comes around the counter to give Flip a hug.

“You bet Carl, how much am I layin’ out for you?” Flip has to bend himself nearly in half to reach the kind gentleman’s embrace, already reaching for his wallet.

Carl was one of those men who could reminisce and catch up for hours on end, and as much as Flip would love to listen to the story about how Carl lost his dentures in his shoe for the hundredth time, he would rather listen to you instead. Thankfully, Carl doesn’t seem too pressed about it, and he only beckons the detective over to the register counter.

“Tell you what, since you’re practically family and helped out Darlene with her car troubles, I’m taking half off.” Carl announces with a twinkle in his eye, making Flip feel a little guilty about wanting to scram as fast as possible.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that Carl really – ” Flip tries, but Carl is having none of it.

“I want to!” He smacks at Flip’s hands when he tries to offer him the full amount of cash, fully turning his back on Flip to go into the little employees only room. “You stay right here, I’ll just go into the back and get it wrapped up real nice for you.”

Left alone once again, Flip has no choice but to let his eye wander. The entire place was sensory overload, really, and Flip wishes he could have a fucking cigarette. Was the music at the mall always this loud and discordant? Chewing on his lip instead of the butt of a cigarette, Flip looks around the store.

He makes uncomfortable eye contact with a man who is clearly picking up something for the wife and something else for the girlfriend, and he looks away when he realizes. Training his eye on the great big mirror up on the wall instead, Flip frowns.

Is that…no, it couldn’t be.

Santa Claus wouldn’t be taking a break from the Workshop near the foodcourt to stop into a jewelry store, would he? Flip shakes his head, he’s probably just being paranoid. The guy is probably on break and looking for something for Mrs. Claus. Flip cracks himself up with that thought, and is about to turn around and joke with the guy about it – when he notices through the mirror that the Santa is ever so cautiously reaching around the counter, looking for the lock mechanism.

“Shit.” Flip licks across his teeth, when he manages it open and begins pulling out necklaces with seemingly no one noticing.

Carl still hasn’t come back, so Flip casually reaches for the phone on the counter near the register, dials the direct line number to his buddy back at the station.

“CSPD this is Jimmy – ”

“It’s me, I’m at the jewelry store on the second level of the mall downtown. I think there’s a robbery about to go down, I’m going to need backup.” Flip mutters as quietly as he can into the receiver, keeping and eye on the Santa.

Sure enough, he’s pulling out a sack, and it looks as if this guy has already hit up quite a few stores, if the brand new boxed electronics filling it are anything to go by.

“Is he armed?” Jimmy asks immediately, and Flip tries to get a good look.

“I can’t tell, he’s in a Santa suit.” He explains, and then scowls when the line goes silent for a moment.

“…Flip are you serious?” Jimmy tries to start some bullshit but Flip doesn’t have the time for this.

“Yes I’m fucking serious would you just tell Trapp I need backup? Ron is here somewhere but I don’t know where the fuck he went.” He hisses, teeth clenching tight enough that he can feel the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

“Okay okay! I’m on it, keep him in your sight.” Jimmy replies, before hanging up.

Trying to steal a glance through the mirror again, Flip realizes he must have been a little too loud, because the Santa has bolted through the doors, sack filled with diamond and ruby and sapphires galore.

“Fuck.” Flip grunts to himself, before slamming down the phone near the register and rushing out of the store with a futile, “CSPD! Hands where I can see them!”

 This would be much easier, Flip reasons, if it weren’t Christmas fucking Eve. The mall is swamped with people, loud and slow like big dumb buffalo – no, he wouldn’t do buffalo the disservice of comparing them to these last minute mall shoppers who cannot decide if they want to walk on the left or the right side of the aisle. Santa, he needs Santa – but there are so many! Nearly a dozen guys in red coats and white beards ring bells or wave or laugh jolly hearty laughs, and Flip feels like he’s in hell.

No, he supposes, Hell must be the five-story Hibbard & Co., where he finally manages to catch sight of the Santa he’s after. Bolting across the large expanse of the mall and into the first level of the store, Flip trips and stumbles through displays of empty cardboard box presents and wooden nutcrackers, causing shouts and screams of distress to erupt around him from the patrons of the store.

The employees however, are entirely unphased, they continue to spritz the air with their perfume samples, directly into the face of Flip, who is scrambling and already breathing heavy as it is, his boots carrying him around the sharp corners of the mirrored kiosks in the perfume department.

“Oh – shit – fuck!” Flip’s blinded by the perfume, his eyes stinging. He’s choking on it, unable to breathe as rose water stings his vision. “I love my job, I love my wife, I love my job…”

He chants to himself as he blinks and coughs, to no avail; he’s so blinded that he crashes into a display of coats, which in a domino-like effect crash down all the other displays of winter clothing on their way down, but Flip can’t stick around to apologize, the Santa is getting away.

“Out of my way – Ron!” Flip shouts as he pushes and shoves himself through the large swathes of people, Christmas music blaring bright and cheerfully as he runs and runs and runs, shouting out, “Ron if you can hear me a little help would be appreciated!”

The Santa isn’t making this easy for him, Flip curses, as he runs down the up escalator.

Following suit, there’s real screams now when the Santa pulls out a gun and starts blindly shooting behind himself at Flip, making everyone on the escalator, and everyone in that area of the mall for that matter, scatter. If Flip thought the crowds were bad, a mob was even worse, and soon everyone is running in every which way direction, as this Santa gets off the escalator and sprints down towards the food court.

Flip wonders why the place isn’t on a lockdown yet, wonders what the hell is taking backup so long to get there already. Didn’t this place have cops? Weren’t the mall cops good for literally anything? What a waste of his time, Flip thinks, as he runs runs runs with his gun in his hands, trying to hold steady as he aims to shoot, the robber in his sight, he can see him, he can practically smell him --

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this – oh fuck me -- !” Flip collides hard with an unsuspecting dad who just happened to be grabbing lunch from the food court for his entire family.

“Watch where you’re fucking going pal!” The dad shouts.

All at once, a whole tray of pizza slices doused in red sauce and melted cheese, and four large cups of pepsi are flying through the air and landing all over Flip’s brand new shirt, the one that you had just given to him for Hanukkah. He wants to be livid, wants to choke this guy out but the robber is getting away, Flip’s losing visual on him, and after all the trouble, there’s no chance he’s letting him get away.

“You fucking watch it!” Flip scrambles up, which isn’t easy to do on freshly mopped linoleum floors covered in soda pop, his gun spiraling a couple feet in front of him that he lunges to pick up, muttering to himself, “Ruined my goddamn – ugh – fuck!”

He has to change, and he has to change quickly – scanning the nearest stores, the closest one in the mall that sells clothing. He runs over to it, already unbuttoning his ruined shirt, and grabs the first thing on the rack he sees, which happens to be the most hideous, tacky, terrible looking Christmas sweater.

Flip raises his eyes up to the ceiling, and can practically feel the universe laughing at him when he groans, “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

There’s no time, he doesn’t have any other choice, so he yanks the ruined shirt over his head and throws the sweater on. It’s two sizes too small, and it’s itchy as all fucking hell, and of course, as if the situation couldn’t get any worse…the faux lights turn out to not be so faux after all, and they blink as he accidentally rips a tag off so not to trip any alarms.

Throwing money onto the counter as the employees stare at him like he’s a maniac and not just trying to do his fucking job, Flip’s chest heaves as he stands there, gun drawn, scanning the panicked swarms of people in front of him.

“Where did you go you motherfucker?” Flip growls, growing more and more pissed off by the minute.

A moment or two goes by, but then he spots him – the pet grooming salon.

Without any hesitation, Flip is chasing this man down with all his vigor, lungs pumping full of recycled mall air conditioning, blood pounding in his veins. The sooner he catches this guy and gets him cuffed, the sooner all this pandemonium will end.

“Hey!” He hears an authoritative shout from the other end of the mall, and lets out a sigh of relief.

The mall security has finally shown up, and he’s about ready to tell them that Santa is in the pet salon, when he notices they are not slowing down in their full force sprint towards him.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” Flip realizes they think he’s the maniac! “I’m a cop! It’s not me – I’m – oh for fuck’s sake.”

Flip realizes he doesn’t have the time to explain, so he does the exact opposite thing you’re supposed to do: run.

Into the pet salon Flip goes, hoping that if he can just grab the Santa it’ll all be explained, but there is no Santa to be found. Instead, Flip is met by a dozen dogs that have been let loose. Big dogs, like Dobermans and Rottweilers, and small dogs like Poodles and Pomeranians have all been released from their cages, and for whatever reason, are baring their teeth at him, and lunging after him as he runs the other way.

“Heel! Sit! Stay – ow!” Flip feels teeth sink into his ankles, and doesn’t bother looking back as he kicks away one of the smaller dogs in the pack that is chasing him.

He can see the Santa, and now, chased by dogs and mall cops, Flip chases him down for hopefully the last leg of this race. He can feel steam shooting out of his ears, he’s never going to leave home again he decides, never is going to step foot in this fucking mall again, as he’s chased.

 Meanwhile, blissfully unaware over in the lingerie department of Macy’s, Ron Stallworth’s greatest dilemma is trying to choose between the red velvet bra and panty set, or the navy satin set. He’s been staring at the two sets for quite some time now, and is conscious of the fact that Flip must be waiting for him, so he calls over one of the employees for her opinion.

He explains that it’s for his girlfriend, and while red and blue are both colors she likes, he isn’t sure which would get the most use – when he sees a Santa Claus stumbling and tripping over himself, shoving people out of his way as he runs past the great big glass windows.

“Huh.” Ron frowns, putting the sets down and moving over to the windows to get a better look.

Ron hears the commotion before he sees it, but when he does see it – ‘it’ being his best friend bleeding, in a blinking fuzzy Christmas sweater, gun brandished, chased by dogs and security who are blowing their whistles and brandishing guns of their own – he grabs all his shit and makes leave.

“If you ladies will please excuse me – ” Ron gives a parting excuse to the employees, who only frown at him as he runs and runs and runs to catch up to, “Flip! Flip what the fuck is going on!”

“It’s about goddamn time!” Flip shouts, nearly red in the face from exertion and sheer unbridled rage as he points with his gun to the man in red a few yards ahead, “That Santa! Is! A! Maniac! I don’t know how many stores he’s stolen from, but at least from the jewelry store and is shooting at people – watch out!”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, half a dozen men throw large plastic ornaments the size of cars out onto the floor as a means to blockade the hall. They’re dressed in green, with red and white stockings and pointed hats that have jingle bells on the end, but these were no innocent visitors from the North Pole.

“Of fucking course he’s got elves.” Flip grunts as he tries to run around them, tries his best to avoid getting hit square in the chest with them as they bounce and create a rampaging path of destruction.

“I’ll handle the dogs and the elves, and the mall cops, you catch Santa.” Ron slows down enough, until he’s far enough away that Flip can’t hear him, his own feet still on auto-pilot as he hunts down the Santa.

And then – then!

As if by some miracle, the Santa trips, and he and his sack full of stolen goods all come crashing down to the linoleum floor. In slow motion, Flip jumps using all the strength he has left, hands extended to grab the Santa, and as he flies across the distance between their bodies, Flip swears he sees his life flash before his eyes.

Thudding to the floor, he manages to get the Santa in a chokehold, letting out a triumphant shout of victory.

“Got you!” He pins the man down, rolls him over onto his back so that he can pin his hands behind his back, Flip fishing for his handcuffs that he managed to keep in his back-pocket this whole time, “I got you you son of a bitch!”

 Off to the side, a group of small children watch a grown man leap and tackle Santa Claus to the ground.

