#not me getting out of bed after midnight to fix this damned post like 12 hours after i posted it bc i forgot to add the website link

[changdol]

i was tagged by the amazing @parabataisarah to go to this website and chose four albums that made me who i am (left) and four albums that i’m obsessed with now (right)

left: imagine dragons - night visions | melanie martinez - crybaby | set it off - duality | seventeen - teen age right: verivery - series ‘o’ [round 2 : hole] | the boyz - chase | stray kids - noeasy | txt - the chaos chapter: freeze

tagging: @hyunjinz @gyeheons @yngseung @binminseok feel free to ignore this <3

[girlinthepictureframe]

The Briefest Kiss Part 12

P 12

Miles woke up feeling better rested and more at ease with the world than he had felt in a long, long time. The warm rays of the early morning sun were softly warming his cheek, the pillow had taken on the perfect shape around his head and Alex's short strands of hair were gently tickling his neck. All of that made him almost forget that he had an awful, throbbing headache. Damned Alex and his damned Vodka!

His eyes flew open. He held his breath as his view drifted towards his side, where Alex Turner, platonic friend and absolutely not sleeping-mate, was snoring softly, curled up against his side. Miles became aware that he had one arm tightly wrapped around him, keeping him impossibly close.

Oh no. Not again.

Had they not, just yesterday, promised to each other never to do this very thing ever again?

Miles took another glance at Alex. He was wearing clothes. It was the same shirt he had worn yesterday. And he himself was wearing clothes as well. And shoes, as he now sensed. His alertness began to return him. The sleepiness began to drift away.

Images of last night began to fill his head. Alex had made them omelets. Then they had played guitars for a bit. At some point a bottle of Vodka had appeared. Naturally, they had begun drinking it. Alex had spent half an hour meticulously going through the notes in his biology book, trying and failing to figure out why Miles wanted it. They had laughed and chatted and enjoyed each other's company. At some point in the middle of the night he'd crawled into Alex's bed. He had a vague memory of Alex crawling in with him.

And now here they were.

On the wrong side of the 'we are just friends'-fence.

He felt movements next to him. In a wild blur of movements, Alex jumped out of bed and stood next to it, staring at Miles in shock and confusion. “Oh God! Did we...?”

“NO!”

“Good!��� Alex squinted, shook his head. “It's good, right! I mean, you know what I mean. Right? Right?!”

“Alex? We're good. It's good.”

“Good.”

“We need to be more careful, don't we?” Miles couldn't believe how reckless they had been. “The whole boundaries-thing, it's new. We should pay more attention to it.”

“Definitely,” agreed Alex and nodded. He rubbed his eyes, sat back down on the bed. Leaned back against the headboard. Looked down at Miles. And promptly jumped up again. Miles got up just as quickly. Reckless, indeed.

“Coffee,” suggested Miles. “We need coffee. Lots of it.”

Alex followed him out of the room wordlessly. Downstairs, the dining room table was set with two plates, a pot of no-longer steaming coffee rested in the middle, surrounded by toast, butter and scrambled eggs. David Turner was sitting in the corner of the room, by the window, reading the newspaper.

“Mornin', boys. Nice of you to show up. Almost noon already.”

Had they slept that long? Miles blinked a few times, still a bit sleepy and a whole lot shaken from waking up next to Alex. His just-a-friend Alex. His very soft, warm, tempting, deliciously well-smelling, surprisingly cuddly friend Alex. The very one who was giving him a strange look just now. “Huh?”

“Did you just moan?”

Did he? Get a grip, Miles admonished himself. “No, I yawned!”

“Okay.” Alex appeared unconvinced but nonetheless busied himself with breakfast. “Will you stay today? Should we make plans?”

“No,” said Miles and was grateful for a topic which he felt much more equipped to handle at this early – or late – hour of the morning. “I hadn't intended on staying the night,” he admitted. But he'd been unable to leave. Being around Alex after all that time apart had felt too good to give up too soon. “I'm leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow. I have yet to pack and get some stuff.” And he needed, ridiculous as it sounded, a bit of space. So much of Alex after such a long period of longing for him was overloading his senses.

“So you leave already?”

He heard the disappointment and tried to explain it to him. “Well, yeah. You know, I was offered to open for you in Mexico and figured I'd spend the days before that visiting some old friends. There's a tv appearance I have to do as well. And the band and I haven't played a whole set in a bit so we definitely need to rehearse.” He also hadn't intended to be friends with Alex again at this point. The idea of spending the weekend in Mexico with him and the Monkeys had been a bit intimidating to say the least so he had planned on staying as busy as possible in the days leading up to it. Now he wished he'd some more free time on his hands. “When will you and the band head to Mexico?”

“Next week or so,” said Alex. “We haven't fully decided yet.” He nibbled on a dry toast. “Will you be in Mexico for your birthday?”

“No, LA.” Miles wasn't too happy about the prospect of spending that day without Alex. “We'll have to celebrate when we meet again, then.”

“No way,” stated Alex and placed the toast away, rubbing his hands to get rid of the crumbs. “I'll come to LA. I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out.”

“You have rehearsals and all that!” Miles wanted to spend his day with Alex, but he also didn't want to be responsible for him falling behind on his band-duties. “Your tour continues soon!”

Alex waved him off. “We've been playing the same songs over and over again for a year. Trust me, I can do with one day less of rehearsals! I'll be there, Miles. Gift and all.” Alex smiled. “Which reminds me, I still have your Christmas gift. Shit, where did I take it?”

Miles chuckled. “What do mean, where did you take it? And you know I don't need any gifts from you. Having you there is more than enough, Al!”

“That's sweet, but nonsense.” Alex snapped his fingers. “London! I took it to London! No wait...I didn't unpack in London. I think it's in Paris by now.”

After checking the time while Alex pondered his last stays, Miles got up. “Shit, I have to get ready. Mind if I take a shower, maybe borrow a shirt?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Since when do you have to ask. Just go do it. My home is your home!”

“My home,” muttered Alex's father from the corner of the room.

“Whatever,” said Alex.

“Thanks,” grinned Miles.

Mid March

“Look at you,” grinned Jamie as Miles blew out the candles of his birthday cake, “getting older and older.”

“Getting crinklier each year,” added Nick.

“Is that a grey hair?” wondered Matt.

Alex, who sat next to Miles, and across from the other Monkeys, chuckled. Some other people were there as well. It was midnight, the night before Miles' birthday. They had all come out to LA to celebrate and party into the day for they had to leave the next one.

“Fellas, I love you all,” pronounced Miles full of joy, grabbed his glass and lifted it for a toast. “To new beginnings and a fucking amazing time!” He slung one arm loosely around Alex. All in the name of a platonic friendship, he told himself, and not because his friend looked downright fuckable in that tightly fitted shirt. Alex's smile got bigger and Miles took that as reassurance that he hadn't yet crossed any barb-wired, high-voltage-barred lines. So deep into the night and so far from being sober, he had to be extremely careful with where he placed his steps. One inch too far and then what?

“To the new and improved us,” said Alex quietly into Miles' ear while everyone else busied themselves with the cake. “Happy Birthday, Miles. Will you come outside with me for a moment?”

“Of course!” His arm slipped from Alex's shoulder but Alex caught his hand, held on to it and while he didn't entwine their fingers as they would have done in the old days, he still grabbed them tightly. It did funny things to Miles' stomach. 'Watch out,” chimed his conscience – a hollow and ignored warning. When they reached the patio of the restaurant, Miles gave Alex all of his attention.“What's on your mind, Al?” He had wanted to call him 'love', as he used to, but had stopped himself just in time.

Alex reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “I wanted to give you your birthday present. But I'm not sure you'll like it so I didn't want any witnesses!” He held out the envelope. “For you. I put a lot of thought into it!”

Miles smiled radiantly. “Is it a gift certificate for Bed, Bath and Beyond?”

“Better,” assured Alex.

“Oh, Ikea?”

“Just open it, will you?”

Miles did. And the smile fell from his face. “Alex. What have you done?” He sat down on the nearest bench and took a closer look at what he was holding. It was a post card with the image of a beach with penguins on it, and the backside read, 'One trip to Boulder Beach, South Africa, to spend a week with the penguins.' He looked up, finding Alex nervously trying and failing to light a cigarette.

“It's just a gift, Mi.”

Alex hadn't called him that in half a year. What an odd little jump his heart did at that. But it wasn't enough to distract him from Alex's generous gift. “It's too much!”

“Miles, trust me. I can afford it. You can afford it! I always wondered why you haven't gone there already. You always wanted to see them.” He finally got the cigarette lit up and inhaled deeply. “It doesn't have a fixed date. I'll give you the official paperwork later. You can go whenever you want. And it's for two people, so you can take a friend or...you know...somebody.” The last word he said almost inaudibly.

“There's no somebody,” Miles pointed out right away. It mattered a great deal to him that Alex knew that.

“Doesn't matter, does it? Someday there will be a somebody.” Alex just wouldn't meet Miles' eyes, no matter how hard he tried to catch his sight. “Wait until then. Or not. Go now. Take your mom. I was just trying to get you something nice. Like I said, it's always been your dream.”

Miles' dream was going to the most exotic place in the world, where it was either warm and sunny, or cold and snowy, or wet and stormy, and see something so remote and rare and beautiful that he would remember it for the rest of his life. But that wasn't the part that mattered most to him. He wanted to go there with Alex. He wanted to share the memory with him. At some point he'd mentioned wanting to see penguins and it had become a thing. But he didn't so much care for the penguins as he cared for person who'd be standing next to him once he got to them. It had become a dream he'd almost given up on last year. There were times when he doubted he'd share any kind of memory with Alex ever again.

Yet here he was. With Alex. And all he had to do was tell him to pack his bag and join him. Dream come true. Only, Alex would never know that he was part of Miles' dream. Which, in return, made the whole dream lose all meaning.

“I do suck at gifts, don't I?” Alex sat down next to him as a shadow of sadness cast over his face. He flipped the dead cigarette away.

Miles wrapped his arm around Alex's shoulder, pulled him against his side and kissed his head. He knew he was pushing the boundary hard at the moment, but he felt bereft of any other option. He needed his next words to land so he spoke them as sternly as he could. “I love you. This gift is incredibly thoughtful and you'll never know how grateful I am for it. You tried to make my dream come true. That means the world to me! But,” he spoke softly, handing back the post card, “I can't take it.”

“Why not?” Asked Alex, not making any moves to detach himself from Miles.

“It's too much, Alex. It's too big. It's not the kind of gift you and I should be making each other.”

Alex wiggled his arm free, curled it around Miles' neck and returned the kiss, pressing his lips to Miles' forehead. “I truly don't understand why you're doing it. Being honest here!” His expression got softer. “But I know you wouldn't do it unless you got your reasons.” He finally met Miles' eyes. Then he placed the card back into his pocket. “Can I at least invite you to a movie once we're back in London? If you're afraid it'll be too big of a gift, you can pay for your own popcorn!”

A bashful grin lit up his face and he found Alex's pouty reply adorable. “Don't worry, babe. You can buy me all the popcorn in the world. And chocolate. And gummy bears. I'll endeavor to be the most expensive date of your life!”

Alex laughed, all remnants of sadness gone from his face. Then he paused and met Miles' happy expression with a one of equal parts perplexity and mockery. Alex's one brow curved upward in that certain way that Miles found unbelievably sexy.

That was until his own words sank in, at which point he rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell! Not date, damnit! Evening. And now I actually am tempted to pay for my own popcorn!”

“Don't you dare,” warned Alex and smirked. They still held on to each other. “Oh, hey, I've been meaning to ask you something. Did you take my black shirt? The one with the white stripes? I had it Sheffield, but now I can't find it anymore. And I know you took something out of my bag. But you vanished so bloody fast that day, I hardly saw you after breakfast!”

“I had to catch the train,” said Miles defensively. “You told me to take whatever!”

“That's my favorite shirt!”

“And it looks really good on me!” He flashed him a saucy grin. “Want it back?”

“Oh, you bet I do! Expect me to come get it later!”

“Here you are!” Matt called from the terrace door. “There's a birthday party happening on the inside but the guest of honor has gone missing!”

“On our way,” assured Miles, grabbed Alex's hand and pulled him along, back inside. “By the way, I also took your black alligator leather belt!”

“Fuck, Miles! I searched for hours for that thing!” Alex's hand went to Miles' suit jacket, pushed it upward. “Are you wearing it now? You are! I don't believe you!” He curled his fingers around the buckle. “Give it to me right now!”

They came to a halt in a corner. Miles stopped, Alex bumped against Miles' front and suddenly their lips were only an inch apart. Alex still held on to Miles' belt. For a long moment the world stopped moving. It was just them, in a room full of people, who, in that very instant, all ceased to exist.

Miles could smell the liquor on Alex's breath, felt the pulsating drum of his own heart that came with being so close to him. Alex's fingers, glued to the belt buckle, were entirely too close to one undeniably curious part of his anatomy and when his friend's eyes dropped down, coming to linger on his lips, Miles could feel the remnants of his self-control fighting with the legions of lust which had all come prepared for battle. “Boundary,” he whispered, damning himself for remembering just how insanely kissable Alex's lips were. “We must keep a distance.”

Alex nodded shakily. He carefully let go of the belt. Took a step backwards. “Drink?”

“Yes!”

Three hours later, and so fucking drunk they could no longer walk straight lines, Miles and Alex stumbled down the hallway of Miles' apartment, not singing but shouting the lyrics to one of their old tunes.

“And she tried so hard,” went Alex.

“To steal away from the Meeting Place,” followed Miles.

“Steer away.” Alex halted. “Door!”

“Why should I steer away from my door?” His mind was too foggy for Alex's vague remark. “Be more specific. I'm very drunk!”

Alex laughed. A drunken, gigglish laugh. “Lyrics, Mi. Steer away. Not steal away. However,” he said, holding up a finger to emphasize his words, “steal away would work. Or not?” He blinked once. Twice. “What were you saying?”

Miles frowned. “I don't know. What was I saying?” The hallway began to spin. “We should get inside. I think the floor is about to give out. I swear I just saw it move!”

“The floor?” Alex shook his head. Then his hand shot out, holding onto Miles' shoulder. “Oh, I saw it too! It's a trick floor! Must be.”

“I've heard of those,” said Miles. “Why won't you open the door?” He gave Alex a disapproving look. Time was running out on them. Although he couldn't say why. His thoughts were very confusing at the moment.

“It's your place.”

“I live here?”

Alex nodded.

“Oh. Oh, I have to unlock then!” And he did. Or tried. Tried again. And, at long last, succeeded. “Voila! Ooh, that's a french word. I just spoke French!”

Loud, vibrating laughter bursted from Alex. “Well done, Miles. Well done!” And he stumbled inside.

Miles followed him into the apartment, got rid of his jacket and kicked off his shoes. “Good night!”

“Wait, Mi. My belt!”

