#thoughts at 5am. painful swelling brain

[jacksprostate]

suspension of disbelief ruined watching fight club but it's because they call bottle blond jared leto angelface

[unpack-my-heart]

Bend Over Backwards – Finished

I finished my Reddie yoga AU! 

@xandertheundead @constantreaderfool @eds-trashmouth @violetreddie @tinyarmedtrex @mrs-vh

Read on AO3 HERE

Richie does not cancel the gofundme.

The day after the argument with Eddie is miserable. Richie comes out of his room in the morning, sleepy-eyed and heavy-boned, and is not greeted with Eddie’s sleeping form curled up on the sofa. There are only discarded throw pillows in the spot he used to occupy. Richie toys with the idea of texting Eddie, but he can’t bring himself to type anything into the empty text box. He opens and closes the gofundme campaign approximately nineteen times an hour, staring at Eddie’s smiling face in the campaign banner. The smile that Richie had gotten so used to encountering in his kitchen whilst Eddie was making protein pancakes, in the supermarket doing their joint shop, or on the couch in the evening, the sun in Eddie’s smile dazzling Richie as it’s reflected back at him.

Two weeks pass sluggishly, and Richie spends them on autopilot. He opens and closes Eddie’s campaign obsessively whilst he’s at work, finger hovering over the “close campaign” button but never quite being able to convince himself to press it.

Close Campaign. Are you sure?

No

Close Campaign. Are you sure?

No

Close Campaign. Are you sure?

No

The campaign ends exactly sixteen days after Richie last saw Eddie, and exactly sixteen minutes since Richie thought of Eddie last. He’s drunk, having raided Bev’s collection of vintage reds, and his laptop is balanced on his chest as he slumps down into the sofa crease.

Close Campaign. Are you sure?

No

Current Progress: $3,400 out of $10,000

Thank you for your donation of $6,600, Richard Tozier!

Current Progress: $10,000 out of $10,000.

Richie falls asleep on the sofa, credit card to his left, and laptop to his right.

– X –

Richie wakes up when something plastic and hard hits him on the head. He cracks open one eye, glares the TV remote that was now lying on the floor next to his head, and closes it again.

“Oh my god, you stink”

“Huhh, whazzit?”

“Richie!”

“Mmm’Bev?”

“You fucking reek! And you spilt wine all over the damn carpet”

Opening his eyes, Richie is confronted with an amused looking Beverly, who’s standing over him with a nearly empty bottle of wine in one hand, and his laptop in the other.

His laptop.

Vague memories of scrambling for his credit card come floating back into Richie’s mind like smoke signals, but they’re too vague to read.

He pulls his leaden body off the couch, immediately wincing as the familiar pain of dehydration and excessive alcohol consumption seizes his brain.

“You got white girl wasted last night, then?”

“I guess I did” Richie mumbles, rubbing his pounding head. His stomach churns angrily as nondescript foody smells waft into the sitting room from the kitchen.

Beverly places the laptop down next to him, and Richie glares at it accusingly. He knows that he did something on his laptop last night. Something important. Something that he remembers thinking would piss someone off.

Someone.

Eddie.

The name knocks all of the air out of Richie’s lungs.

Richie knows that he did something last night, something that would piss Eddie off, and something that involved his credit card. Something that he had to pay for. Something important. The important something doesn’t reveal itself to him in the eight minutes it takes him to drag his aching body to the toilet and back to the couch, so Richie is left lying in a pathetic heap, watching Bev flit around the room simultaneously tidying it and accusing Richie of being a messy lightweight.

Three hours later, when Bev has gone to meet Ben, and he’s left alone with his melancholy, aching brain, Richie remembers. Richie remembers the mysterious important something and almost breaks his ankle in haste, as he vaults over the back of the couch and charges into the kitchen where his laptop was now charging. He boots it up, impatiently tapping a jarring rhythm on the counter-top, before opening up gofundme. The name at the top of the page sends his stomach twisting like a tempest.

Welcome to your GoFundMe dashboard, Richard Tozier! What would you like to do?

With a shaking hand, Richie clicks through the drop-down menu to his past donations.

Recent donations:

$6600 to Help Save Eddie Spaghetti’s Yoga Studio

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!” Richie babbled manically, as he stared at the laptop screen in horror. There it was, plain as the day and night and the moon and stars. He had not, in fact, obeyed Eddie’s demand and closed down the gofundme campaign, and had instead, in a drunken haze, done the exact opposite. Clicking onto the main campaign page, Richie is met with two large, sparkling red words,

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!

“oh fucking fuck fuck fuck”

Richie shoves the laptop off his lap and it lands on the floor with a dull thud.

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!

The words seem to leap off the screen, and beam straight through Richie’s ceiling and into the stratosphere for all to see.

CAMPAIGN SUCCESSFUL!  

