cherryxjk

[feral-balatron]

Does anyone else ever fuck up and refer to themselves as "we"

Who is we? Little audience of silly men who live in my head you aren't me >:(

Identity theft

[fingertipsmp3]

I do have to wonder how much of my ‘blood pressure being high’ was just due to 1) anxiety and 2) not being able to put the fact that this doctor basically killed my friend’s sister-in-law out of my mind

[mayjeffneverstopyou]

.

[xxlelaxx]

I'm so over people making their problems someone else's problem. Listen buddy, you got issues, you take care of it. Don't make everyone else around you do it. Figure it out cause everyone else has to do that too <3

[bullet-prooflove]

A Fucking Saint: Mikey Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @savemeaimeemann @mckinleysbones @kmc1989

Companion piece to:

Mess - Mikey tries to prove to you both he made the right decision by leaving.

The Diagnosis - Mikey recieves an explaination regarding his behaviour and addiction issues.

Save It (NSFW) - Mikey shows you how sorry he is for all the shit he's put you through over the years.

It’s four months after the break up that Mikey finds himself sitting on the sidewalk across from your house. He has a black eye from the fight he got into a couple of days ago and a bottle of beer in his hand as he stares at the warm glow that emanates from behind the closed blinds, blocking him out. He could just walk right up to the door, rap his knuckles on it and you’d let him in, he knows you would but that’s the problem.

It's too easy to fall into that pattern, it’s too easy to hurt you again.

He's tried to keep his distance since last month but he finds himself coming back the same way he always does, like some fucked up feral cat. He’s tried to forget you, he’s gotten high, gotten drunk, gotten fucked but nothing seems to help because his heart wants what it wants and that’s you.

He doesn’t realise Richie’s found him, not until the other man drops down on the sidewalk beside him, their shoulders bumping. He’d cut out of their drinking session early because he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head. He’s been talking about you a lot lately, how good you, how pure you are. You were a fucking saint to put up with him as long as you did, you’re still fucking are.

“It’s bookclub night.” He finds himself saying as he takes a sip from his beer. “They go around to each other’s houses, discuss the book for about fifteen minutes before the wine kicks in and things get a little wild.”

His version of wild is setting fire to his neighbour’s car because he let his dog shit on the lawn. Yours is dancing on a table in the bar the two of you used to drink in. It’s just another reason the two of you don’t work, Mikey, he escalates things, you’re the opposite. You’re always a soothing presence, a calming balm to his ignition point.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Richie says, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he stares at the house. “It’s not fair to you or to her…”

“I know.” Mikey says gruffly as he takes another slug from his beer. “I just can’t seem to help myself. It’s like I do all this crazy shit and then I get this moment, this moment of perfect clarity and all I want is to be with her again, to curl up in her arms and it tears me up inside because I can’t do that anymore, I can’t do that to her again…”

He’s crying now and he doesn’t know where these tears are coming from because Mikey, he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t express this type of emotion. He roars and he rages and he throws shit about, he doesn’t break no matter how close he feels to the edge. He never breaks.

Richie’s arm comes to rest around his shoulders, squeezing tightly and Mikey wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, the shame starting to filter through his system.

“I’m a fucking mess.” He says to his friend. “I’m no good for anyone.”

“That’s not true.” Richie tells him but Mikey’s not listening, he’s taking out another pill from the bottle that’s almost a permanent fixture on his coat pocket. He places it on his tongue and chases it with a sip of beer.

Richie sighs because for a moment he thought there may be a possibility of getting through to Mikey but that windows gone and now he needs to get his friend out of here before he does something he regrets.

“Come on Mikey.” He says helping the other man to his feet.

The oxy is already starting to kick in, Mikey’s eyes are glazing over, his movements sluggish. He manages to get him squared away in the car, the seat belt in place before the door to your house opens and you step out onto the porch, a hardback book tucked under your arm as you lock the door behind you.

“She’s fucking beautiful isn’t she?” Mikey says his forehead coming to rest upon the glass as he watches you with half lidded eyes. “Best thing that ever happened to me and I fucked it up.”

Richie doesn’t say anything because Mikey’s right, he did fuck it up and he’s going to keep fucking it up.

Love Mikey? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sunriseverse]

all jokes aside with that last post if you genuinely do operate like that. and you come out of those three to four months and crash and feel terrible for months and then the cycle repeats. you should look into maybe getting a bipolar diagnosis because for over a decade i though that was a perfectly normal artist/writer experience and it was only after talking to a diagnosed friend that i realised that, actually, that is Typical Bipolar Manifestation and i wasn’t a fuck-up who couldn’t force myself, i just had hereditary bipolar disorder.

[laura1633]

I can't stop thinking about 8. with Omega Max and Alpha Charles, except that it's not slick but milk. I'm just a little obsessed with his chest and the thought of him lactating around his crush, oh my

First up for the omegaverse prompt game (I do have lots of your prompts and I will pick through as many as I can)

This was a wonderful adjustment to the prompt anon 😍. I do firstly have to apologise because this did turn into lactation kink which I have no idea how to write 😂

These omegaverse prompts are mostly just going to be rough and ready rather than fully fledged fics so hopefully you will all forgive me for that and still enjoy them for what they are (this one was was a little longer than intended)

Tags: Lactation kink

The first time it had happened Max had assumed it was a coincidence. 

He had been chatting to Charles in some fancy bar when his nipples started tingling and his breasts felt as if they were slowly starting to swell. It was strange. Not strange enough to concern him immediately though. Charles always made him feel funny. Butterflies in his stomach. Slick in his panties. It was only when noticed that there were wet patches forming on the front of his shirt that he had squeaked and scurried off to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

He’d been expecting his top to be damp with sweat so the discovery of milk trickling from his nipples had set off a whole array of alarm bells that resulted in a mad dash down to a late night pharmacy to get his hands on a pregnancy test.

It had come back negative which he really should have known. Other than letting one of his pit crew go down on him after his win in Vegas he hadn’t engaged in any sexual activity for at least the last nine months.  Still, he’d only ever heard of omegas lactating when carrying or nursing a pup so it was worth ruling the possibility out. 

He’d hoped it had been a one off. A bizarre experience that he would laugh about one day, but it kept happening. Over and Over but always around Charles. The Monegasque would only need to smile in his direction and Max would feel slick dripping from his pussy and milk leaking from his tits. He may as well have been melting into a puddle on the floor, it probably would have left less mess. 

He had tried his best to get things under control by himself.  He’d taken to wearing extra layers and using nursing pads to soak up the worst of it. It was only ever masking the problem though,  Charles was still making him leak even if it was now happening under four layers of clothing. So, after much deliberation Max had hauled himself off to a doctor’s to get check out.

He had been expecting a complicated diagnoses. What he had received was an elderly beta doctor looking him square in the eye and asking him if the alpha in question was one he would like to be bred by.  Max had of course, like any self respecting omega, shook his head vigorously in response but the flush of crimson on his face was seemingly more convincing an answer.

It was true. The image of Charles breeding him was one he’d conjured up many nights whilst laying out in bed with a silicone knotting device pushed up inside him. He’d just never expected his fantasies to make his breasts leak. 

The official diagnosis:  On set lactation resulting from an urge to be bred by a particular alpha.

The cure : to talk to said alpha.

The prognosis : Not good. There was not a single chance in hell Max was going to tell Charles that his tits leaked milk whenever he came close. 

And so Max had tried his best to carry on as normal. He joked around with Checo in the garage. He played padel with Lando in Monaco. And he leaked fucking milk out of his tits around Charles.

It had been absolutely fucking fantastic. It had never been as bad as right now though. 

Max fidgets around trying to make himself comfortable as he tries to ignore the fact that he’s been placed right next to Charles at the FIA gala ceremony. Despite all of the omega’s successes he really was starting to feel like the universe hated him.  There seemed no other logical reason why his white shirt was darkening against his nipples as he waited to go up on stage and collect his trophy. 

It really didn’t help that watching the ceremony was about as interesting as watching paint dry.

“You okay?” Oscar leans in from where he’s sat on the other side of Max and gives the Dutch omega a look of concern. 

“Fine. Why?” Max tries to keep his eyes focused on the stage ahead. He’s almost certain that he’s blushing but right now the colour of his cheeks are the least of his problems, Charles’ alpha scent is filling his nostrils and making his tits feel like they’ve swollen to the size of footballs. If it goes on any longer Max’s chest is going to feel so heavy he’ll probably tip over if he tries to stand up. He supposes he will at least have two pillowy breasts full of milk to cushion his fall.

“You’re whining” Oscar says gently as he lets a hand rest on Max’s thigh and gives it a reassuring squeeze, “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Just nervous” Max tries his best to smile. If he was going to speak to anyone about his little problem then Oscar wouldn’t be such a bad choice. He doubts the younger Omega would make any huge dramatics out of the situation.

“What’s going on?” Charles leans right across Max to join in the conversation, his earthy scent flooding Max’s nostrils once more and Max is sure that the fabric of his shirt stretches in response to his expanding chest.

“Nothing, just nerves” Oscar gives Max’s thigh another reassuring squeeze before turning his attention back towards the stage.

“This never gets any more interesting does it?” Charles giggles. The alpha is so close that Max can feel the warmth of his breath as he laughs, “We have another hour before it’s our time.” Charles inches himself back in his chair much to Max’s relief. Most of the damage has already been done though, Max’s panties are soaked and he can feel milk trickling down his chest all the way to his stomach. As he chances a glance down he realises that his shirt has turned see through where the material is damp. 

The omega pulls his jacket around himself and tries to hold it across his body. He has at least had the foresight to bring a spare shirt with him to change into before he gets up on stage but he’s determined not to slip into it yet or that will also be drenched by the time his moment in the spotlight arrives. 

It’s starting to feel uncomfortable though. His nipples itch as his shirt rubs against them and his breasts feel heavier each time Charles talks to him. As much as he was hoping to avoid the indignity of having to try and milk himself in a bathroom stall he’s not sure he has much choice. If his breasts swell any further his shirt is going to rip at the seems. 

“We should maybe go for some food or something afterwards?” Charles mumbles quietly against Max’s ear. Unfortunately Max’s response is a lot less discreet, the omega keens happily but his happiness is short lived as he feels another gush of milk leak from his left breast and he’s quickly brought back down to reality. He can’t sit opposite Charles in s restaurant in this state. 

He’s pretty certain that other people must have noticed something odd going on. The milk doesn’t have the strongest smell but there is something rather soapy about the aroma and the scent is starting to spread outwards. The omega jumps up from his chair and sprints out the room as quickly as he can as he bolts towards the bathroom and shuts himself away in a stall. 

Shit.

When Max slides off his jack and looks down to see what the damage is he finds his shirt soaked at the front. None of this seems remotely fair.

“Max? Are you in there?”

Max yelps as he hears Charles’ voice and his breasts tingle and expand on cue like some unwanted new party trick.

“Did I upset you? Sorry I didn’t mean to. We don’t have to go out, I just thought - “ Charles trails off and Max realises its because he is whining loudly from where he has shut himself inside the toilet cubicle, “Max I think you need to let me in or I need to go get Oscar or - “ 

“No” Max whimpers, “Please, it is  just - “ The omega sighs as he tries to work out what he can possibly say that will explain this all away. There isn’t anything though.  He’s a complete and utter mess. There is one thing he is certain of above all else, he can’t go on like this. The thought makes him want to sob. The omega steels himself before opening up the door and coming face to face with Charles. 

“Max -“ 

“I had a sort of accident.” Max mumbles. His jacket and bowtie still hung on the back of the door leaving his crinkled wet shirt on full display as it stretches wet across the broadness of his chest. 

“Oh my god” Charles immediately shuffles himself into the stall and closes the door behind him, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“It’s milk” Max keens helplessly.

“You’re pregnant?! Who got you pregnant?” Charles’ eyes darken as his chest puffs out. 

“I’m not pregnant!” Max reaches out and runs his hands over his stomach to show how flat it is and then, because he can’t hold it in any longer, he blurts out the secret he has been trying to hold in for so long, “This is because of you.”

Charles freezes. He looks surprised, startled, confused. 

All of which Max thinks are perfectly valid repossess to an omega telling you that you are the reason they are currently lactating. 

“Me?” Charles’ mouth opens and closes a few times as if he’s trying to elaborate on his question. Instead he just settles on repeating himself “Me?”

“I always do it when you are close to me. Always with the milk and the swelling and the tingling,“ Max pauses before starting to babble to fill up the silence once more, “My body wants you to breed me.”

It’s not an eloquent explanation. Nor is it the way Max had wanted to explain his little affliction to Charles. 

“You want me to breed you?”

“My body wants you to breed me?” Max tries to draw some sort of distinction between his brain and his body. In reality they are both pretty much on the same page, Max goes all mushy brained whenever Charles is close and he’d quite happily let the alpha fill him with one or two tiny Leclerc pups if Charles was up for it.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Whenever you talk to me or smile at me or come near me this happens” Max looks down to the ever growing wet circles around his nipples, “It is because I want you.”

Max’s breath catches as he hears the low rumble coming from Charles. The alpha’s scent has shifted again, it’s not sour notes this time, it’s thick and warm enough to make Max want to melt right into Charles’ arms.

And Charles - 

Well, Charles doesn’t look immediately put off by all this. 

“Does it hurt?” Charles lifts his hand and reaches towards Max’s chest but stops short of actually touching the omega much to Max’s dissatisfaction. Max lets out an unhappy little sound and tries to push his chest towards where Charles’ hand is lingering. It’s in that moment that Max finally accepts that when it comes to Charles he has almost no control over what his body does. He’s just a walking ball of hormones falling apart every time he is close to the most handsome alpha he has ever seen. 

Charles cups his hand against Max’s breast and the omega tries his best to bite back a desperate whine as his shirt rubs agains this erect nipple. 

“Shhh it’s okay” Charles coos softly, “You want me to help you get cleaned up?”

Max nods meekly as he lets Charles slowly start to unbutton his shirt. There is a steady rumbling coming from the alpha now. Louder and louder. The vibration like an engine revving. Max is sure that the only time he’s ever made an alpha rumble this loud before was when their cock was inside him.

“Fuck” Charles growls as he eases the shirt off and soothes his hands over Max’s breasts . There’s still milk trickling down, his skin sticky and wet. Yet far from looking disgusted Charles is licking right across his lips. Max tries not to let himself get carried away by trying to work out what exactly that means.

“This is all because of me?” Charles growls again, low and possessive. The alpha’s hand cups and squeezes against Max’s right breast and the trickle of milk starts to build in to a stream. 

“For you” Max mumbles but the words come out as little more than a breathy moan as he sees the milk dripping down over Charles’ fingers and hand, white liquid splashing against the Monegasque’s jewellery. It feels so obscene yet Charles’ eyes are just widening in fascination and he’s bringing his own fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.  

Max holds his breath. The milk tastes sweet. Sugary even. Max knows because he tasted it in one of his weaker moments. Charles’ tongue licks over his fingers again, lapping up the last few drops that have dripped down to his knuckles. 

“You taste beautiful” Charles looks up, his eyes flickering as they meet Max’s gaze, “so good.”

Max feels his skin tingle. His chest tight. Body vibrating. He tries to hold as still as possible. Nothing feels real.  The lactating. The sight of Charles licking milk off his fingers. The sound of clapping and cheering filtering in from the room next door. It’s like a fever dream. 

Charles puts his hand back on Max’s tits, massaging and cupping the flesh and watching the way the drops of milk form and then drip down. 

“This is - “ Charles squeezes again and watches another bead of milk form, “Fuck you’re so pretty. Such a pretty omega.”

Max’s legs shake as Charles leans closer and starts to lap up the milk that is falling down over the curve of his breast. The alpha’s tongue is warm and wet against his skin. 

The omega arches his back and pushes his chest closer to Charles’ mouth. He has never been an overly dominant omega when it comes to sex, he prefers to encourage rather than demand but his hands are twitching by his side as he considers tangling his fingers into Charles’ hair and pulling the alpha down on to his nipple. 

“All for me?” Charles looks up and grins excitedly as he runs his tongue around where Max wants it. The movement slow, deliberate, in control. 

It’s too much. Not enough. Max isn’t even sure anymore. He’s leaking from more than just his chest, his panties are soaked and there’s slick racing down his thighs. 

“Please” Max’s voice is breathless, his cheeks burning red as he watches Charles’ mouth close around his nipple. The alpha latches on and Max groans happily at the sudden rush of relief and pleasure he feels. 

Charles sucks the nipple in his mouth and pulls off with a wet slurping popping sound, his lips now glistening wet. 

With milk.

With Max’s milk.

With Max’s milk that he’s just sucked out of his body. 

“Alpha!” Max whimpers and arches his back as Charles dives back in, this time massaging his hands against the flesh as he purses his lips and sucks more firmly. Over and over until Max can feel the milk spurting right into the alpha’s mouth. 

It makes him feel light headed. His nipples seem to have a direct line to his pussy. Each time Charles sucks and flicks out his tongue Max feels the sensation go right through his body until there is more and more slick gushing out of him. His tits throb. His clit throbs. His toes curls in his shoes. The sight of Charles attached to his tit - lapping, sucking, wet and filthy - makes him whine unashamedly. 

Charles pulls back to take another breath, the alpha panting, milk dripping down off the roughness of his stubble. When he goes back in he goes for the other breast, mouthing around the area before wrapping his lips around the nipple and sucking it into his mouth.

Max almost buckles this time, his legs barely keeping him upright. 

Charles is growling around him. One of the alpha’s hands cupped to his breast and the other - 

The other is - 

Oh 

Max moans and throws his head back as Charles’ hand dips below the waistband of his trousers and down into his panties. The alphas fingers brush lightly against his clit. The faintest and briefest of touches before Max is coming, his whole body spasming as he feels another spurt of milk shooting into Charles’ mouth and sees it drip down from side of the alpha’s lips. 

His body feels lighter. Floaty. Wet. So, so wet. 

Charles groans as he pulls back. His pupils blown. Face damp. He look stunning. Hair ruffled. Cheeks red. 

Max lets his own instincts take over as he gets his hands into Charles’ hair and pulls the alpha into a kiss. It tastes sweet as he licks up and into Charles’ mouth and tastes his own milk. 

Charles is hard, the alpha’s cock pushed against Max’s leg. Nice and big as it presses into the fleshy part of the omega’s thigh. Max can’t help but wonder how much bigger it gets when it knots. The thought alone makes his breasts tingle. 

“Forget going for dinner” Charles tugs at Max’s bottom lip with his teeth, “Come back to my hotel with me.” 

Max nods without hesitation. His body is already dripping all over, his pussy slick wet and ready to take the alpha’s knot, milk still dripping down over the curves of his breasts and down the contours of his body. 

He’s not ashamed anymore though. How can he be when he sees how much it’s turning Charles on. If anything he realises that maybe it’s been some sort of courting ritual all along. His body providing something his alpha wants. Because Charles is surely his now. Fully and completely. 

“Perfect little omega” Charles praises, his eyes wild as he goes back to smothering Max’s chest with warm wet kisses. 

Max closes his eyes and purrs as he hears the low possessive growl Charles makes as he continues to lick up the milk made solely for him. 

[darklydreamingdaddydom]

Christy had been through a lot. She was only 21, but she felt she had lived an entire life. She was 5'2, 115 pounds, blonde curly hair, with gorgeous thighs, for she was a cheerleader at St. Martin ’s University in Arkansas . She was the classic Southern Belle, complete with the accent. However, she hadn’t been using it over the past few days, because she had been depressed. As she lay up in her dorm room, Christy lamented over the coming midterms.

“I can’t believe midterms are already here. I am so unprepared.” She looked at the clock and read that it was 3 pm . She then contemplated studying for her Italian midterm, which happened to be the next day, but she fell asleep instead.

When Christy awoke, she yawned, stretched, rubbed her eyes and picked up her Italian textbook. Looking at the clock, she realized that it was 9 pm . She had slept for over four hours! “Oh my gosh”, she thought.

“I have got to study from now until the exam just to get through everything.” Whimpering, she crammed for the next 10 hours, taking small bathroom and snack breaks, only to walk into the exam room totally exhausted. She finished the exam with plenty of time left, which worried her, but, at that point, she didn’t care. The professor told the class that their grades would be posted via the internet in 3 hours, so check back. Trembling, Christy left the classroom to go find her some coffee, for she had three hours to wait.

Three hours later, Christy was back in her dorm room, logging onto her computer to check her grade. She had showered in the meantime, and had changed clothes from the plaid pajama pants and tank top into some nice pants and a blouse. As she logged onto her Italian course site, her heart sank into her stomach.

“A fucking 62??!!” she cried out.

“No way!” She slammed her chair against the table and threw herself onto her bed, exhausted and crying.

Christy assumed she cried herself to sleep, because she woke up from a doze with a start. Her clock read 12 pm . She assumed she had dozed off, but it wasn’t restful. Over the next few nights, Christy lost sleep and, even when she fell asleep from pure exhaustion, she didn’t rest. She woke up continuously tired and never any better off than when she went to sleep. She decided to go see the school doctor and see what he could prescribe her.

As Christy sat in the doctor’s office, she was shivering because she was cold. Finally, the doctor came in. She knew Doctor Mitchell well, for she had to get her birth control from him in addition to some antibiotics she had gotten a few months earlier for a bacterial infection she had come across.

“Hello, Christy, how’s life treating you?” Dr. Mitchell asked.

“Not too well, Mike,” Christy and the doctor were on a first-name basis. He gave her a funny look. She responded, “Ever since last month, I have been having trouble with sleep. I can’t fall asleep. Its like my mind works overtime and won’t let me drown anything out so I can get some rest.”

Immediately the doctor suggested a stress test, which Christy gladly accepted.

As Doctor Mitchell examined Christy’s levels of stress over a number of questions via a machine that examined her heartrate, he came to her with a diagnosis.

“Christy, you need a break.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Mike”.

“Well, you know I am a psychologist in addition to a general practice doctor, and there’s this new kind of treatment for people who are needing an escape from daily life.”

Christy was nervous, kind of glancing around the room.

“Recreational pharmaceuticals, Mike?” she laughed.

“No, actually its hypnotism. Called YSR; or Youthful Stress Relief.”

Christy looked at him and got down immediately.

“No way, Mike. I am not letting you hypnotize me into anything.”

Mike stopped her.

“But you don’t understand. It’s for your own good. And plenty of research has been done to prove that its safe.”

“I dunno Mike,” Christy groaned.

“I don’t have the time.

“Look,” he said as he took her into his arms.

“Midterms are over. I will come over tomorrow night and explain everything to you then, okay?” Reluctantly, Christy agreed.

The next night came, and Christy answered the door when Mike knocked. In his arms he had books, a tape, and some candles. Looking at him awkwardly, Christy let him in.

“Now, here’s what YSR will do for you. When was the last time you were stress free?”

“Um, when I was probably 7, because with school, comes stress.”

“Good. Okay, you are 21, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I am going to hypnotize you and regress you mentally so that less stress is placed on you mentally each day. You will have the mind of 2-year-old by the end of it. And the best part is, its completely reversible, so you can come back to regular, everyday life whenever you want.”

“Hell, at this point, if it allows me to sleep better, I don’t care what it does,” Christy replied.

“Let’s go”.

“…and when I snap my fingers, you will wake up, completely in the mind of a 7-year-old.” <SNAP!>

“WHOA!” cried out Christy. She covered her mouth at the sound of her voice, and then giggled and got up, grabbing Mike’s hands.

“Let’s go play tag!” she cried out. Mike smiled. ‘exactly as it should be,’ he thought to himself.

“But Christy, its nearly your bed-time.” You need to go to bed, okay. Go get your jammies on so you can go to bed, okay?“

“Otay”, she replied, and disappeared into her bedroom, where, not five seconds later, she returned in an oversized t-shirt with panties on underneath.

“Now, we can sit here and watch tv if you want, but you have to promise to go to sleep.” The two of them sat down on the couch and, in a matter or moments, Christy was out, sleeping soundly.

The next morning, Mike brought Christy out of her hypnotized state, asking her how she slept.

“Mike, I don’t know what you did, but whatever it was, I feel awesome.”

“Well rested?”

“Very.”

“Good, then should we do this once every two weeks?” Mike asked.

“Sure, I am sure I will need it again in a couple of weeks. Want some breakfast? It’s the least I can do for you.” The two ate breakfast together, with Christy cooking eggs for Mike and herself.

Over the next few months, Christy began to call on Mike for more of the YSR. She was fixing to graduate, and time was running out for her to finish her final graduation project. Now, as time had gone on, Mike had not been charging Christy for his services. He accepted breakfast and wrote it off as a favor to a friend. However, he began to develop a crush on his patient, which is strictly forbidden by the Hippocratic Oath, which all doctors take when they are licensed. One night, he tried to move in on his crush, with some simple words.

“Christy, I have to tell you something,” he started.

“What is it Mike?”

“I…er…think I have a crush on you.”

This totally shocked Christy, who merely thought of Mike as her best friend and doctor.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Mike, but this patient-doctor relationship is as far as we need to get, okay?” Mike was infuriated, but didn’t let it show.

“That’s fine, if that’s how you feel, I just felt the need to tell you, okay? Now onto our YSR for the evening.

<SNAP> Suddenly, Christy was awake. She was aware of everything that went on around her, seeing Mike sitting on her couch with a sly grin made her worried a little bit, but she was okay. As Christy decided to stand up she looked at Mike and spoke to him. She meant to say, ‘You want some breakfast, Mike?’, but it came out as, "Ooosu bekfass daddy?” She immediately slapped her hands to her mouth as she not only couldn’t form the words correctly, but heard the babyishness of her voice. She went to stand up immediately, not likeing the sound of her voice or her incapability to talk, and immediately fell back down with a padded <THUD>. She tried again, this time clumsily putting her hands in front of her and raising her butt in the air t gain balance. All of this was involuntary, as if her mind was forcing her body to do it before she could react. She was able to get upright, only to fall back down with another <THUD>. She noticed that she was sitting a few inched higher than usual and that something was different about her clothing. Christy looked down at her waist and saw…diapers! She was wearing what felt like two thick disposable diapers and a white t-shirt that barely covered her top.

“So, how’s my baby doing this morning?” Mike asked as he got up and moved over to her.

“You talked to me like I was some kind of baby, so I figured you would get a kick out of being one for a while. Maybe you should learn not to be so rude to people…baby. At this, Christy wanted to cry, but she fought the urge and, although her face scrunched up involuntarily, she prevented herself from crying.

"Now, let’s get up, shall we?” Mike said as he bent over to help Christy up. She wobbled as she stood there, simply being held up by Mike’s single hand held in hers. She was dependant on him at this point even to stand.

“Can you stand up while I go get you some food?” He mockingly asked. Christy lazily nodded her head, and Mike left. Almost the instant that he let go and was out of her sight, again, she wanted to cry uncontrollably, but again she fought it. Again this uncontrollable urge to cry came over her, but she fought it, only to fall down on her padded behind again. Mike returned with a bottle of “formula” that he had specially mixed, just for her. As Christy thirstily drank it down, she realized that she had been hungry, and that this formula strangely satisfied her hunger. As soon as Mike saw that she had finished her bottle, he led her by the hand into her guest room, which only had a tv in it. Aside from the tv, the room was bare.

Christy tried her best, once Mike left, to stand up so she could leave and find help, but the cartoons that he had turned on grabbed her attention. She was stuck to the tv, her eyes never leaving the screen. About thirty minutes later, she felt the urge to pee. She struggled with the words, but was finally able to call out, “Daddy!” and Mike came into the room.

“Me need potty!” she blurted out, holding her legs together while squirming. All of a sudden, as soon as she finished saying ‘potty’, she felt her bladder give way and herself flood her diapers. The warm urine flushed its way around the back of her diapers and, since she was sitting down, gushed towards the front. Christy tried her hardest to clench her bladder shut, but her muscles wouldn’t work. They simply wouldn’t work. Mike smiled and left. It didn’t take long, but minutes later, about 45 to be exact, Christy felt her bowels begin to rumble. 'Oh no’ she thought, 'I am not honestly gonna shit on myself, am I?’. She tried to work herself up frantically, feeling the pressure on her bowels increase with each passing second. She worked herself up to her feet by pushing her thickly diapered butt out in the air and pushing down with her hands. As she got to her feet, she began to wobble-step towards the door, all the while, her bowels were screaming to be released. Suddenly, one of her pigeon-toed steps caught the other foot, and she fell backwards again onto her butt. All of a sudden, her bowels gave way, expelling the last two days worth of adult food, and the formula that she had eaten earlier. It felt like five minutes, but for the entirety of that five minutes, Christy filled her diapers to the point of bursting.

21 Days Later - Daily Diapers Stories

[londonfoginacup]

Just want to say, once again, the BIGGEST fucking thank you to the people who were kind enough to donate to my cat’s emergency vet visit this last weekend. You guys are beyond BEYOND kind and you don’t even know the weight it took off of my soul to know that I still had the money to take him in for… the third visit… on Tuesday…

ANYWAY. Artistic recreation of my baby “hiding” from the vet

His current diagnosis (drumroll please) iiiiiis… IBS. My fucking cat has IBS. Which I really should’ve expected because his sister has gastritis.

SO ANYWAY. Fitz now has FOUR medicines he’s getting twice a day for the next month (anti nausea, probiotic, antibiotic, steroid), and then a life of steroids but that’s FINE. Because he is DOING WELL (cross your FUCKING FINGERS) and HAPPY AND YELLING AT ME TO GET FED AGAIN AND THAT’S ALL I CARE ABOUT.

Picture of his confident strut around the vet’s office before the vet actually came in:

So. Fucking thank you THANK YOU. I cannot thank you guys enough. And for everyone who just wished him well. Seriously I don’t deserve yall.

So here’s a Louis for u, as my very small gift of appreciation:

[bomberqueen17]

*vibrating slightly in place*

So ok. When I was in kindergarten, my classroom was arranged so that four desks were linked together, so we were in little groups. I used to regularly vibrate my desk and the three it was attached to, with three other children in them, across several feet of floor space, until the linked desks ran into the teacher's desk, which was larger and did not move with the force of my vibrations. I was a good student, but hard to control, and markedly uneven in my ability to like. Do anything. "Well," my mom said once, upon beholding my entire spectrum of a report card, "we'd just hate to be bored."

When I graduated with my bachelor's degree, seventeen years later, my mom said "I never thought you could do it," and when I, shocked, said "what?" she said "well what with your ADHD and all," and I said "my what?" and she said "well, i never wanted to shake your confidence, and I thought once they put a label on you it'd be over, but you super have like, turbo ADHD. Why, what do you think your deal is?" She said it nicely and not in those words at all, but it was the first time I'd ever really realized that I wasn't just mildly eccentric, I did seem to actually have something wrong with me.

I've been trying to get a diagnosis ever since. I've never been able to. I had no health insurance at all for a huge chunk of my twenties, which put a damper on things. One doctor told me "you'd know if you had that" and when I was like "I... do" she was like "no i mean. you'd already be being treated." Which shows a wild and totally unwarranted optimism in our medical system, but she was a resident. The doctor overseeing her care of me suggested I try taking fish oil capsules. To "rebuild my brain tissue".

I did. It didn't help. I still buy them but mostly I use them now to get my cat to take pills.

Eventually in my 30s my doctors started sort of believing me maybe, or at least realizing they couldn't really brush me off (I have gotten... less easily-cowed as I've aged) but they were all like "oh, I can't evaluate that. You'll have to research and find a place that can do a neuropsych eval for you. Insurance doesn't cover those. So good luck. Have some antidepressants in the meantime."

I slid into my 40s, still undiagnosed. I read as many self-help books on the topic as I could find, did all the checklists I found. They all said "girl you super have like turbo ADHD." I tried meditation. I tried divination. I tried bullet journaling, which was hilarious. I tried yoga.

I actually damaged myself doing yoga and am banned from yoga, but at least I'm in physical therapy now. (Word to the wise: if you have really really flexible hip joints, don't fucking do yoga. "Usually I don't have to tell people not to get into that position," said my bemused physical therapist. "Oh," I said, blissfully bepretzeled. "It feels super good." "Mm," she said, "you've torn your labrum. Stop doing that." Now I do really, really boring stretches that don't feel nearly as good, but I also can walk without limping, so. Like. We take the good with the bad I guess.)

Anyway. My PCP in January was like "wait you didn't follow my super vague directions to go see 'the guys downstairs' and see if they can squeeze you into their eleven-month waiting period to get an evaluation that i cannot mention without saying it's several thousand dollars and your insurance surely won't cover it? you must not want this diagnosis very badly!" (At no point has anyone ever given me a phone number for 'the guys downstairs'. I still don't know what she meant by any of those directions. This PCP and I technically speak the same language but I've never understood a single thing she has told me and I don't think she understands a word I say in return, everything I tell her seems to be such a shock to her. You blame antidepressants for your weight gain? I've never heard of that. Ma'am please look up what the incredibly common side effects of antidepressants are.)

I called around but noplace both took my insurance and was accepting new patients. Finally I gave up. Then my Dude went on our insurance company's website and took over the search. He found that there's some kind of concierge service thing, which the insurance company normally charges $450/mo for but our plan includes it, because it's pretty well-hidden on the website and most people aren't ever going to find it anyway. So he said, you know what, I am going to instigate a query on this.

They took two weeks but eventually came back with a list of 13 places, most of them not remotely local. Ten of them were red X's, disqualified for varying reasons-- one because the phone number didn't work, another because it's a seven-hour drive away and doesn't do telehealth. One was in New Jersey. None of them were the local places I had already called.

Two of them were valid, but the insurance wouldn't cover the evaluation for various reasons.

One of them was fully covered, the insurance company said. So I went there.

Their website said "no you're not we can't see you". But Dude was like, call them on the phone. Surely, surely, the concierge service couldn't have lied??? Bet, I said, and called them and left a message, and said to him, if they call me back I will eat a hat.

But they did. They called me back. "Our insurance checker widget is down," they said. "But we do take your insurance! We can see you. We just don't know how much it will cost."

Ominous.

But. They could see me later in the week, via a telehealth appointment.

So I signed up.

The appointment was this morning. I turned up. Their insurance checker thingy still wasn't working so they couldn't be sure how much the appointment would cost me. I at this point don't care, and gave them my HSA credit card, and said do what you will.

I waited 45 minutes and then texted the number they'd texted me from with the confirmation, and a moment later the guy showed up. "Whoops," he said, "that system isn't working quite right either!"

He talked to me for like. Three minutes, and was like "yeah that sounds. Pretty textbook. I'm going to prescribe you stimulants." He then proceeded to take a very basic medical history, and I recognized all the questions because I have researched stimulant medication for ADHD so much. And he was like "We're going to start with Adderall, check at your pharmacy in like an hour." And then he gave me extremely useful and detailed instructions on how to take it, when to take it, what side effects to worry about, what to expect, what to note down in case it might mean a problem, and how to be safe about it. (He asked me three times if I'd ever been suicidal, and it had also been in the online pre-screening. I am aware that can be a rare but very serious side effect of stimulants!)

And then I went to Rite-Aid and I now have 16 pills in my possession, and i am going to wait until tomorrow morning to start taking them, and I am already scheduled for my follow-up in 15 days.

I have absolutely no idea how much any of that is going to cost, but for the record the pills were eleven dollars.

So. I don't know why the last decade of my life has been spent being told that a comprehensive and unattainably expensive neuropsychological evaluation was my only option. Maybe this place is a disreputable pill mill or whatever. But. I am going to get to try to medicate this disorder that has warped my entire life to this point, and I am going to try to see if I can't have some more control over my life, and if it doesn't work then at least I will know, instead of on my deathbed being like "i wonder if i'd ever tried amphetamines maybe I'd have been able to finish a project ever in my life, guess we'll never know".

Which was what I was starting to genuinely think was going to happen.

Literally though why can't a primary care doctor just refer you to a psychiatrist who can then decide whether you need an assessment or whether your condition is likely to respond well to a basic diagnosis?? I get needing the whole nine yards if you're not sure what's wrong with this kid and you don't want to give them the wrong thing-- like I know misdiagnosing a bipolar sufferer with depression can give you really bad outcomes, for example-- but-- I don't know? I don't know.

I just want to be able to start and finish projects. What I'd really love is to be able to make to-do lists meaningfully, as that is an ability I did used to have and now absolutely don't. I legit cannot make a to-do list in any meaningful or useful way.

So we'll see. I'm going to keep a journal and the real test of whether the pills work is to see whether I can actually keep the journal.

But I need to find some kind of edible hat, at some point, just to keep my word.

[inkmage13]

Happy disability pride month.

My posts have negative reach, but for anyone who is struggling with their medical conditions or still seeking diagnoses: it gets better.

This week I was asked to rate my pain on their stupid 1-10 scale and I said 3. Years ago when I was in pain with no diagnosis or treatment, I had said 8.

It took me four years of constant pain to get diagnosis and treatment for my chronic pain condition. It took my whole life to be diagnosed with HSD. After 10 years of abdominal pain, I am finally having surgery this month.

Even though it takes way too fucking long, you will get a diagnosis and treatment. Someday your pain will be lessened and you will get that medication or that surgery that will change your life.

It will get better. Don't give up hope.

[roseharpermaxwell]

RWRB FirstPrince Roommates & Neighbors Recs - Part One

All the oblivious pining, cuddly bedsharing and forehead kisses your heart can handle. Click below for my faves!

thigh'm in love with you by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries. E, 1.8k. Henry has a date.

Alex knows, because for the last four months, his roommate’s choice in soundtrack as he primped and preened before a date has been extremely consistent, and there’s no way Good as Hell, All About That Bass, and Dancing Queen playing consecutively is a coincidence tonight.

too worried to be sleeping by viciouslyqueer. G, 2.7k. Just as he’s getting ready for bed, Alex hears something in the apartment next to his – it sounds like glass shattering on the floor. Then, the voice of a man, choked up, like he’s been crying.

and i don’t get much sleep most nights (i’m seeing you in every dream) by @autiespring. T, 2.9k. “Alex Claremont-Diaz can’t sleep.

He sighs heavily and clambers out of his bed, shoving his feet into his slippers and opening the door to his bedroom.

The thing is, insomnia isn’t new. He’s been like this all his life.

The ADHD diagnosis is newer.”

two nights where alex and henry can’t sleep and one where they can (a love letter to neurodivergence)

all's well that ends well to end up with you by karish. T, 3k. “Fuck, thank you, you’re a lifesaver, Hen,” he says as he closes the small distance between them and places a faint kiss on Henry’s lips.

His lips are soft and Alex melts into it for a second before pulling away. He bumps their noses together for good measure before stepping back and grabbing his bag from the chair. When he turns back to look at Henry, he’s still standing still, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Alex can even see a dark flush starting to spread over his face. It looks cute. Alex wishes he could–

Oh.

Oh shit.

Fucking goddamn shit.

He just kissed Henry. Fuck.

So, Kiss Me by onesmoluke. M, 3k. Just a wholesome getting together fic

Alex is a poli-sci major and he's been in love with his roommate Henry for years. Things finally come to a head when Henry makes a slightly ridiculous request.

From the prompt: "Could you kiss me? I need it for writing purposes."

the conclusion literally any normal human being would come to. by @chaa-kiao. M, 3.2k. My [21M] flatmate [20M] gives me forehead kisses when he thinks I'm asleep. How do I ask him to do it when I'm awake, too?

Henry and Alex are roommates quarantined together. Henry takes to Reddit when Alex's behavior gets too confusing for him to sort out on his own. Surely this will have zero impact on their completely platonic relationship, right? 

kiss me like you've got nowhere to be by @anincompletelist. M, 3.2k. In the three years they’ve lived together, he thinks it’s safe to say that he and Alex have gotten… close. The kind of close that other people like to point out sometimes when they’re in public, and not just their overinvolved older sisters and overly suggestive friends. A few of Alex’s colleagues have made comments when Henry shows up at the holiday parties or after a stressful work day to make sure Alex is eating and staying hydrated, just the same as Henry’s clients each know little bits of odd Alex-facts that he lets slip sometimes in his sessions.

Regardless, it’s all terribly domestic, and the twinge of satisfaction Henry gets when Alex’s dates don’t go well is most definitely not appropriate, even if they are kind of in a weird, probably mostly platonic, very codependent relationship. If he’s not careful, Henry’s going to get himself so, so hurt one of these days.

Mambo de la luna by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 3.4k. Fuck. God, this is so bad. It would be so much better if he just wanted Henry for the way he moves his hips and the fact that he has the flexibility of a double-jointed yoga instructor, but instead he just wants to… hold him??? Sure, fucking him would be a nice bonus, but the one thing he wants more than anything else is to be following Henry into that room and curling around him before they fall asleep.

Henry is a stripper, Alex is his roommate. The stripping part isn't the problem.

sacred new beginnings by Standinginmoonlight. NR, 3.4k. Alex Claremont-Diaz doesn’t get sick.

Or: Alex Claremont-Diaz gets sick and Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor looks after him.

only bought this dress (so you could take it off) by @coffeecatsme. E, 3.8k. “Take off your pants, show me your dick, and you’ll see. I’ll pleasantly admire it from afar, I can even offer a few compliments about the size if you want a boost to your ego—”

“I don’t need—”

“But,” Alex presses before Henry can continue, “I’m not going to touch you because, as I made it incredibly clear, I’m not gay. So.” He waves his hands in a gesture that he hopes conveys, go on. “Take off your pants.”

Or, Alex realizes some things about himself. Henry helps.

every constellation hiding in the sky of your body by coffeecatsme. T, 3.9k. He's straight. Alex is pretty sure he’s straight. Yet sometimes he catches Henry move around the room with just a towel wrapped around his waist, he glances over to find waves of blond fallen over his forehead, he meets those blue eyes and the shy smile Henry only saves for Alex and wonders.

Or, the one in which Alex is drunk and has a lot less impulse control when it comes to Henry.

In my dreams (In your dreams) by @lizzie-bennetdarcy. E, 3.9k. He opens his mouth to tell Alex it's fine, they can stay, when Alex shakes his head. "The room is spinning. That's not fun. Alright, sweetheart, let's go home." He jumps up from the stool, and immediately lists sideways into Henry. "What will it take to get you to carry me home?"

"More than you're prepared to give, I'm afraid." Kiss me, marry me, have my children, please.

Alex is very drunk, and very affectionate, and it's becoming increasingly difficult for Henry to pretend like he isn't completely in love with him.

Play Me a Song by @three-drink-amy. G, 4.1k. Every night, like clockwork, Alex's upstairs neighbor plays the piano for two hours, giving Alex the motivation to sit and do his own work so that he can listen. One night, he leaves a letter for his neighbor to thank him for the music. When his neighbor comes to his door to thank him for the note, he finds it's the same cute guy he's been running into in the lobby.

blackout by rizcriz. T, 4.3k. When the power goes out, Alex and Henry are sitting in their living room watching the latest fantasy show to hit Netflix. Alex has his feet in Henry’s lap, and his head pressed up against the side of the couch. One of Henry’s hands is burning a hole through the thin spread of Alex’s pajama pants where it’s resting on his shin. Everything goes out like a flash of lightning, but it takes a moment for it to really register that they’re left lying in the dark.

When it does, Alex sits up, the backs of his calves pressing into the firm weight of Henry’s thighs. He tries not to think about that, though, even as Henry’s hand tightens around his calf. The moon’s shining through the window, so it’s not like they’re blanketed in total darkness, but when Alex looks at Henry, and Henry looks at Alex, the shadows drifting over his face, it feels as if all the light has been sucked out of the world entirely.

Or, Alex and Henry have a conversation by candlelight.

your name has echoed through my mind (i just think you should know) by vibrantsaturn. T, 4.6k. Still in a frenzy, Alex grabs the thermos. Says, "thank you, baby. Fuck, I love you." He raises himself on his tip toes and presses a quick kiss on Henry's lips with a hand on the back of his neck and bolts with Pez in tow. Just before the door closes, he sees Henry standing there stunned, his fingers on his lips.

They take a few steps until Alex just. Stops. "Pez, did I just-"

"Tell Henry you love him? Kiss Henry without realising what you were doing? Yes," Pez says in a daze and Alex curses. Fuck, how is he going to face Henry now?

Alex realises he's in love with Henry after playing Fuck, Marry, Kill and he does not know how to deal with it.

It Was Never Home Until You Were There by earth_to_alex16. T, 5.1k. Henry and Alex are roommates that share a bed - Henry during the day and Alex at night.

How can a connection form when they've never met?

Or, The Flatshare AU that no one asked for.

Always Where I Need To Be by @cha-melodius. T, 5.4k. Alex doesn’t even know how he does it most of the time. He’ll take his glasses off for five minutes while he’s working to rest his eyes, and somehow David will snag them off the coffee table and run off with them. He doesn’t chew them, thank god, but the slobber is bad enough. Plus, there’s the fact that Alex has to go on a search to find whatever random place he’s managed to hide them.

Except… the places the glasses end up don’t seem to be exactly random.

(Alex's new roommate has a puppy with a penchant for theft—and, seemingly, strong opinions on where Alex needs to be.)

No Sense or Sensibility by @inexplicablymine. T, 5.5k. “When and where was your first kiss.”

Oh shit.

The thing is… Alex actually has an answer to this one, it’s just a matter of admitting that it happened.

Kennedy’s. 7pm, Pub Quiz and Ice Cream. Every Monday ‘til death due us part. Alex liked his little routine, until Derryl got it in his head to host The goddamn Newlywed Game instead.

Not So Silent Night by @inexplicablymine. T, 6.1k. Sure, Alex can admit in the deepest recesses of his mind, at two in the morning, when the Liszt is playing forlornly like some kind of bugle call for grief, that whoever the fuck lives next to him is on another level with the keys.

Or

Alex has no idea who his piano playing neighbor is, but Alex knows one thing for certain… This means war.

Don’t Wanna Be A Fool For You by @myheartalivewrites. E, 6.2k. Henry had always known it would come to this, in the end. That his ridiculous, unrequited, life-destroying love for Alex would always break his heart. He’d chosen to indulge it, because, if he’s being honest with himself, pulling away from Alex at any stage in their friendship would have broken him. He could have brought it forward or put if off, but the end result had always been inevitable. So he’d chosen to delay it, for as long as possible.

But he’s always had an extraction plan in place for when it became too hard. A fake family emergency. Some last minute thing calling him to England, the details unimportant. A quickly packed suitcase and a note stuck to the fridge. He has a credit card and his passport lives in the top drawer of his bedside table, where he can get to it easily. He has an open invitation to stay at Pez’s place, or Bea’s.

Henry had always known the day would come.

Henry and Alex are roommates, Henry is in love and Alex is oblivious. And then, ONE DAY…

Dreams that Keep Me Up in the Dead of Night by earth_to_alex16. T, 6.3k. Alex gets a little too honest when he's tired.

Oxford Days by myheartalive. E, 6.3k. "Alex’s new roommate is kind of a slut.

No. Strike that. Not kind of. Definitely. Definitely a slut."

An ode to slutty Henry.

Hide and Sneak by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.7k. Henry shouldn't be here; 'here' meaning the flat he shares with his friend and unrequited crush, Alex, who is irreversibly straight and likes to walk around in his boxers like some kind of sexy torture device.

Alex, unlike Henry, is meant to be here, and here is where he is.

On their sofa in the living room.

Jerking off.

Can be summed up by the line, "If we don't touch each other, it's probably not gay."

It's a (Birth)date by Celaestis. T, 6.9k. 5 times Henry is oblivious that they're dating and 1 time he isn't.

like coming home by Standinginmoonlight. M, 7.3k. Although he doesn’t know it yet, Alex is screwed from the second Henry signs off his email with ‘best wishes’ like a Dickens character.

Or: the one where Alex Claremont-Diaz has been in love with Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor all along.

craigslist cutie (please don't go) by matherine. M, 7.7k. Here’s the thing. Alex is simultaneously very, very smart and very, very stupid. Nora calls it the Claremont-Diaz Paradox, and every time she does, June sticks out her tongue like she’s about twelve years old, and then Nora makes a comment about what she would rather June be doing with her tongue, and – okay. Off track. Not relevant to Alex’s current predicament, which is perhaps the most damning example of the Claremont-Diaz Paradox. Alex got himself into NYU Law with flying colors and LSAT scores in the 99th percentile, worked his ass off for three years, and graduated with honors and a crippling caffeine addiction. And then, because he is an idiot, he decided to take his JD, his potential, and his mountain of student loans to his brand-new job as a public defender.

Unfortunately, being a public defender pays about as much as working at a Hot Topic. Which means that Alex really needs a roommate. Like, pronto. STAT. ASAP. He’s not sure who’s desperate enough to move into the other room in his beautiful, probably-not-bedbug-infested 700 square feet of Hell’s Kitchen, but he really fucking needs to find somebody.

Craigslist is a last resort, but it does bring him Henry. 

am i homophobic? (URGENT) (PLEASE HELP) by holdinggrudges. E, 7.9k. Now, it might be pretty early in the morning and Alex’s brain functions might not be working as quickly as they normally do, but he can still put two and two together. There's a strange man in their kitchen. Henry is shirtless, rumpled, and holding two pairs of boxers. Henry and this Sam guy slept together. Which… obviously is fine because Alex is not an asshole, but he’s definitely feeling something about this development that he will examine at a later date. But of course, instead of saying something normal, you know, like a normal person would, he says, “Ohh.” Like a fucking weirdo.

or: the "am i homophobic?" roommate au that no one asked for

The Kids Are Alright by earth_to_alex16. T, 8.3k. Renovations at the LGBTQ shelter bring Henry's work into his flat with his roommate Alex.

Henry is good at his job and deeply in love with Alex.

Can he multitask?

like I do by @smc-27. E, 8.5k. They live together and work together and Henry cannot go more than a few hours without seeing Alex, and it should be a problem but it isn’t. Henry likes Alex, and when he puts it like that, he hears the part of his brain responsible for his rooting in reality begin to laugh. Hard. Like is certainly not the thing Henry feels. He’s ignoring it.

(He’s failing, but there’s an attempt.)

Obliviously Devoted by @uglygreenjacket. T, 9.3k. She looks at him in the way only June can. She's the only one he'll allow it from without a fight. "I don't know if you're ready to have this conversation or not."

His fork clatters to the plate in front of him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

June sighs a sigh of long-suffering and pinches the bridge of her nose, before she looks him dead in the eye and sets his world upside down. "You know you and Henry are dating, right?"

Alex gapes at her. Mouth hung open, eyes blown wide. "W-what?"

"I say this with all the love in the world," she says. "But sometimes, I swear, you are the most oblivious idiot on the face of the planet."

Am I the Asshole? By @everwitch-magiks. E, 9.5k. AITA for spending Valentine’s Day with my roommate instead of my boyfriend?

It’s well past midnight on a Saturday and hardly the first time Alex has scrolled aimlessly on his phone instead of trying to sleep, but it’s definitely the first goddamn time Alex has discovered his roommate has made a lengthy post about last night’s curry debacle to r/AmItheAsshole — a post that’s apparently gone fucking viral.

In which Alex and Henry are college roommates, and a few thousand strangers think they should fuck.

Baby, it's Cold Inside by Celaestis. E, 9.8k. When winter officially arrives on November seventh, it’s with a bang. Actually, the bang is due to the building’s ancient heating system failing in spectacular fashion. It coincides nicely with a cold front moving down from Nova Scotia which means New Yorkers of all stripes are suddenly getting their winter coats and hats out earlier than anticipated. It’s not usually a problem. But then their building usually has heat.

red lights (they burn us out like kerosene) by vibrantsaturn. T, 10k. "We could go anywhere," Alex says and he's not sure why he's whispering. All he knows is that this moment is going to monumental in their lives.

"Anywhere?" Henry asks, his voice low, and there's a trace of wonder in his voice.

"Anywhere," Alex confirms, a soft smile on his face. 

or,

3 times when Alex takes Henry on a drive to get him out of his head over the years, and the one time Henry does.

It's Getting Hot in Here (So Hot!) by Celaestis. E, 10k. Henry’s firm and unwavering belief in Alex’s hetrosexuality does wonders for their relationship. He can coexist with Alex in the same lobby for entire half-minutes at a time while checking for post, he can make solid eye contact during glances in the hallway. Alex is still the most beautiful man he’s ever beheld, and maybe Henry’s hook-ups are tending towards the Latino types more than they ever did in the UK, but still. Alex is straight. Henry is fine about it. Really.

you turned a moment (into forever) by viciouslyqueer. M, 10k. Sharing an apartment with Alex had seemed like a good idea at first. They’re best friends, prices in Brooklyn are absurd, and they had both been in urgent need of residence – it only made sense.

Except for the small, tiny, teeny, barely there fact that Henry has been in love with Alex from the first moment he laid eyes on him. And the fact that Alex doesn’t know, and can never find out.

Or, as coffeecatsme so eloquently put it: Roommates AU where Alex has insomnia and slips into Henry’s bed every night because it’s the only way he gets a good night’s sleep.

How to say 'no' to Alex Claremont Diaz (is a book Henry definitely could not write) by TwinMoonSun842. T, 10k. What do you do when you are very gay and your best friend/roommate/secret crush Alex Claremont Diaz asks you to help him out by letting him put a few hickeys on your neck? What happens when you like that a little too much? How do you go back to denying that you're pining for him when know what his lips feel like on your skin?

These are questions Henry would very much like the answer to.

take me out, and take me home by weather_stained. T, 11k. They’ve only been living together for two months, since Alex moved to the city for law school. Henry's Brooklyn apartment was a short commute to NYU, and the price was unbeatable, so he agreed to move in without even meeting the man in person. He was nervous, at first, to share close quarters with a stranger, but it’s worked out shockingly well; Henry is kind and considerate, and they mostly leave each other alone.

He’s also quite obviously gorgeous, and Alex doesn’t know why there isn’t a string of men coming and going from Henry’s room at all times, or perhaps one steady man. Inexplicably, Henry seems to have been single since Alex moved in in August. 

AKA:

5 times Alex doesn't realize Henry's in love with him, and 1 time he gets a clue.

Lay Me Down in Sheets of Linen by He_is_half_my_soul. E, 14k. Alex may hate Henry's guts but when he gets thrown out of his apartment in the middle of fucking winter and with no warning at all he offers to room with him until he finds another place to stay. He is not a total monster.

Pour Your (He)art Out by @athousandrooms. E, 17k. Sometimes, after particularly rough nights, Henry will switch his first Earl Grey of the day for a latte. Alex learns this a month into knowing him. That’s not the only shock of the discovery, though.

“Oh my god, how are you real? Who does casual latte art for themselves on a weekday? Before you had coffee?”

Apparently Henry used to be a barista. Alex pokes at him, tells him it looks easy.

Henry raises his eyebrows, mouth curved at the corners like it’s guarding a looming laugh. “Would you like to try?”

A challenge. Alex loves those.

Or, five times Alex makes questionable latte art for Henry, and one time they make it right together.

just a figure of speech by @congee4lunch. E, 17k. henry, an omega, hasn’t had good sex in a long time. as his alpha roommate and friend, alex can help with that. in a totally platonic bro way, of course.

Five-Drink Henry by @whimsymanaged. E, 18k. Henry’s mouth opens then closes. He can feel a flush creeping over his cheeks, but he does his best to ignore it and hopes Alex will too. “Oh. Hello. Sorry, I’m—hi. Thanks for inviting me.”

Alex’s smile only grows, and he steps back to let Henry in. “You’re the first one here. Lucky me. Come on, I’m getting some margaritas going.”

Or, Henry’s new neighbour is a party-throwing, margarita-making menace, and Henry’s helpless against his charms.

What If (We Were Roommates) by Krissielee. M, 35k. "HOUSE/PET SITTER WANTED"

Alex never expected this when he replied to that ad.

(Alternative summary: Oh my GOD they were roommates)

Speak for Yourself by @welcometololaland. E, 106k. Alex could have walked out of the Williamsburg apartment at any time. Instead, he decides to sign up to twelve months of Henry.

OR

Alex makes a rash decision and Henry inexplicably runs with it.

(The "accidental housemates" AU that literally no-one asked for).

(Art by @stardisnight - chapters 7 and 12)

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

RWRB FirstPrince Roommates & Neighbors Recs - Part Two

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

[the-swift-tricker]

well i actually went to the hospital earlier this week after dealing with chronic diarrhea and acute dizziness for the past couple of months and i ended up staying there for two and a half days! turns out i was borderline dangerously low on blood and had to have four blood transfusions! the reason being is there was microscopic bleeding coming through the diarrhea that i didn't know about! anyways after a chest x-ray, a ct scan, multiple tests, and a colonoscopy, i got diagnosed with ulcerative colitis! and while you'd think that would be something to get overwhelmed and feel downtrodden about, i just can't get over the elation of finally getting a diagnosis! cause it turns out that it's also probably the source of the inflammation that's been causing my chronic pain! not what i was expecting to come out of all this but i'm so fucking happy it's unreal

[happyk44]

hermes is on vacation so nico gets some mortal substitute familiar with demigods and the greek pantheon as his doctor and when he calls him up for a visit, dude's like "well hermes didn't really tell me what was up with you because. you know. doctor/patient confidentiality. but he did tell me that if my gut instinct is "you're too young to have that" i should remember that you are apparently over a hundred years old, and if i don't believe that, i should remember he looks like a 25 year old twink but is old enough that he can describe my great grandfather's penis to me in detail. so! what's up with you"

and nico just pulls out this binder from his backpack, slaps it onto the desk and opens it up. the first page is a print out from a powerpoint presentation, the title reading "What Is Wrong With Nico", a subtitle of "aka the old man bones are old man boning", with a smaller subtitle several spaces below reading "current as of: right the fuck now"

the next page is four tables under the title "Ways He Is Broken". the tables depict:

his current diagnosis and the date of diagnosis

his current medications, the amount, and to what problem they correspond

things he's already been tested for that didn't pan out and why he was tested for them

previous medications he was on, the amount and why he was taking them (also includes current meds where the amount was changed)

the next page is titled "How The Fuck Is He Not Dead" and then a bullet pointed list summarizing all his traumas and other minor shit he's been through that has been attached as the cause(s) behind his issues, so like sandwiched between "nearly suffocated to death while trapped in a jar" and "had to shadowtravel across the atlantic ocean with a giant statue and two other people (prior limit was myself going from new york to illinois)" there's a point stating "fell over on the crows nest of a flying boat and dislocated my wrist". next to each bullet point there are coloured dots going to the left. some bullet points only have one, some have two - they are all colour coded to correspond to the ailment(s) in which they apply.

the next page is called "What Is He Up To These Days" and it's just a long list detailing all his diagnosed symptoms - again little circles beside each point to colour code to the corresponding ailment. the column next to it is labelled "new symptoms" and consists of three bullet points: getting dizzy when i stand up, started two months ago once a week, now every time i stand; migraines are back, made me cry in the shower last night, need new meds probably; and, got hit in the rib by a hydra's tail last month, reset my rib myself and eating ambrosia squares, but still hurts really bad, don't think it's healing right

the next page is "What Could Kill Him So Don't Use It*" and it's just a few columns labelled "pet allergies" "food allergies" "drug allergies" "magic allergies" "other allergies" and the only one that has something included is food allergies and it's just the bullet point "garlic intolerant but he's fucking italian so he doesn't care". in the footnotes at the bottom of that page is the asterix relating back to the title saying "Don't fucking give him cigarettes. he is an idiot and he will ask but they do not work and they never worked and he refuses to listen to me when i tell him this. DO NOT LET HIM HAVE CIGARETTES"

it is very clear this page was filled out by Hermes himself

his interim mortal doctor reads carefully each page, glancing once at nico when he gets to Hermes' footnote, before closing the binder. "you're how old?"

"technically 17, chronologically one hundred and something, i dunno i can't do math and i don't remember what my dad put on my cake this year"

"Right. okay." the mortal doctor presses his hands together and to his lips watching nico carefully then lowering his hands to smooth across the desk "have you ever thought about maybe just sitting on a couch and never leaving your house again"

"yeah, i tried that but i get restless, and also i like helping people if they need it and they ask. hermes tells me i should be more selfish then locks me to a chair, but he's also the one who taught me how to pick locks so i can get out pretty easily. honestly don't know why he keeps trying. even if i didn't know how to pick the lock, i'm pretty good at dislocating my joints on purpose too so i can always just get out that way."

the increasingly stressed out doctor just hums quietly. then, "okay! first i'm going to check your rib, and then we're gonna talk about you getting a 24 hour caregiver because you clearly do not understand limits and need someone who does"

[spinef0ryou]

An interview with Dave Mustaine from this month’s Metal Hammer magazine. Transcript under the cut.

THE REVENGE OF DAVE MUSTAINE

Forty years ago, Megadeth emerged from a maelstrom of drugs, carnage, and raw fury. Now, the man at the centre of it looks back at the birth of one of metal’s most iconic bands.

WORDS: JON WIEDERHORN

It has become one of the most oft-repeated legends of metal history. At 9am on April 11, 1983, Metallica woke up guitarist Dave Mustaine and told him he was out of the band. They were holed up in a divey live-in rehearsal space in Queens, New York, preparing to record their debut album, Kill 'Em All. With hardly an explanation, they handed him a one way bus ticket back to Los Angeles, and James Hetfield drove him to the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Midtown Manhattan. Without a dime in his pockets, Dave boarded the 10am bus, which was scheduled to arrive in LA four days later.

Broke and hungry, he spent much of the ride looking out the window, stewing in rage. His drinking had become a problem with the rest of the band, though the tipping point came when he attacked James Hetfield after the latter allegedly kicked Dave's dog. Still, Metallica were about to head into the studio to record their full-length debut without him, after he had written four songs, seven guitar leads and two sets of lyrics for the album. And that stung like hell.

Sitting on the bus, he glanced at a political postcard he had picked up along the way. It was from California Democratic Senator Alan Cranston, and it read in part: ‘The arsenal of megadeath can't be rid,’ political speak for, ‘now that the U.S. has ramped up its production of nuclear weapons, the genie is officially out of the bottle.'

It was like a bomb exploding inside Dave's head. ‘Megadeth: what a cool name for a band.’ Inspired, he started scribbling new song lyrics on the back of a cupcake napkin. This was the basis of the very first Megadeth song, titled Set The World Afire, which would eventually make its way onto the band's third album, 1988's So Far, So Good...So What!. But on that bus heading across the middle of America, Dave was determined, driven and hungry. Failure simply wasn't an option.

It's 40 years since that fateful bus ride, and Dave Mustaine has lived multiple lives. He's endured drug addiction, countless line-up changes, the death of close friends and his own throat cancer diagnosis (he got the all-clear in 2020). But the one constant throughout has been Megadeth, the entity he imagined into being while staring out at the passing landscape and seething.

"I was driven by revenge" recalls Dave of Megadeth's inception today, speaking to Hammer from his home in Nashville. "I was angry about what happened with Metallica, and all the way home I kept thinking, 'I'll just be faster, I'll be better, and my songs will be heavier."

It didn't take Dave long to get back on his feet once he returned to Los Angeles following his unceremonious dismissal from Metallica. Crashing at friends' houses in Hollywood, he began looking for bandmembers for his new project. Word soon began to spread - the guy who got kicked out of Metallica for being too fucked-up was back. And he was pissed off.

"Somehow everything turned into this thing where we had a band ready called Fallen Angels" says Dave. "I thought, "Uh, no we don't.!' I didn't even have a full band yet."

Trading under the name Megadeth - after the phrase he'd seen on that political postcard - he began trying to piece together a stable line-up, something that proved easier said than done. A churn of guitarists and drummers came and went throughout the rest of 1983 and into 1984, none sticking around permanently.

Some interesting characters passed through their ranks. One drummer, Dijon Carruthers, was the son of Hollywood actor Ben Carruthers (best known for his role in the 1967 war movie The Dirty Dozen). Another drummer, Lee Rausch, claimed he'd sold his soul to Satan, something that even Dave, who had performed occult rituals, found too bizarre (Lee, who died earlier this year, later became a committed Christian). And then there was a young guitarist named Kerry King, who briefly pulled double duty in Megadeth and his own band Slayer.

"When Kerry sat in with us [for five gigs in early 1984), he was doing us a huge favour" Dave says. "He didn't have any plans on being in Megadeth because he loved Slayer, and that was his band. I really didn't want to take him away from another band. Poaching bandmembers has never been something I've been into."

Finding a bassist was easier. Recently transplanted Minnesota native David Ellefson had moved into the apartment below Mustaine, and paid his new neighbour a visit to ask where he could buy cigarettes and beer. The two men got talking, and Mustaine plaved the AC/DC- and Judas Priest-loving Ellefson some of the music he'd written for his new band. The bassist liked it and threw in his lot with the guy living upstairs.

That just left the task of recruiting a singer. Dave didn't see himself as a vocalist, so they tried out a few other people. They either looked wrong (one guy turned up to rehearsal in make-up) or sounded wrong. It didn't help that the music he was writing was faster, angrier and more complex that any mainstream metal of the time. Eventually, someone suggested he do it himself.

"I was reluctant right up to the last minute," he says. "And then I finally said, OK, fuck it, I can't be worse than some of these other dudes."

Even while the line-up was solidifying, Dave kept writing. He was determined not to produce songs that sounded like his old band, which wasn't easy given his input into Metallica's early material.

"When I was in Metallica, I was kind of playing at Lars's level, because Lars was still learning to play drums back then," he says. "But watching James play guitar for the first time was kind of shocking, because I didn't know he knew how to play guitar. We just got fed up one day of auditioning guitar players, just like I did with singers. And he picked up this guitar and started playing, and inside I'm going, 'Get the fuck out of here. How can you possibly be satisfied being a singer when you play like that? Why not be both?' I've always thought he was a really talented guitarist."

The first 'proper' Megadeth line-up began to take shape in mid-1984. "There was a guy, Jay Jones, who managed another band and was a very scandalous person," says Dave. "He came into the rehearsal studio when he heard me in the room playing and said, 'Have I got a drummer for you!"" That drummer was Gar Samuelson, who had formerly been a member of a jazz/ fusion group named The New Yorkers.

Dave agreed to meet Gar in his studio and, right from the start, was impressed by his jazz swing, crushing hits and jarring mannerisms.

"Gar sat down on a couch in Mars Studios, and he was smoking a cigarette," says Dave. "He fell asleep and his cigarette burned through his hand and burned his fingers. I thought, 'Shit, this guy is crazy. wonder what he's into?”

What he was into was heroin, the reason he nodded off mid-cigarette - something Dave himself would find out soon enough. Today, the singer speaks highly of Gar's abilities (the drummer died in 1999, reportedly of liver failure).

"We became great friends, and his jazz style complemented my riffing," says the singer. "I gotta give credit where credit is due. He had a lot to do with the sound of that first Megadeth record. He had taste and technique for days."

Megadeth entered Hollywood's Hitman Studios in 1984 and recorded a three-song demo, Last Rites, which featured Last Rites/ Loved To Deth, The Skull Beneath The Skin and Mechanix, the latter a gas station sex fantasy that Dave had written when he was in his earlier band, Panic, and brought into Metallica (who would subsequently change the lyrics and rename it The Four Horsemen). Desperate for someone to help promote them and bring them dope, Megadeth hired Jay Jones as their manager/ pharmaceutical supplier.

It was Jay who helped find the final piece of the jigsaw. Guitarist Chris Poland had been a member of The New Yorkers with Gar Samuelson, and, more recently, a group named No Questions. Like Gar, he was a jazz guy - and, also like Gar, he was a heroin user. He had little interest in playing metal, but he was interested in a pay cheque to fund his own drug habit. Despite that, Chris and Dave hit it off musically, the spontaneity of the former's playing meshing with the growing complexity of the songs the latter was writing.

Mustaine and Ellefson weren't strangers to drugs, though they initially favoured weed and beer, but they soon gave in to temptation and started dabbling in smack as well. With time, dabbling became binging. For Mustaine, narcotics were a coping mechanism, a temporary respite from hunger and homelessness.

“I liked getting high, but it was more about escape than anything." he says. "If there was a moment we were awake, we were looking for drugs because that's how horrible our existence was. We were scratching and clawing to get someone to take notice of us and thank God, no matter how fucked-up I was, my first priority was making music and playing good shows."

After sending Last Rites to various L.A.-area indie labels, Megadeth caught the attention of New York’s Combat Records, who gave them $8,000 to record their debut album, Killing Is My Business... And Business Is Good! They stumbled into Indigo Ranch Studios in Malibu, plugged in and got by on a combination of ambition and muscle memory. One day, when Dave asked Jay where his bandmates were, his manager told him they had just spent $4,000 (half the budget for the album) on blow, smack and frozen hamburgers. Dave promptly sacked Jay, cajoled another $4,000 from Combat, hired engineer Karat Faye, and paid him $50 a day to finish co-producing the album with him.

“We did the takes quickly, with Dave, Gar and I in one room, playing together, with no click tracks," Ellefson told Metal Hammer in the mid-2010s. "You can hear the tempos shifting around, depending on whether it was a 'heroin take' or a 'cocaine take'. It's funny now, but I wouldn't recommend that approach."

Since three of the songs were from the Last Rites demo, Megadeth only had to finesse another four tracks and a cover of Nancy Sinatra's 1966 hit These Boots Are Made For Walkin'. Once the album was finished, Megadeth hit the road, though the severity of his addiction meant Chris had to sit out the first two weeks of the tour.

"He was a real Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde because of his personal issues," Dave says. "As much as I loved Chris and tried to get close to him, what he was doing just took precedence over anybody and anything. What they say is true. You become powerless over that stuff. So, when you came down to it, I didn't mean anything to Chris, Megadeth didn't mean anything to Chris. All he cared about was what he was doing on the side."

On the road, Megadeth spent many nights crashing at fans' houses, preferably apartments owned by nurturing women turned on by bad boy rockers. They spent other nights in Motel 6s and when nothing else was available they would sleep in the van.

"The shows were out of control because hardly anyone knew what moshing was," Dave says. "They weren't familiar with crowdsurfing. Kids would just jump up on the stage and there was no stagediving protocol. Some of them would run over to you and grab your mic stand to get some picks off. They'd bang into your guitar or try to scream into the mic. Then someone would shove them off the stage. It was pure balls-to-the-wall metal insanity."

The band environment was no more relaxing offstage, especially when Chris and Gar needed to score.

"They'd sell a whole bunch of gear to buy drugs" Dave says. "We'd have to drive around town to all the pawn shops and instrument shops looking for all the drum pieces, or other pieces of equipment."

The situation wasn't helped by the fact that their label didn't seem to care about the band. A particularly demoralising moment came when the band ran out of money and didn't have enough gas to get to the next gig.

"I called up the vice president of Combat and he was a real piece of work" Dave recalls. "I told him I was at the hotel, and I needed gas money to get to the next town so we could get paid. And the guy says, 'Get a day job."

Other, more weak-willed musicians probably would have quit there and then, but not Dave Mustaine. Every obstacle, every element of adversity, provided extra determination not to let getting kicked out of Metallica mark the beginning of his downfall.

Killing Is My Business... And Business Is Good! caught the attention of the thrash scene when it was released in June 1985, not least thanks to their frontman's connection with Metallica. It was a subject was brought up in every interview, usually resulting in shit talking from a still-bitter Dave.

The vengeful drive that had given Megadeth their initial impetus hadn't abated. Dave found time between gigs, fixes and after-show debauchery to write a bunch of new songs on the road to add to the ones he'd been stockpiling since the beginning of the band.

One day Mustaine and Ellefson were at Killing Is My Business... producer Karat Faye's house when the frontman picked up his bandmate's bass and began playing a rolling, strident riff. Ellesfon was blown away. It took them two hours in the rehearsal room to turn it into a song. On the car ride to that rehearsal, Mustaine had turned to the bassist and asked: "What do you think of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?” Megadeth had the name of both their second album and - in the truncated form of Peace Sells - its iconic near-title track.

