never been kissed @jamiegilroy - Tumblr Blog

su1ly:

I made a list of my current symptoms and either A, I’m hungover – or B, I’m suffering from a Zig punch to the temple. I’m not sure which’d be worse, to tell you the truth. How are you feelin’?

Second one. You can, uh-- you can avoid a hangover. I’m fine.

#c:sully #sully001 #hello!!!

k-ovak:

“That’s not an invitation for a house call.”

Jamie chewed at his bottom lip, trying not to make his nervousness grossly apparent. Fingers clutched at his arm and he stared pointedly at the ground. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d swing by.”

#just realized that was a knife in the gif #thought it was a lighter #i'm gonna say it was a lighter #c:kovak #kovak001

ziggysimmons:

[ 11:15 pm // Late-Nights & Laundry ]

The Quick & Ready was a flourescent-bathed ghost town tonight. Only a few machines droned through their wash cycles with diligence; the steady hum was occasionally broken by a heavy thump or rattle, but even those sounded synchronized once you were tuned into the laundromat’s soundtrack for long enough. Ziggy sat cross-legged on one of the rumbling machines, crunching her way through a bag of Fritos as her gaze remained idly on the flatscreen mounted in the corner of the ceiling. A Ren & Stimpy cartoon was playing- she half-snorted as the figures started beating the living shit out of each other with baseball bats. 90′s cartoons were so fucked. Probably because of all the lead paint. Just as her eyes were starting to glaze over (the endless drone of washers and dryers was a subtle but effective lullaby), a new figure entered the sparsely-populated Quick & Ready with a chime at the door- a familiar figure, at that.

Was there anything so stifling as a mother? Jamie was hard-pressed to find the answer. Really, it was his mom that drove him to the Quick & Ready (not literally, since Jamie his own beat-up Chevy to get him there; but by hovering whenever he was home, asking him so many questions, nagging him to open up to her) to do his laundry, despite the Gilroys owning a respectable washer-dryer set. Because Amy would never let it go if Jamie started doing laundry at—what? A quarter past eleven? Fuck. Jamie sighed out a lungful of thick, curling smoke as he put his phone back in his pocket. He pulled the door open to drop the half-used blunt into the cup holder, leaning into the backseat to tug out his bag of laundry. (Damn, it was full. How long had it been since he’d done laundry?) He paused to grab an issue of US Weekly from the passenger seat.

Resigned to his fate, Jamie dutifully lugged the bag inside. He’d been hoping it’d be empty, that he could just do his laundry without worrying about somebody else. Stupid, he knew, but that didn’t stop him from wishing, right? His slightly bloodshot eyes flicked away from the girl sitting on the machine down the row from him—he knew her, from school. But he’d never spoken to her. Of course, Jamie hadn’t really spoken to anyone anyway, had he? He didn’t say anything as he poured the contents of the bag into the first open machine he could find. After a moment of consideration, he threw the bag in, too. Jamie added one of those detergent pods he’d stowed in his jacket pocket. Once the machine was running, he sat opposite it, his legs crossed. Idly, he flipped through his magazine, absorbing nothing but enjoying the pictures regardless. Nervously, he twitched a strand of almost-greasy hair out of his eyes. He hoped Ziggy wasn’t looking at him.

#p:ln&l #hope this is okay!!!