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katrinawritesthings · 3 years ago

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Jonghyun / Taemin; bridging parallels ; nc17

jonghyun and taemin live in the apartments across from each other and jonghyun has been watching taemin climb out of his window and sneak out of the house several times a week for years ever since they were both in high school

for summer of shinee 2021 : )

Him and Taemin text still. Not often, and when they do, it's never really a full conversation. Mostly just memes shared at 2 in the morning, small talk, happy birthdays. Look at that dog texted fervently at 7 p.m. On a Thursday dragging one of them at light speed to their window to obey. Taemin makes his way into one of Jonghyun's articles again, this time a little spotlight of his work as a choreographer for an entire show.

Jonghyun has known Taemin since they were kids. Apartment neighbors, kind of. Jonghyun is 408, Taemin is 718. The way the apartments are set up, Jonghyun can sit at his bedroom window, look outside, and see Taemin's bedroom window across the way and one floor down. They go to elementary school together, then middle school, and then high school. They have one or two classes together over the years. None of that really matters because they never really talk.

What was the homework texted here, our mutual friend both invited us to the same party there, look at that dog shouted into the space between their windows at 7 p.m. On a Thursday one time in 8th grade. Whatever.

Even when Taemin starts sneaking out at night, the summer after sophomore year, 15 years old, it doesn't magically make them have a speaking relationship. All it does is distract Jonghyun as he's sitting at his window sill, scented candle lit, summer reading program report under his hands. Distracts him and makes him drop his pencil four floors into the bushes that line the building.

He doesn't watch it long enough to see it hit the ground. He's far too interested in watching whatever the fuck Taemin thinks he's doing. He's clambering out of his window, his third-story window, nothing but a concrete drop below him, and then he's actually climbing up, up the wall, up the building, up three floors until he's hauling himself up onto the roof.

When Taemin makes it up there, he rolls out of view over the ledge, but then his head pops back over. He looks all the way down, and even from far away, Jonghyun can see the huge smile spread over his face. His hands slap excitedly on the ledge before he stands up, turns, and disappears again as he jogs away, the high kick of his ankle behind him as he stumbles a step the last thing that Jonghyun sees of him.

Until he sees him sneaking out again the next night.

It doesn't become a nightly thing, but it is still regular enough that, every night when he's at his window sill with a candle and some writing, he’ll glance up at any movement he sees across the way just in case. It doesn't stop when school starts back up again, either. Sometimes Jonghyun will watch Taemin clamber out of his window, up the building, and disappear on the roof one night and then watch him sleeping on the bus the next morning, wondering how many hours he actually got. Sometimes he'll be up late enough to watch Taemin sneak back in, a descent three floors down from the roof that stops Jonghyun's heart every time.

School goes on. Jonghyun takes storytelling electives; music, ceramics, creative writing, art. He reads comic books, watches anime, looks up walkthroughs of video games that he can't play himself. He gets detention one time for being late and a kid sitting next to him offers him some weed, which he tries but doesn't really like, but that kid helps him through some spontaneous crying a few weeks later so they become pretty close and he winds up being the designated driver to a bunch of stoners. His dad moves out, his sister moves out, his sister moves back in. He picks up a part-time job at a music store during his senior year to help with the bills.

He sees Taemin around every now and again. They have ceramics together, for one. Taemin sits at another table with his own group of friends, but he smiles and says hey to Jonghyun when they wind up in the glazing room together. He comes into Jonghyun's job sometimes, looking over new album releases and buying everything a particular band puts out.

Jonghyun sees Taemin dancing during school pep rallies, assemblies, during rehearsals and the big night for a talent show they're both in where Jonghyun almost cries on stage because he's so nervous to be playing one of his own self written songs in front of people. He cries backstage instead and they still don't talk, but Taemin offers him a quick hug as they pass, hand rubbing over his back, and then he's gone before Jonghyun even really realized he was there in the first place. Later that night, Taemin sneaks out and then back in again within an hour.

And that night is also the first night that Taemin notices Jonghyun watching him. It’s just as he’s putting his hands on his windowsill to hoist himself up that he hesitates and, for a reason that Jonghyun can't come up with, looks directly across the way at Jonghyun.

He jumps when he sees Jonghyun, like he's startled; Jonghyun waves, a little confused, a little amused. Taemin looks down, covering what has to be an embarrassed smile with his hand.then Taemin looks up, waves back, and clambers out of his window and up the wall like usual. After he reaches the top, he peeks his head over the edge for the first time since that first night. Jonghyun leans just a little bit out of his window to smile and wave again. Even with all of the distance between them, Jonghyun can see the flash of his smile as Taemin taps two fingers to his temple and flicks them off in a salute.

From that night on, everytime that Taemin sneaks out, they wave at each other.

They graduate; Jonghyun with okay grades and Taemin with probably the same. Jonghyun doesn't go to college or anything. He upgrades his job at the music store to full time and does some freelance work online writing articles about art events and festivals in the area while he tries to work on his own stories in his free time. Taemin doesn't leave town either, because he still climbs out of his window and disappears over the roof on a regular basis. It's not until Taemin comes into the music store one time to buy a new CD and Jonghyun recognizes the logo on his hoodie as belonging to the local dance theater that he figures out what Taemin has been up to lately.

And it's not until they happen to both wind up in the little corner store down the street from their apartment complex at the same time that they have their first real conversation.

Jonghyun is there because he wanted snacks and his sister wanted snacks and he lost the rock paper scissors to decide who would go out and get some. Taemin is apparently there to buy some booze because he's standing in front of all of the refrigerators and contemplating the selection when Jonghyun opens one next to him to grab a couple bottles of soda.

"Oh, sorry," Taemin says, glancing at him and stepping a little bit away, and then, brighter, "oh, hey Jonghyun."

"Hey," Jonghyun says back, pleasantly surprised to recognize him. "Party?" he asks, nodding at all of the liquor. Taemin shakes his head, tells Jonghyun that he's just looking for something fun and fruity to enjoy by himself in his room sometimes. For self-care, he says. Jonghyun tells him he gets that and taps the glass in front of one of his favorite fruity boozy drinks in recommendation. Taemin shrugs and takes his word, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the bottle without even really looking at the label or anything on it. Then, after a moment's hesitation, asks, "how old are you again?"

"20," Jonghyun tells him, smiling a little sheepishly. "Maybe I ask my sister to buy me alcohol. Don't tell anyone."

And Taemin's response to that is a snort, a broad grin, and a hand slipping into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. "As long as you don't tell anyone about this," he says as he pulls out his ID card from its clear plastic flap, slots it in with all his other cards, pulls out a different ID card, and puts that in the flap.

The blunt casualness of that whole exchange surprises a laugh out of Jonghyun, one that sounds loud in the quiet little store. He doesn't try to stifle it; has never really tried to stifle his laughter. Still chuckling, he offers up his pinky to Taemin to promise. Taemin looks at him, looks at his pinky, covers his mouth and nose with the back of his hand for a moment, then links their pinkies together.

Taemin buys his alcohol and leaves the store before Jonghyun finishes picking up all of his snacks, but he sees Taemin ahead on the sidewalk on the way back and jogs to catch up with him.

"Don't go climbing out of your window after you drink any of that," he says, worried halfway through the sentence that maybe he's overstepping but finishing anyway. Taemin does that thing again, where he looks down and rubs his nose, and is the first one to offer up his pinky this time.

Taemin picks up a fashion for denim-on-denim, leather, spikes. Dark clothes, baggy hoodies, lots of rings. Beanies, worn-out shoes. Jonghyun attaches himself to big comfy sweaters, turtlenecks, bracelets cinching over the sleeves. Ripped jeans, snapbacks, boots. Taemin lets his hair grow out until it fans out around his face, soft and wavy, then cuts it short into a choppy bowl cut and a crisp undercut. Jonghyun tries out an undercut too, finds he likes it, experiments with dying his hair every couple of months. Taemin has some new piercings–shark bites, cheek studs, spikes through his ears. Jonghyun has some new tattoos–words on his arms, permanent bracelets around his wrists, planets on his side, a starscape on his back.

Jonghyun starts teaching guitar lessons at the music store to kids on the weekends. His mom gets promoted at her job. They stop struggling as much, settle into something almost resembling financial security. He keeps freelancing and in one of his articles he writes about a culture show the dance theater is putting on. In the picture that runs with the article, Taemin is standing on the end, smiling with his arm around a fellow dancer, doing a victory sign for the camera.

There's a queer club down the street from the music store that Jonghyun goes to sometimes. He makes new friends, has a couple of casual hookups, has a cute girlfriend for a while but things don't really work out. It's fine between them after. Taemin almost has a cute date friend one time, but that doesn't work out either. Jonghyun knows this because he watches the whole thing happen from his window sill.

He's there, writing notebook under his hands, scented candle next to his elbow, just like every night, and Taemin is suddenly there on the roof. Except, for once, he's not alone. Someone else is with him. A little taller, thick dark hair spilling out of a pulled up hoodie, and that's about all Jonghyun can see of them. The pair of them sit down on the ledge, feet dangling over nothing, close enough that their shoulders almost brush every so often.

Jonghyun doesn't mean to snoop, or eavesdrop, or anything. Taemin's love life is his own business. It's interesting, yeah, to watch them stargazing and talking together, but Jonghyun really is only glancing up at them every couple of minutes to distract his brain a little bit so he can focus on his writing without getting distracted a lot by something else. And it just so happens, that during one of those glances, Taemin tries to make his move.

It's not much of a move; a purposeful bump of their shoulders, a rub of his nose with the back of his hand, something said to make them look at him directly. More quiet words, a leaning in–not all the way, but enough to be clear–a tilt of his head like he's asking a question, and then.

And then. The other person leaning back, shaking their head, covering their mouth with both hands. Quickly they reach for Taemin's hand, holding it tight as they speak earnestly, as Taemin nods up and down and tugs his hair at the back of his head where they can't see.

They sit together for a little while longer after that, but a barely perceptible distance apart now, enough space that they don't accidentally bump shoulders anymore. Then the other person stands up, starts to walk away. Taemin turns and takes their hand, carefully, asks them something that they nod in agreement to. Taemin drops their hand, flops his own hands into his lap. The other person walks away, and then a minute later, Taemin falls back, sprawls himself out over the roof until all Jonghyun can see are his legs still dangling. They kick in the air for a few seconds before flopping limply back down in defeat.

Jonghyun looks back to his writing with a shake of his head. Poor baby.

He doesn't see Taemin sneak out for a couple of weeks after that. Then, another night, another candle, another page of writing, he glances up and finds Taemin sitting at his window, arms crossed on the windowsill, face nestled in his elbow, cheek smushed up as he pouts out at nothing. Jonghyun can't help it; he smiles at the image.

"Hey sorry about your heartbreak dude" is what he texts to Taemin once he finds his number buried in all of his contacts, an entry probably put in during high school for some project that neither of them remember. And then he just watches, waits, until Taemin leans away from his window. A moment later, Taemin returns, and this time he's holding his phone and looking up at Jonghyun. Jonghyun waves with an apologetic little shrug.

"Damn you saw that??? " Taemin texts back. Jonghyun replies that he did indeed see it and offers more condolences. Taemin's sigh is audible to Jonghyun even from so far away, but he replies anyway. They talk about nothing, really; Taemin asks what Jonghyun is always writing about and Jonghyun tells him. His book that he's been working on for a while. The one where he wanted to write a love story but wound up accidentally writing a breakup scene in the first chapter and then just went with it. Taemin seems to take some comfort in hearing about a failed romance.

The night after that, Taemin climbs out of his window again.

Jonghyun's manager gets fired for tax evasion or some bullshit and suddenly he finds himself as the manager instead. Not because he's super qualified for the job, but because he's worked there for the longest, almost 11 years, and the rest of the employees are mostly part-time high school kids. All of a sudden he has all of these duties and responsibilities that he doesn't know what to do with, on top of dealing with the mess that his old boss left him with. The first thing he does is give himself and all of the employees a raise, which at first gets him a serious reprimand from upper management of the store chain, but he doesn't give a shit and the next month he gets praised for reducing customer service complaints and boosting product sales.

One night Taemin comes into the music store to buy a new album from his favorite band a couple weeks later than Jonghyun was expecting him to. Usually he shows up on day one; when Jonghyun mentions that to him, he rubs his nose with the back of his hand and shrugs, mumbling something about a giveaway online and shipping problems. Jonghyun chuckles at that, mentions that the cardboard stand that they have in the store to promote the album is free for him to take, if he wants it. He's the manager. He can do that now.

Taemin's eyes widen behind his bangs, his teeth flash in a huge smile. He thanks Jonghyun emphatically, grabs the stand, and walks out with it, holding it in front of him as he goes and biting his lip.

Jonghyun finds himself thinking about that later in bed. Taemin’s teeth biting into his bottom lip. Digging into soft, plush pink. He looked different today. Something about his face, his nose. A nose job, Jonghyun guesses, something to change the tip of his nose from a cute soft hook to a cute round end. He dropped his shark bite piercings at some point and replaced them with studs. two silver squares on each side of his bottom lip, matching the ones that dimple his cheeks, the sets that outline the tips of his eyebrows. Matching the ones lined up below his collar bones. Jonghyun could see those in the dip of his v-neck.