Lyrically, Peace Sells was a world away from metal's traditional fascination with swords'n'sorcery and the occult, injecting a dose of politics into the Megadeth's melodic thrash attack. What do you mean, "I don't support your system"?" sneered the singer. 'I go to court when I have to.'

"I tried to keep up with what was going on in the world and I still do,” Dave says. "I mean, it's not especially deep or anything. It's kind of like the credo of Al Bundy from the (late 80s/early 90s] TV show Married... With Children if he was a metal fan. That's a silly comparison, but it's what was in my head at the time. And I wrote all the lyrics on the wall of the practice room. When you're writing on a wall there's not much room to come back with an eraser. I don't know if they painted over the wall, but they probably should have excavated it and sent it to some kind of museum.

Despite their tensions with Combat, the label stumped up a budget of $25,000 for Megadeth to enter Malibu's Indigo Ranch studio with producer Randy Burns to record their second album. Even before the album was released, major labels had begun sniffing around the band. One person who was interested was Michael Alago, the A&R hotshot who had recently signed Metallica, but Dave had no interest in being on the same label as his former bandmates-turned-antagonists.

"I didn't want to play second fiddle to them." he says.

In the end, they signed with Capitol, who opted to buy Megadeth out of their contract with Combat and bring in producer Paul Lani to remix it and give it a slicker sound. Along with the deal came a noticeable improvement in the band's financial situation - as Capitol's shiny new thrash metal band, Megadeth received more tour support and bigger royalty cheques than they'd ever got on Combat. But much of the money they were now making went into their expensive pharmaceutical habits. Even though he was deep in his own addiction, Dave knew that providing some sense of leadership was important, now more than ever before.

"I quickly realised that when stuff goes wrong - and it does go wrong - that if you're the leader, you need to take responsibility for shit even when it's not your fault,” he says. “You need to step up and make it right. I look at stuff and say, 'I've got to do whatever I can to make this right. We've come too far for everything to go sideways."

To Dave Mustaine, righting the ship has also meant knowing when it's time to make changes. In June 1987, Megadeth wrapped up the tour in support of Peace Sells... But Who's Buying? with two shows in Honolulu, Hawaii. When the band got back to LA, Gar Samuelson and Chris Poland were jonesing for a fix. According to the frontman, they ended up selling band equipment again to buy more drugs. It was the final straw.

"I was totally fed up," Mustaine says. "I guess it was just one too many times driving around Los Angeles trying to find everybody's band gear. I told Ellefson, 'Well, that's it. I'm breaking up the band and I'm getting rid of those guys. If you want to stay with me that's fine."

David Ellefson did stay, though Chris and Gar were history. They'd eventually be replaced by guitarist Jeff Young and drummer Chuck Behler, whose one-album tenure - they appeared on 1988's chaotic So Far, So Good... So What! - proved to be no less volatile.

Forty years after Dave Mustaine formed Megadeth in the wake of his firing from Metallica, much has changed about both the band and their leader. Today, he's the sole remaining original member and the only one who has played on every album (after leaving and rejoining the band in the 2000s, David Ellison was ousted for a second and seemingly final time in 2021 following an online sex scandal.) The singer himself cleaned up long ago, embracing his Christian faith in the process.

But at the same time, the single-mindedness and stubborn streak that saw him pick himself up post-Metallica and build an entirely new band remains intact. Lesser musicians would have folded a long time ago, but not Dave Mustaine. And it all dates back to those earl vears when he had so much to prove and nothing to lose.

"We went through everything, man, from what happened on the road, to homelessness, to starvation," he says. "The panhandling, the sleeping on people's floors. The destitution the desperation and poverty. We survived it all."

MEGADEATH’S LATEST ALBUM THE SICK THE DYING… AND THE DEAD! IS OUT NOW VIA UMC

Sidebar:

THE SONGS THAT BUILT MEGADETH

The best of Megadeth’s 80s output

Killing Is My Business… And Business Is Good! (1985)

The snarling, sneering, 100mph title track of Megadeth’s debut album and a defiant ‘fuck you' to his ex-bandmates in Metallica.

Mechanix (1985)

Aka the song that begat Metallica's The Four Horsemen. Megadeth’s version is faster, sleazier, and had flames shooting out of its exhaust. 'Made my drive shaft crank/Made my pistons bulge,’ indeed.

Wake Up Dead (1986)

Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?'s opening track is a thrash song like no other, possessed of an oddball arrangement and lyrics that detail an extra-marital affair. The 'Diana' in the lyrics was Mustaine's real-life girlfriend.

Peace Sells (1986)

An iconic 80s thrash song: Dave takes aim at The Man over a massive bassline and ver instant-classic riff. It was purloined as the theme to MTV News, for which Mustaine claims he never got a penny.

Good Mourning/Black Friday (1986)

Begins with a downcast, jazz-adiacent guitar duel before it utilises circuitous riffing and glorious half-step abuse to show just how different Megadeth were to everyone else.

The Conjuring (1986)

Dave once claimed to have buried part of a hex in this occult-inspired rager ako featuring an evil-sounding guitar run, which explains why he stopped playing it for years after re-embracing his Christianity.

My Last Words (1986)

A Favourite of Lars Ulrich, apparently, and it's easy to see why, with its climactic build and fist-pumping gang-vocal climax, the Peace Sells... album closer is a tension-and-release masterstroke

In My Darkest Hour (1988)

So Far, So Good... So What!'s power ballad written in response to his ex-Metallica bandmates failing to tell him about Cliff Burton's death. The disdain at being left to fend for himself is tangible.

Liar (1988)

One of metal's greatest diss songs, aimed at former guitarist Chris Poland. Dave reels off a list of vituperative personal insults at his despised ex-bandmate before reaching an apoplectic climax: 'You... you... you fucking LIAR!'

Hook In Mouth (1988)

The 80s was the PMRC decade, and motormouth Mustaine had something to say about it on this scathing, bass-driven rebuke to the ‘Washington Wives' who were trying to silence metal and hip hop's freedom of speech.

"METALLICA WOULD COME TO OUR SHOWS!"

Ex-Megadeth bassist David Junior' Ellefson looks back on his early days in the band

WHERE DID YOU FIRST MEET DAVE MUSTAINE?

"I'd moved to Hollywood with my friends and Dave had an apartment directly above. We went and knocked on his door to buy cigarettes and he went, 'Down the street' and slammed the door in our faces. We went back later and asked him where to buy beer and he looked us up and down and said, 'All right, now you're speaking my language."

HOW MUCH INPUT DID YOU HAVE IN THE SONGWRITINGEARLY ON?

"Dave wrote the songs that cast the die of whatever Megadeth was going to be, but at the same time those songs were put together in the band room, and when you're in a room together there's a lot of collaboration. There are musical moments that happen that would never have happened with one guy putting, the songs together on his own.”

HOW WAS IT PLAYING WITH SLAYER'S KERRY KING, WHO WAS BRIEFLY IN THE BAND?

"Going to San Francisco with us opened his eyes to what thrash metal was, seeing bands like Exodus. Kerry went back to LA and Slayer took the make-up off and became more the band that we knew them to be."

HOW CHAOTIC WERE THOSE EARLY DAYS?

"Everything in Megadeth was chaotic because we were poor and we were on drugs. Some bands 'party' and to me that's beer and a little weed, hanging out. When you get into heavier drugs like cocaine and especially heroin, that’s not partying. You’re going down a very dark, secluded road.”

YOU AND DAVE WERE HOMELESS FOR A WHILE, RIGHT?

"Oh yeah, we were living in the rehearsal room, living in my van, finding people to take us in to crash at their house. Me and Dave would hock our guitars on any given week. We had these little phone sales jobs so when we got some money together we'd go get our guitars out of hock so we could go to rehearsal that week."

WAS THERE A RIVALRY BETWEEN BANDS IN THE SCENE?

"I'd say there a friendly rivalry. Dave was obviously furious about being let go from Metallica but Lars and the guys would come to some of our shows. For me, the rivalry was never Metallica. i'd listen to them and go, 'Fuck, they're hitting every mark. I know it was hard for Dave because how could it not be to look to the left and see Metallica going straight to the top?'

HOW DO YOU LOOK BACK AT YOUR TIME IN MEGADETH?

"No regrets and 100% pride. I will always be a lifelong champion of that band and legacy because It never would have happened without me - I financed the Killing Is My Business tour on my dad's credit card! I'm very proud of the years I was there. It's a cherished moment in time."

TO HELL AND BACK, THE NEW ALBUM FROM DAVID'S NEW BAND, DIETH, IS OUT NOW VIA NAPALM

[enbycrip]

One of the many fucking things no one takes seriously about ADHD is the absolute fucking torture of losing stuff all the fucking time.

It’s not remotely funny tbh. The amount of fucking money I’ve spent replacing stuff that I never fucking see again.

I have an energy-limiting condition. Searching for things all the time destroys me. My house is a mess because if I can’t see things I forget they exist and I absolutely just DO NOT HAVE THE CAPACITY to repeatedly take rooms to bits to find them when doing that once, especially if it means moving my head up and down repeatedly, which most searching seems to, can easily take me out for the entire day.

Seriously. I manage to get my pup at least one walk of the three she needs a day 4-6 days a week, with my rollator, because her harness and lead, my keys, my knee and ankle supports and my headphones now live on a table by the front door. They do not get moved for ANY reason. Doing this has meant I’ve been consistently able to do this without ending up repeatedly in exhausted tears or literally passing out and coming round on the floor with her standing on my head in a mix of concern and needing to pee for more than four months now.

If you claim ADHD “isn’t a real disability”, you can fuck right off. It’s worse for me because I’m also autistic and have hEDS and POTS, but it still constantly fucks my life up on a regular basis, and fighting for access to medication *despite* a diagnosis is just as fucking difficulty as it is for all my other impairments.

It’s a real disability. You can’t just overcome it by wanting to enough. And coping strategies are like accommodations for every other disability - sometimes very helpful, sometimes borderline helpful for the amount of work they involve, sometimes intensely *unhelpful* for a given person. Even finding helpful ones don’t make the disability itself go away - they just limit the effects in situations they exist.

Out of those situations, or if they are removed, the disability still exists. I see too many people who undo my coping strategies for my ADHD and think I’ll “just manage fine” without them. Same as I see people who think I can “just manage fine” walking without my rollator because they don’t have easy room in the car for it.

If life worked that way, everyone would be able to fly and no one would ever starve to death.