six hours a night how will i live

anonymous asked:

Trini has to cancel a date to watch her brothers and Kim comes over to babysit too and they are Domestic to the max

A/N: I tried to not make it too long! But seriously…my Trimberly feels are real.

“Mom, please.”

“I’m sorry, Trinity.” Marie sighs, and Trini rolls her eyes at her full name. “Your father and I rarely get a night to ourselves, and the boys are too young to stay home by themselves.”

“I made these plans with Kim two weeks ago!” Trini exclaims as she throws her arms up in annoyance.

Marie glances at her daughter and arches an eyebrow, “I’m sure you can reschedule your outing with your…friend.”

Trini flinches at how easily her mother dodges calling Kimberly her girlfriend; Trini has been out to her parents for four months, and her mother still hasn’t accepted it. With a hard sigh, Trini watches her mother and wonders how they grew so far apart; she used to cry when her mother so much as went to the grocery store, and now they’re a million miles apart.

“You’re unbelievable.” Trini mumbles.

She doesn’t stick around to hear what her mom has to say, she isn’t in the mood for another lecture. Instead she sulks off to her room and grabs her phone to cancel her date with Kimberly. Of course she’s bummed they’ll be missing out on their movie, but her little brothers are a huge part of her heart and an evening with them doesn’t sound half bad.

“Trini, mami says you’re staying home and playing with us!” Alec exclaims as he races into his sister’s room. “Will you play superheroes with us? I’ll let you borrow my cape and mask!”

Trini smiles and moves to ruffle her brother’s soft hair, “Superheroes sounds like a great idea. Go grab Mateo and your cape.”

Alec leaves with a whoop and Trini laughs; maybe a night with them is worth missing out on date night.


“Blast off!”

Trini laughs as she watches her six-year-old brother rush through the living room with a cape on his shoulders and messy curls piled on his head. With a loud yell, Mateo crosses the room only to stumble over his footing and land with a hard thud that brought a belly laugh from his twin who bounced on the couch cushions.

“Man down! I repeat, we have a man down! Captain Trini to the rescue!” Trini exclaims as she moves to scoop her little brother into her arms. “Are you okay, bud? You fell pretty hard.”

“S’okay. Not a single ouchie.” Mateo shrugs as he turns his head to press a wet kiss to his sister’s cheek.

The sound of the doorbell causes Trini to frown as she sets Mateo back on his feet and watches him as he moves to throw himself over the couch arm. With a shake of her head, Trini leaves the comfort of the living room and hurries to pull the front door open. All at once, her eyes go wide before she quickly slams the door.


“What are you doing here?” Trini demands as she presses her back to the door. “Did you get my text?”

A soft laugh sounds from the opposite side of the door, “I did. I thought I could come over and help with the boys. We haven’t really had a chance to hang out lately, and I miss you.”

Trini fights her smile as she reaches up to pull off her mask before she turns to open the door once more. Kimberly flashes her a smile that sends a flutter of butterflies through her before she steps into the house and drops a quick kiss to her girlfriend’s messy dark locks. Trini sighs softly as she watches Kimberly strip from her jacket; she constantly wonders how someone like her ended up with someone as good as Kimberly Hart.

“You took off your mask,” Kimberly notes as she steps into Trini’s space. “I’ve gotta say, you make a pretty sexy superhero. I’m really liking the cape.”

“Oh?” Trini smirks as she arches her head while watching as Kimberly’s gaze drops to her lips. “Is it doing something for you, Hart?”

“Oh, totally.”


Kimberly jumps away from Trini in time to brace herself for the two balls of energy that collide with her legs. A smile crosses her lips as she crouches down and opens her arms to the twins who eagerly pile onto her. Trini stands there with a heart so warm she’s almost afraid it’ll burn a hole straight through her chest; Kimberly was so good with the boys.

“Kimmy, did you come to play?” Mateo asks with a curious expression as he pulls away from her neck. “Are you gonna come help me with my puzzle?”

Alec huffs as he curls into Kimberly, “No! She’s gonna help me with my puzzle.”

“How about I help both of you?”

Both boys give a cheer as they latch onto Kimberly and begin to pull her down the hallway to their room. Trini follows behind with a small smile and she peeks into the room to watch as the boys pull out their dinosaur puzzles that Kimberly always seems to get stuck building whenever she comes over. But she never complains, she just does as the boys ask and she does it with a smile on her face.

“Are you going to come help?” Kimberly teases as she looks over her shoulder at her girlfriend.

Trini tilts her head slowly, “I was actually going to go make dinner for you nerds. Mac and cheese sound okay?”

“Nerds?” Kimberly repeats as she lifts her eyebrows and turns to the boys. “Did you guys hear what your sister called us? She called us nerds.”

Mateo drops his jaw in shock, “She did?”

“She did.” Kimberly nods with wide eyes.

“Tickle time?” Alec asks in a soft voice.

“What? No. No, it is not tickle time.” Trini frowns as she backs away hesitantly. “I was only joking so you three stay exactly where you are, got it?”

“Tickle time!” Kimberly yells.

Trini squeals loudly as her little brothers clamber to their feet and run towards her with their hands out. With a burst of speed, Trini hurries through the house only to trip over one of Mateo’s toys and hit the ground with a groan. Without missing a beat, bodies pile on her and Trini goes breathless as fingers dig into her sides while Kimberly pins her legs to the floor and the boys work at her stomach.

“No! No more!” Trini pleads.

“More!” Alec and Mateo yell.

She isn’t sure how long she squirms, but by the time they relent she is breathless and her stomach hurts. Trini lays there and tries to catch up to reality while the boys and Kimberly trade high fives. With a glare, Trini looks to her little brothers and sees a familiar glint appear in their dork orbs.

“Hey, no family telepathy!” Kimberly whines before she notices them scoot closer. “Wait. No. Don’t do anything you three are going to regret…”

Trini smirks and launches forward, “Get her!”


“Five points if I make it in, right?”

Trini nods and Kimberly sucks in a breath as she narrows her eyes and flicks her wrist; the entire room erupts in cheers when the grape lands perfectly in Trini’s mouth. Mateo claps happily while Alec nods and shovels a spoonful of macaroni and cheese into his mouth. With a dramatic bow, Kimberly leans over to steal a kiss from her girlfriend before they go back to cleaning up the kitchen.

“Tree, how come you and Kimmy kiss?”

Trini stiffens at Alec’s innocent question and she glances to Kimberly with a frantic expression. After she came out to her parents, she was given strict orders to keep it all away from her brothers. With a nervous swallow, Trini turns to face the boys and her heart aches as she looks at the pure innocence in their gazes.

“Because…” Trini trails off before she sucks in a calming breath. “Because I like her. A lot. And when I kiss her, it’s just my way of showing her how much I like her.”

She waits, she expects another question. She expects them to tell her it’s gross, that it’s wrong. They’re so young, and Trini knows they don’t really understand but she’s scared of what her parents will do to her if they find out she told Alec and Mateo about her relationship.



Trini blinks in awe, “Oh?”

“I give you, mami, and papi kisses all the time.” Mateo shrugs as he looks to his twin brother. “I do it to show you how much I like you, too.”