Little Stacey gasps in shock and horror, before her older brother Jacob can quickly cover her eyes with his own mittened hand. They, along with their friends – an assortment of ten to twelve year olds left unsupervised on Christmas Eve while their parents and gaurdians get gifts for in-laws they don’t like – immediately turn to one another, while Santa’s body jerks and writhes underneath the heavy knee of some strange man.

“What should we do?” Nicolas asks the leader of their group.

“Well there’s really only one thing we can do.” Dewey says with all the determination of a man about to walk into battle. The children exchange glances with resolution and with all the authority that an eighth-grader can muster, Dewey regards his friends, “All in favor of rescuing Santa and saving Christmas, say ‘aye’.”

“Aye!”

It is this emboldened shout of unity that draws Flip’s attention – before he is promptly charged by six small children who proceed to punch, and bite, and smack at him.

In the chaos, Santa manages to slip out of Flip’s grasp. Thankfully he’s still handcuffed and he’s dropped his gun, but the children don’t notice that. No, they’re too busy beating the shit out of Flip, who can’t bring himself to fight back against the angry fists of fury that are descending onto him.

“Get off of me! Get – I am a police fucking officer get off -- !” Flip manages to shake them away, and they stare up at him with wide eyes when he wipes the blood away from his nose at being slammed to the ground.

“Don’t you assholes have parents – oh forget it.” Flip doesn’t bother, caring so little about anything anymore.

He’s is almost defeated, almost, but Santa is handcuffed and limping, he can’t get too much farther, he’s so close – he’s right there –

“Oh shit!” Flip jumps back, as suddenly, out of nowhere, Ron in one of the security mall-carts comes darting from around the corner and t-bones the Santa from the side.

Santa’s body slides across the floor, and seconds later, Bridges, Trapp, Jimmy, and a dozen or so other familiar faces flood the large floor, in their blues and with their walkie talkies loud.

“Flip!” Bridges darts over to where Flip has practically collapsed onto the floor.

He’s directly underneath those ornaments, and he practically wills one of them to unlatch from their suspension and crush him to death.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Bridges has the audacity to ask, looking Flip straight in the face.

His bleeding, swollen face.

There’s a moment or two where Flip can’t think of anything other than how badly he wants a fucking cigarette, but eventually he licks across his teeth, scratches the back of his neck.

“Honestly?” Flip muses, before replying in the most dry deadpan way he can muster, “I’ve never been better.”

Blood drips onto the blinking Christmas sweater, and with that, Bridges claps him on the back and nods.

“Go home. We’ll get your statement after the holiday weekend.” He says, and sweeter words have never been spoken. “Don’t worry about Ron, we’ll give him a lift home.”

 Flip’s snowy home in the mountains has never, ever looked more beautiful, Flip can’t help but think. It was quiet, so quiet up here. Snow dusted itself along the length of the front porch, draped the roof and surrounding trees in a blanket of crisp clean fresh white. No dirt, no blood, no sweat – just white. It was purifying, to say the least.

But not so purifying as the front door opening and your stunning face lighting up to see him.

That is, until you notice him limping, notice him covered in blood, notice his hair destroyed and his face bruised. Then your smile melts into something closer to shock and terror.

“Phil! What the fuck happened to you?” You rush to him, trudging through snow that’s up to your calves. You’re not wearing shoes, and Flip can’t bear the thought of you getting too cold, so he hoists you up and holds you against his side, walking you back to the house.

“I…really…don’t want to talk about it.” Flip sighs, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers with you and never emerge.

“Holy shit, are you bleeding?” You push your hand up to his face and feel at his tender nose, making him wince.

“That sounds about right.” He mutters, slamming the door behind him with his foot when he finally crosses the threshold into the foyer of the house.

Flip puts you down and immediately shoves his entire face into your neck, trying hard not to cry. What a fucking day it had been, he can’t help but think as he lets the stress and frustration finally mount behind his eyes. His face hurts, everything about him hurts, his legs are exhausted, his back is fucking killing him, and worse of all, his ego is beyond bruised.

“I hate Christmas.” Flip hiccups, knowing that he’s smearing blood against your pretty robe. Now that he’s got you in his arms, he doesn’t want you to go away, doesn’t want you more than a foot away from him.

“I know sweetheart, I know. Come on let’s go take a shower.” You card your fingers through his hair, and lead him up to the bathroom.

 In the light of the bathroom, you do your absolute damndest not to laugh. It’s not that you’re laughing at him, because you would never laugh at him of course, but you’ve never seen your husband look more angry in his entire life, and you’ve been there for a significant portion of it. You have a million questions that you know better than to bombard him with right now, knowing he’ll explain all in due time.

So instead, you peel away his layers until the both of you are naked. A Christmas sweater that blinks bright red and green is buried under blood-stained and ripped jeans, your robe, underwear and socks. Flip turns on the heat and waits for the water to not be so frigid, and in the meantime, you examine him.

“Were…did you get bit by a dog?” You frown as you see crescent bruises blooming underneath his skin. Thankfully, it looks like no actual puncture wounds – what a Christmas gift that would be, rabies.

“More like a pack.” Flip grumbles, making your eyebrows shoot up nearly to your hairline. You want to ask, but Flip dismisses it for now with a sigh and an, “It’s a long story.”

Finally the water seems to be good enough for him, and Flip leads you into the shower. At once, the water runs pink as it washes him clean of the day from hell. Your hands in his hair are heavenly, washing the muck and sweat and grime out of the locks, and Flip could practically cry.

“I know what you need.” You whisper, kissing at the side of his face that’s not tender.

Keeping heated eye contact, you slowly slowly slowly slink down to your knees. Water cascades down your shoulders as your hand reaches for Flip’s cock, as you pump it ever so carefully in even strokes until he’s fully hard.

Your tongue licks up a thick stripe of his shaft, and Flip has to lean fully against the wall so his legs don’t give out and he winds up in the ER with a concussion again. Your mouth swallows him down, feels the weight of his cock on your tongue, against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat.

“Bed, now.” Flip stops you before you can get any further, and you pull off with a smile, glad to see that though he’s in a bad mood, he’s willing to let you help him feel better.

Barely drying off with a towel, Flip kisses and kisses and kisses you as you both stumble to your bed, falling down on top of the covers. You’re giggling against his lips just because you love him so much, but he’s not smiling. No, he’s still in a proper pissed off mood, and you’re glad to let him do what he will with you.

Flip’s cock throbs as it slides in real easy into your cunt, the wet heat of your body welcoming him on the first thrust. Your eyes fall shut as your back arches off the mattress from the feeling of being so filled so fast, the breath punching out of your lungs.

“God you’re wet.” He has to groan, swipes a few fingers over your clit just to massage it and get your legs shaking, your shoulders squirming for him, “What – were you jerkin’ off missing me? Thinkin’ about me? I was thinkin’ about you.”

The thought makes him break out into a sweat as he starts to thrust, his limbs aching and sore from all the running and bodily contact, but too desperate for you to give a fuck.

“Yeah, yes Flip – I missed you, missed your cock.” You whine, giving him permission to, “Give it to me, take it all out on me honey.”

The flood gates open, and Flip’s ramming into you hard and fast. He’s bouncing the mattress, slamming the headboard from it, from the grip on your hips as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Spit strings down from his teeth as his jaw is clenched, savoring the feeling and chasing that feeling, of your beautiful body opening and squeezing around him.

“Fuck ketsl, fuck I – oh damn that feels good.” He grinds himself all the way up inside you, pushes you up the bed with the force of it. He grabs at your hair, yanks your head back so he can suck and kiss at your throat, can feel your fluttering pulse as you moan and sigh and gasp.

“Yeah? How good? Tell me.” Your hands don’t know where to go, you don’t want to accidentally touch a bruised spot, so instead they fist in the sheets as you push your hips up to let him rail into you from this new angle.

“I’m gonna knock you the fuck up, that’s how good it is, that’s how hard you make me ketsl, do that thing I like? You know the one.” Flip’s delirious, doesn’t know what he’s even saying, but you breathe out a harsh moan from the words, hands pushing your tits together.

“Like this?” Your voice wobbles from the fucking he gives you, breasts bouncing, nipples peeking through your spread fingers as you cup and hold them for him.

“Just like that – fuck, goddamn baby you’re so pretty, I could fuck this pussy all night long – ow!” Flip is about to lavish kisses onto your cleavage, when something twinges in his back, and his arms collapse underneath him and he falls square on top of your chest.

“Shit, Flip are you okay?” Your body tenses immediately, worried for him, the mood ruined.

“Yeah – yes, dammit,” Flip groans, never feeling more like an old middle aged man than he does right now.

“Okay maybe don’t fuck me all night long,” You chuckle, calming and soothing him with your hands in his hair, abandoning the hold on your breasts. Still, you’d hate for him to not even get to come after all of that, so you kiss the side of his tender nose and whisper, “Are you close?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m sorry – ” Flip rolls you onto your side, eases back into you that way, where he doesn’t have to hold himself up.

“Don’t apologize, just come in me honey, come in me.” You encourage, knowing that he’ll get a good few orgasms out of you once he’s feeling a little better.

Flip nods and kisses you, wet and hot and sloppy as he thrusts a few more times, your legs corralled over his, until he grunts out long and low, spills into your pussy.

He rides that high, rides the feeling of your sweet lips on his, until all he can do is groan from being sore.

“I think I need to see a doctor.” Flip grumbles, sounding so dejected.

“Yeah I think so too handsome.” You give him an apologetic smile on behalf of the universe, and he sighs.

You’re an angel though, striking up a cigarette for him. Passing it to him, Flip pulls out of you with a wince and the two of you starfish out onto your backs, staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You let him have a few minutes of silence, but eventually the curiosity kills you and you have to ask,

“Hey, how come you were even in the mall to begin with?” Peering up at him through your lashes, wondering what the hell he had even gotten himself into, “I thought you were just popping into work for something.”

At that moment, the cold dread of realization crashes through Flip, and despite his injuries and general exhaustion, sits straight up in bed and gasps out, “Oh fuck!! I’m sorry ketsl I was going to surprise you with – ”

Just then, the doorbell rings, and the both of you frown at one another.

You weren’t expecting anyone to come over, even though it was Christmas Eve, you didn’t have any plans to celebrate anyway other than with some Chinese food takeout and a good movie. Considering the state that Flip is in, you go to reach for your robe, but Flip shakes his head and grabs for his instead.

“No, let me. You’re not dressed.” Flip says.

You love him enough not to point out that he isn’t dressed either, but Flip deserves to do what he wants after the day he’s had, you think.

 Creeping down the stairs, Flip tries to look through the front window to see who it could be, but whether it’s the angle or something else, he can’t get a good visual. He pulls the robe sash tighter around his waist, looks through the peephole.

Strangely, there’s nothing there, no one to be seen. No car in his driveway, either.

How strange, Flip thinks, as he cracks the door open, wondering what the fuck else the day has in store for him.

Sitting right there on the front porch, is a small box. It’s wrapped in a golden ribbon, bearing the logo of Goldsmith’s Jewlery in a wax seal on the side. Frowning, Flip approaches it, picks it up. It feels like the right weight, but to be sure, he pulls open the ribbon and peeks inside.

Sure enough, resting atop the black velvet interior of the box are the diamond earrings that had started this whole mess.

Something about that, something about those earrings being there, makes Flip’s heart warm through. Even though it’s cold, he doesn’t feel the bite of the wind. All he can think about, is you, waiting for him upstairs in your bedroom. You, who care for him, who takes care of him, even on days when he doesn’t even want to take care of himself.

