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atenementfunster · 6 years ago

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all the more reason, chapter 2

ao3 link here!

Roger Taylor, dead as a doorknob, and his best friend John Deacon (also dead) meet some blokes who are decidedly NOT. Dead, that is.

(aka that ghost au that no one asked for, featuring Gay Panic™, John’s sass, and Brian being too endearing for this world. the overall vibe of the fic is not sad, if that’s a concern for you!)

It’s not enough.

Roger can’t stop thinking about him. The feel of fingers on his skin like a livewire, ready to ignite any waiting spark. Warm eyes, sloped back, every inch of him delicate, like he’s worried the world around him is a breakable thing. Torture, basically, is what Roger is currently experiencing; want over something he might not ever get. Plus, the dead don’t sleep, so that level of reprieve is non-existent.

Someone else would call this infatuation. Roger just calls it - well, it’s a bit of an infatuation, actually, but his reasoning is sound. He’s not crazy, he’s just normally an invisible man among those still enjoying the luxuries of everyday life. The fact that one of said people can see him? And didn’t run screaming for the hills?

Roger’s allowed to be just a little bit in love with him.

The professor at the front of the hall shifts her lecture from ecological interactions to biomechanics, and Roger rises from the floor with a grunt. University is usually a good follow up to a long night (full of brooding, as John rudely put it), but even the core marine biology lectures can’t keep his attention. He’s wandering halls he’s only known the past year, going through doors he’s never touched. It’s a reminder, and not always a painful one; sometimes it’s nice to realize he can go wherever he wants with no penalty. Not being chained to one major, learning what he wants on his own time, and no deadlines as far as the eye can see? The only downside is he had to be literally dead to experience it.

It’s raining, which of course doesn’t matter, and Roger makes his way from the science building over to the design hall, hands in his pockets and eyes cast to the sky.

“How is it,” a voice says behind him, “that you barely made it to class while you were alive, but now that you’re dead you can’t stay away?”

“I liked sleep,” Roger says, deadpan, but chases it with a grin. “Come off, I was a good student. Don’t be jealous.”

Crystal ruffles his hair, bangs pouring over into his eyes. Roger swats at him and kicks his ankle.

“You look like an angry tomcat,” is the reply as Chris Taylor steps to the side, gracefully avoiding tripping over the curb. Roger sees it, and still manages to stumble a bit as he straightens his hair.

“And whose fault is that anyway?”

“Yours you twit, shoulda cut it when you had the chance.”

Roger shoves him further into the street, then fluffs his hair with a saunter. “Looking a little green there, Chris.”

“You wish.”

They walk in amicable silence, the rain easing up to a light mist. Students and professors alike brave the slick sidewalks, some with their bags over their manicured hair, others just bothering with their upturned collars. For a time, reflex caught Roger doing the same, but he’s long since moved past it. Now the chill is only imagined, and if he closes his eyes, sometimes he can pretend he can feel the moisture as it tickles his cheeks.

When he opens them, he sees a striking head of damp curls, and walks into a pole.

“Forget how to walk through ‘em, mate?” Crystal says on a laugh, hand out to steady him. Roger, holding his aching face, spins and hides behind the closest thing he can find, which is a post box.

Crystal now, naturally, thinks his friend had lost his mind.

“Also forget the part where they can't see you?”

“Shut up,” Roger grouses, but doesn't rise. “Of all the bloody odds.” Is the man stalking him? Can you die twice? Is he legitimately insane?

While Roger is enjoying a spiritual and emotional crisis, Crystal calls out over his head, “oh, hello, John. Ignore him, he’s off his rocker today.”

Roger stands up so fast his hair gets in his mouth. “Deaky!”

Said man is staring at him with one delicate brow arched, hands on his hips as he looks at him with thinly veiled judgement. Before he can speak, however, Roger steamrolls over him.

“It's him! With the hair, and long fingers!”

Too much, and too high-pitched.

“Oh, so it is. Small world.” He sounds like Roger's just told him a fun fact about marsupials.

“Damn it, John!” There is zero shame in stomping his foot in a situation like this.

“Okay, someone planning on filling me in?” Crystal asks, waving his hands for emphasis.

“See that student over there, mess of curly hair?” John points him out as he hops the curb and makes his way over to the quad, indifferent to the drizzle overhead. “Looks like he’s going to the library, Roger. That's perfect.”

“Nothing about this is perfect.” He resolutely turns his back on the man, arms crossed and feet planted.

The look that John gives him is withering. “Rog here has an admirer.”

Crystal blinks. “That bloke's dead? Looked pretty alive and well to me.”

“He does indeed.”

“Listen, the two of you,” Roger all but shouts, turning on them with a glare. “If I have to hunt him down and prove to you that what happened yesterday was a fluke, then fine.”

John waves his hand in front of him, a beckoning gesture of royalty. “By all means.”

The noise that comes out of Roger's mouth is, quite frankly, inhuman, but away he goes. John and Crystal follow, the former a picture of calm and the latter of confusion. The head of hair and long legs they're following has a quick stride, but they see him duck into the uni library easily enough. Roger manages to walk through the door and not into it, so that's helpful at least, and soon they're face to face with the familiar Imperial London College library.

“He's over there,” John says, pointing over Roger's shoulder. Sure enough, he’s at an old mahogany desk, pulling papers out of his waterlogged bag.

