#joey death tw

[elderberries-and-honey]

Welcome to The Slayers Curse 🦇🩸🗡️

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Transcript Below The Cut

Unnamed Vampire: Tell me where the girl is! Unnamed Victim: [gasping] N-never! Unnamed Vampire: This is your last chance, slayer! Tell me where she is or say goodbye to your foolish mortal world Unnamed Victim: [whimpering] Unnamed Vampire: [giggling] Oh, they do taste so delicious when they have hope

Dru: [breathing heavily] Joey: [whispering] Hey, you alright? Did you have another one of your nightmares? Dru: [breathless] Yeah...same one as always Joey: Do you want to talk about it? Dru: There's nothing to tell, I suppose I just wish I knew what it meant Joey: Sometimes, dreams are just dreams, Dru Come here...you're alright. You're here safe with me

[katkalis-the-fanartist]

Board of animals I love and also like to look at...👁👁

[joey-the-boy]

i love writing screenplays and stage plays but I could never write anything that goes public without being the director and producer also. it's hubris and it's wrong but I can't bear to watch someone mutilate the expression of my art. henry hidgens was so right for killing everyone who interfered with his artistic vision with an axe. he's so me.

[conicalcrowd]

We've been living on a fault line... And for awhile, you were all mine...

[skaianetsystemsincorporated]

I'm devastated to hear about the passing of Matthew Perry. Friends has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, so I wanted to throw out a little tribute 💔💔

[fishymom-art]

Metal and Ink Extra Finale Part 2

Part 1 - https://www.tumblr.com/fishymom-art/723476611223240704/metal-and-ink-extra-finale-part-1?source=share

Part 3 - https://www.tumblr.com/fishymom-art/723476677124046848/metal-and-ink-extra-finale-part-3?source=share

SOUNDTRACK

THE TRIGGER WARNINGS FROM THE FIRST PART STILL APPLY

[insane-control-room]

rinse and repeat

His job was a grisly one- find the works of the avatars, document them, and then undo them. Then prevent them. Most of the avatars did not like him constantly 'destroying' their work. Most. Not all of them.

rated: T warnings: described death. AU: TMA Length: 1,500 words (short-medium) notes: i don't know much about TMA, but im having a fun time with friends talking about aus so :3

gift fic for @halfusek ft. magenda (as i unaffectionately call this one)

ao3 link here

The pervasive smell in the room clued him off before anything else. It was the sense of dread worsening that immediately followed, an apprehension that made his stomach knot. A flashlight was beaming towards his feet, red slick appearing at the edges of the fallen beam.

Johan did not want to turn on the light, though he could see the words superimposed on the wall above the small switch, a demand rather than a thought. Steeling himself, he flicked it on, filling the room with an unsteady, buzzing light. 

Immediately, regret- no, not regret, some other sad emotion- filled him. 

The filing room had a desk with three chairs in the center- or usually situated in the center, as they had been moved aside for a ladder that now took stage center left. A few papers were scattered about, ruffling Johan mildly. However, his job was not a pleasant one, and sometimes included observing mis-managed paperwork, and… other, worse things. Such as the corpse - his true purpose for entering the room. He noted the body, at true stage center, was perhaps two or three hours old. 

It was a gruesome death. 

Suffocation, electrocution, and decapitation all played their roles. 

It was hard to tell which had killed him, though Johan snapped on a pair of gloves, and set himself to documenting the gritty scene. 

A ladder. 

A box of tools. 

Electrician’s gear taken out. 

It seemed like Bert- the man had taken upon himself to fix a faulty wire. Johan followed the trail to the circuit board and fuse box, and broke past the paneling to see the back of the fuses. 

A group of four were miswired. The dead man had turned off the wrong one, without even knowing it. 

It made Johan frown and sigh. How pointless. 

He returned to the ladder, climbing upwards. Several wires were already dangling loosely, and Johan narrowed his eyes as he attempted to determine the sequence of events.

One of the wires hummed quietly.

