liquor stop

Stop!

Louis and Eleanor apparently broke up.

Wait a minute…

The rumour says, that Eleanor got a tattoo that says ‘freedom’.

Fill my cup put some liquor in it!

Meeting a Brand New Friend | Closed

{ @poisonpunkking​ }

  Another day, another case solved and it was time for the Egyptian female to drink some hard liquor. Thankfully, Sam stopped at a decent bar to grab a drink and maybe a bite to eat. Dean wasn’t with the couple – most likely with Billie – so Esme and Sam had time to themselves.

  Bobbie, their fourteen year old, was back home at the Bunker with Castiel so Esme didn’t have to worry over her son. When the couple entered the bar, the amethyst-eyed woman found a table near the back and claimed while Sam went to get the drinks; beer for him, hard whiskey for his girlfriend.

  While Esme was waiting for the drinks, she shrugged off her denim jacket, revealing a black Blissful Riot t-shirt, a gift from Billie, and rolled her shoulders to relief the tension in them. The hunt was a sort-of easy hunt; Salt-and-Burn but the ghost was stubborn, being bound to a locket the Mother won’t give up.

  Eventually, the Mother did give up the locket and the ghost was able to move on, freeing herself from further damage. Once the tension was relieved in her shoulders, Esme ruffled her hair up a bit before leaning back in the booth, looking around the bar with mild interest.

Hi.

It’s me.

I refuse to say “I miss you,” although I most certainly do.

I refuse to say “I love you,” although it is an undeniable fact.

I refuse to be weak anymore. Even if I still am. 

I’ve started standing up for myself. Even if it’s just saying “I’d rather not.” 

I’ve started making decisions. Even if it’s just “I want to watch a scary movie” or “I want Mexican food tonight.”

I stopped drinking liquor. Because I know how it fucks with me. (And I’ve stopped blaming the liquor and started holding myself accountable for continuing to consume it when I know full and well what it does to me.)

But I’ve started thinking about my life. My future. I’ve been thinking of it as my own and no one else’s. And there’s a million things I want. I think I want to go to culinary school. I think I want to learn about as much as I can. I have a good idea of what I want for my future.

I’ve also stopped refusing.

So I fucking miss you.

And I fucking love you a thousand times over.

I want my future to be amazing. But there’s no way it could be as amazing without your ass being a part of it. Come back to me.

What may have started the generalization that women and strong liquor were somehow naturally at odds is its antiquated association with sex workers. Prostitutes were even featured in 19th-century whiskey advertising, galvanizing a connection that continued through to Prohibition, which led liquor companies to stop advertising to women at all until the late ‘80s. Today, the woman ordering a whiskey (bonus points for “neat”) is a sexualized tomboy, looking to send bar-going bros the message that she’s looking for a good time.

We sneak out at 3am
Drive down the highway at 60 miles
Radio blasting in our ears
We watch the streetlights go by
Taste our heartbeats in the back of our mouths

We pretend not to notice
The bruises on her thighs
Slowly turning purple like the twilight sky
We don’t ask about the stench of vodka
And why he always tastes of liquor and sadness

We stop by an all night diner
Spilt an order of fries
Make plans to ditch school next week
And smoke weed in the junkyard
Just outside town

Between the laughs we notice scars on his wrists
We look away and drink our sodas
And remind ourselves
We’re alright
We’re alright
We don’t bring up how her voice cracks and her eyes well up
When everyone’s leaving to go home
And she remembers
She’s going home to an empty house

And we all see the breaking and the falling and the hurting
But we all stay silent and ask ‘do you need a ride’ or ‘what time is the party’ or 'what pages did we have to read’
We never ask 'are you alright’ and even if we do we never want to hear it
We’re all dealing with our own demons
We can’t deal with yours too