The piercings won't leave his mind as he tries to fall asleep. Heavy silver, bold, striking, a statement of toughness outlining his delicate features. Jonghyun wonders how they feel, if he ran his fingers over them would they be cold or would they have absorbed Taemin’s body heat. He makes the mistake of wondering if Taemin has matching studs on his hips and realizes with a start that he's running his fingers over his own lips, imagining how it would feel if he were to drag his mouth over them.

Face hot, lips tingling, Jonghyun rolls over in bed and tries to think of anything else.

It works. For a little bit. Until the next day when he waves at Taemin as he heads out for the night. Then he's thinking about them again. Then he's thinking about what kind of noises Taemin would make if Jonghyun kissed his piercings. About how much deeper, huskier Taemin's voice sounded in the store. It had to have been that deep the last time they talked, the last time Taemin came in to buy an album, but–if it was, Jonghyun doesn't remember noticing or caring as much as he does now.

This new realization has him trying with all his heart to think about himself, what it means that he's gone his whole life without knowing that he had a thing for piercings, what it means if it's not the piercings and it's just Taemin, what it means if he suddenly starts lusting over the boy next door.

This lasts for about two more days until he gets tired of it and decides to just do something about it.

So the next time he catches Taemin about to climb out of his window a little bit after midnight, he waves frantically to get his attention. Taemin stops, looks at him, smiles, waves back. Jonghyun beckons towards him, trying to communicate that he wants him to come over without shouting. Taemin points at himself then over up at Jonghyun, tilting his head; Jonghyun nods eagerly, beckoning again. Without a moment of hesitation this time, Taemin nods and holds up one finger.

He climbs up his building, and then instead of disappearing away from Jonghyun, he walks along the edge. Jonghyun leans a little bit out of his window to watch him all the way down to where the parallel lines of their apartment buildings turn into a U for him to cross, until he gets too close to Jonghyun's side to see anymore. Then, a minute later, there's a crunch of shoe against brick outside his window. He moves his tealight candle out of the way and Taemin slips into his room feet first.

"Hey," he says. "What's up? Can I smell?"

A finger with chipped black nail polish touches next to Jonghyun's tiny candle. He has studs on the backs of his wrists too. Jonghyun lets him smell with a warning to be careful not to spill it, and then tries to figure out a way to say what he wants to say tactfully. He didn't think this part through. It's not really his style to come up with detailed plans, just to try things out and see if they work. Finally, after a bunch of starts and stops, half asked questions, an exasperated sigh, he just says, "do you want to make out?"

And in the silence after the question, in the dim light of his desk lamp, Taemin's tongue wets his lips.

"Sure," he says.

Nice.

Sure turns into Taemin in Jonghyun's lap, turns into Jonghyun gliding his thumb over the studs under Taemin's lip, turns into Taemin cupping his face and pressing their mouths together. Kissing turns into Jonghyun's hands sliding up under his shirt, turns into Taemin groaning the hottest noise Jonghyun has ever heard into his mouth, turns into him standing with his sweater half way over his head frantically whispering to Taemin that his bed is too squeaky and his family is trying to sleep.

He takes Taemin to the floor, sits on his hips and grinds down while Taemin fumbles with his own belt buckle, hands bumping Jonghyun's cock through his pajama pants. Jonghyun hadn't meant for this to happen, wasn't planning on fucking Taemin, but he doesn't want to stop.Taemin doesn't either, says god no when Jonghyun asks and that's enough of a reason to Jonghyun to keep going. He's pushing Taemin's shirt up while Taemin is trying to reach up onto his bed for a pillow, and it's rushed and it's messy, but Jonghyun discovers that Taemin not only has studs along the V of his but also one over his belly button, bars through his nipples, and, best of all, when he pulls Taemin's pants down, four of us small silver balls like an X around the head of his cock.

Lube from his desk, three fingers deep into his own ass, thumb tracing over every piercing on Taemin's hips, so hard it hurts, almost delirious with want, Jonghyun barely hears Taemin when he says, "I've always thought you were cute."

The piercings in his collar bones glint in the light, his skin glistens with summer sweat, the sharp angle of his jawline, the shadow of his adam's apple bobbing in his throat, the raw edge on his voice as he says, "I've always liked you, ever since we were kids, I've always–I don't know when it turned into a crush, but I–god that feels so good. Oh my fucking god." Halfway down Taemin's cock, Taemin grabs Jonghyun's hips and pulls him down all the way, knocks the breath from his lungs. "Jonghyun," he says, "more."

Jonghyun gives him more until he can't anymore, until his thighs are burning and his arms are trembling. Taemin removes the effort for him by turning them around until he's on his back. Taemin fucks him like that, tries to kiss him more but quickly gives up and buries his face in Jonghyun's neck instead. With "you're perfect, you're perfect, you're so fucking perfect, " breathed under his ear, Jonghyun hooks his leg around Taemin's back, pulls him in harder, faster, whispers his own pleads back, begs Taemin to bite him, bite his neck.

Taemin bites him, hard, and that's how he comes, body frozen underneath him until he goes all the way limp, only barely registering in some faraway part of his brain Taemin's choked breaths and the warmth pooling inside of him. He's weak, hazy, loopy, giggling, and Taemin's gentle hands are on him again, picking him up, putting him on his knees, and Jonghyun is glad to obey, glad to do whatever the fuck when he's this blissed-out.

Quiet curses as hands smooth over his back, the softest "oh, wow," whispered as fingers trace his constellations, and then the deepest groan as Taemin's tongue touches his skin. Jonghyun's eyes fly open, his voice rises three octaves, he slaps both hands over his mouth to stifle the noises he's making, noises he’s never made before in his life. The moment that he realizes that Taemin has a tongue stud is the moment that everything goes white, and then the next moment, everything goes dark.

The next morning he wakes up alone, in his bed, pajama pants back on, candle burned all the way down to nothing, window closed. He's not angry, or hurt, but he is a little grumpy all day long until he walks up to the entrance of the apartment complex after work and Taemin is sitting on one of the big potted plants outside the door.

He stands up when Jonghyun gets close to him, presses a large jar candle of the scent from last night into his hands, and, blinking a mile a minute, blurts out, "hey, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for last night when I told you I was in love with you and then fucked you and then panicked and left," to which Jonghyun, baffled, wracking his memory, replies, "did you tell me you're in love with me?"

Which kicks Taemin's blinking into overdrive, starts up a long, stammering babble that Jonghyun can confidently say he understands about 20% of. After a minute he realizes that Taemin isn't going to stop, so he interrupts him by asking, "Taemin, do you want to go on a date?"

A few days later, they share a mountain of fries on an outside table at some burger joint. Taemin, embarrassed, reading notes from his phone, admits that he's had a crush on Jonghyun for what feels like forever but was always too shy and infatuated to make a move. Jonghyun, embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, admits that he just got suddenly horny for the piercings one day and was a little too impulsive in making his move. Both of them, laughing, agree that it would probably be nice to work towards a middle ground together.

And it is.

#jonghyun #taemin #jongtae #fluff #nc17 #oneshot #this is equal parts dbsk love line and also Justin McElroy talking about geocaching #and also me making myself blush thinking about Taemin with all of those piercings #I started a sequel but I'm never going to get around to finishing it lamo but that's what Taemin is doing whenever he sneaks out he's #geocaching #sometimes he's doing cool skater boy stuff and the drugs but mostly it's geocaching #accidentally gave myself a new writing style with this one #Slow Burn but it's fast forwarded and also from the POV of the one that isn't in love the entire time #i don't remember what i was trying to do #I was trying to get past the childhood stuff quickly but then I kind of just carried that throughout the entire thing #and i really like it #ydw

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gods-rising · 5 years ago

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May Post - Mothers’ Day

How would the cast of Gods’ Rising celebrate their mothers - or just their family in general - on Mothers’ Day? Mothers’ Day has happened already in England however that month was dedicated to Birthdays. Sorry for how late this is, life got busy at the wrong time.

Main protagonists first, then minor protagonists, then main antagonists, then minor antagonists. Background characters not included.

Jakob Sullivan - Jakob doesn’t remember his mother or if he even actually had one. But if he did have a mother, he’d buy pretty flowers, a nice card (and write a personal message, maybe thanking her for specific details, maybe nodding toward an inside joke) and cook her a nice breakfast in bed. Even if it turns out he didn’t, or doesn’t, have a good relationship with his mother, he’d try his best to make her feel loved that day.

Zlatko Jones - Zlatko celebrates Mothers’ Day by bringing his mother breakfast in bed and treating her and his little brother to a three person feast with a homemade dessert and ice cream. He’d get his brother a present and card to give to their mother, and get a smaller present and card for himself as well as a big card from the both of them. It’s her day, he reminds himself, and it’s up to him to make her feel special, everyday.

Charlie Parker - Charlie is sans a mother figure, so she takes it as another day to celebrate her father, whom she loves dearly. She’ll throw him a present, probably a corny mug, and give him a Mothers’ Day card and write a joke in it. She likes hearing his laughter; even if the joke is terrible, he’ll chuckle over a hot mug of coffee, which she’ll make (and maybe deliberately fuck up), and she’ll know that she made his day a bit better.

Alex Wilson - Alex, before everything fell apart, would rarely help his siblings get gifts for their mother, having to be urged by either his father, uncles or grandparents to just wish her a good day. Sometimes he’d give her the presents that had been bought by someone else and wouldn’t resist too much to be in the pictures they took each year with her. Looking back in time, he realises, he wishes he’d been persuaded more often.

Kenna Collier - Kenna wants to stay as far from her mother as she can after the divorce - her mum’s... bizarre nature often ruins her daughter’s plans and mood, and there’s certainly a disconnect between the pair. The moment the opportunity arises to avoid spending Mother’s Day with, well, her mother, she’ll take it without hesitation. She’s disinterested in spending time with her mother. Her mother knows nothing about her.

Klara Lullay - Klara never really celebrated Mother’s Day. Without a mother and a father and grandfather she didn’t see worth celebrating, there was never any need. She’d celebrate herself, because she was the only one who was worth it, in her perspective. When not being hassled or tutored by her grandfather, she’d make herself a cup of tea (despite not being fond of it, she saw it as a celebratory drink) and make some food.

Eban Jones - Eban really wants to make his mother feel special but his anxiety gets in the way of him buying things (it’s hard to buy things when you can barely talk to the cashier). So he finds himself still having to get Zlatko to buy stuff for him. He does help his brother in the kitchen though when making the Mother’s Day meal - but whether that’s for better or for worse, no one is really sure. It’s a hit or miss most years.

Grace Smith - Grace was the closest with her mother and would often draw things for her, get her father to make a breakfast for her to bring to her mother in bed and would go outside and pick flowers from the neighbour’s garden for her. But now, her mother is gone, so she takes the time to appreciate her father and, since she can’t ask him to cook for her, she either gets Kai to help or just goes down to the nearest shop to buy a meal deal.

Kai Smith - Kai was never really too close with his mother, and she seemed to feel the same way, but would still try to participate in Grace’s celebrations of her. This usually met carrying anything Grace couldn’t or wouldn’t. Even before his mother was gone, Kai would prefer to spend time with his father, helping him wash up from Grace’s endeavours, watching television with him and playing video games. Now they have a Player Three.

Maddie Eyighes - Maddie barely celebrates her foster mother, only joining in just enough to get by without hassle, whether that means carrying the breakfast or just being in the background while her foster siblings surprise their mother or opening doors for her foster mum. The moment her necessary deed is done, she’s off, outside and running. Not like she can do anything inside, it’ll be taken up by her foster mother, and outside she’s free.

Nastasia Lavisco - Nastasia, for Mother’s Day, decides to get into more paid fights, win more supplies, trade some of the rest for more profitable supplies to sell, put some of the original supplies up as winnings for two people to fight over, hide some of the profitable but criminal supplies in too, sell the rest, use the money to buy better weapons and repeat the cycle. It’s what she does everyday, and why should a holiday about a mother change that?

Aidan Lavisco - Aidan is very lucky to have help from the people of the palace, as Mother’s Day is almost a necessity rather than a celebration. It’s the one time Aidan is allowed to run a dance, because the mother in question can’t be involved. He decides the scheme, the theme, the dress code, the predominant dance and the menu of it all, but it’s barely a choice. He’s been trained exactly what to say, by a mother who pulls the strings.

Valeriya Jones - Valeriya, as a mother herself, loves Mother’s Day. She always has, as she was especially close to her mother. They would cook together, Valeriya always learning a new recipe, a new trick, a new skill each time, and she treasured that time with her mother. Being a mother of two boys has been a challenge, but she can’t help but be cheerful when her sons show her their appreciation, especially through recipes she taught them.

Kyle Smith - Kyle had been eager to bring his mother gifts and flowers when he was younger, but stopped as the teen years got closer and his fights with his parents became more prominent. Then, when he had kids with his wife, he helped the two celebrate her, or spent time with his son if he wasn’t helping his sister at all. But those days, with his mother and wife, are behind him, and now he’s the one celebrated on Mother’s Day.

