#ANYWAY i should have gone to bed hours ago im getting a headache it is time for BED. enjoy my rambles it is sleepy time

[its-no-biggie]

omg do you guys wanna hear about the church family tree from my rvb fantasy au. i spent quite a bit of time working it out bc, since its fantasy, theres no ai and i had to figure out how it would translate lol

this will contain mild spoilers for my au but a) it doesnt exist yet and b) most of them are derived from the plot of rvb so theyre kind of already spoiled. so. anyway, on to the actual post

ok so first off. church (alpha) has DID. so all the ai fragments exist but theyre no longer ai and theyre in his head the whole time. and this includes beta!tex (tentatively called beth? since tex also exists. we'll get to that). it also includes epsilon which will be. interesting. i have some ideas for how to handle that but its kinda besides the point.

the director is churchs father, and allison is churchs mother (who dies when church is a kid). the director is also carolinas father, but carolina has a different mother, so church and carolina are half siblings. tex was also raised by the director but she is not blood related to any of them - she bears a coincidental resemblance to allison (in personality, not necessarily physical appearance), which is why the director favours her over carolina (keeping the carolina/tex favourite child tension, of course). i havent worked out exactly when the director took in tex, but if it was early enough that the director named her, he probably would have named her allison (i mean, he also named his son after himself in this au. you know he'd do it, ESPECIALLY if allison is already dead at this point) and she chooses to go by tex or smth. alternatively, the director named her tex the same way he named the other freelancers like washington and york, keeping the whole "leaving your old name (read: old self) behind when you join the freelancers" thing from canon, meaning that her previous name (and whether she had one at all) is irrelevant. hmmm now that i say that, its probably the latter tbh

now, i may keep beth being based on allison, but while i know what an introject is, i dont know if i feel comfortable really. representing one. so it may not be CANON canon but itll probably be canon to me. additionally, church is raised separately from carolina, tex, and eventually the other freelancers [the freelancers are kinda like a family in this au btw. but like a fucked up hierarchal one. and church is completely isolated from it even though the director is "raising" him. anyway] for plot reasons, but he coincidentally runs into tex one day as kids and they meet in secret for years until tex eventually helps him escape the director. which is to say. beth will likely pick up traits/mannerisms from tex just by virtue of tex being churchs only friend in childhood, combined with the fact that allison and tex are kind of similar in personality. so shes blood related to allison and potentially an introject of her, and has spent a lot of time with tex/knows her very well, so shes gonna have similarities to both of them but she is ultimately her own person. in churchs head.

uhhhh i think that covers it? anyway this means i get to write interactions between tex and beth which will be extremely fun. i like tex as a character and itll probably be difficult to decide how to characterize her in 2 different ways (plus allison but shes gonna be dead for most of it so i dont really have to worry about her) and then to have them interact? they would be chaotic besties i just KNOW it

[iwritesickfic]

boy who cried flu

(yes I am aware of how stupid this title is leave me alone)

Peter rarely - if ever - got sick. Nobody who didn’t know him well would believe it though - he had a long track record of absences and missed assignments, despite being a 3.9 GPA student. He’s flaked from social events and parties countless times, always citing he’s not “feeling well.” It’s not technically a lie, though he does lie sometimes. 

People understand physical illness - they know what it feels like to be stuck in bed with a bad cold - but mental illness? Not so much. So...he bends the truth. A professor won’t be very forgiving if you say you spent all weekend in bed because you couldn’t find the motivation to move, but say you had a bad cough? No one bats an eye.

So most people assume Peter has an awful immune system. That or he’s just a pussy who won’t leave the house with so much as a sore throat. Everyone except a select few - Simon, Ashlynn, and Alex. 

Simon’d been his friend since undergrad, and they’d been roommates for a time, so he knows exactly what Peter means when he says he “doesn’t feel well.” Ashlynn is the type to show up unannounced with a quart of homemade soup. And Alex...Alex was there when things had gotten out of hand. 

But just because they knew he was lying when he said he was sick didn’t mean he stopped using it as an excuse. Ashlynn, despite herself, would usually not question it. Simon wouldn’t think twice about the lie, almost taking it as a direct confession. Alex would usually get pissed off and demand some kind of proof.

They were supposed to go to the beach tomorrow - get up early and take the train together to rockaway. But somehow, for the first time in years, Peter has something more than some congestion. Something way more.

It started a few days ago, a runny nose and swollen sinuses. He slept like shit, and the next morning his throat was raw and he absolutely could not breathe through his nose. But he had class, so he took the train in and sat in his lecture and tried to keep his sniffling to a minimum. By the time he was headed home, he’d long since run out of clean tissues, so he tends to his nose with a damp scrap of napkin he found buried in his bag, his nostrils red and irritated from the abuse. 

By the time he gets home, his congestion has gone from a clogged, static brick in his head to leaky, runny mess, but he’s well aware he can’t take a day off from work on his thesis, so he sits in bed working until 2 AM, one hand wiping the mess from his upper lip, the other scribbling notes in his worn out pad. 

He wakes the next morning not sure when he fell asleep, his head pounding heavily behind his eyes, sinuses throbbing and inflamed. His throat feels swollen and hot, and the relentless sneezing that started the night before isn’t helping any. The two days prior, everything seemed to be concentrated in his head, but now it’s clear it’s migrating into his chest as well. Halfway through his day at work in the library, he starts to cough, wet and harsh. 

It doesn’t help that his body aches like he ran a marathon, and chills are coursing through him like ice water in his veins. By the end of the day he can’t wait to finally sit down and rest. His body’s been screaming for it since the moment he got out of bed, and all day shelving books has really taken its toll.

Unfortunately, he’s got an hour long commute and lucky for him, it’s standing room only. He grips the subway pole like a lifeline, his head spins every time the train rocks. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened window - he looks awful. Bags like bruises under his eyes that are rimmed in pink and half lidded, his nose irritated and red. A coughing fit tears through him, and he tries his best to catch it in his sleeve. His knees start to tremble as he tries to take deep breaths, and he’s startled when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“You wanna sit?” the woman asks, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s offering her seat. Normally, he’d suck it up, but he’s too miserable to refuse. He mumbles a thanks, and sinks down.

It takes all his self control not to fall asleep then and there.

By the time he’s back at his building, he’s seriously doubting he can climb four flights to get to the apartment. Part of him would rather just lay down in the lobby but he knows this is the final stretch before he can climb into bed and sleep.

He’s interrupted by several fits of coughs, and by the time he’s reached the fourth floor he’s practically gasping for air, and soaked in sweat. The chills he had all day have swapped with an oppressive heat that makes him feel almost lightheaded. 

Somehow, he’s quite sure, he manages to stumble to bed, stripping off his damp clothes, the cool air on his slick skin throwing him back into shaking chills. Just as he’s about to let himself be sucked into sleep, his eyes fly open. Tomorrow. 6 AM. He’s supposed to go to the beach. There is no fucking way he is going to the beach.

He texts their group chat with trembling fingers.

hey im real sick i cant go tomorrow

There’s an immediate reply from Alex.

don’t fuckin do this man. we’re going.

A text from Simon.

you’ll feel better if you leave the house, you always do.

He sighs, cursing himself for using this shitty excuse so much now no one will take him seriously.

im serious i feel like trash

Alex answers immediately.

PETER. youre not sick youre being a pussy. we’re going to the fucking beach and we’re having a good time.

Simon responds.

chill alex.

if youre depressed thats fine but maybe consider coming still it might help.

i mean i’d feel better if you came

Peter groans.

im sick. like sick sick. like flu sick.

Alex shoots back quickly.

ok then what are your symptoms?

Peter rubs his eyes, trying to relieve some of the throbbing. 

fever, chills, aches, cough, runny nose, headache, tired.

There’s a moment of silence and he places his phone on his bedside table with a sigh. He’s about to go under when his phone starts to buzz. Once. Twice. Three times. He swears, grabbing it. Three texts from Alex. The first is a screenshot of the symptom list that appears when you google “flu” which just happens to be in identical order.

you need to be more creative

seriously man im not letting you miss this. we planned this months ago. dont be a dick.

Finally, Ashlynn chimes in.

you dont need to lie p, its ok if you dont wanna come.

While Peter would like to further argue that he’s not in fact lying, he just doesn’t have the energy. At this point, it doesn’t matter what they think. He’s not going - who gives a shit why? He’s able to fall asleep almost immediately, but unfortunately, he doesn’t really stay asleep.

He wakes up about every 45 minutes, coughing or shivering or burning or all three. After his fourth or fifth jolt awake he can’t for the life of him seem to get any rest. Every time he’s about to drift off, another coughing fit explodes from his chest and leaves him trembling. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, which he realizes vaguely must mean he’s dehydrated. As the night wears on and his condition continues to worsen, he wonders if he should call an uber to take him to the ER. He can’t afford it, not in the slightest, but he’s not sure he’s ever felt this terrible before. Somehow, he remembers there’s an old thermometer in the kitchen. An old roommate had bought it thinking it would work for deep frying but didn’t realize the range only spanned from 95 to 107.

He needs to take his temperature. See how serious this actually is. He can’t remember the last time he actually ran a fever, so he’s not sure if this is just par for the course or whether this level of misery is cause for alarm.

He stumbles into the kitchen, and for once he’s glad to live in such a god-awfully tiny studio. He lands heavily against the counter, and rummages through the drawer to find the small device. After what feels like an eternity, he manages to grab it with shaking hands, fumbling with the buttons for a moment before flipping on the small kitchen light. 

He sticks it under his tongue, it feels like ice. He tries to coach himself on what he’s going to do. If it’s over 100, he’ll go to the hospital. No, that’s too low. 102?Still maybe too ambitious of a goal. It’s then he realizes he’s really just trying to justify what he’s going to do anyway - save himself an ER bill and stay in bed. He’s jerked out of his thoughts when the small device beeps and he removes it carefully from under his tongue. 

The display flashes 103.2. He doesn’t really know what that means but after a quick google search it’s not exactly any clearer. It’s bad, but not bad enough to cause brain damage, supposedly. Fuck it, that’s good enough for him. He climbs shakily back into bed, the small excursion has left him absolutely exhausted. 

He needs medicine. He knows that. Some tylenol at the very least, but if he can barely walk to the kitchen he doesn’t know how in hell he’s getting out the door, down the stairs, to the pharmacy, and back again. So, he’ll just have to live with it. 

He spends the rest of the night in and out of half-sleep, each coughing fit seeming to drive the illness deeper into his lungs. His nose has started to run again, and each rub with the already-used tissue makes his poor sensitive nostrils burn in protest.

The next morning he wakes to the harsh, deafening drone of his apartment’s buzzer system. He cracks his eyes and checks the time. 6:42 AM. Whoever the fuck it is can wait, he’d like to suffer in peace. Still, as he tries to slip back into the sleep the buzzer continues to go off and after about five minutes, he sits up in bed, fighting the wave of dizziness that washes over him. He stumbles to the keypad and presses the button that opens the lobby door, and the buzzing finally - mercifully - ceases. 

He grabs a t shirt from a pile on the floor and pulls on a pair of boxers - he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand anything more with the way his fever is raging. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his breath, quickly breaking down into another awful fit of coughs. Just as he’s finished, he hears a heavy knock on the door. Sighing, he forces himself up, padding slowly over to the door, trying not to aggravate the dizziness any further. He pulls open the door and is confused to see not an overzealous delivery person, but his three friends. 

He stares dumbly for a moment before a breath catches in his throat and he breaks into thick, wet coughs. He sniffles, wiping his nose with his wrist, before looking back up at them.

“What?” he mumbles, and there’s an awkward silence. 

“Shit,” Alex finally says and Peter sniffles.

“What do you want?” he repeats, surprised at the hoarse, broken quality of his voice. Does he really sound that bad? Ashlynn pushes forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. She’s short, so her face is pressed into his chest, and he stumbles back slightly.

“Oh Peter,” she whispers, and he swallows, closing his eyes. She pulls away, and he has to force them open again. She she presses a hand to his forehead. Her palm feels cool but uncomfortable against his oversensitive skin. “You’re burning up.”

“I know,” he murmurs, wishing the conversation could be over so he can go lie down and not have to explain himself to his friends. He sighs, and narrowly avoids another coughing fit. “Are you gonna come in or you just all gonna stand there?” They exchange looks. “Well?”

Ashlynn pushes past him, followed by Simon and finally Alex. Peter shuts the door and tries his best not to look as fucked up as he feels walking to sit in one of his kitchen chairs. 

“What do ya’ll want?” he asks Simon and Alex, Ashlynn already digging through the medicine cabinet.

“We don’t want anything we were just concerned,” Simon says.

“Then why do you look so fucking shocked?” Peter snaps, even though he knows Simon is only telling the truth.

“Because I was 100% sure you were bullshitting,” Alex says. Peter is far too tired to get into a verbal sparring match with Alex, but he tries halfheartedly anyway.

“Still sure?” before Alex can reply Ashlynn is back with a damp washcloth and the thermometer he’d used the night before. She lays the cloth on the back of his neck, and he can’t help the small whine that escapes. 

“Open,” she says, and he does. She places the thermometer under his tongue gingerly, and strokes some of his hair off his forehead. “You don’t have anything? For this?” Peter shakes his head. She presses her lips into a line. “Simon and me are gonna go out and grab some stuff, ok?”

“That’s not necessary.” His voice is almost slurred with the fever, and as if on cue the thermometer beeps. Ashlynn frowns at the reading. She shakes her head.

“Christ, Peter.” She touches his forehead again, this time with the back of her hand. “103.6 and it’s not necessary?”

“I don’wanna be lectured.”

“I’m not lecturing.” She spends another moment fussing with his hair before getting up, grabbing Simon. “We’re going to get some stuff, we’ll be back. Alex, make sure he doesn’t die, ok?” It’s clear Alex is about to protest, but Ashlynn levels him with a glare. They leave, and then it’s just Peter and Alex.

Alex stands by the door, hands in his pockets. It’s a while before either of them speaks.

“What was I supposed to think?” he finally says, and Peter tries to swallow his anger.