Richie wonders whether Eddie has noticed that his bank account has inflated dramatically, or whether it would take a few days. Whether a cheque he was expecting to bounce wouldn’t bounce, and then he’d run to his bank, and they’d tell him, “Oh, Mr Kaspbrak, you have a very healthy bank account indeed!” and then Eddie would know that Richie had lied to him for the second time.

For a brief moment, Richie convinces himself that Eddie would be grateful, that he’d realise that Richie only wanted to help, and he’d show up at the apartment and fall into Richie’s arms like a goddamn storybook. When someone lands three short, sharp knocks on the front door of his apartment, this hope swells in his chest.

When Richie opens the door, idealistically preparing himself to see a smiling Eddie Kaspbrak standing before him, he sees … nothing.

Eddie is not standing on the threshold, but nor is anyone else. Something is lying on the threshold, though. A bulging envelope stuffed to the brim lay on the floor outside Richie’s apartment, with “POCKET CHANGE” written on it in thick, black marker pen. Richie bends down and picks the envelope up, and opens it, even though he already knows what’s inside.

Approximately one hundred hundred dollar bills stare back at him.

– X –

Much to his chagrin, Richie decides to give up waiting for Eddie to contact him. He half expected to receive a text from Eddie, telling him that he’d left something outside of Richie’s door, in case someone stole the money. He received no such text. He toyed with the idea of sending a groveling apology, or leaving an apologetic voicemail, but decided against it. He didn’t want to annoy Eddie even more than he already had. He didn’t stop thinking about Eddie, though. He thought about Eddie when he stretched every morning, a habit he’d gotten into when Eddie had been staying with him. He thought about Eddie when he used the charcoal toothpaste Eddie had left behind when he’d ran out of the apartment and never came back for his things. He thought about Eddie when he lay in bed at night, staring at the lacquered shadows that danced across his ceiling.

The next few months passed languidly, and Richie continued to pine.

– X –

During one of his scheduled morning pining sessions, Richie notices that Bev has started to act strangely. It’s little things, at first, like guarding her phone when she gets a text, or taking occasional phone calls outside the apartment where Richie can’t hear her conversation. This carries on for a week or two, before she starts acting really strangely. She starts leaving the apartment at 6am at least four times a week, and Richie catches her a few times on his way to the bathroom. She always gives him the same excuses, that she’s meeting Ben for breakfast or that she’s going on a hike with Ben. Richie’s favourite of these excuses came at a time when he couldn’t sleep, so had decided to make himself some tea instead of staring aimlessly at his ceiling all night. He hadn’t bothered to turn the light on, and so when Bev had crept past the kitchen and Richie had coughed to announce his presence, she had practically jumped out of her skin.

“Jesus! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, Rich”

“You’re up mighty early, Miss Marsh”

“Uh, yeah. Ben and I – We’re going … to the movies. Yes. The movies. There’s a really early showing of some dumb romcom that Ben wants to see so … we are going … to the movies to see it. Bye!”

Before Richie could challenge her further, Bev had skipped out of the apartment.

Lies.

From the time he had accidentally woken Ben up at 5am when he had crashed through the apartment after a particularly heavy night, Richie had been acutely aware of the fact that Ben Hanscom does not wake up before 7:30am for anyone. Not even Bev, and especially not for a hike, or to go and see a movie. Before he can give it too much thought, or convince himself that it was a terrible idea, Richie decides to follow Bev and find out what she was really doing. He jams his feet in his sneakers, pulls on the first jacket he finds on the hook, and charges down the stairs.

It turns out it’s remarkably easy to follow someone. All he has to do is hang back several feet from Bev, who is speed walking through the streets at a pace that Richie can barely keep up with. They’re walking in the opposite direction to Ben’s apartment, and when Bev takes a sudden turn left, Richie is surprised to find that she’s led him to a somewhat dodgy part of town that they don’t normally venture to if they can help it. Several blocks later, Bev disappears into a run-down looking building on the corner the street. After a few seconds, Richie walks up to one of the windows, hoping to surreptitiously peer inside but he is distracted by a piece of paper he sees sellotaped in the window.

Yoga Studio.

Huh.

The obvious conclusion is that Bev has found a new yoga studio; a replacement for Eddie’s submerged place. However, that doesn’t explain why Bev didn’t just tell him that she had found a new studio, and had instead chosen to concoct all of these lies. Growing more curious by the second, Richie pushed the door open, and was greeted by …

Mike.

Eddie’s Mike, the Mike from Eddie’s studio, was standing behind a small front desk.

“Hiya, Rich! Are you here for a session?”

“…Mike?”

“That’s me! Are you here for the 6:45 class?”

“Uh… yes?” Richie replied dumbly, before digging a crumpled 10 dollar bill out of his pocket and handing it over to a very smiley Mike.

“Do you have a mat or do you need to borrow one?” Mike asks, kindly, gesturing to the stack of rental mats on the shelf behind the front desk.

“I – I don’t have one on me” Richie mumbled, staring at his hands as if a yoga mat might materialize in them if he concentrated hard enough.