Kimberly chuckles as she wraps her arms around Trini’s waist, “Anyone ever tell you your brothers are wise beyond their little years?”

“No.” Trini admits as she watches the pair fling cheesy noodles at each other. “But I know they are, and now you do too.”



“Wearin’ them!”


“Got ‘em!”

“Awesome. Oh. Teeth?”


“Proof?” Trini demands, and she looks between the boys and watches as they flash bright smiles. “Right on. Alright, you’re good to head off to dreamland.”

Alec collapses back on his pillow with a yawn, “Is Kimmy gonna be here when the sun comes up?”

“No, mijo. She has to go home.” Trini sighs as she moves to flip on their night lights. “I love you. Goodnight.”

“Night, Tree!”

Trini smiles once more at her brothers and slips from the bedroom. She hears their whispers and she rolls her eyes when she hears them using their secret twin language. Trini lingers for a moment longer before she moves to the living room where Kimberly lays with the remote in her hand and a scowl on her face.

“They’re down for the count.” Trini yawns as she moves to throw herself on Kimberly who lets out a groan. “How can three hours with two six-year-olds be so fucking exhausting?”

“Babe, we did about a things,” Kimberly reminds her as she shifts so Trini can get comfortable. “I’m sorry for barging in on you guys…”

“Don’t apologize.” Trini cuts in as she moves to hover her lips over Kimberly’s. “I think I speak for the twins too when I say I’m really glad you came.”

Kimberly smiles softly as she sweeps a piece of hair from Trini’s face, “I’m glad I came too.”

With a soft sigh, Trini lowers her head to press a lingering kiss to Kimberly’s lips. No matter how many days that pass, Trini will probably always be amazed that this amazing girl wants her of all people. And she’s going to spend every day that she has making sure Kimberly is as happy as she is.

3 | The Purge



series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, blood, gore, death and other illegal purge activities. this chapter contains strong language, gore, mentions of death and injuries.

Originally posted by tanktoptiger

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[What If] Jacob Frye Lower Class x Reader

A/N: Another ‘what if’ scenario—what if Jacob Frye was just a normal, everyday man and not an Assassin living in the Victorian Era. I guess one could tie this into his actions older and becoming a Master Templar and how he feels trivial things will get him and his lover what they want. ;)

The machines were loud, but as time went onward, Jacob Frye got used to their sound. The hours themselves were equally long—twelve a day from six in the morning till six at night—but London was cruel, and if he wanted to subject his wife and daughter to the streets or have his beautiful bride embrace the idea of prostitution, he would have to work long hours with only one day of the week off.

Every day, he couldn’t help but worry what may happen; so many of the machines were new and clunky. People found themselves under random metal plates that were falling apart and onto their bodies, either crippling them or worse given the size and weight of them… Steam so hot it could burn your skin if you were too close to certain engine types, it nearly happened to Jacob that day, but he was lucky to hear the warning signs in time as the pipes trembled and threatened to burst when he began to work on releasing the pressure. He grabbed his paperboy hat and blocked what he could when it hissed forth from its tight confines, only feeling his fingers burn a bit from the nasty bite of the hot air.

“Bloody hell!” Jacob grumbled, dropping his beloved hat, warn by time. Snatching it back up quickly, he looked to his fingers, now reddened by the mark of the steam.

“Might want to stick those fingers of yours into the water bucket, lad,” commented an older worker who was leaning on his broom he was using to sweep the floors and keep the workplace as ‘tidy’ as it could be. “Otherwise, they might burn and sting something fierce in the coming days.”

Jacob couldn’t allow that to happen. If his fingers on his dominate hand began to hurt, the work would become difficult, and he could lose his job. Hat back in place, he hurried over towards the nearby water bucket, but scrunched up his nose at the sight of the water.

It was dirty, hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, it seemed, and this was supposed to be the water they used to wash their hands. Ever since the Thames had been busied by boats, the water everywhere had gotten polluted, really. Even clean water from a pump was hard to find.

He relented. Jacob knelt down and put his hurt hand in the lukewarm water, flinching all the same from the attack it had on his injured fingers. “Hurts like hell!” he grumbled, moving his hand back up through the surface of the dirty water to look upon the injury once more in hopes it looked less worrying.

Still red and still a bit difficult to move for a bit.

“Keep moving them,” instructed the fellow worker, taking back to his task as he swept upon the floor. “It’ll hurt less if you at least keep those fingers active.” The man’s eyes shifted beyond Jacob to the woman heading their way. “Incoming trouble, lad,” he whispered between them. “Prepare yourself!”

“OI! You there!” shouted the female in Blighter’s clothing, gesturing angrily at where Jacob was just squatting.

Jacob turned to the angry voice, but not in time as the boot of the female found its mark upon his cheek and caused Jacob to fall from his stance and into the water bucket, which flipped over and soaked the man through from the act. He would have retaliated…fought back if he could…but his job and family life were on the line, so he resisted though clenched his teeth angrily at the outcome of this humiliation.

“Sitting there like a useless lump!” she scolded, hands on her hips at the sight. “The boss done told you to get to work on fixing the pressure in this engine! What are you doing!”

Her shouted words were unwelcomed, making Jacob grumble and roll his eyes out of sight of her. Fixing the bucket back into place and making sure his shilling necklace was still there and his hat was alright, he turned to the woman and raised a brow to her. “Doing as I was told, ma’am,” he said without fault, trying to bite back the sarcasm and annoyance in his tone as he spoke. “Machine hissed out some steam, and I was fixing my hand—.”

Before she could retaliate at what a bumbling idiot he was being, the whistle blew upon the chime of the clock to signal it was time to go home.

Jacob never felt such relief. The Blighters were relentless, and he wished, more than ever, that someone would stand up to them and take them down. For now, he couldn’t care to think on it. He could get a few hours with his family and a few moments of peace before work again.

Tearing off a bit of his off-white, untucked shirt, Jacob wrapped his hand for the time being after dipping the fabric in water he was able to retrieve from another mudded bucket in the factory before his leave.

It still burned like hell; however, his stomach was telling him that shouldn’t be his focus, and so his weary feet merely made him head back to his home back within Whitechapel in hopes there was enough food for dinner, as he hadn’t been paid enough coin to really buy even so much as a piece of bread.

Jacob smiled a weary smile at seeing the light of the candle in the front window, enticing him onward. His wife always lit it when he was at work in hopes to guide him back to her embrace long before their child was born. It was like a beacon of hope in some ways to her and a glowing comfort to him. Taking to the old wooden stairs that moaned under his weight, Jacob opened the door and let himself inside.

The home was quiet for now, but he could hear his wife in the kitchen cooking something, to which he felt relief of sorts as he wanted them to at least have something to fill their empty stomachs with. Breathing a sigh of content at being home again, Jacob removed his hat and tussled with his hair before plopping down exhaustedly on the old sofa they had.

As aged as the cushions were, Jacob felt comfortable and relaxed. If he could just close his eyes for a minute…

“Daddy!” cried out his little girl who was five-years-old. Her hair was kept back by a single headband, but her clothing…was the patched up shorts and overalls look for some reason—making Jacob wonder why she wasn’t in her dress like usual.