Before either of them can saying anything more to piss him off, Roger walks toward him, doing his best to ignore the butterflies beating hell on his ribcage.

“Uh, hey.”

Roger would like nothing more than to sink into the floor.

The man looks up, mouth slightly ajar, eyes lighting up in recognition after a moment’s pause. “Oh, hi,” he says, tone light with mild surprise. There's dots of dew still clinging to his curly locks, haloing his head like so many stars.

Roger stares, licks his lips, and says absolutely nothing. He can still see him. He can still see him. John is right, or maybe Crystal is, maybe he's insane. Maybe his eyes just aren't working right, or he just died recently and doesn't know he's dead, god, wouldn't that be tragic -

One thought cuts through the chaos, errant but demanding. It means something.

“Just,” Roger blurts, a little too loud for the setting, and a little too delayed for normal conversation. “Wanted to apologize for yesterday. Saw you from the biology section and figured I should, y’know. Was a little off, yesterday, felt stupid.”

Every word comes easier, and by now the bemused grin is natural.

The man, whose expression had been rather locked tight, eases. He smiles, a little thing, and says “no harm done. You alright then? Seemed a bit shaken up.”

“Yeah - yeah no, I'm fine,” Roger says quickly, tucking one hand deep in his pocket. “Weird day is all. Got a bad habit of not looking where I'm going half the time, drives my mates nuts.” Under normal circumstances, anyone bumping into him like might've resulted in a fistfight on a bad day, a brash insult on a good one. But those weren't exactly those sort of circumstances.

“I'm Roger, by the way, Roger Taylor.” Holding his hand out over the desk is one of the easiest and hardest things he thinks he's ever done. Simple, but the fear of rejection has never been so poignant. What will he do, if his hand just keeps on going, passing straight through?

“Brian May. A pleasure.”

His grip is soft and warm, and Roger makes sure to let go before it becomes awkward, even though he never wants to. His fingers tingle as his hand drops to his sides. To keep from saying something ridiculous like how are you so pretty or thanks for touching me, he asks, “I don't think I've seen you around, what do you study?”

“Oh,” Brian says, eyebrows up as he looks down at his notes and the two big books they're resting on. “Astrophysics. Interplanetary dust, actually. Got the midterm coming up, so,” he adds, waving a hand at the notes. Roger is only half listening, thoughts still focused on the feel of his hand in his.

“Right,” Roger says. “Mine are too.”

He hears a muffled “oh Lord” behind him, and it takes everything in his power not to turn around and glare. “Should probably get back to it, actually,” he says, raking a hand through his hair. “Hopefully I'll see you around?”

“Definitely. Good luck on yours,” Brian says with a sweet smile. His downcast eyes don't really feel like a dismissal, especially when, as Roger turns, he looks back up at him and quirks another smile, almost like a secret.

Roger is incredibly fucked.

#maylor #queen fic #my fic #it's just really gay my dudes #all the more reason #fic: atmr

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zephfair · 7 years ago

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Day 27 Grimmichi Demon AU

Day 27: Demon AU

This one is...yeah, I don’t even know anymore. But only 5 more to go woo-hoo!

WARNING: There is a scene of a non-con kiss and some confused sex acts. Hey, he’s a demon, he’s supposed to be bad. And the rest should eventually make sense.

Ichigo often wondered if he was the only one who had them, but he was always a little too afraid of the answer to ask anyone else.

At some point in his teen years he became aware of two presences that haunted him. Well, to be fair, they didn't haunt so much as give unwanted and often unnecessary advice.

“Don't do it, it will disappoint your father,” came one voice from his right side.

“Who cares what he thinks, this is your life, do what you want,” came the voice from the other side.

And Ichigo was left to decide.

He eventually came to imagine them as sitting on his shoulders, tiny intruders who offered unsolicited opinions throughout his day until one day, he looked over and it was true.

“You shouldn't do that,” said a miniature woman in black. Her hair was dark and her eyes were light, and Ichigo was very confused.

“Why?” he asked, still stubborn despite the sudden apparition.

“Because it's not right, and it will hurt you, fool,” she said and gave his ear a kick with a tiny shoe for good measure.

“Ow,” he rubbed his ear and flicked at her but she dodged agilely and bit his finger.

Raucous laughter burst out from his left shoulder and Ichigo nearly strained his neck trying to see. A tiny figure all in white with bright blue hair was lying on the air above his shoulder, holding its gut and laughing.

“What are you?” He asked, picking up the figure by a leg and dangling it in front of his face so he could see it more clearly.

“I'm Grimmjow, your shoulder demon. Now put me the hell down,” the upside-down face swung into view. While Ichigo squinted to see it up close, the demon unsheathed a sword no bigger than a toothpick and stabbed his nose.

“Dammit,” Ichigo swore and dripped the demon who promptly floated freely in the air. Hovering above his nose, Grimmjow smirked. “Keep up the bad language; you make my job easy.”

“What the hell,” Ichigo said then yelped when he caught a foot right in the ear hole.

“Don't swear, you sound like an idiot, idiot,” the woman in black told him.

“Quit kicking me! Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“I'm Rukia, your shoulder angel, and you make my job a nightmare.” She flew over to stand beside Grimmjow.