“Right!” He lifted his shirt, undid the buckle and pulled it out of the loops with one swift move before holding it out for Alex. His friend looked at him with heavy, lidded eyes, an expression of dark, vicious hunger on his face. “Why are looking me like I'm a chocolate cake?”

Alex licked in lips and gulped. Which, in return, made Miles zoom in on Alex's mouth. His perfectly shaped, undoubtedly warm and luscious mouth. “You look at me like I'm a bloody burger,” retorted Alex and took a step towards him. “I want my shirt, too!”

“What shirt? This shirt?”

“No, my shirt. My favorite shirt.” Another step. Alex pressed his still outstretched but until now forgotten finger into Miles' chest. “Black shirt. White stripes. You took it, you thief.”

“Only cause it smells of you,” confessed Miles. “Oh, I said that out loud, didn't I?” His eyes dropped to where Alex was touching his chest. “You mustn't tell yourself this, it's a sinful secret, and you and I friends, so we don't share sinful secrets,” he whispered, “but I so very much like the way you smell!” His head dipped down a little bit, his forehead now touching Alex's. “I really, really, really like the way you smell.”

Alex's flattened his palm against Miles' front, began rubbing up and down in small, languid strokes. He pressed his nose against that of his friend. “I miss how you used to smell,” admitted Alex, his voice low and husky. “But you changed your cologne.”

“Cause you told me to,” Miles reminded him.

“I know. I'm stupid like that.”

Now both of Alex's hands travelled across the planes of Miles' upper body, wrecking havoc on Miles's control. In the very far, dimly lit part of his head where his self-control was drifting off to sleep and his better judgement was struggling to remain awake, his wild desires crept from the shadows. Having Alex touch him like this was like a jolt of pure, uncontrollable energy. Every carefully sedated fiber of desire was shocked back to life.

Alex curled a hand around Miles' neck, dug his nose into his skin, tempting Miles to let go of the reigns and allow his arousal to run free. When Alex began to nuzzle along Miles' jawbone, then lower, near his earlobe, Miles closed his eyes, holding on the last shards of control. “Boundaries,” he reminded him in a voice so hoarse and strained he barely recognized it as his own.

“I'm not breaking boundaries,” claimed Alex in a bold-faced lie, with a tone that betrayed all pretense. “I'm just trying to figure out if I like your new cologne.”

“Figure it out faster,” begged Miles.

He felt Alex smile against the overly sensitive skin just behind his earlobe. “Why?”

“Cause I'm about to lose it.”

Alex detached from Miles, met his eyes, but couldn't focus on them. His gaze kept dropped to Miles' lips. Alex touched his cheek, angling his head with one hand as he took hold of Miles' tie with his other one, grabbing it near the knot, fisting it. “Lose it, then.”

A heartbeat passed. And then they were kissing. Wild, reckless and uncontrollable. There was nothing slow and soft or even tender about it. Just open mouths, wet tongues and filthy, dirty lust at its finest. Miles found himself pushed up against the back of his sofa, digging into the soft hair of Alex's outgrown buzzcut, craving his friend's kiss so utterly, so absolutely, that he couldn't even stop to undress him.

And that's when it hit him.

Here they were. Again. Six months later. Doing the same fucking thing. A wave of nausea and disgust overcame him and he pushed Alex off him. “Stop! Stop, damnit!”

Alex stumbled backwards, dazed and breathless.

“Fucking hell,” shot Miles, burying his face in his hands. When Alex made a move towards him, Miles quickly moved away, around the sofa. A physical barrier was exactly what he needed. “What are we doing?”

Alex, still looking lost, shrugged. “What we both wanted?”

“What we— Are you fucking kidding me? We're barely back to being friends, Alex! No kissing, we said.”

“I know!”

“Then why are we fucking kissing?!”

“'Cause you were there and I was there and...” Alex rubbed his face. “Damnit, Miles! Do you have any idea how hard it is not to kiss you? It's all I can think about. All day. All night. All the fucking time! When you're in reach, when I all I have to do is grab you, it becomes impossible not to do it. I know we said we would keep a distance. But had I no idea it would be so bloody hard! I want to follow our rules but…Miles, it has never been this way before! I've never longed so completely, so overwhelmingly for anyone in my life. I'm fucking starving for you! And I know you don't understand what I'm talking about but—”

“Every single cell in my body craves you, Alex.” Miles wanted to laugh. Not understand him? Oh, how fucking ridiculous that idea was! “There are moments when I want you so badly I could tear out my hair! I wake up in the middle of the night and find myself screaming into my pillow cause I've dreamt about you and I'm fucking hard and you're just not there to have! So don't you dare tell me I don't understand what you're talking about!”

Alex made his way around the sofa. “If I want you and you want me, why can't we—”

“'Cause it will ruin our friendship and you know it!” As if he hadn't thought about it! As if the thought of just giving in to his needs didn't cross his mind every minute, every hour, every day! But it would never be enough. It wasn't the physical act of being with Alex that satisfied him so greatly – even though it was very well-satisfying! – it was the act of being with Alex. It was the act of being entwined with the one the person that knew him inside and out. It was the act of sharing immense pleasure with the one person he knew inside and out.

What Alex suggested would no doubt please his body. But it would drain his soul and lay waste to his heart. It would kill him slowly. And it would lead to the bitter end of a beautiful friendship. Miles sat down on the sofa, staring at Alex, hoping he understood any of it. “You and I aren't made to for something like that. And I will never risk losing you for just a bit of sex!”

Alex dropped down next to him. “I don't remember how we used to do this, Miles. We've been best friends for almost half of our lives. Until now, we've never had a need for boundaries and lines. What changed?”

“Nothing changed.” The haze from the liquor began to settle and the lingering adrenaline from almost detonating his renewed friendship with Alex had helped him regain some control of his mind. But his body was tired. His limbs felt heavy. His muscles were sore, almost as if he'd run a marathon. “Think about it, Alex. You say we never needed any lines? We built a bloody minefield! But we didn't place it around our hands and lips. We locked our hearts in. We always pretended that all we did was play around. We pushed each other. We were reckless. There's a reason you never stayed the night when we shared a bed, even if it was just for sleep. There's a reason we don't ever explain our lyrics or question each other about them.”

Averting his eyes, getting up, then pacing the room, Alex struggled and Miles could tell. But wasn't it time they talked about this? Alex stopped to stare at the ceiling, then squeezed his eyes shut. “There isn't a line or a word in any of all that I've ever written that—there's nothing that ever needed to be locked off!”

“Golden Trunks. Is it about me?”

Alex shot him a look of crimson anger. “I know that she told you that it is. There's no reason to rehash this!”

“That's what I'm fucking talking about, Alex! This is you, drawing big, fat line.”

“What do you want me to fucking say, Miles? Huh?! Do you need me to spill it out for you? Yes, okay? Yes, I, Alex Turner, fantasize about you. How's that a new information?” he asked full of biting sarcasm.

“You broke up with the woman whose name you had inked on your arm over a line in a song that barely anyone even knows!”

“So did you,” Alex snapped irately. Then he walked up to Miles, to tower in front of him. “You want honesty? Tell me what you and Taylor were fighting over two years ago!”

Miles looked away. “You really don't want to know.”

“Oh, I do!”

2017

“I owe you an apology.” Miles took a seat next to Taylor by the pool of Alex' LA home. Alex was in the midst of a discussion with some other people which had come to one of his impromptu-barbecues. The other Monkeys were in town as well, all busy with recording their new album. Taylor crossed her arms as she met Miles' eyes. He sighed. “I mean it, T. I did something that I shouldn't have done for a vast variety of reasons. But most importantly, I shouldn't have done it because he wasn't mine to kiss. I'm sorry.”

“To be perfectly honest, I couldn't care less about the kiss.” She looked away, distracted by some noises coming from the pool. She kept her attention there. “You broke Hannah's heart.”

“I know.” He looked elsewhere, too, now. “And she knows I never intended for it to happen. That's doesn't take away from what I did, though. It was a bad—”

“Her heart was doomed when you asked her to be your girlfriend,” said Taylor, startling Miles. “And so was mine, by the way, when I asked him out and he said yes.”

“Taylor,” tried Miles, but she held up her hand to stop him.

“No, I'm not done. You and Alex have fans, did you know? Fans who care less about your music and more about your personal relationship? At first I found it funny, even a bit cute. Then I observed the two of you on tour. On stage. I even saw him snuck out of your room once, in the middle of the night, in a bathrobe, when I came to surprise him. I never told him that.”

“He fell asleep on the bloody couch,” lied Miles, annoyed. He felt caught. A strange, irritating emotion.

“Fucking liar!” She shot loudly.

“Would you calm down,” Miles hissed. “There are other people here!”

“Why should I care? Are you suddenly worried people might get the wrong idea about you and Alex?” She tossed out a bitter laugh. “I don't believe that you played Hannah or that he's pretending to care for me. But deep down,” she told him as she stared into his eyes, “you know there's something more going on. Tell me that I'm wrong. Tell me that it's all just make-believe for the fans. Tell me!”

He couldn't tell her.

“Here's why the thought of me didn't keep you from kissing my boyfriend: you think he belongs to you. You consider him yours. Want to apologize? Apologize for that.”

They sat in silence for a while and Miles let her words sink in. He had to give it to her, she did struck a nerve. And it made him angry. It unraveled him that she read him so well, even though he worked so bloody hard to keep those feelings to himself. It pissed him off that she had the nerve to state so bluntly what he himself tried so hard to deny. And it annoyed him that she looked so fucking smug about it.

“No apology?” Taylor smirked. “Must bother you that he hasn't broken up with me yet.”

Miles bit his tongue, tried to be better than her, tried to fight his urge to sink low. He knew that she was hurt. He knew it was his fault.

“Guess my kiss tastes better than yours.”

And he lost the fight. “Every night he didn't spend in your arms,” whispered Miles, leaning into her to make sure she was the only one who heard, “he spent in mine.” Then he got up, grabbed his jacket and left.

Present Day

Alex watched him impatiently. “Seriously, Miles. I want to know!”

“There goes our friendship,” murmured Miles and got up, to walk over to the window. He lit himself a cigarette. “Short version? I apologized, she said some stuff I didn't want to hear and I said something to shut her up and make her feel bad.”

“You insulted her?” Alex sounded so surprised. “She would have told me that. And you don't insult people! You've never done that!”

“It wasn't an insult, okay? It was a lie. Or not.” He rolled his eyes, met Alex's. “Why is that so important now?”

“'Cause ever since that argument she believed that you and I were in love.”

Miles wanted to laugh so badly. It was all so insanely ridiculous. He was in love with Alex. And he let Taylor believe that had spent countless nights 'with' Alex. As his lover. Which, in a sense, wasn't even a lie! He loved him and he had spent the nights with him. Only, he hadn't known then that he was in love with Alex. Or had he? Had he known all along? Had he been in love from the very beginning? And had Taylor been right after all? Had he really considered Alex to be his, for all that time? “Would you believe me when I tell you I have a headache?”

Alex frowned. “Why wouldn't I believe that, Miles? What's going on?”

“I'm finding it difficult to believe my own words, lately.” He turned his head to find Alex standing next to him, a concerned look on his face. “I find myself saying one thing and then end up doing the other. I tell you I want to be your friend and then I kiss you. I ask you for honesty and I find myself unable to respond with the same. I tell we can't kiss again and then…I do this.” He cupped Alex's face, cigarette still tugged between his fingers, and kissed him.

But it wasn't fast, or hard, or anything their kisses usually were. It was slow, and gentle, and his heart broke splinter by splinter with each languid stroke of his tongue. He felt Alex's hands and arms as they made their way around his torso, bringing them closer. What a dangerous kiss this was, not lacking of lust yet fed with feelings. It was a kiss of love, and his friend allowed it to happen, allowed him to have it. Miles felt horrible. After a last lingering moment, he let go and stepped back. “I'm not ready to be around you again.”

Alex leaned against the window, hazy and dark-eyed. Completely out of it. “What?”

“Don't you see, Al? I can't control it yet. It's exactly as you said, impossible not to kiss.”

“Let's work on that together, then!”

“How's that going to work? We sit in a room and applaud ourselves for every minute we spent not making out?” He sad, self-deprecating chuckle slipped from his lips.

“I just got you back in my life. I won't let you walk out of it, just because it's complicated and hard and requires effort!”

“You want a reason to let me go? Let me give you one. I told Taylor we fucked on the regular.”

A few seconds ticked down. And then? Then Alex combusted in laughter. Loud, rumbling, tears-streaming-from-the-eyes laughter. “That's what that was all about?” More laughter. “Oh that explains so much!” More laughter still.

Miles jaw all but dropped. “Why is it so funny? I don't get it.”

Alex shrugged. “I have no idea!” He wiped the tears from his eyes, still amused. “I just find it hilarious that the two of you made such a big fucking thing out of it, but she wouldn't even come to about it!”

“Well,” added Miles, “she also said I was in love with you.”

“You're not,” said Alex. The amusement died down. “Trust me, I know that.”

Miles didn't respond to that statement. How could Alex be so firm in his belief of it, wondered Miles, considering the kiss they had just shared. And what a testament to Alex's own lack of romantic notions towards him, thought Miles further. He had, after all, returned the kiss as tenderly as Miles had given it. To do that, without love? How different two people could be, he marveled.

“I meant what I said, Al.” Miles turned towards him.

“So did I,” said Alex. Sternly. “You and I are friends. And we'll remain friends. Damn all this attraction nonsense. Let's take smaller steps then. Let's not get drunk together. That seems to lead to no good. God, Miles! We won't even see that much of each other at any rate! I'm stuck on tour with the Monkeys and you have all your gigs across the bloody ocean! You want separation? There you have it! For crying out loud,” he groaned in frustration, “let's do a fucking long-distance phone friendship until I'm back home!”

“I can't perform with you in Mexico.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Come on, Miles! It's not even a Puppets song! It's fucking 505! We always do that together when we're in the same city! Huddle near Matt, Nick or Jamie if you need to!”

“It's not about that, Al.”

“It's been months, Miles. And it'll be our last chance to share a stage for a very long time!”

“Alex, I can't.” The last time they shared a stage together, it left him on the brink of a breakdown. The time before that, it had been odd already. And at that time, they hadn't even done the deed! He wasn't ready to find out how it would feel now. What if the spark was gone? What if there was nothing but awkwardness? Or worse, unease? “Someday, but not yet.”

“I can't force you, can I?” Alex was, without a doubt, disappointed. And he looked as exhausted and as done with it all as Miles felt. “Seriously, Miles. This has to be the worst birthday of yours we've ever celebrated!” He returned to the sofa and leaned back. “We gotta do better next year!”

“We will,” promised Miles and leaned back against the window, hands in his pockets. He spotted the clock on the wall and yawned. “Almost five am already. Time to sleep. It's been a long day.”

Alex shook his head disbelievingly and got up. “Smooth, Kane. Real smooth!” He picked up his jacket from the floor, put it on and tipped his head at Miles. “Keep the belt and the shirt. I'll collect it in London once we're back.” In the doorway, he haltered one last time. “Will I at least see you in Mexico?”