The earrings twinkle in the grey sunlight of the snowy day, and despite it all, Flip smiles to himself. What was another year of bullshit, really? He could go through anything, could do anything, as long as he had you by his side. Yes, Flip thinks, it’s all worth it, or at least it will be, when he sees your smile once again, when he gives you this little token of his appreciation, of his love.

And as he casts his gaze up to the sky, half expecting to see the real Santa Claus flying away in his sleigh, half expecting to see some friendly man smiling down at him behind a team of reindeer, Flip feels something that maybe…just maybe…might be akin to Christmas Spirit.

Until the moment passes, and he’s reminded of the day’s events by a twinge in his side from where he was donkey kicked by a twelve year old.

“Who the fuck am I kidding,” Flip scoffs to himself after a shake of his head, locking the door behind him, “Ba fuckin’ humbug, and a merry new year.”

[hopelikethemoon]

Family You Choose (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Family You Choose Rating: PG-13 Length: 3800 Warnings:  Period Typical Sexism and Homophobia (including the use of a slur). But with Family Fluff.  Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set November 1997. Summary: Thanksgiving in Laredo. 

Taglist:  @grapemama​​  @seawhisperer​​​ @huliabitch​​​ @pedropascalito​​​ @rogrsnbarnes​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​ @gooddaykate​​​ @livasaurasrex​​​ @ham4arrow​​​ @hiscyarika​​​ @plexflexico​​​ @readsalot73​​​ @hdlynn​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​ @randomness501​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​  @roxypeanut​​​ @just-add-butter​​​ @snivellusim​​​ @amarvelousmandalorian​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​ @historynerd04​​​ @mrsparknuts​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​ @ah-callie​​​ @swhiskeys​​​ @lady-tano​​​ @beskar-droids​​​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​​​​ @longitud-de-onda​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​ @himbopoes​​​ @findhimfives​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​ @seeking-a-great--perhaps​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​ @random066​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​ @heather-lynn​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​ @cyarikaaa​​ (if I forget to tag you, I’m sorry)

You brought your beer bottle to your lips as you watched Javier across the party hall. He had spent the last couple of hours showing Sofía to his aunts and uncles, while Josie made a valiant vy for attention by wowing her relatives with her ability to sing the alphabet in both English and Spanish. 

Javier seemed so at ease with them. You still remembered the first time he brought you to Laredo. Everything you owned had been shipped from Colombia to a storage facility in San Antonio, then packed into the back of the minivan you’d rented at the airport. It was surreal to think about how Laredo had been the first leg of your journey to Miami. A place that truly felt like home now. 

“When you mentioned his extended family, I think I pictured a couple aunts and uncles, maybe a handful of cousins.” Monica said as she leaned towards you, “This looks like the entire town is here.” 

You glanced around the party hall with a shrug, “This is relatively small.”  You admitted as you looked towards her then. “We came here for Christmas last year. A bunch of his mother’s family came up from Mexico and it was packed.” You gestured towards the back of the hall, where a line of glass double doors covered the wall. “We had all of those open and the back area was filled with tables. Luckily it was in the upper sixties.” 

“From all the stories told about his childhood, you would never think that Javier has this huge extended family.” Monica grabbed her own bottle of beer, taking a swig as she looked around the room. “Okay, so is she here?”

“Yeah.” You snorted, nodding your head. “Don’t make it obvious.” You told her with a conspiratorial whisper. “Three tables behind me. Teased blonde hair and festive jumper.” 

Monica covered her mouth to keep from laughing as she looked back at you. “I’m sorry, but I can’t picture Javier with her.” She made a face. “She’s even got her husband in a matching sweater!” 

“Shhh.” You warned her, leaning back against your chair as you laughed. “I know exactly where she picked those up too. I taunted Javier with the set at JCPenneys last week.” 

“And how did that go over?”

“He threatened to shave off the mustache.” 

Her brows shot upwards, “No!” 

“He spoils all my fun.” You tsked, shaking your head as you curled your fingers around the beer bottle. “He’d look terrible without the ‘stache.” Your eyes wandered back towards where he was, smirking as you met his gaze. Sofía had been passed off to an older woman who you were fairly certain was one of his second cousins and Josie was sitting in his lap talking up a storm about God only knew. Javier grinned at you, brushing his fingers over the top of Josie’s curly head. 

“Hey,” You turned towards Monica. “Do you think you can hold down the table without me?” 

Monica arched a brow, “I could be convinced.” 

“I’ll bring you back another cupcake.” You offered as you finished off your beer and got up from your seat. 

“Fine. Fine.” She urged, waving you off. 

You headed towards the circular table that Javi was seated out, grabbing a chair from the table beside it as you settled down next to him. “Having fun?” You questioned, draping your arm over his shoulders as you leaned towards him. 

“More or less.” He chuckled, gesturing towards Josie. “This one is going to be the life of the party when she gets older.” 

“I have no doubt.” You glanced down at her with a barely concealed grin. “She clearly gets that from me.” You teased, “Sofía’s got that grumpy Peña face.” 

Javier rolled his eyes. 

“Am I wrong?”

“No.” He conceded with a shrug. “And she’s got Pops wrapped around her finger, same as Josie.” 

You rested your cheek against his shoulder, “What can I say? My girls like their Peñas.” 

“Mommy!” Josie clapped her hands together as she turned towards you, now that her Great Tía had left the table she needed to entertain someone who would listen to her.

“What’s up, kiddo?” You questioned as you looked down at her. 

“Can I go play with the other kids?” 

You noticed the way Javier tensed at her question. You arched a brow as you exchanged a look with him, “Did daddy already say ‘no’?” 

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, “Loraine’s kids were over there playing and…” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to get into it.”

“It’s fine.” You brushed your fingers over the back of his neck. “Josie, you can go play. Just be nice and remember to share.” 

“Okay mommy!” She said as she slid off Javier’s lap. You watched her as she weaved her way through the crowd towards where the kids were playing together. 

You turned back towards Javier with a bemused look, “We just saw her last year. It’s not that weird.” 

“Yeah. I know” He shrugged a shoulder, rocking his jaw slowly as he reached for his bottle of beer. “With everything that’s happened, I just didn’t want there to be any stress for you, baby.” He told you, resting his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze. 

You draped your hand over his, interlacing your fingers. “Loraine is probably the last person to stress me out.” You shook your head, glancing back towards the table you’d left. Chucho had returned with Sofía and was laughing with Monica about something. 

“Ah, there’s a face I haven’t seen for a long time!” You glanced up as a man around Javier’s age approached the table. 

“Felix!” Javier answered with a tight smile, releasing his hold on your knee as he moved to stand up. He hugged the man, “It’s good to see you.” 

“Last time I saw that ugly mug of yours we were taking your pop’s truck for a joyride down that dirt road off 59.” 

“A long damn time ago,” Javier agreed as he clapped Felix on the back and turned back towards you. “Baby, this is Felix. My cousin.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” You said as you shook his hand. “I don’t remember you at Christmas last year.”

“I didn’t come.” Felix gave Javier a look, “But you did?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, before he let out a low whistle of disappointment. “You know Javi, I’d heard the rumors but I hadn’t believed a single one of them.”

Oh Jesus. You knew exactly where this was going. Nowhere good. 

“When Javier and I were young bucks,” Felix attempted to regale you. “We had a hell of time in this town.” He looked between a very unamused Javier and you, before holding his hand out towards you. “Let me see it.”

“See what?” You blinked.

“The ring.”

“What ring?” Javier questioned. 

Felix looked confused. “The ring.”

You snorted. “We’re not married.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Felix pursed his lips as he stared at Javier. “But you have a ring.”

“Yeah, inscribed with our anniversary and our daughters’ birthdays.”

“But it’s not a wedding band?”

“No.” You both answered him. 

His hands went to his hip as he shook his head, “I guess that explains a whole hell of a lot.”

Javier squared off with his cousin, “What the hell does that even mean, Felix?”

Felix dropped his voice, though not low enough that you couldn’t hear him plainly. “You show up here with her and that pretty young thing. I’m impressed, Javier. Never saw you as a bigami—“

“I wouldn’t finish that if I were you.” Javier warned.

“Monica is basically our daughter.” You explained, crossing your arms across your chest as you stared at Felix. “Just because Javier and I aren’t married to each other doesn’t mean there’s anyone else involved in our relationship.” 

“Then why is she here?”

Javier gritted his teeth, “Because her own parents don’t deserve her.”

“So you, what? Adopted a full grown adult?” Felix laughed condescendingly. “The hell happened to you in Colombia, my man?”

You reached for Javier’s partially drunk beer and took a sip. Which was a better option than picking it up and—

“She’s a smart kid who was in a rough situation. Her parents kicked her out and she was gonna lose everything. What was I gonna do, let it happen?” Javier shot back, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the strain in his neck.

“Why’d they kick her out? Sneaking boys into the house?” He wiggled his brows suggestively at you and you sneered back at him in response. “Weed? Underage drinking?”

Javier glared at him. 

“Wait,” Felix dropped his voice to a whisper, pointing at Javier. “Is she a fag?”

Before you even had a chance to blink, Javier’s fist made contact with Felix’s jaw, sending him reeling several feet backwards as he stumbled. 

“What the fuck, Javier?” Felix grabbed at his face where he’d struck him. “I guess that was the answer then, huh? So your pretend daughter’s a fag?”

Javier made to lunge at him, but you grabbed him by the bicep and held him back. He’d already drawn everyone’s attention to the three of you. “If you say another goddamn word about one of my daughters, you’re gonna regret it.”

Felix held his hands up in mock defeat. “I thought it was bad enough when you were getting hitched to Loraine. You were no fun anymore, man. At least you came to your senses But this—“ He pointed to you. “The Javier I used to know wouldn’t be playing house with some woman you picked up in Colombia.”

“Some woman I picked up in Colombia.” Javier repeated, laughing harshly as he pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “This goddamn woman took down Carlos Lehder on her second day with the DEA. She was there when Pablo Escobar’s reign of bullshit ended. That’s just scraping the surface. What’ve you done Felix? That’s right. Nothing.”

“We don’t need to make a scene about me.” You told Javier, tightening your grip on his arm. 

“No.” He shook his head, his gaze darting towards you. “Because I used to be in his shoes. I get it.” Javier took a step forward, glaring at Felix. “Being alone is great, isn’t it? Going home to an empty apartment, drinking to forget that it’s empty. Hell, maybe it’s not. Maybe you’ve got company with someone whose name you won’t even remember next month.” He pulled his arm from your grip, closing the distance between the two men. “I used to be you. Thinking I was happy, when I was just angry at the world. Get help, Felix.” 

“Fuck you, Javier.” Felix swore, before he turned his back and headed for the exit across the party hall as murmurs grew. 

“Hey,” Chucho started as he approached you with Josie at his side. His brows were furrowed together, clearly worried about the situation he just witnessed. “I don’t know where Monica went. She was trying to settle Sofía the last I saw.”

You scanned the crowd of faces that were all staring at you and Javier, but you failed to spot her among them. “I’ll find her.” You assured him, before turning back to Javier. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“He’s a son of a bitch.” Javier flexed his hand, looking down at it. “Fuck.”

“I’ve seen you punch two men in the past three months,” You remarked, reaching out for his hand to check it over. He hissed when you brushed your thumb over his knuckles. “I can’t tell if I should be terrified or turned on.” 

Javier gave you a scandalized look, “Seriously?”

“Do not judge me, babe.” You shot back. “Put ice on this, it’s going to swell. I’m going to find Monica.” But first, you were going to grab a cupcake from the dessert table because she deserved one. 

Monica was not easily found. 

She wasn’t outside. You searched for her in the women’s bathroom, the family bathroom, and the weird room that was clearly designed for bridal parties without any luck. And she wasn’t hiding in the van. 