“I don’t know, man.” He runs a hand through his greasy, sweat damp hair. He starts to shiver again, wrapping his arms around his torso. Alex takes a careful step forward.

“You get why I wouldn’t believe you, right?”

“Yes, Alex.” The chills are now back in full force, he’s sure he must be shaking like a leaf. He wants nothing more than this conversation to be over, but Alex doesn’t seem to be getting to message.

“You never get sick. Ever. So what am I-”

“I get it. It’s fine. Just...stop talking. Please.” He’s shaking so bad he can feel his teeth chattering. He pulls his knees to his chest. He closes his eyes, praying something - anything - will warm him up. He hears footsteps and fumbling, then feels a dry, warm blanket being tucked around his shoulders. He looks up, and Alex is standing there, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Do you wanna lay down or something?” The thought of climbing back into his sweat damp sheets makes him cringe, so he shakes his head. “Why not?”

“S’gross, I sweat a ton.” 

Alex nods.

“Right. What about the couch? You can lay on the couch and I can do your laundry.” 

Getting horizontal sounds heavenly, so he nods, and Alex touches his shoulder, quickly pulling his hand back.

“What the fuck - dude, you’re like...on fire. Shit.” He tests the side of his neck and winces. “Fuck.”

“Can you just help me?” Peter is embarrassed at how small and sick his voice sounds, and the fact he’s asking Alex of all people for help, but he knows if he tries to do it on his own he’s going to fall and crack his skull.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He wraps an arm around Peter’s waist, and supports him the few feet to the couch. It’s not very far but his knees go weak about halfway there and he’s glad Alex is holding him. As soon as he gets onto the couch, he curls on his side and closes his eyes. “You’re ok?” Peter nods, and Alex pats his shoulder awkwardly. “Ok. Cool. Just...stay there, I guess.” Peter can hear him starting to strip the bed.

“I was maybe gonna go for a run,” he mumbles, and Alex laughs softly. 

“Definitely. Then I’ll enroll at NYU for my bachelor’s.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have all my debt.”

“You’re right. I’ve been trying to rack up some credit card bills but so far no luck.”

Peter opens his eyes to see Alex with the bundle of sheets in his arms and the bottle of detergent. He pauses for a second, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Peter swallows hard.

“I know man, it’s ok.” Alex smirks.

“Alright. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

[sup4l3e]

I’m Crazy...

I’m insane...

I've lost the plot..

I'm hopeless..

I'm worthless..

I'm unloveable..

I'm pathetic..

I'm weird..

I'm strange..

I'm not okay...

I'm a psycho... (ok this one for me might be true... question it, go on try it! i dare you! ;0 lol)

BUT...

I AM!!!

Those are just some of the things my own mind tells me on a daily basis ... yes here it comes a blog about anxiety and depression... omg!! i know right the cliche of it all. like who hasnt written a blog about depression before ...

oh woe is me! am i right?

well... thats where you're wrong!

(before i start i want no sympathy im not writing this for the "aww's" and the "bless her" comments, i dont want sympathy or empathy ... this is simply because ive experienced and lived with depression for about 14 years and if i can help one person feel better about themselves by reading this or help someone realise that they are not alone then, well, i can rest easy tonight. If anything i want to empower people)

I lived for so many years in the dark, keeping all of this too myself and you know what it did? absolutely sweet FA apart from making me so much worse, it gave ammunition to those little voices, telling me all of the above, making them win!

i didnt realise until about 2-3 years ago that talking about my experiences and how im feeling would help.

i didnt realise until about 2-3 years ago how many other people around me were going through the EXACT same thing.

Two and a half years ago i was a completely different person, i was sheltered, i was in a very toxic relationship ... with myself. Most people would disagree, they'd say i was actually in a toxic relationship with my ex partner; but i cant blame him. Dont get me wrong he was toxic and looking back i was lucky to get out when i did, however i am also grateful too him, because he showed me exactly what i dont want in my life. and being fair to him i'd lived with my own toxicity in my mind for a good 10 years before him, so god forbid i'd give him the satisfaction of all that praise coz by god did i do a damned good number on myself without any of his help. ;)

In all honestly though, i do blame myself and my own mind, because 2 and a half years ago those little voices in my own head were the only thing i was listening to, they were winning. I wasnt listening to my family who were worried sick about me, who were practically begging me to tell them what was going on in my head, who i shut out, ignored and pushed away because i couldnt cope and you know what? they didnt deserve that at all. i live everyday regretting that i put them through that, So i now live everyday hoping to make them proud of me and live each and everyday with a promise. I do however live every day regretting that i didnt let them in earlier because if i had of i wouldnt have gone through the hell i did and i wouldnt have genuinely believed "this is what i deserve" "no-one else will love you" "no-one else wants you" "no-one cares"... i wouldnt have had too live a LIE.

The lie was people did love me, i just couldnt see it, people did care about me, i just wouldnt hear it, i needed their help, i just wouldnt speak it; because at that point in time my own mind was telling me that i didnt deserve any of that, and that nobody would ever want to do that for me. So i found sactuary in a toxic person who in the long run made me the strong person i am today because if it werent for him i'd never have the confidence in myself knowing what i overcame, and if it werent for him i wouldnt have seen my family and loved ones take charge and say "Leanne enough is enough" .. they gave me the metaphorical slap across the face i damned well needed and brought me back to reality, they categorically wouldnt allow that behaviour to carry on anymore and for that i will forever be grateful!

i made a promise to them that day that i would always tell them when i was getting low again and i made a promise to myself that day that i would keep them in the forefront of my mind in all of my decisions and i would also promise to try and help anyone else who was ever in the same position i was in.

depression is a funny old thing, everyone will experience some form of depression throughout their life, some people are genetically wired to experience it, some people will experience it from a young age, some dont experience it until very late on in life, some experience it from sad/happy/overwhelming life events, some unlucky souls just never find happiness. but no matter what EVERYONE will, at somepoint experience depression. in this blog im going to try and explain how i've learned to manage and cope with mine.

A bit of a backstory of my depression, it started around the age of 14-15, my depression. I dont know where it came from but it was right around the time of my GCSE's, college, boys, hormones, and being diagnosed with PCOS (for those of you who dont know what that is its Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) i was told at a young age of 14 that i had some sort of syndrome which "would only matter when i got older", and that i had some of the prettiest ovaries the sonographer and gyneacologist had ever seen... in hindsight that wasnt going to be the compliment i first thought it was or the dismissive statement they portrayed it and brushed it off as, at all! THAT diagnosis changed alot of my life, however i will get back to that.

As most teens do around here I started studying for my GCSE's at just 15 years old. i was so stressed out i started actually hearing a screaming voice in my head. i suffered panic attacks daily, sometimes a few attacks a day, and that is where my anxiety started and then, good old depression smashed me in the face. i found the more stressed i became, the more id hear that screaming inside my head which then lead me to thinking " holy fucking shitballs im hearing voices im actually insane" therefore leading to more anxiety and panic attacks. so much so i would come home exhausted at 4pm everyday crawl into my pyjamas and climb into bed ready to do it all again the following day. (dont get me wrong i sat most nights on msn using the latest flashing emojis for EACH and EVERY letter of the alphabet, to the point it looked more like hyroglyphics and obviously getting the colours just right with the codes to make your name and status show in a rainbow. but that was all done in pj's curled up in bed because i couldnt manage much else ... however, if my mam asks i was revising and doing my homework THE. WHOLE. TIME, not talking to my friends about how hot a certain crush's bum looked that day ha! am i right! :P xoxo)

This was all a massive thing for me to go through aswell, due to the fact my dad has mental health issues and lives with schizophrenia, so, naturally at this point, you can imagine i was picturing myself in padlocked straight jackets and padded cells, talking away to the screaming voice in my head. the funniest thing was this screaming voice wasnt saying anything nasty or bad it was just my thoughts screaming at me like everything was angry, so genuinely just everyday life thoughts but those screaming at me, like, imagine thinking "leanne dont forget to pack your PE kit" but in the voice of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman from Full Metal Jacket... it. was. TERRIFYING!

Anyways, so yes high school was a massive contributor, then i made the choice to leave college at 17 because i, like many others, didnt have the faintest clue what i wanted to be when i grew up (little did i know id live the life of peter pan and neverland would be my sesh house OIOI!!!) In leaving college i went into full time work, as a 'temp job' until i decided what i was going to do... unfortunately, 8 and a half years later i was still their prisoner! haha, Nah, dont get me wrong i met some absolutely amazing people in that job and i did love it but i knew at the end, if i didnt get out it was going to kill me off. I'd gotten to the point in that job that i cried myself to sleep knowing i had to go back in the next day. that place contributed alot to my depression not because it was a bad job but because id made a wrong decision and was stuck there. i had to leave.

my next massive contributor, and this is where i divulge some of my REAL heartbreaks. PCOS - Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome or what i like to call Poly fucking Cystic fucking Ovary fucking Syndrome or "lets just fuck shit up!" (no im not bitter about it at all lol) because of this shit, from the very young age of 14 (like puberty isnt hard enough - spots, hair in places you never wanted boobs growing overnight, bleeding once a month being the biggest inconvenience) i have also had to deal with weight issues, hersuitism, depression, anxiety, hormones that sent me bat shit crazy, pain, headaches, fatigue, you name it i had it. but the biggest heartbreak, being told that id always have difficulty concieving and carrying a child. Anyone who knows me, and knows me well, knows i have always wanted to be a mam. (and not the sesh mam who looks after all my drunken idiotic friends on a night out ... coz i swear thats all they ever think i do lol) I mean a real mam, to a real baby. and being told at a young age that i had the prettiest ovaries the gyneacologist had ever seen wasnt the compliment i thought it was because it turned out my ovaries were absolutely covered in cysts. And for years i have tried to have a baby but alas nothing ever happens. i've had a few close calls and ive miscarried, or at least i think i did, the test came back positive but then about 3 days after that pretty pink second line, i had the heaviest period i had ever had for around 4 hours and then my body went back to normal as if nothing happened. it broke my heart.

They say the human body is delicate and intricate and should be treated with respect... i say its a machine and its a absolute twat at times, and why should i respect what in essence has caused me heartbreak from a young age FOR NO FUCKING REASON. but hey ho... life. goes. on.

so... thats my life story or just a snippet of it. and some of the reasons why i have depression.

heres how i cope...

Well, for a long time.. and i mean a VERY LONG time i didnt. i hid it, i hid away from the world. i drank alot. i avoided family, i avoided my best friends, i avoided anything that would have brought me back to reality.

For a long time though, thats what i needed. now im not saying running away from your issues is easy and thats what you should do because its definitely not. im saying i NEEDED to do it at the time because i had no other way of coping and i NEEDED too to learn what not to do in the future. So masking, for me, was better than facing things 'alone'. In that time though, i made my issues alot worse and in fact caused more issues. it hurt my family, my friends and well hurt myself too, because in the long run i still had to sober up and i still had to deal with the same issues that got me down in the first place, i ended up in debt which contributed further too my issues. I did some very silly things which when i look back on them now i could have hurt so many people. i took an overdose of painkillers at one point around 2 and a half years ago. I felt so weak i saw no other outcome but instantly regretted doing it and made myself sick so that they came back up. i've told my mother and close friends about this previously but i think to really show how much i've learned and to reach out to anyone who is feeling the same way i did, to tell them IT REALLY DOES GET BETTER AND EASIER. i think saying that, shows my honesty throughout this post and allows for my experience and honesty really show that i want to help anyone going through the same thing.

Masking just makes the pain go away for a short period of time. learning from your pain and making it your strength is how you really overcome your own mind and depression.

It wasnt until i realised i was never alone, just how selfish and stupid id been all that time, because in masking, hiding and running away, id stupidly stopped myself from a faster recovery, less heartache, less pain and mental and physical torture. and really i stopped myself from helping others in the same position as me.

it wasnt until i learned to make my pain my strength that i truly found peace in who i am.

i still have days where those voices wont shut up, and they win and thats ok.

i still have days where i cannot climb out of bed and thats ok.

i still have days where i cry and the pain is too much and thats ok.

because i learned all of it really is ok! everyone has those same thoughts the same feelings the same illnesses. and i know that tomorrow WILL be a better day.

you just need to learn how to make it and own it as your own!

nothing has changed for me, all of those things are still true they're still real, my body hasnt miraculously healed itself, i still made poor life choices, it hasnt changed my hormonal imbalances but it has changed my mindset. it has changed my life. i made a choice to change my mindset and not let it beat me i decided to let people in. my family are my guardian angels because they never gave up on me, they dragged it out of me and frogmarched me to the doctors for the help i needed but some people dont have that support in their lives.

i'm lucky enough now, to have lived with this for long enough to know my signs, and when i know what i call, "going dark" is coming. basically when i start slipping and losing control of it again, i identify it and know how to manage it head on. unfortunately my body because of the stupid "intricate machine" i have and how broken it is (believe me the day i can swap out into an AI robot body imma sign straight up for that shit imma have me a body like Jennifer Anniston) my body however tends to go into a meltdown, i end up with more migraines, pain and infections. i also get extremely tired to the point i can sleep for a good 15-20 hours a day and thats not me being lazy (although if sleeping were an olympic sport i'd be the universal champion of it BED=LIFE) thats really me needing to reset. at that point in time when i know this is coming, thats when i reach out; i tell my friends and my family "I'm not okay" because i know now i can do that, i can talk to them.

i, personally, take medication daily, and for some reason we live in a society where people are actually shamed for doing so. i know if i dont take those 2 little tablets every day i will lose control and become a shell of who i really am. my seratonin levels drop and i practically become a robot barely functioning. so why should i be ashamed of those 2 little 'happy pills' which make me the person i want to be and know i truly am! no chemical imbalance is going to get the better of me! if i can have the help, im damned sure going to take it. along with the happy pills, aswell as alot of sleep, sunbeds, spending time with family and friends whenever i possibly can, i now have a job that i love, i also retrained as a beautician, and i love going to the gym and swimming whenever i can, ive found i can manage mine alot better. one thing that massively changed my life was limitting when i drink. i rarely go out drinking anymore and the reason is because i know deep down i will end up in a very low state afterwards. alcohol is a depressant and i wont allow that kind of thing to get me down. so now instead i choose to drink once a month if not less. i havent cut out the drink completely i just know if i want to get blinding drunk i need to be in a very happy place to do so. so i am careful where i drink, who i drink with and what i do whilst im drinking and unfortunately much to my neighbours disgust that tends to be in the house whilst singing along to whitney houston or disney songs at the top of my lungs, but thats how i know i'll not plummet the day after, and lets face it anyone whose heard me singing knows whitney had nothing on me ;)

In all seriousness though, the best advice i can give anyone living with depression is talk to someone, talk to your family, talk to your neighbour, talk to your friends, talk to your doctor, talk to your dog, your cat, the postman, the man on the bus who sits oddly close too you... just talk to anyone. tell them how you are feeling tell them your experiences. tell them what is getting to you. Find someone who you can trust, find a stranger. write it all down in a blog. video it. GET IT ALL OFF YOUR CHEST! SAY IT OUT LOUD! Just. Bloody. Talk! please!

everyones experiences with depression are different some people mask it, some people show it, some people (like me now) shout it from the fucking rooftops because im not afraid of my emotions anymore.

everyones ways of coping are different too, some people find the gym helps, some rely on medication, some rely on talking therapies... there are so many different ways of coping out there now... the only way that doesnt work is not admitting something is wrong and fighting your own mind without help, knowing something isnt right but still doing nothing about it. The only way of not coping is living a lie, you dont have to do this alone!

