so many day drinks


by ultimatebellarke

Clarke doesn’t know what surprises her more: the fact that she is still alive, or that Bellamy’s face is looming over her. 

Last she remembers, she was put under a chamber, about to be exposed to critical levels of radiation. Bellamy Blake was definitely nowhere in the equation. Yet somehow, she is not dead, and Bellamy is standing before her. 

Is she even awake? 

Clarke isn’t entirely sure—until the burning begins. Flames blisters her middles, her insides, her limbs, and she cries out. The radiation poisoning. Its heat is consuming her. 

Above her, Bellamy has turned a distinct shade of white. “Hold on, I’m getting Abby—” 

“No.” Her voice is hoarse with disuse. She grits her teeth, waiting for the rush of pain to ebb. “Don’t.” 

Bellamy stares at her as if she is insane. “You need your mother.” 

Clarke shakes her head. She knows what will happen the moment her mother arrives in the room. The only treatment for the pain of radiation sickness. “Sedation,” Clarke gasps. Back to unconsciousness, and she has just caught sight of Bellamy Blake. She can’t face another goodbye. 

Bellamy’s jaw clenches. He understands. Of course he does. His shoulders droop—in relief or defeat, she doesn’t know—and he bends down at the side of her bed. Clarke is too weak to sit up, so she rolls her head to look at Bellamy. Really look at him, after so many days have passed. She drinks in his eyes, his limbs, thanking God that he is alive. 

It takes her a moment to feel his rage. It’s latent, quiet, but she feels it simmering in the air between them. He is angry at her, and Clarke knows very well as to why. The cause is streaming through her veins, blazing away at her insides. 

She doesn’t know how to remove the venom in her blood, and she sure as hell can’t eliminate it from Bellamy’s eyes. Screw it. She’s conscious, now. She might as well spend it looking at Bellamy Blake. 

It’s been entirely too long since she’s seen his speckled skin, the dent on his upper lip. Her eyes land on the smudges under his eyes. They’re darker than usual. She frowns. “When did you last sleep?” 

The bitterness in his eyes fade momentarily, converting to something Clarke can’t quite place. “Not too long,” he says. 

Clarke refrains from rolling her eyes. He is a very bad liar. “How long, Bellamy?” 

“Three days”, he mumbles. 

A strangled sigh leaves Clarke. This boy has been awake for days, and here she is, lost in oblivion for who knows how long— “How long have I been asleep?” 

“Three days.” 

Clarke’s throat is suddenly dry. Bellamy blinks, and the fire returns to his eyes. 

“I had to,” Clarke says, because she knows what he’s thinking. 

Bellamy says, “You almost died, Clarke.” 

The pain in his voice sears Clarke more than the burning in her veins. She says, “I had no choice. What else could I have done?” 

His voice is exasperated. “Me, Clarke. One call, and you could’ve tested me.” 

“Absolutely not.” He blinks, and Clarke realizes the intensity of her voice. She tries to manage her snarl, but what does is he expect? So eager to sacrifice himself. What an idiot. 

Bellamy’s eyes narrow. “Why not?“ 

“Because our people need a leader. They need you.” 

“They need me?” A small, bitter smile pulls his lips. “Hard to believe. Considering I can’t save anyone.” 

Clarke doesn’t have the strength to punch him. So she reaches for his hand, resting beside her head. Immediately, like a reflex, his fingers engulf her own. 

“You’ve kept me alive more times than I can count,” she says. “I owe you my life, Bellamy.” 

His eyes flick away. He always seems so startled when Clarke mentions his worth, how much he means to them. To her. It never fails to surprise her how little he values himself. Her eyes land on the smudges under his eyes and she frowns again. “You need to sleep.” 

He says, “You don’t need to worry about—” 

“Yes, I do!” Clarke snaps, “You need to take care of yourself when I’m gone." 

Bellamy’s jaw tightens. She wonders if he realizes his thumb is rolling soft circles over her wrist. The gesture intoxicatingly soothing. 

He says, “Then don’t leave.” 

She doesn’t know whether it’s the way he’s looking at her, or the distinct way his voice has gone soft. But for the first time in a long time, Clarke is at a loss for words. 

Which isn’t a problem, apparently, as a sudden, vicious torrent of pain streaks down her body. Clarke cries out. 

And immediately Bellamy straightens, his face sharpening. “I’m getting your mother.” 

Clarke tightens her grip on his hand to keep him from pulling away. “No,” she says, but it’s a gasp. She knows she needs her mother. She knows she needed her the moment she woke up. But now she knows Bellamy is alive. That he is safe. And she knows that she’s scared him. In his eyes, what she’s done is unforgivable. 

Clarke chokes out, “I’m sorry.” 

She doesn’t know what he replies. If he replies. The pain is blinding, now, turning the world white at the edges. 

But through the flames, she thinks she feels warm lips press against her fingertips. 

Clarke has one coherent thought before the world turns to black: for what time they have left on this Earth, she will make Bellamy Blake come around and see how special he is.

Sadly, I was drinking alone, and drinking alone led to overthinking, and overthinking led to disappointment, and disappointment led to regret. And that led to another mimosa to wash it down, because fuck if I needed any more of that in my life.
—  Paper Hearts
Mr. Sunshine (Ethan) Part One

Summary: It’s summer in Aruba and you’ve just landed a job at the most swanky hotel on the island, Riu Palace. It seems to be shaping up to be a pretty good summer with surfing, parties, bonfires and midnight swims. You were, however, not prepared for a certain brunette boy to show you the ways of living life.
Word Count: 2,682
Warnings: None.
A/N: I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! I can finally show you guys what I’ve been working on and I sincerely hope you’ll like this, and if you do, don’t be afraid to pop into my inbox! Also, don’t forget to follow me on twitter! xx


You woke up to the sound of music booming outside and cheery voices. You turned so you could lie on your stomach, arm stretching out for your phone that laid on the nightstand. You surpressed a small sigh when you caught sight of the clock, realizing it was almost 7 A.M. and your shift was about to start.

Sitting upright, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and placed your feet on the floor to push yourself up from the bed, already missing the warmth and comfort of it. You knew today was going to be a busy day, managing housekeeping during the morning and pool service during the day. And when you went to slide open the small balcony door, you sighed at the sight of people tanning by the large pool, the beach looking packed already when you glanced out. The sea looked beautiful though, sparkling and as clear blue as a sea could get.

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“When I drink solo on a rainy day. I like it even more.Even if I cry as much and as loudly as I want. It’s not as embarrassing or loud because of rain. I get comfort from the sky that’s crying for me. The rain will stop tomorrow. We will have a better day tomorrow. We can hope for that. Because the sound of raindrops could be a source of comfort for the pain we try so hard to hide. At the end of a long hard day…if we can have a drink, watching the rain fall. I think it will help us forget the struggles a bit. So when I drink solo on a rainy day. I like it a little more”

Five drinks in, my professor is long gone,
and I am bobbing my head to a song no one can hear.
I plant myself on a subway seat
and swing my feet—
I must look like a tourist, half-crazed, with wine desperation in my eyes
and a persistent giggle like a cough
that reminds me of the first time I drank:
I was seventeen and a little more,
and my best friend loved me a little less
than I loved her;
she told me so
as I stood frozen on her front porch.
Later, alcohol scorched the back of my tongue like the confession
I wished I could take back,
and I buried my head in a pillow.
If she could see me now, she’d wonder when I got so happy.
If she could see me now, she’d wonder why she still appears in my poetry.
I guess I just can’t stop writing about ex-girlfriends.
Their hands cup what could have been.
When I look at my fiancée, all I see is what I’m terrified of losing. To
put her in a poem
would be to let her break.
This song that plays, which no one can hear,
was my best friend’s song, a long time ago.
She taught me to like folk music.
She was blind but played with her eyes open,
probably still does that,
in dive bars in Mexico City,
halfway through a daydream.
And halfway through my daydream,
my professor texts me.
—Has llegado a casa okay?
He says it in strained Spanish because he knows I miss Mexico City.
He bought me mezcal, agave pressed into wine,
and invited me to drink from plastic cups
as we sat outside the music studio where we met,
trading melodies.
He told me about his boyfriend, now fiancé,
how they’re so happy together,
how they’re so perfect.
He filled my cup until the mezcal spilled onto my fingers.
—I wish you one thousand days of happiness,
he said.
—That’s not as many days as you think. So use them well.
Five drinks in, on the subway home,
I fantasize about kissing his chapsticked lips,
because he is new, and old, and gay, and safe,
and because
I already know what his mouth tastes like:
It tastes like the bottle we just drained.
I fantasize about twisting my fingers in the white hair
around his temples
because he is new, and old, and gay,
and safe. So safe.
Because our fiancées would have questions
and we would have innocent answers
that neither would believe.
The daydream is the only rush I am allowed to have these days.
There are no new women,
no new exes,
just the safety of a scandal that doesn’t exist.
The mezcal ebbs off. I am crossing the bridge from Alphabet City
to Crown Heights,
and he texts me
to say how much the couplet in my last song
made him feel eighteen again,
and I picture him sipping from a fresh bottle outside the studio where I left him
when my fiancée called to summon me home.
The subway spits me onto my platform.
I buy 16 ounces of a wine that is too sweet—
if I spit it hard enough across the East River
I can crack a window in the Empire State Building
and let in all the music
that no one can hear.
Instead, I lean against a fence half a block from my apartment
and text my professor until he no longer responds.
It does not take as long as I’d hoped.
—  Which No One Can Hear


Things I thought were normal but lol were really just diabetes:

Eyesight getting fuzzy after drinking sugary drinks
Naps to get through the day
Like… so many naps.
Taking one full day to recover from drinking
The amount of caffeine it would take to stimulate a rhino to get me through the day
Just being blind in general
Feeling like absolute death if i hadnt worked out.
Just feeling like i was dying all the time.

But like… i was just like “yep. This is how people feel all the time” and powered on. Fuck.

Look, mini Dodds is totally fine. What season finale?

This one is for the lovely @not-my-yacht and all of you other Mike lovers. 

It was her ask idea and she helped me with figuring out how ridiculously fluffy a drunk Dodds would be.   

Could you do something with Mike Dodds? For example, taking a drunk Mike home.

You groaned, pulling the nearest pillow over your head, begging for just ten more minutes of sleep. As you lay there, still closer to unconscious than awake, you heard your phone ring again. Now you knew what had woken you up at — a quick glance at your clock confirmed it was too early for this — 1:13am. Whoever was calling had better have already started praying for your mercy. You rolled over to the side of your bed, grabbing your phone off your end table. Shit! You saw that it was Mike’s name that lit up your screen.

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anonymous asked:

Can I refer to mun as dude? I mean I use "dude" regardless of gender anyway but is it cool with you?

I call everyone dude/man/bro all the time regardless of people’s gender (probably because that’s just my slang at this point) but YEAH! THAT’S A-OK!

i’M so happy right now! today’s such a great day!

anonymous asked:

I think BOTH C&Q struggle with showing & expressing their emotions. I wonder if there ever would have been a kiss had they not been drinking all day. So many scenes where they each fight against showing them outward & honestly. I think C wanted desperately to show more emotions at Q's death, but with PEOTUS there, she almost had to be the priority at that moment. America First. C seems to escape confronting her inner self by working. Also, I wonder how Q would have reacted to C's death. Tears?

Quinn has repeatedly shown that he deals with his unwanted emotions by engaging in substance abuse. If Carrie had died, and he had lived, I fear he would have embarked down a road he would have never been able to return from. 

I doubt there would be tears. There would only be unrelenting anger.

Series: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Jumin Han/MC

Title: What The Future Holds

[[ Jumin can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with MC. A slight alternate take on Jumin’s Good end. Takes place after his good end. ]]


She called it a “pre-proposal”.

She had pulled him aside during her first RFA party where he had publicly proposed to her after his speech. In a small corner of the party hall, she had given him a smile and Jumin didn’t think he’d ever feel nervous about hearing one single response.

“We haven’t even dated yet, Jumin.” She had said to him, her hands holding his. “After we date for a while, then I’ll respond to your proposal.”

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anonymous asked:

what you doing to tone omg bc it workinggggg

OKAY THIS IS LONG but anyways here is my routine:

So have you heard of blogilates? The owner is called Cassey and she makes lots of workout vids, and i do her monthly calender workout plan, to get access to them you have to sign up for news feed on (its free🙏🏻). Videos are on youtube

I workout 6 times a week(if im lazy i do 4 times a week), i start off with running + speed walking for 40 minutes and then i do cardio from cassey’s videos she has a lot but i like to this one called “fat destroyer” (its only like 8mins) sometimes i just do her cardio vids if im not feelin for running, or i just run for 25 mins, depends on my mood really!! after that i do the calender workout, each day is different and its also really fun, cassey is fun to watch shes really positive and bubbly!! She also has challenge calenders such as, abs challenge, butt lift, slimmer thighs challenge if u wanna do them!

Im trying to slim down my thighs/legs first before starting booty building (using heavy weights at the gym) so for now im just running/cardio, toning my muscles doing pilates at home.
vids i do (for thighs): inner thigh challenge, 5min long lean legs, 3 minute thighs (all by blogilates)
Im also focusing on my abs i want a flat stomach and getting rid of that lower tummy pooch so im doing blogilates’ intense ab mania workout, and best lower abs workout videos,lower belly flattener, oblique workout (on youtube) every 6 days if i can.

If u want faster results do this routine twice a day: morning and evening (along w cardio and clean eating) Lose belly fat:
1. sit ups
2. moutain climbers
3. modified v-ups
4. Flutter kicks
5. Ankel tap
5. Plank 1min
6. Kriskross

3 sets
20 reps
30 sec break

2x a day, 6 days a week. Morning and night 🌞🌛

And for eating, i try to eat as clean as i can, and only drink water, sometimes green tea. I eat smaller portions, and limit my intake of rice, eat more salads instead of rice (try to eat brown rice or quinoa instead if u can). I eat lots of fruits and veggies everyday. Try to avoid most processed foods! I eat meat/fish too for protein! Also i love avocados and sweet potatoes!
Anyways i like to drink smoothie mostly every morning

I just got my 28 day Fit Tea detox. so many good reviews about it. I drink it every morning or before my workout its supposed to help u lose weight faster, eat less etc. U can check it out on their site

Have u tried banana pancake? 2 eggs and 1 banana? Its yummy and good for breakfast or even as a post workout meal

I eat like 4 date fruits for dessert if i feel like it !! Or homemade icecream usin frozen fruits!

But remember, your physique is determined 80% by what you eat, the rest is genetics n exercise!

I hope this helped lmaooo 😂

anonymous asked:

Please imagine Hawke and Fenris on a rainy day. Hawke had been caught outside without a cloak, so of course she comes to the door sneezing, and Fenris growls out something that sound like "careless" and "foolish" as he wraps her in one of his large cloaks - "it even smells like you" she says, bunching it around her face, shutting her eyes more happily than expected - and sends her upstairs to take a very hot bath.

He keeps scolding her of course, but it’s all while he’s fussing over her, making sure she doesn’t stay in the tub too long, wrapping her twice over in big fluffy towels so she can dry, make sure at least one of his arms is very gently wrapped around her so she doesn’t get cold. “I am a bit chilly,” she confesses. “If you catch a cold it’s your fault,” he shoots back, and wraps -both- arms around her.

A small shiver. “Still a little cold.”

He hazards a worried look. “Hawke? Are you alright?”

But he knows that glint in her eye. Her face is pink with from the bath and perhaps an oncoming fever, but he -knows- that little spark in her eye. A very warm hand emerges from the three layers of towels and expertly finds the sliver of shirt he’d left unbuttoned, one fingertip sending a ribbon of delicious heat across his skin.

“Indulge me,” she says, very innocent. “I may be getting sick and I can’t afford to get cold. Champion duties and all.”

“Of course. How foolish of me to forget.”

The begged indulgence is exchanged for her feet leaving the ground, and she finds herself under very warm covers. It’s almost impossible which would be better: her husband’s embrace or how cozy she is. Until she sees him peel off his shirt near the bed and climb in. It seems the glint in her eyes is contagious. A kiss, very slow and sweet. An arm finds its way through all the towels and blankets, wrapped around her waist, making her shiver. And for the rest of the night, she is very, very warm.

Originally posted by giphygiff

there is nothing about this that is not the most perfect thing i have ever read

I’m sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant while tears stream down my grandmother’s face because I’ve just told her why my sisters have stopped attending Sunday mass. When she tells me she fears for my soul, I don’t know how to explain that I’m happy. I don’t know how to tell her the only demons I’ve met are the ones inside my head. Because I’ve been scared of the dark since before the first grade and it’s like all those rainy days on Noah’s Ark came to stay, locked up between my membranes and blood vessels, blanketing my thoughts in soft tissue.

My pockets are filled to the brim with soil for all the seeds I’ve never planted, but I know, I know, I know, holy water won’t help them grow. So I crush them up between my fingers and leave them for my father and drink only soda for a month. It’s Lent. Sugar is bad for my teeth, but sinning tastes so good, I hide the cans in my closet.

My teacher encourages me to read the Bible, but it turns out kissing girls hurts my eyes much less than size 8 font, 10 commandments, psalms 13, 14, enough already. I’m 16 and the sound of my jaw smacking the edge of a wooden pew is echoing around an empty church, like hello hello hello. I spit blood from my mouth and it’s red, so very red like the flowers that decorate the vestibule each Christmas.

And with the blood comes a rosary I must have choked on long ago, before I registered the difference between force-fed and ‘things you must swallow before your mother allows you dessert’. I have the rosary in my hands, I’m holding it tight between blood-wet fingers while I think on all the times R.E.M.’s Losing My Religion portrayed my life as cliché (the number is Too Many).

I look down at my knees and feel the phantom pressure of them against carpet, against wooden flooring, against a kneeler in a church; there’s a baby crying in a corner and it’s not me, but it is me. And it’s singing, “consider this, consider this.” There are angels painted on stained glass windows and they come alive when the sun hits them. And they are singing, “consider this, consider this.”

I pick the baby up, I cradle her in my arms, she is so tiny, I tell her, “there is so much beauty in this place, I can’t believe it keeps hurting you.” She sings, “consider this, consider this.” And I do. I forgive my childhood, and I kiss my father on the cheek. I read the Bible and pray for so long my lower back burns. When it turns out the friends I’ve made are religious, I love them, I love them, I love them. I love myself.

It’s been 4 years since that day. I have kissed so many girls and I drink too much soda. I smile so my grandmother doesn’t cry, because I never quite figured out how to tell her I’m happy, that I’m okay, that I left the rosary on the alter.

Where do you find God in your life? Everywhere and nowhere at all. In my father’s warm hugs, in my grandmother’s illness, in the freedom I have with other people, and in myself.

—  a bedtime story for atheists // S.M.