His weary, hazel eyes opening wider at that title, Jacob pressed a smile on his lips regardless of how tired he was. “Hey there, princess,” he chuckled, turning to grab onto her and hug her to his chest. Jacob was exhausted, yes, but the sight of his daughter made him forget the fact for the time being. Kissing her cheek, her giggling at the teasing of his beard against her skin, he held her close as she was one of the reasons he worked as hard as he did.

“I caught a frog today!” she expressed cheerfully at the innocent action.

Jacob’s chest shook with a stifled laugh. “Digging around in the mud again, are you? I am sure your mum appreciated that,” he commented lightheartedly, moving his palm to his eyes to try and rid them of the weary look and feel.

“She made me put him back,” the little girl pouted. “And she made me change my clothes again…”

“That explains what happened with the dress,” he comment, his eyebrows raising to add wrinkles to his forehead at the pieces fitting together now. “You’re not supposed to get all mudded up in nice clothes, love.”

“Jacob,” praised his wife as she came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands upon her apron before venturing over to kiss him on the other cheek and welcome him home. “It is good to see you!”

His wife was the other reason he continued to work so hard, making him move his arm about her to hug her tightly from where he was sitting as his legs just wanted to rest. “It is good to be home,” he admitted in a near whisper.

Noticing the bandaged hand, she motioned to their daughter. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go on and sit down for me in the dining room? Dinner will be ready in a minute.” With their daughter departing from the room, she tenderly touched his hand with a sigh to follow as she noticed he had torn at his shirt to make do for gauze. “Jacob…”

Her sigh was of disappointment, and Jacob noted it. Regardless of the fingers still being in pain, he moved them to hold her hand with a smile evident upon his features. “I am fine, love. Do not go fretting over me.”

“And you tore your shirt up…”

“It is nothing,” Jacob insisted, urging her closer to him as she had taken the seat beside him in time. His lips rested upon her forehead to try and still her worries. In that moment, he tried to redirect the conversation. “Dinner smells lovely.”

She flinched, toying with her apron a bit. “There’s not nearly enough,” she admitted between them, not wanting to alert their daughter to how hard times were. Seeing Jacob so tired and knowing he was hungry, she quickly leapt at the chance to get him some food. “I won’t eat tonight, Jacob,” she insisted.

“(Y/N),” he grumbled at the thought, not wanting her to starve.

“You’ve not eaten well in three days, Jacob!” she whispered in a scolding tone. “I’m worried about you!”

Jacob raised his hands to her concerns to silence them. “(Y/N), I am fine,” he murmured, though really, he was quite hungry. When it came to their lack of food, he always let his wife and daughter eat. He never wanted to take anything from them being the man of the house. He himself went to either stealing something from the streets or eating leftovers of things he found that butchers and bakers threw out.

It was the way he had to live, and if it meant he kept a house and his wife and daughter, then he would do it every day.

“I can give you some of my food,” she continued, knowing Jacob would probably not hear of it.

“I’ll be fine, love,” Jacob stressed upon every word. Kissing her once more, he motioned towards the dining room. “Come on. Let’s get dinner together, so you both get something in you. I’ll worry about myself tomorrow.”

After the small bit of bread, meat, and cheese was served between them, Jacob tucked in his daughter after kissing her goodnight with his wife and then headed to their own bedroom. He hardly had the energy to remove his clothes. Jacob pushed his boots off, at least, but then rested face first on the covers with his eyes already closed to try and find comfort in being able to unwind at near eight at night.

His wife’s hands upon his back, he hummed in content at feeling her touch upon his fatigued muscles. “I love you,” she whispered close to his ear, resting her cheek upon his messy and oily hair. “I love you and appreciate everything you do for us.”

Jacob’s eyes remained closed, but a smile spread across his lips at her words. “And that is what keeps me going, (Y/N), for I love you both dearly, and I would do anything for you…”


Alright here comes a long sappy post. Taylor, I can’t even begin to fathom that three years ago I was sitting in your living room. I’ll never forget how nervous I was to meet you (I will never forgive myself for babbling incoherently and saying nothing I wanted to say). You showed me an unbelievable amount of kindness toward my mom and I. I’m honored that you actually wanted to meet me and am so grateful for the opportunity. Three years ago I was struggling with my friend situation. I was excluded from almost everything they did. I didn’t have the strength to give up my friends, but then you invited me to hear your album early. Listening to Bad Blood and Clean before they were released gave me the strength I needed to let go of something so toxic. I sobbed to Bad Blood in your living room because it hit so close to home with my friends. Then, when I told all my “friends” about meeting you, none of them were all that excited for me even though they knew how long I had been a fan. You taught me to let go of any toxic relationship I was facing that night. Fast forward three years later, and I am currently sitting in my college dorm room six hours away from my hometown where all of that toxicity was. I truly understand the meaning of being clean now. This is the happiest I have felt in a very long time. You’re the most compassionate, caring, and sweet person I have ever met. You have continued to keep checking up on me online and like my posts every once in a while. I will never lose my love for you. Thank you for giving me 89 friends that I will always share that special night with. I can’t believe how much we have both matured and grown. I am so so proud of you and will support you in whatever you do. Thank you, thank you, thank you. @taylorswift

Sending you loads of love, 


Spend a night at the Kings Inn Motel and win $25,000.00

The Craigslist ad didn’t say much else.

Just a local area telephone number and address.

Call To Make Your Reservation Today!

I scoured the ad three more times for some catch—some hidden fine print—before picking up the phone to dial.




“Front desk.” The man on the other end of the line sounded bored and put upon.

I sat up straight in my chair. “Yeah, I uh, I saw your ad.”

“Yes, sir. The room is still available.”

“This prize money—twenty-five grand—that legit?”

The man on the other end sighed. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to make you a reservation?”

“What’s that about?” I asked. “I mean, what do I have to do?”

“Look, dude, it’s a promotional thing I think. I don’t know—I just man the front desk. Stay the night; win the prize. Simple.”

“Yeah, ok, but what’s the—“

“It’s a double bed room. Sixty-nine dollars a night. Non-smoking. Looks like it’ll be available Wednesday after 4:00. You want the reservation, or no?”

Twenty-five thousand dollars for one night in some flea bit motel?

I gave him my name and particulars and listened as he punched them into a computer.

“Alright, Sir,” he’d found his way back on script, “your reservation is confirmed and we look forward to seeing you Wednesday. Please have your ID and a major credit card at check in. Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?”

I cleared my throat. “This isn’t some sort of scam, is it?”

“Nope. We’re authorized to issue you a certified bank draft come check out time. Assuming you stay the full night.”

“One more thing,” I said quickly. “How many other people have won?”

But the line had already disconnected.


The Kings Inn Motel is one of those places.

You know the type.

Seedy, low-slung red brick buildings set back off the side of some lonely Interstate. A humming sign casting neon shades of red and blue over a mostly empty parking lot filled with broken bottles and cigarette butts.




An electronic bell buzzed jarringly somewhere in the back as I stepped through the door into the lobby.

Inside, the air was hot; heavy with the stink of bleach and disinfectant. Like the smell of a pool shed or a nursing home.


The young guy behind the Formica topped front desk barely looked up from his phone as I approached with my overnight bag.

“I’m on break,” he said flatly.

“Uh, I have a reservation.”