“I'm losing my mind,” Ichigo said matter-of-factly.

“You wish,” Rukia said.

“Why can't see anyone else see you, if you're not a hallucination?”

“Do you want other people to see us?” Grimmjow snorted. “And see how big and manly your demon is compared to your angel?”

“You know that's not how it works,” Rukia said as she aimed a blow at Grimmjow that he blocked then he attacked her.

Ichigo grabbed one in each hand. “You both need to cool it. If people can't see you, they’ll think I'm crazy!”

Grimmjow drifted lazily back to his shoulder after giving him and Rukia both middle fingers, and Rukia with crossed arms stiffly took her post as well.

“We're here to provide guidance and direction to you,” Rukia said.

“So you’re here to tell me what to do,” Ichigo interpreted and Grimmjow began a slow clap.

Rukia sniffed. “We can only offer you our wisdom and counsel. It’s up to you to make the final choice. But you’re better off listening to me, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Simmer down, angel twit. Ichigo’ll soon see what a boring-ass you are and listen to the cool one of us, if he ever wants to have fun,” Grimmjow said.

“Fun does sound like fun,” Ichigo mused.

“That’s why you definitely should sneak out of the house tonight. Go on, we can find something better to do than sitting here on your ass.”

“You have school tomorrow, Ichigo,” Rukia reminded him, then pinched his earlobe.

“Eh. let’s do this,” Ichigo said, leg already out the window.

And so the presences became second nature to Ichigo. They weren’t always there, just when he came to a crossroads, when a choice presented itself, a decision needed to be made, a situation could go either way.

Then Rukia would plainly state the facts as she saw them, usually with a good measure of calling him names. To which Grimmjow would offer a rebuttal, usually with more name-calling that centered around believing Ichigo was a wimp if he didn’t take the risk.

If there was ever a chance for it to end in a fight, Grimmjow was always all for it. Ichigo got a lot of bruises and black eyes.

The day he met Chad was one of the few times they ever agreed— Rukia calling on him to defend and offer aid, Grimmjow yelling at him to fight the bastards.

After that, Rukia seemed to approve of Chad and his quiet influence while Grimmjow was always urging him to get the strong young man to spar.

It wasn't until Ichigo’s last year of high school that they agreed fully again. Between family drama and school and his few friends, Ichigo hadn't dated and hadn't really been interested in anyone.

Then Orihime confessed her feelings one evening after the rest of their friends had gone home. Ichigo choked and stuttered and couldn't answer. Even though he felt the invisible weight of his advisers, they didn't clamor to chime in for once.

“Uh, I don't know what to say,” he answered honestly.

Orihime smiled up at him wistfully then put her hands on his shoulders and leaned up. He knew what was coming and he didn't say anything to encourage or discourage her. Her lips pressed against his, and he didn't do anything.

“Why aren't you kissing her back?” Grimmjow's voice muttered in his ear. “She wants it. Grab her, hold her, touch her--”

“Are you sure you don't want to do this? She cares a lot about you and she's a sweet girl,” Rukia said quietly in his other ear.

Ichigo brought his hands up and gently held Orihime’s upper arms, carefully stepping away. “I'm sorry, Orihime. I don't want to hurt you, because I love being friends with you. But that's all I feel for you.”

“Is there someone else?” She whispered.

“What?”

“Is there someone else that you like?”

“No,” he said even as Ichigo's mind supplied him weirdly with visions of broad shoulders and flat chests and general bulk, a far cry from Orihime's petite and soft frame. “It's not you. It's just me.”

“I understand,” she said, looking down. Ichigo squeezed her arms.

“You'll find someone else who cares about you the same way.” He turned and walked home, the silence deafening.

When he avoided his family and flopped on his bed, Rukia sat on his shoulder and poked his cheek until he swatted at her.

“Why'd you really turn her down?”

“You were there,” he retorted.

“She would have been nice to have as a girlfriend, but I think you were actually smart, for once, and did the right thing,” Rukia said.

“As much as I hate to agree with the small fry, you did the right thing.” Grimmjow stood on Ichigo's chest, arms crossed over himself and glaring.

“So how come you both didn't want me to date Orihime? I'm a little nervous about you both coming to the same conclusion.”

Grimmjow and Rukia looked at each other for a second before staring away in opposite directions.

Ichigo reached up and flicked them both. After they'd fluttered up into the air and called him names, both settled back on opposite sides of his chest where he could still see them.

“You wouldn't make a good match with her,” Rukia told him. “Yes, she loves the you she thinks she sees but you wouldn't be good for her. She'd have to change too much to be what she thinks you want. She's better off being with someone who loves and appreciates her for who she is, who she can be her true self around.”

“Geez, way to make me sound like a jerk,” Ichigo grumbled.

“Not a jerk, just not boyfriend material,” Grimmjow said from where he was floating cross-legged above Ichigo.

“That doesn’t sound much better.”

Grimmjow just smirked at him. “Come on, do you really wanna be tied down to one person? Even if they’re as hot as that one? And she’s too nice. You’d get bored with her in no time. You need someone who’s strong and a little crazy, someone who’ll keep you on your toes. Enjoys the same shit you do. Maybe slap you around a little.”

“I don’t think I’d like being slap—”

Grimmjow flew right into his eye. “You’d take it and you’d like it!”

“Ow!” Ichigo batted at him, but Grimmjow dodged easily as always. “I don’t want all that. I don’t even know if I want anyone.”

“Oh, Ichigo, it’s okay,” Rukia pushed Grimmjow out of the way and took the place right in front of Ichigo. “If you’re not ready for a girlfriend, you don’t have to hurry into anything.”

“I’m not sure a girlfriend is what I’d want anyway,” Ichigo mumbled, rolling onto his belly so he could hide his face in his pillow.

Ichigo felt the unfamiliar comfort of tiny fingers in his hair without pulling. It felt more like a gentle breeze ruffling his hair than anything, but he appreciated it.

Rukia said, “It’ll be all right, Ichigo. If you want it, then someday the time will be right, and it will happen.”

A tug on his hair was more like getting some strands of hair caught in a zipper. And Grimmjow said, “You’re a wimp, Kurosaki. If you want something, you gotta take it. It’s the only way.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Leave me alone,” Ichigo swung his hand out blindly and figured they avoided it easily. Then he fell asleep, still wondering why he wasn’t more disappointed at turning down a chance with Orihime.

When he next felt fingers in his hair, Ichigo woke up with a start. The hand was large, covering the back of his skull, and the fingers were not gentle. When he jerked, the fingers wound in his hair and pulled.

“Ouch, stop it,” he rolled over, batting the hand away, and saw “Grimmjow?! What the fuck!”

“Kurosaki,” Grimmjow purred.

“What are you doing? You’re huge! Or am I small, like you?” Ichigo looked around his room in a panic, but everything else was exactly the same as when he’d fallen asleep. All except for the tiny shoulder demon, which was now a large man sitting on his bed.

“It doesn’t do a man’s ego good, you calling him small,” Grimmjow said, leaning into Ichigo's face.

Ichigo put his hand on Grimmjow’s face and pushed it back. “You are small. Teeny. Tiny. Miniscule. That doesn’t explain why you’re all big now!” Then Ichigo looked around again. “Wait, where’s Rukia? Is she here? Is she big too?”

“Rukia, Rukia,” Grimmjow mocked his voice. “You always want to listen to her. Well, it’s time for you to listen to me and me alone.”

“Grimmjow, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand,” Grimmjow said. “I’m here because you need me. Not in the way that I’ve tempted you before, but in my true form.”

And he pushed Ichigo’s shoulders onto the bed and kissed him. Ichigo struggled and punched him in the head, making him finally pull back.

Then Ichigo got to his feet. “I’m going to kick your ass,” he vowed.

Grimmjow just smirked and sprawled back onto his elbows. “Oh, Kurosaki, you know how I love it rough.”

“What’s the matter with you?! You’ve never done this before!”

“I never revealed my true nature to you because you never seemed interested. But today, thinking about that frail little human girl, you realized that you could never desire, never be fulfilled by one like that. I knew it was finally time to come to you as an incubus.”

“You’re crazy,” Ichigo said flatly. “Or I’m crazy, but there is definitely everything wrong about this situation.”

“Come on, I know exactly what you were thinking when you had that girl in your arms.” Grimmjow got to his feet with a boneless kind of move that made Ichigo's mouth dry. He stepped closer and his voice lowered. “You were thinking about someone bigger, someone...harder.” Grimmjow stopped only when their chests were touching. “Someone who could hold you down and make you scream, do all the things you’ve fantasized about but never would have the balls to ask for. Well, here I am.”

Ichigo swallowed hard. It was impossible and it was kind of awful, but he was definitely turned on.

Grimmjow seemed to know it too because he smirked and reached out. Only he didn’t fondle or coddle; he took a handful of Ichigo's hair and tilted his head the way he wanted then kissed him.

And Ichigo wanted it. Orihime had taken his first kiss, but this, this was nothing like that. Grimmjow’s mouth was hard, his lips firm and he moved them. And then his tongue, oh god, his tongue was hot and thrust into Ichigo's mouth like he owned it.

All Ichigo could do was bring his hands up to Grimmjow’s biceps and hold on. He could feel the heat of Grimmjow’s body against his, all the way down. Unlike Orihime’s small, soft figure that he towered over, Grimmjow was a few inches taller but he felt larger because of his broad chest and the way he was curling around Ichigo as the kissing went on.

When Grimmjow moved to bite his ear then kiss down his neck, Ichigo jerked in his arms. Grimmjow pulled him as he walked backward, then cushioning the fall as Grimmjow hit the bed, Ichigo on top of him.

That felt even better as Grimmjow rocked his hips up into Ichigo's, letting him feel the hard bulge in his pants that was echoed in Ichigo’s. Ichigo gasped and Grimmjow pulled his head back down for another kiss.

Grimmjow moved his legs apart so Ichigo was cradled between them, and ran one of his big hands down Ichigo's back to hold his ass.

Ichigo moaned, not able to keep up with all the touching and sensations he was feeling. All he could imagine was if it felt that good when they were fully clothed, it must surely feel insane if they were naked.

As if he read the thought, Grimmjow stopped sucking on his neck and grinned at him. “You ready for more, Kurosaki?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo grunted.

“You sure?” Grimmjow taunted, and Ichigo leaned up and bit him. It was a poor choice for punishment because Grimmjow only purred. “Well, if you’re that eager...” he did a movement with his hand and they were both suddenly naked.