Miles nodded.

Alex nodded, too. And then he was gone.

[dracosollicitus]

“Sugar Sugar”: Chapter Two

Lots of anons and your replies told me that I should probably publish the next chapter of the Sugar Daddy Damerey AU. 

First Post is Here

Thanks to @dame-reylo-ve for the gorg moodboard <3

PS: if you want to see the rest of this fic (I have a lot more planned) let me know <3

Chapter Two (rated M, for sexual content at the end), Word Count: 5396 words

“We should really talk about a contract,” Mr. Dameron said after he’d paid the bill – he’d frowned when Rey instinctively reached for the check, and she’d sat on her hands, blushed and whispered sorry, which seemed to more than mollify him.

“A contract?” She blinked, twice, trying to understand. “I’m sorry, but what do I need a contract for?” She hated documentation. Hated it. She had a file at her apartment, filled to the brim with documents. Her intake form from when she was five, and they had found her in that wretched place. The subsequent stacks of forms from foster homes she’d been dragged to after they couldn’t find any family; the foster homes she ran away from (police reports to go with that, reports listing her runaway status), and then dragged back to. The forms Unkar Plutt had filled out when he’d gotten his hands on her at fourteen –

The form he’d made her sign at 18, promising she wouldn’t work anywhere but at his junkyard. Finn had found that one, right after they’d become friends, and shook his head violently, loudly insisting this isn’t legal, Peanut, he can’t hold you to this, and she hadn’t believed him, had cried and insisted it was real, she belonged to Plutt, belonged in the junk, and Finn had called Ben Solo, a friend of a friend who was a high-powered lawyer who sat her down and shook his head at the document that had been haunting her and told her she was free.

He’d also encouraged her to burn the document, to kill her past – but Rey liked reminders. She needed to remember not to trust people.

So when Mr. Dameron said contract, she balked. “There’s no need,” she said, as Mr. Dameron tilted his head at her, not quite frowning, but not looking happy either. “I won’t – I wouldn’t tell anyone about … what we are.”

He frowned softly and shook his head. “No, Rey, it’s not just an NDA, although that’s part of it. This would be to protect you just as much as me. Make it clear what you should expect, and what I should expect from this. I’ll have my lawyer write something up, and we can look it over at lunch next week.”

And Rey had agreed because something about the soft openness of his face made her believe him, made her believe it was for her own good, and then she went home and writhed against her sheets, her skin too small for her body. Before she could fall asleep, her phone buzzed on the floor next to her mattress, and she rolled over to check it.

Her phone was a second generation iPhone that she’d salvaged from the trash – had watched, indignant, as a frat boy had chucked it the second he opened his new phone – and kept alive through sheer skill. Sure, she was mildly worried it might actually catch fire some day soon, but it worked. And she’d pieced it together, kept it alive. It was hers. But she didn’t often get texts.

[Unknown Number]: I had a great time tonight, sweetheart. I hope you sleep well.

Rey blushed. No one had ever sent her a goodnight text before. She had a limited data plan though, so she fretted about sounding a response – you could ask him to get you the next step up in your data plan, the calm, calculating part of her brain pointed out – but then she did, not wanting to seem rude. And it was sweet of him to think of her.

She saved him to her contacts (you have five full friends now, Smith!) and then responded.

[Rey]: Thank you for dinner, Mr. Dameron. Can’t wait to see you next week. Xx.

She fired it off before she could think better of it and then shrieked quietly into her pillow. She was never that flirty. X’s? Like she was in middle school still? Rey Smith, who never so much as sent a folded-up love note to a would-be paramour, suddenly dotting her texts with kisses – what was next? Emojis?

What the fuck.

She hadn’t even done it to be performative, she knew. She … really wanted Mr. Dameron to think she had a good time. She wanted to make him happy.

Fuck. If only she could afford therapy.

Rey giggled hysterically at the thought of asking her sugar daddy to pay for a few sessions of therapy, I mean, I clearly have some unresolved issues, but then frowned. She knew, really, why the idea of a contract had bothered her. It, like all the other documents in her life, would be a constant reminder of what she was. An accessory, an unnecessary addition, something that could be removed and moved and taken away, left behind.

Rey didn’t want to be a piece of paper to Poe Dameron. She wanted to be more. Wanted him to smile at her on her own merit, not because she was a young woman who agreed to spend time with him in a monetary, controlled transaction. She wanted to – to  --

God. She was already fucked.

***

Across town, in a penthouse that overlooked the majority of Coruscant, Poe Dameron looked up from the open document that his lawyer had finished, express, this evening. There’d been past documents to start from, of course, from other girls who’d entered into this arrangement with him – but Poe wanted it to be perfect. It needed to be perfect, and different, and he was probably being selfish, but he wanted more than anything for this to work. Not fizzle out after three months when the girl moved on, understandably, to a younger, more suitable man, one who wasn’t quite as fucked up, one who didn’t hide behind his money as a poor exchange for intimacy.

His phone had buzzed – it was past midnight, and he hadn’t expected a response, but his heart skipped a beat, seeing the now-familiar name on the screen.

[Rey Smith, 12:21 a.m.]: Thank you for dinner, Mr. Dameron. Can’t wait to see you next week. Xx.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He hadn’t even asked her to call him Mr. Dameron. A part of him – unconquerable, so it would seem – almost wanted to let slip his military career, let her know that it was technically Major Dameron. But wouldn’t that call forth a whole lot of uncomfortable questions that he’d feel obligated to answer? Poe shook his head. That was the beauty of this arrangement. They didn’t need to ask each other uncomfortable questions.

But I’d tell her, he thought randomly. I don’t know why, but I would. Poe clenched his fist and stood to fix a drink. He stood in the window overlooking the city and sighed through his nose. Three hours with her, and she’d gotten under his skin. What was he doing?

It started when he realized she had no idea who he was. At first, he worried that Paige had told her to play it cool, to not let it slip that she recognized his name, his story. But Rey Smith was guileless. She blushed and giggled and had no idea which utensil to use and when – and he was charmed. Immediately. The second she said his name, Mr. Dameron? the syllables sounding so damn right in her voice, rounded slightly by a British accent – he knew. He didn’t want to mess this one up.

Poe went back to the contract only to save his changes and then headed to bed, a full two hours earlier than normal. He looked at the text one last time, greedily, before he fell asleep, focusing on the two small x’s at the end of the text.

Maybe she’d let him kiss her.

There’s a thought.

***

Drawing up the contract was not nearly as awkward as Rey feared it would be. A car had pulled up outside the coffeeshop she was studying at – even if she couldn’t afford fall tuition for her Master’s, she could always keep studying, and the coffeeshop had free WiFi – and Rey waved at the driver nervously.

“Ms. Smith?” The man unfolded himself from the car and opened up the door for her. Rey frowned – she really could have done that for herself, no need to inconvenience anyone – and nodded.

“I’m Rey,” she said, sticking her hand out. The chauffeur raised his eyebrows but took the offered hand.

“Snap Wexley,” he said cheerfully. Rey hopped in, and he returned to the driver’s seat. It was a nice car, and Rey hummed appreciatively at the sound of the engine. It was efficient, and no-nonsense, and probably the nicest car she’d sat in – she’d taken apart nicer ones, of course, but she was sitting in this, which was worlds different.

“Do you work for Mr. Dameron?” Rey asked curiously while they pulled away from the curb.

“I do!” Snap grinned at her in the rearview mirror, and Rey smiled back.

“For how long?” She asked, fiddling with the strap of her bag, an old crossbody she’d found thrifting six months ago.

“I left the Army a year ago, and Mr. Dameron offered me the job so I could work while I went to school,” Snap said, turning left and getting on the expressway towards uptown. The sky lightened up considerably while they drove around from her side of town, which Rey rolled her eyes at. Of course, rich people got nicer weather, too.

“Oh! What are you studying?” She could see a stack of textbooks on the front seat, and Snap’s neck turned a little red.

“Aeronautics and engineering. It makes sense, right?”

Rey frowned. The comment didn’t make a lot of sense, but she didn’t want to be rude. “Aeronautics is super cool,” she enthused, slightly wincing at her diction. Whatever. She was young, she could sound young. And it was super cool. “I went for Mechanical Engineering, myself. I love taking things apart and putting them back together. Got me in trouble a lot when I was younger.”

Got me evicted from more than one house. She didn’t add that part.

Snap laughed and shook his head. “I can’t imagine you being in trouble.”

“And what does that mean?” Rey pretended to sound indignant.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just supposed to believe that you were a troublemaker, ever. Your shirt has daisies on it, Ms. Smith.”

“It’s just Rey,” she corrected hurriedly, and she snorted, looking down at her outfit. A comfortable grey shirt with daisies on it, skinny jeans, and converse. “Maybe these are poisonous daises. Real bad ass stuff. Weaponized flora.”

Snap laughed harder at that, and they spent the rest of the drive snarking back and forth.

She felt much more relaxed by the time they pulled up outside of an upscale restaurant. Rey shook her head when they got out, sliding quickly to beat Snap to the door. He huffed in pretend annoyance, and Rey stuck her tongue out at him. He stuck his tongue out back, and Rey heard a familiar voice.

“Rey?” She and Snap startled apart, both looking like kids who’d gotten their hands caught in a cookie jar.

“Mr. Dameron!” She squeaked. God. Oh God.

He was even hotter than she remembered. All the research on this sort of dynamic that she’d done the last four days threatened to fall right out of her head at the sight of him. He was wearing a plum button down tucked into grey pants, and his hair was much more tame today. Was this his lunch hour? Did he work? Rey stumbled forward, and when he held his hand out, she took it, expecting them to shake again.

He kissed her knuckles instead, bending at the waist to brush his lips over her hand, and Rey shivered, not unpleasantly. Her skin prickled into gooseflesh despite the fact that it was seventy degrees, and Mr. Dameron looked up at her under hooded eyes. They held eye contact for easily five seconds, long, agonizing, eternal seconds, and Snap cleared his throat.

“I’ll get going then,” Snap said, and Rey startled and looked back at him.

“It was lovely to meet you, Snap!” She beamed at him.

“It was absolutely a pleasure to meet you as well, Rey.” He tipped his hat at her, got in the car, and pulled away back into the light traffic of mid-day.

“Charming my employees?” Mr. Dameron asked, and Rey looked over at him, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Should I be worried?”

“Definitely.” Rey smirked at him before she remembered why they were there, and she frowned at the building behind him. “Why do I get the feeling that a plate in there costs more than what I spend on utilities each month?”

“I mean, it probably does,” Mr. Dameron sounded unbothered, and Rey sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not dressed very nicely,” she pointed out. “When you said lunch, I was thinking, like, burgers or something.”

“I’m fairly certain they serve hamburgers here,” he teased. “And if they don’t, I could ask them to.” She had a feeling people didn’t say no to Mr. Dameron; he was an odd combination of charismatic and demanding. She fidgeted all the same. “What is it?” He looked concerned now.

“Could we – could we go somewhere less fancy?” Rey asked. He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but she plowed forward. “I just – the idea of sitting somewhere nice, looking like I don’t belong, when I already know I don’t – it’s really stressful.”

The therapist she’d managed to see for five months in undergrad was probably applauding somewhere. Mr. Dameron looked taken aback, like that honestly hadn’t occurred to him.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I’ll just step inside and cancel the reservation. Do you want to look at Yelp and see what’s in walking distance?” He smiled at her and went into the building, and Rey opened her phone, calculated how much data it would take to download an app like Yelp – she tried opening her browser, remembered that she turned off data for Chrome, and went back in to turn it on in her settings.

She was still fumbling when Mr. Dameron returned. “Sorry!” She stammered. Making people – especially men who were larger than her – unhappy still freaked her out, even after years of self-defense classes and a complete awareness that she could take down most people with extreme ease. She just did not like to displease people. Ingrained reaction. “Sorry, so sorry, my phone is –“

“On its last legs?” Mr. Dameron didn’t sound condescending, but he did shoot her phone a weird look before pulling out his own – and was that model even out yet? – and typing in something rapidly. She saw a folder tucked under his arm, and she squirmed realizing that must be the fabled contract. A pen was in his front pocket, and the sunlight was hitting his cheekbones just right, and –

“Good hamburgers, two blocks over,” he reported, grinning at her when he looked up and caught her staring. “Do I have something on my face?”

There were a hundred and one witty comebacks she could have gone with, but Rey opened her mouth and said, “You’re just really handsome, is all.”

Oh, fuck you, Smith.

His grin softened into something that made her heart clench, and he held out his arm for her to take, nodding in the direction of the new restaurant. Rey unthinkingly slipped her hand through his own, and not through his elbow, realizing halfway through her motion what he had intended. He didn’t seem to mind. At least, she hoped he didn’t.

“So, I saw the address you sent.” She’d dropped a pin at the coffeeshop. She wasn’t ready for him to see where she lived. “Do you go to that coffeeshop often?”

“Yeah,” Rey smiled at the sidewalk while they walked. “Maz has really good tea.” And she lets me drink it for free, a pastry thrown in too, if I fix her appliances every now and then. “And it’s in walking distance of my apartment, which is nice.”

“You live with Paige’s younger sister, right? Rosie?”

“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” Rey laughed. “Rose hasn’t gone by that nickname for as long as I’ve known her.”

“I knew her when she was a lot younger, I guess,” Mr. Dameron allowed, and she snuck a glance at him. He looked thoughtful, and he wasn’t looking at her, so she re-directed her attention to the sidewalk.

“But she is my roommate, yeah,” Rey remembered that he’d asked her a question. “For now.” She lived in a nicer apartment, for now. She had someone to come home to, for now.

“Moving soon?” They turned left and continued walking down the block. The storefronts looked a little more accessible, a little more homey now, and Rey saw a diner at the bottom of the hill. She hoped that was their destination.

“Rose is moving out with her boyfriend, Finn. He’s my best friend,” Rey said that last part proudly. Finn Trooper was the best person she knew – they’d even tried the romance thing when they were 18, but after a disastrous series of events and dates, they’d laughed and decided to be platonic soulmates; he’d met Rose a year later, and they’d been together ever since. “And they want their own place.”

They’d invited her to come with them, of course, but the rent was just a little more than she could afford, and she knew they were just being nice. Because they were both nice people. No one would really want her tagging along when they were starting a nice, new shiny life.

“So you’re hunting for a new apartment, then?” They were slowing as they neared the diner, and Rey’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. If he heard, he didn’t comment. “I know a realtor who can help you find a good deal.”

Christ. If the apartments she were looking at required a realtor, she probably wouldn’t be here right now. She’d be swimming in a tub full of money, like Scrooge McDuck. Unbidden, the image of Poe Dameron swimming in a bathtub of money came to mind, which made her snort and also blush.