Basically do those things just for you, the ones you've always wanted to do! get that tattoo you wanted, quit your job, retrain, change your hair colour, buy that car, buy that dog, book that holiday.

do what makes YOU happy!

live for you and open up, people would rather know how you are feeling than see you struggle or ultimately not be here.

open up you never know someone might be feeling the exact same way you are and it could bring you closer.

but remember most importantly:

You ARE NOT Alone..

You ARE NOT Crazy..

You ARE NOT insane..

You HAVE NOT lost the plot..

You ARE NOT hopeless..

You ARE NOT worthless..

You ARE NOT unloveable..

You ARE NOT pathetic..

You ARE NOT weird..

You ARE NOT a psycho..

You ARE NOT strange..

And..

You ARE okay...

You ARE Beautiful..

You ARE Worth it..

YOU ARE Loved

i hope this helps...

thank you ☺

[biillyhargroves]

“im so tired.” “then sleep.” “I can’t. that’s when they come.” + harringrove (please and thank you!)

do you have room for one more troubled soul?(fic requests open)part ii: you’re a canary, i’m a coal minepart iii: too tired to be fighting

Billy hasn’t said a word all day. 

This is not strange, exactly. He gets surly-quiet. He snarls and scowls, he gets gruff and moody, he bites out one-word answers and stinging sarcastic quips. But this is different. He isn’t angry. He doesn’t look mad. He isn’t being mean. This isn’t some sour mood that a long drive will fix. Steve knows this. He knows because he can see the deep, dark circles bruised beneath Billy’s eyes. He knows because Billy has spent every class period starting blankly at the board and didn’t. have a single word to say when Mrs. Click tried to call him out (”Mr. Hargrove, what are your thoughts?”, and Billy had just stared at her, unblinking and unfazed by every follow-up question - “What does Gilman say about powerlessness? Mr. Hargrove? How about the pattern on the wall? Does that mean anything to you, Mr. Hargrove?” - until she finally kicked him out of the classroom with a stern look and a pointed finger; Billy gathered up his things and slinked away, not seeming to hear the whispers that simmered in his wake). 

Steve can’t find him after school. He isn’t in the locker rooms or on the basketball court, and when Steve finally wanders into the parking lot he sees Max with her back against the Camaro, her skateboard at her feet and her arms crossed.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks.

“Billy’s not with you?” she asks. Steve glances around him as if searching for Billy, holding out his hands to show the utter absence of her brother in their midst. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“Whatever,” Max shrugs. “I was just gonna tell him I’m going to Mike’s anyway.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Friday. Campaign night.”

“Weird that you know that,” Max says. “Can you tell Billy? Tell him to pick me up at ten?”

“Nine,” Steve says, flinching internally at how incredibly mom-like it makes him sound. He holds up his hand to stop her from commenting on it. “I heard it. I’m sorry. I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks,” Max says. She kicks off on her board and begins to roll away.

“Wait,” Steve calls, and Max drops one foot to the ground. “Is he okay? Billy?”

At this, Max turns around, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He just seems…I don’t know, out of it. I know you two don’t exactly, like, talk, but,” Steve trails off, and his gaze falls to his feet. He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “Forget it. Forget I asked. I’ll tell him to get you tonight, okay?”

But Max doesn’t leave, and it’s at least a minute before she speaks again. “He’s been going out at night. Going for, like, drives or something. I don’t really know. That’s all I got.”

“Every night?”

“Like I said,” Max tells him, “that’s all I know.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Right, okay. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Max shrugs. She skates away and this time Steves lets her. He stands there, alone in the parking lot, scanning the now thinning stream of students trickling from the building, trying to spot Billy in the mix. Almost everyone is gone by the time Billy emerges, looking almost drunk as he stumbles from the school pinching the bridge of his nose. Carol tries approach him and he barely notices her hand on his shoulder. Steve’s heart lodges in his throat and he walks toward them with long strides.

“Everything okay here?” Steve asks when he’s close enough.

“You tell me,” Carol says, scowling as she looks Billy up and down. It’s clear that he hasn’t even looked at her - his primary offense against her. Steve’s hands hover over Billy’s back, not quite touching him but ready to catch him should he fall. Carol has removed her hand, her fingers curled like she’s touched something disgusting. “Good luck with that,” she says, and she walks off in a huff. 

“Hey,” Steve says, speaking softly even though he’s sure Carol is out of earshot. “Billy?”

Billy doesn’t look at him, but his head does jerk slightly toward Steve, and Steve finally lets a hand fall on Billy’s back. 

“Come on,” Steve says. “I’m gonna take you to my place.” He starts to move, but Billy doesn’t budge. He’s like a stone. Steve tries to guide him, but he won’t move, rooted like a tree where he stands. “No one’s there, I promise. And Max went to Mike’s. It’s okay.” This time, Billy does look at him, and he blinks slowly as if seeing Steve for the first time. “Okay?” Steve asks. Billy nods his head, and he lets Steve lead him to the car. 

Now they are the Harrington house, and Billy is cross-legged on Steve’s bed, and he hasn’t said a word in hours. Steve has tried to coax something out of him. He’s told him about Max, and that she wanted him to get her at ten. He asked if he was okay after Click’s class, and if he understood The Yellow Wallpaper. He asked if Billy wanted him to turn on some music, and when Billy continued to stay silent, Steve turned on the radio and let it play. Eventually, Billy reaches to shut off the radio.

“Don’t like that song?” Steve asks, and Billy shakes his head and points to his temple. A headache, from the static, or perhaps from… “You sick, man?” Billy does not shake his head at this, but he gives no other form of answer either. “You’re gonna have to talk eventually.”

“Sorry,” Billy says, voice flat and gravelly. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you sleeping?” Steve asks. “Max said you’ve been going out at night.”

“You talked to my sister?”

“I just asked if you were okay,” Steve says. “I was worried.”

“I’m touched,” Billy says. He is leaning his back against the headboard, his head leaned back against the wall, and his eyes are closed, though Steve can tell by his breathing that Billy is very much awake. 

“So?” Steve asks. When Billy doesn’t answer, Steve says, “You should sleep. Crash here for a while. I can grab Max for you.:“No,” Billy says.

“No?” 

“No,” Billy repeats. “I can’t.”

“I can raid the medicine cabinet,” Steve offers. “I think my mom has something that-”

“I can’t sleep,” Billy says, “because that’s when they come.”

It takes some time for Steve to process Billy’s words. He stares at him, blinking rapidly, wondering if he even heard him correctly. Billy makes no move to backtrack or to correct his words. He sits in the spot, in the same manor, awake but unspeaking, unmoving, eyes closed and face drawn in utter exhaustion. The more Steve looks at him the more he can see the effects- the lines around Billy’s mouth, the wrinkles in the shirt he’s worn for the past three days, he dullness of his skin. 

“They?” Steve finally asks. When Billy says nothing, he presses, “Who’s they?”

“Forget it,” Billy mumbles. But Steve sits across from him and he places a gentle hand on Billy’s knee. The touch makes Billy’s eyes slip open, and he blinks until he can focus on Steve’s face. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asks him.

“It’s nothing,” Billy says.

“It’s not nothing,” Steve insists. “You said you can’t sleep because that’s when they come. That’s some horror movie bullshit, Hargrove. And, honestly, you look like an extra in that dumb Romero zombie shit the kids watch. So, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Billy repeats. “It…it’ll go away. It’s just…never been this bad.”

“What’s never been this bad?”

“It’s stupid.” Billy shrugs.

“It’s not,” Steve says. “I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Shut up,” Billy says.

“Come on,” Steve says. “You can tell me.”

“It’s these, like…” Billy sighs, and he stares up at the ceiling. “They’re not nightmares, really. They’re something else. My mom called it something. It’s happened ever since I was a kid.”

“Like…night terrors?”

“Sort of,” Billy says. “I see stuff. And I’m not fucking crazy, okay?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve says.

“It’s just,” Billy stammers. “It’s like…I’m stuck. Like, I’m awake, but I’m stuck in a dream, and I know it’s a dream, but I can’t make it stop. It feels real.”

“That’s where they come?” Steve says.

“Yeah.”

“What are they?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says. He sounds like a child, frustrated and on the verge of tears. He sighs heavily and looks back at Steve. “I’m not crazy.”

“I know,” Steve says. 

“It hasn’t happened in a long time,” Billy says. “But after, uh…after Max…”

“Hit you with a sedative to stop you from killing me?” Billy opens his mouth to defend himself, or to apologize, or some combination of the two, and Steve shakes his head and waves you off. “Come on. I got over that months ago. No hard feelings. You know that.”

“Right,” Billy says. “Well, uh, after that, I just…”

“It’s been that long?”

“On and off,” Billy shrugs. “I go for drives after. Uh, to clear my head.”

“That’s where you’ve been going?” Steve asks. “When Max hears you leave?” Billy’s silence is answer enough. Steve sighs and he squeezes Billy’s thigh. “What are they?” Steve asks. “Whatever it is you see.”

“I don’t know,” Billy shrugs. “They used to be, like…these men. Tall. Big. They kind of, um…kind of looked my dad, but I couldn’t really see their faces or anything. They’re different now, though. They look different.”

“Different how?”

“They’re something else,” Billy says. “They’re not human. They’re like these weird fucking alien things. They don’t have any faces, and some of them walk on all fours, and they-”

“They what?” Billy asks. “Do they do anything to you?”

“The old ones,” Billy starts, “used to just…hold me down. But these ones…they make the whole room cold. And their heads, like…” He trails off, and he shakes his head, and his tone suddenly turns angry. “Forget it, okay? It’s just these stupid fucking dreams.”

“No,” Steve says. “No, tell me.”

“Let it go, Steve.” Steve sighs, but he hear suppressed tears in Billy’s voice and he can see the bone-weary exhaustion pulling at every inch of him. Steve rubs Billy’s leg, and he moves to Billy’s side so that he can slide an arm around Billy’s shoulders. “What if we go for a drive?” he offers. It takes a bit of convincing to get Billy to agree, but Steve’s hope for the drive prevails: within a few miles, Billy is asleep with his head against the window. Steve keeps on hand on Billy’s shoulder and when Billy lets out a distressed whine, Steve squeezes him. 

“It’s okay,” Steve tells him. “You’re safe.”

And Billy seems to hear this; he even seems to believe it. He settles down, face relaxed in sleep once more, and he stays like that as Steve drives loops around the town and beyond, stays fast asleep as Steve begins to wind through neighbors, is still out cold when Steve pulls up outside of the Wheeler house.

It is nine o’clock on the dot, and when Karen Wheeler calls Max to the door, Max seems less than pleased to be summoned. The others trail up behind her to say their goodnights, all of them surprised to see Steve instead of Billy waiting to collect her. Max’s brow creases and she leans out the open doorway to see Steve’s car at the curb, Billy asleep inside.

“What the hell’s going on?” she asks.

Steve looks at each of the kids in turn before saying, “I think we have a problem.”

[little-bit-of-cinnamon]

Brave Enough (to Break Your Own Heart) - Chapter 2

Jack reaches out to Davey a few days after the party 

Masterpost

Jack returned from his art history class with a headache like he’d never had before. He wasn’t hungover, he hadn’t been drinking since Saturday at the party. The party where he met David. David, who he hasn’t stopped thinking about but also hasn’t texted.

He was probably just stressed. He would tell himself he was stressed about school, about the essay he had to write by Friday and by the sketches he needed to finish, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case.

He was stressed about himself, his life. His identity.

He wasn’t straight and it was terrifying.

And constantly thinking about a guy he hooked up with isn’t helping his fear, his worries.

But ignoring it wouldn’t help either. Quickly, before he could stop himself, he opened his texts to David.

Jack: are you doing anything right now?

David: Not until my class at 2:00? What’s up?

Jack didn’t know the answer to that seemingly simple question. He wanted to see David, obviously, but he didn’t want his friends to know who he was with and therefore why they were together. He didn’t want to go out somewhere because it would be a date and that definitely wasn’t what he was looking for.

Jack: oh god i dont even know im sorry. im just stressed and i wanna figure shit out but idk how

David: Can I help with anything?

Jack: i wanted to see you i guess

David: Okay, do you still want to?

The fact that David was being so understanding wasn’t helping Jack’s guilt. His guilt that he wanted to see David but not be seen with David. Jack: yeah.

David: And I’m free so what’s the problem?

David: Are you afraid of your friends knowing and asking questions?

Jack: it sounds bad

David: Nobody’s blaming you.

David: I’m in a single, do you want to come over?