Ichigo gasped as he felt all of Grimmjow’s skin under him, including the rub of his dick against Ichigo’s own. He pumped his hips and did it again and a third time, unable to stop at the feeling of his cock rubbing against Grimmjow’s.

“Yeah, you like that,” Grimmjow whispered in his ear. “You know what you’ll like even more?”

His fingers traced down Ichigo's ass and soothed over his hole. Ichigo shuddered and Grimmjow moved, somehow getting over top Ichigo who now lay on his belly on the bed, fully spread open for Grimmjow’s view.

“This is what you want. This is what you’ve always wanted, even if you denied it to yourself. And now I’m going to take it, show you exactly what you’ve been missing.”

Ichigo squirmed to get away from his breath in his ear, moved back against Grimmjow’s hard cock and forward into the hand that squeezed between his cock and the bed.

He was breathing so hard he thought he might pass out as Grimmjow dragged his own cock down the cleft of Ichigo's ass to the place where Ichigo had learned two men could be joined. As Grimmjow’s hand stroked his cock roughly, he felt Grimmjow press inside him.

The sensations overwhelmed him, and he couldn’t draw a deep breath. He thrust forward into the hot tight clench of Grimmjow’s fist then groaned as he rocked backward to where they were joined. Grimmjow’s hot breath panted against his cheek as he pounded into him.

“Gonna make you come. Gonna show you what you want. It’s me, Ichigo. You’ll always want me,” Grimmjow chanted against his ear as Ichigo had to shut his eyes against the way the room spun. He felt his whole body stiffen and tighten and then he was coming, all over Grimmjow’s hand and his bed, and it was the best orgasm he’d had. He rolled onto his back so he could gasp for fresh air, and then he fell asleep.

When Ichigo woke up in the morning, he reached out immediately, looking for Grimmjow. But there was no one in his bed but him, and as he looked down at himself in confusion, he was still in the clothes he’d fallen asleep in. Huh, Grimmjow must have used his magic to dress him again.

He got out of bed, feeling refreshed and relaxed for the first time in a long while. Then he felt the unwanted reminder in his pants that he’d found too many times a few years before. He froze. Wait, if he’d come in his pants and Grimmjow wasn’t around… he hurried to his mirror and pulled his shirt away from his neck. There were no marks at all. He was pretty sure that Grimmjow had left marks with all that sucking.

He shifted around and there was no other physical evidence that anything had happened. He sank onto the bed and held his head in his hands.

What the hell was going on? Did he have sex with Grimmjow or not? Had Grimmjow really visited him?

“Hey, Grimmjow,” Ichigo called out, asking for him for the first time. Nothing happened. So he tried, “Hey, Rukia, are you there?” Still nothing.

Now Ichigo was sweating. He was so confused. Had it all been a dream? Or was Grimmjow a real, true demon that had seduced him and then left like it was nothing?

“Ichigo?” He jumped when the female voice called his name, but it was only Yuzu knocking at his door. “Are you going to eat breakfast today?”

“No,” Ichigo shook his head to try and clear it. “I’m going to shower.”

He needed the time to get his thoughts together and check his body again, but there was absolutely no signs that Grimmjow had ever laid a hand on him. And Ichigo was surprised by how disappointed that made him feel.

He slouched his way to school, thinking that if he considered skipping that day, then maybe Rukia and Grimmjow would appear to talk him out of or into it. But it didn’t work.

He just made it into his seat in time to avoid being tardy. Orihime offered him a little smile which he returned, but Tatsuki glared at him. Chad just nodded in greeting.

The teacher started talking, and Ichigo began to zone out until the words “new student transferred” reached his ears and the classroom door opened.

He looked up and almost shot out of his seat. A tall blue-haired figure stood there in its typical insolent slouch. He looked indifferently around the class as if taking the measure of each student and finding them all wanting.

Then he locked eyes with Ichigo and a slow smile widened across his face. Ichigo stared back. He wasn’t even surprised when the teacher assigned the new kid the seat behind Ichigo. He slid in and immediately kicked the back of Ichigo’s chair.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he whispered loudly.

Ichigo stared straight ahead and waited. But no one alighted on his shoulders to advise him whether to turn around and talk to the new guy or not.

He took a deep breath and made up his own mind.

#my fic #my 30 days #only 5 more to go!#*weeps*

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fostertoforever · 8 years ago

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Infertility.

This one goes out to all the ladies struggling out there… The women who desperately want to be a mother. Who physically ache in defeat month after month after month. The ones who pay thousands of dollars to get poked, prodded, and pumped full of hormones in hopes of a miracle. Who take their temperatures and pee on sticks and hang upside down in hopes of creating life. The ones who lose faith in their bodies….faith in their God as time goes on and failures continue. As your biological clock continues to tick on and every pregnancy announcement you see gets more and more devastating- not because you’re not profoundly happy for them, but because there are no words to describe the sadness you feel for YOU. There is a unique pain that comes from loving a child that might never exist. It’s extremely hard to wait for something that may never happen, but harder to let go when it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. You fall apart, then start again, fall apart, start again, fall apart, start again. You hear other mothers complaining about their kids, about their pregnancies and you think, “God, what I would give to have one day of your life! Don’t you understand how lucky you are, you twit?!?!” You get told, “Ugh! You can have my kid! He’s driving me crazy!” (Oh yeah, because that’s a big consolation prize for my infertility, thanks). You find out that so and so is pregnant AGAIN when she doesn’t even take care of the ones she has! She said she’s too selfish to have a baby, that she hates kids, and my personal favorite, “a baby is the worst STD you can get,” but there they are. Pregnant. Again and again. Weekend flings gone wrong. Drug addicted women having sex to score drugs are giving birth but you can’t. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. But you keep trying and trying, don’t you? Because medicine is not an exact science and you convince yourself there’s hope- there’s always hope, right? This time it’ll be different. Doctors scratch their heads and say, “Let’s try this” month after month and you follow the rules to a tee! You take your vitamins, you don’t drink caffeine or alcohol, you exercise, you journal, and you pray. You are strong. You are made for this. “It’ll happen, I just know it!” you tell yourself…And then you walk by the baby section at Walmart, and you die inside. And suddenly you’re the crazy lady in aisle 12 sobbing over burp cloths. Because it’s too difficult to think that everything you’re doing won’t work. That this is all for nothing. I remember through my fertility treatments, my doctor recommended I talk to a therapist about my issues, my feelings of inadequacy for not being able to get pregnant. I think she was getting nervous because of my hysterical sobbing (and sometimes angry outbursts) at every appointment when they’d tell me I didn’t ovulate again that month. So, I went. I sat in this guy’s office and poured my heart and soul out and all he could say was, “I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful than a pregnant woman. I hope it works out.” Seriously. I came unglued. Yes, pregnant women are beautiful. You know what else is beautiful, dufus? STRONG women. Women who have tried, who’ve failed, and who’ve pulled themselves up, put their big girl panties back on, and tried again. Should’ve known better than to pour my infertile heart out to someone with a penis. Let’s be honest here. (I apologize to any of my readers who are reading this and who have a penis. No offense, but this post is mostly for the ladies.) It’s been over 4 years since I went through this, and let me tell you, it STILL hurts. I STILL ache and I STILL grieve for that baby I’ll never have. It sounds stupid, right? Get over it, Jess. I have a son after all. I’ve had him since birth. He calls me Mommy. I have no reason to have those feelings, right? Wrong. It never goes away for me. I am profoundly sad I’ll never feel the kick of life in my belly. That my body will never be able to make a life, grow a life, and bring life of another human being into this world. I frequently feel like less of a woman. I do. And it hurts like hell. Still. And I admit that I am sooo bitter and soooo angry when I hear of abuse, neglect, drugs, etc. towards children, which is an occupational hazard in my line of work. Women that don’t deserve to be mothers- who clearly do not understand the miracle that is motherhood- getting knocked up all over the place. Sigh. So, when did I give up hope? When did I finally accept my infertile fate? It was shortly after the final phone call on October 29, 2012 when my doctor called and said, “We overlooked a test result. This one little hormone shows that you don’t have a lot of eggs and unless you do IVF, which will be a stretch, it’s going to be very difficult for you to conceive. And even then, with your other issues, you may not be able to carry a baby to term. Maybe you should consider surrogacy.” My world stopped. Maybe I had known this in my head for awhile, but I had never accepted it in my heart. I was always so sure it was going to work out- that I was meant to be pregnant. For a brief moment, I considered begging my family for their life savings. I considered quitting my job and moving to Syracuse, New York, to be near a good IVF clinic. I thought of what friend I could ask to be my oven and have a baby for me. Seriously. But after about 5 minutes of these crazy thoughts (which were done hugging my toilet on the floor of my bathroom- because I wanted to puke after I got off the phone), I knew my journey was over. This was the end of the road. (And yes, I’m totally singing Boyz to Men now). So, my husband and I decided to do foster care. We gave up on the dream of pregnancy, but we never gave up the dream of becoming parents. Four years later, we are getting ready to celebrate our son’s 4th birthday. We have a little baby girl in our home, who I thank God every single day is with us. I wake up every morning and look at her sweet, chubby face and am so grateful for another day with her. When times are tough and I’m uncertain of the future or I play the “what if” game, I’m reminded of what I just wrote- we never gave up the dream of becoming parents. Motherhood came to me in a way I had never dreamed of, but it was no less of a miracle. Maybe I’ll never get to grow a baby in my belly, but I’ve got two growing in my heart and that’s an amazing blessing. And just because I still think of the baby I never got to create, doesn’t mean I don’t love the two precious angels that were chosen for me any less. I have friends going through the long struggle of fertility treatments right now- wonderful women who would be amazing mommies. And I can see it in their faces. I know their pain and I know their heartbreak. They smile and go on with their days and pretend it’s all ok. Believe me when I tell you it’s not an easy dream to give up on. The pain will always be there. BUT the hole in your heart can be filled. It seems impossible, I know you don’t believe me, I know you think pregnancy is the only option, but it’s true. There are little people out there who need you, who are just waiting on you. After I laid eyes on my Baby P for the first time, I knew why the fertility treatments never worked. He was MY baby. And yes, the journey to forever sucked. I’m not going to sugar coat it. But he is mine and I am his and we get to live happily ever after…at least until his teenage years. Ha. Foster care isn’t for everyone. I know this better than anyone. And this isn’t some sales pitch for DHHR to get you to sign up. But I KNOW there is a need. I KNOW lots of babies need homes. When I tell people I’m a foster mother, I still get the “Oh my gosh, I could NEVER do that!” But, you’d be surprised what you’re capable of when given the opportunity. The system sucks at times. Those workers are overworked and underpaid. The goal of foster care is reunification with their family. Blood is thicker than any love and security my husband and I can provide for these kids- a fact that I sincerely struggle with, but fully accept. It’s not easy. But it’s what we signed up for. I could have either spent my life savings and my family’s life savings to try IVF and/or surrogacy OR I could’ve opened my home and my heart to children in need with the knowledge I may have to give them back. Double edged sword. What’s worse? It was a gamble we took and we won with P, but it was a hard game to play. Will we get lucky with Baby C? Time will tell. We never gave up on the dream to become parents. Bio, Foster, Adoptive, Step…..it truly doesn’t matter what comes before the word “parent.” What does matter is the love you give. We wanted to be parents. I always thought I was born to be a mother. I THOUGHT that would happen through pregnancy. Turns out, I WAS meant to be a mother, just in a different way. It doesn’t make the role any less important, especially in the eyes of my babies. My husband and I weren’t meant to create a life, but we were meant to change one (or two or three or four). We have the power to say “Nope. I am not going to let their lives be this way” and work every day to provide a safe, healthy, home full of love and laughter so these kiddos can thrive- whether they are with us forever or not. It’s pretty simple. Heart wrenching, yes, but simple. And so I truly encourage those families out there who are struggling with infertility and the immense pain and sadness that can go with it to consider opening their hearts and home to these babies in need. It’s not easy, but clearly, neither is infertility. So, to my fellow infertile sisters out there…please don’t let your hurt and your wounds stop you from becoming a mother. Don’t let defeat after defeat turn you into something you’re not. You are strong, you are valuable and you matter whether your stupid uterus is cooperating or not. And I am here to share my story and commiserate with you any hour of any day. Until next time, Mama Jess

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rpjohnston · 8 years ago

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Ughhhhhh my mind’s been a complete mess recently. Like. Normally I can reel it back, yknow? dissociate my rational thoughts from my emotions. Think strategically. Plan. Not ever follow through on plans, you know, but just...be in control like that. But now it’s just...restlessness. Racing. Infinite energy to just keep bouncing around, without the physical energy to actually get up and do anything, as if just thinking about a million things uses up all the spoon s that could be used for doing even one thing, but I. just. Can’t. Stop. I’m going off after every squirrel I see on Twitter or Facebook. Kinda fun and I’ve still got my wit...well it’s never been a great wit but it’s not been any worse. I dunno. Just...something. I don’t know. Frustration. Irritation. I’m not a teenager anymore. Don’t have all my hair anymore. Not as...curvy as I used to be. Blobby now. The gross...guy, blobby. I’m not exactly decrepit. Stronger than I was then, that’s nice, pretty sure I can do anything physical still, if not as gracefully as before. Can still jump a fence, just with more grunting. Annoying. Feeling that I wasted all my good years, now it’s too late for shenanigans and now I don’t have the experience necessary to actually make something of myself. Like, always playing catchup. Always being the retard that has to try twice as hard to be half as good as anyone else. When I was little, yeah, I always got told how smart I was. Pfffft. Everybody says that about their kids, though being the intellectually-inclined aspie I suppose I did know more trivia and was prouder about it. Hah, I used to be so proud that I knew Earth was 93 million miles from the Sun, and I’d brag about knowing that in class. And then this little dipshit Carl would troll me going “no it isn’t” every time he saw me, and I’d try everything from showing my books to appeal to authority to trying to argue, but he’d just stick to smug denial, and unable to understand why I couldn’t convince him I’d fly into a rage and beat the shit out of him. Such as a 7 year old could anyway. Course then it gets to middle school and beyond and the one thing I’m good at, knowing stupid shit, don’t mean shit. Hell not even grades meant anything - not that it ever stopped my dad was acting like I was a lazy failure for not putting in an extra 15 hours of effort into assignments to go from “100″ to “100 and also the teacher thinks it’s extra special”. Nah, when it comes to anything that matter more than stupid fucking worthless trivia I’m always behind everybody else. Always seeing everybody else Do A Thing, and then I try to Do The Thing to prove I’m just as good as everybody else, then failing, and failing, and failing, and failing and then succeeding, but now it fucking means nothing because everybody else has now moved onto more advanced Things and The Thing that I finally accomplished is what everybody else who wasn’t a pathetic, useless fuckup eats for breakfast. And. I dunno. I’m tired of it. Well, been tired of it for a long time. I gave up trying to prove myself years ago. Gave up trying to measure up to anybody else’s standards. Just did good enough to get by by myself. Not like that’s hard. My standards are pretty low. But still. Still. I can’t just, like, live in my friend’s parents’ basement forever. But what can I do? Target and the like don’t pay enough to live on. I can’t do 2, 3 jobs and 80 hour workweeks. Go ahead, tell me I’m a lazy, entitled, obnoxious parasite, not like I don’t know. But I just don’t have the energy for that. If I tried I would literally go play in traffic after a month or two. Spit on me all you want, but even for me there’s a limit to how far I can push onward on willpower alone. So get a job that ain’t shitty? Like what? Virtually everything requires experience. Or at least some proof of competence, but I have literally no competence except, you guessed it, useless stupid fucking trivia. Where can I get hired that will pay me 40k+/yr to know how far it is to the Sun? So do uni, then? Sighhhhh. I have the mutual funds for it. I’ve been, what, 3 times now. Even finished the worthless associate’s degree on the second. But...argh, it ain’t that simple! Everybody else who wasn’t this bad a fuckup got their degrees years ago. I’m not 18, I don’t have grace years to just set aside to be a student, I need the wins NOW! I just...my fucking psyche can’t handle it. Last time I dropped out was because...because it isn’t just about FACTS! It’s a whole thing, a whole PROCESS, with rules, and regulations, and methods, from the women’s studies course to the programming course, and everything is expected to be done THEIR WAY and I’m sure it works for most people but I can’t understand it, or it takes me all my energy to figure out HOW to follow along, and I have no energy left to actually DO it, and then I feel like MORE SHIT because I’m having to try so hard to do what everybody else does so much more easily, and and and What’s even the POINT, then? Even if I do rake myself over the coals and