“We don’t have changing rooms in this building, unfortunately, so you’ll have to use the toilets to get changed in,” Mike said, apologetically, pointing down the small corridor.

“No problemo, Mikey,” Richie replied, before walking off down the corridor.

Considering the fact that he hadn’t intended on taking a yoga class this morning, and the fact that he didn’t have anything to change into, Richie didn’t bother going into the toilets. Instead, he just walked straight through the only other door, which led him into a large, carpeted room with no windows or mirrors. The room smelt musty, like it had been locked ten years ago and not opened until three minutes prior, and the carpet was stained with suspicious looking sludgy marks. Despite the fact that it was nearly 6:45am, there were only three other people in the room.

One of those three people was Bev.

Richie marched through the room, and unfurled his mat right next to where Bev was sat on her own purple yoga mat in lotus position.

“Oh, fuck,” Bev swore under her breath, but before Richie could chew her out properly for lying to him, the door to the room opened and Eddie walked in.

Richie’s breath stuck in his throat like honey as he watches Eddie walk into the room and take his place at the front, smiling out at his small group of students, and it really was a small group. Four of them, including Richie, who can’t help but feel a stab in his gut when he thinks back to the crowded sessions Eddie used to lead in his now submerged studio.

“Good morning! It’s great to see some new faces here today, and even some familiar new faces too!” Eddie announces, sending a fleeting, but warm, smile in Richie’s direction.

The class begins, and Richie soon discovers that jeans are not the most ideal clothing choice when you need to spend an hour trying to bend your limbs in increasingly complicated ways. He huffs and puffs his way through the flow, movements severely limited both by the constrictive denim and the fact that, recently, he hasn’t been stretching as regularly as he should have been. Soon enough, as he always did at his original studio, Eddie starts to wander around the class, helping his students stand taller and stretch further. Due to the fact that there was such a small number of people in the room, it only took a few minutes for Eddie to get to Richie, who was bent over in a pathetic attempt at bridge pose.

Eddie squats down next to Richie, and gently grips Richie’s hips, pulling his pelvis higher, so that Richie’s butt was further from the floor, and his thighs were straining. It felt good. A smooth, satisfying stretch zipped down his spine, and Richie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.

“Good,” Eddie praised, releasing his grip on Richie’s hips but not standing from his squat, “your thighs have weakened a little, you’ll need to work on strengthening them again”

“Eddie, shit, Eds, I can explain, I need to –“

“See me after class, Tozier” Eddie cuts him off, with a surprisingly playful lilt to his voice that causes Richie to fall out of the pose, landing on his back with an ‘oof’.

– X –

When the class finishes, and the rest of the class (the other two people) have left, Richie finds himself hopping anxiously from foot to foot waiting for Eddie to beckon him over. Eddie was talking to Bev about something that Richie couldn’t quite make out, but they both looked relaxed and Eddie kept smiling at Bev with that ridiculous sun-smile that made Richie’s insides burn.

Eventually, Bev waves goodbye to Eddie and wanders out of the room, shooting a thumbs up to Richie over her shoulder before she disappears out of the door.

Richie waits.

Finally, Eddie finishes rolling his mat up, and leans against the wall.

“Hello, Richie”

“Should we do this in your office?” Richie asks, walking towards where Eddie was leaning against the wall.

“I don’t have an office, all I have is this room”

“Oh”

“I’m not mad at you about the money anymore, Richie,” Eddie says calmly, “Bev explained it to me. We went for coffee a few times, and I ranted and raved and told her that I hated you and that you were a wanker, and she agreed with me, sometimes. But she also told me about your background, and why you do the things you do, and why you sometimes might not understand why being so generous can be … insulting. She explained it all, and I listened, and I forgive you”

“… Really?’ Richie breathed, disbelievingly.

“Yes. I’ve forgiven you for that. What I haven’t forgiven you for was not closing down the gofundme campaign after I had explicitly asked you to. I was pretty fucking clear, Rich, and you left it open. Hell, you pumped more money into it!”

“I know, I know. I fucked up, Eds, I –”

“Do you know, though? Do you really know?” Eddie pushed, pushing himself off the wall and walking slightly towards Richie, “you gave me over six and a half thousand pounds after I explicitly told you I didn’t want any more of your money, and after you had already lied to me for weeks, Rich, weeks!”

“I do know, Eds, I promise I do, and I’m not gonna stand here like an asshole and try and justify it. I – oh fuck it, I miss you. I miss you more than is probably rational. I’m being ir-fucking-rational about this, but all I know is that I fucked up, I fucked us up before we’d even started, and I am really really really sorry”

A beat passes. Then two beats, and then three.

Richie waits.

“I believe you. I don’t think I can forgive you yet, but I believe that you’re sorry” Eddie acknowledges, face blooming into a small, hesitant smile.

Richie barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air.

“How can I help you to forgive me? I’ll do anything, Eds, honest, I just – I miss you”

“Can you help me mount my new mirrors on the walls? I’ll think about forgiving you after that”

– X –

The large mirror slips from Richie’s fingers, and he drops it with a shout and a wince.