Johan traced its path, noting the bloodied loop at one ridge. That would be the decapitation, potentially if the man had fallen forward. Pulling out a tape measure, he checked the likely trajectory. Unfortunately, it lined up. Which meant that indeed, the decapitation had happened last. 

A pity. 

It would have been the fastest death. 

Johan nudged the ladder. It was sturdy. He looked along the wire, along the corpse. 

The bruising by the neck was no longer severe, as it all had been, well, cut, but from what he could see, there had been significant pressure upon it. If Johan were to piece together the order of events (which was exactly what he was doing at the moment), he would have said as follows.

Bertrum turned off the fuse box, unaware that what he was turning off had nothing to do with the task he had taken upon himself. As the light switch was off, and the flashlight lay dimming, Johan decided that the man had not bothered to check the lights when he entered the room, setting down supplies. Had he paused to ensure that the fuse was off, he may have survived. 

Doubtful.

Some other unfortunate happenstance would have occurred, perhaps more grisly than this. 

Regardless. Continuing reconstruction. 

Bertrum had then climbed up the ladder, and began working on rewiring the faulty electrical system. A significant burn on his hand, searing through to his flesh, explained the rest. While he was removing the old wire, he had gotten entangled, and as he had tried to pull it off, his hand brushed an unexposed part of the live wire. Then, with his body stiffening to the current, he must have lost his balance.

Severing his throat on the wire. 

Johan was meticulous in his documentation. If he was not, he may miss something in the next run that would result in another failure. Or he might get himself… quite hurt. Usually the latter always left him snapping awake in his threadbare bed, gasping for breath and with a dull painful sensation in his chest, ready to try again. However, that was an outcome he tried to avoid. 

Speaking of things that one tried to avoid….

Johan heard him before he saw him, the slightly off rhythm gait giving him away. Glancing around the room with a sigh, he acknowledged that:

Magenta had some connection to the death;

OR

Magenta was drawn towards it, like a fly to rotting flesh.

It may have been both. 

He said nothing as the other lanky man entered the room, smiling. 

Magenta surveyed the scene calmly, suppressing a shiver of delight. He said nothing to Johan, who was marking which of the wires were live. Johan rolled his eyes, and went back to examining the bad wire to determine where its true source really was to make sure that when he corrected this misconstrued blip, he did it properly - once. Magenta watched him work with a smile blandly painted over his face.

Eventually, Johan pulled out a chair, on the opposite side of the table from the corpse, and sat in it heavily, another sigh fighting to escape him. Magenta watched keenly, though his eyes were half open. Johan moved back a second chair, silently expectant, and Magenta sat in it. 

“This one is fun, isn't it?” Magenta commented lightly, a smile still on his face. Johan shrugged glumly, staring at the paperwork before him instead of the body just beyond the desk. Unique, certainly; saddening, yes. Not quite so ‘fun’ for him, especially when one considered what his job entailed.  “Don’t look so down, Jo!”

“Kinda hard not to when there’s a dead body in f-front of me,” Johan retorted, brow furrowing and mouth twitching downwards. Magenta shrugged, smiling still. “And when it’s so….”

“Purposeful?” Magenta questioned, teeth glinting in his smile. Johan stared at him, not enjoying the shudder of upset that he tried to hide. Magenta noticed it anyway. “Well, maybe that’s not the right word. Artistic might be a better one.” 

“Right,” Johan mumbled. It surely was an artistic death. “Maybe the creator might have done well to warn me. Content warnings or w-whatever.” 

Here Magenta frowned. 

Johan looked away, abashed. 

“S-sorry. That was unkind of me. I’m on edge.” 

“Sure,” Magenta rolled his eyes, leaning back. Johan stood, picking up the clipboard, making some final measurements and documentations. “Don’t forget the dead fuse.”

Johan tilted his head as he looked at him. Magenta raised an eyebrow, a silent dare to check him. Johan saw no need to do so- as he would be able to check when he would do his… ‘cleanup’. Not to mention, despite the man’s goals, Johan trusted Magenta. Which may have been the fault of memories not his own.

The older man matched the tilt of his head, humorous.

