#this is so fucking stupid also happy belated valentines day

[luvxiem]

luca and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (until it wasn't)

##INFO

luca kaneshiro x gn!reader, fluff, attempt at humor 💔 mild angst (??) suggestive themes at the end, established relationship except nobody thinks it's real LMFAOOOO, college au, they go to school in the us for this just pretend they r all cool foreign students minus shu (he's still cool even if he is american)

word count: 3.1k

##SUMMARY

vox, mysta, shu, and ike haven't met luca's partner because they live in canada, duh! what? of course they're real?? he's not lying this time, he swears! they really are real!!!!

“i’m fucking tired, dude.”

a dark backpack drops roughly to the ground as its owner soon follows suit, the lanky compsci major sitting with a sigh as he shoves his phone into his brother’s face. shu hurriedly swallows his rice and almost chokes in the process while leaning away from the sudden bright screen in front of him. after pounding his chest with his fist a couple times to dislodge a few grains, he realizes that mysta’s phone was open to an instagram post of a couple.

ike leans over to look at the post as well with a raised eyebrow.

“it’s just fulgur and uki?” he questions, staring at his friend. mysta raises his head from where he laid spread-eagle on the grass to glare at him.

“just fulgur and uki,” mysta mocks, dropping his head back onto the ground and reaching up to cover his face with one arm. “everywhere i look is just couples! everywhere! i can’t escape them, man,” he bemoans. ike rolls his eyes and returns to his lunch, used to his friend’s antics. shu glances between the two of them in between bites of his own food, gently nudging a bento toward his distressed brother. mysta grunts in thanks before pushing himself up to sit cross-legged, eagerly lifting the lid of the bento and digging into his food.

"don't cry just because you can't any bitches," a smug voice calls. the trio looks up to see the arrival of vox, the drama major carrying his blazer hooked over his shoulder.

there's a prominent hickey on his neck. mysta's eye twitches.

"shut the fuck up," he grumbles as vox ruffles his hair endearingly before sitting down beside him.

"being single is ok too, ya know," vox sympathizes, knowing that his friend was feeling left out of the recent romantic festivities. "you don't need to be in a relationship to be happy."

shu nods at his words, ever the agreeable one of their friend group. ike pauses mid bite before resuming his meal, not giving any reaction to what vox said. he wasn't about to admit that he's been salty at seeing all the other couples as well. vox notices mysta is still feeling a bit bummed, however, since the shorter man hasn't spoken much since he arrived.

"hey," vox grins, nudging him with his fist. "what if i set you up with an acquaintance of mine?" he offers. mysta glances up at him with mild interest, but before he could respond, the final member of their group comes barreling down the sidewalk with a wide smile, clutching his beanie with one hand and waving enthusiastically with the other.

"hey guys!" luca beams, patting vox's shoulder before plopping down, closing their little circle on the grass. "what were you talking about?" the blonde takes out a sandwich from his bag and looks at the others expectantly. vox smirks as the other three inwardly sigh.

"since i'm the only one who had a valentines this year and being the generous friend that i am, i've decided to set up mysta with a friend of mine," he explains rather proudly. now, vox was expecting a few responses from luca—perhaps an understanding nod, a wail of jealousy, even an aversion to the topic in general—but instead of any of that, the blonde tilts his head in confusion and opens his mouth to speak.

"i had a valentines too, though?"

shu actually chokes on his food this time, ike hurriedly offering him his water bottle and pounding his back to dislodge the shit stuck in his throat. vox was staring at luca in disbelief, mouth opening and closing not unlike that of a fish. mysta, however, throws his head back and starts laughing loudly.

"yeah, right," he cackles, shaking his head before looking back up at his friend. "you're even worse than me when it comes to dating!" luca frowns at him this time.

"i'm being serious! that's why i was busy yesterday, we’ve been together for a few months now-“

"then why haven't you ever talked about them?" mysta accuses. luca shrugs helplessly.

"well, you—you never asked!" vox glances between the two of them before settling on the blonde.

"do you have any pictures of them?" he asks, wanting to give luca the benefit of the doubt even if he didn't actually believe him.

"ok so, y'know how i like, i broke my phone last week? while riding my uh, my bike?" the four nod. "well, i didn't back up my phone and i lost all my photos." mysta's eye twitches once again.

"do they even go to UCI?" shu wonders aloud now that he wasn't at risk of asphyxiation. ike nods in agreement, genuinely curious as well. it’s not that he didn't—no. that's a lie. he didn't believe his friend as much as he wanted to. listen, this was the guy who was locked in a closet with a girl he liked for over ten minutes and didn't even do anything! forgive him for having his doubts!

"no, they live in canada." luca fidgets in place as four pairs of eyes stare at him with clear skepticism. "i'm serious!"

the group looks at each other and comes to a collective agreement.

"luca," ike says hesitatingly. "you don't have to lie to us." vox pats his shoulder comfortingly and nods.

"yeah, big guy. it really is ok if you're single on valentine's day. the whole thing is a capitalistic scam anyways." luca flounders and vox has to appreciate him sticking to the bit, even if he did feel a tad disappointed at the fact his friend thought he had to lie to them.

"what about social media? what's their instagram?" mysta questions, already pulling up the app on his phone once again. luca rolls his eyes.

"they don't have instagram," he reveals. "social media isn't their thing." luca pauses for a moment. "actually, i think one of their friends has a picture of them on their page.” ike, shu, mysta, and vox lean forward in interest.

luca takes mysta's phone and taps on the search bar. he clicks on an account of a short haired blonde girl before sighing in disappointment.

"never mind. millie removed all her posts again." ike, shu, mysta, and vox slump back.

"anyways," luca starts, returning mysta’s phone and swallowing the last piece of his sandwich before standing up and dusting off his pants. "i gotta get going before i miss my—miss my class. see ya!" luca waves with a grin before jogging off. the remaining members stare at where he just stood.

"there's no way they're real," ike deadpans.

following the reveal of luca’s very real, not fake, canadian partner, the blonde starts using them as an excuse every time there’s a get together.

“i can’t, tonight’s movie night! he replies excitedly when vox invites him to go drinking after exams.

a week later: “not today, we’re playing overcooked!”

“i think they’ve had a bad day and i wanna call them.”

“sorry, i already made plans.”

the other four members of their group have been sneaking glances at each other every time luca evades their clutches, slowly becoming more and more upset with every (perceived) lie coming out of their friend’s mouth. if he really didn’t want to hang out with them, he should just be honest and say so instead of doing whatever—whatever this is.

today’s excuse was, “tomorrow’s our anniversary and i gotta get ready!”

mysta stares at the spot luca previously occupied before he ran off in the direction of the dorms. the brunette’s frowning, gnawing on his lower lip and bouncing his knee repeatedly. nearby students stare at him with mild annoyance and inch away.

“what the actual hell.” ike looks up from his worksheet and casts a nervous glance at the librarian. hopefully they were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear their inevitably loud conversation. he couldn't deal with another scolding this week.

“why does he keep ditching us,” mysta scowls, now leaned back rather precariously in his chair and chewing on the tip of his pencil. ike chooses not to respond despite agreeing with his friend, currently more preoccupied with his essay. vox and shu, however, have no such priorities at the moment and thus can entertain mysta’s concerns.

“does he not like us anymore?” vox frowns, suddenly a bit insecure. shu nudges his arm with a gentle smile.

“nah, luca isn’t the type of person to just ghost us like this. maybe he really is dating someone,” he says cheerfully. vox and mysta lock eyes before resolutely shaking their heads.

“no. there’s no way,” vox vehemently denies, mysta nodding in agreement. shu hums in response, twirling his pen in his hand with a contemplative expression.

“i dunno,” he muses. “i mean, luca’s like, a good looking guy. would it really be that surprising for him to have a partner?”

“yes!” mysta exclaims, slamming a hand down on the mahogany table. “he doesn’t even react whenever someone tries to flirt with him! he’s too dense to date!” more than a few people swivel their heads toward them at the noise and glare.

“luca may be hot but he doesn’t, y’know. have much rizz.” vox winces, feeling a bit bad about talking behind their friend’s back like this.

the four men silently mull over every possible reason they could think of as to why luca keeps disappearing on them. eventually, dinnertime arrives and they each say their goodbyes before heading out for the night. hopefully the mystery surrounding their friend will be resolved soon; it’s been too long since the five of them got to hang out all together.

there’s something wrong with luca.

in their shared 8AM class, shu notices the smile he gave in greeting didn’t quite reach his eyes. he kept shooting glances at his phone all morning, noticeably more than usual.

“hey,” shu whispers, leaning in close. “you okay?”

luca hums distractedly, his response a little delayed.

“yeah, it’s nothing,” he grins before turning forward to face the professor. shu stares at his side profile for a few seconds and wonders what his friend might be thinking about that might have caused his less-than-stellar mood. unfortunately, luca packed up and slipped out of the lecture hall almost immediately after they were dismissed, leaving shu in the dust and wondering how he could cheer up his friend.

ike can sense his gloom from a mile away. the english major runs into him on his way to the student store—quite literally. luca was looking down at his phone and didn’t see the other man until they bumped heads, both of their belongings spilling onto the ground around them.

“ouch… you good, luca?” ike asks, fixing his glasses that went askew.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck. ike observes him for a moment before reaching to pick up his things. perhaps the blonde thought he was worried he got hurt in their little scuffle. don’t get him wrong—of course he cares—but in ike’s humble opinion, his friend’s mental state was a smidge more important than his physical at the moment.

luca grabs his phone and groans. looking over, ike can see a large crack going down the middle of the screen which was glitching at random intervals.

“ah, i’m so sorry, luca” he apologizes, feeling guilty. luca waves him off.

“it’s not your fault,” he reassures, although judging by the look on his face, he was clearly upset. “i gotta run—see ya, ike.” before the other could even respond, luca shoves his broken phone into the pocket of his hoodie and stands up, turning the corner without another word.

“bye, luca…” ike mumbles dejectedly.

mysta and vox are waiting at the back of the line in the cafeteria for lunch when luca shows up behind them with a forlorn expression on his face. vox doesn't notice, however, and grins at his arrival, wrapping an arm around luca’s shoulder and ruffling his hair.

“why didn’t you pick up the phone?” vox whines. “i called you like, five times.” luca shrugs off his arm and takes a step back from the duo. vox and mysta frown at his reaction, realizing their friend wasn’t in the best of moods at the moment.

“it died,” luca grumbles, letting out a loud huff. the three of them slowly move up the line, grabbing items off the counter and placing them on their respective trays. luca’s was noticeably empty.

“we’re out of pizza, sorry,” the cafeteria worker says, shrugging helplessly. “the only thing we have left is salad.” mysta looks down at his tray guiltily knowing he must have taken the last plate. he opens his mouth to offer it to luca but the other man just takes the plate of salad with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

they eat in tense silence—luca stabbing the greens rather aggressively with his fork while the other two share concerned looks.

'should we ask him what's wrong?' vox mouths, nodding his head in luca's direction. mysta frowns, worried that their questions might just make him more irritated. on the rare occasions that he's upset, luca usually chooses to distance himself from others until he calms down in case he ends up taking out his frustrations on them. at his core, luca is kind, and he doesn't want to hurt the people he cares about.

deciding to wait for his friend to come to them instead, mysta shakes his head. it won't do them any good now to talk to luca when he's this wound up.

after luca leaves, the two immediately call ike and shu to come up with a plan. when the duo hears of the others' run ins with their friend today, the four come to a collective agreement.

"so..." shu starts, staring at the door in front of them. "what're we gonna say?"

the group stands in front of luca and vox's shared dorm room holding a variety of items: cheddar cheese pringles, ike's blue ray dvd of 'shrek,' and ice cream cake. hopefully luca's calmed down enough now and they can attempt to improve his mood. the sun is just barely starting to set and dinner won't be for another hour—maybe they can order pizza to make up for lunch?

before any of them can come up with something, however, they hear a loud noise coming from inside that sounded suspiciously like something breaking. panicking, vox shoves the cake into mysta's arms and frantically searches his person for his dorm key. fumbling to open the door, vox trips over a pair of shoes in the doorway that don't belong to him nor luca (not that he notices in his alarm).

"luca!" vox calls out worriedly. "are you oka-"

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

ike's sudden screech startles everyone in the dorm. all six of them.

pressed against the wall was luca, staring at his friends with wide eyes and tussled hair. his lips were slightly swollen and there was a faint line of drool on his chin, the hoodie he was wearing thrown haphazardly onto the couch. holding him against said wall was a rather attractive stranger with equally ruined hair and flushed cheeks, both of their necks clearly littered with hickeys, although luca's noticeably more so. on the floor next to them lay the sorry remains of vox's lamp.

mysta's eye twitches.

"um. hello," you wave, trying to subtly fix your hair and clothes while luca leans against the wall, dazed and still shirtless.

"you must be luca's friends, it's great to meet finally you all!"

at your words, the group suddenly reanimates from where they stood frozen in the doorway.

"you're—you're real. you're actually real." ike stammers. "you're luca's partner?!"

you shift awkwardly, nodding. did your boyfriend not talk about you to them?

mysta stares at you, mouth agape as he struggles to process the scene before him.

you're the farthest thing from what he's imagined, which is rather impressive considering he wasn't able to come up with anything at all. how in the hell did luca manage to cuff somebody as hot as you?!