“SHIT!”

Small shards of mirror litter the floor, and Richie scowls at them. Eddie laughs, high and bright, before going to fetch the vacuum cleaner from the small cupboard in the corner of the room.

“Aw, shit. Eds, I’m so sorry, it just slipped outta my hands!”

“You’re a liability, Tozier”

“At least let me pay for a replacement?” Richie ventures, tone cautious.

“Uh, too fucking right you’re paying for it, you’re the klutz who broke it! That thing cost me more than my groceries for a month do”

Richie vacuums up the mirror shards, and they work on hanging the next wall-length mirror. They’d been working together for nearly a week, and in that time they’ve nearly finished the entire wall, and only have four more sheets of mirror left.  Mike had popped in and out occasionally, holding the large sheets of mirror far more easily than Richie or Eddie could. For the most part, though, they worked alone.

“So, how’dya come to rent this place, then?”

“Uh, well, I let my place go a few months ago. I knew that I’d never save up enough money to fix it, so I flunked on the mortgage and the bank took it back. So I lost my entire investment, which … sucked. I still had enough of my initial bank loan to rent somewhere, and with my wages from the supermarket, I managed to convince the landlord of this building that a yoga studio really would be profitable enough in this location, but … as you know, I don’t tend to get much custom here so …” Eddie trailed off, voice growing smaller and sadder with every word.

The ancient yearning that had been brewing under the surface of his skin for the months prior won the fight against reason, and before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, Richie pulled Eddie into his arms. Eddie stiffened, at first, but Richie clung to him somewhat desperately and eventually Eddie relaxed, his arms snaking around Richie’s waist and clinging. Richie rested the side of his face against the top of Eddie’s head for a few seconds, before turning slightly to press soft, clandestine kisses into Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s shoulders began to shake, just slightly at first, but then the shakes became more and more pronounced and before long Eddie was sobbing into Richie’s chest.

“Sssh, love, it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay, baby, I promise” Richie whispered into the shell of Eddie’s ear, hoping that the sweet nothings would calm the tempest currently spilling out of Eddie’s soul.

“It’s so fucked, Rich. It’s still fucked, I can’t – it won’t – why doesn’t anything work out for me”

“Tell me where it hurts, baby, I’ll make it stop. Please tell me what I can do to make it better”

Richie continued pressing kisses into Eddie’s hair, working his way down past the back of Eddie’s ear, hoping that with each kiss he could dissolve some of the sadness in Eddie’s heart. After a few seconds, Eddie shifted his face slightly, just barely, but enough so that the kisses that were being pressed behind Eddie’s ear were now being pressed onto the apples of Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie kept shifting his head, and Richie kept kissing him, and soon enough, Richie’s kisses started landing on Eddie’s mouth.

The kisses stayed small, barely-there touches of Richie’s lips to Eddie’s, and Eddie didn’t kiss back, not at first, but eventually Eddie’s lips started to chase Richie’s when they retreated, and the kiss became something … more. They stood in the middle of the musty, windowless room, and kissed, long and slow, deep and sweet.

At length they broke apart, and stared at each other.

“Richie,” Eddie cautioned, voice low, “Richie I don’t … I don’t know what I’m doing”

“What?” Richie responded, panic lacing his words.

“I’m – I’m upset. I’m not thinking straight, I … I need some time to think”

“I thought – I thought you liked me” Richie whispered, feeling everything the pining teenager.

“I do, and that’s the problem. I like you so much, Richie, I like you so much that when you’re here I can’t think straight and … my life is a fucking mess. A complete and utter mess and I need to make sure … I need to make sure I’d be doing this for the right reasons. Being with you for the right reasons”

“But – ”  

“Please don’t fight me on this, because I’ll break and you’ll win. Please give me some time. Please, Rich. Two weeks. Can you wait for me for two weeks?”

“I’d wait until the end of time for you, my love” Richie muttered, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be walking out of the studio with Eddie on his arm.

He pressed one last kiss to Eddie’s forehead, letting his lips linger for as long as he could bare, before he left Eddie alone in the room.

– x –

A week and a half later, and Richie was startled by a pounding at the door. Richie heaved himself up off his bed, where he was writing a track list for his next radio slot, and drifted over to the door, expecting to open it to an apologetic Beverly who had forgotten her keys.

When he opens the door, Eddie literally throws himself at Richie, strong arms encircling his neck.

“Thank you”

“Wha? Eds? What’s wrong?”

“Thank you” Eddie repeated, voice trembling and reverential.

Richie pulled back from the embrace, just enough to shoot Eddie a quizzical look.

“Care to share what you’re thanking me for, spider-monkey?”

“Your radio show”

“Ah, you heard about that then, eh?”

Eddie presses his lips to Richie’s in a kiss that is far too hard, and far too fleeting for Richie to enjoy properly, but he tries his best to match Eddie’s enthusiasm before Eddie is barreling straight into the apartment.