“What?” he asked, a slight grin at the edges of his mouth. Johan’s lips parted to say something, and then closed. Magenta’s smile broadened cheekily, eyes flashing. “Oh, dear. Be more careful, Jo! We wouldn’t want…” Magenta glanced at Bertrum’s mutilated, burned corpse, fighting his smile from growing wider. “An accident.” 

“Why d-did you tell me about it?” Johan asked, faced with a troubled emotion that he locked up and decided that he would not think about or confront. Magenta’s smile remained unchanging. “Mag….”

The other man stood up, still evenly looking at Johan.

“You’re smart, Jo,” the avatar of The End chided, tapping the end of Johan’s nose. “Think about it.”

“The resetting, I kn-know,” Johan replied, pursing his lips. He knew why Magenta was much more tranquil and compliant around him than the other essences of fears, who generally disliked watching Johan undo their work time after time. Not Magenta, though. Magenta was quite happy with the fact that he was able to expand on his medium repeatedly thanks to Johan’s role. “But why warn me a-about the fuse not working? You know what h-happens to me if… an ‘accident’ does occur.” 

Magenta shrugged, smile still on his face. 

“Thought it might make your day a bit better,” Magenta brightly replied. Johan looked away, face warming. “I’m sure that whatever weird process renews you is no party.” 

“It’s… it’s definitely not, no,” Johan agreed, feeling pain creeping along his spine. He exhaled, softening, managing a small smile on his stressed visage. “So… I thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Jo,” Magenta’s own relaxed smile was dazzling, toothy and bright; yet sharklike. It made a trickle of fluster bloom in Johan’s chest, worsened by his next words. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a nicer way to thank me, don’t you think?” 

Johan did not reply, looking away, face heating considerably. Magenta laughed a little, a chuckle, and Johan’s blushing intensified. A hand brushed his cheek as Magenta sauntered out of the room. 

Johan watched him leave, words he could not describe resting on his tongue, unsure if he should go after the man, properly ‘thank’ him.

Instead, Johan checked his paperwork, inhaled, and reset.

[owlclawstudios]

"Oh no!"

meme

susie campbell

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Olivia Quintero has seen a lot of dead people. 

She never got a chance to see her mother’s body. As soon as they heard what had happened, Joey had bundled them all into the car and they’d run as fast and as far as possible before someone decided they were a loose end.

But she’s seen a lot of them since.

People died in the transient camps all the time, for one reason or another. Age, illness, violent fights, overdoses. She’d been the first to find two of them. It hadn’t really scared her, not like it scared some of the other kids.

She was pretty sure one day, it would be her. When the seizures kept getting worse, and the doctor in the camp kept turning up only half-sober, with shaking hands he couldn’t even be bothered to wash properly and coughing at the end of every sentence. 

But even after they got across the border, got Via into a good hospital, it hadn’t meant the end of death following her. She’d seen patients wheeled out of the building with white cloth over them. She’d watched the girl in the bed next to her in the pediatric ward lose her own battle with her failing body. 

And now, she’s looking at her own sister’s lifeless face in a coffin in a dingy cemetery. Her black dress itches her neck where the collar touches, and she already popped the button off one of the sleeve cuffs, but she feels oddly numb in spite of it all.

Maybe because Joey doesn’t look dead. 

Tía says it’s just what they do at the funeral homes to make people look nice for their families, but Via knows what people look like when cars hit them. She watched a boy playing soccer in one of the camps dart into the road after his battered ball and get run over by someone speeding by. They hadn’t even stopped or turned back to see if he was still alive. 

She can’t see any bruises on Joey’s face or hands at all. There’s a thick layer of makeup on her face that Joey would have hated in life, but Ramona across the hall covers up the times her boyfriend hits her the same way, and Via can always see the purple and yellow underneath. 

Joey just looks like she’s asleep. Almost peaceful, aside from the way her lips curl a little, like they’re pulling back from her teeth. 

Via chews on her own lip. She can taste the vanilla chapstick Tía is always smearing on too thickly, and the saltiness of blood from the spot where she peeled away a bit of the skin. She wonders if that will remind her of Joey now, the way the taste of ripe papaya makes her think of Mami, because it was what Via was eating when the phone rang and Joey went all stiff like she was the one having a seizure and then told them Mami was never coming home. 

Mauri presses something into her hand. Via looks down at it. The faded colors and crumpled edges of the picture of their family that Joey carried with them all the way from home. The only way Via still knows what Mami looked like.

She and Mauri both agreed, Joey should keep it. Maybe she’ll be able to look at it in heaven and think of them. Maybe it’ll help her find Mami if she’s forgotten her as much as Via and Mauri have. 

Via reaches into the coffin and tucks the photo in between Joey’s hands and the lining of the worn leather jacket she always wore when she went out at night. The edge of the photo sticks on a tear in the fabric, and Via pushes a little harder. 

Her hand brushes up against Joey’s. Joey’s skin is cool, makeup smoothing out the roughness in her chapped fingers and her chipped nails, now painted an overly garish red, scraping against Via’s thumb. She pulls back, blood welling up from the tiny gash, a single drop falling onto the corner of the photo, and shoves her finger into her mouth, sucking on the cut. 

Via doesn’t cry when they close the lid on the coffin.

She doesn’t cry when the men from the funeral parlor lower the whole thing into the ground, or when she and Mauri and Tía throw in handfuls of dirt on top, Tía sniffling into her black lace handkerchief the whole time and Mauri’s lip quivering.

She doesn’t cry when people flood their tiny apartment, bringing food and empty words and emptier cards, when the room is filled with so many voices it makes her head hurt.

She wakes up at five in the morning, when the last guests have finally gone, when the smell of spilled tequila has faded, when the moonlight slanting through her window turns everything a pale blue.

Somewhere, out in the darkness, the sound that woke her echoes back again.

A woman’s scream.

Via normally sleeps through those sounds. They’re as common in this neighborhood as barking dogs and crashing pans and breaking glass and angry arguments. But there was something high and harsh and terrified in this one that woke her.

She rubs her fingers against her thumb, slipping one blunt nail under the edge of the forming scab on her cut, and tugs it away again. 

Another drop of blood wells up, glimmers in the moonlight, and falls to her stained blanket. 

Out in the night, something howls. Clearer and sharper than a coyote, but just as mournful. Just as haunted. Via buries her head under her pillow, and lets the sob she’s been clinging to all day tear through her.

(You can read this story and others from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @the-lovely-wren

[sennenpharaoh]

He nods, he knew it wasn't good special day for obvious reasons. Roy could sympathizes because of Hughes. Roy kept his hand on top of Atems for comfort as the other introduced him to Joey.

"It's nice to meet you, Joey." He whispers softly as he bows his head while he squeezes Atem's hand again. "Any dear friend of Atem's is a friend in my eyes, as well." He says softly as he gazes at the tombstone. "Atem has been in good hands.. and will continue to be in good hands." He assured him, if he was listening, he wanted to make sure that the other knew that he'd look after Atem for not only Atem himself but Joey too.

"He's pulled me out of more situations than I can count, and he wasn't afraid to snap me out of my darkness if it becomes too much. One time literally." Referring to the punch across the face he took back in America.

"You and him would have really gotten along. You will never find someone more fiercely loyal, pure hearted, caring, and all around great friend in Joey. He'd probably come up with some embarrassing story, or team up with Tristan and get themselves into trouble and, knowing them, find a way to have Seto Kaiba pay for it." There was a sad chuckle which slowly died down into silence again as he lowered his head.

"If only I had been faster... I could have saved him."