He dropped his phone to the counter. “Oh. So, you’re the guy? Well, welcome to the Kings Inn–where we treat you like royalty. They make me say that, sorry.”

His teeth, when he smiled were brown and yellow—leaning drunkenly against one another.

“License and credit card, please,” he said.

I slid them across the counter.

“Alright,” he said at length. “Everything looks good. You’ll be in room 205. Housekeeping just finished up in there, so should be nice and clean for ya. End of the row—past the ice machine.”

I took my cards back and said, “About this contest. What’s the gimmick?”


“Yeah,” I said. “You know. What’s the catch?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. Management handles all that.”

“Can I speak to them?”

He shook his head. “Against the rules.”

“There are rules?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. His breath was hot and smelt like garlic bread. “If it was me? I’d lock the door, pop a couple Xanax, crawl into bed and sleep straight through till check out time. But that’s just me.”

I nodded as if I understood and took the proffered plastic keycard.

“Checkout’s at nine. Enjoy your stay.”


Room 205 was indeed past the ice machine—at the far end of the long L shaped arm of the building where it backed up to a dense copse of trees.

I parked my car beneath a streetlight and walked the half a dozen yards—past an endless row of barred windows and cheap plastic patio chairs—to the door of room 205.

The door was nothing special. A dented and drab olive green with peeling white stick-on letters above the peephole. Not dissimilar to a million other such doors lining countless motel corridors from here to Angola.

My room key fit with a tiny thunk in the lock and I pushed the door inward.

Maybe, in the moments before I flicked on that overhead light, I expected something different. An axe murderer crouched in the corner. A message daubed in blood above the mirror. Something fantastic or dark. Something worthy of the telling.

Instead, the too yellow light shone on a scene that was all too familiar.

Coral pink walls that clashed with the jade green of the carpet. A sickening tableau of stale cigarettes, floral patterned bedspreads and faux wood grains. I could almost smell the sex—the half remembered and unfinished acts—that lingered hot and filthy on every surface like a film.

Pedantic, yet comforting in its simulacrum of home.

I dropped my bag on the small round table to the left of the door and flopped bodily onto the nearest bed.

How many unborn babies had seeped into the fabric of these blankets? How many un-recepticled loads of cum had sprayed across those pink tufted headboards? Enough to make it a living sentient thing?

I checked my watch—it was a little after six. Fifteen hours lay between me and that twenty-five thousand dollars.

What had the guy at the front desk said? Stay the night; win the prize.

I grabbed my car keys and headed toward the door.

I’d need pizza or beer if I was to make it.


The air felt different on my return.

Used is the best way I know how to describe it.


That dry staleness of long disuse shot through with traces of something I couldn’t identify. Like the final ghostly fingers of someone’s cologne lingering.

The TV was on–the usual bevy of infomercials and pay-per-view porn ads—and from where I stood I could see contents of my overnight bag; strewn across the floor.

I dropped my pizza and froze—straining for the sound of some hidden intruder.



I checked the small dirty bathroom.


I looked under the bed.

No one.

I gathered my things—just a change of clothes and some toiletries—into a pile and called the front desk.

The guy seemed unconcerned and brushed aside my indignation.

There were no other active keycards available for my room, he assured me. And no one had been into the office since my arrival.

“Were any maids in here while I was gone?” I wanted to know.

“Housekeeping leaves at 5:30. Your bag probably just fell over.”

“Can I switch rooms, then?”

“We’re all full up.”

“So, you’re not gonna do anything about the fact that someone’s been in my room rifling through my shit? What kind of place is this?”

A sigh. “I’ll log your complaint and you can take it up with management in the morning. I can offer you a free continental breakfast, in the meantime.”

I hung up.

I’ll admit, I thought about leaving right then. Just grabbing my bag and the remnants of my cold pizza and booking it. Home sounded good. Home sounded safe. But the thought of the money stayed my hand.

It was past nine now. What would a few more hours hurt?

I bolted and chained the door behind me before climbing into the bed.

The sheets were thin and rough. Hospital quality. They scratched at my legs and the tops of my feet and audibly crinkled when I moved. The pillows little more than lumpy plates behind my head.

I bathed in the fuzzy blue glow of late night TV and fell into a fitful sleep, already counting my winnings….



I fumbled in the dark for the jangling cordless phone on the bedside table.

“Mh? Hello?” I said, only half awake.

Through bleary eyes I could just discern the digital alarm clocks glowing yellow timestamp.

2:11 AM.

“Sir,” the voice on the other end was familiar. Bored. “I have to ask you to please keep it down.”

“Whasat? Do what?” I was finding surer footing in the land of consciousness. “Who’s this?”

“We’ve had several noise complaints from guests. Please keep your voices down. It’s very late.”


“You and your visitor. Just keep it quiet, ok buddy?”

I sat up like a bolt and felt blindly for the lamp switch—casting the room in a sickly orange glow.


Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rubbed my eyes with thumb and forefinger. The room was freezing cold. The drone of the old AC unit under the window rustled those hideous curtains in erratic patterns across the green carpet.

What had he been on about? Something about a guest?

I shook my head to try and clear some of the cobwebs. The roof of my mouth felt dry—my tongue bloated and unwieldy. When I stood to go to the bathroom for a piss and a glass of water the room seemed to wobble beneath me and I had to steady myself against the TV.

I felt sick. Or slightly tipsy. Like I did when I was six and had a fever of 102 and the world looked elastic and shiny.

The bathroom was small and grimy. The tub yellowed. I splashed some tap water over my face as I tried to catch my breath. My cheeks felt hot; my stomach roiled. Had the pizza gone bad?



I stepped back into the main room as the phone continued to ring.

There was that feeling again—that imperceptible otherness—like the twice diluted stuff you breathe on airplanes.



It was a little after 2:30, now. Who was calling?

“Hello?” I picked up the phone.

The glaring hum of the dial tone was the only response I got.

I set the phone back in its cradle.



“What the…”

“Don’t answer that! It’s probably Tony, wondering who stole those last five Lortabs.”

I jumped as if struck, biting back a scream as I whirled in the direction of the bathroom.

A young woman in a loose-fitting sundress was visible through the bathroom doorway—her back to me. Her pelvis was pressed hard against the sink as she applied lipstick to her loamy reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“Don’t tell Tony I’m in here, ok? He’ll try and take my jacket.” She smiled conspiratorially before climbing into the tub.

“Hey!” I crossed the room in three quick strides and grabbed the cheap plastic lining of the shower curtain. “Who the fuck are you?”

I pulled the curtain back with a sharp whisk.

The tub was empty.

I turned the light on with a flick of the wrist and stared numbly at the piss colored grout and linoleum. There was nowhere else to hide. My chest felt tight and my bowels felt twisted. I struggled to catch my breath. Using the wall as a guide rail, I navigated my way back to the bed and sat down amid the tangled sheets.

I was going to throw up.

I just needed to lie down. Just rest my eyes—just for a second. Yeah, that was it. I was sure. I was just tired. Ill. Nothing rest wouldn’t put right.

The pillows felt blissfully soft this time; the sheets satiny. How had I misjudged them? And the air! The air didn’t smell like mold. It was sweet—like fresh laundry.

I inhaled deeply through my nose.

“There you go!” tub girl sing-songed from bathrooms dark maw. “Go to sleep, baby. Rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” I could almost feel her lips on my earlobe that time. Could almost smell her earthy perfume.

I nodded. Yes. Sleep.


I cracked my eyes.


The digital alarm clock now said 3:04.

Surely it had only been a moment since I closed my eyes.


I found the phone. “Yeah?” My voice sounded funny. Muffled.

A wave of static rolled over me. Buzzes and pops and whistles. Like a fax line trying to connect.

“Hello?” I tried again.


I closed my eyes—they felt so heavy—and prepared to press END on the phones dial pad when I heard it.


Just a whisper—barely even there. Almost lost among the screeching and buzzing of an unused line.

“Yeah?” I perked up at the sound of my name. Peeled my eyelids apart again.

“Jimmy, its Mom. Listen to me, Jimmy. I need you to wake up.”

“Mom?” The word sounded unfamiliar. That couldn’t be right.

“Listen, Jimmy. You have to wake up.”

“It’s three in the morning,” I whined.

“Get up. Hurry. Management doesn’t want me talking to you. You need to get UP.”

I struggled into a sitting position, still cradling the phone. “Mom?

How is this you? You can’t be calling. You’re de—“

The voice through the static cut me off. “You need to get up. Get your keys and get outside. Now. You can’t fall asleep. Okay?”

“What about the money?”

“Hurry, Jimmy. I love you.”

The call ended abruptly.

I looked at the phone and thought of my mom. Remembered the last time I’d seen her. She’d looked so small in that coffin—barely filling out her favorite pink Sunday dress.

A nascent migraine had begun to settle in behind my eyes.

“Whatever Tony said, he’s lying.”

If I turned my head I could almost see her—my gal Friday—daubing on uneven finger-fulls of mascara.

Get your keys

“Just go back to sleep, baby.”

Get outside

When I stood up too fast the room spun and I almost fell.

Careful. Careful. I shuffled barefoot across the verdant carpet jungle to the table by the door.

My keys felt heavy.

“Baby, where are you going? Get back in bed. We can split this Roxicodone I found.” She sounded forceful.

I need you to wake up

I grappled with the door lock and chain. My fingers felt stupid. Unresponsive. “I’m sorry,” was all I managed. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Hurry Jimmy

“Hey! Hey, come back!”

I pulled too hard and the door swung inward banging off the drywall with a muffled crunch.

Outside it was early—or late—and wonderfully cool and still. Rocks and asphalt stung the bottoms of my feet as I stepped off the curb and into the parking lot. The invisible vise around my chest—the one I hadn’t noticed till then—began to loosen.

I staggered to my car and leaned my forehead against the driver’s side window. It felt good to just breathe normally.

I climbed behind the wheel and started the car. Let off the break and began to reverse.


A loud male voice. A dark bulky silhouette in my taillights.

Someone beating fists on the trunk of my car. Grabbing for the door handle.

I screamed, threw the car into drive and stomped on the gas. I shot through the motel parking lot like a bolt scraping sickeningly over speed bumps. I didn’t care. I gunned it past the front office. Past the neon sign. Away from that place and onto the narrow road toward the interstate.

I guess I was sleepier than I thought, though.

See, I don’t remember nodding off behind the wheel and I don’t remember the car veering off the road. Nor the tree speeding toward me.

If I strain, I can vaguely recall the car rolling. The crunch and shriek of metal and glass.

A well of darkness finally pulling me in.


Carbon dioxide poisoning.

I heard those words a lot in the coming days.

They were whispered by doctors and nurses, scribbled on charts and forms I was asked to sign.

It was almost a week before a police officer—Mitchell, I think his name badge said—filled in the gaps in my memory.

Officers responding to calls from motorists on the Interstate about an accident near the Kings Inn. I’d fainted at the wheel and wrapped my car around an oak tree doing 60. Or maybe it was a maple?

Anyway, first responders pulled me out delirious and screaming about people trying to get me.

They thought I was high or concussed.

I still had the keycard to room 205 on me so police made a sweep of the premises.

The lights were off in the front office and the doors both locked.

In my room they found my scattered belongings and an unmade bed.

In room 204 they found a gas-powered generator thrumming away– pumping high levels of CO2 through the air vent that connected the two rooms.

“Twelve percent concentration, doctors say,” he told me. “Levels that high can cause any number of symptoms. Nausea, headaches, confusion, auditory or visual hallucinations. You name it.”

“I thought I was seeing ghosts,” I said.

He nodded. “Nobody was registered in room 204 and the generators gonna be hard to trace. It’s old. Could buy one just like it at any Lowes or Home Depot. But we’re looking into it.”

“What about the kid at the front desk?”

“MIA. It looks like a random thing. Some sicko trying to lure people in. Gas ‘em up and do God knows what. You’re lucky you had the good sense to run for the door. If you’d fallen asleep, doc says you might have slipped into a coma or worse.”

I looked up from the IV in my arm. “Did you find anything else?”

Officer Mitchell frowned slightly and shifted in his seat by my bed.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “like I said, there wasn’t nothing in room 204. No prints, no personal effects—except for this.” He extended a large clear plastic evidence bag toward me.

“It was left on the bed in 204. Can’t let you keep it, of course. It’s evidence.”

I squinted at the bags contents.

A cashier’s check made out to me.

For $25,000.

submitted by /u/JayGetsHazy
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anonymous asked:

OQ + “They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops. And that’s true.”

They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops. And that’s true. What they don’t tell you though, is just how quickly everything moves after they’re gone. Days become weeks become months become years before you’ve even blinked and then, quite suddenly, you take a minute and you think…what the hell happened?

One minute I was sixteen, ducking out under the cover of night to spend a few more hours with my high school boyfriend without permission and the next I’m twenty-six, living in a humdrum town and working the night shift at my local shitshow of a bar just to get by.

It’s not the life we’d planned, Robin and I.

We’d wanted to travel the world together, to visit every single wonder and then some and, when we felt we’d seen all that we needed to, we’d pick our favourite town, our favourite country to settle down in. He’d build us a home and we’d have a houseful of children - happy and healthy and loved.

But then he’d had to go back home to England and everything had gone back to normal, to the way it was because he’d filled my days with his presence.

I have to remind myself sometimes that I was only a kid when all that happened. That it wasn’t love I’d been feeling for the simple fact that I still don’t know what love is now - except for the love I feel for Henry. My son. Our son. My brown eyed, sandy-haired boy that reminds me so much of the father that doesn’t even know of him that it hurts. He’s the realist thing I’ve ever known.

But it’s hard late at night, when kind blue eyes fill my dreams and the hazy memory of my days with him are all-consuming, to remember that I’d only known him for a little while and that such strong feelings were hard to have discovered in such a short amount of time.

Tonight though, when I hear the scraping of a chair against the wooden floor of the bar and turn with a forced smile to serve the next asshole drunk, my whole world is turned on it’s head.

Time stops once more as I look upon the aged face of a boy I once knew and lose all sense of myself at his dimpled grin and his warm greeting of, “Hello, Regina.”

Pack Threat: 3

One Two Four Five Six Seven Epilogue

NOTE: There are character’s in here from my Hunter’s Night story! Yes, they live in the same world!