“No, no,” Rey said as he opened the door for her, and she walked into the diner. “No, I’ll find something.” She actually had her eye on a place for 900 a month. It was over in Niima, a neighborhood of Coruscant that was less than stellar, but it was near the bus stop, and the metro, and the building had a lot of families in it, so it couldn’t be that bad.

They seated themselves, which already meant this place was more her speed. Rey didn’t even bother looking at the menu, just chirped “Biggest burger you have!” at the waitress, who snorted at Rey’s eagerness, and then looked over at Mr. Dameron.

He was regarding the menu with a strange look on his face, and when the waitress cleared her throat, he startled. “I’ll have the biscuits and gravy, thanks.” The waitress nodded and walked away, and Rey leaned over the table to smirk at him.

“Biscuits and gravy?” She teased. “Do you even know what gravy is?”

“It’s basically meat in condiment form, right?” He was absolutely deadpan, and Rey rolled her eyes at him. The food came out alarmingly quickly after they’d made some more small talk, and she wasted no time hoovering down her entire burger.

Mr. Dameron had eaten about half of a biscuit, slathered in homemade gravy, by the time she crunched her last pickle spear. He looked absolutely shocked, and mildly impressed. “Hungry?” He asked. “Or are you practicing for some kind of competition.”

“Where I grew up, you ate your food quick before someone could take it away from you,” Rey shrugged. “If they even bothered feeding you.” She frozen taking a sip of her water at the look on Mr. Dameron’s face.

He set his fork and knife down carefully. “What?” He asked. His stare was arresting, and Rey couldn’t look away. She flushed with embarrassment, then. She shouldn’t dump this on him. Whatever was going on between them, it didn’t come with the necessity of him shouldering her tragic backstory.

“Nothing.” Rey whispered and looked out the window. “Nothing that matters.”

“Are you sure about that?”

She didn’t answer the question, and instead asked one of her own. “So. The contract?” She nodded her head towards the folder he’d set down next to him on the table. Rey wiped her fingers on her napkin and reached out for it. “May I?” Mr. Dameron handed it over, but he looked no less pensive while she opened the folder.

Her brow furrowed while the unfamiliar words swam past her eyes. A lot of legal jargon, something about ‘discretion’ and ‘privacy’ – this must be the NDA. She shrugged. “This part looks fine, I don’t intend on telling anyone. I mean, Rose knows because of Paige, but Finn’s my only other friend, and he isn’t very nosy.” She held her hand out without looking up, and Mr. Dameron placed the pen in her palm. Rey signed quickly and flipped to the next page.

“Oh.” She squinted and frowned – why did legal documents have to have such tiny font – at the list of clauses Mr. Dameron had provided. “Three dates or events a week, maximum, one date a week, minimum…provision of allowance…” there was a blank next to ‘ in the amount of,’ and she looked up at her dining partner.

Mr. Dameron smiled at her. “I figured you could give me a figure, and we could write it in.”

“Uhm,” Rey looked down and then back up and then back down. “Well...I mean, isn’t like, twenty dollars normal?”

“…An hour?” Mr. Dameron’s face twisted in confusion when she glanced at him.

“No, like, a week.” Rey snorted. “God, Mr. Dameron, my job doesn’t even pay me twenty dollars an hour.”

“You want an allowance of twenty dollars a week?” Mr. Dameron still didn’t look any less confused, but amusement was creeping into the corners of his expression.

“What?” Rey closed the folder to wave it at him. “I saw it on TV once. Allowances are like, twenty dollars a week.”

“Sweetheart.” Mr. Dameron reached across the table, and she took his hand without thinking. His thumb stroked over the back of her hand soothingly, and she took a deep breath, waiting for him to speak. “How about we set it at 2000 and move on from there?”

“Two…thousand…” Rey spluttered for a minute and then shook her head. “No. No, it’s too much.”

“I want to give it to you,” he said. “Please. It’s…sort of part of this.” Rey frowned and then tapped her fingers against the folder. She owed about 50 grand in student loans from undergrad…twenty five or so weeks of this, and she could pay it off. And hadn’t she just read, bolded, underlined, in red: ‘no sexual contact shall be expected as part of the relationship; any sexual contact will be initiated by both parties and under full, adult consent of both parties outside of the pre-arranged relationship.’ It’s not like taking his money meant that she was expected to do sex work. And she’d even considered that method of paying the bills a few times in her life – she just didn’t like the idea of sex enough to consider it, preferring to work with her hands.

What an odd arrangement she’d stumbled into, then. Paige Tico would either prove to be her salvation or her destruction.

Mr. Dameron was still talking while the gears of her mind whirred. “… We can always increase it later, if you want, but that would be your independent spending money. It’d be nice if you bought things, and I could see you using them, of course, it’s…something I’m interested in, but then there will be the things that I buy for you, and –”

“Okay.” Rey cut him off and flipped the folder back open. She scrawled $2000 in the space provided in the allowance clause and then signed rapidly at the bottom of the page. “This all looks good.”

“There’s still another page.” His smile was impossibly fond, considering this was their second meeting, and Rey turned to the next page. “And if there’s anything you want to change, let me know.” Her eyes skipped down the page, catching on certain phrases:

R. S will let P. Dameron know of any necessary expense, so that he may cover it –

R. S will consent to weekends away, not to exceed one weekend per month –

R. S be provided one copy of key to P. Dameron’s Coruscant residence, to be used at signatory’s discretion, but to be surrendered at the termination of contract –

This contract will be revisited and edited as needed, or terminated, in three months, on September 15, 2018.

“Three months?” Rey asked, not looking up.

“It’s to see if this works out,” he said steadily, as if expecting the question. “This would be a sort of probationary period, where we learn about each other, see if we’re compatible to continue in this sort of arrangement. Either one of us can agree to terminate it before then, however. We’d just have to sit down and renew it by that date.”

Rey shrugged and signed the last few lines, initialing here and there where necessary – noting that he’d already filled out his lines  – before closing the folder carefully. “Can I … can I have a copy of this?”

“I’ll have it sent to your apartment later today,” he smiled and took the last bite of his meal, sopping up the gravy with his biscuit. “God, I haven’t had this in forever.”

“It’s fairly easy to get,” Rey teased. “I’m sure one of your cooks could make it for you.”

“My mom used to make it, actually,” Mr. Dameron said quietly. “Haven’t had it since she passed.”

“Oh.” Rey flailed internally. She didn’t know if her mom had been a cook. Her mom wasn’t even really much of a mom. Is now when she should say well, my mom sold me for drugs when I was four, so … ? She went for, “Was she southern?”

Was. She. Southern.

WhatthefuckiswrongwithyouRey?!?

Mr. Dameron didn’t seem affronted by the question, but the sadness in his eyes dimmed somewhat. “No, actually, she was Cuban. But she moved to the South when she was a kid, and that was one of her favorite foods. It always reminds me of her, though, when I see it or think of it.”

“Food connects us to our past,” Rey said. “Reminds us of who we were, and who we are.” She was thinking, in all honesty, of the meal she’d eaten at 14, after Unkar had beaten her again for breaking something that she had sworn was already broken, the half-mangled sandwich she found out back of a restaurant in town – she’d eaten it, lip still bleeding, her hands raw and sore from working too much, but she’d eaten it, and she’d known she’d survive, no matter what, she could do any fucking thing she wanted to, if she could only survive, and –

Mr. Dameron beamed at her, breaking her reverie. He had no idea the turn her thoughts had taken, obviously, and Rey wasn’t about to tell him. “Exactly.” He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through for a fifty – Rey’s eyes almost fell out of her head while she watched him go through his wallet (and she totally would have pickpocketed him six years ago, the man had more money than God, what the ever loving fuck, there had to be more than eight hundred dollars in there). He set the money on the table and held his hand out for her. She didn’t hesitate in taking it, and they strolled out onto the street, the folder in his free hand.

“So,” he said, releasing her hand to take out his phone. He typed quickly while talking. “I have an event on Friday. I’d like for you to be my date. It’s black tie; send me your measurements, and I’ll take care of everything.” Mr. Dameron finished typing, and he smiled at her look of surprise. “Send me your address too, will you? I’d like to send the copies of these forms over, and probably a few other things.”

“Okay.” Rey nodded, unquestioningly, but then she remembered – “Um. Would it be alright – I mean, if I came to you? After I got ready? I don’t want – it’s just.” Rey sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Your car would stick out on my street, and I want to respect your privacy.” Also, I live in general squalor and I’d rather die than see you figure out where to hang your Armani jacket in my shitty ass apartment.

“Of course.” Mr. Dameron smiled at her, and Rey sighed in relief, dropping her hands from her face. “Until Friday, then?”

“Until Friday,” she confirmed. Rey leaned in and kissed his cheek on impulse. “And don’t worry about sending for Snap, I can get home just fine on my own.” She squeezed his upper arm and darted down the street towards the metro before he could fight her on it or even say goodbye.

Friday. Three days away. She could do this.

She paused right before swiping her metro card at the entrance to the station – fuck. Now she needed to shave.

***

Poe watched the girl leave with utter bemusement. She was fiercely independent, that much was sure – twenty dollars? And she’d said it like it was a lot of money? God, he was going to have so much fun spoiling her rotten – and while normally that would have irritated him in this kind of arrangement, Rey blew off the normalcies of the typical dynamic with a mixture of bravado and innocence that was deeply, troublingly alluring.

He went back to work and left his phone in his bag during a series of meetings, but he had a text waiting for him in reward when he got out around 6:30.

[Rey Smith, 4:25 p.m.]: This is so weird to put in a text! But I’m 5’7”, and my measurements are 32, 23, 34. I’m a size four, I’m pretty sure, and I wear a size 8 shoe.

[Rey Smith, 4:26 p.m.]: Oh! And my favorite color is green. Anyway, thank you for lunch. See you on Friday. Xx

The damn kisses again. Poe was going to lose his fucking mind at the memory of her soft lips against his cheek from this afternoon – what had inspired her to do that? She had seemed almost as surprised as him at the action, and she’d scurried away before he could react properly.

Out of his last five relationships, all of which involved some version of the contract they’d signed today, three of them had been sexual. And they’d been deeply exploratory, very kinky – but ultimately a little dissatisfying, a little performative. The women had all assured him they enjoyed the sex, and he’d enjoyed it too, but he knew now he couldn’t look for sex while also paying someone’s way.

But Rey Smith’s large, doe eyes were just tempting enough for him to be inspired to think about, say, bending her over the desk in his office and fucking her forty stories off the ground, her breathy voice panting ‘Thank you Mr. Dameron, thank you’ with each thrust – maybe pressing her against the glass, stripping her completely naked while he took out his cock and remained completely dressed, holding her hands above her head while he fucked her from behind – setting her on his chair, throwing her legs over his shoulders, and finding out if she tasted as sweet as her laugh – running his hands over her lithe, perfect body, whispering how beautiful she was in her ear while he rocked into her gently, his name a soft exhalation in his ear while they both meandered their way to a warm, loving climax –

Holy shit. That was definitely a new one. Poe’s eyes flew open, and he dragged his hand over his face. He couldn’t expect that, any of that – especially not that last fantasy, where she was very obviously his girlfriend – from her. It wouldn’t be fair.

He needed to regain some of his self-control.

[misfitgirlonanisland]

New Year’s Resolutions 2021

i’m writing this post with my belly full from one of my countless binge eating series i had this year.

well folks, i know nobody is gonna care to read this post, but i kinda promised myself to do it for my own wellbeing: writing something down is better than just thinking bc i know myself too damn well, i will procrastinate and never take the time for a good face to face talk with said person here (mind to mind talk could do better, to be fair)...anyways, i was getting lost in trivia comments here, let’s get to the point.

There is no easy way to say this but looking back this year has been a failure, i have been a failure. after spending one semester abroad where i had the time of my life and i was loving myself like never before, i was feeling myself, i came back and what did i decided to do? be depressed. and this was even before the whole corona virus damned thing. so i came back and i hated my life, every possible thing i had in my old and boring and monotone life: i hated my place, my town, my life, i hated the chains that tied me to this reality of things and in this world i was forced to live in i even hated myself. i thought it was normal, i told myself i should be gentle and give myself time to realize how golden were the times i had overseas, that that one was a fairytale and i got my call of midnight...well i had no time to adjust to my sucky reality that the pandemic started to blow up. so before i even understood a thing, we were all in this big giant and apocalyptic scenario. i had two weeks of normal everyday life and then the lockdown. OKAY, thank you Jesus, if you hated me you could have just said so... i had to go back home. my depression already kicked in, i came back fat as a pig and at home, where i was even sadder and felt more claustrophobic and lost i kept gaining weight, binge eating the crap out of my shelves.

Result: stretch marks, big and red stretch marks on my inner thighs. now i love stretch marks, but those were a wake up call for me: i always had changes in weight but never this serious... i looked at myself and i wouldn’t even recognize the reflection anymore. i was doing nothing all day, when instead i had to study and work on my assessment for my graduation. i risked my graduation. i was just shocked with myself and began to feel really uncomfortable with my mind: i thought that i have these big dreams and plans for my future but maybe i am not strong enough, not motivated enough. maybe i got it all wrong...

i rebuilt myself: FUCK MY LITTLE BRAIN, FUCK ME! i screamed in my head, i am way stronger than this. i need to get it straight, i need to get it right, i’ve worked my ass off before and i can do it again. i deserve this and i am not gonna throw it all, i am not gonna screw this up!

well...it worked! i was back on track: i started living like a normal and functional human being, i started exercising daily and lost weight, i was feeling strong and regain some mental stability, i felt confident enough to go out and feel kinda fine. i got a friend who helped me get up in the morning, he would call me every morning and hear my rocky morning voice when i confused as fuck don’t even know my name. we would study all day together (skyping like in the early 2000s) and chatting, laughing, i really love him and i am so grateful to have him in my life. my other best friend, well with her i had a pretty rough time with her last semester, but we prepared together our chinese exam and, God, we were on fire. finally my best shrink and adviser, i always run to her whenever i am a wreck cause i know she won’t ever, once, judge me, my kpop queen, she kept me sane, safe and loved. i got past the semester, i got my graduation with full marks and got to pass every fucking admission test for the masters i wanted to attend. each one that i tried, each one of them...i thought i would be happy with what i did, i had to be happy: i mean, i was doing fine! i even had a summer flirt (veeeery brief but you know, it always boosts your confidence a bit)

WHAT WAS I MISSING?

Well...i still have no answer to that!

to be completely honest i was still insecure about my appearance and body, but that i had it all planned: going back to uni for me means going back to a “healthy” lifestyle and it always pays in image, i always feel better and consequently treat me better, like if i were some kind of princess.