"what the fuck," he says eloquently. that just about sums up everyone's reaction, minus the apparently real couple.

"...my lamp," vox weakly adds, unable to say anything more complicated than monosyllables in his shock.

shu—god bless his soul—comes to his senses quicker than the others and hurriedly places the gifts on a nearby counter before pushing his friends out the dorm, sending a wink your way and slamming the door shut behind him leaving you and luca alone once again.

your eyes glance over the stuff with an amused expression on your face. turning to face your lover, you slam your hands against the wall next to his head and peck him on the lips.

"what's up with that?" you ask, nodding your head toward the presents. luca blinks at you, taking a moment to process your question in the aftermath of the chaos that just ensued.

"they probably—uh. i think they wanted to cheer me up," he guesses. you hum in response, running your fingers through soft blonde hair. luca let's his eyes fall shut and sighs contentedly.

"were you upset earlier, baby?" you ask, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck before biting down. luca whines above you as his arms tense from where they were wrapped around your waist.

"mmm, i thought you forgot about me," he admits, shivering at the feeling of your warm tongue laving against the freshly formed bruise. "you weren't replying to any of my messages."

you chuckle, pulling back to gaze lovingly at your cute boyfriend.

"of course i didn't forget about you, luca, or our anniversary. i'm sorry i didn't tell you i was flying over before, i wanted to surprise you," you coo, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind his ear.

"it's ok, i'm just happy you're here," luca mumbles, holding you tightly. with a laugh, you pull away but before he could even think about protesting, you grab his wrist and drag him toward his bed.

"you sure you don't want an apology?" you tease, enjoying the way luca's face burns red at the implication.

"n-no! i mean, yes! i want an apology! please!"

"of course, baby," you purr, pushing him onto the mattress and straddling his hips. "let me make it up to you."

outside, the four men stood frozen in the same position they were in when they got forced out of the room five minutes ago.

"holy shit," vox breathes, "luca gets bitches."

##WRITTEN ON 230220

[themoonwheniamlost]

Pink Elephants

OMG Happy (belated) Valentine's day!!! This is my gift for Nat @strangehighs in the BoN Cozy Gifts exchange. I was hella intimidated by trying to make something nice for one of the best artists in our fandom, but I saw the request for idiots in love and I thought: I can work with that!

Nat! Thank you for sharing your big brain with this tiny fandom. I’m so grateful we have you. I hope you like this!

I think I leaned a bit away from your exact request, but I hope this silly little thing still holds to the spirit of what you were looking for. (If you don’t like it, I’ll write you something new!)

Many thanks and all the flowers to @mprosperossprite!!! for organizing this! Appreciate you! And I hope you enjoy all the cake going around!

Also to my Beta and Bestie @jesuisnilunnilautre !!! Ilysm thanks for putting up with me. I would be lost in a starless universe without you! Be my blorbo?

I’m putting the Ao3 card here. The fic can be read on Ao3, or in this post under the cut! (I'm at work rn so please feel free to point out any errors! 🧡)

Rating: M 

Archive Warnings: N/A

Title: Pink Elephants

Fandoms: The Old Guard, (movie)

Relationships: BoN, 

Characters: Nile, Booker, Copley, Guard Gang

Tags: established relationship, Idiots in love, a bit of a crack fic?, mission? fic, non-linear timeline, theft, circus shenanigans, New York setting, (how do I tag that she knows things about the situation and he doesn’t…) (how to tag about circus animals/animal captivity), ethical debate, got a tiny bit angsty, sorry not sorry, references to Dumbo, first time stealing (not really) from a circus?, short fic, circus is a Mashup of Universe Soul and Ringling Brothers, please watch Sidetalk NYC,

Collections: BoN Cozy Nights Gift Exchange

Summary: 

This is the first time either of them has stolen an animal. Let alone 15 animals. Or,

Nile does a small study on how this man leaves stupid in his wake. It’s honestly something she loves about him.

“Nile! What are you doing here?!”

“What am I doing here? Why are you dressed like a clown, Book? We had a plan!”

“I can explain. But that will take too long, so I’ll sum it up. For now I just need you to get ready to drive this trailer so we can save those animals. ”

“Give me the clown nose! We had a plan. A staged, step by step plan. And now you want to jailbreak these animals out of the circus tonight?”

“... Yes.”

“... Move over. There's a reason we never let you drive.” 

********~~~~~~~~~~~~~********

Nile knows herself, okay. She’s a military brat with a little brother. She’s a smart Black girl from Chicago. She happens to be one of a very small group of immortals trying to do good in the world. She’s even in love with one of them. 

These things to say, Nile knows stupid when she sees it. Not that Nile is good at saying no to stupid. Again, Nile has a little brother. Nile's journey with the Guard so far has involved a considerable amount of stupid and reckless decisions. And still, for all her practice in stupid, this man constantly pushed the boundaries of how far stupid can go. 

Case in point. Who the fuck thinks it would be easy to steal an elephant?!? 

… Apparently her husband.

********~~~~~~~~********

If you were in Manhattan on February 16th at Nathan’s Famous on the corner of 5th and 60th?  You would've gotten dinner and a show. The crowd is taking sides and chiming in. It’s not a domestic dispute, oh no! More of a theoretical experiment. It sounds like this.

“An elephant can weigh anywhere from eight to thirteen thousand pounds. That’s 13 tons!”

“But let's say that there is already equipment to move them. Then all you would need to do is load them onto those vehicles and drive away!”

“Do you think no one is going to notice if an elephant is missing?” 

The crowd mutters, and someone calls, “I’d sure fuckin’ notice! It’s not like elephants can fly or whatever.” 

The crowd laughs.

The vendor’s son leans out of the window in order to shout this directly into the face of the man in question. “Sure, it’d be a piece of cake with a getaway car! Okay. Whatcha doin’ ‘bout making ‘em trust ya? Dem elephants smart, you know?” 

“... Hmmm.”

The woman has her hair braided in front and hand-picked out in back. She looks at the sky likes she’s expecting God to say “Bing Bong!” God does not say this. 

Nathan the Hotdog Vendor does pull his son up by the collar and say, “Alright move it along. You ain’t gotta go home, but ya can’t stay here!” 

Two weeks later, when the biggest Circus act on the East Coast announces that all of their animals have been phased out of the performances and given to sanctuaries, no one thinks of the couple at Nathan’s. 

********~~~~~~~~********

Nile hadn’t been to see the Big Top since she was 10. Booker remembers her saying so. It’s why he thinks that his gift this Valentine’s will be worth it. What better way to celebrate a legacy of death that has sparked much love, hate, and capitalism? 

He asks her over dinner. Watches her light up, holds still while she covers his face in smiling kisses and a soft, “Thank you. I’m so happy you remembered, good job,” and small squees of happiness. 

If she cries he pretends not to see it. Sébastien knows that she aches for the things she’s lost. Knows how badly she wants to touch her childhood. And while he can’t give her that, giving her a Big Top is easy.  

He just never expected that giving her a gift would make him feel caged. 

********~~~~~~~~********

Nile loves doing things that can let her be normal for a second. Being Andy’s heir apparent can get so heavy. It makes her so excited when she can just be a person for a few hours. This Valentines day at the circus she takes full advantage of the opportunity. 

A nice summer dress, big earring and beads in her hair. She makes Sebastien take photos with her in the tiny booth, eats a whole funnel cake by herself, and buys a huge light stick all before its time to find their seats. On their way down to the center ring Nile buys a glow in the dark tiara, a snowcone, and a bag of kettle corn. 

Nile bounces in her seat, glad that there is no one very tall in front of them. They ooh and aah along with the rest of the crowd at all the different acts. 

Thinks that Nicky should try the trapeze. Wants to bet Joe that she’d be better than him at fire breathing. Knows that she’d lose at sword swallowing, how do they even do that without a accelerated healing?!

Nile sing along when The Ring Master starts a round of Superstition by Stevie Wonder. 

Looks back at Sebastien when she feels hater on her hand. 

He kisses her. And the look in his eyes means something stupid is coming. It’s fine, the stupid can wait until after they Leave the Big Top with a huge tiger plush and clown hat. 

After all, Nile is pretty susceptible to stupid when it might be fun.

*********~~~~~~~~********

Sebastien had his arms around her but he was looking steadily at their ceiling fan.

“So,” he started

“It made you feel something, didn't it? Watching the lion tamer. Watching all of the animals really. ”

“I just thought that I had almost done the same things to us. And they deserve so much better! So I want to steal them from the circus and take them to a better place where they never have to perform again if they dont want to.”

Nile looks at him, looks through him and says “We just gotta plan it right. No problem.”

********~~~~~~~~********

Booker was very aware that some circuses have animals. He’s seen dozens of them over the last two centuries. Dancing bears, the tigers through flaming hoops you name it. 

What he wasn’t used to was hearing about their natural behaviors in the wild. He wasn’t one for documentaries so he soaks up the knowledge like a sponge. Hears about how elpphants vist the graves of their dead, about the care of the matriarch. He learns about their memory about how elephants will sacrifice themselves tp help others in the heard, or other species of animal in times of drought or flood. 

Wonders how he could have had less love in him than these creatures. 

By the time hears about the tiger cubs, he knows Nile is watching him cry into their popcorn. He kisses her just because he can because the man he is now deserves her, and he’s crying for the man who didn’t.

All he know is that he’s grateful. He loves her, He loves these animals, and gotta get them the fuck out of this circus.

********~~~~M~~~~********

 

They made love like this often. Face to face in some configuration. Hands tight on skin slow and forceful. She likes the heft of him. The broadness of his chest. But today he shudders, there is something caged in him, and as usual she wont let him hide. 

He hold her open to bury himself in her heat, like if he tries hard enough he can burn away all the parts of him that arent her. 

She flips him, refuses to move until he looks at her. He’s a bit lost still but grounds himself in the roll of her hips and the sound of her voice. They stay locked in that dance for hours. After the musics ended, he hold he close rubs his hands up and down her spine. She watches the sunset and waits for him to tell her.

********~~~~~~~~********

When they get to the preserve its pretty smooth sailing, considering that Book doesn’t realise whats going on. Nile had called ahead to let the sanctuary know where they would leave the animals. 

They park. They to extra care to make sure that they leave the keys in an accessible place. 

Booker puts his face next to Rosie’s.  She sneaks her trunk out of an open section to touch his face. He hold onto her trunk and cries, about how he fail his past self living in a cage of hurt, how he tried to trap his family in bars because he though it would be better. Rosie lets him hold her trunk. The sun is crawling up above the treeline. 

Nile lets him cry. He needs it, In the meantime she says goodbye to everyone, The dancing tiger, the wild horses, and all the elephants, adding an last tender thank you to Rosie. Then she goes to him. Puts hel hand on his shoulder, kisses the side of his face that does not have elephant snot on it. Tells him “Lights up, we gotta go.”

“Whats that saying, the show-” He’s gripping her hand in his as they walk away

“Must go on. Yeah, so lets get out of here so that they can get started.”

They walk back out to main road. Which is when Nile realizes. That they have no car to drive back. She cusses down a storm as they get ready to hitchhike their way back to any major city. Sebatien laughs at her the entire time. 

He says thank you later, in the warm dark between them. She says you're welcome by putting her cold feet on his back. 

********~~~~~~~~********

Copley had received some strange calls in his life. Especially over these last few decades.  But to hear Nile call him on February 15th to buy all the animals from a prominent circus troupe. He’s stunned. The man is too stunned to speak, which is fine because Nile is still talking.

“-I know it won’t solve everything. And there are way more animals in need out there. But i know that Booker needs this. Needed to feel like he’s freeing something instead of breaking it. So yeah. If you could buy the animals from them please. Oh! and then the animal sanctuary up north a bit-”

And so this is how Copley spends the day after Valentine's day arranging for the sale of animals, and for supplies and costs for their next five years of care are sent to a nearby animal sanctuary. 

Perhaps selling the Rodin was good for something. 

[arthurmorgansleftlung]

Secret Cupid 2021 (Part 2)

This @rdr-secret-cupid is for @outlawsworld ! I’m so sorry about it being a little late. I really hope that you like this, I really tried to incorporate horses and your appearance the best that I could without being overbearing.

Sorry about any formatting issues, I’m on mobile!

Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day!

——————

The Way He Touched You

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word Count: 2,350

Warnings: None really, but there is briefly some hostile words and behaviors aimed at the reader.

You were a successful seductress and thief. You were making hundreds, sometimes thousands of money from tempting big burly oafs. They always figured you were no threat, with your small stature and physique. And don’t forget about your oh-so-charming Southern Belle act! These men were fools, and you played them like a fiddle.

Your mistake was staying in the same town and seducing every man who lived there. You no longer had an audience. No bites. No money. Until one day, when a new man rode into town on the finest horse you’d ever seen. He was loaded. But he was big, and strong.

You seduced the man, tricking him into buying you two a night at the nicest hotel around. Once you made your way into the room, however, that’s where things went wrong.