[leblanct]

✧₊⁺ oi ed, 2 semaninhas ♡ p conhecer meu best e minha banda de infancia favorita ♡♡♡♡♡ ₊˚⊹Slipknot₊˚⊹

algm mais vai no knotfest? dia 20/10 ⋆˚✿˖°

[commoninfected]

Slasher/DBD AU :))

[fcrafcrtnight]

"I'M SURPRISED TO SEE YOU OUT HERE. NOT AFRAID OF THE SUN ANYMORE?" she supposed that she wasn't surprised that abigail was here. she supposed that she shouldn't be surprised that the other was anywhere near here and their story had always felt.. unfinished. see you around, joey. and so, all that she did was cross her arms over her chest, as she glanced at the other quite curiously. what did she want? she had no idea and yet.. here they were now. right? "it's been a long time. couple of good years, anyways. what do you want now?" @demongemz

[smok3r7]

Pinky Promise

OFC x OCDads best-friend

18+, mature

1• Hibiscus

Main Masterlist & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: Fathers are supposed to be the ones taking care of their child, but Josephine’s life is the other way around. Her life is booze, her dad, and her dad’s best friend - what could go wrong?

Chapter summary: Some people get dealt pretty rough cards in life, Josephine’s life is full of them.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Emetophobia warning (will be pretty consistent throughout the whole thing) (not descriptive in this one, just the aftermath/clean up! Will give fair warnings beforehand!)

—

“I’m gonna go ride that!” Josephine slurs to the group of girls she met at the bar, as she eyes the mechanical bull. The group of three, who are all absolutely wasted, laugh and cheer her on to do it, following behind her so they can all watch.

With their cheers echoing in the background, Josephine mounts the mechanical beast, holding on tight with her right hand wrapped around the leather loop. “Let’s go, baby!” She purrs at Frankie, who runs the machine, making sure she’s showing her tits more than she needs to. He shows a flirty smirk and starts it up.

As it starts to spin slowly, leaning her forward and then backwards, her heart races with exhilaration - she’s done this countless times and yet every time she still gets giddy. Suddenly the speed of the bull picks up and whips her around, and she can feel her jean shorts ride up more and more on her ass and her tits bounce in her low cut shirt. The wind whips through her dark brown hair, and a sense of freedom washes over her.

Still holding on strong with one hand in the air and her hips move in rhythm with the machine, Josephine feels a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The bar full of people blurs around her, and for a moment, nothing else exists but the thrill of the moment. She lets out a contagious laugh and holler, feeling alive and carefree.

The music blares, the lights flash, and for a moment, she feels truly alive. As she finally gets thrown off, she lands on the brown inflatable with a thud. Her friends rush over, helping her up, all of them breathless with laughter and adrenaline.

But instead of feeling defeated, she bursts into uncontrollable laughter, her new found friends cheering and rushing over to help her up. They are all breathless with laughter and adrenaline, sharing a moment of pure joy and camaraderie. As they walk away from the bull, Josephine knows she’ll be sore tomorrow, but still smiles.

“Girl, you set a new record!” The small blonde, whose name Josephine can’t remember, exclaims. Josephine playfully tells her to shut up and turns back towards the bull-board, sure enough she watches the guy write, Josephine - 2:03.

Let’s hear it for the new record holder, by three seconds, Josephineeeee!

After Frankie announces, the bar fills with hoots and hollers from every corner. Josephine turns back to the girls and does a playful bow to everyone in the bar, which makes her feel exhilarated. She can't believe she just broke the bar record for the bull ride, Nicky has been the record holder for twenty-seven years and Josephine just broke it by three seconds, absolutely wasted.

With the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Josephine basks in the glory of her accomplishment, she drunkenly tells the girls the next round is on her.

The cheers of the crowd fade away into the thumping music, creating a euphoric atmosphere. With a smile on her face and a fire in her eyes she skips over to the bar and tells Eric, the bartender, to pour a round of the highest tequila he’s got.

She turns around and leans her elbows on the bar top, scanning the room to the best of her ability. The crowded bar is filled with chatter and laughter as the glasses clink and the music plays in the background. Just then, she sees a guy who looks all too familiar and is staring directly at her, but with the mix of booze and people, she can’t make him out.

“Romano-” he softly announces her last name.

“Thank you, Eric.” She swiftly turns around and grabs the four shot glasses. “Put it on my tab!” She tells him, but before she can leave, Eric stops her.

“Hey, good work up there.”

She gives a toothy smile and tells him thank you, before she carefully weaves through the bar of people. She reaches the tall table where the other girls are and sets the glasses down with a loud thud. They all thank her and tell her she’s the best, and she raises her glass, the amber liquid glistening in the low light, toasting to them for being her support tonight and how she loves them all.

