#and yes me fighting my tiredness at night is an example of shit i need therapy for

[invisibleoctopus]

well its been a week since my psychiatrist told me to take zoloft in the morning instead of at night like ive been doing for literal years because "it wakes most people up its an antidepressant" like no it definitely makes ME tired and want to sleep. my sleeping issues were DEFINITELY worse this past week. it being much easier to fight the tiredness when i take my night meds. taking my morning meds and crashing instead of just going back to sleep.

i dont think ive ever had a SINGLE psychiatrist that ive felt like they Listened to me. especially this one im seeing. like every single problem i tell him i have hes like 'i see what youre saying but youre wrong about your problems you need therapy and i need to increase ur anxiety meds" like I GET that i need therapy but im LITERALLY TELLING HIM WHY I STAY UP LATE AT NIGHT (the stress) and hes like 'no its because the meds arent working :)'

[winchester-purgatory]

My brother’s best friend | Dean Winchester (part 1)

Summary: Dean visits his brother in Palo Alto...and fall for the redhead crashing in Sam’s bed

Word count: 1.8k

-

Palo Alto, California 2004

''Are you kidding me?'' Sam grumbled as he checked through the peephole of his small apartment, seeing his big brother on the other side.

It was rare - very, very rare - that Dean would visit him. He'd rather vagabond from states to states in his precious Impala than visit his little brother who was in college, getting a degree, aka doing something of his life.

The only times he'd visit was if something happened to their dad - or when he needed something. Nine times out of ten, it was the latter.

Although they had been raised by the same man, the two brothers were very different. Their lifestyle, by example, was polar opposite. Sam was pursuing law studies and planned on become a criminal lawyer while Dean prefered to jump from states to states - or, in Sam's words, from bed to bed - without ever settling. He was also a walking trouble, always getting himself tangled in some messy crap.

When they were kids, their uncle Bobby used to joke and said that Sam would help Dean get out of jail one day. He couldn't be closer to the truth.

Reluctantly, Sam unlocked and opened the door, skipping the greetings. ''What are you doing here?'' he hissed at his brother, keeping the door as closed as possible - and blocked - so Dean wouldn't peek inside or simply invite himself in.

''Hello to you too, Sammy.''

''What do you want?'' Sam demanded.

''Who said I needed something? Can't I miss my little brother?''

If Sam hadn't known his brother so well, he would've believed him. But, this was Dean.

''It's almost midnight and I have class at eight, Dean. I don't have time for placotage. What is it this time? Your girlfriend dumped you? You're out of money? Whichever, I can't do anything. I'm just as broke as you.''

He wasn't always this intolerant, but school had been stressful these past weeks and the younger Winchester was running on short nights and large coffees from all his hard studying. Therefore, he wasn't in the mood to deal with Dean's bullshit.

Dean rolled his eyes. ''I'm not here for money. I just need a place to crash. I was at this car expo with some guys from the auto shop I work at and, instead of spending a handful on a shitty motel, I thought of you and your old couch.''

Auto shop? Last time they spoke, he was working night shifts at a 7/11. That's an upgrade, Sam noted.

''Nice of you to think of me, but you can't stay here. I...I sold the couch. And, I have to study for-''

I sold the couch? Try again Sammy.

Not letting the brunet finish, Dean ignored him and pushed the door wider, walking in as if it was his place.

He glanced around the small apartement, the office lamp on the desk creating a dim light throughout the whole place. Like Dean remembered, the appartement was cramped. You could barely fit any furnitures beside a couch, a desk and a bed. It was a college student appartement, you can't expect too much. He immediately remarked the laptop set up on the desk with a pile of papers ant textbooks, mimicking the same set up Sam had in his old bedroom.

''Dean, I said-''

Panic rose inside Sam, whirling around and trying to push the blond out of his apartment, but it was too late. He had seen her. The fire haired girl sleeping peacefully in Sam's bed.

A smirk formed on the older's lips, turning his head in Sam's direction. ''Is that what you were trying to hide from me? From Dad? That you had a girlfriend? Oh Sammy. Always been shy about that stuff...''

Sam closed the door and sighed. ''She's not my girlfriend. And, keep it down, will you?''

Dean cocked an eyebrow. ''Why is she sleeping in your bed then, uh?'' He shook his head, smirking, convinced that he had demasked his brother. ''You know, Sammy, you've never been the master liar between the two of us. Is that why you ignored Dad's calls? Because you were too busy-''

''Dean,'' Sam hissed, narrowing his eyes in warning, not letting him time to finish his sentence.

He knew how filter-less his brother was and, even though the redhead was sleeping soundly, Sam would rather not risk her waking up to some dude she didn't know was insinuating events that never happened between she and Sam. That would be creepy and awkward.