“So my client numbers kept increasing, right? and I was happy, don’t get me wrong, but it came entirely out of nowhere. One day I’d have three clients, and then the next day I’d have ten, and the next I’d have nearly twenty and I was starting to have to run multiple sessions a day! Which … didn’t make any sense. So I asked one of my clients how they’d heard of the studio, and they told me they’d heard an endorsement on the radio. I thought … weird, right? I asked them to tell me the station, and they did. And then I listened and … lo’ and behold”

Eddie gestured to Richie with both hands.

“Guilty as charged”

“But why?”

“I love you”

“Um,” was all Eddie managed to say in response, eyes wide and ridiculous and Richie loved him.

“I know you probably can’t say it back. I know it’s been virtually no time at all since we met but… you’re fucking it for me, Eddie. I felt like someone had ripped out my spleen when you left and I don’t want you to leave again. I thought of you in that shitty room with that nasty old carpet … it kills me. I can’t bare it. I was so desperate to help you, but I knew throwing cash at you wouldn’t help so … I did the next best thing I could think of”

“You’re magical, Richie, you know that, right?”

“Ah, naw, Eds. That’s you”

“If we make a go of this, you’ve gotta promise me you’re not hiding anything else, that there aren’t any secret mansions or yachts or … hell, even private islands, that you’re keeping from me” Eddie demanded, swinging both of his arms around Richie’s neck once more, and resting his forehead against Richie’s.

“Well, there is this one yacht”

Eddie gawped at him.

“Kidding, kidding! It’s just a four person boat. With a cabin … and a bar … and a glass bottom … and …”

Eddie cut Richie off with a kiss.

[supernatural-squadd]

Wash It Away

Winchester Sister Imagine

TRIGGER WARNING: Heavy depression thoughts, verbal suicidal tendencies

Requested by: @rilezra  "I'm feeling shit and desperate so i request a shitty desperate reader begging the winchesters to kill her to stop the pain she experiences on the daily with some sort of good ending that doesn't actually end with them killing her, rather them helping her?"           

A/N: For anyone experiencing any of these problems or any problems at all, this is a judgment free zone and I'm a great listener.

@rliezra: I made it a sister fic, hope that's alright!

Have a request? Want on a taglist? Feedback? Click here! Feel free at anytime (including on anon) to send requests, talk to me or ask me anything about myself or my work!

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The hopeless feeling that swelled inside of your chest expanded as your tears continued to fall fast and hard. The entire feeling consumed you, overwhelmed your mind and body in every aspect. Leaving a crumpled up girl curled up atop her bed, clenching onto her pillow so tight the fabric might break. The same comforting pillow softened the tears from falling a distance, quieted the sobs and desperate silent cries for help. Your mouth stay opened, pushing out a thick line of air as though you were screaming at this invisible inner pain that continued to destroy you eternally, however, no sound came out as the tears dripped from your swollen eyes.

You'd been like this all night, quietly allowing your mind to destroy you as there seemed to be no more of a will for anything lurking inside. Sleep was beyond impossible, unless it was permanent and everlasting. Yet somehow being a Winchester almost ensured your two brothers, or Cas, would certainly find a way to bring you back and force you to live this existence you so badly felt the need to escape.

As tears silently fell, the silent patting of footsteps got closer to your room, but they were inaudible to you over the sound of your heart crumbling into a million small pieces.

Sam knocked lightly, trying to test to see if you were awake, instead he heard a small sniffle as you turned your body to pretend as though you still slept. While he wanted to rush in and come to whatever aid you required, he knew you always responded to Dean better than himself. Dean had practically raised not only Sam, but you as well. Sam and Dean had an undeniable bond, everyone in the entire universe and every conceivable universe knew that, but when you were a child and your tiny hand curled around his finger, everyone knew this would be everlasting.

It was 5am, Sam was headed out for his jog, but now seeing he was delayed and concerned, he went to Dean's bedroom instead, not even bothering to knock. Dean was always a light sleeper, so naturally when his door opened, so did his tired green eyes with a shock. Under no circumstances was it smart to wake the beast that was a sleeping Dean, but in all honesty, the boys had been down this road with you before, they knew it was literal life or death in the past and feared for the same this time around.

"It's Y/N." Sam immediately spoke, hoping Dean would register that in his brain his sister needed him in a bad way.

These were the only words that would make it acceptable to wake up Dean Winchester at any hour. He and Sam both made haste to your room where Dean quietly put his ear to your door listening as you silently sobbed into your pillow. With ease he opened the door, peering in at your sobbing form all bundled up and tightly hugging your pillow.

He didn’t say a word, just sat down on your bed and began rubbing your back softly, trying to let you know he was there whenever you were ready. His loving brotherly touch only made your heart ache more and tears fall thicker than before. The heartbreaking sounds emitting from your broken body only crushed your brothers souls more. They wanted nothing more than to help you, but sometimes things can't be fixed with words. Words are like the glue that hold us together, hugs and physical presence is what keeps that glue from melting away or crumbling.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean's half asleep half awake groggy voice filled the room, vibrating your bones as though each sound he made echoed off of them and into your heart.