Tyler Brae - Tyler, being the immortal Demon King, is obviously without a mother but he finds the day endearing. For him, Mother’s Day is another opportunity to show how much his ragtag family means to him. He’ll choose some corny but interesting film, buy some snack food while his family is preoccupied during the day and get them all in the living room to watch it. They’ll pretend to hate it and complain but he knows that there’s nowhere they’d rather be.

Shadow - Shadow never celebrated Mother’s Day before and would happily continue to not... too bad he lives with Tyler. Finding himself wrapped up in the demon’s shenanigans continues on this day as he helps Tyler set everything up for the rest of the family. If Tyler wants to cook something, Shadow is there to help him and stop the inevitable house fire. Tyler might ask him one day if he’d prefer to stay out of it, but Shadow won’t let him do it alone.

Mehmun Salton - Mehmun doesn’t remember many Mother’s Days - not with his mother, not with his aunt, not with the mother of his daughter. He prefers not to, because who knows what other memories will arise? All he knows is that he had too few Mother’s Day with his actual mother and not enough with his wife. So he has no idea what he used to do - but he finds he enjoys watching shitty films with a group of other traumatised misfits.

Preston Sin - Preston’s mother is long gone, thanks to his immortality. When she was alive, Mother’s Day was special for her and gifts were expected. If she received one less gift, there was hell to pay, even though all of them knew the gifts would maybe last a day or two at best before finding themselves in the bin. But now, she’s gone, and he’s still around and kicking, with a new family who would never throw away presents.

Maggie Snare - Maggie didn’t celebrate her stepmother for Mother’s Day after her actual mother divorced and left her father, which may have started the rivalry and contempt but who knows? Most Mother’s Days, she’d go out with her friends or spend the day studying and being as far away from her stepmum as she could humanely be. If there were plans, she’d reluctantly abide by them. Now she has more freedom and people worth celebrating.

Luke Fortunato - Luke was too young to be able to get things for his mother before he and his brother were sent into care, plus there wasn’t much she cared for. The people running at the carehome weren’t motherly (or fatherly for that matter) so they never expected gifts, almost never received them and they seldom deserved them. He’s glad he didn’t bother because if he had, maybe Ezekiel would have been more bothered.

Ezekiel Fortunato - Ezekiel’s only gift was to fuck shit up for them - pour the carers’ secret stash of booze or weed into the gutters, piss in their food, blocking the drains up, anything really to make the carers’ lives just as miserable as their clients’. It was a daily gift, because he didn’t know Mothers’ Day was a holiday for a long time, barely escaping his teen years without knowing it existed. He regrets not knowing - coulda done more.

Kiyoshi Kornai - Kiyoshi didn’t have a mother figure, even though she was a Born Hell Demon, and demons don’t celebrate human-made holidays regardless. It took a while for her to be introduced to the concept of the holiday and she’s still uncertain on how she feels about it - cute and something she celebrates with her family now but, at the same tine, how many times was she suffering on Mother’s Day?

Amber Miller - Amber used to love her mother and was often buying her flowers and chocolates. She’d buy her all sorts of flowers, like roses, and try to pick out all the best chocolates for her, wrap them up and bring them to her in her bed. Now she regrets bothering. She could have saved up that money for something, maybe for when she ran away after her parents refused to accept her as trans. But she didn’t. She wasted it on her mother.

Johnny Miller - Johnny would chip in with their sister’s presents to their mother, giving maybe a pound or two extra to really buy something nice. However, they weren’t as close with their mother, or their father really, Amber being the parent-adoring child. Johnny preferred his own company. But that didn’t make it any harder for Johnny to run away with Amber. Not that they’d ever choose them over their twin. They’ll never be far from her side.

Damien Roth - Damien was an Original Demon, created by the hands of the gods personally, meaning he has no family. He would celebrate the gods, before the war, and give the divine gifts - loyalty, worship, love. That changed when his eyes opened to the injustices demons faced in a world catered toward mortals. Now, with the gods dead and a King who needs to die, the only thing he’ll celebrate will be the promise of them never returning.

Ayla - Ayla is usually in charge of all the Light World balls - not the Mother’s Day one, however. She’s not involved, and leaves it to her son. However, she makes sure he knows what she wants, and that there’s hell to pay if demands aren’t met. Though the Mother’s Day ball is often praised as her son’s, it’s a product of her incessant control and manipulation. That’s the best Mother’s Day gift she can get - relentless power.

Loki Lullay - Loki grew up within the Lullay family and the supposed Lullay curse took his mother from him at a young age. Mother’s Days were the days he’d visit her grave with his brother and father, to lay the most gorgeous flowers for her. He hasn’t seen her grave for eighteen years while his traitor brother keeps up the tradition, or at least he assumes he does. Maybe that’s what drives him to madness. Twenty years away from her.

Malcolm Gull - Malcolm bought flowers for his own mother and his best friend’s mother, before she died at least. After that, he’d buy his best friend flowers on that day, even chocolates, and they’d have a picnic as well. Those were some of the best days for the pair of them, playing Frisbee and football. Then his best friend died. Because of the sorcerers. Because of a sorcerer. He’ll avenge them. He’ll avenge them both. He’ll avenge him.

Nico Angel - Nico never got into Mother’s Day. He’d buy stuff, or at least his father would, for her, maybe bring her a half-hearted breakfast in bed, but no real effort or time put into it. That changed when he became a father, as he’d help his child treat his wife on that day, making food, buying flowers, showering gifts. Too bad it didn’t stay that way - he didn’t stick around for long with them. He just hopes his sons treat their mother well.

Davey Sullivan - Davey grew up with no mother, a dead brother and hatred for his cousin. His father made sure he knew it was his cousin’s fault his mother and brother were dead and made sure that he knew it was his fault that his cousin got away unpunished for his guilt. But for Mother’s Day itself, he’d go to his mother and brother’s graves, lay flowers down and promise them he’d get his cousin punished. Once and for all.

Aerron Yelad - Aerron’s mother loved him much more before he got diagnosed with autism. Despite being ‘vaccine injured’ and ‘proof vaccines do more harm than good’ and ‘the reason I’m not vaccinating the rest of my kids’, he still loves her a lot. He understands that she does love him, he’s just harder to deal with, and she’s giving all the attention she can. But he still feels alone. Alone enough to make bad choices. He’s so desperate.

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they-are-there-upon-his-head · 7 years ago

Note

Hi, I just really need to talk about modern AU great Comet hcs Please love me

an unprompted ask?? for me??? this is the content I signed up for

so yeah i’m just gonna make a big ass list of headcanons lemme know what you think,,, i love modern au so much so this is also a long post beware!!!

these are random as hell but are heavy on the Andrierre, which is good and bad because I love this ship but also I haven’t read War and Peace so some of the Andrey headcanons might be dead wrong

and of course feel free to correct and/or add on to this list! I’d love to hear what you guys have to say about this and I’m always up for talking about Great Comet

so let’s begin

Anatole is a picky picky picky eater, he’ll only eat very specific things like That One All-Natural Organic Overpriced Brand Of Mac ‘N’ Cheese™

9 times out of 10 Helene is going to or drinking Starbucks

Dolokhov will eat ANYTHING but he still ends up going to Taco Bell way too often

he drinks too much Mountain Dew

Pierre keeps his shirt on at the beach/when swimming

he only leaves the house to walk to the local convenience store and buy snacks, and the liquor store to buy booze

Marya loves couponing

Dolokhov prides himself on his cool sneakers

Sonya plays the ukulele

she wears a lot of scarves and flannel and loves autumn

Andrey owns a lot of soft gray sweaters

Mary has a really old ipod nano that has like ten songs on it but she listens to it and dances while she cleans in the morning when her father is asleep

Helene wears athletic wear (track pants, cool sneakers, etc) for the aesthetic but isn’t much of a fan of working out

Andrey goes for a run every morning

Natasha uses the dog filter on Snapchat way too much

Balaga wears a weed hat and weed socks

there’s a 99% chance Anatole has texted “send nudes” in the last 12 hours

Pierre has a lot of t-shirts with random bands on them

Marya loves strong coffee

Natasha and Sonya share a room that’s decorated with fairy lights

Andrey works a bunch of jobs and has really weird hours

lucky for him, Pierre never sleeps

so they often go to the local diner together at 3am and get milkshakes and cheese fries

Pierre fucking loves cheese fries

Sonya had a weeb phase

Dolokhov is still in the tail end of his emo phase tbh

Anatole secretly loves Buzzfeed quizzes

Balaga is an uber driver

Sonya watches a lot of Food Network and HGTV

Natasha loves The Bachelor

Dolokhov watches roast videos

Pierre once watched vine compilations for 13 hours straight

somehow word got around that Dolokhov secretly has an embarrassing tattoo (something along the lines of “I love my mom,” perhaps?) but when confronted about it he turned bright red and vehemently denied its existence

Helene wears those Aesthetic™ shirts with random French words on them from like Forever 21 or something

Dolokhov wears Timberlands and track pants and snapback hats

he also wears his socks pulled up high like your friendly neighborhood fuckboy

Natasha has worn the same pair of Uggs for a long time

Balaga unironically wears Crocs (often paired with his weed socks and oversized denim cutoffs)

Dolokhov takes snowball fights very seriously

Andrey can drive but he hates doing it

he bikes to work and around the city

Mary also hates driving, but that’s because she’s deathly afraid of it

Pierre bought contacts but never uses them, he just wears his glasses instead

Dolokhov is really into sports, both watching them and playing them

his favorites are soccer and basketball

he forces Anatole and Helene to watch some games with him and they hate it

they just rate the players’ attractiveness instead and end up talking and wolf-whistling over all the commentary

Dolokhov is annoyed by it at first, but always ends up joining in and marveling at the muscles on these guys! look at those fucking biceps

Natasha visits Pierre once in awhile and brings some gifts and food (usually baked goods that her and Sonya make)

they just sorta hang out and talk and eat, sometimes Pierre makes tea for them and they have a little tea party

Pierre’s very awkward but Natasha is good at diffusing the awkwardness, mostly by talking a lot about nothing

one time she convinced him to let her paint his nails and honestly??? Pierre kinda liked it

he wanted to tell Andrey about it but Andrey still doesn’t seem ready to talk about Natasha

Pierre’s ok with it though, he’ll give it time. Andrey will come around eventually.

Mary swears by medicinal teas and herbs for almost every ailment

she also collects flowers and dries them and hangs them in her room

Dolokhov does parkour

Balaga runs a meme account

Marya has everything you could ever need in her purse, including napkins, Advil, hand sanitizer, wet wipes, tampons, pepper spray, tweezers, Beyonce’s entire discography, the whole city of Moscow, etc

Pierre has a lot of books on the French Revolution

one Valentine’s Day, Andrey got Pierre a locket with Napoleon’s face in it and Pierre was so confused until he opened it and he just looked so pained while Andrey laughed

honestly Pierre thinks it was actually really fucking clever and it’s kinda sweet that Andrey noticed how into the French Revolution he was

also, he had never seen Andrey laugh as hard as he did in that moment and that made it all worth it

Pierre’s favorite TV show is Gravity Falls, though Ancient Aliens is a close second

he also watches reruns of Jeopardy a lot and is surprisingly good at it

sometimes Andrey will watch it with him; Pierre gets all the history stuff and Andrey gets more of the pop culture questions

Helene listens to Lana Del Rey, Dolokhov has a soft spot for twenty one pilots, and Anatole is always a slut for some Britney

Pierre listens to Radiohead and other depressing existential indie/alternative rock

Natasha is a sucker for a good love song, Broadway musicals, or any happy boppy pop song tbh

Sonya loves folk music and anything with string instruments

Andrey is partial to some good 90s grunge rock (Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Weezer, etc)

Marya listens to pop music of the 70s and 80s music, stuff of the “good old days”

boy oh boy can she GET DOWN to Dancing Queen

Mary thoroughly enjoys Christian rock

Andrey secretly loves to dance, he’s one of those people that just kind of loses himself in the music and is just completely in the zone while dancing

honestly??? Pierre’s jealous because 1. how do you relax while there are people around you and 2. how the hell does Andrey still look cool

Pierre is either too self-conscious to dance or he just kind of nods his head to the beat, that’s all he’ll do

(unless he’s alone in which case it’s WILD)

Dolokhov’s dancing is basically just jumping with some fancy footwork once in awhile

Anatole and Helene twerk. c’mon of course they do

one time Natasha tried to teach herself how to twerk and Marya walked in and grounded her for a week

Pierre thinks The Shawshank Redemption is the pinnacle of cinema and will fight anyone who thinks otherwise

Natasha sings in the shower

Anatole loves chick flicks and has a crush on Ryan Gosling

he forces Dolokhov to watch shitty romcoms with him as revenge for Dolokhov forcing him to watch sports

but I mean they’re all curled up on the couch with their arms around each other and Anatole’s crying and Dolokhov’s laughing at him and they’re eating ice cream and takeout from the one place that Anatole actually likes and it’s just them because Helene’s knows that this is just Too Much™ so she left and she’s basically the voice of reason in their friend group and it’s really quite the experience

Pierre was in a really shitty cover band in college

Balaga is always high

Sonya loves oversized sweaters and leggings

Dolokhov has his ears pierced

Helene has a nose ring

not a day goes by when Anatole doesn’t quote Mean Girls

Mary owns a lot of those wooden blocks with random little quotes on them (you know the ones – they’re in any given Marshalls and dearly beloved by suburban wine moms), like “Be happy” and “Jesus loves you” and “You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy chocolate”

one of Andrey’s many jobs is waiting tables at Applebee’s. Pierre has visited him there a couple times and boy did Andrey look dead inside

the only reason Andrey works so many jobs is so he can afford his own place because his father is a piece of shit

Pierre offered to help with the financial aspect of it but Andrey wouldn’t let him pay for it

still, Andrey ends up sleeping over Pierre’s a lot, not that Pierre minds

Old Prince Bolkonsky exclusively watches FOX news and he yells at the TV a lot

he eats the same thing for lunch every day: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he makes Mary prepare

fun fact: Mary is allergic to peanuts

Sonya works at an ice cream parlor and brings home desserts for Natasha and Marya

Marya loves chocolate ice cream, Natasha prefers vanilla with rainbow sprinkles

Sonya is a butter pecan kind of girl, if we’re getting into it (and we are)

Anatole likes French vanilla (it has to be French), Helene likes coffee, and Dolokhov is partial to death by chocolate (or something similar)

Bolkonsky has to have peanut butter ice cream, Mary likes strawberry

Andrey prefers sorbet, but if he had to pick, he’d go with pistachio

Pierre’s favorite is cookie dough

Balaga probably found a way to make weed ice cream tbh

Mary loves scrapbooking

Sonya writes fanfic

she loves to read and wishes she lived in a Barnes & Noble

Andrey and Pierre play video games together and they’ve gotten really good at it

neither one of them likes intense fighting games but they do really like Mario Kart

Andrey plays as Yoshi and Pierre plays as Bowser

Pierre tried to teach Natasha how to play but she kept falling off cliffs

her favorite character is Princess Peach

her and Sonya dressed up as Peach and Daisy for Halloween once and it was really cute

Pierre has worn the same black hoodie for two years

Natasha runs an aesthetic blog

she also writes poetry on said blog

one of Andrey’s coworkers keeps accidentally calling him Andrew and it makes Andrey so irritated

the Kuragins can’t swim

Dolokhov tried to teach them but it didn’t work because Helene’s bikini kept falling down and Anatole wouldn’t go under water because it would ruin his hair

if Andrey goes over Pierre’s during the day, he’ll help him clean the house because Pierre has no motivation to do so

about once a month Marya will stop by and remark how disgusting the house is and before Pierre can even defend himself the whole house has been vacuumed, the windows are washed, the laundry’s done, the clothes are folded, the shelves are dusted, the bathroom’s scrubbed, the beds are made, and there’s fresh flowers on the kitchen table

then they hang out and complain about people to each other and it’s a grand old time

Pierre’s really grateful to Marya, but she refuses to take a compliment

let’s be real though, she relishes in watching Pierre keep saying nice things about her because she keeps denying them and he feels obligated to make her agree

Pierre has a shitty Toyota Corolla from the early 90s that has no AC and is being held together by duct tape and he’s afraid to drive it but too attached to sell it

Sonya has a folder on her laptop that’s just pictures of Tegan And Sara. that’s it

Marya doesn’t know how to whisper

Pierre loves the movie theater but will only go if Andrey or Natasha go with him

after the whole Anatole Fiasco™ Natasha and Sonya blocked Helene on Instagram so she kept making fake accounts until they accepted one of the follow requests

Andrey takes Halloween very seriously

Pierre bites his nails

Helene taught Anatole how to do makeup and now he won’t stop contouring

Anatole takes an obnoxious amount of selfies

Sonya’s wardrobe is almost exclusively from Target

Pierre spends an embarrassing amount of time on Wikipedia

Marya had a flip phone up until a couple months ago when Natasha and Sonya convinced her to get an iPhone

Marya hates it because she doesn’t know how to use it and it makes her feel stupid

but Natasha’s teaching her how to use it and it’s kind of growing on her, it’s just so practical and functional and now she has a pretty red case for it that matches her nails and

Marya goes and gets her nails and hair done every couple of weeks, it’s her mandatory “treat yo’ self” ritual

Anatole pretty much only wears pastel colors

Dolokhov pretty much only wears black (or very very very dark gray)

he has a black jean jacket decorated with lots of pins that he wears all the time

there’s a skull pin and one that says “Jesus hates me” and a Blink-182 one and an Obama one and a gay flag one and an eggplant emoji one and one that says “I love my boyfriend” and it’s fucking iconic

his favorite shirt to wear it with is his Batman shirt

Dolokhov likes DC better than Marvel, Pierre’s the other way around (is that what the duel was fought over??? lmao)

Anatole doesn’t care but he thinks RDJ is hot

Andrey likes both and doesn’t understand why everyone’s so angry about it

Helene has an extensive collection of bralettes

Natasha hates pants and only wears skirts or dresses

Sonya doesn’t think she’s very good at drawing or painting but she still does it anyway because it makes her really happy

Pierre once said “love you” while talking on the phone with Andrey and he didn’t know what to do so he just PANICKED and chucked his phone across the room but he forgot to hang up and it turns out Andrey didn’t even hear what he said after all

ehhh hopefully this is pretty good? it was fun to make and made me laugh while writing it but let me know what you think!! and please add on to this post, i need more modern au headcanons hhhhhh

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maryofone · 7 years ago

Text

Ambition

Certain words hold more weight than others in relationships, and I find ‘ambition’ to be a somewhat hefty one.

At some point growing up I learned that it was important to date someone with ambition; that I should be with a person who has goals and who works hard. Seemed to make sense to me, but after dating the entire spectrum of male ambition, I realize now things are slightly more complicated than that.

Right out of the dating gate I ended up with a guy who was on the low end of the ambition scale. For whatever reason this guy was completely content with his station in life and wanted to change nothing about it. Just work, weed, video games, TV, sex, and family on holidays. I actually didn’t hate the lifestyle, but it was his lack of curiosity that tripped me out. No thirst for education. No desire to explore the world or himself. It didn’t make him a bad person, but it also didn’t bode well for the curiosity that was growing inside of me.

I over-corrected hardcore on my next serious relationship, and ended up with a guy who fucking hemorrhaged ambition. At first I was super pumped about dating a Designer/Creative Director/CEO/Painter/Singer/Songwriter/Public Speaker/Organic Vegetable Harvester/Carpenter/Charity Owner, but it didn’t take long before I realized that a metric shit ton of ambition might not be all that healthy either. Some people’s ambition becomes almost like an addiction, and I can see two reasons for this.

The first reason people get addicted to their ambitions is that focus is a lifesaver. Some people’s brains are so active and exhausting that we search for things to work on, so we can channel our energy and not go crazy with existential restlessness. My super ambitious ex had a bit of this I think, but I think he liked the taste of achievement too.

The second reason people can get addicted to their ambitions is that achievement feels good. Especially on the ego. It feels good to know you can do shit, and to prove to other people that you can do shit. But that’s the tricky bit. If you’re not careful you can get addicted to proving your own greatness all of the time, and have almost no time left for your fucking girlfriend.

There’s actually a third and super boring reason people get addicted to their ambitions, and that’s money. Lots of people love money and want money and decide from an early age that success in life is directly proportionate to their bank balance, and hey, kudos to them. I’ve certainly dated a couple of those guys. I’ve dated the insufferably arrogant 26-year-old ladder climber who never shut up about money; and the industry-obsessed 51-year-old Silicon Valley executive who never shut up about the work that made him the money. Both had a dreadfully boring one-track mind and really the only difference between them (besides the whopping age difference) was the quality of sex and booze we had.

Ambition isn’t always unhealthy or boring though. I love when people are ambitious about doing shit, just because they love to do it. I love when people want to achieve something in their life because they’ve been inspired by something or someone. Ambition is so much better when it comes from the heart instead of unaddressed mental health issues.

#words #Post

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sexilexistarr-blog · 7 years ago

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My First Time

My first time having sex wasn’t pleasant, Some say it would have been considered rape. I myself put myself somewhat at fault as if I had a more forceful personality and was better at saying know when I was younger it would not have happened. I consented but it was more reluctantly.

It almost 5 years ago today, Saturday October 20th 2012. I was going to my first non school sponsored Halloween party. I was able to get my mother to relent as I was not a teen and let me go as something sexy, in this case a sexy french maid.

This, also, involves one of the best stories that shows what kind of person my mother was. I love her to death and her history is why she is who she is. She was not the most responsible/logical thinking, I guess is the best term, sort.

Before the party, I was getting ready and she came in my room and decided to give me the sex talk. Now, we have had this talk before when I had my period and when I started dating the boy who would be my baby daddy. This talk was a little different though. She was more serious and focused on responsibility etc. It was one of her more adult conversations. She focused on me not having sex and how I am not ready for it etc. It was a talk normal parents would’ve given And she ended my first sexy underwear. It was a lacy strapless black and white bra with some ruffles along with a a matching set of tanga panties. And said if you dress sexy on the outside then you gotta on the inside. If she just stopped, perfect parenting.

But I digress, so after the “talk” she helped me do my make up and get dressed. And I thought I looked hot, looking at pictures, I looked slutty and whorish. Then she drove me to my boyfriend’s house where the party was, wished me luck and gave me a wink. Then went to work.

I go up and knock on the door, my boyfriend answers. He is dressed as a prisoner, orange pants, boxers showing and no shirt. I go in and he takes me to the garage where the “other” partiers are. It ended up being about 6 or 7 of us, most of them barely dressed outside of like a mask and all dudes but me.

There was two 30 packs of Keystone I believe, the cheapest vodka you could find and some weed. So, I got there around 7 and we drank and smoked and played video games. It was a lame ass party.

Then around midnight, my boyfriend and I are drunk and high, but not like wasted, just in a really really good place, he takes me to his room and we start making out. He is a bit more aggressive than normal. Usually, it is him just grabbing my ass or the occasional tit grab. This one he is trying to get underneath my dress, I say no a few times and he would stop for a short bit then begin again until eventually I relented and he got in my panties.

By this point, I had already played with myself a few times so I know what I liked and didn’t and he was so so so bad. I was clumsy, couldn’t keep rhythm. Like he would hit a good spot then fuck it up.

I was still pretty drunk and high but I knew where this would go if continued so I dried to get him to let me suck him off which I have done enough that I knew I could do it and then we would be done but each time I tried he grabbed my wrist and stopped me.

Every time he did that he would be like Babe I want to, I need to fuck you, Baby please. I kept shaking my head and mumbling no. But he kept on relenting and kept trying to pull my panties down. Again eventually I relented and let him take them off of me.

So there was with him on top of me making out, in my dress, one of my tits is out, dress hiked up wearing no underwear. He would occasionally take his out and between my legs and made me taste my self. Each time I would close my legs until he pried them open again.

Soon it came time. He got off me and unzipped his pants and pulled them down and there stood his penis hard and ready. I remember sitting up ready to suck and he just pushed me down and got on top of me again. I felt his dick near my pussy but my legs were closed and he just kind of tried to push his dick between them. I was opening my legs and he did ask and I would say just kind of shake my head. I am not sure if the alcohol hit me again or what happened but I vaguely remember unable to speak. Eventually, he grabbed my legs and took my legs part and then got on top. By this point I knew what was going to happen so I didn’t both trying to close.

It took him a few times, but then he entered and I remember a slight pain but nothing to bad. Not sure if the booze or weed or what but I remember feeling it but no real pain as he entered.

I tried to look him into the eyes, I guess to make it “romantic” I dunno but his head was buried into my neck as he was grunting so I just turned my head bent my knees and kept them spread as he fucked me.

It wasn’t good. Very similar to the fingering, he couldn’t maintain a pace so he would go fast then go slow but not like in a methodical way, like would thrust would be strong then it would be weak.

It felt like eternity, but probably only like 2 minutes( and some people catching us) before he came. I felt the final thrust and felt the cum spurt in me. We stayed like that for a bit until he pulled out and got off top of me. He didn’t say a word just left the room to go restroom. I just laid there, on my back, tits out, dress up, legs spead and knees up just staring at the wall.

I don’t even remember what I was thinking, if anything. He came back and he was ready to go again and we did though tried other positions. He got a little better but nothing to write home about.

So this is how I lost my virginity.

#Lexi's Personal Story

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triciya · 7 years ago

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An Addict’s Premonition

@blame-it-on-weed

“The addiction is each other. A sick twist in their understanding of love.”

(AKA the one where the Squip shocks Jeremy every time he speaks or touches Michael.)

Word Count: 2563

Warnings (general): Arguments, Angst, Broken Bones, Depression, Kind of suicidal thoughts, smut later on if ya’ll want. Implied past self harm. Kidnapping (not the main characters). PTSD with said character.