Dean rolled his eyes. ''Right. I forgot how much of a prude you are.''

''She's a friend,'' Sam insisted, sighing with tiredness. ''She got into a bad argument with her boyfriend and needed a safe place to stay.''

''And you're trying to make me believe nothing happened under the sheets?'' Dean sank into Sam's couch and shook his head disapprovingly. ''You're such a let down, Sammy... How can you let a hot girl crash in your bed and pass the opportunity for a good time?''

''Because, unlike you, I think with my brain instead of my dick. She needed a roof, Dean, not a new dick.''

Dean smirked. ''Look where that got you.''

.

Like always, Dean got what he wanted and crashed at Sam's.

Well, he 'accidently' fell asleep on the couch while his brother was studying, giving Sam no choice but to let him sleep after trying times and times to wake him unsuccessfully.

The sound of glass clashing and shattering pulled Dean from his sleep. He sat up, a bit startled by the noise, and squinted his eyes at the harsh morning light shining straight in his eyes. Does Sam not have blinds or something?

''Shit,'' slipped a feminine voice.

Dean rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the change of light and glanced around, catching the redhead from last night standing at the 'kitchen' area of Sam's appartement. She was wearing one of Sam's old tee shirt, her long hair cascading down her back. Dean bit down him bottom lip.

''Everything okay?'' he asked, trying to see what happened.

''Yes!'' responded a feminine voice. ''I just dropped and broke a plate. It's nothing.'' She bent down to clean her mess, using a towel to pick up the broken pieces.

Humming, Dean stretched his arms over his head, his back aching from Sam's raggedy couch, and stood. He should get a new one, this one sucks.

''Sorry for waking you,'' she apologized, running a hand through her hair, tucking a piece behind her ear in slight embarassement. ''I was trying to make coffee and...I don't know how it happened.''

''Apologies accepted if you tell me there's coffee left,'' Dean bargained with a sly grin.

The redhead stood and nodded at the coffee machine before throwing the broken pieces of plate in the trash. ''Lucky for you, there's enough left for a cup.''

Picking up a cup from Sam's perfectly neat cupboard, the blond poured the last of coffee, not bothering to rinse the empty carafe. Sam will get on his back about it next time he'll use it, but it's not like Dean cared.

''I'm Juliet,'' the girl introduced, taking a seat in the desk chair as there wasn't any barstools or dinning table - not that there was any room for one. ''And you're Dean, Sam's brother.''

Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. How did she know his name? He opened his mouth to ask, but she beat him.

''Sam left a note.'' She nodded at the sticky post-it on the top of the coffee maker.

Left for class. This is my brother, Dean. Don't hesitate to kick him out if he gives you trouble.

- Sam

Reading said note, Dean scoffed.

''I take it you're not on on Sam's good side,'' Juliet assumed, smiling behind her mug.

He shrugged, leaning against the small counter. ''Typical brothers.'' Dean took a long gulp of his black coffee, sighing at the burning feeling of the biter liquid as it passed through his throat. ''Sam and I are very different. Polar opposites, I'd say.''

Juliet looked him up and down and hummed affirmatively. ''I can see.''

At first glance, you wouldn't be able to tell they were brothers. Other than having very different facial features, their style was also contrasting. Although it remained along the lumberjack vibes - thanks to their father -, Dean was all about his fetish leather jacket and flannels while Sam was more of a polo and zip up hoodies person.

A phone went off, interrupting their small talk and Juliet checked the screen, knowing it was hers. She looked at the caller ID, face turning blank as she read the identifier. She let it ring.

''You don't pick up?''

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip, lowering her eyes on her bare thighs.

Dean didn't mean to pry, but he might have seen a guy's name on the screen. If he sticks to what Sam had told him last night, it must be her boyfriend - whom she got into a fight with.

''Want me to pick up?'' he suggested, lightening the mood, mild-joking.

''What?'' Juliet chuckled. ''No. I...I'll call him back later.''

Cocking an eyebrow, Dean gave her a look. ''Lie.''

Her blue eyes looked up and caught his green irises, holding an unsaid staring contest. As Dean stared into her eyes, he felt as if he could see through her like open doors. He could see how utterly unhappy she felt in all aspects of her life and it pulled at his heart.

Instead of admitting defeat, Juliet broke their stare and abruptly rose from her seat. ''Not that I don't like this morning chatter, but I have to get ready for work. My boss is going to have my head if I arrive late during lunch rush.''

It was almost eleven and, if she ran fast, she had a chance to get there in time.

She put her empty mug on the counter and skipped to the bed, retrieving some bundled clothes from a backpack at the end of Sam's bed.

''You work at a restaurant?''

''A diner,'' she corrected, fulmining though the bag for one more item before heading to the bathroom to change.

''Do you happen to serve pie at your diner?'' Dean asked, feeling hungry.

Knowing his Sam, he probably only had healthy snacks in his mini fridge and Dean was not about that life. He'll only eat lettuce when it's served with bacon and cheese...in a burger.

Peeking her head from the bathroom's door frame, Juliet flashed him a grin. ''Sure do.''

.

Just like that, Dean ended up sitting at some old fashioned diner's counter, eating a cherry pie with a scoop of ice cream, as recommended by the waitress.

''We don't usually serve it like that, but I'll make an exception for you,'' Juliet said, deposing the plate on the counter, right in front of Dean. ''After all, you saved me from getting fired.''

Dean smiled and thanked her before diving into the cherry goodness. God, he loves pie!

[scottyunfamous]

My First (and Last) Fitness Rave

Whaddup fancy face!

Let me start by saying how awesome it is to know that you’re all as awkward as me! I thought my last post was going to make me look strange(er than usual), but then everyone was like ‘Omg bitch, same!’, so now I feel less weird about finding hiding places to work out in, in the gym lol. I have a holiday off of work this week and will be attempting the weights room…and all of its horrors *cough* men *cough*.

Two weeks ago my betch, Delia-Rene (Vexy, for my SDTV heads), hit me up to go to a fitness rave. Yes heaux, a whole rave for fitness! She’s embarked on her own fitness journey and previously attended DJ Melody Kane’s, ‘No Kane, No Gain’. After watching it back on her Snapchat I thought, ‘Rah, that’s actually a dope idea’, so when she presented ‘The Night Shift’ to me I was totally up for it…plus early bird tickets were £5, and heaux, until we upgrade from this pre-rich bank account, frugal is life.

The Night Shift’s tagline was, ‘Don’t get drunk, get pumped!’ If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know that getting drunk is one of my favourite pastimes…(as is getting pumped…*wink*), so it didn’t light a fire under me right away. Honestly, I kept wondering how much more fun it would be to work out whilst drunk. I tried working out whilst high once, but a side effect of weed is cotton mouth. I was too thirsty to continue so I ended up eating snacks and watching the rest of my Zumba DVD from the comfort of the sofa. T’was a productive day.

Back to the fitness rave.

If you follow me on Snapchat, you already know I go to the gym looking ruff and tuff like carpet fluff (though since the hot new guy has started working in my gym I’ve made an effort to do my hair, and by do my hair I mean secure my wig) but this was a RAVE, which (in Scotty-land) means that extraness was allowed, so I swapped my mash up house clothes for some mesh panel leggings, a fitted top, boxer braids and my regular dick appointment makeup (5 minute makeup for when you wanna make an effort for bae, but not really).

The event was held in the Camden Centre. There was stage with a DJ playing some big tunes, two male trainers and a room full of women of all shapes, sizes and ethnicities, patiently waiting for the inevitable torture to begin, underneath a domed ceiling with a chandelier/disco ball thing and colourful strobe lights.

The smoke machine billowed cooling smoke across the stage, and all I could think was…what about us? Bitch, it was HOT! There wasn’t a lick of air conditioning in there, just two dibby-dibby windows opened wide enough to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FOR ANYBODY, a fan near the front that might as well have been switched off because made no fucking difference, and a bag of bitches with body heat. But I was excited same way, fancy faces. I couldn’t wait to lose this weight in my very first fitness rave.

After doing our obligatory snapping so that Snapchat could see how extra healthy (and generally extra we are), the class began. We placed ourselves towards the back -in the middle so that we’d be less noticeable in the sea of bodies when we skipped the exercises we didn’t want to do, and to make escape easier. These were regular occurrences.

We began with boxercise to soca music. I’m a soca head so I was HERE for it. It’s hard to get tired or fed up when soca music is on (not that it stopped the tiredness altogether, but it helped).  It was like carnival…but not anywhere near as fun. Fun is easily annihilated when you start asking people to do burpees…or any kind of floor work, and bitch, there was floor work galore! Now, I can’t really complain because more time when they asked us to do shit we wasn’t finna do, it either meant that it was time for a fake water break, an option #2 (which is a nice way of saying ‘it looks like that hard ass move you want me to do is working these particular muscles, so I’mma find a lazy ass way to work them without doing what the fuck you told me to do’), or straight up giving each other the ‘seasoned friendship look’ (you know the look, the one that is like you saying 'bitchhhh' without saying it) and not doing it.

At the start, when we didn’t want to do something at all, there were half-assed attempts to make it look like we were trying, just so the trainers wouldn’t notice that much. An example of said attempt was being instructed to do press ups, but instead of actually moving, you just lie on the ground with your hands in position and wait for everyone else to finish so you can reserve the energy you don’t have for the next move.