Salude, Josephine toasts with a slam of the glass from the table, then she swallows the shot. Tequila burns down her throat, but she savors the warmth it brings, feeling a sense of liberation wash over her. She needed this night out after the hellish week she’s had because of her father, but there’s time later to worry about that.

“Good ridin’ there doll,” suddenly, an all too familiar voice says behind her, sending shivers down her spine. Before turning around she sees the looks on the blonde's face, she’s starstruck, so that also solidifies who it is.

Turning her body around she sees Joey Reed, her neighbor and her dad’s best friend, who she’s had the hots for, standing a few feet away from her with a mischievous twinkle in his brown orbs. His dark hair is in the beginning stage of growing back from a buzz cut, the one she loves so much, and there’s a five-o’clock shadow on the lower half of his face.

She loves when Joey looks like this, not shaggy like he does when it’s all grown out and not too mean when he freshly cuts it all down. This is just perfect.

Despite her racing heart and butterflies in her stomach, she musters a confident smile and purrs, "Thanks, Joey. I didn't know you were watching." She takes a breath as she does a quick glance of his body; a fitting black long sleeve and baggy blue jeans, with his brown work boots that have old and new oil stains splattered on them.

His grin widens at her reaction to seeing him, and he takes a step closer, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Their eyes lock in a silent conversation, a dance of desire and anticipation. In that fleeting moment, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, her secret crush on him isn’t so secret after all.

“I’m always watchin’,” he admits as he leans down to her right ear, “which is why I gotta take you home, now.” His voice is different from when he walked up to her, more demanding and not as flirty. Joey's words echo in her mind, making her feel annoyed and angry. She knows he means well, but his sudden shift in demeanor caught her off guard, but she’s used to it after so many years of the same thing.

She can’t deny the protective instinct in his voice, but she resents the implication that she needs his guidance. Josephine has always been fiercely independent, especially these past handful years and Joey's attempt to control her actions only fuels her rebellious spirit.

Ignoring the knot of emotions in her chest, Josephine squares her shoulders and meets Joey's gaze head-on. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself," she says firmly, “Have a good night, doll.” She throws the enduring nickname back at him, clearly making a point.

Joey blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting her defiance. He knew Josephine was gonna be a bit of a challenge, but not this bad. She stands before him, hand on her hip, her seafoam green-blue eyes narrow in determination. Joey can’t help but admire her spirit, even as frustration brews within him.

She’s not going to make things easy for him, that much was clear to him. Which is exactly what she wants out of this situation, so she playfully blows a kiss to him and turns around to her girlfriends for the night.

“Who’s that?” The tall dark haired girl asks Josephine, clearly wondering if she can get with him or not.

Josephine chuckles to herself. “My neighbor and dads buddy, he’s just tryin’ to keep me outta trouble,” she confesses, “but sometimes I just can’t-“ Before she can finish her sentence, she feels a hand on her wrist that spins her around and she’s suddenly thrown over Joey's shoulder.

“Yo- what the fuck, Joey?!” She curses him out as she tries to kick and punch any part of his muscular body, but she ultimately fails. “Put me down right now- I’m not ready to go home- Joey-“

“Just stop,” he barks to her, which stops her sporadic movements, “Night ladies, I’m sure you’ll be seein’ Josephine here again.” His tone switches to be playful and nice to them while he’s still annoyed with her on his shoulder.

With her still perched on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her thighs holding her in place, he sighs inwardly, wondering how he always ends up in these situations with her, but at the same time he knows why she acts this way.

Her damn father.

—

Joey hands Josephine a Barbie colored pink bike helmet, the one he specifically got for her, but she drunkenly refuses, fearing it will mess up her hair. She loves his Harley bike, she wishes she could have one of her own but she knows that’s not in her cards right now.

"Doll, it's already messed up and looks like shit," he admits, urging her to listen to him. "Put this on, hop on the back, and shut up. Easy as pie." He adds with a smirk as he sits on the bike with his torso turned to her, the helmet still in his hand.