So as happy and with my hopes high i start in September this new chapter of my life.

i was doing okay at the beginning: i mean i knew somethings changed, but i got in the master i always wanted and hoped for, i was getting thinner, i was then feeling more confident and i even got to be the crush of a guy who seriously was dying to see me every time he had a chance, i tighten this bond i had with some friends in uni and i love them, i do...but something cracked inside of me

i started to feel all this pain, numbness and void i couldn’t fill with anything. not enough cigarettes or food could help me, but did worse instead. at the beginning it was a matter of some sporadic days, then it lasted for longer and it occurred oftener...to the extent in a month i was counting with my very own hands the days i felt like i could live a normal life. with the second lockdown i decided to stay in my college city, alone at home and this was on one hand a blast, sick in a very positive way, on the other hand i had the freedom to behave like i wanted. so i lost myself various times, i thought about the sense of living, i thought i was not meant for this life, that i had not enough tools or capabilities to survive this lifetime of my own. i didn’t recognize what i wanted to do in life, i didn’t recognize what was i even doing and who i was. the days were just passing by, each one of them the same. i didn’t even care to bother what was the time, what the weather outside was like. i was just spending my life in bed and in the kitchen eating everything passed through my wicked mind.

there i recognized i may be suffering from something a bit too big for my bare self only. but who wanted to go to someone and admit to have once again been defeated at life? not me, not now. no sir! i can do it on my own, i thought...and i was wrong, again.

“get up you undefined mass of lard and bones, get your shit together and do something”. this helped me that time i was beaten pretty bad, after a week and a half i spent in bed, not even having the strength to shower. i got up, eventually, and i did fine. i thought i was doing it again, “who needs to seek help?! i got me, i know how to behave, i know what to do, don’t need nobody but me to get back on track”

and two weeks after another breakdown

and then again, after three/four days, Sergeant G is back! i checked upon myself once again and got back on my feet ready to fight another battle.

i am tired and ashamed, i have to admit i am losing this war. every time i get up i fall, and it takes me more energy every time to believe in myself. i don’t even know how to walk straight anymore, i just know somehow i am gonna trip again.

here i am, dear G, it’s almost 6am, it’s the 31st December 2020 and you have not taken a shower since Xmas’s Eve. It’s not important how i ended up here writing to you, or even how bad i’ve been feeling these days. what’s past is in the past, i told myself i would give me until the new year so i know i am also taking advantage of that...anyways again i am talking too much.

the deal is: you gotta get your life back and we understood you cannot do that alone. i have the exams coming so for now i need to be focused and concentrated on those. after that i am gonna search for someone who can help me understand what’s going on in that head of mine.

it’s been way too long since i last truly enjoyed being myself and being alive. i want to be happy again and laugh again until i cry and feel alive again, i want to fall in love with who i am and with every little thing that makes being alive a gift.

these are my goals:

1. unfortunately my first thought goes to my exams: GOD give me enough mental health to prepare them and pass them

2. fix yourself and love yourself

3. be grateful for what you have and for the opportunities life gives everyday

4. dedicate more time to what makes you you

5. don’t hate yourself over food

6. laugh

7. love

8. enjoy the little things

9. embrace the challenges of life

10. find your way back to you

11. travel

12. dream

13. fight for what you love and for what’s right

14. be kind

15. read more

16. sharpen your cinematic culture| make yourself one

17. don’t stress over what was yesterday and what can be tomorrow, live the present: day by day

18....

these are just some of the simple rules i wanna live by starting from tomorrow. they’re not imperative, some days i can forget to follow them, some days are just big fat NOs, i have to accept it and move on.

until then, be brave little and sick G, see you in 2021, stay alive!

[spacednp]

Zombies

TW: gore, zombies(is that a trigger?), panic attack (kinda), shitty title

SUMMARY: whats the guidelines 4 dis lmao ima need to fix this later

ADDITIONAL NOTES: the ending is BAD

 the title sucks fuck off i knoww 

yo yo follow the people below (and me cough cough) bc.. Yeet

Beta- @callmekiddo-2 (thank for putting up with my constant grammar errors fam)

Artist- my bro,,, @owlpip (Art links gonna go here when i get them)

WC: 7.3k (really short i knowww)

The sound of rushing water filled the room and the steam from it rose into the air. Small bubbles occasionally flew from the sink, floating away gently, like a peaceful and soft dance. Dan’s hands were covered in suds and began to wrinkle because of the constant stream of hot water embracing them. Dan picked up the last plate and wiped it in a swift motion with his sponge, making a circle of soap that he quickly rinsed off. He set that final dish aside before washing off his own hands and turning the water off. He then grabbed the dish towel and set to work, drying off the dishes. He swabbed the clear droplets of now cold water from each dish, concentration etched onto his face. Once each dish was dried he rushed about the kitchen, putting them all away. He and his flatmate had only been living in that flat for a few weeks and he was still getting used to, well, everything. Due to this, he was sure he had put a few things away wrong. But hey, Phil had asked him to do the dishes, and he did. Kind of.

The padding of footsteps behind him made Dan jump, nearly dropping the rag in his hand. “Fucks sake, Phil,” Dan hissed, throwing his damp rag onto the counter behind him. He came very close to knocking over an unlit candle, “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Whoops,” Phil replied, crossing his arms in the doorway, a smile painted on his face. Dan loved Phil, they were best friends, after all, but Phil was probably the least empathetic person when it came to scaring people. He couldn’t care less. Every once in awhile dan would like to hear a, “Oh, I’m sorry, are you okay?” instead.

“You’re an ass,” Dan muttered, turning back to his abandoned rag to put it away.

“Pfft, you know love me,” Phil said. (what should i do here looks kinda lame)

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Dan responded, trying to not smile. Dan and Phil had been best friends for years, hell, they had pretty much grown up together. After being essentially joined at the hip for almost ten years, the boys were pretty much family. They even started going on family holidays together, calling each other’s mothers’ “Mum” the whole time just to spite the other. The two were as close to brothers as anyone could get without the matching birth certificates.

“Thanks for doing the dishes,” Phil said after a minute.

“No problem, but you’re sweeping tomorrow to repay your debt,” Dan countered.

“What? But it’s your turn,” Phil whined. Dan turned back to Phil and shrugged, the smile that had left Phil’s face set on his own.

“It was your turn to do the dishes,” he pointed out, smile widening.

“Fair enough,” Phil sighed, rolling his eyes a little. He didn’t really think it was fair as sweeping was much harder than washing a few plates, but he didn’t say anything. After all, Dan did have a point and it was Phil’s turn to do the dishes. Phil turned and began to walk away.

“You heading off to bed?” Dan called after him. Phil turned, smiling a little.

“What, you want a goodnight kiss?” Phil teased, laughing lightly at his own joke.

“I don’t, but about eighty percent of the internet would want me to,” Dan joked back, causing both to snicker. The shipping didn’t bother the two anymore. After years of thousands of people reading into their every move, it got kind of dull. Of course they made jokes about it, it came naturally after a while. It was apart of life for them, and everyone made jokes about their life. People made death jokes because it was a part of life, they made sex jokes because it was a part of life, and Dan and Phil made shipping jokes just like that because it was a part of their lives.

“See you in the morning, Danny,” Phil shouted over his shoulder as he walked to his bedroom. Phil never really called Dan by the nickname, unless he was in the teasing mood. Just as an older brother would tease the younger.

Dan looked to the clock to see that it read about midnight, which was the usual time for Phil to turn in for the night. As for Dan, he had a sort of reputation to uphold-stay up on the internet for a few more hours until the blinding light of his laptop screen made his eyes red. Sometimes Phil would join Dan and they’d sit on their couch and occasionally tap the other on the shoulder, pointing to their own screen when they found a post they thought would make the other smile. For whatever reason that made the whole experience way better for Dan. Maybe he liked Phil being there because they were best friends, maybe it was just the presence of another person being sat next to him, or perhaps a tangle of both. Dan wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, Dan enjoyed it very much.

Dan soon retreated into his bedroom as wasn’t comfortable with just standing in the kitchen alone. He unplugged his laptop, glad to see it at full battery, and sat down on his bed. In record time, Tumblr was pulled up and he was scrolling through impressive amounts of shitposts and the occasional problematic rant by some self-righteous teen. He only skimmed through the posts, reblogging the few that made him blow a bit more air out of his nose than usual. Years of being a “full time internet homo” had that effect on him, barely laughing, mostly just exhaling more intensely.

One post on his dash stood out to him. Usually he’d scroll through phanfiction, ignoring the ones that seemed badly written by some 12 year old girl in twenty minute. That seemed to be the majority. However, every once and awhile he’d find one so amusing or highly requested he had to read it. Hell, he even found a few really well written ones that almost could be published or poetry. Naturally, when Dan found something like that he just had to read it. In any case, fanfiction was just writing-sometimes bad or… inappropriate writing, but: writing. It was better than getting high or drunk, so Dan figured he might as well support it, even if there were a few bad and emotionally damaging seeds.

The room was almost pitch black. The only sources of light being Dan’s open Macbook and the light peeking in through Dan’s window with the drawn curtains, caused by the street lamps, head lights, stars and moon of the outside world. It made the whole situation seem way more scandalous than it really was. Of course Dan would clear his search history after reading, and of course he’d deny ever reading the fic, and of course he would die if Phil found out, but that didn’t make it scandalous. Okay, maybe it did, but that was only because Dan made it so scandalous, it could be totally innocent and Dan could be open with his dirty little secret. However, that seemed too easy. Dan didn’t get much excitement in his life, so why not act like the whole reading phanfiction thing was this whole secret that was done behind closed doors and drawn blinds in the dead of night? It wasn’t like he secretly got off to it or anything, it just- he was just curious. That was it.

Well Dan being just “curious” lasted all of five paragraphs into the story. Then, he started to enjoy it. He loved the word choice, the characters (even if he was one of main ones), and even the plot. The whole story was based off of the zombie apocalypse and what would happen. Now, since Dan was such a massive nerd, the story called to him. It was thousands of words long- double digit thousands. However, Dan didn’t mind it at all. In fact, that was another thing he liked about it. If he could ignore the fact that it was he and his best friend’s names’, he could actually picture it being a real young adult novel. The writing was excellent and the pace was just right, he could actually see the characters falling in love. Shamefully, he fell in love with the characters as well. He even caught himself wondering why his Phil wasn’t like the one in the fic. If that was his Phil, of course he could be in love with him, the way the shippers wanted. That hit really close for Dan. He loved Phil, of course he did, but as a brother. The Phil in the story, however, he was different. He was more empathetic without being suffocating, he was strong and still sweet. Dan could see the resemblance to his Phil- wait, what? Dan just ranted in his own head about how great this character was, how he could have a romantic relationship with him, and then compared him to his 100% platonic best friend. That had to be crossing a ton of friendship boundaries, even for he and Phil. They were friends. That was it. But maybe it didn’t have to be… No. That was how it was. Friendship, only friendship. Period.

Dan knew that phanfiction was doing weird things to his brain. He knew he should click out, unfollow the person who put it on his dash, delete his search history and never go back. He didn’t though, he should of, but he didn’t. God, how he should of.

Instead of doing what was right, Dan gave into the alluring temptation. That had to be some kind of a sin, right? Imagine Dan being damned to Hell because he didn’t click out of a phanfiction, that seemed to be a very Dan thing to do. Rather this was true or not, it didn’t prevent Dan from reading the fic, and enjoying it. His bloodshot eyes focused on the brightness of his laptop screen and the black words on it in front of him, the rest of the world a massive blur of grays and streaks of white light shining in. Dan continued to read until the whole world went dark around him and he slipped into the warm embrace of sleep.

Dan awoke in a bed that was not his own, a warm hand on his left arm shaking him. Not wanting to wake up just yet, Dan rolled over onto his right side, away from the hand. Doing so, he was met by a sharp pain in the arm he’d rolled over on, which was luckily his right and non dominant arm. He heard a familiar voice, but it seemed distant and echoey, almost like it was at the opposite end of a tunnel. A long, dark, warm tunnel… Dan found himself drifting back into unconsciousness but was pulled out of it by the calloused hand that was still gripping him whilst shaking. Dan decided because of the the sharp pain burning into his flesh and the constant shaking there was little to no chance of getting back to sleep. The pain confused him because it wasn’t the type of pain you got when you slept wrong, it felt as if it was more of a open wound that could quite possibly be infected. Not that it would even make sense to have a sleeping pain in his arm, as Dan both went to bed and woke up laying on his back. As well as the odd pain, the weight of Dan’s laptop was gone. Had Phil came into his room, found the laptop on Dan’s stomach, and put it away for him? Oh no, had Phil seen what was on the screen? Dan didn’t remember closing the tab.

“Dammit Dan! Don’t you quit on me now!” The voice suddenly came into focus, like a camera. Once fuzzy and blurry, then sharp and clear. He knew that voice, it seemed a little worn though, broken from yelling. It was Phil’s voice.

“M’up, I’m good,” Dan slurred, opening his unfocused eyes trying to sit up. Doing so, the pain intensified, burning so fiercely Dan fell back. “What the fuck?!” Dan shouted.

“You got stabbed, idiot, remember?” Phil said, setting a hand on Dan’s chest to keep him down. When the world came into focus around Dan, he saw that the Phil next to him was not Phil. Or at least it wasn’t his Phil. This Phil’s skin was far too tan, his face was smeared with dirt (or dry blood, but Dan hoped it was just dirt), and his hair was way too long, his roots showing way too much. Dan looked at his pained right arm, seeing a white rag knotted around his slightly larger and more muscular bicep that was stained crimson with what Dan knew was his blood.

“Stabbed? What?” Dan gasped, voice coming out breathy and strained. His breathing quickened and he tucked his hands into fists, ignoring the pain caused in his right arm, digging little crescent moons into his sweating palms. He tried to force himself upright but was held down by Phil’s hand, who was ridiculously strong, so much so it was discomforting.

“Dan, you need to calm down,” Phil sternly said. Dan threw his fists at Phil’s hand, which seemed to be crushing. He just wanted to be alone, wanted to wake up in his room to the sound of Phil- his Phil, waking up obnoxiously loud. He didn’t want to be in this strange place with this strange Phil like some strange phanfiction…wait a minute. Phil’s description, his actions, Dan being stabbed- this was just like that phanfiction he fell asleep reading. But that was impossible, and even the idea of it increased Dan’s panic. He opened his mouth to scream at the weird person who was kind of like Phil, yell at them to go away, bring him back to his home, to his Phil, but nothing came out. His tongue felt too big in his mouth and his saliva felt like thick, dry cotton. He just wanted to go home! He wanted to wake up in his bed, yell at his Phil for waking him up so early, catch his Phil eating his cereal- he wanted it to be a weird dream. How could it be a dream? Dan felt pain, that didn’t happen in dreams, did it? So it wasn’t a dream? Did it mean Dan could never go home?

“Daniel!” Phil’s hand pressed harder on Dan’s chest and somehow brought him back to reality, or whatever it was, kind of. “Breathe Dan, breathe.” Dan was heaving for breath, he tried to listen, tried to breathe, tried to do what Phil said, but it wasn’t working. Dan just wanted everything to stop, please just stop. After a few minutes of struggling for air Dan felt himself start to calm down, the shaking he wasn’t even aware of started to slow, breath came easier, until he was only crying, yet another thing he wasn’t aware he was doing. He wiped his now unclenched hands on his face, trying to rid it of tears. He felt stupid, like an idiot. He’d just cried, like a complete child.