You’d gotten to the point in your routine where you would normally incapacitate your victim. Normally you would find an object close by, like a candle stick or a boot that had been kicked off. Well, when you smashed a glass dish over the man’s head, he did not pass out. Rather, he started bleeding profusely and screaming at you. You bolted out of the hotel, bursting through the door and jumping on the first horse you saw: his.

With a quick kick to the sides the Arabian horse went into a full gallop, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground mixed in with the angry yells of the man you just failed to rob.

Pretty soon, the law and the townspeople were on you. But your stolen horse was faster than them. Eventually it seemed that they had given up. You couldn’t hear or see anything. You slowed the horse and dismounted, giving it a nice pat and an apple (which was also stolen).

You must have fallen asleep, because when you woke up to the sound of thundering hooves and angry men the sky was a different shade of blue. Luckily the horse you’d stolen, who you now recognized was a girl, was still nearby, grazing on the overgrown grass. Unfortunately, she was not a very camouflaged horse. She was the brightest shade of white with a pink nose and blue eyes. The mob found you easily.

You ran and mounted the mare, kicking her to make her go. The horse bolted, and you made decent ground, but the howling of nearby wolves spooked her and she threw you off.

“Fuck!“ You were panicking. You had no other means of escaping. Horse theft was punishable by hanging. Is this how you would go? Suddenly a horse skidded and stopped beside you.

“Those friends of yours?” The man asked.

“No! Can you get me outta here?” You were on the verge of crying. You didn’t want to die.

“I can try! Hop on up here, miss.” You hoped you could trust this man. With a prayer you hopped onto the back of the man’s horse, and after grabbing hold of his shirt you were off. His horse galloped faster than the Arabian had for you, perhaps he was a kind and tender man with his horse.

The man, whose name you had learned was Arthur, took you into a concealed part of the wilderness. You were scared of where he was bringing you, but more scared of what would happen if you jumped off. You saw the dim light of a campfire, the sound of people talking, horses snorting back and forth as they noticed a stranger approaching.

You found yourself in a camp full of people. Arthur lead you over to a tent, where a man with jet black hair and a mustache greeted you. You told him your story, and he laughed and recommended you become friends with a girl named Karen. Apparently she was in a similar “business” as you.

That was almost a full year ago now.

Now you were a dutiful helper around camp. You of course did the regular chores that Ms. Grimshaw assigned you, but you had also become the caretaker of the gang’s horses.

Except Arthur’s. He insisted on taking care of his mare. The one time he had found you taking care of his horse he didn’t talk to you the rest of the day! You found it strange but you respected his wishes.

Currently you were grooming Taima, Charles’ Appaloosa mare. You were running a brush through her black and white fur, giving her encouraging words as you went on. You had finished your other chores: washing and drying clothes, washing bowls for the evening stew; the same old routine. A calm breeze drifted through the camp, causing leaves to flap around and Taima’s man to flow, ever so slightly.

You noticed the sound of hooves alongside the rustling of the flora around you. Arthur was riding in. He had been gone a couple of days on a hit. His horse looked exhausted, covered in sweat and mud.

“Hey, Arthur.” You greeted him. He tipped his hat towards you. He hitched his horse and walked towards you.

“Would you mind givin’ my old girl a brush?”

“I thought you didn’t like me tendin’ to your horse.” He sensed the slight attitude in your voice, you’d been holding a slight, although stupid, grudge since Arthur went silent on you.

“Please, (Y/N), she’s filthy. I can’t tend to ‘er right now...” Arthur headed off to Dutch’s tent, followed by the closing of the flaps. You gave Taima a once over; she looked shiny and clean. You headed over to Arthur’s mare, who nickered in response to you patting her hindquarters.

You gently brushed her, caked mud falling off with ease. She would need a real bath to return to her solid black color. You cleaned her as best as you could. Although her white socks were still a beige color, she looked pristine everywhere else.

Arthur soon returned, letting out a low whistle at the sight of his horse. Of course he didn’t like that he didn’t do it himself, but he praised you on your grooming work.

“You wanna go for a ride, (Y/N)?”

“Why?” You eyed him suspiciously.

“Do you wanna go for a ride or not?”

Without another word you got up on Arthur’s horse and wrapped your arms under his, your hands resting on his shoulders. The mare trotted into the woods, and once you all reached the main road you took off towards Valentine.

When you arrived, Arthur hitched his horse up outside of the stable. Was he buying treats? You followed him inside the stable, where he was greeted by the owner who was eyeing you suspiciously.

“Whatcha think about that one?” Arthur pointed towards a palomino American Standardbred.

“That’s a fine horse,” you said quietly. You didn’t have the money for such a creature, which you voiced with Arthur.

“‘Scuse me sir, I’d like to purchase this horse for my wife!” Arthur gestured towards the golden horse. Wife? Wife? Your face flushed red with anxiety and embarrassment. Arthur paid for the horse, your horse. He got you basic tack as well, and made sure you were good to ride. You didn’t know what to say.

You began to leave the stable, but the owner called after you.

“Wait! Here’s a brush and some treats... for... you...” A realization had been made. “Why— sir! That ain’t your wife! That’s the whore that stole all the men’s money in this town!”

“Don’t you call my wife no such thing.” Arthur warned the man, his hand gripping

his holster. You were flabbergasted, both at Arthur’s new title for you and that you had been caught... again.

The man grabbed at the skirt of your dress, trying to pull you off of your horse. You kicked at him, “Stop it!” You hissed at him, glaring him down. You weren’t scary at all, but perhaps Arthur’s presence gave you a leg up in intimidation. He grabbed at you again, his dirty hand gripping your thigh through the fabric. Without hesitation Arthur drew his pistol and shot the man, blood splatter making its impression on your dress and skin. Now you were certain your dress was soiled.

“Let’s go.” Arthur grumbled. Arthur called for his horse and mounted up. You both calmly left the stable, but you felt like you were burning alive with all of the eyes on you two. You could hear a familiar voice, the sheriff. As soon as you and Arthur had made it close to the outskirts, you bolted. You made a detour and headed towards Emerald Ranch, to avoid giving directions to camp if somebody followed you.

The sheriff and his deputies followed you, but gave up easily. Your horse was kind to you, and easy to handle. But he began to spook. You held on tightly to the reins, causing the horse even more irritation.

“Let loose on the reins, keep your ass in the saddle!” Arthur guided you. You already knew this, but you tried your best to follow his directions. Your horse did calm down after a moment, snorting at you after the ordeal. Arthur smiled smugly at you.

“So I’m your wife now, huh?” You teased Arthur, who was flushed a crimson red. He hadn’t really thought about that.

“In Valentine you are.”

If only he knew how you felt about it. You didn’t push it. You thanked Arthur for your horse, who you’d decided to call Flavian, after his golden appearance. Arthur thought the name was weird, but didn’t question it. The two of you rode off towards camp, traveling through the oil fields to get back. It was a long ride, but a safe one. The hot sun burned your skin, turning you pink. You didn’t think you’d be in the sun for so long, you hadn’t really prepared.

In a daze, you felt something hit your chest. Arthur’s hat. You looked at him, his head already facing forward.

“You’re turnin’ red. Just wear it for now.” You put on the hat, the scent of him forcing its way into your nose and causing a familiar heat to rush to your face. You reached the wooded surroundings of the camp, just as the sun began to set.

After you’d arrived Arthur grabbed a bowl of Pearson’s stew and retreated to his tent. You grabbed a bowl as well and followed Arthur, you needed to give his hat back. When you got close enough, Arthur was sitting and holding his head in his hands, frustrated.

“Arthur?”

“Yes, Miss (Y/N)?” He seemed startled.

“Your hat...” You pulled the hat off of your head, reaching it out for him to take. He looked up at you, beet red. He reached for the hat and gently took it from your hand. “Are you okay...?” You stepped closer, into his tent. He seemed a bit concerned about this, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I’m fine, Miss (Y/N). Just tired. Confused.”

“Confused about what, Arthur?”

“You.”

“Well, what about me?” You kind of laughed, trying to conceal any nervousness in your voice.

“Well, I— It’s not important, (Y/N).”

You silently took a deep breath. You stepped closer to Arthur and sat down beside him on his cot. He recoiled a bit. Ouch.

“What, Arthur?” You were hurt at how repulsed he seemed to be by your presence. Sure, he bought you a horse, but probably because Dutch or Hosea told him to.

“The way that man touched you today. I didn’t like it.” He mumbled. He knew of your past, how you used to tempt men. What did Arthur mean?

The thought of you ever being touched by somebody filled Arthur with a quiet anger. He was jealous today. Jealous and protective and possessive. Over a woman that wasn’t his to begin with. He had been for months, and it worried him.

“I didn’t like him touchin’ you. I don’t like... I don’t like anybody touchin’ you!”

“Arthur.” You brought your small frame closer to him. This time he didn’t recoil. You turned your head to look at him, his eyes avoiding you. You brought a gentle hand to his forearm, his bright turquoise eyes met your green ones. “Arthur I’m in love with you... how could you not tell? Ever since you saved me...”

“You can’t be in love with me...” Arthur laughed with a hint of sadness. He turned to face you, your knees touching. He brought a calloused hand to your cheek, looking like he wanted so desperately to kiss you, but pulled himself away. He seemed ashamed.

“But I am. I am in love with you, Arthur Morgan.” You looked down at the ground, fearful of what he might respond with.

How could you be so vulnerable? How could you just tell him you’ve been in love with him for a year? What now? Were you going to tell him how every time he left on a mission that you’d be so sick to your stomach with worry that you were scared you’d vomit? How you felt a twinge of jealousy and then guilt when he interacted with any of the girls? How every time you saw him you’d try to take a picture in your mind, just in case?

Tears pricked at your eyes. Oh, great, you were crying now. Arthur lifted your head back up and wiped his thumb across your cheek, wiping your tears away. He smiled softly at you.

“We can talk about this later, (Y/N)... I can’t stand seein’ you cry.”

You latched onto Arthur, in the tightest hug you could manage. He brought his big arms around you, careful not to squeeze too tight.

You don’t remember much of anything after. Arthur had been right, you were both exhausted from the heat today.

The next morning you woke up, still encased in Arthur’s arms. It was still early, nobody else had woken up but you were sure somebody had seen the two of you. Arthur also seemed to be awake, and ran his fingers through your hair.

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

[theycallmebecca]

Be My Valentine: Part 6

Happy Saturday! I’m kind of bummed that the Week of Love is almost over... but I also can’t wait for you guys to read the rest of Chris and Violet’s story.

Be My Valentine is a drabble series that I wrote for the Week of Love prompts for the HBC’s Valentine’s 2021 celebration. This series is for @the-ce-horniest-book-club​​.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Violet Hanson (OFC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language

Series Summary: Chris and Violet meet when he stops to help her with a flat tire in September. After bumping into each other again and again, Chris’s asks her out. The series follows several firsts in their relationship.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Because of how tumblr can be with links (even if they’re just to other tumblr posts), I will reblog each part with a link to the masterlist.

Part 6: First Public Display of Affection

End of December

After he’d come home with her for Christmas, Violet found herself even more in love with Chris. He had charmed her family, including her 15-year-old nephew who preferred to spend his time at family events listening to music on his phone.

Her nephew who usually had little to say, had talked to Chris for a bit and had even told her, later, that Chris was cool. Chris wouldn’t tell her what they had talked about but had said her nephew was a cool kid.

The fact that Chris had even reached out to her nephew had meant more to her than anything else. It had touched her family, too, putting them all, especially her older sister, squarely on Team Chris.

Violet shared that with Chris during the flight home, including the fact that her sister had threatened to marry Chris herself if Violet was ever stupid enough to break up with him. Chris had just laughed and promised not to let her do something stupid like that.

For the week between Christmas and New Year’s, Violet stayed with Chris and Dodger. They celebrated a belated Christmas with his family and spent a whole day with his niece and nephews.

As New Year’s Eve drew closer, Chris asked Violet how she wanted to spend the evening: just the two of them, with his family or with his friends. Her choice had been to ring in the new year with his friends, since they’d spent so much time alone and with his family.

Violet hadn’t known what to expect when they arrived at the party, but the hosts, Chris’s best friend and her husband, had quickly put her at ease. His best friend had even taken it upon herself to introduce Violet to some of the other people there that she didn’t know yet, all of whom had been friendly.

She and Chris found each other every now and again but spent most of the evening talking in different groups. She found herself the center of some of the conversations, as she was the newbie of the group, but they all seemed genuine in their desire to get to know her.

“I’ve been hearing rave reviews about you,” Chris said when they ended up in the kitchen for drink refills around 11.

“Oh?” Violet asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Seems everyone thinks I’ve found the perfect woman,” he said with a grin. “And that I shouldn’t let her go.”

Violet felt herself blush but didn’t resist when Chris tilted his head to kiss her. She pressed herself against him as he deepened the kiss, momentarily forgetting where they were.

It was a chorus of catcalls that forced them apart and she buried her face in his shirt while he told his buddies to fuck off.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered. “They can be idiots.”

“And how many of them did you catcall the first time you caught them making out with a girlfriend?” Violet asked, looking up at him.

Chris frowned, as if thinking, and then grinned. “All of them,” he finally reported.

“Exactly what I thought,” Violet said with a laugh.