“You’re an asshole, ‘ya know that?” Josephine scoffs as she snags the pink helmet from his hand and reluctantly puts it on, somehow with that last shot flowing through her, she’s able to loop the buckle underneath her chin.

“Wouldn’t wanna be any other way doll,” he admits with a smile as he watches her stand next to him, her face still plastered with annoyance, “plus, you know you love it.”

The laugh that leaves her chest is genuine when she hears that, “No I don’t, Joey.” Her arms now fold against her chest and her right hip pops out, trying to show as much attitude as she possibly can. But he doesn’t bite the bait she left out, “Sure you don’t. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be standin’ here still, now would you?”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes and smiles as she admits defeat in this one, but she knows she’ll get another chance to win. “You gonna let me on or what?”

She watches the way he smirks and stands up for her to sit behind him and she can’t help but feel her heart flutter as she lifts her left leg over the seat so she can sit. Hold on, doll face, he tells her as he starts the bike up, Josephine just smiles at his witty comment and wraps her arms around his toned torso.

The engine’s loud as he revs and takes off out the parking lot, the cool fall night sobering her up, her grip around him tightens. She can feel his body, the slightly abed torso and wider shoulders create this feeling of relief in her. His smell of sweat, car body shop, and cologne make her feel like she’s home, like she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

As much as she hates to admit it, she loves being on the bike with him, it’s like an escape of all her responsibilities that she has. She just wishes he didn't try to parent her all the time. She is twenty seven, after all, and perfectly capable of making her own decisions, much like she has for the past seven-ish years.

But ultimately, in moments like this, with the wind in her hair and the thrill of the ride with Joey, she lets go of her frustrations and simply enjoys the freedom of the open road with the man she does really care for and respect. She wishes all her nights could be like this one; on the bike with Joey.

The chill of the breeze flying by her bare legs and face out on the open road make her feel alive. But deep down, she knows that this fleeting escape from reality won’t last. Her poor excuse of a father, drowning in his own demons, will inevitably drag her down with him.

His addiction to booze has turned their home into a living hell, filled with broken promises and shattered dreams. Her life used to mean something, she was going to college to become an engineer for god sake, but now all she does is babysit her father while she makes some of the same mistakes.

She’s thankful for Joey, if her dad and him never got close, she doesn’t know where she would be or how she’d be. He’s her rock, as much as he can get on her nerves.

Despite the chaos surrounding her, Josephine holds onto the moments of peace she finds on the back of Joey's bike, hoping that one day they will outweigh the darkness that threatens to consume her world.

As she holds onto Joey tightly, she wishes for a different life, a life without the constant struggle and pain. But for now, all she can do is enjoy the sacred moments of happiness that come her way, hoping that someday things will change for the better.

She lays the side of her face between his shoulder blades the best she can with her helmet and she just watches the way the lights on the buildings blur past. It all looks like a painting of a city where a girl doesn’t belong, or at least isn’t where she should be in her life.

She can tell they’re almost home, the small shops start to look familiar again which causes her stomach to tie into knots - she doesn’t want to go home. She doesn’t want to have to clean up whatever mess her father created.

If she asked, Joey would let her stay with him for the night, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to be more of a burden than she already feels like she is. He goes out of his way to keep up with her and she knows he’d rather be out fucking some girl he met at the bar, which Josephine probably cock-blocked him from tonight with her shenanigans.

So she leaves the question in her head.

As he pulls into the driveway, next to her car, her heart sinks. The house looks quiet, just like she thought. She takes a deep breath, gathers her courage, and steps off the bike.

“You want me to come in and help with Neil?” Joey sincerely asks her, as much as he plays around with her, he really does care about her well-being. He knows she’s almost at her breaking point and he doesn’t want her to get there.

She unloops her helmet and hands it to him, “No,” she sighs, now sober from the ride home, “I got it. I’m just gonna deal with it now and go right to bed. Thank you, Joey.”