You were about to admit defeat, before the familiar sound of a baby fussing drew you towards the coat closet. You pulled open the door, relieved to find Monica sitting against the back wall with Sofía. 

“I hope you see the irony in this.” You remarked as you stepped inside and closed the closet door behind you. 

Monica sniffled as she looked up at you with tear-stained cheeks. “Trust me, it wasn’t lost on me.” She had Sofía resting against her bent knees, letting her bounce on her lap. “She’s tired.”

“Me too.” You admitted as you sank down on the floor beside her, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Here.” You said, holding your arms out for her to pass the baby to you. Sofía squirmed, resistant at first, but you managed to get her to settle down against your chest. 

“This is for you.” 

“Thank you.” Monica grinned as she took the cupcake from you. “Chocolate cures everything.” She mused as she peeled the paper off. 

You glanced down at Sofía, watching her face as she kept waking herself back up every time her eyes closed. “Just sleep, sunshine.” You murmured, kissing the top of her head. 

Monica sniffed quietly, wiping tears off with the sleeve of her sweater. 

“So, how much did you hear?” You questioned.

“I was bringing Sofía over to you,” She explained with a sigh. “I caught the tail end of the conversation when he called me a…” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she drew her knees to her chest. “And then Javier called me his daughter and I just ran.”

You reached over and rubbed your hand across her back. “I don’t know what Felix’s story is, but neither of us are going to put up with that shit, Monica. What he said was wrong.”

“I know.” She popped a piece of cupcake into her mouth. “And the way Javier punched him.”

“It was glorious.” You grinned. “I might have a problem.”

“I’d probably swoon if a pretty girl punched someone for me.” She admitted with a quiet laugh as she wiped at her eyes again. “It’s just so stupid. I’ve heard every iteration of that word thrown at me, but… things have just been so good. With you and Javier, Nadia, and then Murphys, and everyone in my circle — I forgot what it felt like.”

“The world sucks.” You glanced downwards at Sofía, relieved to see that she wasn’t fighting the pull to sleep anymore. Her little eyelashes fluttered, as a content sigh escaped from her. “For every couple like Javier and I, there’s some asshole like Felix. Honestly, there’s always going to be that jerk.”

“We have one of those in class.” Monica rolled her eyes. 

“George?”

“Bingo.”

“I figured.” You laughed. “We used to work with this guy named Chris, right after Steve left. A truly insufferable human being. They’re people who don’t have any joy in their lives and when they see happy people and they just want to snuff it out.” You gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m not a good motivational speaker.”

“You’re good.” She offered as she sank back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you think we could go back to the ranch? I don’t know if I want to go back out there.” 

You nodded, “Of course.” 

“I feel bad to make you guys leave early.”

“Don’t feel bad. We’ve seen everyone that needs to be seen.” You assured her, “Do you want to stay in here while I go get Javi?”

Monica nodded. 

You held Sofía securely to your chest as you got up. “I’ll be back.” You told Monica, before you slipped out the door and headed back into the party hall to find Javier. 

“Did you find her?”

“Yeah, she’s hiding in the coat closet.” You answered as Javier passed the baby carrier to you across the table. “I think it’s time to go home.” 

“Home home?” Javier questioned.

“The ranch.” You clarified as you strapped Sofía into the carrier. “Did I miss any more fights?”

Javier rolled his eyes, “The asshole left.” 

“Daddy,” Josie urged softly. “You said a bad word.” 

“Yeah, daddy did say a bad word.” Javier admitted with a sigh. “I’ll put a nickel in the swear jar, princesa.” 

“To be young and oblivious.” You remarked with a laugh, shaking your head. “Chucho, I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you apologizing for, chica?” Chucho’s brows furrowed together. “The one who should be apologizing has already left.” He gestured vaguely towards the doorway Felix had exited through. “That boy was always trouble.” 

“He was.” Javier agreed with a nod, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Let’s get out of here.” He took Sofía’s carrier from you, meeting your gaze. “What a fucking nightmare.” 

You reached down and curled your fingers around his where he held Sofía’s carrier. “You did the right thing, Javi.” You assured him. “And I think it really meant something to Monica that you didn’t even waver on calling her our kid.”

Javier rocked his jaw slowly, giving a stiff nod. “Well she is. Blood doesn’t mean shit.”

 ——

 “Hot chocolate.” You announced as you held the mug out in front of Monica. “Chucho’s special recipe.”

“Should I be afraid?” Monica laughed, curling her legs beneath her as she took the mug from you. 

Javier stretched out on the sofa, tucking an arm beneath his head as he glanced towards the two of you, “He went easy on the chili pepper.”

Monica took a small sip, “That’s different. It’s really creamy.”

“There’s so much heavy cream in it.” You laughed, moving towards the sofa where your own mug was sitting on the coffee table. “Move.” You told Javi, giving his leg a swat as he kept them stretched out. “I will sit on you.”

“Am I supposed to hate that offer?” He shot back, before begrudgingly sitting upright. 

You settled onto the sofa beside him, slipping your arm between his back and the sofa cushion as you sank against him. “I’m sorry about how things went down today.” You chewed on your bottom lip as you looked towards Monica. “I know you didn’t really want to go to the shindig.”

“I had fun,” Monica insisted. “Everyone was so nice and welcoming. Danny and his wife were wonderful. Their baby is adorable.” She took another sip of the hot chocolate. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I get that,” Javier nodded his head. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t feel like shit about it. Felix hasn’t come to a family gathering since… hell, probably before I went to Colombia. Bit of a black sheep. I shouldn’t have engaged at all.”

You glanced down at Javier’s hand. Despite the ice, his first two knuckles were already turning a dark shade of purple from making contact with Felix’s jaw bone. A small price to pay. 

He sighed heavily, rubbing at the back of his neck, “All that is to say, you’re part of our family, Monica. And I don’t take kindly to people talking shit about my family.” You rested your cheek against Javier’s shoulder, your fingers trailing over his back slowly. 

“I don’t have words for how much that means to me, Javier.” Monica said as she curled her hands around the mug. “After everything that happened… you’ve both been so good to me. I still don’t know how to thank you.”

“We don’t need gratitude,” You stressed. “We just want the best for you. Same as we want for Josie or Sofía. It’s on your parents for not recognizing that they had a good kid on their hands. Sometimes, parents prove to be the biggest disappointments in our lives.” 

Monica nodded slowly, “You’re not wrong there.” 

“I wish you hadn’t heard his bullshit,” Javier scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “And Josie saw me punch the fucker.” He huffed, flexing his hand against his leg. “That made for a fun bedtime story.” 

You slid your arm out from behind his back, reaching up to play your fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck. “I think you explained it well.” You leaned forward and grabbed your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip. “And we promise holidays in Laredo are not generally this exciting.” 

“Honestly, I was hoping for a little excitement.” Monica teased. “Why is your ex-fiance invited to family things?”

Javier grumbled, “Because she’s still close to my family.” He shrugged a shoulder, “It’s a small town and… you get a lot of sympathy when someone leaves you at the altar. Even if it was — shit, nearly thirty years ago.” 

“I have so many questions about young Javier Peña.” You teased him, nudging your elbow into his ribs. 

“Me too.” Monica leaned forward, sipping at her hot chocolate. “What were you like?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “That’s ancient history.” Javier gave you a pointed look. “I’m certain you’ve heard plenty of stories from Pops.” 

“So many.” You agreed, ruffling your fingers through his hair. “But it doesn’t really matter who any of us were before. It’s about who we are now.” You smiled softly. “Even if I really want to hear about what kind of hell raiser you were as a teenager.” 

“I wouldn’t call it hell-raising.” Javier snorted, shaking his head. “You can’t get away with too much when you live in a small town.” 

“Especially when your family makes up half of the town,” Monica quipped as she finished off her hot chocolate and stood up. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. Do you think Josie will mind if I steal Stevie for the night?”

“Nah, but that does mean you’ll have to take her out in the middle of the night.” Javier told her, scratching at his jawline. 

“I don’t mind.” She shrugged. “Good night guys.” 

“Sleep well, Monica.” You offered. “Don’t forget — bright and early to make pecan pie.” 

She snapped her fingers at you as she walked backwards. “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten pie’o’clock.” 

You laughed, taking another sip of hot chocolate. “Well, today was certainly a day.” You mused, tilting your head to look at Javier. “Quit beating yourself up, Javi.” 

“I’m not—”

“You are.” You tapped his chin, urging him to look at you. “I love you.” 

Javier sighed heavily, “I love you too. I just hate that Josie saw me deck a guy.” 

“Actions have consequences. He said a whole lot of awful shit and…” You gestured to his hand. “He got punched for it.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “It was a good lesson for Josie. Just because Felix is family, doesn’t mean we have to associate with him. Family is the people you choose to keep in your life.” 

[undermoonlitsky]

Because it’s November, I wanna drop my favorite story I’ve ever written because it’s still relevant.