With their drinks refilled, they returned to the living room where his buddies were still sniggering and making kissing noises.

As Chris made to go tell them off, Violet grabbed his hand and pulled him back. Then she pulled his face down to hers for a quick kiss.

Pulling away, she looked at his friends and raised her eyebrows. Instead of catcalling, they stood and applauded, making Chris, Violet and the other ladies laugh.

“Yup,” one of them said. “She fits in perfectly.”

[staticscreenwriting]

The vision of your happiness - Billy Hargrove

This is my entry for @lets-hargroove​‘s Valentine’s Day writing challenge. I chose “Are you wearing that for me” as my prompt. This is pure fluff. I hope you guys enjoy & happy belated V-day.

A crisp layer of frost lays upon the grounds, covers the hills and the valleys and wraps the entirety of Hawkins in a sparkling blanket of ice.

It’s february and it’s freezing and (Y/N) wishes herself back to warmer days. To skin glistening in the sun. To the scent of heat and sunscreen. To hanging out by the pool. Watching him. Waiting. Counting down the minutes until it was time for him to clock out.

To fucking in the showers, trying not to get caught. To summer and pleasure and excitement.

It all seemed to exhilarating then. The keeping things hush hush. The sneaking around. It was their secret then and keeping it was an adventure. It was bold and daring and fun. 

But summer soon gave way for the fall and then the cold winds of winter. And with the snow and the cold, came the realisation that whatever it is they have — is an eternal “almost”.

With the pool being closed until may, the two of them had eventually been forced to relocate their tête-à-tête to another place. Gone are the days of spending what felt like an eternity underneath the warm spray of the shower. Nowadays he picks her up somewhere, they drive out to lovers lake. They park somewhere a bit off the path — to make sure their secret stays their secret. They kiss. They make out. They fuck. And once the fogged up windows clear up again, they get out. They share a cigarette. Sometimes they talk.

And then they let the realistation settle deep inside them. They let it consume them. From their hearts outwards. To their brains. Their lungs. Their bones. The realisation that this is just a temporary fix. That what they have is everything and nothing all at once. It’s halfway something. Halfway in love. Halfway happy. 

She thinks that’s what hurts the most. The knowledge that there is something there, it’s just not enough for him. If this was just sex, if it was nothing more, it would be so easy. But there’s a palpable tension between them. A certain kind of connection. A tingling in the air. 

Yet there’s a big cloud that seems to follow them around constantly, hanging above their heads heavy with rain about to pour down on them. She knows what the cloud is made of. Billy knows it too. It’s the knowledge that he hates it here, that he 100% wants to go back to California. It’s made of fears and doubts and the absolute horror that comes with thinking about the future. 

And the biggest part of it all, is the fact that Billy Hargrove doesn’t do relationships. 

So they stay there, on that line of being halfway something. 

Billy is leaning against the Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips making him look so effortlessly cool it’s almost unfair. His hair sticks to his skin from their earlier workout, she thinks it makes him look like James Dean. That thought scares her. Billy, and this has to be blatantly obvious to him too, is a vision of all things gorgeous in this world. He’s soft golden curls and sharp jawline. He’s wicked grin and sparkling blue eyes. 

He’s an amalgamation of all things beautiful in the world. And (Y/N) is — well, she’s (Y/N). She knows she should be happy about things being the way they are. If sex, and friendship, is all she’s gonna get from him — she should be thankful about that. To even have that is more than she ever deemed possible.

But it doesn’t make her happy. Not all the way. Only ever halfway.

“ You going to the Valentine’s dance thing on friday ? “ Billy murmures around his cigarette.

“ Nope. “ 

“ Why not ? You got something better to do ? A hot date ? “ 

If only, she thinks, if only there was someone else. Maybe things would be easier than. Maybe it would be easier to let go of Billy. Alas there is no one else. Just him. 

“ No. No one’s asked me and I think it would be kinda shit to go by myself. I mean, it’s a Valentine’s Day dance so showing up alone is social suicide. “ 

For a moment, a spark of hope flickers inside of her. Like maybe this is the moment he’s gonna take the next step with her. Pull them out of the shadows, out of the deserted dressing rooms and fogged up cars and into the light. So that anyone can see. And she’s not asking for a love confession or anything. It’s just that dancing along the line of being something and being nothing is awfully exhausting and absolutely confusing.

“ Well, Valentine’s is dumb anyway.” 

Just like that, the flicker is gone. The hope is gone. All that is left is painful emptiness.

It’s not exactly the truth, per say. Someone has asked her but that person is Michael O’Hara and though he’s a nice enough guy, he’s not Billy. In fact, Billy detests him. He’s fairly well off, his dad owns a construction company, his mom does charity work. They have a nice house and a big garden and a golden retriever. They are everything personified that Billy resents. She didn’t tell him no. She didn’t tell him yes either. 

How was she expected to give Michael a proper answer if her heart was all over the place ?

“ Well you sound like a romantic. “

“ It’s all bullshit. “ 

“ You telling me you don’t believe in love ? “

Billy takes another drag from his cigarette, the muscles in his jaw straining as he inhales. If god ever came close to creating perfection, Billy was it, (Y/N) thought.

“ You telling me you do ? Tell me one couple that makes you believe in it ? My parents hate each other. Your parents hardly acknowledge each other. Outlook’s not so good if you ask me. “

He has a point, (Y/N) has to give him that. None of the adult relationships in their lives seem to work out too well. If love had ever been there in the first place, it is gone by now. And yet, to give up on it entirely seems foolish. If you can’t believe in love what else is there to believe in ? 

And what if the one person you love most, thinks it’s but a stupid fantasy.

“ So you don’t ever wanna like — fall in love ? Get married ? “ 

Billy regards her for a moment, barely letting his eyes travel towards her but she can see him glance through the corner of his eyes. “ Waste of time. “

It’s like a dagger straight to her heart. Waste of time. Waste of time. It repeats like a mantra in her mind. Over and over again.

“ That’s good to know. “ 

“ Mmh “.

A silence settles upon them and even though they often find themselves in a situation much like this one, it feel different now. As if the world has somehow shifted, lost the gravity that previously held it all together. Now they’re floating in a limbo. Drifting further and further away. And for the first time in a while (Y/N) doesn’t know how much longer she can hold onto him.

“ What are you doing tomorrow night ? “ Billy asks, dropping his cigarette bud on the ground before facing her properly for the first time since they’ve gotten out of the car. His eyes are intense and sometimes she thinks she can see something in them. Something more. Something that’s certain. Something that’s a definitely, not an almost.

But as soon as it flashed up, its gone again, making her wonder if it’s just a case of wishful thinking.

“ Work. You know the diner goes all out for Valentine’s week. “ 

Billy knows this. In fact it was Valentine’s week last year that the two of them properly met for the first time. 

Billy was bitter, about his move to Hawkins, about the situation with his dad, about life in general. 

And to top it all off, Hawkins Indiana seemed to have been captured by 

the greeting card industry. There were dances and parties themed after Valentine’s and paper hearts in every shop window. It felt like the world was mocking him.

The boy was hasn’t even been loved surrounded by an abundance of superficial displays of affection.

So he ended up at the diner, hoping for some peace and quiet — and some chili cheese fries.

What he go instead, was a diner looking as if Cupid himself had thrown up in there, a jukebox playing 1950s love songs and her. 

Her smiling. Her laughing. Her looking at him, eyes full of wonder and excitement and joy. Her.

Her dressed as a — heart ? 

“ Hi, welcome to Stella’s and happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N), I am your waitress today. Can I start you off with some drinks ? “ 

There was something about her then. About the bliss in her voice. The smile on her face. about how she looked absolutely ridiculous in the foam heart costume that gave her very little room to move her arms. Ridiculous. But also fucking adorable.

“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ 

He expected her to react like all the other Hawkins girls did whenever he paid them even the smallest amount of attention. Blush and get flustered and wrap herself around his finger.

She didn’t though. She smirked and said “ I might be” and winked and then asked for his order of drink again. 

And for the first time in his life he thought that Valentine’s maybe wasn’t all that bad.

“ Hmm… I might pop round then. Get some chili fries. Grace you with my company. “ 

She hates that this makes her heart flutter. It shouldn’t but it does. It also comes with a bitter aftertaste though. Because this affection is only reserved for when they are alone or in the company of people they don’t know all too well. She knows that as soon as one of their classmates shows up, he’s gonna recoil. Pretend like she’s just another girl. Someone he almost knows, but doesn’t.

It hurts. God does it hurt.

And yet she smiles and nods and says “ sure “ and kisses him like she’s not desperately trying to hold together the pieces of her heart slowly crumbling. 

Earth Angel by the penguins is blasting from the jukebox and Billy enters the diner. The bell above the door chimes up and alarms (Y/N) of a new customer.

As soon as he catches sight of her, Billy thinks his heart might give out. She’s not a heart this time. She’s an angel. Maybe a cupid. He’s not sure. She’s in a red tulle skirt, a white shirt with a red heart on it. Red angel wings are strapped to her back and she’s glued little red sequin hearts to her cheeks, just below her eyes.

But her lips. God, her lips are what really make him feel some kind of way. Red and glossy and like they might taste of cherries or strawberries or candy apples. 

“ Hi “ she chirps as she approaches him, a bounce in her step “ Happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N) and I am your waitress today. Can I start you off with some drinks ? “

He smiles back, a smile that he actually means, one he feels in his heart. Which is fucking terrifying honestly. 

“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ he asks, slightly tugging at a feather of her wings.

And just like the first time, she smirks, directs him to a table, winks and says “ I might be. “ 

And just like the first time, his heart starts beating just a little faster.

Things seem to go so well, until they don’t. 

For almost two hours, Billy sits in his booth, eating chili cheese fries, watching (Y/N) move around the diner. Every once in a while she comes over, steals a fry, leaves a kiss on his lips. It all feels so so gentle, so sweet. So right.

And then — reality settled back in.

(Y/N)’s heart drops as soon as she bell chimes up and she catches sight of who it is that has just entered. 

Tommy and Carol are loud. They are obnoxious. They are exhausting. But that’s not the reason why she’s dreading their company. It’s the influence they have on Billy.

All the softness and the affection vanished in the matter of a heartbeat. He’s back to being bitter and stoic and cold. And it hurts.

There’s no smiles from him as she approaches his table, the one they have just invited themselves to. 

“ Hi, happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N) and I am your waitress can I get you something to drink ? “ 

Carol only musters her with a mix of amusement and ridicule. Tommy though, loudmouth he is, laughs at her. Not a funny, radiant, charming laugh. A mean one.

“ Look at you ! I hope they pay you a bunch for putting you into that stupid get-up. “ 

It doesn’t hurt. In fact, she doesn���t give a single fuck about what Tommy thinks.

What hurts, is Billy. Billy laughing along. Not a charming laugh either. Not the laugh she loves. A mean one. A ridiculing one.

What hurts is the way he looks at her then, as if she’s a stranger. As if he hasn’t been inside of her just last night. As if he hadn’t been placing soft kisses along her neck, whispering sweet nothings against her skin.

What hurts is when he scoffs and says “ She’s a waitress, Tommy. How much are they possibly paying her ? Not enough to wear that ridiculous shit. “ 

That’s what hurts. So damn much.

(Y/N) hopes he can see it in her eyes when they lock with his. That it breaks her. That it hurts her so much. She hopes he can see it, she hopes that he knows. She hopes that a little part of him, even if it’s teeny tiny, she hopes that part hurts too. 

“ They pay alright actually. “ she responds, wiping the table clean once again and pulling out her notepad.

“ Are you coming to the dance, (Y/N) ? “ Carol chimes up before ordering a diet coke.

“ Actually, I am “ 

It’s then, that Billy’s eyes snap up. They hold something else now, something she’s not familiar with. If she didn’t know better she’d say it’s jealousy. She does know better though. Billy isn’t jealous. You have to care to be jealous. And Billy obviously doesn’t care. At least not about her.

“ Really ? Who are you going with ? “ Carol inquires. 

“ Michael O’Hara “ 

She tries to see something in Billy’s reaction though he stays still. As if the frost from outside has suddenly taken over his body as well, freezing him in place. 

“ Oh, “ Carol says “ he’s a sweet guy. Good for you. “ 

It’s strange but she sounds almost sincere. As sincere as Carol can sound. And that, is maybe a tiny flicker or joy in this god awful situation. 

“ Yeah, he really is a sweet guy. There’s very few of them.” (Y/N) replies before walking towards the counter to get their drinks, not granting Billy as much as another glance.

It’s a while later, Carol and Tommy long gone, that Billy walks up to the register. There’s the usual suaveness about him. He looks so effortlessly cool. But where he usually seems unbothered, something doesn’t seem right in that moment.

“ You just gonna ignore me for the rest of the night ? “ 

“ Oh I’m sorry, I’m busy trying to make a living on my silly little waitress job. “ 

Billy scoffs and it makes her angry. He’s so smug, so complacent. “ God, you can’t seriously be pissed because of that comment. It was a dumb joke, (Y/N). “ 

“ Jokes are meant to be funny. “ 

“ And it was. “ 

“ Not to me, it wasn’t. “ 

He shakes his head in a dismissive motion. As if she has no right to be offended. No right to feel hurt.