finally get to the finish, even if I do get the assignment done, even if I do understand the class process, even if I do get the grade, I STILL had to put way more effort into it so I’m STILL A FAILURE!!!!!!!!! Even if I finally get to the same place, I’m still the fucking worthless retard that isn’t as good as everybody else because they had to put more effort into achieving what’s normal for everybody else!!!!! I don’t...I don’t have the...I don’t have the mind I need. I keep dropping things because I work, and I work, and I try, and there’s no affirmation that any of it’s worth anything, and why keep trying on and on and on because in a few years someone MIGHT have an appreciation for it, or maybe not - because maybe everything I’m doing is complete worthless garbage, but I can’t tell, and maybe I’m just wasting my energy doing worthless things. Not just college. It’s been 10 years since I got flash and started working on that game, and in that time I’ve had how many projects? That I just drop once I sort of get something resembling what could potentially be a product? Because I get to the point where I’m not just messing around, but where I need actually be serious about QUALITY, but since when am I ever good enough at anything to make it QUALITY? There are better artists. There are better programmers. Nothing I do will ever stack up no matter how hard I try because that’s who I am, I’m have a shallow, trivial understanding of things but nothing deep enough to actually be worthless. I can’t be an astronomer by knowing space trivia. I can’t be an artist by shoving a stylus around. I can’t be a competent codemonkey by finishing university sample exercises. These are all things that people with actual SKILLS do, not just a fucking half-assed dabbler. a dabbler is fucking useless. I’m not good at anything except knowing shallow trivia and doing whatever unskilled shit people instruct me to do, and any time I try to invest the time in something than do more than dabble I get reminded that other people can do it better for far less effort and even if I DOOOOOO somehow get to their level it still won’t be good enough because of how much harder I had to try to be as good. Other people had lives and adventures and shenanigans and personalities and...identities, identities in general and that they figured out early enough. And what do I have, sitting around, wasting away, being a worthless, useless blob, no idea how to even find out what’s out there, let alone do any of it, because I’m damn scared to put any CARE into anything and prove that as always I’m a failure even when I try real hard, and not giving a fuck is really the only thing keeping me around. Failure doesn’t matter if you don’t care. If you’re going to fail anyway might as well not bother caring. And I’ve wasted my time for shenanigans, wasted my time for identity, failed at the stuff that everybody else succeeded at long ago, there’s no fucking point in yet again catching up to everybody else long after I could plausibly claim to be as good, and...there’s nothing in the future that doesn’t depend on having value that I just. don’t have. and. can’t. have. because. i’m. a. worthless. useless. fuckup. parasite. And all that I’ve got is yelling at people self-righteously about politics. As if actually matters. As if I influence anything. As if I’ll win something. As if I actually stand a shot at doing anything politically, professionally. As if they’d ever have my useless ass doing anything other than phonebanking. As if I could even do anything else - as if I could figure out how to do things for people other than what they order me to do. fuckin. Other people figured out how to be people. I just figured out how to be a stupid, shallow, retarded blank slate, just letting people write whatever they want on me. I wonder, really, what it’s like, to have a self to be. To actually have something that’s “you”. To be an active participant in things rather than a tool that something falls off a shelf and makes noise to remind people it’s there. But look at me, spend a few days unable to control my mind enough to PLAN my thoughts, to angle for what’s socially best, and all that I am is an obnoxious twit yelling at people on facebook and posting fucking angst on tumblr. I guess that’s the shreds of a personality that come to surface when I can’t maintain the blank slate, a whiny, obnoxious piece of shit. yay, me. I’m an asshole. finally found something. Not just a failure by lack of, but a failure by active participation. god i’m not even drunk. usually i at least get drunk before whining about shit on tumblr. now i want a drink, damnit. but i also want to try to sleep. not that i probably can. got that feeling going on of dry, squinty eyes, but a mind that won’t shut off. usually takes me like 5 hours to get to sleep like that.

whatever. gonna try to sleep. if it doesn’t work i’ll choke down some swill and try again. good whine tumblr. been months since the last time i came on here to be a little bitch. maybe i can get back to my normal, complacent, giving no fucks self. ciao.

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