Jack: yes please

Jack didn’t feel good about wanting to hide but he would feel even worse about seeing his friends while he was with David and having to either tell them or get caught in a lie if he chose to hide the truth.

David sent his room number and Jack didn’t hesitate in leaving his room to go to David’s, thankful that Crutchie was still in class and therefore unable to ask where he was going. The walk was short, leaving Jack without enough time to overthink his actions, thank God. He knew that he would find far too many flaws in his situation if he took the time to mull it over.

He did, however, pause outside David’s door for a while before he could bring himself to knock. He just stood there, staring at the fall-themed name card on his door, no doubt put there by his RA.

Maybe he should just go, he thought. David was out and secure in his identity, he shouldn’t be burdened by Jack’s identity or lack thereof.

But, still, David was the one who invited Jack over, the one who asks questions and supports Jack.

He knocked.

David opened the door with a smile kind enough to knock any hesitant thoughts from Jack’s head. “Hey, Jack.” David stepped aside, allowing Jack to enter before shutting the door behind him.

Jack wasn’t expecting to make it this far and he didn’t know how to proceed. He lingered in the center of David’s tiny dorm room, just standing there. He didn’t know where to sit, what to say. It wasn’t often that Jack was left with no words on his tongue.

It seems like David realized Jack’s hesitation because he guided Jack by the shoulder as he walked to his bed. They sat against the wall, treating the bed like a couch, as you must in a dorm with minimal furniture. Their shoulders were touching but Jack wanted more contact, he just didn’t know what was allowed.

He realized he still hadn’t spoken.

“Hey.” It came out quieter than he was expecting.

“What are you thinking?” David asked.

Jack knocked his head back against the wall, exasperated. He wanted to say he didn’t know again, it felt like the most convenient answer.

“Too much,” he answered.

David didn’t respond, instead opting to take Jack’s hand in support and hopes he’ll continue, elaborate.

“I’m frustrated,” Jack continued.

“About what?”

“That I have to deal with this bullshit. Not you, obviously. You aren’t bullshit. But like, two weeks ago I wouldn’t have even thought about not being straight. But now, now I have to like figure myself out and I got all this emotion and whatever and I can't just get rid of it.” Jack moved his other hand to their joined hands, fidgeting with David’s fingers as he spoke.

“What happened two weeks ago?” asked David, tone steady. Jack was almost annoyed by how collected he was while he himself could barely string a sentence together.

“I kissed some guy at a party. That’s the stupid shit I do when I get drunk that I was talking about.”

“So you mean to tell me that I’m not your big sexual awakening? What a scam.” David joked, knocking their shoulders together playfully.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Trust me I was a lot less drunk with you and I did a whole lot more with you. You can take credit for the crisis.”

“Good, something for me to be proud of.” David paused for a few beats before he continued speaking. “What do you need now?”

Jack knew he should say something along the lines of “talking it out” or “dealing with his emotions” or whatever, but that wouldn’t be the truth.

“I could go for a distraction.”

“I can help with that.”

Jack turned his head toward David to kiss him, hesitantly at first, this being the first time he’s kissed a guy with no alcohol in his system. It didn’t take long for him to warm up to the idea, though, and soon he was turned so he was sitting on his knees in order to face David completely. David’s hand moved to Jack’s hair and Jack would do anything to not have to admit how much he liked it. His mouth dropped open as David gave a slight tug. He opened his eyes to look at David and he had no right looking that sexy, smirking knowingly with his fingers still clutching Jack’s hair.

“Yeah, a distraction was definitely the right move,” Jack said through a smile.

David put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and pressed him down, onto the mattress.

Things moved much slower this time. The added conversation and the vastly different environment striped them of the fast paced urgency from the party. Once Jack was flat on the bed David opted to lie next to him rather than on top of him, leaving the heat to build slowly, rising with their heartbeats.

Jack couldn’t tell you how long they stayed like that; lying on David’s bed, making out and constantly pulling each other closer until they needed to break away to breathe. Could be minutes, could be hours, it made no difference to him.

At some point Jack ended up flat against the mattress, not turned to face David, and David was hovering over him. He wasn’t quite on top of him, his shoulders turned to Jack while his legs stayed by his side. It was at this point where things started to escalate, but also this point where David pushed Jack back slightly, Jack attempted to chase David’s lips back up, not wanting to break the kiss but he was unable to. David’s hand on Jack’s chest kept him in his place.

He wasn’t actually holding him back but Jack got the hint. He let his head fall back against the pillow and he pressed his eyes shut.

“You really like stoppin’ us, huh Davey?” Jack tried to not sound too frustrated.

“Again, it’s not that I want to stop but we have to. I told you I have class at 2:00.”

“Skip it.”

David laughed but Jack wasn’t joking.

Jack pulled David back to him with an arm around his shoulders and David gave in for a little while. Jack tried to pick up where they left off, sitting up a little from the bed in order to get even closer to David and catching his bottom lip in a quick teasing bite. The sound David made suggested that he would rather stay with Jack than go to class but he broke the kiss once again, anyway.

“I really have to go.” David stood up and adjusted his clothes, his shirt was askew from Jack tugging at it and his pants were uncomfortable for an entirely different reason.

“Come on, Davey.” Jack was lying back and propping himself up on his elbows. David glanced back at Jack but quickly turned away again, moving toward his wardrobe to get a jacket.

“No, you have to stop sounding so desperate and looking so hot because then I’d actually stay.”

“Well good, that’s what I’m aiming for.” Jack countered.

“I’m gonna be late.” David walked to his door but turned back to Jack. “You can go or you can stay, it’s up to you. Class ends at 3:30.”

And then he was gone, leaving Jack alone and wanting on his bed. Jack wanted to stay, to be there when David got back, but he couldn’t. It was too intimate.

He checked his texts and refreshed Instagram, killing time while he gained some composure. Eventually, he stood and gathered his things and left David’s room. He sent David a text as a formality but it felt like it was too much. Too much like they were together instead of hooking up. He put his phone on silent and began the walk back to his own room.

[coffeecrusadeclub]

Familiar Faces -Tyrus fic

Cyrus's POV:

"I know! I swear I want-" I cut my sentence off short and stared past my friend, Buffy, causing her to turn around and see what had rendered me speechless.

"What the-Is that TJ?" Buffy asked, a little too loud. His head turned towards us and I quickly ducked down to avoid being seen.

"Cyrus what are you-"

"Buffy Shh!" I cut her off, but it was too late. We were noticed and TJ had started over to our table.

"Buffy did we pay already"

"Yeah wh-"

Before she could finish her response I had grabbed her hand and rushed her out of the spoon. I was glad I had given up trying to sit at the counter and let Buffy choose a seat by the exit.

"Cyrus what the heck is going on" Buffy asked after a couple minutes, finally pulling me to a stop.

"I dont- I dont want to see him. Why is he back"

"Cyrus he probably is visiting family. When he left Amber said their mom sent him to some bootcamp program or something, that hed be gone for a couple years, it's been 3 years he might just be back"

"No! No no no! He cant be back I cant- I cant have him around after-" I stopped myself from completing the thought.

"Alright Cyrus come on we are going to your place and you're telling me what the heck is going on. You two were so close up until a week before he left"

Despite my protests Buffy dragged me to my house and upon heading down to the entertainment room in my basement, demanded I tell her what happened. I was hesitant at first, not wanting to relive the memories but the therapist in me thought it might be good for me to talk about so I told her.

**** 3 years ago ****

"TJ, you've had too much to drink. Where did you even get all this you're only 17"

"Ugh mind your business Goodman I get it's in your name but why cant you loosen up? You're being a lame"

I tried to shake off his words, I didnt know why he was acting this way but I tried to convince myself it was the alcohol talking not him.

"Baby you don't mean that, come on let's go wash up and go to bed okay? Come on" I gently took hold of his arm and tried to lead him up the stairs but he quickly yanked away from me.

"Stop calling me that I'm not fucking gay Cyrus. Whatever this is has to stop now it's getting old"

"TJ, I-"

"No dont look at me like that. I'm not gay I never was. Sure you're my friend but I figured I could win you and mess around some"

"I was wh- Is that all I was? Some prize to be won? A toy to be played with? You know what TJ no screw you!" I felt tears well up in my eyes and tried to stop them from falling but still they rolled down my cheeks.

"Don't cry. Cyrus dont cry please I'm sorry" TJ's tone and attitude changed and I didnt know what to believe. He was drunk and unstable.

"Just- just stop talking let's get you to bed"

"Cy I love you baby" he smiled softly at me, it was like he didnt remember the things he had said just a moment before

"Mhm come on into bed you go" I replied setting a trashcan down next to him. I decided not to sleep in his bed and took some blankets and pillows down stairs to the couch. I was woken up to the sound of TJ's voice the next morning.

"H-hey Cy goodmorning baby, how come you slept down here?"

"Do you not remember what happened last night?"

"No not really, but based on the massive headache I have right now and the fact that I reek of liquor, I assume I got drunk"

"That you did. As well as say some pretty nasty stuff"

"Oh no Cy I-"

"Dont. Just- Don't okay? Dont say sorry because itd be nothing more than empty air you dont even remember." I cut him off, a sense of bitterness in my tone.

"Cy what did i- what did I say?"

"I was you're prize, just a toy to be won.. You're not gay."

"Cyrus Im s-"

"Dont. Dont say it. Dont tell me you're sorry you dont mean it"

"I didnt mean for that to come out then I didn't-"

"So it was true?"

"No I-"

"Just- stop already TJ you're not helping. You were right about one thing last night. This needs to stop. I'm tired of being pushed around- pushed away when other people are around. The truth came out TJ, hopefully you can too" with tears running down my face I took my chance to leave at that. I never wanted to see him again.

****current time****

I looked up at Buffy who had a a soft expression on her face. I wiped tears away from my own as she pulled me into a hug

"Oh Cyrus you didnt deserve that. Not at all, nobody can treat my best friend like that. I'm gona go find him" she stated, getting up from the couch.

"Buffy no. That was 3 years ago, I should be over it by now"

"But you're not"

"I know I'm not Buffy but he probably doesn't even remember"

Buffy sighed but agreed to let things be and I heard a familiar knock pattern on my door.

"TJ's here..." I said a slight panic rising in me

"How do you know"

"That's his knock. Everytime he used to visit he would knock a bunch of times in a heartbeat rhythm"

"I'll kick him out-"

"No no just- you go home I'll call you later. Okay?"

"Fine okay"

We walked upstairs to the front door together and I opened it, sure enough it was TJ

"Hey Buffy.. Cyrus" TJ greeted us shly

"Kippen" Buffy responded coldly before walking out the door to leave "Bye Cyrus see you later" I waved for a moment before turning back to the blue eyed boy standing on my front porch.

"TJ..."

"Can I come in? Please we really should talk"

"About what? Theres nothing to talk about"

"About what happened before I left"

"I dont know what you mean" I responded playing dumb.

"Cyrus we both know that's not true or you wouldnt have run away at the spoon like you did." He looked at me with pleading eyes and I sighed stepping out of the doorway and letting him in. We sat down in the kitchen and I made him a cup of coffee.

"Cyrus I never meant to hurt you. The things I said- they weren't meant to be taken like that. I just I was drunk and I guess the delivery wasnt great"

"Yeah no kidding" I responded coldly, scoffing at him.

"I did love you Cyrus- I do. I just was scared. The day before.. my mom found out. She started screaming at me because she had seen us kissing. I- I panicked she had seen us on a nanny cam she told me to breakup with you. I never meant to but I knew the camera was there and I guess I just couldnt convey that I was acting.. she sent me away anyway"

"TJ.. I didn't- I didnt know.. I'm sorry"

"How were you supposed to?"

"I could have let you talk that morning... tell me..."

"It wasnt you're fault Cyrus"

I felt tears well up in my eyes, "yes it was! All these years I spent mad at you and it was my fault. I should have just let you explain and this wouldnt have happened I wouldn't have-" suddenly I felt TJs hands on my wrists as his lips pressed against mine. He started to pull away and then leaned back in, slowly loosening his grip on my wrists. Once he pulled away I took a deep breath

"God I missed that" he whispered softly

"Me too" I replied.

We sat there and talked for hours, we had 3 years of making up to do. And 3 years of anger, pain, and betrayal to deal with. But we had each other and that's what mattered.

[sadprose-auroras]

‘About Time’ - Roger TaylorxFem!Reader (Part 1)

A/N: Hello my darlings! I can’t decide if I hate this or not, and I’m not sure if I’ll continue writing this, depends on the response. Please let me know if you want me to continue it (it would probably require way more parts, like a full on series). Hope you enjoy! - Also, this can apply to Ben Hardy’s portrayal of Roger. Whatever you prefer!

(This was totally inspired by a couple time travel fics I read a few weeks ago, I can’t remember the authors or the names but all credits to them for the time travel idea…. LOVE. IT. I just HAD to write my own, crappier version)

Find my other works here!

 You sunk to the floor, your knees giving out beneath you. You felt ridiculous, curling up in a ball, in your wardrobe, but you had reached your breaking point; everything had suddenly hit you. As you hugged your knees, sobbing, your jeans became tear-soaked. Your mind wandered, as your cheeks flamed in embarrassment and shame about your current state, despite nobody being around. How did you get here? A few months ago, your life was great. You had a great job, a great circle of friends and boyfriend, and you were pursuing your passion; studying fashion design. Then, everything began to crumble around you. All your friends turned on you, you got fired, and your studies began to slip as a result, causing you to fail an exam.  

 If all that wasn’t bad enough, you found out your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you for a year and 11 months. Go figure. It was as if the universe was playing some long, cruel joke on you, just to see how long before you gave up on trying to pursue any kind of happiness. Just as you came to the conclusion that you really had nothing to fight for, leaning your head back on the wall behind you and closing your eyes, the strangest feeling overcame you. Your head began to spin, and pins and needles covered your entire body. You tried to open your eyes, to move your body, but you were frozen. Your heart rate increased rapidly, and you began to think that this was really it. Whatever was happening, you were going to die. Strangely enough, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.  

 By some miracle, everything stopped. The pins and needles ceased, and, save a throbbing headache, you felt much better. You experimentally wiggled your toes, and you had feeling back again. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, looking around you. It was dark, but you could make out the shapes of the clothes hanging around you. Oddly, you didn’t recognise any of them. The chair that was next to you when you closed your eyes was gone, replaced by a shoe rack.  

You stood up, closed your eyes again and rubbed your temples, trying to rid of the probable hallucinations. You racked your brain, thinking back to when you studied psychosis in high school. You couldn’t remember a thing. Was temporary paralysis a symptom? 

 You decided you needed to call a doctor. You pulled your iPhone out of your pocket, still in the dark, and opened up safari. You had no wifi, and no reception. Frowning, you opened the wardrobe door, the knob feeling unfamiliar, to be greeted by a figure doing the same. The door swung open suddenly, bouncing on its hinges.

 You both screamed loudly, and, without looking at the figure in front of you, you tried to push past to get away, however, a hand gripped you and pulled you back. 

 Your eyes became fixed on the man in front of you. You frowned, unable to tear your eyes off him. The hallucinations were getting worse; you were conjuring up images of people in your home. Hang on. You knew his face all too well; you had spent hours watching him drum and sing at concerts on YouTube. It couldn’t be, could it?

 “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my wardrobe!?” he asked, releasing his grip on you. You winced, rubbing where his fingernails had dug into you. This was all too much.

 “I should be asking you the same thing, why are you in my house? What’s going on?” you looked around the room, expecting to see your familiar bedroom; your posters plastered around the walls, your colourful duvet, and your plush white carpet. Instead, the walls were empty, the duvet was blue, and the carpet was grey.

 “I need to sit down,” you said, overwhelmed, perching on the edge of the unfamiliar bed. You glanced up at the man in front of you, his expression still shocked and wide-eyed, as he looked you up and down, his brows furrowing. 

 “God, you seem so real,” you laughed. “But there’s no way.”“What the fuck do you mean?” he replied. “I know I’m real, but I can’t say the same about you. I’ve never known anyone who can just appear out of thin air,” he shook his head in disbelief. 

 You frowned, rubbing your hands through your hair. “What do you mean, I appeared out of thin air?” your stomach began to sink. For reasons you couldn’t explain, something else was going on. Something much weirder than you initially thought.

 “Well, I don’t see how you could have got into my wardrobe without me seeing. I’ve been in my room for 20 minutes.” You glanced at his legs, frowning. What kind of person wears flared jeans anymore? 

 “I, um,” you began, a laugh escaping your lips despite yourself. This was all too ridiculous. You were actively avoiding eye contact with him. You figured if you acknowledged that it was him, at that age, in front of you, this would all go away. It was impossible. Suddenly, it all came together, as shocking as it was. It wasn’t him that was in the wrong place, it was you. This wasn’t your house. You had no wifi or reception. And, Roger Taylor, looking as he did circa 1972, was right in front of you. Had you time travelled? Your head span at the possibility. What else could explain these strange occurrences? 

 “What year is it?” you asked, this time properly meeting his eyes this time. Photos didn’t do the real thing justice; his baby blue eyes were maintaining steady eye contact with you, his lips were slightly parted, and his hair looked so soft and angelic. He was insanely beautiful. You internally cursed yourself. Now was definitely not the time.  

“1972…” he said, becoming even more confused. Your theory was confirmed. You’d watched all of the Back to the Future movies countless times, but you’d never imagined anything like that could ever really happen. Especially to you; plain, boring, old you. 

 “I know you’re probably not inclined to believe the crazy girl from your wardrobe, but I think,” you bit your lip, concerned at how he would take the news. “I think I’m from the future.” 

----------

 “So, you’re telling me you didn’t do anything for this to actually happen?” Roger asked. After trying to explain to him a million times, that yes, you were in fact just as confused as him, and no, you didn’t climb through his window, you tried to remain patient. He had every right to be confused as hell, you would definitely react the same if you were in his shoes. Despite this though, he was oddly trusting, allowing you to remain in his house and actually giving you the time of day to explain your side of the story. He even offered you a glass of water and something to eat, which you accepted gratefully. You were starving. 

 “Yes, I was literally just in my wardrobe, then the next thing I knew we were screaming in each other’s faces.” 

 “How do I know you’re telling the truth? You don’t seem very sane so far. I’m going to need some proof. You could just be a crazy girl who will do anything to sleep with me,” he smirked. You rolled your eyes. So the stories were true, he really was cocky.

 “Don’t flatter yourself, Taylor,” you retorted. “And no,” you said quickly, as he opened his mouth to speak, “I don’t know your surname because I’m a crazy stalker.” Your mind wandered to your extensive Queen record and CD collection. Okay, so maybe you were a little, but he didn’t need to know that. 

 “I know because Queen makes it big. I mean, massive.” You bit your lip nervously. If Back to the Future taught you anything, nobody should know too much about their own future. For the first time in your life, you had to think about what you said before you said it.

“How can I convince you?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “What year do you claim to come from, anyway?”

“2019,” you bit your lip. 

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Am I….?”

 “Still alive? Yeah.” Suddenly, you had an idea. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, thankful it was still charged. You turned it on, the time and date you had left still displayed on the screen (18th January 2019, 11:00), in front of a picture of Queen from 1975. You turned the screen towards him. 

 “Holy shit, is that me?” he gasped, leaning forward. “2019.” He looked up at you, and you shrugged and nodded. You were thankful he didn’t know the implications of having a picture of somebody as your lockscreen. 

 “There’s something else,” you unlocked your phone, opening music and searching for ‘Doing Alright.’ You pressed play, the song pouring out of the speakers.

Yesterday, my life was in ruin

Now today, I know what I’m doing… 

“Oh my god, that’s our song! We haven’t even released it yet.” He chuckled. You couldn’t help but grin at his excitement, encapsulated by his gorgeous smile. 

 “Wanna hear more?” you smirked. It’s funny, you had never felt so comfortable around somebody so quickly. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something about him relaxed you. 

----------

 “Have you noticed I haven’t asked about that thing you’re holding, ‘cause I’m too scared to?”

 You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. You’d spent the last half an hour playing Roger a few more Queen songs. A small nagging voice in the back of your mind was telling you to stop, to not reveal anything about his future, no matter how small. But Roger’s pleading to hear more won.

 “It’s actually a phone,” you said, to answer his question. “Well, that’s its main purpose anyway. You can use it to take and store pictures, play music, and use the internet. Which, well, you’ll find out about in approximately 18 years.”

 “I’m intrigued, what’s the internet?” he asked. You thought of all the unspeakable things you had come across on social media, and shook your head.“You don’t want to know.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you tried to suppress a blush.  

You cleared your throat, averting your eyes from him as you straightened up in your seat. “What’s the time?” you asked. He glanced down at his watch. “3am,” he laughed in disbelief. “We should probably get some sleep. I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

 You shook your head rapidly, taken aback by his utter kindness. “Oh my god no, please, I will. It’s your house,” you said, getting up from the chair you were sitting on. He did the same. You both stood awkwardly, basically staring at each other. You couldn’t help but think of the times you watched a Queen documentary on TV, with the Roger of your time’s commentary. It was hard to believe the man in front of you was the same person.  

 He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes off you, and going into his bedroom, mumbling something about getting something for you to sleep in.  

 As you awaited his return, you couldn’t help but wonder why you were so focused on how flustered you were around Roger, and not worried about the fact that you were literally stuck in the wrong year, and had no idea how to get back. The funny thing was, you had no desire to. You hadn’t felt so at home in a long time, than when you were laughing and talking with Roger. He made you feel so safe, so quickly. And that feeling would only grow stronger when you both gave up on convincing the other to sleep on the couch, and ended up sharing his bed. 

PART 2: BONUS CONTENT THAT I WROTE THE SAME DAY AS PART ONE. I’M NOT GOING TO CONTINUE IT BUT WHAT’S THE POINT OF HAVING IT IN A WORD DOC N NOT POSTING IT?

When I was writing this, I couldn’t stop imagining rom-com moments. Like, the outfit section? A cute montage with a cute song. Damn I wish I could express the images in my head more clearly, in words. My writing sucks. 

“Y/N, wake up. Y/N!!” A familiar, yet foreign, voice startled you. As you came to your senses, you realised your usual soft, silky sheets were replaced with cotton ones, and an unusual smell wafted around you. You slowly opened your eyes, to be greeted by Roger leaning over you, a slightly annoyed look on his face. Fuck. It was real. He must’ve read your disappointment on your face, and he smiled sympathetically and nodded.

“Yep, you’re still here,” he mumbled. You couldn’t help but sigh; you’d hoped it was a really long, unusual dream.

“I have to go to rehearsal for a gig tonight. Do you wanna come?” Of course you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to meet the rest of the band, and literally see the magic happen, you couldn’t help but feel like you were invading. But then again, who could say they had the chance to sit in on an early Queen rehearsal, especially knowing how successful and impactful they were going to become?

“I don’t – I don’t want to intrude,” you mumbled, sitting up in the bed and clutching the duvet around you, suddenly feeling exposed in Roger’s white shirt.

“Well it’s your choice, I understand that you probably don’t want to sit around with us when you could be finding a way back home or finding your parents or something,” he said.

Although you would never admit it, you wanted nothing more than to go with him. Not only was it literally history in the making, but the absence of your birth parents in your life, leading to a childhood of foster families who couldn’t care less about you, gave you a sense of independence at a young age. You knew how to be alone, seeking solace in music. Music created by the greats like Queen made you feel less alone, as silly as it sounded. It was your escape from the struggles in your real life.

“Wait, no. I want to come. If you don’t mind. But I need something 70s appropriate to wear,” you chuckled, glancing over at your high-waisted skinny jeans and cropped knit jumper folded neatly on a chair.

“I think that can be arranged.” Roger grinned at you, and you were struck with yet another wave of disbelief. Roger Taylor was going to lend you come of his iconic clothes.

After spending a couple of hours going through Roger’s clothes, which was your absolute dream, you finally settled on a pair of pants that were a little too short, and a shirt that was slightly too tight across the chest. You tried to spice up the outfit with a few of Roger’s necklaces, much to his dismay.

“Do I look okay?” you asked when you stepped out, twirling around with your arms out.

Roger, standing with a pile of clothes in his arms that you had rejected, furrowed his brows and looked you up and down. You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the sight; he was taking his job as your stylist very seriously.

“You’ll almost fit in,” he said, “although, the shirt is too tight,” he finished bluntly, gesturing to your chest. You folded your arms instinctively.

“Don’t worry, I won’t look at your boobs.” You frowned at this. Was that meant to make you feel better? Why did you feel slightly disappointed?

“Um, thanks?” you scoffed. “What should I do with my hair?” you tugged on each of your French braids. Roger walked towards you without warning, and pulled out your hair ties, running his fingers through your hair.

“Just leave it loose.” He said hoarsely, his face dangerously close to yours. Your heart was beating rapidly, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was biting his lip in concentration, his eyes squinting as he adjusted your hair. It took everything in you to not lean into his touch; his fingers were so delicate. As he pushed a strand of hair out of your face, his eyes met yours.

“Perfect,” he almost whispered, his breath sending shivers down your spine. You knew you should pull away. You knew this would get way too complicated. Your rationality was telling you to snap out of it. But as his hands smoothly came to rest around your neck, bringing you closer, something else entirely was driving your actions.  Just as you began to lean in, he pulled away, clearing his throat loudly.

“Let me get you a coat,” he said, quickly rushing away from you. You bit your lip, cheeks flaming. You were humiliated. What were you thinking, trying to kiss him? He obviously wasn’t attracted to you; the weird, pathetic crazy time-traveller. You didn’t even belong here anyway, how could you possibly think he would want you? Your eyes began to well up, you just had to get out of there.

As you quickly began to gather your clothes and phone, furiously wiping the tears from your eyes, Roger returned with a fur coat in his arms.

“Here, this should fit – wait, what’s wrong?” he asked, realising your state.

“I’m just gonna go. I’m so sorry to have invaded your life like this, you shouldn’t have to deal with my weird ass problems. Thank you for everything. It was nice meeting you, I guess. I’ll never forget you,” you rambled, becoming increasingly embarrassed, trying to walk past him. He gently placed his hands on your upper arms, turning you to face him.

“Hey, hey, I don’t have to help you, okay? I want to. If you’ll let me.” he said, a surprisingly vulnerable look on his face.

“But, I’m burdening you too much! You can’t have me holding you back from living your normal life. You don’t want me clinging to your side like some kind of….” You paused, struggling to find the right words in your frazzled state. “Some kind of leech. I mean, I’m just annoying. For God’s sake, we have nothing in common! I’m technically young enough to be your daughter!”

Roger laughed softly. “Okay, first of all, you’re not a leech. And yes, it’s weird that you’re from the future, and I’ll probably never wrap my head around it, but so what? We shouldn’t get along, but we do.” You hoped he couldn’t notice your blush at this.

“And, lastly,” he said, a cheeky smirk on his face, “the thought of you being my daughter is gross, but me being your daddy on the other hand…”

“Oh my god, Roger! No!” you couldn’t help but laugh, as you rapidly shook your head. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not; you secretly hoped he wasn’t.

“So, do you still wanna come to rehearsal?” he asked, all joking aside.

You sighed, hoping you weren’t being a burden. “Okay, give me that then,” you grabbed the coat off him, pulling it on.

“Do I look normal?” you asked.

“No,” he smirked, and you raised your eyebrows at him. “In a good way, though. Come on,” he said, grabbing your hand. You tried to ignore the jolts of electricity you felt from this sweet gesture. You never thought simply holding hands with someone would give you so many butterflies.

[humanityinahandbag]

hotel transylvania 3: texting

 or: Ericka is thrilled to be added to the families official group chat. Unfortunately, Dracula hasn’t gotten this whole texting thing down

(Adventures in Family Texting between a small family of vampires and humans) 

Very short without much of an ending. This is nothing more than my tired excuse at writing practice and giving myself a good chuckle. Enjoy.

When Ericka’s phone dings sometime while she’s chatting to the Hydra about their lovely scales (”thank you so much, Captain, we do our very best”) she checks her phone, nearly bursts into unwanted tears, and excuses herself to lean on one of the lobby’s couches. 

Mavis: Hey, Ericka! Adding you to our family group chat! Let me know if you get this!

She’d never been a part of anything. The mundanity of a family group chat was so... boring in concept but left her warm and teary-eyed, and she swiped at her eyes. 

She was about to respond with some sort of long-winded, heartfelt thank you until three dots on the bottom appeared. 

Dracula: MAVIS WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME

Mavis: We’re adding Ericka to the group chat, dad

Johnny: Sweeeeet 🙌🏼

Dracula: MAVY WAVY THAT’S A GREAT IDEA DID YOU TELL HER YET

Mavis: This is a GROUP CHAT dad. She’s on, now.

Dracula: ERICKA YOU’RE A PART OF OUR GROUP CHAT NOW

Mavis: Dad, she knows

Dracula: ERICKA. YOU JUST HAVE TO TYPE AND SEND IT AND EVERYONE SEES IT

Mavis: She knows how to use group chat, dad

Dracula: TYPE INTO THE BOX AND THEN PRESS SEND

Ericka: I know, honey. 

Dracula: THE SEND BUTTON IS THE BLUE ONE THAT SAYS SEND

Ericka: I know, honey, thank you.

Dracula: SHE FIGURED IT OUT MAVIS

Johnny: dude, you can talk to the people there, you know?

Ericka: I’m here, hon. You can talk to me. 

Dracula: MAVIS WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME ERICKA FIGURED IT OUT

Mavis: We all know, dad. 

She must have looked all colors of. crazy from the way she was chuckling down at her phone. She looked up. A few monsters gave her a look or two but went back to their newspapers. Ericka shrugged off the feeling of the awkward spotlight and looked back down at her screen. 

Her boyfriend (was that what he was? the term was almost strange and young, like she was still in middle school, mooning over some blonde haired scrawny boy, but it still managed to send little sparks down her spine) was savvy in the ways of most things having to do with hotel management. 

Tech intelligent, he was not. 

She typed back “Thanks for adding me” and waited. 

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen. 

Dracula: ERICKA MAKE SURE YOU DON’T SEND ANYTHING YOU DON’T WANT THEM TO SEE ON HERE THIS IS PUBLIC. 

Ericka: I know, honey. 

Mavis: she knows, dad 😑And you don’t need to keep using caps lock. 

Dracula: WHAT’S CAPS LOCK

A minute passed. She watched the dots appear, disappear, and then appear again. 

Dracula: HEY HONEY ARE YOU FREE TONIGHT I WAS THINKING YOU COULD TRY ON THAT NEW LINGERIE WE PICKED OUT

Mavis: Group chat, dad! Group! Chat!

Johnny: lol

Dracula: ERICKA THIS WAS A GROUP CHAT I ACCIDENTALLY TYPED INTO DON’T DO THE SAME THING I DID

Dracula: I THINK I FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT DO YOU WANT TO TRY ON THE LINGERIE TONIGHT

Ericka: Still group chat, honey.

Mavis: DAD.

Ericka pockets her phone, doing her best to swallow back the outrageous cocktail of embarrassment and hysteria. She made a note to try and teach the King of Darkness how to navigate his phone later. 

Maybe after that night. When she tried on the new lingerie. 

Mavis had grown accustomed, day by day (and sometimes hour by hour) with the presence of her fathers new significant other. And had made an effort to at least try and include the woman. 

And when she had, when the gates were opened, and when the invitations were extended, she found that Ericka... was actually pretty cool. 

She was actually really cool. 

The woman had been to nearly every continent, save Australia, and had navigated the seas for twenty-seven long years. “I started when I was fifteen,” she told the young Vampiress, who was going through the hotel menus for the week while Ericka sat beside her, stapling invoices to accounts. “My grandfather had me training before then, but we didn’t have the boat until I turned fourteen. So-”

“And you learned on your own?”

Ericka shrugged, slapping down the lid of the stapler with a thud. “I did a lot of things alone. The only thing he really helped me with was...” she squirmed, choosing her words carefully, “monster stuff. You know...”

“Oh,” said Mavis. The topic was rarely breached, though Ericka suspected it wouldn’t be long until the vampiress started asking questions. 

“But other than that...”

Mavis shook her head, shaking the memory of krakens and wooden stakes off her mind. “So what? You only learned on a cruise ship?”

“Oh, no. I learned on all sorts. Sailing, small schooners, rowboats, catamaran, fishing. I still own the cruise ship. Haven’t had the heart to sell it, yet, since cruise season is coming. Your dad and I are figuring out if I should go for a few months or not. I still have a small motorboat docked out somewhere near New York. I’m thinking of having it shipped here.” She grinned. “If I do, I’ll have to take you and Johnny out on some of the lakes. Sunrise on the water is to die for.”

Mavis, midway down the menu page, popped her head up. “For reals?”

“Sure!” Ericka flicked her hand. “Cruises are one thing. But small boat rides out? When it’s quiet and the sun is just coming up? Nothing more romantic.”

“Oh my god, that sounds perf-”

Their phones both buzzed. 

They looked down. 

Dracula: ERICKA I THINK I LOCKED MYSELF INSIDE MY COFFIN

Mavis slumped. “Didn’t you guys get a bed?”

“Yeah. But he likes the coffin when he’s freaking out, and you know the quarterly review is due tomorrow and...” she tapered off, already texting. 

Ericka: Honey, this is a group chat. What’s wrong?

Dracula: IM STUCK

Ericka: Yeah. Honey. I got that. But how

Dracula: I DON’T KNOW IT JUST HAPPENED

Dracula: SOS

Ericka sighed. “Put a pin in this,” she apologized. Mavis flashed a thumbs up. “I’m going to go save your father from himself.”

“Good luck,” Mavis called after her, going back to the menus. 

A few minutes later her phone buzzed again. There was a private text, from Ericka. 

Ericka: Your father accidentally slammed his coffin too hard. It got stuck. I’m trying to get him out. Can you call maintenence? 

Mavis: Sure.

Mavis put her phone down. And then she picked it back up, grinning.

Mavis: Can you send a video, first? 

Ericka: ...

Ericka: [Ericka has sent a video]

Mavis accepted the link. 

Dracula: MAVIS I KNOW YOU HAVE A VIDEO OF ME SCREAMING FOR HELP IN MY COFFIN 

Mavis: ... no?

Dracula: I KNOW YOU DO

Dracula: BUT I WANT YOU TO TEACH ME

Mavis: Teach you what

Dracula: HOW DO YOU VIDEO IN TEXT

Mavis: You don’t video in text, dad. You open the camera. 

Dracula: ...

Dracula: THIS PHONE HAS A CAMERA?

It took quite a bit to get Vampire’s drunk. Their hearts didn’t technically beat, and their blood didn’t really run, and so most of the chemicals that needed to get to their brains could only get there after said Vampire were absolutely and totally pickled. 

Wayne, Murray, Frank, and Griffin succeeded. 

The wedding of the Chupacabra had ended after 5 am, and though most of the guests had long gone back to their rooms, the boys had dragged Dracula along, claiming that a long overdue boys night. 

“Go,” Ericka had told him, waving him away with a yawn. “I’m gonna get to bed anyway. My feet are killing me.” He’d swept her into every dance there; the notion of watching slow dances from the side of the dance floor had been left behind, and he hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d finished swaying to the last Al Green song. 

He kissed her cheek. And then, looking behind him to make sure his Pack wasn’t watching, he leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. 

The pack apparently was watching and chose then to let out a chorus of hoots. 

“I’ll meet you upstairs?”

“Remember to shut off the lights.”

And they’d taken him away, with little calls of “thank you, Captain!” and “we’ll have him back in one piece!” 

That had been three hours ago. Before they’d begun plying one another with beers. And then shots. And finally, when the sun was beginning to burn dew off the leaves, mixers. 

The zombie bartender handed Dracula another cosmo, while Griffin sucked the vodka out of the chunks of pineapple on his skewer. 

“God...” Murray slurred, sucking back a Sex on the Beach. “Le’me tell you somethin’. Y’all are soooooo lucky. With wiiiiives and relaaaaaationships-”

Wayne slumped down, grinning from ear to ear. He motioned for the bartender to refill his vodka tonic. “SOOOooo lucky,” he said. “SO SO lucky. I got kids. I got... got Wanda. God, she-she’s per -hic- perfect.”

“Mmmmm...” agreed Griffin, trying to stab his pineapple with the fancy umbrella. “Totally. Tot-a-lly. TOTES.”

Frank, half asleep on the countertop motioned weakly with his hand. 

Dracula poked at his cosmo sadly. He wasn’t drunk, was he? He could see straight (even if most of what he saw was doubles) and he still seemed to be able to use magic? He flickered his fingers experimentally. A shot of blue knocked over a chair somewhere behind him. 

Okay. So maybe not.

God? When was the last time he’d had this much to drink? He’d been stressed lately, with wedding planning and the hotels new wave of maintenance ever since the heavy Transylvanian summer showers had begun. His head gave a lovely thump thump and he rubbed his temple. It was stress that was causing the headache, he told himself. And not the six vodka tonics and seven cosmos he’d knocked back in the last two hours. 

Yeah. That made sense. Stress. Just stress. 

“‘M super luckyyy tooo” drawled Frank, head still on the counter. “Got... got a wife... She’s sooooo pretty.” He held his ears. “But loud.”

Griffin burped. 

Dracula poked his drink again, suddenly feeling lonely in all the talk of wives and partners. “Ohhhhh” he groaned, plucking at the cherry at the end of his tiny umbrella. “I wishhhhh I was luckkkkky too. Haven’ -urp- haven’ had someone since... since Martha an-”

“Drac!” Griffin tried to put his hand on the counts shoulder but ended up slapping it instead. “Drac you DO. Remeeeember? You have Eri-Ericka.”

Dracula sat taller. “Oh yeah!” he exclaimed. He swayed in his seat. “Ericka!” 

Frank popped up. “Ericka’s great!” he shouted before his head fell back down with a THUMP that made all the drinks jump in their glasses. 

Dracula nodded, ignoring the feeling of sea sickness in his gut. Was the hotel floating? He didn’t remember installing a lake? “She’s- she’s so so so so sooooooo great! She’s so pretty and nice and pretty and pretty-”

“So nice!” agreed Wayne. 

Murray nodded. “And she could kill you!”

“Which’s suuuuuuper hot,” said Griffin. 

“Totally hot,” mumbled Frank into the counter. 

“I shou-should text her!”

“You totally should.” Wayne pumped his fist. “Do it! Do it!”

“I’m gonna!” That was a good idea! Texting meant you weren’t drunk, right? Or stressed? Or absolutely out of your mind? 

Dracula took out his phone. “What should I say?”

“Use those faces!” Griffin said, glasses slipping off. “Girls looove those faces.”

“And compliment her,” suggested Murray. “Say she’s beautiful.”

“And could kill you,” mumbled Frank. 

“YES.” Dracula liked this idea. Dracula liked this idea a lot. 

Dracula: HEY HONEY SMILEY FACE

Dracula: THE BOYS AND I ARE STILL HERE SMILEY FACE

Dracula: THEY REMINDED ME THAT YOU EXIST AND I WANTED TO SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR FACE SMILEY FACE

Dracula: IT’S A GREAT FACE EVEN IF IT TRIED TO KILL ME THAT ONE TIME HEART

Ericka: ...

Ericka: ...

Ericka: honey... why are you texting me.

Mavis: what’s happening?

Dracula: BECAS I LOVE YOU

Dracula: OH HELLO MAVY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

Ericka: This is a group chat, sweetheart.

Mavis: Dad I was sleeping

Ericka: We all were. it’s 7 in the morning. 

Dracula: YES BUT I LOVE YOU SMILEY FACE

Ericka: Why do you keep saying smiley face and heart?

Dracula: BECAUSE GIRLS LOVE WHEN MEN USE EMOTION CONS HEART

Mavis: You don’t spell them you use the picture Just put a heart or a smiley face. 

Dracula: THERE ARE PICTURES? SMILEY FACE

Mavis: oh my god.

Ericka: ...

Ericka: text me again and i’ll actually kill you

Dracula: OKAY HONEY HEARTHEARTHEART

Dracula: ... 

Dracula: ERICKA I STILL LOVE YOUR FACe

Dracula: AND YOUR BUTT

Dracula: YOU LOOK GREAT NAKED

Mavis: Ericka, please kill him 

Mavis: I’ll give you the stakes myself

Ericka: 👍🏼I’m pretty sure I still have extras in my duffel but thank you, sweetheart

Mavis: No prob goodnight

Dracula: THATS SUPER HOT

Ericka: I’m locking you outside in the sun if you don’t stop 

Dracula held his phone close to his chest. “I just love her so much,” he choked. 

“Super hot,” said Griffin. 

Frank groaned into the counter. 

Dracula woke up with an earth-shattering headache. “Oh...” he mumbled. “Oh shit.” From next to him, Ericka looked up from her book. It was some adventure story with an explosion on the cover. 

“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds about right.”

“What did I do last night?” he rolled over, facing her, wincing in the light of her bedside lamp. His voice sounded too loud against the stone walls. “Did I die?” 

“No. But I almost killed you.”

“Oh,” he said. 

“And you drank a lot,” she said, going back to her book. “I’m pretty sure it was a bunch of cosmos. That’s what you told me when you came back.”

“I walked back?” He squinted, trying to remember. Or maybe trying to block out the light. When did the room get so bright?

“Mmmhm. Jumped into bed and woke me up to tell me that I was hot.” She turned the page. “And then you stole all the covers. You’re lucky I don’t keep stakes next to me.” 

He ignored the last part and rubbed his face. “I think I’m dead. I think I died, and now I’m dead.”

“Technically, you’re undead.”

“You know what I mean.” He pushed his hands against his eyes. “It’s been a long few weeks. Stress is doing me in.”

“This isn't stressed,” Ericka said into her book. “You’re hungover..”

He groaned, hiding his eyes in his pillow. “Vampires,” he remarked painfully, “don’t get drunk.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true. Because you were drunk.”

“Stressed,” he argued. 

“Stressed people don’t drunk text their entire families at 8 in the morning.”

He peeked out with one eye. “What?”

“Yup.” Ericka said, popping the P. “You spelled out emoticons. and then told everyone I looked good naked.”

Dracula stared at her like she’d told him the earth was moments away from destruction.  “I didn’t.”

“You did,” she said, turning the page again. “But please. Blame it on stress.”

He hid his face in the pillow and groaned. 

I’m sure that there are many more adventures in Vampire/Human Family Texting. 

But right now, these are the ones I could think of. 

Please, enjoy. 

[babybirdgyeom]

coming home → im jaebum, part 1

word count: 1.5k summary: three years after you and jaebum broke up you came back to your homecity and memories came back.

for the first time in a three years you were back in goyang, the city you grew up in. you were here to visit your family who you haven’t seen since you started studying abroad. standing in front of the house you grew up in made you smile more than you would have expected. you never truly know how much you missed home until you are there again.

you knocked on the door and a little girl opened the door within seconds, smiling as brightly as you. “(y/n)!”, she screamed in excitement, “you’re home!”

you picked up your niece, giving her a little kiss while your other family members were coming to the door to welcome you home. for the next few hours your family insisted that you tell them everything that happened in university even though they wouldn’t understand half of it anyway.

when the first excitement of you being home again finally was over you decided to go upstairs to your old room to unpack and get ready to meet and catch up with old friends you haven’t seen in what feels like a whole lifetime. while looking for an outfit to wear you browsed through your old closet, looking at all the clothes you left behind when you left korea. chuckling over clothes you totally forgot about, some of them were really hideos but some of them would probably make it back to your everyday outfits. 

deep down in your closet you found evidence of something you forced yourself to forget: an old t-shirt of jaebum. you knew that sooner or later you’d probably have to face one of your oldest demons again. holding his shirt in your hand made you sigh but didn’t hurt you as much as you thought it would have. maybe time does heal everything, you thought. when you left for university he also left to become an idol and now look at him: he really did it. and to be honest, so did you. the two of you both made your dream come true, even though your relationship couldn’t last. 

just because you were curious how you’d look in it now you put it on just to find out you still look very cute in his old shirt. you fastly took a picture in the mirror and thought about sending it to jaebum but you decided against it. you felt like it would be very strange to randomly send him a picture of you in his clothes after you haven’t talked in three years.

at 3 a.m. you decided to say goodbye to your friends and promised to meet them tomorrow again because even though you were afraid at first that maybe the connection between them and you would be gone after a few minutes everything felt like you never left at all. your old best friend insisted to walk you to the bus stop and not leave until your bus arrived.

“so, have you talked to him?”, she looked at you with a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“to jaebum?”, you asked even though you knew that she meant him, “no, haven’t heard anything from him. what about you? or jake?”, you always wondered if he still had contact to his best friend and your old best friend. the four of you were always really close.

“no, not really. he calls jake every now and then and always tells him to tell me he said hi but that’s it. jake went to visit him one time but i thought maybe he called you every now and then. he asked about you, you know.”, she said in a worried tone, knowing you didn’t deal very good with the break up back then.

“nice to know that he sometimes still thinks about his old life.”, you said looking up to the stars. thinking about him doesn’t hurt anymore but every little corner in this city holds memories of you two in every little corner.

soon your bus came and you let your thoughts wander on the drive home, a bit tipsy. being home again felt so nice, you could swear even the chilly air is nicer here. 

on your way home you decided to take a small detour through the streets you grew up in. you walked over the playground of your elementary school, through the small alley you had your first kiss in, got a drink at your local gas station and then you walked over the small town square a few minutes away from your house. you looked around to found something that broke your heart: the old restaurant you and jaebum always used to go to was closed down. the two of you were here on your first, second and every other date, he always took you here to your anniversaries and everytime you had something to celebrate.

you took a picture of it and tried to put on a more joyful song hoping it would put you in a better mood.

sleep seemed to be your enemy this night. you lay awake, not being able to find any rest. you rolled over from one side of your bed to the other over and over again, finding yourself to switch through the pictures you made of you in jaebum’s t-shirt and from the old restaurant.

opening your messenger and clicking on his name seemed like a stupid thing to do in the middle of the night but you couldn’t stop yourself. you knew you were over him, you really were. but after all being over him meant that now maybe is finally the right time to catch up with him.

you attached the two pictures and thought about what to write to him. you didn’t want to send him a long text and be dramatic but you also wanted to write him something he would answer too.

“one day back home and all the memories came back.”

no, this sounds too much like you wanted him back, you thought and deleted it again.

“look what i found! i still rock your shirt. also our restaurant is gone, how sad?”

you liked this one more but it still wasn’t the right thing.

“i’m home again and wondered how you have been doing. we haven’t talked in ages. text me maybe.”

this was kinda good. you decided that it needed to be good enough. saying something to the pictures wouldn’t be necessary anyways since they are selfexplaining. you pressed send and hoped that he would answer.

you had about four hours of sleep when a voice you haven’t heard in a long time woke you up. “wake up you shithead, your favorite big brother is home again too.”, (y/b/n), who left home a few years ago came to see you. you slowly opened your eyes, having a headache.

“(y/b/n)!”, you tried to sound excited but it didn’t really work, “i missed you.”

“wow, very convincing. i’m going to make you a coffee, come downstairs. mum invited all the aunts, uncles and cousins. oh and grandma will be here too, hide your tattoo and put on a bit make up so she won’t know you’ve been drinking.”, he said and went downstairs again.

your thoughts weren’t very clear just yet but knowing your whole family is coming over left you no choice but to wake up and try to look like you had a good night of sleep. 

checking your phone you caught yourself hoping to see a notification from jaebum but you got dissapointed. nothing. you wrote your best friend and told her you wrote him, put your phone away and took a long and warm shower.

when you got out you heard a lot of loud voices from downstairs, taking a deep breath and emotionally preparing yourself to get ready for all the excited relatives downstairs. you dressed yourself, blowdried your hair and put on a forced smile.

about six hours later you finally were able to excuse yourself for a bit and went upstairs, yawning because of your lack of sleep and also because having a big family can be really exhausting. all the questions about your university, if you made friends, if you’re eating, some of them also asked about jaebum, dissapointed to hear that you didn’t found your way back to each other again. your big brother and you were always trying to work as a team to avoid questions about exrelationships and future plans.

you threw yourself on the bed checking your phone again. seeing jaebum’s name on your screen made your heart stop for a second and you felt your palms getting sweaty. it’s embarrassing how excited you are about a text from your ex, you thought to yourself. opening the message you realized that jaebum actually wrote you a long message.

you felt more than relieved to read his answer. he answered so chill which was typical for him. he had the tendency to be more relaxed than he should be sometimes.

“yes sure. call me whenever you have time, you’re probably more busy than i am.”, you typed and sent it without thinking twice.

a little note: hello! i really want to write a second part to this if someone is interested? we all need a bit more jaebum let’s be honest here. tell me if you liked it! :)

[brokenhayatim]

we might be dead tomorrow

[now playing the maze by manchester orchestra]

yesterday on a call, i had a moment of real possibility in having the decompression surgery. my neurologist last week said it was what she recommended and that chiari could be the cause of it all. so once i had it, they would most likely be gone, along with my headaches, then the meds i take would no longer be needed. it all hit me hard today and im feeling many emotions at this person who barely considered doing it for months. for god sake, i was in the hospital for it, a situation i never thought i would be in. (inshallah never again) 

you know some part of me loves being told i have a high pain tolerance, a big  part of me loves being poked with needles (!!) and loves looking at my mri’s. oh story time, the day my neurologist said something was different, aka wrong, i smiled in the chair and asked if i could look at it and went “ah cool!.” she gave me the wildest look but described all the brain anatomy stuffs to me. I told my therapist of this moment and he went “.oh...you were happy?” [types some notes on his computer] and i realized, normal people don’t do that and i probably said that badly with no shame. i wasn’t particular happy, but i was nowhere near sad or scared, i was excited. i think my dissociation makes me almost see everything as not mine. those aren’t my scans so i can be exhilarated and so curious about everything. or it could be that pain just isn’t something i worry or care for anymore. months later, i laughed bc something else being wrong with me, it’s almost fate. sometimes i wish i was terrified, but i didn’t care for it. i already had bad headaches, so what?

over these last few months though. it’s like i’ve made room in my home for it, i’ve become familiar with it, not so much comfortable, but so familiar that it doesn’t matter in the big picture. a secret: sometimes i feel really impressed and good when i tell of my imbalance issues, (vertigo), numbness in my limbs, the tinnitus and the nausea. sometimes..i wish i had more. i feel proud of myself when people have headaches, like i know the worst of that pain, and i’ve been through it. i don’t know if it’s because i want to be validated in having it or if it’s just how i am like that. i wish i could tell my sisters and everyone a whole list of symptoms, but all of them seem so useless and mediocre. i sometimes want that attention from just collapsing; but ironically, i hate being bothered and cared for with it. i found meaning in it all, i found a whole part of me within it all. i had headaches for 6 years before i, simply, told my general physician, and since then it’s been 5 (way too long of) mri’s and an EEG (that was certainly a moment). i wished, back then, i had seizures too. we called one of my pain symptoms “brain shocks” for years with that creative name and made it into this freeze “game”, and i just mentioned that two years ago in a visit. half of my identity is just on having headaches, of being in pain around people. and i’m stupidly fucking (sorry last day of ramadan) scared of losing that. i’ve taken more medications pills than i can count, and i know their purpose pridefully well. i’ve given advice based on that pain, i’ve helped someone with that pain. i’ll never be ready to lose that. i think of it and i imagine myself more empty. full of nothing.

the reason i’m writing this though wasn’t all that. i woke up and just felt this aching shame and sobbed, still am i can barely see, in my bed (so much snot). i’m so scared, more than anyone can possibly try to understand, of it all being gone. of never having to take a pill for this anymore (i still have dat mental illness so not those), or of never needing the knowledge of different types and locations of headaches. i’ve began to feel prideful in having a neurological condition. it makes me something, i have something i can tell. this is the thought that started the spiral. i feel something with this pain. what will happen when i can’t feel this anymore? what will i turn to next? what does the loss feel like? (is that corny or shallow bc it sounds so??) my therapist asked me ‘why i didn’t want to rid it?’ and i was like ‘i genuinely don’t know’ to which he replied ‘i think you do’ and i was all sIR i legit don’t know pls tell me. i made up this random guess and stuttered through it, it felt out of body almost, leaving my lips. what if getting rid of this physical pain forces me to submerge myself in my emotional pain and deal with that? i feel like i have none pls..me?? i’m chill sans the moments like this. (he also says my tether to pain is like penance, some kind of self punishment i feel i deserve..so lettuce chill bro). but the physical pain of headaches, the imbalance, the dizziness, even the numbness in my legs, i always feel something. it’s something i can remember in my head then move past. and when i remember it later, it’s intoxicatingly satisfying and i want it to happen again. i wish i collapsed or had to crawl to my room more often. i like..want to boast about it?? i remember that moment vividly being a ‘this is it’ one too. i was home alone crawling to my room bc my legs gave out and i needed my meds for my pounding headache, and i genuinely thought i was gonna die there on the floor. that moment of me hating and scared of it though is so fleeting, only lasting the day probs. and a part of me will always hate it. that’s normal. but that’s not strong enough to overcome me. it’s bittersweet.

“it’s not the same, but it’s similar to people losing their limbs, or injured so badly they’re forced to give up their career, or an addict quitting using drugs.” sure, but you can notice, you can see all that. this is all in my head.  unless you see my mri’s you would never even guess. it was why i wished my diagnosis was something with seizures, at least that’s something noticeably neurological that i can recognize myself. (am i a bad person? baby no doubt.) my old roommate once said she didn’t even know i had headaches often because i never complained or mentioned it. i would just go to the pantry and take my pill as you would with a cookie. and i’ll never be any other way, and i never was. i grew up closing the bathroom door when i threw up, washing my face after crying and walking back in the kitchen to my mom. i grew up missing moments of laughter and joy with my sisters to just lay in a dark room in pain, being checked on at the some time in the night. even to this day, i will sit in lectures when my head is pounding and i know i’ll throw up soon. anyways, my three sisters were talking about one of the other’s qualities and how amazed they are bc ‘they would never’. one of them had actually gone to class, and i softly mentioned how i am like that too, i think i’ve missed three classes in my four years (minus calc bc the class was more confusing than teaching myself). i said i’ve sat through night classes with headaches and with no meds for three hours and they were like mmm. i almost felt jealous that she always spoke of her small and big achievements, and i speak of none. no one even knew my major till this year. why, allah, why am like this? what made me too reserved and careless of myself? my education is the only thing that makes me feel worthy in the eyes of others...so mine, and i never even share it. it’s that, perfect on paper, that’s how i want to be. (because i know i’ll never be otherwise) i get up in a week of seclusion & sobbing and head off to class, sometimes i cry in class (iconic moments truly, your glasses hide wonders). last year i was sitting in this three hour class with excruciating (and i don’t use that lightly) pain in my head to the point where i had to cradle it with my hands and nearly bang it against the table from thrashing, i was in the middle of the room so i did a 10/10 job at playing it off. i never went to the bathroom or even home early...because i had another class after..which it persisted in. i had never felt that before in my entire life. another day, i silently cried like you wouldn’t believe in the bathroom stall (after uncharacteristically leaving the room) then wiped my tears, fixed my makeup and went right back into class. anyways does that even matter? am i even strong? i want to be so badly. for real this time, not this image. and i’m not. i’m barely enough as it is. 