“ You said you didn’t have a date for the dance, now suddenly you’re going with Michael O’Hara. Pretty boy Mike ? He’s not even your type. “ 

“ How the fuck would you know that ? “ 

“ I know you. “ 

“ You don’t know shit, Billy. “ 

“ I know what you like and it’s not guys like him. “ 

“ Oh really ? Do you ? If you knew me that well you’d know that the way you’re treating me when your friends are around, that hurts Billy. If you don’t want them to know that we’re fucking, that’s fine with me. I just don’t understand why you have to be such an asshole when they are around. Why can’t they know that we’re friends at least ? Am I really that embarrassing ? Are you really that ashamed of me ? “ 

Billy combs his fingers through his curls in the same way he always does when he’s aggravated, when he’s annoyed, when he’s frustrated. She hates that she can tell 

his moves and gestures so clearly. Hates that she knows him so well when he seems to know absolutely nothing about her. If only she didn’t love him so much, life could be so easy. So simple.

So painless.

“ It’s not like that “ he tries to explain.

“ Then what is it like ? Explain it to me, Billy. Because quite frankly I don’t understand it. “ 

Time seems to slow down as she’s waiting for him to reply. To give her an explanation, and apology, anything. 

What she gets, is silence. Thick with words unspoken. Thick with tension. With pain. With heartbreak.

“ Yeah that’s what I thought. Go fuck yourself, Billy. “ 

She disappears through the swinging doors and enters the break room, just about holding it together. That’s until she hears the bell above the door chime up once again, then the door slam, then the unmistakable sound of the camaro starting.

Then, and only then, does she allow herself to fall apart. Slide down the wall, sit on the floor. And cry. And feel. And cry some more.

Until eventually she’s all out of tears and all that’s left is a feeling of overwhelming emptiness.

Michael is a nice guy. He’s attentive and sweet and a real gentleman. He’s picked her up at 6 sharp, he’s been extremely charming when meeting her parents, he’s wearing a gorgeous suede suit. Everything about him should make her swoon. He’s the guy her heart should be longing for.

Only love doesn’t know no rules nor guidelines. It doesn’t operate on rational thoughts. 

The heart wants what it wants and, no matter how much she tries to fool herself into believing there’s anything she can do about it if only she tries hard enough, (Y/N) heart doesn’t want Michael.

She has to admit that simple fact to herself as she’s clutching a cup of spiked punch in her hand as Michael sits next to her rambling about some topic or another. He’s such a nice dude and deserves better. Better than a girl who’s heart is somewhere completely else.

The gym suddenly feels stuffy, like the walls are closing in and the room is getting smaller and smaller. There’s too many people here, too much noise. She needs a breather. A second to catch herself. To soften the inevitable fall.

“ Hey, Mike. I’ll go catch some air real quick, “ she announces, softly squeezing his arm in a friendly way. He’s so nice. He’s too nice.

“ Oh sure, d’you want me to come ? “ 

“ No. No you enjoy yourself. I uh — I’ll be fine. “ 

And he doesn’t complain or object and, when their eyes meet, she can see it all as clear as day. The defeat. The disappointment. The sadness. The gratefulness that it’s ending before it’s properly begun, before too many feelings got involved.

He knows, as well as she does, that this ain’t working. This isn’t even an almost and though the outcome isn’t what either of them had desired for it to be, a definite nothing is quite a lot better than an uncertain almost.

“ Alright. Let me know if you need me. “ 

She nods, then pushes through the crowd of dancing teenagers, sweaty, sticky, unruly. The cold february air hits her skin as she steps outside, goosebumps are rising all over. Her fingers are itching for a cigarette but she’s shared the last cigarette from her package with Billy the other day and hasn’t gotten around to buy a new one.

So she rests her back against the cold concrete wall of the school building and looks up into the sky. The stars twinkle back at her like tiny rhinestones on a veil of dark blue fabric. It all seems so vast right then, like she’s but a tiny speck of dust on the grand scheme of things. It’s both, scary and insanely exciting. 

“ You got a smoke ? “ 

His voice sends involuntary chills down her spine. It’s like golden honey melting in a cup of warm milk. Thick and rich and warm and homey. 

His voice sounds like home, when it definitely shouldn’t. It does anyway.

“ What are you doing out here, Michael not bring it ? “ 

“ Look if you’re here to make fun o — oh wow. “ 

He’s in a suit. Not a uber fancy one that one would wear to a wedding, but a suit nonetheless. There’s no bow, no tie, no cummerbund. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned. He’s still wearing his biker boots and the silver earring is dangling from his earlobe. 

If there was ever a person who looked out of place, it’s Billy in this moment. 

“ I’m not here to make fun of you. “ 

The sincerity in his voice is overwhelming. Like nothing she’s ever heard before. Especially not from him. “ I’m sorry. “ 

It’s two word. Two simple fucking words. And yet they hold the meaning of a lifetime. It seems that once he’s spoken them, her world gains back a bit of gravity. That with accepting his own faults he is pushing her world back into the right position. Slowly. Carefully. But he’s doing it nonetheless.

“ You’re wearing a suit. “ 

“ It’s a dance, it’s mandatory. “ 

“ Why are you at the dance ? Thought you didn’t believe in love. “ 

“ It’s not that I don’t believe in love, “ Billy confesses “ It’s just that I was never shown how it’s supposed to feel or work. I wasn’t loved in a long time so the way we feel about each other is making me freak the fuck out. Because I’ve not felt like this in a long time, if ever. I don’t know how to deal with it so I sabotage myself. You are not embarrassing though and neither is your job. You are far from it. You are way too good for my dumb ass. “ 

“ What are you saying, Billy ? “ 

“ I’m falling in love with you and it terrifies me. I’m so scared of fucking it up that I ruin things before it can get that far. But then I — I realised that I could lose you. And the Michael O-fucking-Hara of all people. And that thought is honestly way worse. Because when I’m with you I have good moments, and I don’t have a lot of those in my everyday life but with you — with you there are so many. So I realised I have to stop being such a pussy and actually get off my ass and tell you how I feel even if it’s scary. You’re allowed to stop me any second by the way, talking about my feeling makes me feel icky but I’ll do it anyway if it means you’ll forgive me. “ 

“ Billy. “ 

“ Because I am falling in love with you and I don’t care who knows or doesn’t know. I just need you to know. That’s all that matters. “ 

If there was ever a moment to be soft, to be kind, to be forgiving — it is tonight. Underneath a thousand sparkling stars, as a lovesong plays from the inside of the gym. As he looks at her with eyes filled with adoration and passion and — .

She takes his face in between hers and for a second, all she does is look into his eyes. Maybe she’ll regret this one day. Failure is always a possibility. But so is success. So is the prospect of a loving relationship. A romance that will defy the odds. That will be so different to the examples their parents have set. 

Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, so gentle it’s hardly there at all. And yet he feels it all over. In his head, his heart. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

“ Sometimes good things are scary, Billy. Like Rollercoasters or Horror Movies, or love. “ 

He kisses her again, takes her breath away. But she thinks if this is how it goes, she’ll gladly do without oxygen.

“ Hey Billy, I got a question. “ 

“ What’s that ? “ 

She looks him up and down, then smiles. A smile so radiant it can rival the stars.

“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ she asks and tugs on the bottom of his suit jacket.

And Billy ? He kisses her again, then smiles and replies. “ I might be. “ 

[shesdangerace]

I learned from my pain

Happy belated Valentine’s Day! Tumblr hates us all and might make this super hard to post here SO. I’m going to post as much of it as I can, and if you like it, you can check it out on AO3 (also linked at the end). I now present to you, a very Andrew Minyard Valentine’s Day. -

He remembers the colour of the sky outside the window.

He remembers the tree branch swaying in front of the glass.

He remembers the breeze that day.

He remembers the hands, the quiet, the pleading.

AJ’s first Valentine’s Day.

Andrew’s eyes feel heavy.

Allison gave Renee roses today, a question written out in cursive with a kiss on the end. Matt was talking about his plans in the locker room. Nicky has been beside himself thinking of Erik coming to visit.

Andrew is leaning outside of his open mesh-free window trying not to think. Cigarette burning down in his hand.

Andrew never got asked. Andrew never got elaborate plans. Andrew never got giddy anticipation. At least, not his own.

And now, he doesn’t want those things. Can’t want them. Doesn’t see a point in them.

It always came at a price, is the thing. And it was never enough.

Love meant crying without making a sound so she wouldn’t know. Love meant bleeding so his twin wouldn’t have to. Love meant throwing away the chance of it. Love meant cut brakes.

That was the love he was taught anyway, when his ‘family’ told them they loved him as they crept into his room at night, asking Do you love me? Do you love me?

Andrew was taught that love was cruelty. Pain. Bloodshed. A blind eye. Vengeance. Sacrifice. Loss. Responsibility. More bloodshed. He never knew what love was meant to feel like.

And now all Andrew knows how to feel is nothing.

There’s a knock on the door frame, firm and assured.

“Hey. Time for practice.”

Neil, standing there like a memory of a different life. Auburn and dressed all in grey.

The cigarette falls slowly from Andrews’ hand, swaying back and forth by the light February wind until it touches the ground of the car park below like a distant feather.

-

The cheerleaders are here. They’re being loud and it’s unnecessary.

Andrew doesn’t know why the cheerleaders are here. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. It matters that they are and that they’re being loud.

She’s here too, of course. She’s also a cheerleader after all. Not quite so loud though.

That may be because while Andrew is not looking at her, he’s looking at Aaron, and Aaron is looking at her. He’s willing to bet she’s looking back.

Aaron looks happy. Wistful. Awed almost. Where did he learn that? How did he manage to learn how to feel like that?

Andrew doesn’t look at him.

He hits balls and waves his heavyweight stick around for hours, while Kevin yells and Neil cusses out the baby Foxes and Nicky laughs like a demented hyena and Aaron feels all over the court floor.

Andrew doesn’t look at him.

And then Katelyn comes wafting over, blonde ponytail bouncing and hands wringing and smile matching the quiet one on Aaron’s face. A smile Andrew has no clue how to replicate on his own. And then she asks him, and he grins at her and says yes, obviously, and then she kisses him on the cheek and giggles and her ponytail bounces away.

Andrew tilts his head away and doesn’t look at him.

He looks at Neil. He doesn’t really have a choice.

He’s standing right in front of Andrews line of sight, close but not close enough to touch Andrew, smirk almost as sharp as his eyes. Batting his eyelashes like an idiot, hands wringing and toe nudging against the floor.

“Be my Valentine sugar plum?”

That cocky smile, that exaggerated posture, that orange bandana, that mess of hair, that shock of bright blue, that stupid, stupid idiot.

“Fuck off.”

Neil just laughs, that huff of gentle sound, and Andrew looks at him and can’t seem to stop. And Neil can’t seem to either, looking right back, smile just strong enough to bring out the subtle dimple on his right cheek.

How did he learn that?

How did he learn to dimple like that from bruises? How did he learn to look at Andrew like that from a lifetime of running? How did he learn to laugh for Andrew after knives and cleavers and flames and irons?

Andrew just looks at him.

Neils’ hands on his Exy stick are strong and unwavering and deliberate. Careful. Reverent.

Andrew just looks at him.

---

It’s two days before Valentine’s Day.

They’re at the coffee stand. The three of them have classes in 15 minutes but no one cares. Neil stands beside him, staring as disinterestedly as Andrew.

It’s pink. It’s stupid. There’s large lettering in altering colours of red, green, and yellow. There’s three black silhouettes like bathroom door signs. A red cross. A green heart. A yellow question mark. A lot of pink. It’s a poster.

It’s a traffic light party.

“Neil please, come on, it’s literally perfect and you’re the only one who can convince him.”

Andrew thinks about the colour red.

“No.”

It’s so vicious and ugly, so glaring, a screaming no that Andrew has had painted on his hands and his lips and his skin for years now.

“Neeeeil come on!”

Andrew has been red for a long time.

“Nicky, you have a long-term partner. Why would you need to go to this?”

Neil sounds tired. Neil is right to be.

“But Neil, that’s the point. Not only do I get to declare myself as taken, I get to show off my hot German husband.”

Red is not as simple as a t-shirt or a badge. It’s sticky and it festers and it stains like dye and you don’t get to change your mind once it’s on you.

“You know you haven’t even asked him to marry you yet right?”

Green is an unrealistic colour. It’s bright where red is dark, joyous like red is angry. A garish neon sign declaring yes. Yes, I’m here and I’m alive and I’m okay and I fucking want this.

Andrew doesn’t think he could ever be green having been red.

“Fuck you, Neil. It’s understood, it’s an inevitability, and the world needs to know!”

Green can start pure and be muddled and abused until it’s ugly and brown enough to be red anyway.

“The world does know. You’ve been talking about him non-stop for days. It’s annoying.”

There’s a coffee cup in his hands. When did that get there? Latte, caramel and vanilla. Neil’s name is written on it.

“Okay, can we please get back to the point? Which is the party? And that we should go?”

The sun is out today, and there’s no breeze. The skies are clear and still. Neil is walking beside Andrew, staring at him under his lashes every now and then as Nicky pleads his case. He’s walking close enough to Andrew that Andrew could touch him if he asked.