Without words you simply shook your head, rolling to your side a little to see your brothers faces. Sam in the doorway, looking afraid, and Dean who just looked like someone had stabbed him in his chest.  Just looking upon your face he could see how broken you were, how far you'd fallen off the wagon. He wasted no time forcing his arm under your shoulders, pushing himself onto the bed, motioning you to roll over and to lay in his arms while he sat up.

"Do you hear my heartbeat?" He said, brushing random strays of hair out of your face while his other arm held you tight. "Just focus on that, okay?" His voice was even more so echoing now that you lay on his chest.

Sam watched the two of you, watched how dead you looked in your eyes, how blank and unfeeling your stare was. This is what concerned him most of all. Dean gave his brother a once over nod, letting him know you would be okay with him, and reluctantly Sam left the room.

"Can I ask you a favor?" You spoke with such a hoarse and low tone from crying for so long. "I want you to kill me." The words rolled off of your tongue as though they were nothing. "I can't do it myself, I don't want to be here anymore. I can't be here anymore. I hate it."

Dean sat you up instantly, his face forged with confusion, sadness and anger all in one, but mainly anger.

"How are you even asking me this right now?" He roughly said, this time speaking a little louder than he was before. Completely ignoring the fact you squinted your eyes in pain at the raising of his voice, indicating you had a bad migraine.

"I'm tired of fighting, I just-"

"You just what?" He cut you off in total, his voice still loud with mixed emotions. "You just plan on giving up? Leaving Sammy? Leaving me?" There was a sense of more hurt in his words near the last, how dare you even think about leaving him. He who had given up majority of his life to keep you safe and alive, loosing the fight so easily and to yourself no less.

"Please stop yelling.' Your hand reached up and connected with your throbbing temple.

"This is serious, this isn't some joke, this is your life." His voice began to lower slightly, after he took a deep breath it went back to a normal tone. "You're life may now have value to yourself right now, but it'll always have value to me. So even when you stop fighting for yourself, I'll be there still, fighting for you. Do you know why?" Dean waited until your eyes shifted and painfully met his. "Because dammit you are worth fighting for."

It took a moment for you to find words, find a self will even if it wasn't that strong. Still you sat up in front of him, hair a mess, eyes puffy with pain, hands weak from the loss of so much emotion, but still you knew he was right.

"I swear I'm trying." You half scoffed out with only air. "I just can't breathe anymore, every second I'm alive I feel like I'm drowning. Physically, I have the world: You, Cas and Sammy. Mentally? I have nobody."

"Let me help you breathe, let me help clear the air somehow. I'm sure as hell not going anywhere, and neither are you." Dean's hand found a fitting over the top of yours while he looked for some form of understanding in your eyes. "Promise me that when you can't fight for yourself, you'll at least let me continue to fight for you. That you won't give up on me even when you've given up on yourself."

Once you nodded, silently whispering that you promised and allowing Dean to kiss your temple and pull you back into his chest.

Only was it hours later did Sam come check on the two of you, finding you with a peaceful face now dry from tears and one big brother who held onto you both physically and mentally, refusing to let you go.

[somewhatsanders]

Smile! (Sanders Sides Angsty Adventures)

Hihi this is my first fic; I write angst now apparently lol Enjoy some wholesome heartbreak, buddies!! Ya know, since I wrote this at 5am, I couldn’t sleep and I felt like all around garbagio.

Please tell me what you think, if there’s anything I should change or something you want me to tag it under!!

Tw: angst, panic attacks, negative self-talk

Pairing: None, but you can interpret it as romantic if that’s what gets you jazzed

Patton was always such a happy guy, his fellow sides have no clue as to how he managed to be so positive all the time. Come rain or sunshine, the Moral facet always wore a smile on his face.

Even on a day like today when everything was just wrongwrongwrong, Patton would be there in an instant, almost as if by instinct, with a big ole smile on his face for them to lean on. It wasn’t even a question if he would always be a support system to rely on and they couldn’t be more thankful to have such a pure ray of sunshine grace their lives.

-

Virgil’s entire being practically vibrated from the sobs that wracked his body; he was curled up on the floor in a dark corner of his room, breathing unevenly and stuck inside his own little world where everything was a swirling cesspool of negativity. Since he could just never manage to catch a break, even in his lowest moments. his subconscious had elected this to be an appropriate time in which to remind him of his place. Virgil knew what he really was, a disorder. A mistake that people pay good money to get rid of, and Virgil couldn’t blame them. He would get rid of himself too if the roles were reversed. But self-awareness couldn’t stop the ‘pain and oh god I can’t breathe-’ His dug nails deeper into his scalp, tugging harder on his hair, and bit harder into his lower lip in order to silence his pathetic whimpering, for once in his life just wishing he could do something right and keep quiet as to avoid bothering any of the other sides. Heaven knows he caused enough problems for everyone already and he couldn’t risk projecting onto Thomas. However, these efforts only were proven counterproductive as he continued the downwards spiral to self deprecation. 