Mockingbirds

The day was as it should be; quiet and bright, but still cold and restless. Multicolored leaves littered the streets, creating a scene any artist would relish in. Mockingbirds were still singing in the trees. The air tasted similar to that of syrup and smelt of freshly cut wood. The sun hung low in the day, despite still being fairly early. The clouds were swollen with rain, and hung over houses threatening to burst. Once Anne arrived at the house, she was flooded with memories from her childhood. Things like Christmas and movie nights, reminded her of the happy childhood she was given. The door opened before she even knocked, and before she could utter a word she was hit by the force of three long awaited hugs. Her two sisters and even her older brother met her at door. Their screams momentarily deafened her. That only lasted for a second before they began looking behind her. “Where is he?” Belle, the youngest, and most kind and optimistic of the children, inquired. “You said he was cute.” Eve, the eldest and most categorizing of the bunch, strained her neck to catch what her little sister brought with her. “I want to make sure he’s good enough,” Gabe the only boy among the few, and Anne’s twin. Anne felt her heart quiver with the breeze, and she smiled in a nervous fashion, “He went out to get the butter that Ma needed.” She didn’t know how to tell them, so she ignored the subject, “Are you guys going to let me in?” “Oh, Anne, we’ve missed you.” Behind the offspring, came the creator. Jezebel, their mother was a stout and round mother of the four. She had ruled the house with a heavy, but very lenient hand. She usually meant well, and there were no harsh words anyone could say about her. Next came her father, Cain, looking like most fathers do; tired with a splash of love in his eyes. He was stronger than anyone of them, but sometimes weak in spirit. Anne ran into embrace the two, hoping they had forgotten. Of course, they didn’t “Where’s this boy of yours.” Ma said. “He’s not hiding, is he?” Dad said. “He went out to get that butter you needed, Ma.” “What a sweet kid. Now come on, help me cook. You’re the best cook out of all of them.” The kitchen was modest, as was their life. They were humble people, with kind upbringings. They meant well, and no one had many harsh words about them. They spent their days going to church, helping out at the schools, feeding the homeless, and whatever they had time for. They finished the food relatively fast, and were finished setting the table, before the butter had arrived. Belle had complained about the Christmas music. Eve ate the cranberry sauce, even though Ma said she wasn’t allowed. Gabe and Dad watched the food more than they watched the game. It all seemed perfect. When the doorbell rang, Anne’s heart dropped. She had almost forgotten about him, but she didn’t forget to run. She got to the door, a moment before the rest of them did. Before they could see him. Maybe, she thought, maybe this wouldn’t be so tragic. Maybe there was hope for him. Tobias looked up at the door innocently. He held the butter in his hands like it was a gift to Jesus himself. She looked at him, how naive she had been. He looked so different from them. How had she not seen it before. Not just his pale skin, but his dopey smile, his inability to fake anything, his voice, his actions. No, they would not accept him. He seemed to notice this in her face, “They don’t know.” “I didn’t think it would be that bad,” The door swings open without another word. And there’s no more hiding. At this moment Anne remembers all the bad things that happened in this house; the fighting, the ridicule and embarrassment, unappreciation, Christmas and Thanksgiving. She remembered the fear, the same fear she’s feeling now. She looks up into their eyes. How happy they had been moments ago. Anne realized then that it was fake. All of it, their enthusiasm to meet him, their happiness for her, and mostly the open arms they were going to greet him with. What a charade they had pulled. “This is Tobias,” she looked back at him, and saw the yearning for acceptance in his eyes. “Oh.” Belle, was already sizing him up. Without a word, she imagined what type of person he was. Behind her, Gabe grunted, as if to show dominance. “Why don’t you come inside,” It was becoming clear how this night would go. Eve had already run in to tell Cain and Jezebel the “news”. She came back only to tell us that dinner was on the table, and it was time to eat. Tobias made a joke about butter, but no one laughed, not even him. Anne clenched his hand, hoping to give and receive support. Ma dropped her spoon, and raised her hand to her mouth. Dad dropped his head, and lowered his expectations. Only Ma tried to feign her disappointment, “You must be one who, uh, stole Anne’s heart.” “Yes, it’s so nice to meet you Mrs.Odieux” His hand reaches out to shake hers, but she passes him, pretending not to notice him, and puts down the mashed potatoes. They avoided him like a deadly disease. Like they would combust into flames if they touched him. The grace was said, but instead of the jolly, hand holding family, they became solemn and isolated. The first question fell out of Eve’s mouth, “Where did you meet Anne?” He hesitated, surprised someone was talking to him, “Well, when I used to work at our local coffee shop, she-” “So, you don’t have a real job?” Cain feigned innocence. “Here we go,” Anne muttered. “Well, at the time, I guess not, but now, I’m working full time at a law firm.” “So, you’re a lawyer?” Gabe took his turn up to bat. “Yes” “I hate lawyers.” Dad bluntly said “Dad!” “What Anne? They are liars and money hungry. They have no respect for-” “With all due respect sir, I am a defender of innocents. I am a defender of those who want to be innocent. I do it not for the money, but the freedom of others.” “Don’t forget murderers,” Jezebel nodded, not looking at anyone, “You also defend murderers.” There was a moment of silence, as if they had given up. No, as if Anne had given up. Tobias still had hope. The next round started with Belle, “So, how many girls have you dated?” “Belle, you’ve got to be kidding me!” “It’s okay, in my high school life until now, I’ve dated six girls.” “And were any of them…?” “Black? No.” Ma gasps a little. “It’s not a dirty word, Ma.” Anne can barely eat. She wants to leave, go home with him, and never return. And finally, Gabe breaks the wall, “What are your intentions with my sister?” Everyone puts down their forks to hear Tobias’ answer. Anne almost chokes, and begins drinking water as a result. “I plan to marry her.” Ma cried. Belle prayed. Gabe walked away. Eve gasped. Dad yelled. Anne choked. Tobias beamed with confidence. “Not if I have any say!” Cain jumped from the table. “Why?!” Tobias proceeded to do the same thing. “Because... Because…” “Because I’m white? What if I was black? Then would there be a problem?” “No! If you were any other race, there wouldn’t be an issue!” Finally, the truth. “Dad!” Anne too rose from the table, “That’s enough. All of you.” “Listen here, and listen well. You will get out of my house-” “Dad!” “You will never see my daughter again. You will no longer put these demonic thoughts in her head-” “I’m putting demonic thoughts in her head? Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re denying me the chance at anything, because of what my ancestors did?” “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” At this point Gabe had returned. “You will be no better,” Belle had stopped praying. “You could never be good enough,” Eve had come out of shock. “You will ruin her,” Ma had stopped crying. “Tobias?” Anne had stopped caring what they thought, “Let’s go.” “This isn’t right you know!” And Tobias had given up hope. “Don’t bother coming back for Christmas!” Anne didn’t know who yelled it. They all sounded like one body now. Snuffing out light and crushing hope. They had not meant well, and they had many harsh words to say. They saw the world through clouded eyes, and refused to hear clearly. They spoke with death kissed tongues and needle infested voices. Their eyes no longer lit up with joy. No, they had not meant well.

Sorry it’s so long, have a nice day

[ecfandom]

Ok this happened to me recently but... Prompt? It's winter. First snow might fall tonight. Lexa's stayed late at work. Everyone has gone home but she just wants to finish. She goes outside for a quick smoke break to destress but forgot her badge wasn't working. Clarke stayed late too. Needs a snack. Finds Lexa stuck outside on the patio.

Most thought her insane for picking up the closing shift tonight of all nights. The words Christmas Eve and potential first snowfall had been lobbed at Lexa like the end all be all to plans for the evening. She'd started with, "Really, I don't mind," as the first of them began to apologetically trickle out into the possibility of snow. Somehow that'd eventually evolved into, "It's fine, I'm Jewish," by the time the rest of the crew began their not so subtle race to get out the door and home to their...people. It was a relief when the last of them had finally gone, their scarfs trailing behind them, and wishes for happy holidays drowned out by the sound of the bell on the door. Worn by the burden of exchanging pleasantries, Lexa's face falls as soon as she's alone in the little cafe on the corner. Not that there is anyone there to see it, Lexa rolls her eyes for good measure and lets the broom she'd been gripping like a shield fall to the floor with an unceremonious clatter. "Yeah, I feel you," she says, stepping over it while pulling out her smokes (that she would absolutely deny having brandished in the likes of the organic quinoa, kale smoothie serving establishment, if ever asked) and heading out onto the patio.Her leather jacket is admittedly not enough against the frigid night air that feels as fed up with it all as Lexa does, but there's a certain kind of brooding aesthetic that she felt the need to uphold among all of the sickeningly sweet Holiday decorations. Her sister would tell her to shut the hell up, despite Lexa's usual and signature silence, and metaphorically kick her ass until Lexa was forced to bucker up and roll with life's punches, namely, Thanksgiving's right hook and Christmas' uppercut. She laughs to herself at the thought of Anya's short, but to-the-point text. 'Happy Shitmas Eve to you too' she'd replied while sneaking a smoke in the employee bathroom. She can hardly feel her fingers by the time the butt of her smoke flickers to an anti-climactic end and lops off onto patio to join the twenty or so other discarded butts that turn out to be little piles of snowflakes on second glance. "Cute," she mutters before flicking what was left of her cigarette into one of the Christmas light infested bushes lining the patio. It's only when she's about three-fingers away from becoming a frost-bite victim that she discovers the star topper to her Christmas tree of a shit day. Her hands numbly and frantically search her jacket pockets, run themselves over her tragically non-existent breasts, her stomach, her ass pockets, and embarrassing enough, the crouch of her pants in search of the key card that unlocks the back door after hours. "No, no, no, fuck," puffs out into the snow-filled air as she goes through her search again, refusing to believe that she could be so moronically stupid on a day that was supposed to take the cheese for moronically, stupid things. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," she groans and presses her frozen hands to the frosted panes of the back doors. She knocks once or twice for good measure, despite remembering clear as day the mental happy dance she'd done when the cafe had finally cleared out. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" She glares at the Santa statue quickly accumulating snow in the corner of the patio. "That's a stupid hat, you know. Like really stupid." It stares back at her with an unchanged smile and perfectly rosy cheeks. "Well deck the halls with fal la la la fuck you too," she grumbles before kicking it over, and immediately regretting it. She's hopping on one foot while simultaneously trying to peer over the ridiculously high fence for a way out when she hears the confused, and definitely amused, clearing of a throat. Dropping her foot and collecting herself, Lexa tells herself to be nice to the only person within miles capable of getting her off this god-forsaken patio. When she turns, and plasters on a fake smile, she's not expecting to be confronted by someone quite so...beautiful. "I got locked out," she finds herself explaining with no introduction The stranger's lips quirk in what Lexa is sure is a smirk. "Really? I thought maybe you were doing a snow dance." "I..." Lexa shakes her head, a little lost in the blue of the girl's eyes and the snowflakes in her lashes. "I don't know what that means." "Like a rain dance? You know. To bring the...rain snow." "Rain snow?" It's Lexa's turn to grin, and she does until she remembers how frozen and chapped her lips are. Tucking them in on each other she hugs herself tighter and rolls up onto her toes, trying to feel them. "I'm Clarke." Lexa sticks out her hand. "Lexa. What are you doing here?""Really?" Clarke quirks a perfectly shaped brow and Lexa finds herself amazed by such a simple perfection. "That's what you're going with to the person who likely rescued you from an imminent death by hypothermia?" "I just meant...I haven't seen you before. Do you work here?" "Upstairs. At the gallery.""But you have a key to the cafe?" Clarke laughs, and it's a nice sound. So nice that Lexa wonders if she wasn't already dying from hypothermia and crossing into the delusional stage where everything is nice and warm and cozy. Maybe Clarke was just an illusion -- a beautiful, splendid, death-bed delusion. A final request. A last meal. "Griffin. I'm Clarke Griffin." Lexa blinks. "Sorry?" "Um, Clarke Griffin? As in Griffin's Griddle? This is kinda my shop." Clarke points to the illuminated sign above the back door and smiles.Lexa hates that she's charmed by it. She smiles back, despite her shivering that has by now turned into a full blown shake. "Kinda?""Well, no. Not kinda. It's...mine. Yeah, it's mine. Which means you're one of mine." "I'm sorry?" Clarke's eyes go comically wide and Lexa can't help the frozen bark of laughter that comes out of her. "My employee! I just meant...that must make you one of my employees. I....yeah." Clarke hides her face in her hands and it's so cute it's almost gross. "Well, color me flattered, Boss." "I'm not--you don't have to--it's just Clarke.""Okay, just Clarke." "No, not--you're pulling my leg." "I am, I'm pulling your leg." Lexa grins as Clarke groans and buries her face in her hands once again, this time creating a little window through her fingers from which to peak at the mostly frozen employee standing on her patio. "Should we...start over?""Could we maybe take it inside? Technically, I haven't finished closing yet, and I'd hate for the boss to find out. I've heard she's a little...you know." Clarke laughs and opens the door, standing aside to let Lexa back into the warm cafe that's almost too warm on their frost-stung faces. //"So, I left and came here. You had a help wanted sign in the window and that was that." "More?" Lexa looks down to her drained fourth cup of hot chocolate and grins, sheepishly. "I'm never going to sleep again if this is real cocoa, but I haven't had hot chocolate like this in a while." "You've worked here for a year and you haven't tried the signature drink?" "No, I meant--" But Clarke looks so happy and open, too much so to be told that this is the first time in a long time that Lexa has had someone to sit down to hot chocolate with. So instead, Lexa just shakes her head and shrugs. "Anyways." "So you up and moved, got a job as a barista despite the phD in astronomy--""Astrophysics." "Ah, yes. Astrophysics." Clarke chuckles at the absurd intelligence and complexity of the seemingly simple, brooding thing across from her. She actively squashes down the blip of panic she feels when she looks too long into those green eyes, and slides another cup of hot chocolate across the counter. "So what about your family? Don't they miss you?""Is this an interview? Because I already got the job. I don't know if you knew..." "Oh come on, you can't sit in here looking like that and sounding like that and not expect me to be curious.""Looking like what and sounding like what?""Looking like that," Clarke laughs, waving her hands over Lexa's body. "The eyeliner and the leather and the cigarettes. And I'm pretty sure that's your bike out there.""It might be." "And yet you're a twenty-seven year old with a phD in Astrophysics." "Well..." "What?"Lexa takes a sip of her hot chocolate and holds up two fingers. "Shut up, you're not serious." The astrophysicist shrugs and drinks until her cup is empty. "You've got two phDs." "I do.""You're lying.""I might be." Clarke stares at her skeptically. "Tell me the truth." "I did." "You have two phDs.""I have two phDs." "And you work in my cafe." "And I work in your cafe.""Goodness." "Does that do it for you?" Clarke laughs. "It might. Is that workplace sexual harassment?" "It might be." Clarke grins and leans forward onto her elbows, very much attracted to her incredibly over qualified barista. "Why are you here at 2AM on a Christmas Eve? You've got to be like, easily, the favorite relative. I'm sure your family loves to parade you around." "I could ask you the same thing. Twenty-five and the owner of your own business. And an amazing artist." "You don't know that I'm amazing." "I've got a feeling." "You sure that's not just your toes coming back to life?"Lexa laughs and runs a hand through her hair, a nervous tick despite feeling overwhelmingly, terrifyingly comfortable across from the girl who had snowflakes in her lashes and looked like a dream. "How have we never met?" "I tend not to fraternize with my employees." "Ah. An elitist, I see." "Says the Harvard, Stanford grad." "And MIT." "What?""I did my undergrad at MIT. Then Stanford, then Harvard.""Because of course you did." Lexa hums and pulls a wink out of her dusty, almost forgotten box of charms. "Which still begs the question." "Mm?""Why are you here instead of with family?" "You don't want the answer to that, I promise." "My dad died five months ago and my whole family is together in Michigan for our first Christmas without him, and I couldn't drum up the balls to go. How's that for a bleeding heart? Try to top it." Lexa pushes her cup forward for more and only grins when the temporary barista rolls her eyes and refills the cup. "So?""It'll put a damper on the night and we're having such a great time." "Are we?" Lexa laughs over the rim of her cup and falls a little bit for the sparkle in Clarke's eyes. "I am.""You're really not going to give me something for my dead dad? We've been here for four hours together. I've told you my whole life story. All I know about you is that you have a disgustingly high capacity for hot chocolate and are the smartest person I have and will ever meet.Lexa sighs and leans back on her stool. "It's a can of worms that you want to open, I promise you that." "You don't like your family, is that it? They're overbearing, aren't they. Maybe stage parents but for nerds like you. What would that be? Spelling bee parents? Or maybe they're too proud? Parading you around when all you want to do is read your books and study your stars. Am I close?"Lexa smiles. "No. You're cute, though." "Oh, you think so?" "I do.""Well, if you're not going to tell me anything more about your life, do you wanna maybe get out of here? Get to know each other in other ways?" Lexa settles and feels suddenly both exhausted and liberated as the weight of fielding land mines finally lifted. "Two questions first. What do I owe you for these drinks, and if I say yes, will it come back to bite me in the ass when I show up for my first shift of the new year?" "The drinks are on the house, and no, no ass biting...unless you're into that sort of thing." Lexa snorts and rolls her eyes. "I'm walkable. Should we go to mine?" //Clarke is surprisingly lovely. She's a good kisser, and she's warm and soft and somehow fits against Lexa in the most perfect and unperfect of ways. Her hair ends up in Lexa's mouth and she definitely has drooled a little on Lexa's neck since falling asleep, but the weight of her on Lexa's chest is comforting, and her hand gripping onto Lexa's bare hip is both soft and firm, a protective yet needy grip that makes it easy for Lexa to fall asleep for the first time in years. They wake up in the middle of the night and do things all over again, and it's even better the second time. Lexa falls in love with Clarke's assuredness and confidence, but also the way she gets soft and breathy and maybe even a little timid when she comes, as if it all catches her a little by surprise each time. It's best the next morning--slow, and gentle and familiar. Clarke whispers Merry Christmas in Lexa's ear while they're both trying to catch their breath, and it brings secret tears to Lexa's eyes that are quickly lost in the pillow and top of Clarke's head. "Those are nice," Clarke murmurs, her head turned on Lexa's chest towards the frosted over window littered with geometric snowflake designs. "My sister and I used to put paper up on the window and try to trace them."Clarke hums and kisses the top of Lexa's left breast, just beneath her heart. "That's something new." Lexa nods and they fall into a silence made easy through shared kisses and orgasms and whispered sweet things not meant for one night stands. It's the comforting, familiarity of the silence that pulls it out of her."They're dead." Clarke shifts and props herself up on Lexa's chest. "What?"Lexa licks her lips, trapped between wanting to go back and needing to move forward. "My family. I had a December graduation. They all drove up together...my parents, my brother, two aunts, an uncle and three cousins. They rented one of those big cargo vans. I was the first in the family to get a college degree, so it was an ordeal. Driving through West Virginia, a semi lost control going over an icey bridge. It swung around. My family was in the other lane. They went over the rail into the river. I was told it was probably quick. Impact likely made it instant, before the van even started sinking. My sister was already in Boston with me. We thought it was some sick joke at first. Who loses their entire family in one instant? It just doesn't happen." She doesn't realize that she's crying until Clarke runs her thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. When Lexa looks up at her, she finds those tears mirrored in Clarke's big, beautiful eyes, and she hates that she couldn't just keep her mouth shut. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, but almost instantly, Clarke is kissing her, and it feels likes she's trying to take away her pain. Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke and holds her close, afraid of how much she already cares, but a little too far gone for it to matter anymore. They spend the day in bed, tangled together, eating fruit out of each other's hands and flitting back and forth between loving the Christmas movies on Netflix, and cursing their very existence. When the sun sets, they order pizza from the one parlor open on Christmas and bemoan the stale crust while stuffing themselves on it anyways. It was supposed to be nothing more than a favor. A key back into the cafe, out of the cold. A conversation and some hot chocolate. A few kisses here and there and a night to remember, but nothing more.It was an accident, really. A mere happen chance, and nothing more. But Lexa fell hard, and Clarke fell with her, and a year later, the Santa statue was there in all its glory, when Lexa proposed in the snow on the patio.

[calummwhatchasay]

MistleNO (M.C.)

ft. me starting this before Thanksgiving and not finishing it until now

-----

“Come on Y/N! It’ll be fun!” Luke has been lying on your bed, begging you to come to some Christmas party for the past twenty minutes and he doesn’t appear to be giving up anytime soon.

“Luke. Thanksgiving wasn’t even a full week ago.”

“Exactly! So it’s time for Christmas now!”

“No! I mean, Jesus.”

“Yes! Jesus and Mary and Joseph! Because it’s Christmastime! Come on, we’re going.”

“You can’t make me.”

“I can fucking try.” He proceeds to grab your arm and literally drag you towards the door.

“Stop!” You’re a little irritated, but it doesn’t really show through the amusement. “Fine! I’ll go to your dumb party. Just, let me change.”

“Yes! You are so not going to regret this!” You just sigh, changing into a red dress.

-

And for the first half an hour, you don’t. The eggnog is spiked, Christmas pop (which apparently is a thing?) floats through the air and two different people have already complimented you on your outfit.

But at about the thirty minute mark, everything changes and the soft Christmas glow that had been emanating from the party suddenly feels a lot harsher and less inviting. You were heading out of the kitchen to find Luke when someone ran smack into you, spilling their drink all over your dress. You take a half-step back and look down to see how much damage has been done to your outfit.

“Dude, what the f-” Then you look up at the person who’s run into you. “Clifford? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was invited same as you, Y/L/N.”

“Get the fuck out of my face.” You snarl.

“Calm down, no need to be a bitch. I guess that is your natural state of being though, regardless of yuletide cheer.” He smirks.

“Alright, well, you can fuck off.”

“Y/N!” Luke comes stumbling towards the door. “Oh.” He glances up, his face splitting into a grin. “I didn’t realize you were... occupied.”

“Wha-” You look up to see a green plant hanging from the door frame. “Wow, this just keeps getting better and better!”

Michael glances up and snorts. “Well I guess you’ve got to kiss me.”

“In your dreams, Clifford.”

“Aw, come on. You know you want to.”

“I really don’t.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, c’mon babe.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, leaning in so close you could count the hairs of his beard if you wanted.

“Don’t call me that, and don’t touch me.” You push his hand off of your shoulder and shove past him, towards Luke.

“Jeez, Y/N. Rough day much?” Luke asks.

“Shut up. I told you I didn’t want to come to this party and now it’s time to leave.”

“Okay, let’s cool down a little.” You turn on your heel, causing Luke to nearly run into you from where he had been trailing behind you.

“Do not tell me to cool down right now Luke Robert! I have a right to be angry and I am not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“Okay!” He holds up his hands in surrender. “But we are talking about this.”

Your mouth opens to protest, but he’s already pulling you to the patio.

“It’s freezing out here,” you grumble as soon as he closes the sliding glass door.

“Yea, well it’s November.”

“I want you to know I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Luke huffs, running a hand through his hair, “You hate Michael and I don’t understand why. Like, he’s pretty nice, he’s not like aggressive or anything and relatively unproblematic. So like, what’s your issue with him. I mean I’m friends with both of you and you seem like you would be compatible? Except for the part where you despise him. But like, aside from that.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It obviously is. You can’t hold a civil conversation with him. I mean, how did I miss this tea?”

“It’s from before you knew me.”

“We met it in Year 10?” You raise your eyebrows at him, asking ‘So what?’

“This is from before Year 10? Nothing important happens before Year 10! What, did he spill your chocolate milk at lunch one day in Kindergarten?”

“Shut up! It was a big deal.”

“You are so petulant!” You look him in the eye and grit your teeth.

“You. Weren’t. There. You don’t get a say in what is and isn’t important to me, especially when you don’t even know what you’re talking about!” You turn away from him, preparing to storm to the car before he grabs your wrist. For the, what, third time tonight?

“Y/N! You’re being unreasonable.”

“Let go of me. I am done with this party, I am done with your shit, and for the love of all things good in the world, I am done with Michael Gordon Clifford.”

“Gordon, huh?” He asks.

“You’re insufferable! I’m leaving.”

“Well,” He shrugs, “I drove you here and I’m staying.”

“Fine, I’ll just-”

“Good luck getting an Uber at this time of night in a residential area outside city limits.”

“Well I guess I’ll have to wait right here until your drunk, idiot self decides to leave this dumb Christmas party in fucking November.”

“If you’re not frozen solid by then. Come on. Come back to the party.”

“Luke, I just want to leave. I never wanted to come in the first place. Please.”

“C’mon...” He drags the word out, pouting a little, “I’ll keep Michael as far away from you as possible.”

“Fine, but if I so much as smell him-”

“You know what he smells like?” says Luke, as usual focusing on only the most crucial details.

“It’s an expression.”

“Pretty sure it isn’t.” Luke slides the door open, “What cologne does he use?”

“Honestly, fuck off.” You walk through the door he’s holding open anyway.

-

Naturally, because he’s Luke and because he’s the worst, in ten minutes flat, you’re sitting alone in the corner of a room somewhere in the back of the house. You don’t mind as much as you thought you would. You’ve got a cup of something in your hand, which is probably helping to take the edge off. The room isn’t very big, or very bright, and there are barely any people in it. You haven’t been able to discern a purpose for its existence. There’s a television on the wall and some beanbags on the floor, but not much else.

It’s all fine though, really. Sometimes Luke will pop his head in to see if you’re doing alright and you really, really are. Until the one and only Michael fucking Clifford stumbles into your room.

“Y/N!” He’s kind of giggling, drunker than he was before. He says your name way louder than he needs to, considering the low volume that everyone in the room is muttering at.

You just sort of sigh into your cup before looking up and trying to offer Michael some semblance of a smile, though it feels more like a grimace, “Hi, Michael.”