He’s wearing yellow. It’s a logo, on his grey hoodie. The drawstrings are yellow. Bright, like the sun. Hopeful.

After a while, after Baltimore and Riko and several screaming panic attacks in department store changing rooms with Allison’s guilty voice over the phone, Neil started to touch colour. Gentle prods, careful explorations.

He has an emerald green shirt now. Long sleeves. He has several Fox-orange articles of clothing that he wears in the dorm, the house, or with Andrew around campus. He has accents of colours on his shirts or his hoodie or his hat in the winter.

He has no blue brighter than navy. He has no red either.

Today, he is quietly yellow. Sipping his black coffee with one sugar and studiously ignoring Nicky in favour of watching Andrew ignore Nicky.

When Andrew asks and Neil says yes, in an alcove five minutes late to class, his fingers wind their way into those sunshine yellow drawstrings. He swears it stains his fingertips just a little.

-

Nicky is singing. A little bit drunk, a lot off key. It’s pop music and it’s incessantly loud. He got a phone call half an hour before. He did not take it well.

Erik has to stay in Germany for another day. A despondent Nicky had explained to them, and Kevin, that this means he’ll be flying in on Valentine’s Day instead of tomorrow, and this means that he’ll miss most of their first Valentine’s Day together in forever and Kevin would you please pay attention?

“Fuck men, seriously, Ari is so right you know? She just fucking gets it like, she understands and you know what I mean right Neil? Back me up Neil.”

Neil is in no condition to be anyone’s back up. He’s wrapped up in the embrace of the beanbag chair next to Andrew’s and he’s exasperated and exhausted. Nightmares. Not Andrew’s this time. The yellow was a particularly bold a choice today. But Neil is smirking in amusement all the same.

“Thank you, more like no thank you sir- “

In the corner, Matt is trying to film discreetly. On the couch, Kevin is paying absolutely no attention, waiting for his phone to ring.

As Nicky dances to the same song over and over, and Kevin bolts out of the room to answer Thea’s call, and Matt fails at discretion, and Neil radiates sleepy warmth next to Andrew like a furnace, Nicky bleeds.

He’s haemorrhaging love, the good and the bad and the ugly need of it. With the clarity of experience and many Wednesday sessions Andrew can see it. He can see the dark edges of Nicky, the sadness underneath his exuberance, his pain. He sees Nicky’s own sharp memories poking out from beneath his grin.

When he looks back at Neil, he sees the same understanding in those perceptive blue eyes.

It’s not about some pointless day in February. It’s about months without him. It’s about not knowing love without pain before him. It’s about conditions and fear and confusion and self-loathing and conversion. It’s about finally getting to hold someone’s hand knowing that he’s safe.

“I’m just saying I’m a fucking catch and I don’t deserve this, and you know what?”

Nicky stops here, stares at Neil balefully, then at Andrew, then back to Neil, gesturing with his whole body for the peanut gallery to speak.

Neil sighs and gives in.

“What Nicky?”

“I’ll tell you what Neil! I’m so fucking ungrateful for this treatment! That’s what.”

He trips.

And then, from his pile of slumped limbs and tired bones, Neil laughs. A true sound, a warm rich low sound.

Something in Andrew stutters for a moment. And then Nicky is throwing himself at Neil.

Nicky with his explosive love. Neil gifting his affection in laughs and smiles where there used to be none. Kevin breaking his single-minded devotion at the drop of a hat when Thea calls. Matt texting all the videos to Dan no doubt. All of them, loving each other out loud.

Andrew closes his eyes.

Nicky haemorrhages for hours.

---

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day. They’re at the traffic light party.

Nicky is bright red in the face from dancing, bright red in the face from alcohol, bright red in his shirt. He’s smiling almost as wide as he was when Andrew loomed over him in the locker room and said they were going.

Neil is wearing a black and neon-orange hoodie because he lives to be contrary and confusing. Andrew is wearing black because so does he.

The music is loud enough that Andrew almost can’t hear his thoughts. Almost. But of course, Andrew could never be so lucky, nor could Neil be so merciful.

The lights of the club are passing over his face like real traffic lights, sharpening and softening his face and colouring his eyes different shades. They could almost be in the Maserati, driving a touch too fast, Neil looking out of the passenger window, lounging like he belongs, smiling softly at Andrew’s reflection under the cover of night.

But they’re not. Neil is standing there like a living, breathing fuck you, glaring down anyone who gets too close, staring blankly at those who mistake his orange for yellow and then laughing to himself when they scuttle away. He looks gloriously alive, and completely unreal.

They’ve lost Nicky.

Neil looks at Andrew, really looks at him. Face like a storm.

The music gets improbably louder. Bass heavy. Rumbling. Growling.

Neils eyes get impossibly darker, his face impossibly sharper, his presence impossibly brighter.

He raises his eyebrow at Andrew.

Are you red or yellow or green?

Andrew steps closer and hooks his fingers into Neil’s collar.

Neil takes him by the edge of his black denim jacket, turns away, and Andrew follows the glowing shape of him through the thick crowd of sweat and mistakes.

By the time they reach the wall in the corner Andrew’s vision is all traffic lights and neon and storms.

Neil leans his head back against the wall, the bass louder still. He smirks at Andrew, but his eyes betray him and it becomes a smile. Warm and mischievous and foolhardy. He tilts his chin up at Andrew.

“So does black mean you’re taken?”

Andrew doesn’t dignify this with a response, just breathes.

“Should I take that as a yes or a no?”

Aside from the sharp roll of his eyes, Andrew doesn’t respond to this either.

“Andrew. Yes or no?”

Neil isn’t joking anymore. His eyes are softer than they have any right to be in lighting this sharp and dangerous. He’s searching, he’s already accepted Andrew’s answer.

The growling, rumbling bass around them is eclipsed by Andrew’s own growling yes, Neil’s lips brushing his like a promise. Neil kisses him like he’s desperate, not for his own sake but for Andrew’s. Like he’s been waiting. Like he just wants Andrew to know that Neil is there. Like he just wants Andrew. Whatever that means at any given time.

Right now Andrew doesn’t know what it means.

Neil tastes like midnight. And that makes no sense and it’s fucking stupid.

The lights are still flashing but the bass is different when Neil leans his head back against the wall. For some reason Andrew follows, can’t seem not to, rests his forehead against Neil’s. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and neither does Andrew.

And then.

“Andrew, can I hold your hand?”

It’s a wonder Andrew hears him over the sound of this stupid party. Andrew says yes because honestly, he’s mildly curious to know what happens next.

Neil’s hand is warm. Firm. Scarred and unafraid and gentle and soft and calloused and it holds Andrew’s so tenderly. Like a rose and not a thorn.

Andrew doesn’t understand it and doesn’t understand why he doesn’t understand it because it shouldn’t be complicated. He doesn’t understand how Neil can look at him and feel. Because he so clearly does and Andrew can’t seem to hide from it.

Are you red or yellow or green or –

“Fuck, there you guys are! Come dance with me!”

And Nicky grabs Neil’s hand and pulls and Neil, as sharp and observant and devoted to his Foxes as he is, would never say no.

---

Andrew wakes up slowly and way too late in the day, to see Neil still asleep. His face is half crushed into his pillow, eyebrows relaxed, hair skewed in every direction like hellfire. His mouth is soft in sleep, his cheeks flushed with warmth.

There’s something so different about Neil when he sleeps.

When he’s awake, Neil is all winter stillness, observant and contrary and dramatic. Ferocious and disinterested and loyal. Loose and honest when Andrew kisses him. Defiantly, viscerally alive.

When he sleeps he is just as still, but unguarded and vulnerable. Almost awake almost always. Soft and quiet, warm like a summer morning.

The February sun is streaming in through the dorm room window, and the sky is clear and crystal blue.

Nicky is beside himself with excitement outside the dorm room somewhere. Eriks’ flight lands that afternoon.

Because it’s Valentine’s Day.

It’s also a Saturday and that’s much more meaningful to Andrew. It means he’s not missing anything Kevin can annoy him for.

Eventually, Neil’s eyes open, and he sniffles at Andrew like a kitten.

It’s so rare to see Neil so taken with sleep. Andrew doesn’t often see this, Neil all strung out on the feeling of being only half awake, soft and malleable like taffy.

Andrew sighs and asks quietly:

“No nightmares?”

And Neil smiles, and that dimple is back on his right cheek. Such a rare sight indeed in February. And to have seen it twice already is almost hard to believe.

“No nightmares.”

Andrew nods.

Neil edges closer, just the tiniest bit. He’s almost nose to nose with Andrew, and Andrew is almost there. He’s on the precipice of something.

One of the worst things about being Andrew Minyard is that apathy makes feeling almost painful and hard to ignore. Andrew has no choice; he can’t lie and he can’t hide and he can’t run and for some god forsaken reason he doesn’t particularly feel the need to.

He gives, and lets himself feel the warmth of Neil. He whispers his name in the scarce air between them, and kisses him. Soft. Unyielding. Bee would be so proud if he would ever tell her.

Neil whispers right back. Kisses right back. Runs his fingertips between Andrew’s on the sheets without touching them. Andrew nods his answer and he feels Neil all around him like the winter sun. Sharp and painful and bright and vital.

Neil is awake, and so is Andrew.

---

At sunset, everything in the Maserati is cast in purple and blue and pink. Neil is lounging like he belongs, smiling at Andrew’s reflection in the glass of the passenger seat window. He looks dreamlike, like he’s feeling that feeling Andrew can’t name.

He turns to Andrew and asks. Andrew says yes and then Neil is holding his hand. He grins at Andrew and for fucks sake. How can he look at Andrew with that much feeling? Who was it that taught him how to feel it at all?

The sounds of the road echo in Andrews ears, the sounds of Nicky’s happy crying from a couple hours earlier in Erik’s arms, Neil’s laugh, his cutting remarks, his questions. Neil’s lips brush Andrew’s hands like a prayer and it’s possible somehow.

Somehow, despite all reasoning and logical experience, it’s possible that Andrew is capable of more than nothing.

When he tells Neil this, laying in the grass off the highway in the last rays of purple light, the look in his eyes and the depth of his kiss are evidence enough.

ao3

[shadi612]

Happy Valentine's Day, darling pandom! Here's my (very belated) remix of UC and a little bit of a gift for my favourite fandom  

AO3 (x)  (1/?)

(I found love) Where it wasn't supposed to be

I.

“What a scam”

This is not how she wanted to spend Valentine’s Day. Or any other fucking day for that matter.

Because you see in all her twenty-four years on this earth she never had to do this before. Not even as a stupid sixteen-year-old schoolgirl. She’s never been careless (Not with this).

Then again, she never expected she would be:

A) In the middle of bloody Maine. B) In love with one of the town’s most dangerous men. C) Standing in front of a whole aisle of pregnancy tests on bloody Valentine’s Day, of all days. D) All of the above.

And you might ask Why she’s here on valentine’s day if she was in a long-term relationship with a man that never passed an opportunity to show her off to the town? Because said man had texted her that afternoon with a quick apology that their night of “debauchery and other vices” would have to wait and some rambling about an urgent job that she hadn’t paid much attention to as she texted Matthew back to let him know she wasn’t too devastated about it. Her mind was too busy worrying about other things, namely whenever or not she should get a very specific item from the pharmacy.

Which brings her back to the same thought again and again: These things are expensive.

Really expensive.

They were overpriced pee sticks, for crying out loud. And what's the difference between them? Paying an extra five dollars wasn’t going to change the outcome, was it?

She's not dumb or delusional, as the townspeople would often refer to her behind her back. Jill knows the signs that have obnoxiously hung over her head these past few days.

She's late. Three and a half weeks late. It's far too much time for her to blame it on stress (and wouldn't you be stressed if you shared your life with Matthew? Stress had become a default mode for her mind and body during the last two years. And, sadly, this wasn’t one of those times when it would go as easily as it had come.)

Add in a newfound state of fatigue mixed with a persistent soreness on her chest and the ever-suspicious bouts of nausea at unexpected moments and you'll get yourself a big, red flag. If someone came up to Jill and told her that these things had been happening to them, the first words out of her mouth would be “congratulations”. The sincerity of her words would depend on who that poor soul was.

But she also knows she’s not pregnant because being pregnant would unleash hell on her life. She’s buying the test so she can finally get Arabella off her back.

(“Oh, sweetheart” Bella’s voice had rumbled across the bookshop’s bathroom three days ago with a hint of ever-present sarcasm mixed with genuine concern.

“I used to be a nun. I know a girl in trouble when I see one” Jill had only managed to throw her a quick glare before emptying her stomach on the sink for the second time in less than four hours).

She would take the bloody test and get it over with and then maybe she would grab some Gatorade and crackers to soothe the persistent stomach bug that’s been ruining her mood for weeks (because that’s all there is to it. A bloody stomach bug).

"Close your eyes and think of England" she spits between clenched teeth before knocking a few tests into her basket with an impressive amount of determination.

She can do this.

Isn’t this some sort of milestone for your twenties? Going on a drinking binge, getting an apartment, a pregnancy scare and only a scare…

These are normal things. 