“I’m good,” Dan breathed,  relaxing his head on the pillow under it. He went to bring his hands over his face to cover it but was brutally reminded of his injury in the form of a sting.

Dan had never been one to believe in the supernatural or even religion. He believed facts. Yes, a zombie apocalypse was theoretically possible. It was also something religious, to a sense. No, zombies didn’t carry around bibles and sit in pews on Sundays, that just sounded stupid. However, there was three main things religions tended to have. A higher power, the beginning of time being created in a ‘big bang’ sort of sense, sudden and with no explanation besides before mentioned higher power, and, of course, “The End”, or, in other terms, “The Apocalypse”. In a way, it made sense. Logically, life itself had to have a start. Therefore, it also had to have an end. Who’s to say life doesn’t have to follow the same rules it creates, a beginning and and end, birth and death? However, that theory didn’t explain why Dan was magically sucked into some post apocalyptic universe birthed from the brain of one of his fans. That didn’t make any sense. Dan wished he could make it make sense. When things made sense you weren’t scared of them, you could convince yourself it wasn’t dangerous. Dan didn’t have that luxury.

“I think I need some fresh air,” Dan announced, moving to sit up. He, of course, was blocked by Phil’s hand. It was really starting to get annoying, being pinned down. He felt trapped, caged in like an animal, a beast with no humanity. He felt like Phil didn’t trust him, then again, why should he? Dan wasn’t the person this Phil knew, and deep down he thought Phil would know that. Maybe Dan should just play his part, calm this man a bit. After all, why should both of them feel lost? From reading the phanfic he knew how sickingly codependent this universe’s Dan and Phil were, who was he to rip that apart? After all, Dan knew everything the other Dan knew. They acted quite alike - this universe’s Dan and the real Dan. It made sense, after all, this Dan was based on the real one.

“Good luck finding any,” Phil snorted. Dan had almost forgotten he had spoke, so lost in his own thoughts, trapped in the prison of his mind. Phil lifted his hand off of Dan’s chest and instead used it to help Dan stand, which was a difficult task. Soon Dan was upright and he and Phil were heading to the rotted door decorated with metal locks and deep scratch marks, which were pale in contrast to the dark finish of the door. As they walked Dan noticed the many weapons and cobwebs littering the walls of the cabin, he appreciated them, though he had no idea how to use them. Phil grabbed a machete off the wall, very worn and coated in a brown substance that Dan knew was dried blood. Dan hoped he wouldn’t have to see Phil use it.

No part of Dan protested when Phil walked him out, or when held the door for him, or even when Phil rested his hand on Dan’s lower back. He wished he would have, wished he could have made himself. The truth was that Dan didn’t mind. His stomach didn’t drop, his skin didn’t burn or tingle. If anything, Dan felt safe. Warm. Content. Like what was happening was just… right. Was that insane? None of it was right, he wasn’t where he was supposed to be-not by a long run. He was supposed to be home, in bed, eyes bloodshot from his bright laptop screen. He wasn’t though, and that wasn’t right. It would be nice if it was, it’d be nice if his own kind of paradise wasn’t standing there consumed in the feeling of a man he didn’t know, a man that wasn’t real.

When the two exited the shack Dan woke up in they were engulfed by a forest. Shrubs, moss, and mushrooms littered the floor and above the canopy of the trees were so thick you could only catch a sliver of blue when you angled your head right. It wasn’t what Dan expected at all. He expected a city in ruins, bloody human like creatures digging into the corpses of children. The air, however, was just as he expected it. Thick, hot, smelling of rotting flesh, far from the musky, cool breezes a forest should carry. Dan suddenly remembered why everything was the way it was. In the phanfiction Dan and Phil decided to take shelter away from civilization because the cities… they were just as you’d picture. Gray, covered in a thick layer of crimson blood, only populated by zombies or sick bastards that couldn’t care less about you and only wanted your supplies. Evil place, the world had become.

“Zombies aren’t even the problem anymore,” Phil said, as if he was reading Dan’s thoughts. “Hell, they weren’t even the problem to begin with. People were. People created it and let it out. People… People started this mess…” Phil’s voice trailed off meaningfully. Dan understood what Phil meant, thinking back to the phanfiction. The writer had a bit of a prologue before they wrote the story. It described the beginning of the end, in a sense. It was like most starts to fictional zombie apocalypses, new drug that’s not tested enough creates a sickness. That drug was somehow leaked into the water supply and the world got sick, however, a few were immune. The drug was fought by a mutation in the genes of certain people. That gene was the blue eyes gene, which Dan did carry. Blue eyes was a recessive trait that didn’t show in Dan because of the brown eyes trait (a dominant gene) he also acquired. Phil too had this the blue eyes trait but his did show. However, those infected were given the instinct of spreading the pathogen. The only way they could do so when someone carried the blue eyes trait was via injection of contaminated DNA. Basically, if you carried the blue eye trait you were fine to drink, but it could still get the illness if you got bitten.

In Dan’s peripheral vision he spotted movement. He grabbed at Phil for reasons he couldn’t explain nor did he want to try and understand. Phil seemed unphased by this and just shook Dan off. “I think there’s one,” Dan tried to explain, pointing to where he thought he saw movement. Dan swore he saw concern paint Phil’s features for a split second before it was gone, but it was probably nothing. This version of Phil wasn’t the one Dan knew so well, it was a variation of him, but it wasn’t him. This Phil was made up by some teen girl on her laptop at four in the morning, and Dan couldn’t forget that. No matter how real this Phil seemed, he wasn’t.

Dan didn’t have much more time to fuss over his weird feelings for his friend’s character in some story he was somehow a part of (wow his situation was complicated) because they were joined by a freak of nature. The creature burst from the undergrowth, running towards them with a slight limp, arms outstretched and fingers like the talons of an eagle. The creature was just as you’d imagine a zombie; It’s pale skin was almost green but still carried the gray tint of death. It’s features were hollowed out, reminding Dan of one of those before pictures on an eating disorder recovery story. It’s clothes were torn and blood soaked. Gashes covered it, skin peeling away to show bloody and rotting flesh. Around its mouth there was the trace of its last meal, dried blood and chunks of flesh that didn’t seem to be its own. It’s eyes no longer held the glimmer of life and carried dark bags under them, far worse than the eye bags you got after a few nights of restless sleep. Everything about it was horrible and made Dan do a little sick in his mouth. A scream lodged itself in his throat but stayed there.

Phil stepped into action immediately and Dan wished he could say he didn’t find it ridiculously hot. The way he pushed Dan behind him and raised his machete up made Dan audibly gasp. If he hadn’t been so terrified out of his wits he’d consider it a turn on, which was concerning because this was Phil, Dan’s no homo best friend and roommate. Well, maybe it wasn’t Phil Phil, but still. The zombie ran faster and just when Dan was certain they were dead and Phil had no idea what he was doing, Phil surprised him. He stepped forward (towards the terrifying monster, Dan might add) with his left foot, and used all his strength and sung as he stepped, slicing the zombies head off. The body collapsed and the decapitated head rolled away. Dan was certain he was going to actually vomit.

“You’re bloody insane,” Dan breathed, staring at the open eyes and mouth of the head on the ground a few feet away from him. He felt like it was looking into his soul, and it was terrifying.

“You’re welcome, for you know, saving your life,” Phil said, turning to Dan and glaring at him.

“You’re an arse,” Dan spat, angry at Phil and not really knowing why. He had a point, without him Dan would be zombie food. He should be grateful, so why was he angry?

“Excuse me?” Phil’s eyebrows furthered and it seemed like venom laced his words. “You know what? I don’t even care!” Phil let out a dry and humorless laugh. “You know what the funny thing is? For a minute there, I thought you gave a half of shit about me, looks like I thought wrong, you don’t care about anyone. Not even yourself.” Phil growled, pushing his way past Dans and making his way to the shack.

Dan remembered why this was happening. Why he was angry, why Phil seemed like someone shoved a stick in his butt. In the fic, Dan threw himself in danger, went off without Dan and ended up getting hurt, Phil ended up saving him from getting eaten/infected, but still, a few heated words were shared. Before this, they had a bit of a, well, they slept together. Dan knew from the fic that Phil was felt that made the two more than friends, but the fic Dan didn’t think so. The fic Dan didn’t mean to hurt fic Phil he just didn’t think one night changed anything whereas fic Phil thought it meant everything. The whole thing was a mess and Dan was stuck in the middle of it, it was like if The Walking Dead was a gay soap opera. Shaun of the Dead meets General Hospital meets… gay. As for Dan, “not caring about himself” was probablybecause of when Dan got hurt, he wasn’t careful and overall it was like he didn’t care anymore.

Dan was lost in an ocean of thoughts and of course he was so deep that there were sharks. His senses failed him, he didn’t hear the shuffling of footsteps, couldn’t see what was coming as it was behind him, nor did he smell the putrid stench of rotten flesh and despair nearing him. No, all those senses failed him. However, one did not. The final sense, the one that paints a soft blanket or your lover’s hand, was the one that told him. The boney hand lacking any fat and only covered with a thin layer of peeling skin was what told Dan that he wasn’t alone. It pulled Dan back with remarkable strength for a creature with deteriorating muscles. Maybe a scream found its way through Dan’s mouth, maybe it didn’t. Perhaps it stayed lodged in Dan through, glued there by pure terror. Either way, Dan was pulled back and somehow managed to get himself turned around so he was face to face with husking skin and yellow, sharp teeth. It’s breath smelt of rotting teeth and metallic blood. Dan’s whole body was shaking and he could feel death nearing. He imagined a grim reaper lurking in the bushes near by, scythe in hand and dark cloak on its back.

The world was in slow motion, Dan felt every millisecond pass and felt like he could write an entire novel of each passing moment. Dan watched as its yellow teeth neared him, felt his heart beating out of his chest and shut his eyes tight, waiting for death. Dan wondered if this was the way out of the nightmare he had someone gotten himself in. He had heard of death being the one sure fire way out of any dream, maybe it was the same kind of thing. Maybe he would finally wake up in his own bed. Maybe he would finally be able to go hug his own Phil. Dan doubted he would sleep alone in his bed for weeks after this whole ideal, he’d just sleep with Phil. They used to do that all the time, it was just comforting. Dan was sure Phil wouldn’t mind, why would he? He always enjoyed it just as much as Dan did.

There was a swoosh sound in Dan’s ear and then he felt chunks of something splatter all over him. The grip that once help extra tight on his already hurt arm weakened and then slid off. A violent shudder ran through Dan’s body. He opened his eyes and felt tears run down his cheeks. Phil stood behind the limp body of the zombie that had previously been three seconds away from killing Dan. It didn’t even matter that it wasn’t Dan’s Phil, the real Phil. It didn’t even matter that this whole thing was probably some kind of odd hallucination. None of that mattered, because his eyes were Phil’s eyes and if Dan focused hard enough he could pretend this man in front of him was the same Phil he watched from behind a computer screen as a teenager, the one that ended up being his first and only best friend. So, Dan wrapped his arms tight around Phil’s neck and he cried, but he only cried harder when Phil didn’t smell the same as he should have and when he felt way too broad to be his Phil. Still, Phil dropped his weapon and held Dan close and at least that was comforting. This Phil still wrapped his arms tight around Dan’s waist and let him cry on him. Even if this wasn’t the real Phil, he still shushed Dan and rubbed his lower back and didn’t care that Dan was getting tears and snot all over his shoulder.

“I hate this place,” Dan sobbed, and he didn’t care that Phil wouldn’t know the truth behind his words. He didn’t care. He just wanted to be held and told ‘I know, I know,’ even if it wasn’t true. Even if it was all a lie, it was the only lie Dan would let himself believe, just for now, just until he felt a little better. They were both covered in dirt and blood, but that was okay. It was okay that Dan’s wound opened back up, it was okay that he almost died twice within an hour, it was okay that this Phil was in love with not this Dan but a different one, that was all okay.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Phil suggested, slowing the circles that he was rubbing on Dan’s back. Dan nodded into Phil’s shoulder and let Phil pull away and guide Dan inside. Phil sat Dan down on the bed. “I’ve gotta go get my machete, okay? I’ll be right back,” Dan nodded even though Phil was no longer looking at him and was already halfway out the door.

Dan’s heart felt sad. It was like a huge cloud of sad decided to park above his rib cage and just sit there. It was like the days when Dan would just wake up sad. Dan wasn’t depressed or anything, sometimes he just had sad days, and that’s okay. However those days he didn’t have any reason to be sad, but today he had all the reasons to be sad. He missed Phil, his Phil. He wanted to hug him, not this store brand version of him.

“Do you need another hug?” Phil asked, frowning above Dan. Dan didn’t even realize he was back.

“Yes, I need a thousand hugs,” Dan breathed. Phil smiled sadly and sat next to Dan, wrapping an arm around his waist. A few minutes passed before Phil spoke.

“You don’t feel the same way about me as I feel about you, and that’s okay,” Phil paused for a minute and moved Dan over a bit so he had more room to sit. “However, I don’t want you to lie and say you do, I can’t handle that. I’m in love with you, and you’re not in love with me, that’s okay, but please don’t lie to m-”

Dan didn’t know why he did it. But he did it. He cut Phil off by sitting on his lap and forcing their mouths together. He didn’t let Phil pull away or object; when he felt like Phil would try and stop him he kissed harder. He did that until Phil set his hands on Dan’s sides and kissed him back. The kiss tasted dirty and wrong and it made Dan’s heart sad even more, but he still did it. Even after they pulled away and caught their breath, Dan’s heart was sad. So, he kissed Phil again. He knew it was wrong and he was just using Phil, but he didn’t stop. He could tell Phil wanted him, he could tell he loved him, and that felt nice. Dan liked to be wanted and loved. He let Phil’s hands learn their way around his body and he forced his brain and heart away and just acted. He traced his hands all over Phil. He let Phil take off his clothes and he took Phil’s off as well, and he let the thing that started the first argument happen again. He let Phil think Dan felt the same way for him, but one dark truth lurked. This Phil was in love with his Dan and Dan was in love with his Phil. Dan didn’t want to believe it but he knew it was true. He wanted this, but not with this Phil.

The only way Dan could cope with his new realization was to block it out. He let fic Phil have whatever part of Dan he wanted and Dan pretended he loved this man. Because the two Phil’s were completely different people, it only got hard when fic Phil did something that reminded Dan of his Phil. That’s when Dan’s heart would get sad again. Dan would block that out too though, and soon Dan hated himself. He hated how naturally deceiving Phil came to him. He hated how no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t bring himself to look fic Phil in the eye because those eyes reminded him of the real Phil. Slowly self hatred and destruction became a habit. Even though the world was full of actual zombies plagued with a cell destroying disease, Dan still felt that the sick monster was himself. Fic Phil still took care of Dan and saved his life almost daily but sometimes Dan wished he wouldn’t. Maybe if Phil was a little late one time then Dan wouldn’t have to be the one to break his heart, it would just be cruel Mother Nature and another case of star crossed lovers.

Well naturally the one wish that did come true during that whole ordeal was the one involving Dan’s own death. Of course. It wouldn’t of made sense for it to be Dan wanting to wake up or not having one useless arm that always hurt and the second he moved it would begin squirting blood, no, that was just too nice of whatever cruel higher power put Dan in that mess. That angsty God just wanted more drama.

It happened when Dan left the wood rotted shack for a little time away from the mess he’d weaved himself in with Phil. Phil ran up and gave Dan a kiss on the forehead before he left and Dan felt he was going to be sick. Still, he smiled at the gesture and gave Phil a peck on the lips and a muttered “I love you”, still holding back his sick. He’d never really been one for mega sappy relationships and it didn’t make it easier that this whole relationship was lacking any love from his part. He wish he meant the “I love you”, but he felt nothing as he said it, only longing for someone who had aspects of this man but who wasn’t him. Dan quickly got out of that hell house of a shack and walked a bit deeper into the forest than he should have. He stood on the ledge that overlooked a gray city and a lake that looked to be covered in a thick layer of dust. He watched creatures that weren’t quite human limp about and tear apart corpses of what might of been a person that might of had a family. Then again, maybe they were the last one of the family and they wished death upon themselves like Dan did. Even if life beyond this wasn’t life at all, even if he didn’t wake up in his own world with his own Phil, maybe that was okay, at least then he wouldn’t have to lie to anyone. No matter what happened after this, Dan never wanted to lie again. Lying was too much for Dan to handle and it was tearing him apart.

Dan had a bit of Déjà vu when he felt the boney hand grab him, digging into his upper arm. He felt it began to bleed but he did nothing, not even scream. Then it dug into his other arm, the healthy one. That one started to bleed too. He felt crimson liquid drip down his body but he did nothing but shut his eyes and wait for the teeth. They snuck into the part between his neck and shoulders, they ripped through tendons and ligaments. They crunched nerves and punctured veins. Then they were ripped from him and took the chunk of flesh with them. The hands digging into his arms also pulled out of him. He heard familiar slicing and he felt his knees give out, he opened his eyes when he felt arms around him. He swore he was going to be sick. It was Phil, and as always, he saved him. Well, not really. Dan looked at him with glassy eyes and smiled sadly. He felt his resolve fading and he slipped into insanity and sickness.

“Do it,” he croaked. Tears covered Phil’s cheeks and it made Dan ache. Even if he didn’t love this Phil, his eyes were still the same three-colored ones of his flat mate and best friend, and those eyes should never cry. Dan wanted to dry his tears but he couldn’t move his arms, they were in too much pain.

“I can’t,” Phil managed, voice breaking. “I just can’t do it.”

“Please, Phil, it hurts,” Dan said, voice dripping with pain. It was like the worst flu ever mixed with open wounds and bleeding out. Phil nodded once and returned Dan’s sad smile. He got his machete and laid Dan down comfortably on a soft patch of grass.

“I love you,” Phil told Dan as he raised his weapon. He was determined to do it quickly and in one even swipe, that would make Dan suffer less, and that’s all he wanted at this point.

“I love you too,” Dan lied. Or maybe he didn’t. Of course he was grateful for this man, he had saved Dan’s life a few times, but did that equal love? Probably not. Still, Dan wanted the last words Phil heard from him to be that he loved him, even if it was a lie. He needed that, so he would give it to him.

Phil raised his machete and one minute Dan felt all his pain, then for a split second he felt incredibly sharp pain in his neck, and then he felt nothing. For a moment there was black, nothingness, but then Dan was opening his eyes in his room, in London. He felt the familiar weight of his laptop on his lap and he didn’t feel any pain. Dan sighed in relief. He got up to go find Phil, needing him right that moment.

The smell of coffee and the clinking of dishes lead Dan to believe Phil was in the kitchen. As he walked into said kitchen he was aware that his suspicions were indeed correct. Phil stood next the a counter in his pjs, stirring a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Danny Boy,” Phil said when he saw Dan walk in. He took a minute to go back to making his coffee but then he continued the one-sided conversation. “I read last night that more people are killed by donkeys than plane crashes, isn’t that cool?”

Dan was so happy that Phil said it. It meant it was the real Phil, the Phil that he met in Manchester on the train station so long ago. This was Phil. His Phil. Dan had so many emotions that he didn’t know what to do with them, so he cried. He just burst into sobs right there, a few feet from Phil.

“Dan are you okay? Did a family member of yours get killed by a donkey? Did I just bring back traumatic repressed memories from your childhood?” Phil rambled, and Dan just cried harder. “Can I do anything to make it better?”

Dan nodded once. “Hugs, please,” he requested. Phil nodded and abandoned his coffee to wrap Dan up in his arms. Dan cried harder, happy tears, because this was the Phil he knew. He smelled like coffee, liquorice, and apples. He smelt like Phil. His arms wrapped tightly around Dan’s back and made him feel safe. He felt like he could say anything and it would be perfectly okay, so he said the one thing on his mind. “I love you,”

Phil didn’t say anything back for a long few seconds. It stretched out like an eternity, but he didn’t lessen his grip on Dan and Dan was beyond grateful for that. Only sound in the room was their breathing and Dan was nervous about how heavy his was compared to Phil’s, who kept his composure too well for Dan’s liking. Dan expected Phil to reject him or something. Phil didn’t say anything. It seemed like eons of waiting for something-anything. Finally, Phil responded.

“I love you too,” and Dan’s heart stop and he started over analyzing. Of course Phil loved him, as a friend. Friends say ‘I love you’, right? Was it just he and Phil that never said it? Or maybe they did, Dan’s mind was too fuzzy to recall. Well, there’s really only one way to find out how Phil meant it. Dan somehow managed to loosen Phil’s grip on him enough to push their mouths together. Phil didn’t retaliate for a few seconds and Dan thought he was going to die of embarrassment and waited for Phil to again, do something.

Phil did do something. Dan felt the pressure being returned and he actually thought he was literally going to die. He didn’t though and when they had to pull away to breathe Phil hugged him tighter and Dan was glad that Phil’s breathing was just as heavy as his. As happy as he was, Dan was still kind of worried for the Phil in the phanfiction. What happened to him? When Phil finally let Dan go and Dan looked into his eyes Dan felt guilty again.

“I’ll be right back,” Dan breathed, as if he was scared that if he was too loud what just happened with he and Phil would shatter. Phil didn’t say anything but looked concerned.

Dan hurried back to his room and quickly read the end of the fic and almost threw his laptop across the room. The last line was:

“After Dan and Phil shared their kiss Dan rushed back to see the ending of the story he was trapped in, wanting to know the ending.”

And then it ended. Just like that, an open ending. Everyone hates those and yet authors keep writing them. Over and over again.

The end.

[fortheloveofcringe]

For the past six months I have just been on a ride where I extract the very best and worst of what I have, put it in a wall, examine what will propel me to a better future and make elaborate quick choices that taught me that life is more than just examining it. Although Socrates had said that a life unexamined is a life not worth living, I also found out that there is much freedom with a life that is just lived and not constantly questioned. I live my life wondering about the what’s and the if’s and I honestly have figured out a lot of things but none of the  stays in my head for extended periods of time. All of my realities at the very moment they are happening are shaped by my exact reaction and opinions about it and dare I say my life has been a shit mess because I’ve always pictured it as  a shit mess. When I came to that PRIDE activity where I posed as a living book and shared my life story, I made a conscious decision about how I approach my life from that point forward. I made sure that I will never be defined by the rejections that I will face and called my book “Turning Sorry’s to Thank You’s”  kind of like a little nod to Ariana’s Thank You, Next.

 When I backtrack, I’m always sorry about being myself when I shouldn’t be. I have always felt guilty even for the things that I shouldn’t even feel guilty about (I honestly feel like anyone can frame me for murder because I would sweat a lot just by being accused.) Anyhow, it’s just how I lived I have always been my own support system, with a  sprinkle of Mom and brother’s love, but ultimately, I try my very best not rely on other people. But that’s not what I figured out this year. I figured out that there is more to life than just cracking the equation and believing yourself. Sometimes you have to make sure you talk slower, and listen harder. You have to look around, not questioning things, but making sure you absorb enough reality so that you wouldn’t make-up some scenarios in your head that you worry about for at least 5 hours later after 12 in the midnight.

 Right now, I’m glad that I’m able enough again to write this journal here on tumblr because my last post, damn, I was ready for sweet death, which by the way I am and will always be, I think that’s my edge amongst my age group. I have accomplished enough to understand that reputations and lifeways have very distinct characteristics that affect my super conscious  perception of my exact self, in a society orchestrated by government systems, traditions and religion that I have always complained about, which by the way, I should just ignore because, well, life is a heck more fun than focusing on the things I can’t actually control. There is much more power in accepting the range of your capabilities more than believing a delusion that will just upset you in the end, or have an upset stomach for in the end, as latest experience says.

 This is about my body and my mental chemistry. I have always made sure that I am not body negative or body positive, I was just neutral, like I’m not cheering for what I have and degrading what I have, I was just, I just respected what I have always had. But my recent experience about an ex who was always conscious about his macho exterior had me thinking if I needed to be macho as well to be accepted in the society. I have a full understanding that money figures are mightier than physical figures and you don’t need a hot body to be hot, you just need a perfect bank account to be a trophy, but I just figured, why can’t I have both?

 But then earlier this week I just had a run at some hospitals and it was disappointing for the first one but quite a relief for the second hospital that we went through. The first hospital had very problematic and almost scary people working on it. Here are a few things they’ve done during my stay in the emergency room:

 1.      Blasted Camila and Shawn’s Seniorita while people are dying in the E.R. talking about how concerned they are for Shawn’s social anxiety than US who are in their immediate contact.

2.      They have an off-putting way of asking questions which will make you feel like you are lying about your condition even if you can literally see blood dripping on the floor from your body.

3.      Talk bout death of other celebrities while PEOPLE ARE DYING IN FRONT OF THEM. HEY.

4.      They keep asking me as to when my mother would arrive, which translated to me at that moment as “Can your mom pick you up, we don’t want to serve a lot of people here.”

5.      HAD SNACKS AND ALL TYPE OF SHIT FOOD IN THE E.R.

6.      One of the witchy Doctors was just so bitchy she had to remind my mom later in the evening in a very SARCASTIC WAY when we returned that I refused to be confined in their hospital so they can’t accept us ad we have to be reffered and that such is a long LONG process (which in translation is, we can’t serve you). WELL OF COURSE I REFUSED TO BE CONFINED BECAUSE I’M CRAZY AND I WANT TO DIE. She  needs to know that I refused because I have observed them well enough specially with their very unwelcoming way of handling patients that I can’t put my self under their care.

7.      Puncture my body twice for IV after making an error in my vein. Nothing too concerning.

8.      The same witch Doctor said these things on the course of my stay: “I’m gonna die in this place” “People can’t demand quality service from us because we don’t get quality service ourselves. Even us doctors have to get in lines and shit.” “I feel sorry for Shawn Mendes for having social Anxiety.”

 Now the second hospital I gotta make sure that when I become successful, I have to donate equipment in their facilities because they did me a solid. RTR hospital is the best. It was a choice of which hospital was nearest and both where nearby. So anyway, this hospital did me a solid. Here are a few things they’ve done:

 1.      Ran a helpful assessment to my condition with careful tones acknowledging the fact that there was something wrong with me as opposed to the other hospital which assumed stuff.

2.      Reviewed my medical history CAREFULLY.

3.      Assisted us in our laboratory tests (which was yes, recommended by the other hospital but damn they were just so ready to kick us out that I wasn’t feeling staying for laboratories in their facility for that long.)

4.      Reviewed my prescribed medicines and filled out EXACT times and dates for intake WITHOUT RAISING EYEBROWS.

5.      Allowed us to ask questions and responded without being sarcastic. Professional Vibes only.

6.      Compared to the other hospital, they were able to NAME what was wrong with me which was actually Abdominal Discomfort. Damn I have been waiting for that. I just wanted to know what’s wrong with my body.

7.      Compared to the other hospital, they were serving a lot of patients that night (the other one was just serving at lest three people and their doctors are already shouting I’d ie in here!” not to mention they have high tech equipment and a full nurse force) and they still remained calm and helpful.

8.      They pretty much had an awesome Doctor and Nurse force that night, shoutout to the hand some nurse who I kept taking a peek at when I was looking like a bag of shit on the E.R. bed, I guess flirting doesn’t have a time.

9.      I was fixed. I mean thank God I’m making this right now because of them

 Ultimately what I want you to take from this is that everything is a reciprocation. If you’re a doctor or a nurse who cusses out, rejects people or whatever, your gonna get the same rejection from your patients. If you give out hate, you receive hate, if your give out lies, you receive lies, I think that should be a golden rule in everything that we do. If you harbour negative energy, that same energy will whip you right back because when we came to that first hospital I remember giving the doctor who spoke to my mom in a very pointed tone the death stare after she gave me a left eyebrow. Anyway.

 Also, if you do good to other people good stuff will come back to you. now I do pledge that if I make my first million from my youtube account, I’m going to donate some equipment to RTR hospital for saving me. I went home that evening feeling like angels carried me home even if I was limping from a bad stomach.

 What I’m trying to relay here also  from that long intro about my body is that I fucked up my body by eating less these past few months. I thought the best hack to lose weight was not to gain weight at all. The trend is intermittent fasting and boy do I say the internet is still not the most credible source for everything.

 When I broke up with my ex, I had a revenge plan of making my self look like one of the boys he was drooling endlessly for on instagram; macho muscular guys who sound like bats when they talk. Anyway, shade aside, I figured one common pattern from them. It was sourced from a deep form of social anxiety that they rip and shred their bodies from pimple insuding protein shakes and rigid muscle enhancing work-outs just so they would feel accepted, and I get it, there is nothing more hot than being objectified by a low life as what they say, but it just didn’t feel right to me that I would shave off the outside just so I could start shaving in the inside. But I still tried. No harm on that, well there is. When it’s done in the wrong way.

 I got sent to a hospital for abdominal discomfort from a very weird diet. I eat, I don’t eat, then I do something which I will call, “tickle my throat” but not in a sexual way, more like a very bad idea of making sure I don’t gain weight by having a controlled mechanic of what stays in my body and what goes out. Some people call it bulimia, I call it being a master of my own universe.

 SO I tried that, and again, it just didn’t seem right. The food I was wasting, or the food I was holding myself back from enjoying. The stupid videos I watch on Youtube about how to be a perfect human wasn’t striking a cord. One of my instructors and ex-classmates have notified my that my ex was looking shredded lately and boy I just wanted to punch them. I didn’t need that. I need no reminder of how I’m failing in the body department. I get it.