“Hi Y/N!” He’s still standing in the door, and although you have no particular desire to beckon him over, you don’t want him standing in the doorway drawing literally everyone in the room’s attention to your conversation.

You grit your teeth. “Come over here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, uh, bother you.” His eyebrows knit together.

“Yea,” you sigh, waving him over, “Yea, it’s fine.”

“Okay!” He smiles goofily. He walk/stumble/skips over to where you’re sitting.

And you don’t want him to share your beanbag, really, you don’t, but he looks awkward standing there, and every other beanbag in the room is taken. He could sit on the floor. But then that would be weird! That would be weird, right? Because like, you would be at a slightly higher level than him, and he would be sitting on the floor which is just awkward anyway and before you can really stop yourself- “Do you want to sit down?”

“Yea! Yea, good idea.” And he’s going to sit on the floor, and you should let him, but dammnit what have you been drinking because-

“If you want, you can share my beanbag.”

“Y/N...” He’s staring at his hands and playing with his fingers.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t be here, I don’t want to get in the way or- or be annoying, I’ll-” and he’s gesturing over his shoulder back towards the door, and for the sake of your sanity, of your pride, you should let him go you should tell him to leave, but you don’t. You’re not even surprised this time.

“No, it’s fine. You’re fine.”

“You said not to touch you.” The words kind of fall out of his mouth, like he hadn’t meant to say them. “I’m not gonna share your beanbag because you said not to touch you.”

“What? I- When did I say- ?”

“Earlier. You seemed pretty upset.” And you’re honestly shocked he had paid that much attention to what you were saying. You weren’t even paying attention to what you were saying.

“Just sit down. It’s okay. I don’t bite, promise.”

“Okay.” He still looks nervous. You feel sort of bad. You never meant to hurt his feelings. To be honest, it never occurred to you he had them.

“I’m, er, sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to, like-”

“No, don’t apologize, Y/N. I shouldn’t have insulted you. Or come on to you. I just- I was just, I don’t know?”

“It’s okay Michael.” You find a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. He’s just being so sweet? And he seems rather genuine? You’ve never seen anything like this from him before. “I was rude, too. I mean, the swearing. The shoving. General verbal abuse.”

“Um. I don’t think I’ve ever said it before and now seems like a good time: I’m sorry for third grade. I was a jerk. And it took 10 years, spiked eggnog and direct confrontation to get my head out of my ass.”

“Michael, it’s fine. It’s my fault anyway I held a grudge about you pushing me on the playground for a literal decade and based almost everything I knew about you on that one incident. So I’m sorry too. For being an asswipe.” He kind of hums in response.

“Water under the bridge?” You nod, smiling.

“I’ll drink to that.” You tap your cups together in what would’ve made a nice clinking sound if you were drinking out of actual glasses instead of shitty red solo cups.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes, basking in Christmas music and your newfound... friendship? companionship? acquaintanceship? before Michael interrupts your thoughts. “Hey Y/N?”

“Hey Michael.”

“Say we’d had this conversation two hours ago, before we ran into each other in that doorway. Would you have kissed me?”

“Nah.”

“Oh.” He looks a little startled, disappointed even. Emotions are a lot easier to read on an inebriated face than a sober one. “I was just asking, like, I’m not-”

“See, I’ve got this thing about mistletoe," you interrupt, "I don’t like it conceptually, because you’re kissing the person out of a sort of social pressure and the actual emotional purpose of the kiss is lost.”

“I think I’m tracking?”

“Basically, mistletoe kisses are bullshit, and I don’t like them.”

“Okay.” You watch him process the information for a moment before continuing, “So, say we weren’t under mistletoe. Say we were both a little drunk, sitting on a beanbag in some tucked-away room at a Christmas party in November. What then?”

“Well, in that case...” And you lean in and kiss him. It’s slow, and sweet and something you never thought you would do. It’s funny how you spent ten years thinking you hated Michael Clifford but all it took was ten minutes for you to realize maybe you liked him after all.

MASTERLIST

[vivaciousyellow]

v: merry christmas LOL, personal ramblings, nanette, barakamon

honestly this is just beyond embarrassing at this point but here we go

dear ying,

what do you say to someone whose brother is dying? what do you say when that person is your mother?

in my case, the short answer is… you say nothing.

that sounds so shitty right? and really i’m not sure if i’m trying to justify it to myself by writing it out in this here post but i guess we’ll see where it takes us -- and at some point i’ll write about nanette, which will be the biggest cop-out book club blog post because the only thing i read for that was the subtitles. might also do a bonus cop-out and write about barakamon vol 15 because apparently the only thing i can bring myself to read is manga and even then that was a struggle. i will add a mark when i change topics LOL this will be long :/

so i wrote the first few lines of this post well over two months ago and i’ve been coming back to try and add to it multiple times since then, but each time i just don’t know what to say. i had updates i could use as milestones - my uncle had surgery but they said they couldn’t guarantee they got rid of all the cancer; the cancer metastasizing, leading also to an interesting intergenerational debate in the family about trying chinese medicine (my parents’ generation was all for it, esp since the american doctors basically said there’s nothing else that can be done, but my uncle’s sons - who are in their mid/late 30s and have been in america since high school - sided with the american doctors and were against trying the herbal pills). early last month my two aunts flew in from the east coast and that really shifted something in my understanding of the situation - things felt more real all of a sudden, like they came to say goodbye. things looked real bad on thanksgiving - we spent half the day outside of the ICU after an urgent call from the doctors.

now it’s christmas eve and we visited him yesterday - the cancer is everywhere, the doctors have given up on treatment, and now it’s kinda just maintaining comfort until the end. given all of that, he’s doing okay. but what i’ve been wanting to process and write about is my mom’s role in all of this and also the capacities of grief and empathy.

i think my mom is an amazing person - she took the news hard and i wasn’t there for it. since then she’s become one of the pillars of support for my uncle’s family and taking on the communication “””burden””” of relaying information to the rest of the family. she’s done so much and appears so strong yet sometimes i just want her to cry, dammit. keeping it together and putting on a brave face is fucking difficult difficult lemony difficult and i’d love for her to not have to bottle it up.

the night of burlesque my sister told me how much our mom cried, and when i asked if i should come home she said no - that mom would feel guilty that i’m away from school and not able to focus on my work. and this goes back to what i said earlier - the way i said nothing. and i’ve shown love and support in other ways: massages, more hugs and affection and asking how uncle’s doing, helping her cook the meals she brings to him, being her brain when things are hectic (making sure we bring things like water and snacks and chargers as we hurriedly pack for the hospital on thanksgiving), but i haven’t been brave enough to simply ask ‘are you okay? how are you feeling today? what else can i do for you?’

and as a psychology major and someone who wants to go into minority mental health, isn’t this what i should be doing? how can i think of being a clinician if i can’t practice what i preach?

but another thing that has been on my mind since thanksgiving is grief and empathy. who is allowed to grieve, at what times, and at what point do others stop empathizing with that sadness and instead become annoyed?

when we were driving to the hospital on thanksgiving, my mom was on the phone with my aunt (the uncle’s wife) who was in tears. she continued to cry as we arrived and would continue to sob heavily for the next hour, then on and off for another couple hours. and that’s understandable, right? your husband seems to be on his deathbed. however, her sobs were quite loud and she hovered and it quickly got crowded in the hospital room with all of the hospital staff, her son and his wife, and more and more relatives coming. the nurses let some of us go to an office and my aunt was led there to be comforted by the nurses, my mom, her daughter in law, and my sister and i.

as the cries continued, some of the things my mom and other aunts said were - don’t cry don’t cry, it makes it harder on him if he hears you crying, it’ll disturb him, etc. though one of my other aunts made the remark (outside of my crying aunt’s earshot) that her sobbing was disruptive and perhaps over the top. and i won’t lie, it really was loud and echoed throughout the hospital halls, so i will shittily admit that i was also kind of self-conscious of the volume. as the hour went on, i felt the agitation of the other family members rise, and it was fueled when my aunt started saying other things (how my uncle has always been so strong and a good person, why did he deserve this, how she’s a worse person why can’t she die instead, how she wishes she would die right now). and that, as you may know, is a huge superstitious no-no.

it’s not the first time she’s expressed suicidal ideations (another huge huge concern) either, and she has apparently also mentioned this in the presence of my uncle. something along the lines of her burden and also how he has been verbally abusive towards her for years. and that’s certainly a beast of an issue already, but for my mom and the relatives, these instances were about not letting my uncle hear because then he will feel like he’s being a burden, etc.

and it’s tough i guess, trying to navigate a space of empathy for someone in rightful distress, of trying to soothe the ill and keep them as at ease as possible, of prioritizing the very limited emotional bandwidth of everyone present. it’s definitely complex and layered and probably no easy or right answer, but it’s been weighing pretty heavily on my mind since then.

ANYWAY i wrote this out not expecting you to have read it all (but thank you regardless of if you did or didn’t) and certainly not expecting you to respond. it was nice to flesh out some of the stuff that’s been happening and to start shaping words out of whatever has been clustering in my mind these past several months. i think i’ve only really told a couple people about my uncle so writing has been helpful. thanks ying for this platform, even if i’m not exactly using it as intended

actually this reminds me - my uncle’s son is named ying. i mean i knew this as soon as i met you, but writing it out in this context feels strange and almost eerie

OKAY MOVING ON TO AN ATTEMPT AT A REVIEW

alright so you suggested i write a review of nanette because i am apparently not capable of reading a book - but really really hoping i can get to it soon. i loved nanette - at the beginning i was kind of like ah okay she’s funny, though i wouldn’t have said she stood out that much, aside from her jokes being more about being gay. but as she went on and got into depth about the process of writing jokes - how to control the room, what is required, what needs to be left out - as well as her own thoughts on staying in the business, i started to see why you and rachel thought it was so good.

hannah talked about how she has been concerned about whether her audience has been laughing with her jokes (and by extension experiences of the lgbt+ community) or at them. and that was a concern i remember dave chapelle saying he struggled with and that was why he left the business for so long. i’m hopeful though because the crowd seemed really supportive of her branching outside of solely comedy within the show - and i think it was beautifully illustrated at the end when (spoiler!!) the overprotective boyfriend of the girl she flirted with realized that hannah was indeed a woman and really did beat her up. her explanation of why the rules of standup require she leave that part out, why she is tired of telling incomplete stories, and why she wants things to change was really amazing and thought provoking. def looking forward to more from her soon!

as for barakamon vol 15 LOL i actually haven’t finished that yet but i did read something so! lmao yo the man is 23 and UMM the anime came out in 2014 aka i was like 19 years old it was freshman year at nu. and now here i am, ALSO 23. back then that felt like ages away like haha handa yeah get ur shit together you’re kinda young sure but ur 23 that’s an adult adult. and now here we are lmao i feel u handa take all the time u need go ahead and raise ur lil island children

and that concludes my three-month overdue post. i really did nothing i was supposed to and i’m so sorry i haven’t been respectful of your time and what we had set to be a fun joint goal. i love you so much thank you for your infinite kindness and patience. merry christmas and i can’t wait to see you this week!! <3 love u babehh

love,

victoria

[jonathanleesink]

Lighted Gratitude

Originally posted on November 23, 2016

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. My plan is to write about the holiday and to tell you all that I am thankful for, but first I want to share some final thoughts about what happened after my last post. So…this will be a two part blog post for your Thanksgiving reading enjoyment.