For the sake of appearances, she adds in some magazines and nail polish to her basket. She's under no illusion that this little piece of gossip won't be all over town in a near future but Jill's incredibly adept at playing pretend by now. And when she’s proven right (because she’s not pregnant. She commands herself not to be pregnant) the buzz will die down on its own accord if she just decides to not care about it in the first place.

The waiting line's short, even for Storybrooke. Jill easily spots Mister Gold and David Nolan ahead of her in the queue line, one of her hands reaching for the magazine she had taken before and she eyes it without much interest while partially listening to them. Maybe it would help her calm down.

“Two Valentines. Sounds like a complicated life.

“Oh, no, I-I just couldn't decide.”

So that was still going on, surprising absolutely no one.

Her ears filter out most of the men’s conversation once her eyes landed on the rather … colourful items the pawnbroker held on his own basket. She does not need that particular mental image. But there’s nothing else to do so she entertains her frayed nerves with some colourful and hilarious what ifs during the queue line in another attempt to calm down until the two men are out of her sight.

Mister Clark smiles at Jill when her turn comes and he’s a sweet man, she knows that much about him but the feeling gnawing at the pit of her stomach keeps getting worse and worse by the minute. She’s on the verge of running and just sending this entire thing to hell so she can go back to denial land when he offers her the bag with a smile. Idly she asks herself if pharmacists have their own version of a Hippocratic oath when he doesn’t comment anything about her peculiar purchase.

“Miss? Are you-”

“I’m fine” Her voice comes out rushed and squeaky as she hands him the money and politely tells him to keep the change. If the man has anything to say about her behaviour she doesn’t hear him while she sprints for the exit door like a red-handed thief.

The buzzing sounds of the streets make her peacefully numb to the outside world, just her and her spiralling thoughts walking into the night.

  II.

 Jill stumbles into the empty apartment with a heavy heart, a queasy stomach and feeling incredibly grateful that nobody can see the mess she’s now with her shaky hands and laboured breaths.

She’s not afraid, she’s panicking.

God, she can’t be pregnant.

What is she supposed to do with a child? She had been the only child born to two parents that cared more about the status their little bundle of joy would bring them than they did for the girl herself. What kind of mother could she ever become if she had grown up starved for love and attention from the two people that were supposed to give it to her unconditionally?

And what about the father? Maybe she could learn to love the child and avoid the mistakes her own parents had made with her but what about him?

He loves her, she knows that much.

He loves her in a possessive, passionate way that easily veers into obsession. An obsession she returns fully. But it’s the kind of love that could easily drown them both if they weren’t careful.

Nobody around them thinks they’re going to make it. They’re each other’s ruin they said. And god, she knows they’re doomed in so many ways, how bad they’re for each other in other ways but she also knows she’s happy. She’s so fucking happy.

He makes me happy is all that comes to her mind when she looks down to her white-knuckled hands gripping the bag on her lap.

There's a ring on her finger. 

It's simple but elegant and she found it a few weeks ago in one of her drawers, tucked inside a black velvet box resting peacefully between her earrings and one of his watches.

Jill had grown used to these tidbits of random affection, little presents and colourful boxes popping up around her as tokens of affection, so with a sigh of exasperated fondness she grabbed the box and opened the lid with giddy fingers. It could be a new necklace to replace the one she had lost a few days ago. Or maybe a nice bracelet to go with her pearl earrings…

This was different.

The ring’s cut was not the one you would find in a casual gift. It was far too elegant and well thought of. This type of cut worked for a very specific situation. 

He wouldn’t, would he?

Jill had sat on the bed for a good five minutes inspecting every inch of the ring before marching over to the living room where Matthew was sitting in the kitchen island with a cup of steaming coffee on one hand and the paper in the other. He wasn’t going to propose, of course he wasn’t. He wasn’t the “marrying kind” like Mrs. Redford used to say with an unhappy scrunch of her nose but for the sake of Jill’s mental peace she needed him to say it himself.

“Morning, darling” his eyes looked up before she had fully sat down in front of him, a smirk planted firmly on his face when he noticed how Jill held the ring at arms length as if its mere proximity burned her.

His face gave nothing away, just pure smugness. 

Typical, she huffed and slid the box across the table to him. She would be as stubborn as him if she needed to.

"Well?"

"It's yours"

Yours. 

It was her ring because he was proposing to her.

The frown on her face deepened as she stared distastefully at the ring on the table. He was doing it to drive her mad, she was sure of it. Only Matthew would be capable of turning a proposal into a headache. Couldn’t he be a grown-up about this? Couldn’t he have the guts to at least decently ask her Would you marry me?

No big romantic gestures needed, just a simple question.

"You're proposing to me?" Matthew raised an eyebrow at her, obviously amused at her reaction "You can't" she replied quickly as she realized she didn’t want to know his answer after all.

The frown on his face told her he wasn’t pleased with the situation either.

"Why not?" And now he was pulling the surprised card, acting like this kind of behaviour was acceptable. That she was being irrational by not understanding and playing along with it.

"Because!"

“Use your words, love” Matthew was even willing to throw her own words against her, leaving her to scold at him in disapproval. She hadn’t brought up the idea of marriage once, not even as a joke. This was all on him. 

Well, he could take his precious ring and shove it. 

“You’re impossible” 

“So I’ve been told” God, he was never going to take a single thing seriously in his life and she was stupid to think he would. Jill huffed out her anger and disappointment when she stood up, fully intending to lock herself in their room for the rest of the day or find something appropriate to throw against a wall to let out her frustration before strong arms wrapped around her waist and pressed her against his chest, effectively keeping her in the spot.

“I don’t feel like playing anymore, Matthew” She squirmed against him, slapping his hands away in a useless attempt to free herself.

“I know that being with me it’s not easy. That I’m not an easy person” his breath was hot and soft against the shell of her ear, making her squirming worse when he wouldn’t budge.

Damn him, damn him to hell and back for doing this to her

“But you must know that nobody ever had me the way you do” she had stopped fidgeting at the last part of his speech.

Jill knew. She knew perfectly well that he would kill anyone that ever wronged her and would burn the world if she asked for it. And she knew that for her (and her only) he was trying not to. He was trying to at least control himself for her like she was willing to let herself be free for him.

And she wasn’t about to say that she regretted it.

This man would be her downfall in the same way she would be his. He would make her crumble to ashes and rise again time after time with only the idea of them as an anchor.

He must have taken her silence as an invitation to slip the ring into her left hand and kiss the nape of her neck to put an end to their argument.

Jill couldn’t find the words quick enough as she turned on her heels to face him so she nodded slowly with a watery smile as her own promise of a forever finally slipped past her lips quietly “And nobody will have me the way you do, Matthew”.

(She did not cry, there just was a twinkle in her eyes as his lips kissed her like she was the air and he was suffocating)

This was her life now. With every messy decision and uncertain step she had taken in the last two years she –and only she- had sealed her fate with the golden band on her finger.

They said pick your poison so I chose you.

And maybe Jill is plenty of things but she’s always been someone capable of taking responsibility for her actions and her screw-ups, so she forces herself to walk into the bathroom to bite the bullet and face the music.

She lasts all of ten seconds before she throws the bag in the cabinet under the sink as far as it’ll go and fifteen before she calls Bella in the middle of what’s probably a panic attack.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up” The one time she needs Bella is the one time she decides to put her phone away.

It goes straight to voicemail the three times she rings her up and all it manages to do is frustrate her to the point she’s about to pull her hair off when she throws the phone on the couch.

Wonderful, just bloody wonderful.

Bella was going to owe her one and Jill was going to cash in that check big time once she was done panicking.

The dramatic schoolgirl she once was possesses her the moment she reaches over for a cushion to scream her frustration into a good five times before her responsible adult self kicks off the girl into the back of her mind and marches her self-pitying self into the bathroom.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

The words on her head are a pattern. It’s something methodical she can relay into and distract herself as she goes through the motions the test requires.

She doesn’t think she could have done it if she didn’t distract her mind. Any other time she would chastise herself for using such a cliché but those two minutes until her phone alarm buzzes are the longest wait on her life. The entire experience feels surreal to her, as if she was watching someone else sitting at the edge of the bathtub and stare at the test on the counter with everything else happening at both slow motion and fast-forwarding before her eyes when she stares at the test on her shaky hands.

It’s positive.

  III.

 The pink line stares back, mocking her.

 “Fuck”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

She wants to laugh. That was exactly what had gotten her here.

How could she be so stupid? They didn't use condoms every single time anymore and she had been off the pill for almost a year. This sort of thing was bound to happen.

So here she is, sitting on the edge of the bathtub at 2:00 am staring at a positive pregnancy test. Same test she’s been staring at sporadically for at least two hours now in between puking her guts out and cursing everything she can think of, said test among them.

The positive test. It's positive because she's pregnant. She's pregnant. Jill Redford is pregnant. She's carrying Matthew Kensington’s child and-

Matthew.

Matthew's going to be a father and that's a new load of information she needs to process.

Blimey.

Matthew is...

Well, he’s her Matthew. He's fire and impulsiveness and wildness packed in with a mop of brown curls and green eyes.

He's also ten years her senior, for crying out loud. This isn't the first time she's reminded of that fact but right now it perches itself on her shoulders like a heavy burden as she stares down at the stupid little stick on her hands.  Matthew is thirty-three to her twenty-four. He must have thought about this sort of things, right?

Oh, who is she kidding?.

Matthew is not the first person that comes to mind when she thinks of father material. He's not on her top five. Not even on her top fifty.

She loves him. She loves him against every reasonable impulse she has. And because she loves him she knows that parents are a delicate subject.

("They were gone one day. Vanished on thin air and never came back" Those were the only things that came up about the subject during one of their late night talks. Lucky, Arabella and his boys had become the family he needed after a rather peculiar childhood at the orphanage. A patchwork family she now was part of. She had no interest in knowing about people that had hurt him and he had no interest in sharing it.)

And oh god, Matthew and a child that will rely on him for guidance and love and to teach them the difference between right and wrong? Don’t make her laugh.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She can’t think about this now. She can’t think about how deeply fucked they are at this moment.

She needs to find a way out of this. The first thing that comes to mind in her desperate state is that if she’s not pregnant then she doesn’t have to worry. Tests gave out false positives all the time, so if she took another one and it came out negative then she wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

Problem solved!

Half a gallon of water and three positive pregnancy tests later she’s back to square one. Also known as “completely fucked” and “up the duff”.

An upset sob comes out from the back of her throat once she slides down to the bathroom floor. It was useless. She can’t avoid it any longer and she’s so upset at everything that all she can do is let the frustrated tears run down her face freely with her arms wrapped around her knees.

[casuallydeliciousphilosopher]

Tagged by @ships-sailing-in-the-night :D 

rules: answer these 85 statements (god damn, what is this a tumblr exam?!?!?) about yourself, then tag 20 peoples

I tag: @theleafpile @kanshou87 @m0urningd0ves @adastratostar and anyone else who wants to do it becasue I’ve already annoyed too many people by tagging them lol. 

last

1. drink - green tea w/ honey

2. phone call - my boyfriend

3. text message - to my beta reader is also an awesome friend <3

4. song you listened to - Never Be The Same is playing on the radio as I type this. 

5. time you cried - oh god...like two days ago I think??? I get really emotional over little shit when I’m sleep deprived.

6. dated someone twice - I’ve never broken up with someone and gotten back into a relationship with them again...but I have broken up with someone before and then went back for a one night stand because the sex was really good...so does that count??? Idk. 

7. kissed someone & regretted it - I’ve never regretted it

8. been cheated on - Sit down, it’s storytime! My first boyfriend texted me before one of our dates once and said he head the flu so he couldn’t go out. Me, being the wonderful partner I am, decided to go to the store and buy some chicken noodle soup, and ginger ale, and cold medicine and visit him. So I get to his place, nobody answers the door so I use the hide-a-key (we’d been going out for about 6 months so I knew where to find that shit). So I’m walking upstairs and I can hear people fucking, like hardcore fucking *faster, harder, choke me daddy* that kinda shit. And I just kinda pause on the staircase and think to myself OH HELL NO!!! So I rush up to his room, throw the door open, and low and behold he’s fucking some blonde bimbo and he looks over and we make eye contact and I can see the oh shit look on his face. So I screamed something like you whore fucking bastard and threw the bag of groceries I’d gotten at him and the hot soup container broke open and splashed all over him and his side hoe and the last thing I heard as I stomped back downstairs to leave was his frantic voice yelling oh god it’s on my dick! Needless to say, I never responded to his texts after that. 

9. lost someone special - too many people. But recently I lost my grandfather earlier this month on super bowl Sunday, my whole family was there when he unexpectedly died on us. And back in October of last year, I lost a close cousin in a mass shooting, and it’s really hard to heal from that because every fucking time I turn on the TV I see that another shooting has happened. So...

10. been depressed - all the time??? Like...why do you think I’m almost never sober????

11. gotten drunk & thrown up - I drink a little too much too frequently to be honest, but I’ve never thrown up because I was drunk.

fave colors

12. dark bright blue

13. candy apple red

14. fresh grass green

the last year have you…

15. made new friends - What are friends??? I’ve made new acquaintances, and I’ve made a few online friends if those count.