Through the storm clouding his mind, Virgil barely managed to register a presence which purposefully, yet gracefully, entered the room and made his way over to the Anxious trait without making any sudden or loud movements that could startle him, sitting criss-cross on the floor. A familiar voice spoke hushed words of love and encouragement, surrounding him like a warm blanket, “I am so proud of how strong you are for getting through this, kiddo-” Patton. Virgil breathed a sigh of relief as the Fatherly trait he admired and cared about so much not that he would ever admit that out loud guided him through some breathing exercises and grounding techniques that they had previously been working on together. ‘…in for four…’ The fog was gradually beginning to clear after some time and he was slowly coming back to himself. Once his breathing had evened out and his shaking had ceased, the anxious facet could feel himself being picked up off the ground, safely cradled inside a strong pair of arms, and then gently laid onto his bed, being tucked under the covers with as much care as one would when dealing with a porcelain doll. He was numb and a little groggy, but warm inside, something he wasn’t accustom to feeling post-panic attack. He usually would be forced to ride it out until he cried himself to sleep; cold and alone. But having Patton there always did make it easier. Not good, he was never good after an attack, but better. Definitely better. Loved.Patton really was a man too good for this world, but the younger of the two didn’t have enough energy to dwell on such thoughts. Instead, he briefly felt a kiss being pressed upon his brow as he began succumbing into a deep and much-needed slumber. The only thought left on his mind being, ‘How does he manage to keep smiling?’

-

Logan doesn’t even want to imagine a life without Patton. That ever-present smile brought with it an air of comfort and this swelling in his chest that he originally believed to be Pericarditis the first time it happened; acting as a reminder to him that maybe not all emotions were so bad after all. Yes, he was pure Logic. Yes, he may insist that he was void of emotion- but that was simply a defense mechanism he had fabricated because deep down, Logan worried that if the others knew he could feel, he would no longer be fit to serve his purpose for Thomas. His job was to be objective, the robot. To draw rational conclusions, memorize vocabulary, facts, and formulas- despite having graduated college years ago because indeed Roman, it is utterly critical for them to remember Pythagorean Theorem, how could you be certain we will never use it again? If he were to use feelings within his decision making process; would he even be Logic anymore? Logic and feelings were mortal enemies and polar opposites, the could never work in harmony without some form of motorization, that’s why he was there to begin with, that was the reasoning for his entire existence; at least, that what he told himself. Because even though he serves as a glorified storage facility for any knowledge that Thomas has accumulated over the span of his life, he knows logically that any of the other sides could overtake his position, meaning that he would no longer serve purpose; that is if he even did already. Patton had an astoundingly larger vocabulary than most would give him credit for. Virgil himself played a part in the functions of the Lateral Frontal Pole, a section of the Frontal Lobe dedicated to reasoning, planning and decision-making. Roman, contradictory to what Logan has said before, is smart; he knows Spanish and has the mind power to create anything from a minute paper clip to something as elaborate as the Mind Palace of a dog. Logan couldn’t do any of that, he could scarcely manage to perform the functions of which he was created to do. He was letting them all down. A choir of negativity sung a melody that spoke to his deeply buried insecurities and pulled them to the surface where they could remind him of his faults and cloud his vision.

But where there is darkness, there must also be light. In his case, that light just so happened to be wearing a turquoise polo and khakis. Patton was by his side exactly when he needed him most sporting that smile that he had come to adore. Patton had no qualms with reminding him that having feelings is indeed logical and necessary for him to achieve an optimum level of functionality. Logan remembers Pythagorean Theorem because he cares about his host and wants him to succeed in life. Logan still knows the Rain Forest Rap verbatim because he is passionate about environmental conservation. Logan learns because it makes him happy. Logan is logic. Logic is driven by feelings. He is functioning exactly as he should. That angelic smile never faltered from Patton’s face as he made sure to remind Logan of these facts as much as was necessary without any form of hesitation or a single hint of annoyance to be seen. With a warm embrace that Logan pretended to not enjoy and that his companion seemed to recognize he needed regardless, Logan could finally breathe without restriction because he was important, he was logic, he was allowed to feel, and he felt happy having Patton’s smiling face to melt his ice heart. Yet, he couldn’t help himself from wondering; 'How does he manage to always keep smiling?’