Chapter 1

The floor of the school hallway creaked as the mass of students hurried to their last lesson of the day. The air was humid and everyone had taken all their clothes off to the last layer, busily chatting with their peers or sauntering with their head drooped because of the heat. Sweat and skin bore down on New Jersey, saffron yellow rays of fire pounding onto the people and concrete.

Take off your jacket Jeremy.

You’re getting more built up each day, those push ups are paying off.

No.

I told you to wear a tank top for a reason, now come on. Don’t you want girls all over you? You`ll be loved.

… Fine.

The squip lounged in the back of his mind as he pulled off his black bomber jacket, a white tank top stretched over his growing muscles.

“The developers have said it should be comi- dude. What the fuck.” Michael stopped mid-sentence, eyeing Jeremy up and down, “What treadmill ran you over?”

“Oh. Squip said to exercise more, no big deal. Plus, the weather is melting my skin off.” Jeremy blushed, slightly flustered and insecure.

“Dude. That’s like… impressive.” Michael’s eyebrow was raised and ignoring the people that kept bumping into his shoulder unintentionally as they passed, he shook his head in disbelief, pouting, “My little Jere-bear becoming a big buff man! Woof!”

Jeremy scoffed, folding his arms over his chest, slouching slightly. Of course, he straightened up once the squip coughed in his head, a warning, “I mean, how can you wear that hoodie all day every day? You’re going to overheat.”

“I’m fine.” He mumbled, his tone changing instantly, pushing Jeremy slightly so he would continue walking instead of blocking the hallway, “Anyway,” He changed the subject quickly with a wave of his hand, “Like I was saying, Life is Strange has a confirmed season two and a small prologue, kind of, is available to play. You should come over to mine after school and we should try it out.”

Video games aren’t cool Jeremy, you should stop spending so much time playing them. Better yet, stop spending time with Michael.I keep telling you this every single day.

Shut up. I’ve said no. You aren’t changing my mind.

The squip stayed silent, clearly disapproving as Jeremy grinned over at the boy he’d been best friends with for twelve years, “Totally! I’d skip the last lesson but I’m kinda failing history.”

“Dude, I told you, History is cool. You can study with me!” Michael skipped a little, it was true, history was the only lesson other than music that interested that kid. It was almost like a story apparently, a novel waiting to be read. An alternate universe with elegance, religion, gender inequality and racism. Maybe a little touchy and horrible as places to live in, but interesting nevertheless.

“Yea, but you like African Tribes, pre-historic humans, world catastrophes! Not… the founding fathers.”

“It all comes together to form today, y'know, everything plays an important part. The butterfly effect or some shi-”

“Jerry! Dude!” Jake came stumbling towards the pair, arm firmly wrapped around Rich’s shoulder, a friendly gesture.

“Jeremy…” He replied awkwardly, everyone was getting his name wrong. Well, at least they knew him at all, progress is progress. Michael stayed silent, frowning slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Uh,” Jake snorted as Rich started chortling, “I’m having a party at my place on Saturday, You should join everyone!”

This is your chance, Jeremy! Say, “Yea, I’ll see you there dude! There’ll be booze, right?” Then give him a fist bump.

Jeremy tilted his head, play rehearsal coming to his aid as he smirked (something that the squip had taught him to do correctly), “Yea, I’ll see you there, dude! There’ll be booze, right?” He lifted his fist up which Jake returned.

“Of course! We’ll get pissed! It’s Halloween!” He started to walk off and Jeremy turned as he walked by, still in awe at how people were approaching him. As though he was cool.

That’s how it’s done.

Shit, squip. You know what you’re doing. I’ve never been invited to a party before!

I know.

Jeremy turned to Michael who had slowly started walking, “Did you see that!?” He screamed, grinning. Leaning his arm on his shoulder, “I can’t believe we got invited to Jake’s party! The biggest party of the fall! Our last year and I`m finally getting somewhere!“

“Well, uh, have fun I guess?” Michael shrugged, throwing Jeremy’s arm off and pulling his sleeves back to his elbows.

Jeremy stopped and looked at him with a confused expression, shoes screeching on the floor and crossing his arms, “You aren’t coming?”

He avoided his gaze, “I wasn’t invited.” They veered left into the class, most students already there, sitting on the desks and fanning themselves with text books and make-shift origami fans.

Jeremy waved his hand dismissively, “Bro, ‘course you were. Join me, it’ll be great.”

“I won’t feel like I’m supposed to be there. Out of place.” They flopped down into their seats, the scorching rays of light from the window thankfully avoiding their desks which were opposite each other, Jeremy sat backwards on his chair so he could chat to Michael.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, c'mon!”

“Ugh, ok. Here,” He pulled out a handful of sour candies from his hoodie pocket, Warheads, “I’ll have the green ones, you’’re the pink this time.”

Jeremy hummed, their faces scrunching up simultaneously as they swallowed them.

“But I won’t stay lon-”

“Jeremy! Why didn’t you answer my messages?” A shrill voice split Michael’s voice in half, flats slapping against the floor and a shimmer of gold hair passing everyone by as Brooke confronted Jeremy. Her eyebrows were furrowed and arms crossed, smelling of honeycomb and chocolate.

Play it off.

Jeremy grimaced, “I’m sorry, my phone was off. I was at Michael’s.” He pointed towards the guy in question, apologetically smiling to his pissed off girlfriend.

Jeremy. You’ve got to listen to me. My calculations do say that Michael is the only thing in our way.

“Oh. Hey! God, are you still wearing that old thing. You’ll overheat, Michael. Seriously, take my water.” Brooke fished out a water bottle from her Gucci bag.

“That’s what I’ve been telling him!” Jeremy took her hand and threaded their fingers together, something the Squip told him to do whenever she was upset.

“Whatever. Don’t do it again.” She stopped and pouted, looking like a kicked puppy. She was always insecure about herself and he hated making her feel bad but his Player One always came first.

Kiss her. She needs emotional support and desires physical contact when feeling negative emotions.

“C'mere.” Jeremy drawled, placing his hands on hips, one arm around her back once she started to lean down, a blush dusting over her cheeks. Their noses brushed together, eyes closed, Brooke fell into it, a soft sigh running smoothly between their joined faces. His lips were chapped from hours of biting them whilst hers were soft, clear lipgloss making them move easily against each other as it intensified.

Jeremy didn’t feel anything for her.

Don’t get him wrong, she was such, such a good friend. Always there when he felt his worst and Michael couldn’t be there. She had witnessed multiple of his mental breakdowns, much to the squip’s dismay, and still loved him to the bone. But he didn’t love her back. She was a pawn in his game. It was dumb. Hurtful. Disgusting. But the squip said it was the only way.

As long as Jeremy kept her happy, which he really did try, he didn’t feel as bad about it. He’ll let her go gracefully when the time comes. Not like those guys that break up over text, such as her last boyfriend.

The bell interrupted them and Brooke gave him a shy smile, skipping over to the front of the class where her seat was books clutched against her chest.

When Jeremy turned to ask Michael something, he was already gone, his chair still pulled out from under the table and green wrappers littering his desk.

The class finished abruptly, a technical problem with the computer caused it to cut out in the middle of class and they had to read out of a textbook for the rest of the lesson. Of course, no one did. When the bell rung, Jeremy got his things together slowly, knowing well enough that the onslaught of students would crush him against the door if he didn’t go last.

He was worried. Like, really really worried about Michael. Sure, he skips lessons constantly but not once he’s already in the class, not unless he was having a panic attack.

The school was mostly empty of people by the time Jeremy got to his and Michael’s meeting spot near the fire escape door opposite the art rooms. Thankfully, he was there, leaning against the wall browsing through Tumblr on his phone. He looked rough. Hair dishevelled, back hunched and hoodie bunched up with wrinkles in awkward places.

“Hey. Are you ok?”

“Oh, what? Uh yea, yea I’m ok.” Michael jumped up, startled.

“Dude, you left in the middle of lesson. Don’t you trust me to tell me things?” Jeremy crossed his arms, slightly disappointed and upset, @I don`t want you dealing with attacks by yourself.”

“Of course I trust you! It’s just, nothing. I felt a little queasy, not a panic attack and you were occupied so I didn’t want to disturb you.” Michael backtracked, standing up a little straighter, “Anyway, we should get onto that new lis preview. The cruiser’s parked out back.” He managed a forced smile as Jeremy sighed, letting go.

“Fine. Just, don’t do it again without telling me.”

“Yea yea, bro.”

The car journey was comfortable, if that was the right term to use, with Michael bobbing his head to some lofi ghibli mix on youtube and Jeremy sticking his hand out of the car to feel the wind on his skin. The sun was still scorching and they had all the windows rolled down, in hope of cooling down the drive. The cruiser had spent the day meeting the heat.

Jeremy hated this. This underlying sense of unease because of the squip. He knew Michael was against it and was really worried about what it would do to him. He just wanted things to be easy. He wanted to be popular. He wanted someone to love. Christine was his original goal but as much as he likes her, he knows it won’t work out. He’s still trying of course. But for now, he’s settled on Brooke, she’s kind and sweet and doesn’t hate Michael.

Take the upgrade. He doesn’t agree with us.

Oh shut up. That’s how life works.

They pulled over into Michael’s driveway, Jeremy smiling at Michael who ignored him. He frowned, shrugging it off and pulling out his phone to see some unread texts from Brooke once he got out.

Bunn-ke: Jerry!!!

The name stuck even after they established that his name was, in fact, Jeremy.

Bunn-ke: I found this black and white kitten near my house and it’s just playing and biting my fingers!!!

Bunn-ke: It’s ADORABLE!!!

Bunn-ke: You should come over and see it! I don’t wanna take it home because then its mama won’t find him so if you can come over soon we can pet it together!!!

Ben&Jeremys: I can’t come earlier than 5 sorry. But it sounds cute, send a pic!

“Jeremy, come on.” Michael shouted from the front door, getting there without him realising it.

“Oh, yea sorry! Brooke.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and jogged to catch up, closing the door behind him. Michael didn’t respond and instead shuffled down into the basement without a word. He didn`t seem to be avoiding him, more so lost in thought.

Bunn-ke: Oh. ok. I guess.

They flopped down into the beanbags, loading up the Life is Strange Preview. The game started, music as ethereal as ever, wrapping the room in a film of calm as they opened up bags of Doritos and marshmallows, taking sips of fanta every now and again.

Jeremy. Look at him.

He did what the squip told him to. Almost automatic, used to listening and obeying.

Look at the way he’s slouched, he bites his lips when concentrating. He’s unfit, you can tell with how his hoodie bunches up in the wrong places. All those patches just make him look like a mess. He is one by the way. How do you deal with him? He’s bringing you down.

He’s my best friend. Look, I’ve told you a million times, I’m not abandoning him.

It’s taken you months to be invited to a party! Your relationship with Brooke is on the verge of falling to pieces and Christine is further away than ever!

Christine won’t work out, she’s amazing and everything but ugh, I’m not good enough. And Brooke, I should just break up with Brooke, it feels wrong to use her like that. She’s a nice person.

“You’re mumbling.” Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair and pausing the game. He turned to look at Jeremy, eyes darkening with a silent stare, almost as though he was waiting for something.

“Oh. The squip’s just being a nuisance.”

He sighed, pulling at the strings of his hoodie in frustration and bursting.

“Seriously. I can’t do this anymore. “He threw his hands up in the air, "You’ve been getting more and more cold with me every day! What is it even saying to you! It’s talking about me isn’t it?” He nodded, taking a shuddering breath, the anger sudden.

“Micha-”

“No! I’ve had enough! I can’t stand seeing you and who you’re becoming! It’s like you don’t give a shit about how other people feel and all you need in popularity and your trusty little buddy the squip! One day you’re going to be in an asylum begging for that thing to be taken out!”

You see. He doesn’t need you. You don’t need him. He thinks you don’t give a shit, let’s show him just how much we can do that.

“Michael! You’re my best friend! Of course I care!”

“Yea, well you don’t seem to care about yourself!” Michael was shaking, lips quivering and the sound of his pacing echoed around the room, “Trust me! For once! Let’s try get rid of it! You’re cool without it. You’re you. Please.”

“You don’t understand. Without the squip, I’m just a loser.”

“Ah, I bet that’s what you think I am.”

“No, God no!” Jeremy shook his head trying to reach forward but Michael flinched.

“Don’t touch me. Go spend time with your girlfriend. We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for four months. Let me do you a favour, just leave me then. Go fuck Brooke over, go get Christine who doesn’t feel comfortable about your crush on her, go fuck Chloe. Go and live a perfect life, just don’t go crying to me when some fucking video game shit happens and the Squip starts taking control of your body.”

Jeremy felt his skin boil, dread quickly bubbling up into pure anger, “Oh, I see, so you’re jealous!”

“Jealous! Don’t you dar-”

He stood up, pointing a finger into Michael’s chest,

“You’re just jealous I have a squip and you don’t!”

Michael glared back at his best friend, “Jealous of that siri reject? Fuck no!” His voice cracked as he ran a hand through his hair.

“That I have a girlfriend and you don’t! You know what, maybe you should stop being so selfish and let me be happy for once, huh!?”

“You know nothing about me.” Michael whispered this, tears gathering in his eyes, “Get out.”

“Fine!” Jeremy picked up his jacket, slamming the door behind him and not looking back as he left through the front door and called Brooke to come pick him up.

“Fine.”

Tagged: @multiotp @nyan-nyan-nii @axel-the-flower-prince @beagle-girl-36 @crazilyawesomeme @timpaxew @cannonu @oh-my-love-I-write @jealpe12 @oh-my-mettaton @crispwiz @alice4897 @scarlet-the-cat

#bmc #bmc fanfic #be more chill #be more chill fanfic #Jeremy heere #Michael mell #meremy #Meremy Hell #fanfic #fanfiction #yo dude #richjake #rich goranski #jake dillinger #brooke lohst #chloe valentine #pinkberry

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bigyack-com · 5 years ago

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Jawaani Jaaneman: Saif Ali Khan, Bollywood’s favourite man-child, is ready to grow up? - bollywood

If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say that after war, the man-child might just be Hollywood’s favourite subject to make movies about. Quite ironic that while one genre shows 18-year-old boys on the frontline, the other has 36-year-old men smoking weed in their mum’s basement.Adam Sandler, Seth Rogen, Paul Rudd and so many of your beloved film stars kickstarted their career with the man-child, only to later move on to bigger, greener pastures that Oscars seem to love. But back home, playing the eternal Peter Pan is still too strong for Saif Ali Khan. The undisputed desi man-child, with perhaps Ranbir Kapoor as his closest competition, Saif has played the role almost half a dozen times, starting from Yeh Dillagi (1994) to his latest, Jawaani Jaaneman (2020). Saif has been in experimentation mode of late -- he was the first big name to transition to OTT with Sacred Games, played a revengeful sadhu in Laal Kaptaan and a grungy villain in Tanhaji: The Unsung Warrior and will soon be seen in Amazon Prime Video’s political drama, Dilli. But despite all the good and exciting new work coming his way, a Jawaani Jaaneman is still a sweet deal, despite the same old premise which he knows too well.The Hollywood man-child is a combination of multiple immaturities. He has a mediocre job just good enough to afford him his daily weed and party packs of Cheetos, the latest XBox bestseller and a subscription to Pornhub. He lives with his mom, who might often remind him that he needs to grow up but not harshly enough to drive him out of the home entirely. The one final thing and the only thing that our desi man-child focusses on is the commitment phobia and the unwillingness to settle down with a single partner.

In his films, Saif struggles with the extraordinary expectation on him to grow up and take ownership of his actions. He wants to booze some more, love some more, philander some more until the shackles of a relationship, (or a marriage, or a child) bind him down. In Salaam Namaste, Saif knocks up his girlfriend (Preity Zinta) but wants no part of parenthood; in Cocktail, he can’t get himself to make things official with his too-sexy girlfriend (Deepika Padukone); in Love Aaj Kal, the idea of a transient relationship is the best bargain; and in Hum Tum, love is apparently for the idiots.

But almost always, the men in all these films—Bollywood or Hollywood—are changed (or coerced) into adulthood, not by some self-reflection or a realisation that it’s time to give up the shallow life, but by an external factor. It could be the sanskari girl who enters your life, or the man she eventually gets married to, or quite simply, the ultrasound of your unborn baby. The child always becomes a man by the end of the two-hour runtime. But the cycle continues with another film, and another, and then another. In itself, it’s not a vice to not want to reserve yourself to a single partner. One’s consensual relationships, no matter the figures they run into, are nobody’s business. However, the brain tries and tries, so hard, to come up with a single case of switched genders. A woman-child, is rarer than a Friday without a single man-child release. I don’t remember the last time I saw Preity, Deepika or Rani Mukerji play a woman who won’t give up her philandering days for a Saif. The philandering woman almost never gets a cute, comedy role. She is the one staring into her bathroom vanity, her mascara runny with all the guilt streaming down her eyes after one night of promiscuity.

With Jawaani Jaaneman, Saif is revisiting the most crowded genre on his IMDb page. He plays a Casanova with no intention to settle down until the ‘external factor’, comes knocking on his door. The saviour woman this time is a pregnant daughter he never knew he had. While adulthood and responsibilities came too late for the father, they come in a little too early for the daughter. If that isn’t an ironic commentary on genders, I don’t know what is. So far, nothing about Jawaani Jaaneman screams that it will be any different that the predecessors in his filmography. However, Saif makes different promises. “This story is about a man accepting his age, his responsibilities and his journey in life. I think the father is one of the most important people in our lives. A lot of people mess up being a father and create children that need therapy, that need friendship and that need all kinds of things to fix their problems because they are not ready to be responsible fathers,” he said in an interview. That’s all very nice. If only a film could teach women, mothers to be more responsible. Oh wait, there is no target audience for that. Follow @htshowbiz for more Read the full article

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iworeheelsforthis · 5 years ago

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Daddy Issues

I've confirmed that I don't want to date a man with children. I just went on another failed attempt of a date with a divorced man who pays alimony and child support for his three children to an ex-wife who never worked (honestly this boggles my mind in this day and age) and will forevermore require his funds.

The level of complication involved in that type of arrangement is simply not for me. I've tried to be open to the idea but at the end of the day I don't want someone's crazy ex-wife involved in my life and when you share children with a man and he gets remarried, the ex inevitably gets a little wackadoodle. And I get it - I wouldn't want some new woman swooping in raising my imaginary kids half the time either. Even though it is well known that I was a FANTASTIC babysitter growing up. I'm pretty sure that's all that's required to nail it as a step mom, right?

A lot of divorcées have been out of the dating game for a while so they can be rusty and unkempt. They tend to see me as a younger free babysitter beacon of hope in this new single dad life they're navigating. A few things they have in common are that they often don't dress very well and aren't the best kissers. They are typically coming out of loveless and sexless marriages (believe me, they tell me ALL about it, much to my horror) and they aren't up to par with what I am looking for in a man, sexual compatability-wise at least. And clearly they weren't that for their now horny ex-wives either.

I want a man who isn't timid and knows how to kiss REALLY well, can non-violently push me against a wall and make out with me, who knows that opening doors and being chivalrous is always appropriate no matter what decade you're in, and can dress like a goddamn adult. None of this bad haircut, outdated clothes, unshaven beards type of crap I'm seeing from these left-out-to-pasture fathers. They look like prime contestants for Queer Eye makeovers.

My first attempt at dating dads was several years ago, which I've written about in this blog. He told me about his infidelity, how she took half his money and how he only gets to see his kids every so often because she uses them as leverage for more dough. No thank you. That ended after a few dates.

Then a few years ago I went on some dates with another dad. He was a shorter but handsome guy with what I call bowling ball arms. His limbs were stalky and he worked out a lot so his biceps looked like small bowling balls. It wasn't attractive.

Anyway, he had an adorable 6 year old daughter with, what I learned to be, a crazy ex-wife. Crazy in the sense that their divorce was so contentious that she had to be restrained from physically attacking him in court, he had to get a restraining order against her and she feeds their small child terrible information about him as a father and person.

He said she would go ballistic if she found out we were dating and would likely try to do everything in her power to make my life a living hell. "You're much younger than she is and you're beautiful. She'd despise you and it would be a nightmare. But we can try to make it work, what do you think?" Those were the last words I ever let him say to me.

A few months ago I went on three dates with Stoner Dad. He was attractive and had been divorced for a few years, saying it was amicable. Well, he failed to mention in date one that his ex had never worked and he has to pay her the majority of his salary so she can live in a big house, while he rents a 2 bedroom apartment and he actually doesn't really make that much money but he's "trying to make it work". He also admitted he had never wanted children and she trapped him into having them. That all sounds like a real life fairytale, no?

On top of this he was a major stoner. He smoked weed ALL THE TIME. There's nothing very appealing about a guy who already isn't terribly ambitious, is paying most of his income to a woman who trapped him with children and refuses to work, who then on top of it smokes pot all the time. Plus, he had a small penis, so that above all else ended things after date three. But even if he had a nice big penis and the rest remained, I still would have had to end it. Right?!

Shortly after that I agreed to go on a date with another dad of two teenage daughters. Can you imagine what they would do to me? If my parents had divorced when I was a teenager and my dad dated a woman in her 30s I would have made her life a living hell. He also admitted that his ex didn't work and it was a contentious divorce. I mean, thank you to these men who admit their horrific divorces but also, this is not a good sales pitch.

This week's failed date was with a newly divorced dad of...THREE. Three human beings. His dating profile photos only showed one child so learning about the two others was a real sneak attack on his part. His youngest is five years old and she is the reason he and his wife split, which I hope he never tells his daughter. Again, the ex-wife never worked but she lives in a beautiful 4 bedroom home in an affluent town. Fortunately he seems to be doing just fine because he also bought his own 4 bedroom home on the water with a dock and his boat.

He needed to shave and whiten his teeth, and grow 6 inches and get less drunk, and not have made a scene at the bar, loudly played videos of his kids for me (which I definitely didn't ask for) and then MAYBE I would have accepted his second date offer. Juuust kidding.

My favorite dad dating story is one that happened shortly after I broke up with my ex 4 months ago. I matched up with a hot guy online and it turns out we went to high school and were even on the swim team together. I had remembered him as an attractive guy in the grade ahead of me but we never interacted back then.

When we matched I was excited and soon after we met up for our first date. He told me about his adorable 7 year old daughter as he wined and dined me but he really wined and dined himself, too. He had 7 drinks on that first date and every single drink was different, which made his boozing more noticeable. Also, he drinks like a chick. A drunk chick, but a chick nonetheless. We call it White Girl Wasted. I know when parents go out they like to cut loose - it's a night off from the kid(s) and time to party. He had a margarita, then a mezcal mule, then a tequila neat, then a glass of prosecco, followed by a Moscow mule and a glass of chardonnay and red wine to finish the night out. Can you imagine that hangover?! I have a headache just thinking about it.

Somehow I wasn't as phased by it as I normally would have been. He was tall and very good looking, he held my hand and kissed me by a fireplace at the restaurant. I was living out a high school fantasy and clearly blind to his alcoholism. We made out hard in the parking lot when the date was over - he picked me up (I LOVE when guys do this, particularly since my ex was small and also my height and he would have gotten a hernia attempting this move), looked me in my eyes and asked "where have you been?" Hot. I was excited to see him again.

We went out to dinner a few days later and when he picked up the tab he assured me I could pick up the next one. It was a turnoff. Then I come to find he lives in a really seedy part of town because the rent is incredibly cheap. Because NO ONE wants to live there unless murder is on their mind. He also admits that even though he's a lawyer, his type of law has a government cap on what he can take home. I did the math and realized he makes less than half of what I do. It's not all about money, but I looked at this situation as me swooping in as the bread winner only to have to pay child support to his ex, oh and pay off his insane student loan debt that he "just couldn't seem to get a hold on".

On our third date which I was sure would be our last but sometimes I just like to test things out for torture fun we went out to dinner, he again got wasted, ordered so much alcohol, we ended up splitting the expensive bill and he told me he is trying to get his baby mama deported. WHAT?! On the first date he said they were on good terms. But give this guy some alcohol and the truth comes out. Not only is she illegally here (and they were never married) but she is also a lesbian who trapped him into giving her his seed, and her male cousin is named as the father on the birth certificate.

I was stunned, shocked, disgusted, you name it. I broke it off with him the next day much to his surprise. He thought we really had something. I thought he had a drinking problem and was terrified to get anywhere near the illegal immigration custody battle that was brewing.

So the next time someone suggests I be open to dating a man with kids, I'll remind myself and them that it's usually a complete nightmare situation and I haven't made it this far to succumb to a messy ex-wife baby mama drama situation. I prefer to make my own damn messes, thank you very much.

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champagneandparacosm-archive · 4 years ago

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The Castillo and Faunten estate was located in the seedier part of Staten Island. Where the cops ignored and pretended wasn’t part of their jurisdiction and even the rats looked shadier than the city rats. It was a place of its own, the little neighborhood mainly keeping to themselves. Nick and Owen only had one household to tolerate at the other complex beside them had been condemned and forced to shut down after many many health code violations.

The house was originally owned by Owens grandmother, Owen moving in with her after his mother’s passing two years prior. His darling beloved grandmother also passed, leaving Owen alone with a big ass house and nothing to do. He didn’t need all of the room, certainly not taking up that much room. So he invited Nick, his best friend since age eleven, to move in with him. They were already as close as brothers, better than as they very rarely fought about little squabbles and such. Nothing major or serious. The two were two peas in a pod.

How the house became a free squatting place to whoever wished it was a strange story, not really having a beginning. It had always been open to their friends, inviting them in always even if they weren’t home. In their friend circle were a few tight members, but it entendres farther, this invitation. Often times they didn’t know the people coming to seek shelter, simply offering them a beer and to be respectful of everyone else in the house.

As you’d guess, the house wasn’t in the best of condition. It was a comfortable clutter, nothing too gut wrenching to endure. Besides the constant odor of weed and booze, the floors and such were never covered in trash and shit. Sometimes they cleaned, and often the women traipsing through cleaned as they stayed.

Owen and Nick were settled on the couch, their very bulky and stout friend relaxing in one of the chairs in the living room, another empty chair to his right and the couch to his left. A large rectangular coffee table perched in the middle of them, a messy assortment of drug paraphernalia littering it’s top. The three were rolling blunts for a few orders, a lighted blunt hanging from Owens lips and being passed around the little semi circle.

Further into the the house led to the kitchen being occupied by the gangs dealer, Jimmy being their go to for anything. He was currently working on a batch of red velvet gob edibles, having to bake here because the kids were home this weekend and his wife didn’t let him bake anything infused with THC while the children were there. Just to be cautious.

A few people were scattered throughout the house, some sleeping, some playing video games in the basement. Upon the opening of the door a huge Rottweiler was roused from his sleep, rushing the door and giving a protective bark over his home, blocking the foyer off as he eyed up this stranger with loud yelps to alert his family. His master, Owen, yelled for him to shut up, the dog not ten feet away from him. Nick stood as he saw her, smiling with a wave. He grabbed the Rottweilers large chain hanging from his neck and pulled him back with a heave, the man struggling to control 130 pounds of muscle and nerves. Owen called the beast and he bounded to his owner, jumping up to lay beside him.

“Sorry! Cerberus is kinda a psycho.” Nick grinned, greeting his cousin and welcoming her inside. He didn’t offer a hug, feeling like he didn’t have to pretend to know her well since their were none of their parents here to tell them to ‘look like you love each-other’.

“Come on in, make yourself at home.” He ushered her into the living room, giving a little motion to show her the house. “Uh...yeah. This is it. You can kinda get used to the place if you want. This is Owen and Tommy and Jimmy’s in the kitchen making shit. Then there’s a few guys downstairs and upstairs.” He was back on the couch, at the other end as Cerberus had stolen his seat.

With nowhere left to go after Shiloh had made the split from her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Hunter, Shiloh had ended up on her cousin’s doorstep. Her options had been limited, as going home to her parents was off of the table due to the fact that she’d been disowned, and her lack of a friend group left her with little to no selections for roommates. With her small wage, affording a place on her own was too costly to even consider, unless she could somehow make peace with the idea of renting a place in the slums. The thought of her five-foot-one self alone in a neighborhood where crime was running rampant, however, didn’t sit well with her. She would be asking for trouble. It was after much consideration that she’d called up her cousin, Nick, who she hadn’t seen in years, in the hopes that he would let her crash at his place for a little while.

The last time Shiloh had seen Nick, she guessed she would have been maybe nine or ten years old. It was at some family barbecue that neither of them had probably cared to be at, and shortly after that she’d slipped off the radar when she’d been admitted to the mental health ward at the hospital. Her whole family had deemed her crazy, and she’d really believed it at the time too, as there weren’t too many possible conclusions to draw from a nine-year-old that was hearing voices in her head. Now that she’d come to realize just how real all of the shadowy figures and voices were, however, she was starting to miss being able to dismiss them as being figments of her batshit crazy imagination.

After some fishing around and some calls to her aunts, Shiloh had managed to locate Nick’s number so that she could call him with her request and get his address off of him. In the years that they’d been apart, she’d most certainly changed a lot and grown up, and she had to wonder how different Nick would look too, or if she would even recognize him at all. She guessed that he’d probably gotten taller at least, but then again, he could have only grown a couple of inches and it still would have been more of a growth spurt than she’d had herself. Sadly, she’d taken after her mother in the height department, and at the age of twenty-two, she had to assume now that she was done growing and that she was just stuck being vertically challenged for the rest of her life.

When Shiloh had arrived at Nick’s doorstep, her luggage around her feet and her guitar on her back, she paused, her delicate fingers tracing back and forth nervously across her lower lip. He’d told her that the door would be unlocked and that she could come and go as she pleased, but something felt so strange to her about simply waltzing into a stranger’s home. Sure, he was her cousin, but she hadn’t seen him in over ten years so it wasn’t as though they were close enough to even know a single thing about one another. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he remembered the whole ‘crazy hospital’ ordeal though, as it had really shaken up the family at the time. The thought made her cringe.

After some contemplation and taking a few moments to work up the nerve, Shiloh pushed the door open and stepped inside, her big chocolate-colored eyes glancing around the entryway. “Hello?” She called, setting her bag down by her feet again and leaning it against her suitcase. Her luggage was obnoxiously heavy due to the fact that she’d needed to fit her entire life into it. There would be no going back to where she came from, so nothing could be left behind. “Nick?” She called again. He’d mentioned to her that he had a roommate, but she couldn’t recall what his name was, or if he’d even told it to her at all.

@champagneandpools

#character: nick #character: Owen #character: owen

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ecotone99 · 4 years ago

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[MF] Zeitgeist (or the Bum)

Wrote this a long time ago for a class. I was trying to have "fun" writing this.

You hit the mute button and cussed him out. You did that for a few seconds and then reconsidered. The chains were off. So you hit unmute and detonated the bridge: You cussed him out.

And you used all your best words too. You pulled the big guns, you used the compound words and compound sentences.

Then you used all kinds of rhetorical techniques, though you leaned mostly in the strategy of repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition, repetition. Of the prime, nefarious English words, glorious as they are, splendid at the feel when they come off the tip of the tongue from the depths of your abysmal throat.

And you got on a roll. You didn’t realize he had hung up. Not that it mattered. Because you were digging deep into your bag. You were going off. You were rediscovering everything in your college-borne repertoire. You used ontological expressions (You + are + a + [blank]!). Then you followed those with existential statements (You + are + one + [blank]!). You even managed to throw in a few theological combinations {Deity + damn + you + demon/devil + [blank]!) and Marxist styled idioms (You + bourgeois/capitalist pig + [blank]!).

Then you went historical. That’s right. Everything you ever said when complaining about the landlord who kept posting late-rent, ‘or-else,’ pre-eviction letters on your apartment door, and everything you ever used on your neighbors across the hall who let their dog drop shits all over your doormat, and everything you had ever invented during the football games you always watched alone and always used your rent money to bet on. You used it all. And everything was on the table. His wife, his kids, his dogs, everything. You used them too while emptying your rhetorical armory. And you struck every landing. Your words had pop. Everything was explosive. And even though your paragraphs had no logic (not that it matters in moments of explosive exposition), you were still telling the truth. It was your proud moment of oratorical barbarity. You were telling the truth, your truth, and in your soul, your dwindling soul, you knew you were doing the exact, right thing.

But let’s slow down. What happened to you?

Well, you got canned. You got canned, again. Other synonyms go as follows: Discharged, dumped, let go, dismissed, fired, screwed over.

When did this all happen? Well, it was midnight and you were on the road. You were just a quarter of the way to the city and you were hitting 95mph headed east on the 101. You were listening to Kendrick. You’re always listening to Kendrick and you were, of course, ‘singing’ along, and leaning hard into the lyrics, and pretending as if you yourself were performing on stage or in a music video.

You meant every word you repeated.

Then, suddenly, Kendrick gave way to an incoming call. Which of course, was the boss. You picked up. You were ready. You were about to tell him you were just about a minute away from the parking lot. But the boss goes and says one thing after another. He tried to sound like the good classic character of authority who’s full of understanding, who’s sympathetic to the trials of your life, who’s been there himself, who’s really hoping for good and bright things to happen to your young, hopeful life. He tried to tell you that this wasn’t personal. He tried to say it would be, for you, just minor setback, that’s all, just a minor one, small, infinitesimal, negligible, a blip. He tried to lay it on you that yours was a life brimming full of possibilities and opportunities ahead. This was just a little, baby, tiny setback. Barely a setback. That’s all this was. You will be fine, Darius. Just fine.

Right.

Then you cussed him (see introductory paragraphs). And then you tried threw your phone down the passenger side floor of your dying 94 Camry – your Camry of which has a driver’s side window that can’t be let down and a passenger’s side window which can’t be shut. Then you screamed. You had the right. You did. Then you punched your steering wheel a few times and swerved. Then you punched the dashboard and your radio and you swerved again. Then you tore your rearview mirror off and, in a moment of blank minded, righteous rage, you tried to throw it out of the passenger’s side window. But what happens is the mirror bounced off the glass and hit you back. Then you swerved, then you screamed, then you – ended up punching your own chin, loosened a tooth. But that calmed you down a little. The punch reset you. And for a time you just grinded your teeth and kept reciting in your brain that all that you lost was a gatekeeping job, that’s all. No big deal. That’s all it was. A gatekeeping job.

Just a gatekeeping job.

Then you started reciting that you lost a gatekeeping job.

Then you realized you had lost a gatekeeping job.

You lost that.

And thus you turned your thinking back to your landlord and all the golden eviction letters he was trying to swallow you with, and you turned your thinking back to your neighbor’s shitful dog, and you turned your thinking back to your mom and dad’s forthcoming disappointment; and then you turned your thinking back onto all rest of the facts that seemed to prove without a cosmic doubt about how very, very little you are.

And then you went on to remember that you have no weed at home. Because you had no roommate. Not anymore. She left. And that meant no more free oxy, no more free “candy,” no more simpler pleasures. Then you remember she took your PS4 on her way out, which was, ladies and gentlemen off the jury, a classic, dick move. She also took the TV with her along with your Bluetooth stereo. Not to mention, she changed the Netflix password and redirected all your streaming accounts to her array of email addresses. Not only that, she established her phone as the primary authentication device. What is meant to be said this: She went in on you. She knocked you out of the ropes. And then, on top of that, she had also taken all the Jameson and all the lesser booze out of the cabinet. But she didn’t drink any of it. No, no. What did she do? Well, what she did was pour out all the bottles into the sink, into the toilet, into the bathtub, and onto the bathroom floor. All of it. Drained. She left you dry. Just because she could. Just because she wanted to show you. And now your bathroom smells like a Boston sports bar. But all you have are empty bottles.

So, you go four to five more miles down the highway, and you start really thinking about it again, you start really thinking about driving off a cliff. You thought about how easy it could be. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent anymore, on top of everything else. You could stake your claim on that ‘Get out of Life’ free card. But then you figured the best opportunity to accomplish that kind of feat was forty plus miles headed the other way, headed west. You would have to not only turn around, but you would have to get on Canaan road in Thousand Oaks. You’d have to drive up and up and up to get into those nether regions of the canyons and then find the right spot where the shoulder rails were thin and weak and the drop was deep enough to guarantee the morbid victory that you would be giving unto yourself. In other words, that would take work. That would take will and a certain kind of courage. Not to mention, you wouldn’t be able to see everything on the road or in canyon. You wouldn’t be able to tell what kind of cliff you were on. So making the drop would be a gamble. Because you might just make it. You could survive. And with survival, well, that meant hospital bills, towing, psyche tests, phone calls to mom and dad, and god knows what else. And another truth is, you didn’t quite have the gas or the will to go forty miles and take care of it. You just got fired after all. So you didn’t have much will for anything.

So, instead, for a few miles on, you looked for anyone to cut off on the freeway. And what happens is, you get three of them. You get three to swerve, flash their beams, shake their fists. One even tried to get you back. But they didn’t know you had nothing to lose. So you took some gambles, made some maneuvers which, well – so what if you made him swerve into the shoulder and crash into the wall? You know this: He was driving a BMW and he had the bright, neon blue, LED lights. So he deserved it. You think, fuck him. You think, fuck all of them. You think, anyone with neon blue LED lights deserved to drive into a wall at 100mph. They all did.

But after this, what happens to you on the road is a realization. That’s right. A realization sets into you. A lump gathered in your throat. Your cervical spine got hot. The back of your skull tensed up: You were just a gatekeeper.

Just a gatekeeper.

And you were a real one. You were an actual gatekeeper (not the symbolic gatekeeper all the pale, glowing literati proudly - chest out, head high, shirts tucked - consider themselves to be). Meaning, you sat in a real shed and watched YouTube videos. Sometimes you trolled in the comment sections for the genres you possessed some inside knowledge of. Sometimes you pressed the gate button. Other times you fixed the ticket machine. But what you really did is drink coffee and use Facebook and Instagram to scour the digital sea to hate and admire all the lives you will never have.

Gatekeeper.

That was the job you could get a hold of. That was the job you couldn’t keep.

But forty miles away was just too far away, you tell yourself. Forty miles was just too far away to get to while you were sober.

So it goes. Next is, you exited the freeway and head toward one of the three Ralph’s on Ventura (that you know of).

Why? Why Ralphs? Because you need a drink. Wait, why Ralphs again? Because you needed affordable beer. And you needed affordable beer because you heard somewhere in a comment section or a tweet that one ought to, “Use affordable beer to quell the sensations of the absurd; use affordable beer plus cigarettes to negotiate the anxiety of the psyche in moments of inordinate upheaval.” Maybe you read it somewhere in a book somewhere, probably Carver. Not that it mattered where you heard it from. Because it sounded like a useful rule of thumb. In fact, it sounded like something that ought to be law.

Drinking was a matter of survival. That’s what you reminded yourself.

Then you reminded yourself that ‘survival,’ isn’t really the word for it.

But what you do understand is that cheap, affordable beer is all you can use to bring you to the one hermitage of the mind of which is called forgetfulness (or something like that). A peaceful state. You need it. Cheap beer is your route to get there. There are others, but you can’t afford them. You don’t have a roommate. She’s gone. So you need cheap beer. Cheap beer is what will help you get to sleep it all off and get on to the next day and the next and for as long as you have the money (and a liver). For a time, enough cheap beer will blot out the truth that you can’t call mom because you lost a gatekeeper job of all things (which could cause her to stress and thus, hurt her liver) and you can’t tell dad because he just lost his (his own gatekeeper job, and also his own liver). So, these be the circumstances where a drink – and many drinks - many, many, many drinks - is needed and required and demanded. For the sake of the soul. These be the circumstances where drinking it off should to be the law of land.

So, onto ‘Survival’ it is.

FIN

There's more, but...you know...whatever man. If you have anything to say about it (no matter how minute or major or offensive) let me know. If you would like me to read something of yours, let me know that too.

Stay healthy, people.

submitted by /u/cutdontburn [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2VOJy9y

#Blogger #Story

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mindless-noise · 5 years ago

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Losing the love of my life to booze and video games.

I've been drinking heavily since I started, something like 10 years ago. I smoked, I drank, I snorted, but mostly, and steadily, and desperately, I drank. I drank while working nights inrestaurants and bars. I drank the night away after the shift, trying to wind down. I drank the afternoons after working day shifts in restaurants. I drank on my days off, cause why not, and I drank after school, cause that's what you do. When you're addicted, that is. I quit most other drugs, quit cocaine, quit MDMA, but I kept drinking. I never addressed it.Maybe four or five years ago, I started gaming a lot. Dota 2, Half-Life, Counter-Strike, Diablo 2, Path of Exile. That last one has a fitting name. I figured I'd rather be gaming than imbibing god-knows-what harmful chemical my friends would have the brilliant idea of ordering. I figured it was any better. I thought it was better for me to isolate myself, game until the wee hours of the morning, and to down a 12-pack simultaneously, than it was to go out. I made myself believe that. And then I met her. I was fucked.My ex-wife moved in with me very quickly. We were madly in love, and she was staying with her parents when we met, so we naturally spent a lot of time at my place, drinking beer, wine, listening to music, making love. We went out a lot. We were always up for a sesh at the bar. She nearly flunked her Uni semester cause of the wild fucking weeks we were having. My roommate and I were parting ways in September anyways, and so it made perfect sense than R. and I would find a nice cosy Villeray apartment for the 2 of us, even though our friends were warning us not to move too fast. I was intending on going back to school, to study computer science. But I kept gaming, and I kept drinking, alone, or not. At some point, she realised what she had gotten herself into. She'd go to sleep cause of morning obligations : school, work, sport. You know, real life. I stayed up. Almost every night. Gaming. Sometimes I'd tell myself I'd take it easy and I wouldn't drink, or drink just a bit. I'd still end up going to bed past 2 or 3 am. I could smoke a gram and a half of weed, thinking "hey at least I'm not drinking". Such is the mind of an addict. I ended up dropping CS a couple weeks into the semester. It has been a grim pattern in my life to drop stuff before completion. I ended up quitting my job that winter, and I spent the next six months just wallowing in my own shit, gaming, drinking and eating fast food. This was only the first of a couple bouts of me trying to get into something, then quitting abruptly, without telling her or anyone beforehand. I'd tell her with bloody hands "Hey, I quit my job" or "Hey, I dropped out of school". She hated not having any idea of what the fuck was going on with me.She saw the empty cases. She smelled it on my breath. She felt it on my skin. At this point I knew my limits well enough that I wasn't completely disfunctional hungover every morning. But I'd be late for work, at least half the time. I'd botch my school assignments. I'd order takeaway. She'd be the sunshine of my life getting ready for her day being excited for what was to come, telling me about her classes, her dreams, her ambitions, and I'd lay there, disheveled half-hungover asshole. I'd be that cynical snarky know-it-all who doesn't do shit but complain. For two and a half years.I stopped seeing my friends. My mind was being completely consumed by the holy trinity of work, relationship and substance/game abuse. I'd let them go through rough patches, barely caring. I'd let them spend months abroad without a message. I'd go for months without a ring. My wife was going through some shit on her own, issues with body image and food, and she had denounced her teenage abuser to the police, so her stress and anxiety levels were pretty high. I tried to help her cope by listening, making dinner, watching tv shows, etc. I thought I was doing a good job, turns out I was doing too much of the bare minimum. She needed excitement, she needed culture. She needed to share interests with me, to go out, to see the world, to laugh, to dance, to cry. I didn't catch on. I was so invested in my own little virtual worlds I didn't understand when she told me she needed me to take less care of her and more of myself. I didn't know what that meant. I thought I was happy doing the things I was doing. I knew it pained her to see me abuse alcohol and investing so much time and energy in video games. I thought things would pass. I thought a way would find me. I thought we'd be fine.At one point, in an attempt to connect with me, she agreed to install Steam on her computer. We added each other as friends, and she downloaded the Sims and Dota 2. Now the problem with being friends with your wife on steam is she can see just how many hours you've sank in the past few weeks on various games. It shows on your profile, and it weirdly feels like a badge of "real gamer" of sorts. She didn't fathom how fucking far gone I was, I don't think. Eighty-five hours in the past few weeks, she said. She didn't comment on it much. She laughed nervously and we moved on to something else, like a dying couple does. For the record, I have over 5 000 hours recorded on that game, and over a thousand on Path of Exile. That's over 4 or 5 years, not much more. It's like I've had a full time job gaming and gaining nothing but fucking points. I had given my old steam account to my youngest brother Z., a couple years prior. I'd have to ask him how many more hours played I had on various games, namely Counter-Strike 1.6. It can't be under the thousands. We never did end up playing Dota 2 together. I don't blame her. She had seen me raging on the microphone because complete strangers didn't play the way I wanted. She knew how hard and involved the game was. She wasn't interested in it. She was just grasping at straws, trying to find a way to connect with me.I am now forty pounds over what I was when we met. I wasn't the most jacked dude you'd ever seen, but at 185-190 pounds and 6 feet, I was relatively lean. I remember having some amount of muscle definition, around the abs and arms and such. Now I have a real goddamn beer gut, fat drooping from where my pecs are supposed to be. I had to change almost all of my clothes. She tried and tried so hard not to fat-shame me, but how the fuck are you supposed to love the fat fucking mess I was becoming while she was hustling at school, at work and at the gym, looking better and better and getting closer to her goals every day? Needless to say, our sex life took a huge hit. In the last year we probably had one or two sexual encounters a month, if not less. I'm not saying I'd fuck me, either. And when we did have sex, my stamina was a fraction of what it was 2 years prior.Now she tried to give me an ultimatum a couple weeks ago. She said she couldn't bear living with my sorry ass anymore, if I didn't do something about it. I told her I'd curb my drinking, which I sort of did. I didn't change jack about my day-to-day habits, though. Most days, I'd still woke up, have a coffee watching some useless shit about video games on my laptop, gamed a while, ate late cause I was doing "intermittent fasting" - which by the way doesn't count if you don't at least try to eat healthily when you do eat, gamed some more, etc. And then some nights I'd kiss her sweet dreams and relapse and drink a case of beer, trying to hide it the best I could. But if she didn't know in her rational brain, she knew in her heart that things weren't working out. I wasn't making the necessary changes to become a husband you can think about the future with, to succeed in my own life, at school, at work. I didn't get it.Fast forward to last Monday, when she finally couldn't bear the weight of this relationship with me. She left. And instantly, I knew. I knew I had fucked up so much for so long. But it took a couple days to accept it. I was angry, I was furious.I told her I'd be staying in the apartment for as long as I needed to find a new place, and that she wasn't welcome, and that it wasn't my problem. I told her I didn't care if my attitude hurt her : "Tough luck", I said.Jesus fuck, dude.We spoke yesterday, on the phone. For two hours, a painful, slow, emotive conversation. One of those you never want to have.One of those you wish you could have avoided by being better than you were. I told her I'd change. I told her I'd do anything to be with her. You know, the usual. It feels like such a cliché but it's fucking real. I've never loved a woman like I love her. I knew in my heart I wanted her to have my babies, one day. I was set and I fucked it up so bad by not caring, not listening. Fuck.I brought her flowers today, at the Uni. with a hand-written note, saying that I'm sorry and that I'm going to get help. That I would give anything for another chance at us. I believe it, though I'm not sure that she does. After I had made her late for class I left, and I called for help. I have an appointment on Monday morning with a social worker, to evaluate my needs. I won't let the pain of her being gone prevent this valuable lesson to help me. I wish with all my heart that she finds her way to me, somehow. I'll be working hard, regardless.I can't live this way. Anymore.

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sadlifeofdelaney-blog · 7 years ago

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GIRLS NIGHT

Alrght I'm gunna be honest here. I dont play nice with other girls. I don't mean to be such a cunt but i have been massivley fucked over by every female friend i have ever had and that is no exaggeration. Whether it was talking shit behind by back, sleeping with my boyfriend of TWO FUCKING YEARS, or just straight stealing hundreds of dollars from me, every female friend i have ever had has just dicked me over so much i don't really have trust for girls. All my guy friends on the other hand have always been so good to me. They watch out for me and stand up for me, and i never have to worry about them stealing my boyfriends from out under my nose. For the last 6 years i have been the only girl in my friend group and there were never any issues. No drama or bullshit just many great nights hanging out with the best friends i've ever known. I always said that i didn't need girls or girl time that i had my boys and that was all i needed. I was really fucking wrong. (sorry getting a bit off topic back to the main point)

When i met my best friend, we'll call her Marie, I was suprised that there was actually another girl like me out there. She was always one of the guys. She always got fucked over by her girl friends so she became good friends with this group of guys. (they kinda suck but that is a WHOLE other story.) But she was "one of the guys". She didn't care about stupid drama or things most girls cared about. She'd rather sit down and get drunk playing video games than get all dolled up and go out partying trying to get dick. We instantly got along really well. For years i thought having a female friend would be all bullshit and drama but once again (and like always) I was really fucking wrong. Now adays we have "girls night" which is where we sit in her room and smoke hella weed get drunk and do face masks and do girly shit while talking shit about everyone we hate. I never realized how much i would appreciate this shit. After being the only girl in a group of guys for YEARS i never knew how much i would truly appreciate and love a girls night. My boys are amazing don't get me wrong but sitting here with my best friend and her litte sister with a cucumber peel on my face and fresh polish on my toes brings me a certain type of serenity i can't explain. I feel like there is nothing in this world a good fun girls night can't fix. So if you're feeling low just grab your girl friends, go drop 50 dollars in walmart on junk food booze and red box and have a good old fashion girls night... i swear that shit really helps. And if your'e like me and you only have shitty dramatic ass girl friends hmu and come chill with me and my bff, not to sound concieted but we're pretty fucking awesome.

#girls night #best friends #sadlifeofdelaney #girl friends

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thoughnotlikely · 7 years ago

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12/29/17

I need to get a notebook and start journaling again. If nothing else it gets the words out where no one else has to read them.

I say dumb things and I do dumb things. Smartest thing I can do is realize that and realize the way I’m holding myself back. I need therapy for the ways I’ve screwed up and the ways I’ve been screwed up. I need financial stability and planning so I can get out of debt and start saving. I need to not rely on “getting my mind off things” for happiness via weed and / or booze or endless mindless video games. Moderation is key.

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mykie-hyun-blog · 7 years ago

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Part 2 🌸

10.Dyed your hair?

Yeah it's dyed blonde

11.Soup or salad?

Salad

12.Vegetable or meat?

Meat ofc

13.Go out drinking?

Yeah thats my life aha

14.Smoke cigarettes?

Yeah

15.Smoke weed?

Yeah but only if i dont pay for it myself

Not worth the money to me, mandy is way better

16.Do any hard drugs?

Yea

17.Have you had sex today?

No i was out for a couple days getting wasted and im so tired

I have to take at least a day off every time haha

Just sitting with my hair in a mask and washed my face 1000 times because i slept in my makeup

That guy was like come out today..fuck that tbh id rather do nothing

18.Have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?

Of course <3

19.The relationship between you and the person you last texted?

He's a 26 year old guy im kiind of using for free drugs and booze but im not gonna like..break his heart or anything im not that cruel

20.Has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?

Yeah (: sweet

Mine are like dark turquoise

21.Skipped doing homework to play a video game?

Course

22.Tried to commit suicide?

23.The last time you felt broken?

24.Had to lie to EVERYONE about how you felt?

All the time g

25.Do you have a Boyfriend/Girlfriend?

26.Do you have Long hair OR short hair?

Long past my shoulder blades

27.First thing you notice to a guy/girl?

Facial structure ? Or hair

28.Do you sing in the shower?

Sometimes

29.Do you dance in the car?

Not if im with my parents

30.Where were you yesterday?

This guys caravan

He thinks im his girlfriend ..

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awesomecoolpeachcollection-blog · 7 years ago

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Sorry, Facebook Does NOT Help Animated GIFs.

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