16. fallen out of love - Not within the last year.

17. laughed until you cried - Yes. The last time was back during Christmas when my boyfriend was doing some stupid shit while badly singing along to some weird song that screamed snow every other second.

18. found out someone was talking about you - People talk shit, I don’t bother to keep up with it. 

19. met someone who changed you - I’ve met a lot of people who changed me, but not within the last year. 

20. found out who your friends are - I have no friends???

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list - Haha! Does my boyfriend count??? Cuz otherwise it’s a hard no.

general

22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in irl - Almost all of them, but they’re really only acquaintances/family members. 

23. do you have any pets - my boyfriend just surprised me with a puppy this last weekend as a belated valentines day gift. She’s perfect and I love her. Say hi to Korra, she’s a husky.

24. do you want to change your name - Yes. I want to change it to a “guys” name because gender discrimination in any STEM field is a legit thing. Also I don’t really like my given name. 

25. what did you do for your last birthday - I went to Vegas and the Grand Canyon with my boyfriend (because our birthdays are only 3 days apart so we always combine them into one celebration). Gambling, drinking, debauchery in general and then a nice relaxing weekend of hiking and sightseeing. It was pretty awesome. 

26. what time did you wake up today - 6:00am

27. what were you doing at midnight last night - sleeping

28. what is something you can’t wait for - the sweet embrace of death??? Idk. 

29. what are you listening to right now - a local radio station

30. have you ever talked to a person named tom - yes! Tom was the name of the first guy I ever danced with. He was super cute, also we were both named “most likely to succeed” for our senior yearbook (Lol who the fuck picked me for that???) so we talked a little bit then when we were waiting for our photoshoot. He’s super cool. He’s an engineer at Tesla now...and here I am...wtf am I doing with my life????

31. something that’s getting on your nerves - trying to potty train the new puppy. Lord give me strength!

32. most visited website - Oh sweet fucking Jesus...please don’t do this to me...You don’t want to know my search history...But, I just pulled up a new tab on my phone and my top three are (unfortunately) PornHub, AO3, and my College Login Page...I’m gonna go hide now...

33. hair color - Brunette

34. long or short hair - Medium. It’s mid-back length. Maybe that’s long??? Idk.

35. do you have a crush on someone - my boyfriend and many fictional characters.

36. what do you like about yourself - Nothing??? There’s not a whole lot to like???

37. want any piercings? - I have all the peircings I want. I want more tattoos. 

38. blood type - Why the fuck do you want to know? AB+

39. nicknames - Dez, Dezzzy.

40. relationship status - Been in a relationship for 4 years now. He’s an asshole. But he’s my asshole. 

41. zodiac - Gemini

42. pronouns - She, Her

43. fave tv shows - Lucifer, The Magicians, iZombie, Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad, Westworld, Avatar, 11-22-63.

44. tattoos - I need more, right now I have an Unalome on my sternum. What is an Unalome you ask? It’s my Tumblr icon. And a Buddhist symbol that represents the path to enlightenment. Yes. I am a Buddhist. 

45. right or left handed - Right handed

46. ever had surgery - Nope. 

47. piercings - Ears and Navel

48. sport - I don’t play sports. I don’t watch sports. I do autocross...but I don’t consider that to be a sport, just a hobby.

49. vacation - My boyfriend and I bought tickets to Paris for this summer! :D

50. trainers - ??? What am I missing here??? I need context. 

more general

51. eating - Again. I need context. What? Eating? Yes. I eat. I’m destroying a Snickerdoodle as I write this, crumbs cascading down onto my grimy pitiful keyboard. 

52. drinking - Whoo boy! Don’t get me started on drinking! My liver is dead and so are my emotions! :) 

53. I’m about to watch - Nothing. Because everything is on haitus. 

54. waiting for - The inevitable release of death???

55. want - CONTEXT!!! I want these questions to have some damn context!

56. get married - I’m gonna tell you a secret, but you can’t tell anyone. My parents are crazy christian religious nuts and my boyfriends parents believe in marriage later in life. But, my boyfriend and I are actually already married on paper lol. Like, we’re both happy together and we cohobitate well and we have the same goals in life so we signed some paperwork at the courthouse to get the taxbreaks mostly lol. This is the first time I’ve aver actually told anyone the truth about that. But we both agreed that our parents dont need to know, because why the fuck is it thier business?? Anwyays, we always still refer to each other as boy/girlfriend because if we slipped up in front of them then things would get ugly lol. 

57. career - I’m in school getting my Architecture degree. 

which is better

58. hugs or kisses - Hmm...it depends. I’m not exactly a big touchy feeling person. I’m gonna go with kissess. 

59. lips or eyes - Eyes. I love me some pretty eyes. 

60. shorter or taller - I’ve been with people both shorter and taller than me, and they both have their advantages and disadvantages. Taller people can reach the top shelves of cabnites and grocery stores, but you have to lean onto your tiptoes everytime you want a kiss. Shorter people are nice because you get to card your fingers through their hair and cup their cheek/jaw, while they have can really only wrap their hands behind your neck. Hmm...idk. I have no preferance. 

61. older or younger - People or in general or like romantic partners? I like people of all ages lol. But like, romantically, I’d have to go with older. 

62. nice arms or stomach - Hmm. Arms. You see a persons arms way more often then their stomachs. 

63. hookup or relationship - I’ve done both. And it depends on the person wether or not a hookup or relationship is better. Hookups are for lust, relationships are for when you actually invest on an emotional level. 

64. troublemaker or hesitant - Hmm...I can say that troublemakers will bring drama. I like hesitant. 

have you ever

65. kissed a stranger - Aquiantances yes. But not a stranger. 

66. drank hard liquor - Why is this even a question??? I’m not even sure I can function without hard liquor anymore. 

67. lost glasses - I don’t have glasses. 

68. turned someone down - Yep. Never date someone just to spare their feelings, you’ll just hurt them more down the line. 

69. sex on the first date - I have. Sex is fun. 

70. broken someone’s heart - I try not to but I probably have. 

71. had your heart broken - Obviously. 

72. been arrested - Nope. I was always the one who did the arresting. 

73. cried when someone died - How can you not cry when you watch someone die in front of you? Like? What kind of cold boded robotic motherfucker must you be??? People who feel no emotion while watching that kind of thing scare me, run away, that’s a fucking serial killer. 

74. fallen for a friend - Yep. It can be hard not to. 

do you believe in

75. yourself - I believe in my ability to drink one bottle of tequilla a night, and my ability to hit a moving target from 300 meters. 

76. miracles - Nope.

77. love at first sight - Nope. Love is emotional, you don’t form emotional connections at first sight. Lust is the only thing you can form at first sight. 

78. Santa Claus - Nope. I’m not three. 

79. kiss on a first date - Isn’t that like the bare minimum for a first date??? I’ve never not kissed on a first date.

80. angels - Nope. 

other

81. best friend’s name - My bestfriend is my boyfriend. 

82. eye color - Blue

83. fave movie - At the moment, Wonder Woman. But the Lion King will always hold a special place in my heart. 

84. fave actor - Tom Ellis, Tom Hiddleston, Chris Pine, Chis Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Chris Pratt, Hugh Jackman.

85. fave actress - Gal Gadot, Lauren German, Lesley Ann Brandt, Amiee Garcia, Hallee Berry, Mila Kunis. 

[trashtfcanons]

♥ x ♥ Whirl? this blog is so great!

AHH Ty! Happy belated Valentine’s! :3c fluff birb time~ Update: this has become a ficlet omg idk why but something just told me this one needed a crazy, off-the-cuff story BRACE YOURSELF FOR 10/10 TRASH FLUFF

Whirl isn’t much for any holiday, he thinks they’re silly (unless it gets him off work of course, in that case he’ll be there, waving a little flag in the corner). You’re also quite the anti-Valentine’s day advocate apparently, when you remembered the big V-day was coming up you began to rant incessantly about it. In the morning you’d grumble about how many days left until it was “that damn ass-kiss circus,” in your usual afternoon adventures you’d rant about you wanted to be Cybertronian so bad so you didn’t have to deal with the terrible mushy stuff humans get-off on, even before bed you griped about it’s a capitalist holiday, and that participating in it meant that you were fuelling ‘THE MAN™.’ 

At one point you growled so loud in anguish after a whispered monologue about the need to focus on much more important things happening in February, you had almost alerted Magnus to your presence in the rafters above him, just as Whirl was getting ready to drop some old energon right onto his head.

Whirl has never seen you so stuck on a particular thing, and it’s kind of put a dampener on both of your mojo’s recently (he does appreciate the hate fire though, so he’ll listen and cheer on your anger anyway). He does notice however, that the closer the day approaches, the less passionate you become on the topic, you’ve just become kinda… Deflated – sad and tired about it. Your rants become miserable recounts of how you’d spent Valentine’s days of the past alone after some sort of breakup. 

In a rare cosmic anomaly: Whirl pauses to think about it. The way you’ve been acting lately worries him, and he figures that nothing ever worries him. Naturally, after discussing it with his inner voice, he decides this is kind of a big deal.

So on one of the rare days you don’t skip your assigned duties, Whirl goes to the only bot who can help him get this lovey-dovey stuff done right. Drift is ecstatic to help, and the two get to scheming. 

^  ^  ^

You had woken up to complete silence today, confused as to why you weren’t hearing the energetic drill sergeant voice Whirl usually used to get you out of bed. Figuring he’s either being chewed out by Magnus for your latest stunt or had early morning chores and didn’t want to wake you, you go about your usual business. You’re just about done fixing your hair when you remember what day it is today, and you groan, an overwhelming blasé suddenly washing over you.

A short urgent knock on your habsuite door almost makes you jump, and you grumble as you begrudgingly shuffle towards it. Opening the door, you are suddenly facing a panicky-looking Tailgate, whimpering as he twiddles his thumbs and shifts his gaze to avoid looking you in the eye. You raise a brow, he looked more stressed than usual. 

“Hey Tailgate, what’s up? And what’s with the face?” You ask. The minibot shifted from foot to foot nervously, stuttering as he spoke: “I-It’s Cyclonus and Whirl, they’re fighting a-again,” he fumbles with the words, whimpering. You relax a little, rolling your eyes and snorting in relief, so that’s where that giant bird-brain went off to so early; “ Tailgate they’ll be fine they do this all the time, you know I can never talk him out of– hey!” The minibot grabs your wrist and proceeds to tug you out of your doorway and into the hall at a hurried pace, cutting you off. “No! It’s not j-just that! It’s serious this time… and it doesn’t look good for Whirl… I’m scared.” You paused from struggling in his grip, not really processing what he said immediately. Your heart began rapidly beating against you chest. “Where are they Tailgate?” you breathe, the minibot points to himself “I can take you th–” you painfully wrench your wrist from his hand, frantic. “Where are they Tailgate?!”

^  ^  ^

You struggle onto the steps of Swerve’s bar, cursing on every tier as you pull yourself up and swing your legs over each edge, running to the next to repeat. You can’t really hear any shouting or fighting from the bar, but it could just be because your heartbeat felt like it was in your ears. The second Tailgate had told you they were at Swerve’s you made a run for it, leaving the minibot behind. Stupid decision, but you couldn’t really think straight, trying to decide how you’d execute Cyclonus if you were too late. Ten wasn’t even stationed at the door, which worried you even more.

Too late…The words echo in your head. You pick up your pace as you near the top, your breathing laboured as you call out for Whirl. You get no immediate response, and instead hear a glass break.  You practically fly over the last step and the words escape your lips before you take in your surroundings : “CYCLONUS! If you’ve hurt him for real I’m calling the fucking DJD my–…” the words trail off as you finally process the scene around you.

 The room was decorated floor to ceiling in giant red and pink hearts, mechs from all corners of the ship were seated at the bar and in the booths, optics on you. Even Swerve had paused from serving colourful bubbly drinks. In the middle stood Drift and Whirl, looking like they were interrupted mid-conversation. “-..self” you finish, dumbfounded. 

Upon seeing you, Whirl ex-vents and stomps his foot. “Tailgate screwed up! That little scrap-heap was supposed to take you the long way so we’d have more time!” he whines. He walks over and lowers a claw for you to step onto, and so you do, your brain still trying to work out what you’re seeing. Sheepishly, he tries to explain:

“I uh.. I know you don’t like mushy stuff… But I wanted to plan something anyway.” Be begins nervously, glancing back at Drift, who gave him an encouraging thumbs up. He lowers his voice and brings you close to his featureless face. “I just couldn’t let you be alone for Valentine’s day this time around.” he admits, motioning around the bar “So I kinda planned a little party.”

At his words, your chest tightens, and you feel a hot tear run down your cheek. Whirl panics as he sees it, turning a little so the other bar patrons couldn’t see you anymore. “Hey hey, are you okay? If this was a bad idea we could totally just–” You wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve and sniffle a little. “You big dummy, you kidding?” You say, interrupting his nervous mumbling, a smile appearing on your face. “This is the best Valentine’s day I’ve ever had.”

(THe END they all party hooray I’m a mess)

[samanthasroberts]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

[adambstingus]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/167431371812

[allofbeercom]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

[viralhottopics]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2iTRz6N

from Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship