#radicbabe

        in all fairness, sometimes it’s hard for you to look d.j. in the face. you know she didn’t really have a say in what she was doing, + it wasn’t exactly fun for any of the three of you. easily, though, the strangest part is that all three of you came back. (you didn’t know till after the fact that they had both died. which was awkward. you saw your dad cry when you showed up at the door, apparently days later, dripping wet.) your teeth tear at your bottom lip, gaze drifting off into nowhere. “i mean. you don’t know that. i ... i’ve just been staying home. you know how dad is. but. it’s not ... like you wanted to. it was th’curse. or whatever.”

       you run a hand through faded blue locks, lost in thought. news flash, to those wondering: drowning sucks. dying, in general, sucks. but at least since coming back, you haven’t had any sort of migraine. “i might owe y’one, though. you might’ve cured my migraines.” you’re trying to lighten the mood. even though it’s hard, + probably impossible, you want to go back to it being the three of you. best friends. you need that, now more than ever.

          you flop over on the ratty couch, adjusting gangly limbs to lay on it like some television therapy session. “ well, y’see, doc, i think the problem started when i was born -- ” you stop, shooting her a grin before adjusting to some bastardization of a seated position. “ i can’t want t’see my bestest girl friend, deej? ”

▷     𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘   𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊    :    a  random  starter  for  @radicbabe​  bc  i  have  thoughts

sleep  had  never  come  easy.  when  the  clock  strikes  3:45  am,  liv  should  be  floating  in  a  land  of  slumber.  instead,  with  her  circadian  rhythm  absolutely  fucked,  she  finds  herself  on  her  bedroom  floor,  newspaper  clippings  scattered  around,  and  bottle  of  coke  pressed  to  her  lips.  apart  from  the  chirping  of  crickets  outside  her  window,  the  only  other  sound  in  her  room  is  the  quiet  hum  of  the  radio.  it  was  by  pure  coincidence  and  the  accidental  flick  of  a  dial  that  she  found  THE  GRAVEYARD  SLOT.  it  was  by  pure  compulsion  and  loneliness  that  she  kept  calling  in  over  and  over  every  night.  she  hadn’t  missed  a  show  since  she  started  listening,  and  when  the  phone  lines  opened,  she  made  sure  she  was  the  first  one  to  call  in.  

       you freeze in place, a sly grin & raised eyebrows painting the picture of you furiously racking your brain for some sort of quick remark. your wit can’t fail you now, even if it’s trying its damndest. after all, that’s your charming trait. besides, deej isn’t someone you’d call romantic in the slighting. not even capital-r-english-class romantic. “ iiiiiii ... according t’the fifth amendment, i don’ have t’say anything that could be held against me in a court of law. ”

        the teasing tone is (hopefully) obvious in your voice, but you nudge her with your elbow just in case. the last thing you need is her thinking for even a moment that you’re at all serious. you’re not. “ c’mon, deej, you’re a real grade-a casanova. feel better? ”