You, Mark, Jaemin, Sicheng, and Kun, who was in the lead, trotted through the forest, eyes taking in every detail, ears up and alert, noses sharp.

“Kun?” Jaemin whined through the pack link. “It feels like we’ve been searching for six hours already.”

You could see how weary the maknae of your patrol had become, his ankles loose and brushing the ground, head bowed.

“I want to rest, jebal, my paws are dead,” he whined some more, eyes pleading.

“Fine,” Kun replied. “There’s a stream not too far from here. We’ll re-nourish there.”

With the last bit of energy you guys held, everyone made it to the stream and plopped down to rest, tongues out, panting. Mark slumped down beside you, pelt pressed against yours and you nuzzled him in return. “Weary are we?” you teased, earning a snort in return. “I am too.”

There was a splash up ahead and you looked up to find Sicheng, with semi wet fur while holding a fish in his mouth. He came around to lay it before Jaemin, who took it graciously and began chowing it down.

Keep reading

Algophilist~ Dandy Mott (Requested)

(A/N: Hello loves! So this was requested to be long…. But I will try my best! It will probably be normal size so I apologize now. Also bonus points if anyone who can tell me what the title means ;) Anyways… enjoy and don’t let anyone treat you like this!)

*Your POV*

Two weeks.

14 days.

336 Hours.

20,160 Minutes.

1,209,600 Seconds.

That is how long Mr.Mott had kept me locked up in a room in his mansion. I lived in solitude besides the visits occurring every other hour from six in the morning to eight at night.

I had refused to eat, sleep, talk or even move from my spot. I just stared out the window, fighting every emotion that wanted convey, especially the tears that I hadn’t shed since I was stolen from my everyday life into the darkness where all I wanted to do was kill myself.

This morning, I woke up to a gentle pull on my arm and I moaned slightly in anger, pulling my arm away and looking blankly at the blurred figure of Mr.Mott, who now grabbed my arm, clearly attempting to shake me awake, slowly getting enraged at my lack of progress.

“Wake. Up. Now!” he spat coldly and I opened my eyes, blinking gently and his face brightened, “There you go. Look at how beautiful your eyes are. They brighten your face you know. Now, lets play.”


It was cold that night. Dark.

I really should’ve known better than to walk home alone. I could practically feel bad news in my veins. Still, I proceed to walk home alone, as my girlfriend had scrammed away with her date while I was in the bathroom.

Yes, it frightened me but I continued in determination to be home before ten and unfortunately for me that meant I had to walk through the ally’s.

Shivering as I was without a coat, I rubbed my hands gently on my arms as I peered behind me, feeling as though there was someone following my footsteps.

‘probably just a cat’ I thought to myself attempting to shake off my nerves, but my mind insisted on taking longer strides.

I continued my journey into the darkness until I heard the sound of footsteps that weren’t the noise of heels hitting the cement for certain, and turned around, finally realizing that my choice may not have been the best one. I took off running, but it wasn’t long until I got caught.

“Give me your purse little girl.”


“Shut it.” He spat with his alcoholic breath, pushing me against the bricks and pointing a knife at my neck, “Now you give me the damn cash or I’ll cut that pretty face of yours.”

“I…. I have none. I just came out here on a date. Please…. J-Just let me go.”

“Well then…. I’m gonna have to cut you, you little whore.”

The man laughed and I felt a slight pain as the cool blade slid against my cheek. Wincing slightly, I closed my eyes and stopped struggling, accepting my fate.

But to my surprise, it didn’t come and I fell to the ground, hitting me head on the cement.

Dizziness overcame me so I closed my eyes, but opening them quickly when I heard a holler and scream and I turned to see my captor on the ground, blood falling from his wound and a man standing in front of him, knife in hand. He turned, slowly, and I wrapped my arms around him as he dropped it.

“Oh my god…. I’m so so sorry! You… You just killed someone for me…. Shot should we call the cops? What do we-”

“You’re not scared?” He asked, his voice shaking slightly with what I guessed a mix of panic and fear, “You aren’t frightened?” I shook my head and smiled a small, sad smile.

“No. Of course not.” I looked down awkwardly, “I mean…. Yes it is sad. You took a life- we took a life. But you saved my life. At the price of another you chose me and I don’t know what I can do to repay you.”

“Just…. Just….”

I let go of him and looked in his eyes, grabbing his hand, “Just what?” My eyes widened in panic, “What’s going on?”

“For-Forgive me.”

“What do you-”


Sitting there on the chair as Dandy plaster some kind of make-up on my face, I remained still and stiff, almost corpse like in hopes that if I tried long enough it may work, killing me. Slowly I could tell it was driving Dandy insane, however.

“I know you’re not dead Y/N.” He mumbled darkly while applying mascara to my eyelashes, “I kill people for sport. I think I would know what a corpse would look like.” He laughed the last bit off in a dark way, as if recalling his fond memories of strangling and stabbing and chopping others just cause he felt superior to them, but quickly got instantly serious moments afterwards. Caressing my cheek with rouge, he continued, “I could kill you too you know. Drain all the blood from your body and put it in bottles. Keep your corpse just to look at your beautiful face and in your crystal eyes.”

At this, I should’ve been trembling, finally breaking too his will. Instead I was beaming in my head, praying to God that he would just snap my neck now and send me safely into the afterlife.

“That’s what you want isn’t it Y/N? You want to be free-?”

Trying to move my tongue under my teeth to prevent myself from screaming in agreence was difficult but I succeed and in my head gave a mini victory cry. Little did I know that in that moment Dandy would slam my head onto the vanity in anger, causing my jaw to swinging harder on my tongue, allowing noise to leave my mouth in the form of a whimper.

Before he could react more, Dandy backed away as if he had forgotten what my voice had sounded like in my two weeks of quiet, giving me the chance to jump out of the seat and run towards the stairs.

Looking down from the ledge at the top of the stairs, I heard footsteps following my own and quickly hoisted myself up on top of the stairwell, closing my eyes and preparing to jump.

Just close your eyes and count to three…….














I leapt with all of my might, but still I only felt the flying sensation for less than a second when a force pulled me up and took me into their arms.

Dandy….. No

Tears streamed down my eyes and I began sobbing uncontrollably. With a small push and a small shhhh from his mouth he pushed me into his chest while he stroked my back.

“Little dove stop your crying.” He muttered gently, setting me on his bed and running his hand across my hair while the other stroked my cheek while I curled into a ball, “You are going to be happy here. You are going to be happy here with me. Okay?” I winced in response as his temper rose, “Okay?”

I shivered and nodded weakly and he embraced me tightly, completely  engulfing me in his embrace.

“Then I give you this promise” He said, kissing my cheek and whispering in my ear, “I will make sure you never hurt yourself or ever leave my side ever again.”

anonymous asked:

How long does it take you to draw each of the skelebabes?

Uhhh this will be the ending question for the night because I have to babysit some munchkins tomorrow and then run around all weekend with some newly returned friends!

With the ‘big three’ fandoms (Ut, Uf, Us) I can get a character drawn and detailed in about 10-20 minutes because I have been drawing them for a year or so and I have pretty much everything down with them. Oh and that includes G!sans and gaster as they are pretty much just humans in the face which I have been drawing since I was a wee lass. 