Stop judging me.

In my defence, for every exercise I did not attempt, I made up for it but dancing inappropriately to the music because carnival is coming and I need to start flexin my ultimate inner heaux. I’m making this sound really bad, like we went there and didn’t do shit lol. We did, I promise lol. By the end of it we were sweating and tired as fuck.

There was a half an hour break before the next section (body conditioning to trap and grime music) began. I’m generally not a huge fan of this kind of music, but even I can admit that it’s actually decent to work out to. It’s mad hype, so in turn, you also get hype. Everything was going well, and by well I mean that there was even more fucking floor work, which I was damn tired of by that point and stopped even trying to make it look like I was attempting it. You know them ones where the trainer walks by and you’re so over it that when they yell out ‘Keep going’ in a general direction (but you know it’s meant for you), you just look them in the face like ‘fight me’?

Two-twos (I’m showing my age…also, why was this ever slang?), one of the girls that was lying on the floor with me while everyone else did push ups earlier, decided to up her viva and attempt the excessive floor work. Next thing you know, the bitch is screaming down the building, laying on the round with a bunch of people around her coz she done fucked around and fucked up her knee. Things were swiftly put on pause as the ambulance was called.

At that point I wondered what any normal person would in that situation… “Does this mean we can go home now?”

Stop judging me.

Bitch, don’t nobody need to work out for 3 mu’uh fuckin’ hours. It is too much. Plus, I was starving. Some (just me, by myself) may even say that I was wasting away to practically nothing!

Naturally, I tried to get Delia’s determined ass to agree to leave, but she was like, “I spent £5 for this shit, bitch. We are staying.” Inside I died a thousand hangry (hungry/angry) deaths, but a part of me was proud and inspired that she was willing to push through and challenge (kill) herself (us), that tenacious slut bucket.

Shit like this is why having a support system on your weight loss  journey is very helpful, because when you wanna give up, there’s always someone nuff enough to force you to keep going.

I’ll admit, her can-do attitude rubbed off on me as the night (regrettably) continued. We were instructed to stand away from the injured girl still lying on the floor (much care, so sensitive), and they moved onto the 90s R&B section to do abs. As we kicked our legs up in the air and squatted down low, I yelled at my friend, with absolutely no shame ‘DO IT FOR THE DICK, BITCH!’ Sometimes you just need to think of how much better in bed exercise will make you. I know this sounds like a joke, but it’s not –penis is part of my motivation, heaux! I’m tryna do some skinny bitch ‘pick me up and fuck me mid-air without your legs shaking’ kinda shit.

I’m struggling in these skreetz so my legs can go all the way back without my stomach doubling up and pressing the air out of my lungs. I’m putting in work with this squat life so I can do 30-day squat challenge on the dick for more than three (two) minutes (seconds) before reverting to that grinding shit we like doing so much.

All in all, it was fine but literally the whole night just felt like the same moves done over and over again to different music. We definitely got a workout but I feel like the next time they do it they should get a female trainer as well. I’ve noticed that male and female trainers train you slightly differently. Men are more focused on strengthening/sculpting whereas women will mix it up with a bit more cardio.

I think part of my disappointment with the event was that I hoped for a different atmosphere, something more light-hearted and fun since it was meant to be a fitness RAVE. I pictured lots of whooping, cheering and upbeat encouragement like I experience in my Zumba class. This felt quite serious. The fun for me only really came at the end when we the DJ flung on Candy by Cameo and sped it up.

I wish that they’d provided yoga mats or at least informed us to bring our own because the floor we were doing all of that godforsaken floor work on was polished and hard as shit to stay stable on. I get very sweaty palms when I get hot, so doing press ups and all that was a myth because I kept slipping and sliding. Also, on the flyer we were promised fresh food and smoothies…we got neither. Instead they were charging £1 for a bottle of water that you could buy for 55p from the corner shop.

Also, this has nothing to do with exercise; more a marketing opportunity missed out on in the name of seriousness, but the instructors were tall, well-formed black men in a room full of women…why did no one take their shirt off, plis?

I think that if I did ever decide to do one of these again, it would probably be aerobics or something. I can do Serious Sally in the gym. If I go to fitness rave, I want fun. I know some of you are probably like, 'Heaux, that’s not the point of it,' and you’d be right, fun is not the point, but bitch, when you are not a gym bunny/fitness freak, fun helps.

I hope you enjoyed this post. If you would like more posts like this, click the heart below. Please be a star and share it with your friends.

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous #SvelteHeaux2017 post:

Fancy something a little more daring? Read chapters 1-5 of my sexy, award-winning urban romance, Running Wilde (new chapter posted every Friday)

Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x