Part 1: Be the Light

What an intense couple of weeks it has been for our country. If you missed it, I wrote down my initial ‘gut-reaction’ the day after the election. After I had the chance to get my thoughts down, I took a step back. I decided what was best for me, and my mental state, was a much needed timeout from the media. This timeout included an absence from the time-suckand emotion-aggravator we all call Facebook. My hiatus from these channels was a week long. I cut myself off from Facebook (I even deleted the app off my phone), no news channels or websites, and no NPR on the radio. At first it felt strange, but after a day or two I found I had a lot more time on my hands. I played a lot of guitar, watched some good stuff on Netflix, and enjoyed my family. I also had time to reflect on myself; including my dreams, my actions, my personal goals, and how I choose to present myself to the world (including in person, this blog, my social accounts, etc.)

When I decided to join the Facebook world again, I quickly learned that not a lot had changed. People are still talking about politics, and people are still complaining about people talking about politics….is there really a difference between the two?  It is okay (and encouraged) to have thoughts, values, and opinions on the very important social issues our world faces. As I told a friend while on my hiatus, if you feel the need or desire to voice yourself publicly on social media, do it with conviction and positivity. Lead by example, and believe it or not, when you do that…people will notice. The world is dark right now, but it doesn’t have to be. If we choose to be the light, it will help others see through the darkness. Be the light.

Part 2: Thankful

It’s that time of the year where we as a society gather our families together to eat insane amounts of food, watch football, take naps, and catch up with relatives we don’t see very often. In the past, I would have added ‘drink beer’ in my list of Thanksgiving to-dos…but not this year. This will be my first Thanksgiving under my new alcohol-free lifestyle. I have had a lot of firsts since March of this year. I have gone on family vacations, weekends at the lake, lots of post-bike race comradery, a wedding anniversary, a 40th birthday, several holidays, and countless social gatherings…all with no beer, no alcohol. I’ve said this before, and I don’t want to repeat myself too much, but as time goes on…it gets easier. One of my most enjoyable times of the year for drinking beer had been the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Some of my favorite seasonal brews were released at this time, everyone seemed a bit more joyful and willing to have a cold one, and it was a nice excuse to drink way too much. But this year, I am actually looking forward to drinking my sparkling water tomorrow and enjoying my family without the beer buzz I’ve had in many years past.

Another first I will be experiencing this year is having Thanksgiving dinner as a vegetarian. That’s an oxymoron, right? A few weeks ago this realization popped into my head, and I quickly started making an inventory of what I could and couldn’t eat. My wife very graciously has made some accommodations for me, and even offered to get me a tofu turkey. While I do enjoy tofu and some meat substitutes, I decided to pass on the tofu turkey. Similar to the lack of beer I’ll have tomorrow, I honestly don’t think I’ll miss the traditional food that most of us have grown accustomed to. This year I have made a lifestyle change on what I decide to put in my body. I have not had alcohol or meat in 259 days, so I’m comfortable knowing that I can get through a Thanksgiving holiday without them either. It’s just another day. Day 260.

Aside from what we, as Americans, consume on Thanksgiving Day; the holiday is to be an expression of gratitude and thanks. I have a lot to be thankful for this year. I have heard a lot of people say that 2016 was a pretty shitty year because of significant celebrity deaths, a divisive election cycle, terror attacks, Brexit, Zika, etc. Maybe 2016 wasn’t so great for us, but we can only control what we have the ability to control…and for me, that’s myself. So, why should I be thankful? Well, as I already stated above and I tell you every couple weeks, I am thankful for my sobriety. It has opened my eyes, my mind, and my heart. The clarity of my path gets clearer every day.

I am thankful for anyone who is reading this now, or has read my blog in the past. Creating this blog was one of the most terrifying and courageous things I have ever done. I am grateful for everyone who has showed me support, and all who accepted me in my most vulnerable state with my flaws and weaknesses exposed. This blog has truly changed my life. Thank you.

I am thankful for my amazing family. As much as I tell you how wonderful sobriety is, there are still difficult times. I drank to mask anxiety. The drinks are gone, but the anxiety is still there. My family is there day in and day out, and they get to experience my good days and the not-so-good days. I appreciate them more than anyone knows. They are my rock, and the loves of my life.

I am thankful that I live in the United States of America. Sure, we’ve got our problems. We also have access to education, freedom, clean water, opportunity, and healthcare…among many other things that are often taken for granted. There are so many people of this world that live in dire conditions. Due to many obstacles, they have a very small chance for those conditions to improve. This results in an endless cycle that is passed on from generation to generation. Yeah, I have it pretty good.  

I am thankful I get to work for a fantastic charitable organization that helps to alleviate some of the problems I noted in the previous paragraph for children around the globe. I am thankful for the two small organizations I’ve founded. One, has accomplished so many charitable acts of kindness, and is gearing up to do some more. And my second endeavor is just getting started, and I am excited to see where I can take it.

I am thankful for a lot more, but these are the things that mean the most to me. With every Thanksgiving that comes and goes, it is always followed by a chaotic Black Friday shopping day…then there is Small-Business Saturday and Cyber-Monday. One of the days that doesn’t get the attention it deserves is Giving Tuesday. This is a global day of giving fueled by the power of social media and collaboration. Let’s use our social accounts for some positive good next Tuesday. I encourage you to make a donation to your favorite charity, and ask your network of people to do the same.  You don’t even have to donate money if that’s not doable. You could go volunteer somewhere, donate blood, or donate clothes, hygiene products, or household items. We all have the power to make a difference. It doesn’t matter what you do, just do something. It feels fantastic, and I promise you that.

Enjoy your holiday weekend, and enjoy each other.

Oh, and one more thing. I am very thankful for the new A Tribe Called Quest album.

[arielkrupnik]

pur-girl-tory

I came from a world of things i loved to be disappointed here.

So far in my stay, Ive unenjoyed the bimbo-limbo of women, Ive unenjoyed the limbo of entertaining poetry, Ive unenjoyed the company of many, Ive unenjoyed lingering and risking on deletion oblivion, Ive unenjoyed the bad comments this will probably palm-nail me with, Ive unenjoyed the crucifixation people have had with me, Ive unenjoyed not being able to write this on their faces instead of here, for this needs to be contained everywhere. Its already written all over your faces, and Ive unenjoyed looking into them.

I feel how Mickey Rourke’s face looks now. I feel guilty for those who sport a smile, recite an inside joke, upload a photo, insert a quirk, write their writings, miss their borefriend, expect to be loved, don a crisis make over, chastise for power, critic to death, name a hypocrite, expect an email, expect a text, expect jealousy, con’knives in the back, adoration, paychecks, sex, loyalty, and respect for being cold. But yet, and better yet, they have no soul. Drama mia! They have a lot of room, minus a soul.

Ladies with gentlemen, pedestal your gentlemen while you can. Better still, marry your man! Don’t leave a man like me questioning the genuosity of your love. You can be ignorant now to bliss I gave you beforehand. Its easy to rid the ones who love you, in favor for lucifers human flesh and his kind words. But thats not the way to get into heaven. He’s a wanna-be macho cheese, taco supreme, muchacho!. At least, my flesh is all natural. In the land of Ariel Krupnik, it keeps me from ever warming up to the idea it'll be unenjoyed.

We all shit out the same asshole for the same fate. Enjoy your version of love while supplies last. Rub shit in my face, and make me wonder

what gosh! It must feel like to be the most important someone in your life. Love is for those that dont want to be found; to leave loyalty behind. Since when did love become an excuse to get rid of me?. I cant just say fuck them - my heart is too big to fit through that door. It seems as though every girl i know in love - really know how to fail under the radar, dontcha unsweethearts?. Might as well start unacknowledging our history, and start heading back on your kind

words.

Your lucky you got away. I have to work everyday. No one has compassion, soul, heart, empathy, love angel music, baby. I feel like Im the only one trying. I feel like the only one whose gotten neurotic for it, and any girl to complain along with me, will agree, then retreat back to their borefriend, and lie life. If you can retreat to love after reading this, your say in the matter is no go. Take your comments with you to farcity blues.

I don’t expect any miracles for being this conduit of expressing things we're scared to say. Thats how the right poem gets made. Thats how the real person does reality, minus a love, added by soul. Bless me for me! and who are you suppose to be?. And what for?!.

I don’t have the same nature as a lot of you do. I have this unbelievability factor hunting down on me, for until my dying days. You see poetry has found me, sister dear, brother dear. And Ive stuck its language all around me;

every corner in my mouth. I sacrificed the english language and those who speak it, to speak le dangerous!. Lets hear you say this.

My life is the secret told, the full-fledged victory for not having someone to share this with. He is sad to hear, naive, he is mad-mindedly beautiful in his telling of the story. He does justice to decency by speaking these. Oh but Im speaking way ahead of myself, its the rest of the world that has catching up to do. This writing here today is indeed born of its rightful melancholy, and the one you might be missing out on. Im sure theres a great writer even now whose convinced you great writing exists otherwise. They are writing my work. They are using my skills to get to you, to get you too. Poor little fellows, who were born dicks - and legs and arms, and torso and heads grew from it!

No I haven’t enjoyed my stay, the rooms been full but the company has been empty. I don’t feel right not reaching enough soul. I don’t think someone willing to be a minor messiah for your everything should be shunned, no matter what he wears, or how he cuts his hair. Do you honestly feel okay not being happy to happiness' full-pull potential?. You are the ones in shock, over awe, over oh no, over his courtly love

staring out in the open dawn. You are the ones that want to disappear among rooms, clubs, dorms, bars, upstates, drugstores, house parties, homes, vacations, classes, jobs, and dates, and dirty laundry. All to get further ahead in life, pushing me aside.

What are you guilty of at the moment? Im sure your ignoring someone for a stupid reason, and I am not ever. I can be bought for free. Im talking bout me - the incredible friend of yours incredibly unacknowledged. If theres anything I can die and leave you with, it would be to please not fall into the cliche of these self-righteous, below the ground-nosers, who think too high and mighty of themselves to hang with anyone the least bit disingenuous. If you cant accept everyone and their faults, unwelcome yourself to society.

I don’t feel so comfortable waiting so long to see people again. The idea of pretend-friends hasn’t always been a favorite of mine. ‘ We should hang out', fake,

every word is for false people. Someone has to be somewhat decent. Thank god for me, i guess. Im the only last will and living testament of those who don’t break the rules. Im too cool to be outside of school. I shit upon all who believe they cant compensate for being bad. People who attend halloween parties, thanksgiving dinners, christmas dinners and new years parties, claiming around, being good to their relatives, just so they can be bad in reality. Thank god for me being real my whole life. I haven’t been faking it.

I don’t expect miracles with anyone. I don’t expect anything - no one has any real heart to put up a fight. No one wants to find out why I consider myself talented.

Im so disappointed we cant get past stupid little individual problems we make, just to avoid the truth. We have improvised anything that might be evil, to steer clear of me. Goodbye proper imagination, hello fake fuck-face smiles.

Its nice to see you again in everyone. May you shatter all your mirrors and preconceptions one day. One can only hope.

Oh what me worry, I'll die for any spot in heaven,

I can always fulfill that expectation. I'll be the first and last to understand what Ive written here. First and last, and anywhere Im hoping the in-betweeners wont make the end so hard if they've been following me this whole time. No one I know is someone to have gotten to know all of me. If they were looking for redemption out of something bad i did, I hope they find that here. I hope I was more than just myself today, and something unseen carried over. I hope that makes her, whoever she is now, that much more intrigued on my mystery. And I hope that she whoever, forgives me my daily dread. Forgiveness is important to me, not yourselves.

I wish you all the best in stopping yourselves from me getting to know you. I wish upon a dark star.

I hope on that star, I wasn’t your friend, but thee friend, afterall. In the end, Im friends with your heart, not yourselves. And you can tell your others; significant others and friends, an angel says fuck them for not reading this. Fuck you if you don’t get it, and fuck us if you never will. And fuck you all with love,

Ariel.