With the horror boys, they have more detail and generally take a bit longer (especially Papyrus like geez, patches and buttons and lotssss of stitching), so maybe 20-25 minutes at my best, an hour at my worst.

GASTER BLASTER SANS IS A MYSTERY. I struggle with him a lot because I haven’t drawn dogs or animals in years, and the angles of his face are so awkward that I struggle daily, nightly, and ever so rightly with them. For him, it takes about an hour or two if I’m lucky. 

But this all really depends on if I am working through an art block or not. Because if I’m in the art block state of mind it takes like six hours for me to draw something I actually like. 

So yeah. Okay, If I’m lucky tomorrow I will be able to answer some more questions, I don’t know if they will be drawn up considering how lively my niece and nephew are. Wish me luck though! Night night!


The prompt from an anon was fluffy, modern, domestic, married feysand.

Recieving this prompt made me so happy. It was so therapeutic to write them as a cute and happy couple :) Especially after writing my last fic with all the tears and pain

Continuation here.


I came home to the smell of food cooking.

Now, in our home, that was a smell that I never came home to. Not since the first month after Feyre had moved in with me. She had tried to cook, to be fair to her. But even then she had burned everything she put heat to and served everything she didn’t dangerously raw. We’d pretty quickly decided that I would cook for us.

Keep reading

New Year’s Eve

Pairing: Y/N/Soulmate!Michael

Rating: PG-All

Request: No

Words: 3.350+

Summary: In which Y/N has been waiting all her life to meet her soulmate at exactly midnight New Year’s Eve but never realized until the last second that her best friend Michael wore exact same date and time on his wrist 

Keep reading

Home Sweet Home

Originally posted by monochromekhiphop

Home Sweet Home
[Simon D returns home to Busan]
Chapter 1

Today was not your day. You sighed walking down the street, trying to gather your thoughts. Your arms full of grocery bags. Another teacher at the daycare you worked at quit because of the pay cuts. Sure you weren’t making a lot, but it was something and you loved your students. You barely made enough to make ends meet as it was but now you had to deal with this. Arriving at the door, you struggled juggling your keys and the bags and ended up dropping them. “Dammit…” you mumble under your breath. You set down your bags to grab the keys.

“Do you need some help?”

You smiled looking up figuring it was your neighbor. “Yeah thanks so much” As you looked up you froze. “K-Kiseok…” you whispered. He gave you the kindest smile and opened his arms up for a hug. You had no idea he was back in town. You slowly moved closer to him and hugged him tight. After all these years he could still make your heart flutter like a school girls, just with a single look. That was just the effect that your childhood crush had on you.

Keep reading

WANTED PLOT: ‘my father is a mob boss and i was supposed to marry you to keep the peace between our rival families but i ran away the night of our engagement party, and oh shit, you’ve found me.’

calliope have been working at this diner for over six months now. that’s all she pretty much does since she truly needed the money and had the free time to take on more shifts. so her day consists of working a twelve hour shift, and then she goes home to get some sleep, eat, shower and repeat. the first few months was hard because calliope truly didn’t know how it was like to live with no money, and having to work just so she can keep her rent, but things got better for her. she gained some new friends and some new skills. she truly liked her life now. she was a waitress but at least she was free.     ‘table for one, callie!’     she immediately rushed over to the waiting customer in the corner booth. she pulled out her note pad and pen from the pocket of her waist apron, before looking up, her eyes widening at the man before her. “what can i get you— holy shit… how the hell did you find me?”

Green Zone

Mr. Masters had thought of almost everything when he designed Valerie’s suit. The mask and the bodysuit were nicely insulated to handle the chill of high altitude, and the goggles helped her see Amity from above even clearer than high noon.

Not that there was much of anything left to see. 

The streets were abandoned. The only movement was the wind pushing along newspapers and plastic bags like urban tumbleweed. Some avenues were empty, cars still parked, homes intact; untouched and completely normal save the complete absence of any living soul, like the people had evaporated without a trace. 

Fly over that, the next road over was a warzone. Cars and minivans bumper to bumper, sitting in the streets with their doors open. Abandoned suitcases and luggage, broken windows in houses and shops like jagged teeth. 

If she zoomed in with the goggles, she could even see the human-shaped scorch marks, from where ecto-blasts had hit. 

Keep reading

gotham-ruaidh  asked:

For your milestone celebration -- how about a drabble of Jamie and Claire celebrating one of Faith's milestones before Claire goes back in your "Garden of Worries" AU? (So thrilled for you!!)

Thanks! So this drabble would have taken place during in my Faith Lives AU at Lallybroch when Faith was between four and six months old.

Jamie usually woke first but Claire was shaking his arm.

“Jamie!” she whispered excitedly.

“What is—Faith—is she all right?”

Claire beamed, uncharacteristically cheerful for the hour. “She’s still asleep.”

“Aye, so was I. What’s got ye—”

“She slept through the night,” Claire explained. “I haven’t slept that long in months.”

“Go back to sleep then, Sassenach. Ye’ve earned it.” He pulled her loosely into his arms.

“Is it odd that I want to wake her up right now?” she asked.

Jamie snorted. Claire chuckled too, relaxing in his arms, her eyes on the bassinet where Faith slumbered.

Keep sending prompts!

Sick - Final

Jared woke up on the couch. He couldn’t stand to sleep without her.

Shannon and Tomo were in their respective guest rooms as the recording session had gone longer than intended. Again.

He reached for his journal and began to write.


I woke up again a few hours later. Well, at least three episodes because Netflix was asking me if j was still there.

It was nighttime. It had to be. I didn’t hear Shannon’s drumming anymore.

I sat on the side of the bed and made myself get up to use the bathroom.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, and that was a mistake.

I looked awful. After a quick retie of my hair and a pee break I headed back toward the bed when I noticed a folded piece of paper that had been slid under the door.

I smiled at the red heart that was drawn on the front, picked it up and began to read.

–My Sweet Girl
I didn’t want to wake you. Shan said you were still sleeping. But I didn’t want to end my night without telling you that I love you.
You and I. Always. Forever.


I stepped in to the hot steamy shower and let the water rush over me.

I was feeling much better.

After quickly drying off, I put on a pair of fresh pajama pants and a t-shirt and headed downstairs quietly.

My eyes landed on the slender form of my boyfriend curled up on the couch. I smiled as he snuggled down further under his blanket.

I went over to the table in front of the couch and caught a glimpse of what he’d been up to all night.

Little notes in his handwriting were scattered over the surface.

‘Every four to six hours’ written on a package of my green gel caps. 'Every 12 hours’ on a bottle of cough syrup.

“Look who’s up.” I heard Shannon say quietly as he shuffled in to the living room.


“How ya feel?”

“Much better”

Jared began to stir and open his eyes, and when he saw me he smiled sweetly.

“Hi baby” he said sitting up and reaching out to me.

I hugged him tightly as he kissed my cheek.

“I missed you” he whispered.

“I missed you too.”

“You hungry? I’ll make you some breakfast”

“Vegan pancakes?”

“I’ll try.”

True Story

When I was 16, I got ridiculously drunk at a party. I went outside and was so intoxicated, that I literally passed out in the front yard–in gravel landscaping, no less.

When I woke up, I was freezing, so I put my hood on, zipped my sweater up all the way, and started walking back to the house party. Only…I wasn’t walking back toward the party at all.

Drunk and completely disoriented, I began pounding on the locked front door of the house, demanding that they let me in because it was cold and I was shivering and tired and just wanted to pass out on the couch. They told me to go away–that they were calling the police.

Still thinking I was at the party house, and that someone inside was just messing with me, I decided to climb over the wall that wrapped around the back yard of the house. I figured I’d outsmart the person inside, and that I’d sneak in through the back door with ease.

But, in REALITY, I was completely drunk and the person inside was completely sober and terrified. Needless to say, they heard me sloppily mount and plop over the back wall, and they were at the back door before I even grabbed the handle.

Again, they screamed at me to leave. Again, I insisted they should let me in. I was so drunk, I DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE THE SHOTGUN THIS MAN WAS HOLDING IN HIS SHAKING HANDS.

Then came the sirens: blue and red lights flashing against the black and biting night.

“Are you kidding me?” I thought, “This guy ACTUALLY called the police on his own damn house party!”

I didn’t stick around to argue; I scrambled back over the wall and made the quick decision to run for it and try to hide in the nearby fields.

Only, I didn’t run towards the fields at all. SOMEHOW, I was SO DRUNK, I actually ran TOWARD the cops at full speed.

NOW, here’s where I want to take a break in my story. Whenever I’ve told this story before, I’ve always lightly joked about it, reflecting on how drunk and stupid I was, and not really focusing on how lucky I am to still be alive. And, you see: that’s white privilege–I FINALLY GET THAT! I’m 6'5" tall and, on that night, I had my hood on, covering my face; I was RUNNING TOWARD THE POLICE and they HAD THEIR WEAPONS DRAWN; I had spent the last hour, unwittingly terrifying some man that lived SIX HOUSES DOWN from the party I had been at; and, yet, here I am: alive today.

That gun-toting neighbor didn’t shoot me: Trayvon Martin didn’t have that same privilege.

Those cops, lined up, guns drawn, didn’t murder me in the street: I can’t say the same for Mike Brown.

I see now just how close I REALLY came to death that night; only, I didn’t die, and now that I’m older, and I’ve seen what happens to people who are JUST LIKE ME, only, their skin is darker and more colorful than mine, I have to imagine that part of why I’m still alive and Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown aren’t, is ONLY because of the paleness of my skin.

That’s not right.
That’s not justice.

Justice for Mike Brown.
Justice for Trayvon Martin.
Justice for ALL POC, all around the world, who are terrorized and murdered, JUST because of the color of their skin.

I acknowledge my privilege; now let’s eradicate it.

There are a few lucky (oh, so lucky) couples with babies who seem to do nothing but sleep for the first six months. These are the ones who are still able to smile in public and continue to enjoy life through hopeful, optimistic eyes. Well, these babies are dumb, and their “parents” are not real parents at all. They are patronizing assholes, all of them.

If you have never been woken up at night, every hour on the hour for six weeks straight, then you have never undergone the complete ego-stripping necessary to turn you into a rose-tinted-glasses-wearing idiot when it comes to your kids. Your loss, guys.

My daughter did this to my wife and I around the third (and almost last) month of her life. How bad was it? Put it this way: When the mail guy asked me in passing what it was like being a dad, I broke down into tears and said, “I don’t want to live. I actually wish I’d never existed.” Which is probably the harshest thing you can say about another individual (love you, honey).

5 Ways Babies Use The Same Torture Techniques As The CIA

Artist!Sherlock drabble

((I blame Holnnes for the plot bunny. I couldn’t run away fast enough. I’ll hide some of it under a read more line when I get on a computer.))

“The newest painting has made them even more curious, Molly.

Molly jumped slightly when she heard him speak. She hadn’t heard him come in. She turned to him, cheeks red, and frowned. “Sherlock… you know you’re not supposed to be in here. I could get in trouble.”

The artist seemed to have to problem with that. He just smirked, and shrugged.

He’d never been caught before.

He stood from the stool he’d claimed, and approached, deep eyes locked with hers. “You made a lovely goddess. I want to make you into something else now.”

Her blush only deepened.

She never understood what made him want her as a model, or how his most famous paintings could possibly be based off of her soft curves and plain features.

She’d just been drinking coffee on break across the street, when this strange man had asked to paint her. She should have been weirded out by it, but she recognized him as an up and coming artist even then. The few pieces she’d seen of his were beautiful, dark, mysterious colors mixed into something unique.

She’d said yes, and he’d given her his address.

That night, she’s modeled for him, a pose very similar to how he’d seen her that day, sitting at a small round table, leaned forward as with a hand wrapped around a tea glass and her eyes trained on her book.

He’d named it, “Pondering.” It was lovely. Her face had been obscured, tilted just enough to tease with her person, but not enough to identify.

She remembered the way she had blushed at his capturing of her that night.

Since that day, he’d come at odd intervals to ask her to allow him to be something else for him, whenever he got a picture in his mind, that he said would only match her.

She’d been so many things, a reader, a listener, a mourner, a thinker. A goddess and a pirate, a mermaid and a diviner. All from simple poses he would place her in with a delicate touch and a deft eye.

It was three paintings in when people realize he was using a single model for his most beloved works. Though he was asked constantly, he never told. He merely said that she was in inspiration, not to be tainted by the cruel looks of others.

She smiled softly, remembering when she became more than just a subject of his paintings. The first time he his hand had lingered just a moment too long.

When his beautiful hand had taken hers, and raised it to his lips to place a kiss on her knuckles in thanks.

When she had taken a chance, to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him properly, because he cast her in a new light, one she’d always thank him for.

That was only six months ago now.

"What am I to be now?” She asked softly.

He smirked. “You’ll see. My home, tonight. I’ll see you at the usual time.” She smiled and nodded.

“All right.”

… … … … … … … … … …

Molly sat for hours that night, and again two other nights, she sat as he painted her.

He didn’t tell her how she was being portrayed this time, but every day, he set her in the same position.

Sitting in his living room on a dark couch, one hand extended as though reaching for something, her being held carefully, and one hand over her heart, holding her shirt loosely. A happy, surprised, almost tearful position.

On the fourth day, he invited her back to his home, and sat her down in that same position.

“Now, close your eyes, Molly.”

She smiled, and did so.

She heard him shifting something around, but she didn’t peak, holding the position carefully for him.

He took her hand, the one extended. “You can open your eyes now.”

And she did.

In front of her, over his head, was the painting he had so painstakingly done.

It was her, very clearly her, sitting as she had every day, with her hand extended. Unlike any other painting though, she wasn’t alone. He was there too, his curly locks, and nervous smile. Hi position was on one knee, a ring box held in hand.

Just as he was now, in front of her.

She felt her eyes welling up.

“Yes, of course I will Sherlock.” She said, and he slid the delicate silver band onto her finger. The ring, with a single diamond surrounded by sapphires, fit her perfectly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him close to kiss him as the happy tears trailed down her cheeks.

… … … … … … … … … … …

The painting was revealed the day of their wedding. It’s title was simple.

“The Proposal.”