odd tangent: i don’t care enough or at all about the people i should and i lie to make em feel good and feel better. i know people that love me would still, with this loss of pain, but i doubt myself, and i underestimate them yeah. i say 'them’ like i care what half the people in my life think or care about, it’s just noor and rose. i love rose but i don’t bring these things up, i don’t normally update and i don’t think i’ve ever opened up about my trauma enough for it to mean more than anything superficial. we have this beautiful relationship, yet i don’t find purpose in telling her if need not be, maybe one day. it’s different with noor. i babble all the damn time about everything and feel myself have no filter with these things. i mean, i mention noor to rose too, as if she’s a mutual friend. i care for them both. i love them both in different ways, both ways that are rare for me. rose wasn’t the first person i’ve met or cared about, but she was the first person i remember loving the way i do. i wish i could describe how i feel for noor simply, but i can’t. there was a long-while where she was more important to me than my family, even my sisters (i know, i was like uhmmm). i’ve written something, poem or prose, of almost everyone that was close to me aka 4 peeps (let’s not get wild here). and yet, i’ve written nothing of noor. i’ve written for her yes, but not of her. i tried and it’s arguably the hardest thing to do and i’m quite adequate at writing, if i do say so myself. i tried once in 2017, i stared at the screen for so long just backspacing bc nothing made sense. she’s my emotional support high school sweetheart that renders me powerless with my own words. (does that help?)

back to our scheduled program:  physical pain. it’s been maybe 10 years now that i’ve made a home for it. sometimes the lights go out when it gets bad, and sometimes i decorate with flowers when it excites me and brings something new. the house is probably the ugliest thing you’ve even had to lay your eyes upon, but it’s the best i got and it’s mine to come home to. i wouldn’t give her up without a fight. and i think that’s what my mind has been doing for so many months. trying to save my home, trying to keep every symptom of pain that i have. one day i’ll have to move out or i just die in here. both are changes i just can’t seem to make. i feel like i’m running out of time to sell it and move out, to do something and get rid of the pain. and, i feel like i’m making a mistake choosing to die in here, ignoring it and having it stay or get worse. if it gets worse, i’ll need help and the day i stop feeling like a burden to people, especially my family, let me know would ya. i don’t even often know how to ask for help if i wanted it - and then there’s being cared for that’s a nope to me. i can handle every moment of my pain from all my symptoms and condition, and yet i’m the weakest person in so much. i’m not a person that fears much, most times i find it impractical honestly. i reminded myself of that on my bedroom floor last year in february, during a moment of weakness. (also yes i use a lot of home analogies in writing ok) note: i’ve been mulling through this surgery decision for maybe a year on end now.

do i wish i was scared and worried to feel an ounce of normalcy? of course. but i’m not, i wasn’t even relieved with the diagnosis that day, went out and got pizza broo. even when i thought i was going insane. because what does it matter if it doesn’t change the pain? it’s kind of strange, but when i think of all this physical pain ( is it mental too idk??), i hear this voice in my head that smoothly and confidently says “gimme all you got.” i daydream of how much more i can take, what different things my brain and body can devise before i crack. and, obviously this voice personified does this...with finger guns.

[alangel1895]

This kind of relationship

Title: This kind of relationship

Pairing: Crowley x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warning: angsty maybe, but fluffy happy ending

Summary: the reader sends Crowley off to find someone else to sleep with while she’s busy being sick. Only then Crowley realises the woman he considers his girlfriend has a totally wrong idea of what kind of relationship they’re having.

(A/n: I was sick a couple of weeks ago and I got the very strong need for fluffy reassurance || Maybe I should have edited this some more, the fluff still feels halting, but I’m too tired right now.)

"Are you free right now?"

"Nop. Busy."

…

"How's your day been?"

"Can't right now. Sorry."

…

"Kitten?"

"Nop. Can't."

…

There was a sudden noise in your bed room and despite everything your hunter instinct kicked in. In a heartbeat you had the gun you hid close, even while sleeping in the bunker, unclicked and pinned on the silhouette. Your room had been dark, so it was hard to make something out especially in your just woken up state.

"Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?"

With a sight you put the safety back on your gun, you'd know that voice anywhere and despite better judgement you came to trust the man it belonged to. "I texted you I'm busy" you told Crowley sinking back into a lying position and pulling the blanket up to your nose. The room felt so much colder than when you went to sleep, it actually had been insufferable hot then. You sniffed, that cold had gotten you really good.

"You don't look busy to me" The king of hell said looking at you in accusation. Figures he'd be affronted by you not jumping at his every whim. Usually it would bother you, afraid to lose the small good thing you had going on. But with a headache like yours you couldn't bring yourself to deal with his majesty and his issues.

"Excuse me I'm human. The need for sleep means I'm…" you couldn't finish, a coughing fit got hold of you. In an instant you sat up in bed, however this time you were grapping for tissues instead of a gun. You hated this cold.

"You're sick" Crowley still stood there, studying you. His eyes wandered concerned over your tense body, something you were too busy to notice. "So you're not busy with sleep, you're sick."

"Point out the obvious" your voice sounded raspy after the coughing had died down and you threw the tissue onto a huge pile of others. "May I get back to sleep? I'm back on research duty in 2 hours."

"But you're sick" Suddenly there was anger in Crowley's voice "Don't tell me you leave this bed for anything but food and bathroom visits"

There was a guilty silence in the room, telling Crowley everything he needed to know. Of course you'd be stupid enough to bend over backwards to help the Winchester chipmunks even when sick and in need of sleep and rest. Your kindness was one of the most annoying and irritating things Crowley had come to learn about you - right with your bloody sarcasm and back talking, either one would probably get you killed one day and he wasn't looking forward to that.

"You stay here" Crowley ordered and with a sap he was gone. You simply shook your head, you hadn’t intended to leave your bed for another two hours anyway, but you were glad to be alone for some more napping time before you had to get back to those books.

"Why is (y/n) doing research for you incapable morons while she's clearly sick?" Crowley's voice startled the two Winchesters who had been very busy staring after some waitress in a small diner.

"Chill" Dean was the first to focus on Crowley instead of the very hot blonde "She's got a cold, it's not the end of the world."

"So you're alright with her timing her much needed sleep down so she can research for you?" Crowley's voice was calmer now, a dangerous calm that was normally followed by yelling and threatening. The Winchesters had enough demon king experience by now to watch their next words. So for the sake of diplomatic safety it was Sam who decided to speak up instead of his way more impulsive brother.

"(y/n) kept texting us updates. She mentioned a cold but since the updates kept coming we didn't think it was more than a runny nose."

"Morons" and with that Crowley vanished once more.

When he got back to the bunker you weren't in your bed anymore.

"Stubborn" he muttered under his breath before making his way to the library, sure to find you there.

As always the king of hell was right. He entered the library to find you sitting over a book, head in your hands, eyes small and tired. The effort it took you to keep your eyes open and at least to some degree aware of the words you were reading was obvious. You belonged back in bed and definitely not to work.

"Will you come to bed?" Crowley tried to make his voice as quiet and careful as possible. He remembered your annoyance from the morning quite well although he didn't understand why you'd be so fed up with him checking on you. It wasn't like he expected you to be free after you already told him you were busy. It was simply an attempt at showing that he cared enough to check on his girlfriend. He wasn't sure when he started calling you that in his head. Maybe around the fifth time you fell asleep in his arms after some of the best sex he ever had, maybe after you had been lying there sleeping, so peaceful and trusting that the king of hell wouldn't hurt you in your sleep. This strange trust in him had fascinated him and he found himself reluctant to go anywhere although he himself didn't need sleep. Really holding someone in their sleep seemed like such a waste of time but with you it was the most peaceful and relaxing thing he could think of. Or maybe it had all started before you even started your sexual relationship. The way your face could light up with pure joy at something so small as Sam remembering to bring you your favourite chocolate bar from a supply run, it was almost magical. To be honest it was exactly that smile that made him come and check on you, he missed it. He missed you and your presence, and that's why he came to see you.

"I told you this morning I'm busy" You sighted, meeting his eyes with your tired ones. A sudden pain crossed over your face, but it was instantly gone again, replaced by an emotionless mask "If you're bored, find somebody else this time. I'm gonna text you when I'm back on my feet."

"Find somebody else…?" Crowley didn't fully understand, though he had a pretty good idea of what you could be saying and despite being a supposed to be an all evil non caring demon the words stung.

"Right you probably have someone on speed dial, no need to go actually looking" Again there was hurt in your bright (y/e/c) eyes and they looked even more tired "Go on give her a fancy 666 call, I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

With that you averted your head and went back to your book. Crowley noticed how you just stared at the page, not moving at all, your form was even more sunken in and small. This wasn't just about some stupid cold he realized, this wasn't annoyance that he interrupted your stubborn reading session. You genuinely believed that he'd do exactly as you suggested. His heart, that he wasn't even supposed to have, broke a little. All this time that he slowly fell for you, you held onto some idiotic ideas. This wouldn't do at all.

With a snap of his fingers he transported you to hell to the grand master bedroom he had already taken you to once or twice. Only now was he aware how you had no clue what it meant for him to take you home to his hell, to his room. He was furious with himself, but tried to push it aside. For the first time in his life, demonic and human alike, he wanted to take care of someone and not just aftercare after hot and rough sex, he wanted to hold you, make you feel better about bad days and take care of you were sick or upset. You made him desire all these things and didn't even know how special you were. You made the mighty king of hell weak with a single smile, but firmly believed he'd walk out on your for not having sex while sick. How could someone as wonderful as you not realize how special she was?

"What the hell" your angry voice, not as loud and clear with the cold blocking your nose, drew him back from his thoughts "I know you're the king, but I'm not one of your subjects! You can’t order and teleport me around."

"If you were a demon I'd have killed you years ago" Crowley growled back "For stubbornness and absolute disobedience."

"Take me home right now."

"Not until you had at least 8 hours sleep" He took a step towards you, trying to tower over your frame. It infuriated him still how you couldn't realise what you meant to him and how sleep and time to recover from sickness was the least you deserved.

"What?"

"You are going to stay right here and rest" Crowley ordered once more "I don't care what Moose and Squirrel are hunting and how important your research is. You need to take care of yourself and get better" Suddenly his towering face turned softer and a hand came to cup your cheek "Or at least let me take care of you if you're too stubborn."

"What are you doing?" Your voice was barely a whisper, unintentionally you leaned into his touch while also tensing obviously not fully trusting this side of him "We don't have that kind of relationship."

"I think we need to talk about that too. But first I need you to sleep. Right now, you can't even hold your eyes open darling."

"Not tired" you smiled a small and soft smile, closing your eyes. The tension left your body and you let yourself be lulled in by his reassuring voice. Crowley's heart fluttered a little at the display of unconditional trust. Maybe, if he was very lucky, you were just as much interested to make this thing exactly the kind of relationship he hadn't even known he wanted.

"I don't believe a word you say, darling" Crowley pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment inhaling the smell of your shampoo and well you. Really he could get used to this. "Come, sleep now."

"Hmmm…. fine."

You woke up in an unknown bed, hunter instinct kicked in and within seconds you were out of bed ready to fight whoever was around. A soft chuckle got your attention and you turned to see the king of hell sitting in a small seating area, book in his lap and a glass with Craig in hand. Your eyes met across the room and for a minute the look in his brown eyes took your breath away. You had always had some kind of feelings for Crowley, it had started out as attraction but as soon as you started to see more of him you fell hard. The amazing sex only added to that.

"Sleep well, darling?" He asked, his loving eyes never leaving yours. You really didn't know what to do with that new look and the sudden need to call you darling instead of kitten or your name. Also waking up in his bed wasn't something you ever did before. On the rare occasion he brought you here because of thin motel walls, however he always brought you back home after round two or five of sex.

"You know you shouldn't be standing around hell bare feet and half naked, esecially when sick?" There was a small smile ghosting over his lips as his eyes moved up and down your body. Instinctively you crossed your arms although he had seen you naked a million times or so by now. A bit self-conscious and really not sure what to make of this new situation you noticed that indeed you were wearing nothing but one of his shirts and some panties. Again you were not sure what to do with this information.

"And here I thought it's always hot in hell" you tried to joke, but with your nervousness it fell flat.

"Get back in bed and I'll get you hot soup"

"You don't have to…" you looked over at the book he put down "If you're busy I can just go…"

"And get back to not taking care of yourself?" he shot you an annoyed look "Not happening. Besides… It's just research for the chipmunk brothers."

That surprised you. Why on earth -or hell - would Crowley help them without serious blackmail? You took a good look at the book he had been reading and recognised it from your own research.

But before you could ask about it, you felt Crowley's arms wrap around you from behind and within an instant you felt the tingly feeling of teleportation course through your body. With a sneeze you opened your eyes a second later only to see he hadn't taken you far. Both of you were back in bed, his arms still around you.

"I could have walked, you know"

"I don't care" He whispered "I like holding you."

"Crowley…" you swallowed "Did a djinn get me or something? Or did I die and you postpone telling me my soul won't go upstairs?"

"Why would you think that?" His forehead touched your shoulder and you felt him press a light kiss on your neck. The small touch send shivers all through your body, you had always been sensitive to his touch loving the way he could make you feel but this tender carefulness made you feel a new kind of spark one that caused your heart to beat faster.

"You're… different." you answered, closing your eyes to shut out the inevitable realisation that this wasn't him "You don't take care of me. You don't call me darling. You don't help me help the boys. You don't care about me."

You waited for the shoe to drop, waited for him to see what you saw all along. You knew what you were getting into when the sex became a regular thing, you hadn't cared all you wanted was for him to be close and after a while you told yourself waking up alone was the smallest price to pay for that.

"You really want to talk feelings" There was a sight behind you and you felt the arms, still around you, wrap even tighter, "First, darling, this is an exception" You held your breath and squeezed your eyes shut more, not wanting to hear it but also unable to leave the safety of his arms "I'm only helping Moose and Squirrel because you're sick and I need you to rest without feeling like people die because you need to take time to get better. I'm the king of hell, I am not and never will be their personal secretary.

Second… And this is the hard part when you're not even supposed to have feelings... but I do care. About you. And I hate how you think you don't matter to me. How you suggested I just go find someone to replace you. How you're keeping your eyes shut now, afraid to let me see.

I know if we're honest neither of us expected me to feel this way when we started sleeping together, but things do change and… And if you give me, us, a chance I'll show you exactly how we can have THIS kind of relationship."