“It’s really no problem-“

“I said I got it. See you tomorrow,” she blurts out her voice tinged with frustration, not trying to be rude but she can’t help it. But the thought of cleaning up her dad's vomit for the fourth time this week was wearing her patience thin.

As Joey stares sadly at her from his motorcycle, she can see the genuine concern in his eyes. Despite her stubborn independence, she wishes she could let him in, let him help bear the burden that seems to grow heavier with each passing day. But her pride and resentment stand like barriers between them, leaving Joey on the sidelines, longing to be the support she needs but can’t bring herself to accept.

She spins on her heels and she’s up on her porch when she hears Joey say, night Josephine, and back out her driveway and ride to his, right next door. She smiles softly, the fact he dropped her off at her house instead of his just takes a load off, even something as small as dropping her off at her home, can mean so much to her.

—

As she stands in the threshold of the front door, a sense of dread fills her. The stench of alcohol and vomit hang heavy in the air. The familiar sight of her dad passed out on the couch greets her, but this time, it’s different.

Instead of chaos, there’s an eerie kind of calmness in the air. The TV blares the sound of Family Guy, providing a temporary escape for her father and in all honesty, Josephine too. It’s one of those silly shows she and he would watch before his work accident seven years ago. And they still do, but not as often.

With a heavy sigh, she closes the front door, locking both the deadbolt and handle. Sliding her shoes off, she goes straight to the cleaning closet tucked away in the long hallway on the other side of the house.

The hallway leads to the main floor bathroom, branching off from the elegant dining room and cozy front rooms of her old Victorian house. About four years ago, Josephine actually bought the house from her dad because she knew he wasn’t going to be able to afford it since he wasn’t working.

So instead of being in fear of getting foreclosed on, she decided to bite the bullet and handle it. At the time it hurt her wallet tremendously, but about a year ago she was finally able to have a savings account again and some fun money.

As she reaches for the cleaning supplies, memories flood her mind - memories of laughter, tears, and love shared within these walls, specifically with her dad. It’s really sad knowing he used to be the best father, especially after her mom died after giving birth. He made it his mission to never let Josephine feel the weight of losing both parents, but somewhere along the line, he broke that promise to her.

After grabbing the handful of things she needs, she heads back to the living room and kneels down to clean the mess on the carpet, her heart heavy with a mix of frustration and sadness. As she cleans up, memories of happier times with her dad flicker through her mind, reminding her of the man he used to be and will never be again.

With a deep sigh, Josephine throws the trash into the bucket she grabbed and looks at her dad, peacefully passed out. Much like Joey, his hair is buzzed but his beard is a bit longer than his. But he also looks sick, his cheeks sunken in and his skin color is more yellowish than normal.

A wave of sadness washes over her. He looks so different today than he used to almost a decade ago, his usual vibrant spirit nowhere to be found. She remembers the days when he used to play with her in the garden, his laughter filling the air. But now, he lies there, a mere shadow of the man he once was.

She tucks her dad in with a thin blanket and turns the TV volume down a few, so it’s not blasting through the walls. She doesn’t need to, or want to, watch this right now. All she wants to do is shower and crawl into her bed for the last bit of night she has left, since it is two-thirty in the morning.

As much as she hates this lifestyle, it’s the best case scenario in her home.

It’s been seven years of the same cycle. Coming home or waking up to vomit and/or blood somewhere, knowing that means he wants her to clean it up, mainly because he can’t.

Then when she’s done, grabs him his fifth of vodka from the freezer he bought the night before. Put it in a cooler with ice and set it next to him with a bucket, just in case he has to throw up again. And leave him in the living room where he plays video games, all day. Or sleeps.

All day.

Which is exactly what she does now, after cleaning up his mess, like always.

[daydrcamings]

@fcrafcrtnight

“what the actual fuck?” this couldn’t be real. no. she… she had seen sammy die. she’d mourned for the other once she had gotten out of that fucking place but she knew that was it. there was no coming back so how the hell was she standing here now? “you fucking died, sammy! you… you turned into one of those things and you died… what the fuck are you doing here?” she questioned with wide and fearful eyes.

[robinfrinjs]

RIP Joey