 But looking from a Google Earth view, this is what I came to see.

 I saw myself changing my way of interpreting new information. Everything is suddenly a mind exercise on how I would react to a certain info and acknowledging my behaviour about it. Now this is much more important to me more than just having a hot body. New information became new habits.

 I can’t elaborate on how I do it, some of us have a distinct and unique way of mastering our soul lessons but right now, I’m just very happy with how I can look at myself in the mirror and say, I love and accept you exactly as you are.

 There is no baggage of doubt or whatsoever. It’s like I finally ran out of excuses not to love myself and everything is just a growth opportunity. All I can say is wherever you are, I want to remind you that our lives are programmed in way for us to combat in peacefully. We have to have that internal battle so that we can manifest it in our outside world. Because people think it’s the other way around.

 When really, the glow is from within.

[mcrmadness]

This other day I was reading my old posts on a blog I used to write to in 2010-2014 aka I was 19-23 years old at the time. It’s just funny how nothing literally has changed since that. No wonder why I feel like I’m still living the 2010. All my posts to there were mainly about mental health (I was on antidepressants in 2008-2013, also on antipsychotics in 2008-2009 and another one for couple of months in 2010.) and the funniest thing was that I have had the EXACT SAME sleeping schedule talks there as I have lately had on Tumblr :DDD

I guess I need to take some notes for the neuropsychiatrist trainer cos we were talking about the scleeping schedule and she asked me why do I think my inner clock is what it is, aka the best time for me to fall asleep would be between 1-3 am and to wake up would be between 11am and 1pm. And damn, when I read these posts I didn’t even remember all this, but there as well I’ve written about how I get super tired during the morning hours and then more active towards the night again. And I was sleeping during daytime hours A LOT because I just got so tired from being so bored. Most of the time my sleeping schedule also was changing all the time, sometimes falling asleep at 11pm and waking up at 8am but ending up being super tired the whole day, and sometimes falling asleep around 5am and waking up in the afternoon. And that is ecactly how it’s been lately, too. Always changing.

She also said something about if I was to work or school, wouldn’t that force my sleeping schedule to become different? And I told her it wouldn’t, because I was to school and work for 5 years in a row and it never fixed itself. I was working 5-6 days a week every week and it never affected anything. I still went to sleep very late and had trouble staying awake, even at work I had to start doing something because I was so close to falling asleep during the morning hours.

I always say that my head wakes up only after the midday (we use 24h clock here in most parts of Europe, I never learnt if 12 at midday is 12am or 12pm, I just can’t wrap my head around it no matter how many times I’ve tried!) and before that I’m basically a zombie or in a coma or something. My eyes just stand in my head but I can’t think at all and I can’t go anything because my brains are still asleep and my body would love to go back to bed as well. But after midday, my brains are like “oh wait, good morning, I guess?” and my body is like “oh finally you decided to join in...”, and after that I’m able to do things that I need my brains to, and the closer to the night we get, the more active my brains become. And I’m at my best between 11pm and 2am basically.

She also said it might just be learnt behaviour, but I don’t really buy that. My inner clock has always been like this. Already as a baby I used to stay up late and wake up slightly before the noon, and sometimes it changed and I was waking up and falling asleep really early. And then again much later. (And I guess that’s normal for babies idk???) And I also always had trouble falling asleep during my school time, when my mom was still deciding over that. I remember so many evenings just laying in my bed, lights out and being totally awake and sometimes calling my mom that I can’t sleep. I came up with so many different things to help me fall asleep, I was basically playing, too. If it was freezing, I’d remove my blanket and pretend I was some poor kid on a street sleeping under a newspaper and someone saved me and I got a warm blanket and that’s when I covered myself with the blanket and it was soooo warm! And sometimes I liked to go under my bedsheets, under the... idk how you call that very thin mattress on top of the mattress? Anyway, under that, sometimes even under the mattress itself. And I imagined that I had been buried alive and was in a coffin. And I tried to get out, and sometimes I got so deep into that imagery that I started to panic for real, which is when I then crawled back from under the bedsheets :D I did things like these ALL THE TIME. And later on, when I got first phone with a flashlight (and camera), I was playing with it a lot. I even have some really old camera phone photos that I have taken because I was so bored while trying to sleep that I just had to do something. I also came up with all kinds of things to imagine in my head to help me fall asleep, my favorite was probably based on this old Disney Interactive game Toy Story 2 - you play with Buzz Lightyear in that and I just took that and I imagined running around my house and the yard and stuff. And sometimes I imagined a game that would be like my hometown but I could drive around in a car and destroy all the houses and buildings, and see inside of the houses etc.

I remember when I first started to stay up past the midnight, I used to write into my diary and I was always making jokes about how clock was already 1am oh my godddd and stuff like that, because it was so exciting. And then it just became a habit and it’s very rare for me to fall asleep before the midnight. It was usually always at least 1am even when I was working/studying, I had to get up at 6:45am or so but I still couldn’t make myself to go to sleep earlier than that because I needed more time to myself because my day has more than 24 hours to it. I had to sacrifice from somewhere and that was usually sleep, because I wouldn’t have been able to function if I got only like... 5-6 hours of free time/day for myself. And every night I didn’t want to go to sleep but I also was so tired I fell asleep immediately, so I was relieved to finally make it to my bed, but still 8 hours a day only for myself? That was what I got until I just HAD to go to sleep again and even that was too little time. And also, if I got enough sleep one night, that would have meant I wasn’t tired the next night and my sleeping schedule would have moved forward again about 2 hours or so -> even more tired the next morning.

But anyway, my point was: I have always been “struggling” with my sleeping schedule but it’s actually not causing myself any harm - it’s just the society that has set these opening and closing times to everything that does not meet my inner clock at all. I always have to try and adjust to those and I don’t understand why it’s always us who have to sacrifice something from us, why can’t they so something for us night owls as well? Not a 24h open store but like... some store that would be open between 11am and 3am, for example :D I anyway don’t understand this trainer because she keeps saying something about how I shouldn’t be so hars to myself and it’s not bad if people are different, but still I should try to have a sleeping schedule that wouldn’t be so fucked up? Like what do you want now? Me being me or me being something society wants? I prefer the first.

[witchofenoch]

Personal post. Content warnings: PTSD, depression, anxiety, self-hatred, self-doubt, frustration, miscarriage, infertility, gender issues, trans issues, emotional abuse, childhood abuse, nightmares, insomnia, prostitution mentioned but didn't occur, childhood sexual abuse alluded to, physical abuse implied

Writing the warnings is so tiring I usually discard the post before I even finish with them. Nothing's getting better or easier tonight though. I just want to read until I fall asleep and have decent dreams and wake up feeling human. Instead I'm wide awake at midnight, chest full to bursting with frustration and anger and grief and fear.

I'm frustrated with so much, it's a shorter list by far of what isn't frustrating me. My biggest frustration? Myself. Not just because of my mental illnesses or autism or dysphoria or anything like that; I'm frustrated as hell at my nightmares. I want to sleep, NEED to just sleep, but I'd rather be awake for 4 straight days, pass out, repeat. I'm terrified of seeing that monster. With every nightmare he touches me more and my dream self excuses and forgives him more. Maybe some people could accept that as healing or moving on, but it's pure terror for me. What he did was completely unforgivable. He is the worst of the monsters out there. I feel like I've been hexed, like there's something attached to me that's gnawing at my soul and tearing at my mind.

I'm so damn angry. At him, absolutely, but also at the many, many adults who were around when I was a kid: who knew something was wrong and chose to ignore it: who blocked it out with no thought spared for the child going through it. The adults who blamed my mom, my sister, and me for his behavior. The people who took advantage of me later knowing that I knew nothing else or nothing better. The kids in high school who started rumors that I was a prostitute because he, "an old man," "picked [me] up at the bus stop" and made me "kiss him" on the lips when I was a teenager (quotes around the parts they spread through about half of the school, though they exaggerated the lewdness which has only fueled my nightmares since). It's been a decade and a half and my anger toward all of them hasn't eased: mostly it's gotten worse. I look at the kids my sister nannies, friends' kids, celebs' kids, and I cannot fathom someone hurting them. I'm angry at being left alone to grieve every loss in my life, being told to "get over it" or being flat-out ignored until I could "get it together" long enough to fake being okay. I'm angry at the would-have-been fathers for making me suffer in silence. (One didn't and we're friends to this day. He deserves to be mentioned.)

I'm grieving. I'm mourning the kid I couldn't be, the me who was taken before they were made, the years I don't remember, the adult I'll never be, the freedom I'll never feel, the memories I didn't get to make. I'm mourning the years wasted trying to get someone to pay attention to me: to show me some kind, any kind, of affection. Even the high school dances I couldn't attend, first because I was in fear for my life and later because no one wanted me around. I'm grieving for the miscarriages I've had, all 7 of them, all 8 could-have-beens.

I'm afraid and it's exhausting. Flinching at every single sudden noise. My heart pounding almost as loud as the knocks on the door. Always scanning the room or courtyard or parking garage for escape routes before I notice anything else around me. Feeling physically ill for the rest of the day after I smell certain colognes, shampoos, laundry detergents. Frantically glancing around to find potential weapons when I see an Iron Maiden t-shirt on a stocky guy around my height or almost-pastel short-sleeved button up shirts with a front pocket on one side or a petite brunette wearing a mini-skirt. (Abusers come in all shapes, sizes, and genders, fyi.) Straight-up hiding behind shelves in stores or behind a rack of clothes, in bathrooms, fitting rooms, closets, a dark corner until the people who sorta look or sound like One of Them is gone. Hiding (from) my phone when I get a call from "Unknown" or just numbers I don't know. Blocking or deactivating cameras and mics in my computers, phones, and tablets because yes, I've been hacked by abusers more than once. Hiding under a blanket when I read at night because when I was a kid it was the only time I felt safe aside from when I'd climb to the top of my tree. Being unable to sleep if the door is cracked open. Startling awake at anything that sounds like a door slamming shut, a window opening, someone knocking on the door, wall, or windows. Waking up with panic for no discernable reason. Cringing at certain words. Wanting to fight someone if they call a girl, boy, or woman "babydoll," "doll face," "little girl/boy," "little one," "baby girl/boy" (if they're 5 or older), or any other infantilizing pet name because You Will Not Hurt Them.

I'm tired. So damn tired. My shoulders are sore, my hips ache, my knees throb, my wrists ache, my back aches, my head hurts, my neck is stiff and sore, my chest feels like it's in a vice, my boobs hurt, and all of that is all the time. I have scars from the back of my head to ankles. I have old injuries that'll probably never heal. I have crap wrong that I was just unlucky enough to have been born with. I have things wrong with me that doctors can't figure out, like why I've had 7 miscarriages over 11 years and not one pregnancy that lasted more than 12 weeks. Things doctors refuse to fix, like removing my boobs which constantly ache, touching certain areas causes sharp pain (they have all of that on file and diagnosed), and I can't gain and maintain a healthy weight because the dysphoria messes me up (but good luck getting good trans "counseling" and docs and a surgeon who'll "diagnose" you as trans with dysphoria AND agree to operate to make you LESS feminine in any way in Churchy McChurchville). "Insurance won't cover it." "You might regret it." "What if you decide to have kids later." (That last one is a whole other can of worms and I need all of that stuff out of me too but even at almost 30 I'm condescended and told I'll change my mind, regret it, meet a Really Nice Guy™ and want to start a family, blah blah bull.)

I've had my battles with insomnia for as long as I can remember (which, for more than bits-and-pieces, is only as far back as 14). I've had night terrors since I was an infant. I've stayed awake for almost 60 hours, and I've slept for 25 hours straight. For a while in high school I was so scared that I got an hour or two of sleep a day when my sister was home and awake but her boyfriend wasn't there. That would last 6 days out of the week. I'd crash for 10-12 hours on my mom's day off. Rinse and repeat for 2 or 3 years. I've been a homeless kid, a couch surfing teenager, and a constantly moving adult. I haven't lived in one place for more than 2 years since we left The Monster when I was a preteen. Even then, I've shuffled around from my parents' house to my sister's apartments (she moves every couple of years too) to my grandma's house before she moved into an independent living place. (It's actually nice. I was the hardest to convince.) I may have found a place to stay for a while: the area if not the apartment.

Still.. the nightmares. Waking up sideways across the bed. Waking up so tangled in my covers I start panicking trying to get out. Seeing their faces until I finally blink them away. Smelling beer or smoke as I'm finally drifting off. Night terrors. Waking up with bruises around my arms, wrists, and legs. Waking up still feeling like someone's touching me, hurting me, or breathing down my neck. My dreams can be totally mundane except A or C or, the most often and worst, The Monster will be there. When it's A or C they'll be watching me, talking to me, chasing me, fighting me, screaming at me. It's a nightmare, stressful as hell, but I recover and go about my day just a tad more on edge. The Monster will just show up and we'll act like we're trying to form a relationship, like he's gotten nice and I've been forgiving. But every time he touches me I feel so sick I'm surprised I don't wake up. My sister and sometimes others show up trying to make me stop the farce, but I'm always too scared.

This last dream, night before last.. It was boring, nothing remarkable was going on. Then The Monster showed up in a city cop's blue uniform. In that world he was apparently an actual cop. With each nightmare dream!me has let him slowly get closer and closer and had long-arm hugged him before this. He'd "accidentally" brush my arm when walking by or bump his leg against mine while sitting next to me. This time he, the cop iteration of him, reached up for something on a shelf above me and was pressed against my back. He hugged me. He had me sit almost on his lap. At first I was nauseated, then accepting of it, then my sister showed up and gave me the "wtf are you doing!?" face and I got scared. Eventually I woke up, probably when my brother-in-law left for work or maybe he came into the room to feed the fish. I'm just glad I woke up when I did and things stopped escalating.

Ugh. "2am and I'm still awake writing a song. If I get it all down on paper it's no longer inside of me threatening the life it belongs to. And I feel like I'm naked in front of a crowd 'cause these words are my diary screaming out loud and I know that you'll use them however you want to." I don't know. Whenever I'm up late writing, or trying to write, the stuff I'm going through that song comes to mind. So much of it is relatable for me.

"May he turned 21 on the base at Fort Bliss. 'Just today' he said down to the flask in his fist. Ain't been sober since maybe October of last year." Turning 21 in May and not being sober for months before that applies to a past abuser. The drunk in the military part applies to another. Really, every word of it applies to a rather small part of my life when a lot of connected events occurred. At least, after the first verse (about going with a friend to be there for her when she got an abortion) and "writing a song" unless you take "song" metaphorically as it's been used in literature, trope names, and poetry, and lyrics to mean story, tale, or speech (e.g., a "songbird telling his tale," swan song, "singing to the choir").

I should hop off this carousel before it opens into a drain. It's about 2:45am now. I'm just starting to feel sleepy, but I'm still as mentally awake as before. I hope getting this out helps me sleep a little better, at least for a night or so.