-

Roman was distraught. Crying was not a very Princely thing to do, but he just couldn’t help himself when all his efforts to do well by Thomas and the other traits, of whom he loved dearly, always seemed to fall short. He would try to produce dreams for Thomas to chase, but they were always unrealistic and unattainable. He only managed to make things worse and set Thomas up for heart break. It was his fault that Thomas and Patton suffered so much after their breakup, because he embodied fanciful thoughts which included their hosts romantic aspirations. Roman put his all into a boy who wasn’t happy with Thomas leading to heartbreak and followed by many months of learning how to put themselves back together after. Even now, long after the end of their relationship, he found himself still fantasizing what it would be like to rekindle their former flame which he was too stupid to let slip into Thomas’s conscious mind which made the healing recovery process begin all over again. Roman had failed them. He was no Prince and he scolded himself for ever trying to villainize Virgil; because he knew the truth. It was Roman himself who was the true villain all along. He merely displaced his own self-loathing onto whomever he possibly could in order to avoid facing a reality that he is now forced to endure. A reality where the truth was that it was he who was the source of everything bad within Thomas. Who was he trying to kid himself, he is the Ego for crying out loud, the source of Thomas’s self-confidence! How is he supposed to embody the self-confidence of a man who has none? He can’t! Everyone assumed that all of Thomas’s insecurities spawned from Virgil, which isn’t wrong but also not necessarily true. The aspects of which each individual side ruled over is much more of a grey area than most seem to realize. Virgil and Logan both embody the left hemisphere of Thomas’s brain, the core of his reasoning. Both provide their own rationale to problems in which they are presented with, some of which aren’t always accompanied the most sound of reasoning Virgil. But in the case of where Roman and said Anxious Angel overlap, they share confidence and self image, or a lack there of. One of the two most assumed to be a narcissistic air-head with an ego so large you would need to buy an extra plane ticket to make room for it in your seat, but that could not be farther from the truth. In fact, as the Creativity it was indeed he himself who had come up with the idea for their 'My Body Negativity’ video.

Roman couldn’t help his bottom lip from quaking or the tears that followed, sliding down his face as he looked in the mirror, hating what he saw in the reflection. That wasn’t a Prince looking back at him, it was a failure. But as he was ready to fall apart, a lovable smile he knew and recognized all too well was right there to put him back together again. Catching him as he collapsed to the ground in despair, Patton aided Roman sin making his way to sit down on the edge of his bed, reciting a list practically the length of 'Order of the Phoenix’ counting off every fantastically wonderful thing about Roman, inside and out, until he was blushing from head to toe and giggling like a child through his depleting tears. The Prince beamed at the praise and admiration showered upon him by the oldest of the Sides. Patton never failed to surprise him with how he could brighten a room, even in the deepest, darkest, depths of the ocean. He couldn’t help himself from asking the man he loved so dearly and thought the world of, “Patton, how do you manage to always keep smiling?” Morality winked back at the Prince and replied “I’ll never tell!”, before briskly exiting the room and giggling as he made his way out.

-

The closer he got to his room, the giggles had drawn out into heaving sobs that shook him to the very core of his being. Patton finally manage to collapse into his bed within the isolation of his room. A place where he could cry freely without having to burden any of the others, who already had so much weighing down on their shoulder, the poor dears. Their lives were hard enough without having to worry about his stupid feelings. His hands formed fists which tugged at his hair while he curled into a ball, rocking back and forth. Alone. For when you’re always supporting and looking out for others, then who is there to support you?

He was never good enough. He never had been and he never will be. Even when trying his best to do good by Thomas and the other embodiments of his personality, he could never sufficiently do his job to keep everyone happy. He was at the core of Thomas’s cheerful feelings, shouldn’t he be able to at least manage this without ruining everything for his companions?

Useless. 

Unlovable. 

Incompetent.

Childish.

Irresponsible. 

How can you manage to always smile when you destroy everything you touch?

In between sobs and dry heaving from becoming so choked up, Patton contrived a faint whisper for no one else to hear; “That’s the secret… I don’t.” 

But what the others don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

@lilbeanblr

[secludedmoonnn]

Today has been hard. I woke up at 6am because my mom and Fred were being so loud and Tuna wouldn’t stop bothering me. But I couldn’t fall back asleep because my stomach and back were in so much pain. I spent 2 hours stretching and massaging my back and my stomach to try to relieve some of the pain. It only helped a little bit, but it was enough to be able to fall back asleep. And once I did, I kept having dreams of you. My brain just won’t give me a break. I think about you when I’m awake. I think about you when I sleep. There is no escape. This whole thing seems so far away and out of reach. Like it’s not real. But it is. And I know it is because of the pain I feel in my heart. This is the first time that I have been alone. Kiana is at her new job and mom and Fred are at work. I have the animals, but they don’t understand and they don’t know how to console me. So I just let go. At the end of my shower, I had thoughts about how we used to wash each other’s bodies and it was always with such intimacy. And then I broke down once I was out. I couldn’t stop myself. I was alone and I couldn’t stop the tears, the screaming. I thought about how Father’s Day is coming up and that’s when I first met some of your family. And when you first met my dad. And how I still haven’t told my dad what happened because I don’t want to. I don’t want to have to tell people what happened. It’s so fucking hard to relive this situation day after day, and knowing my dad he’s gonna ask 2638263 questions and he’s gonna say something inappropriate (in the sense of that it isn’t the right time to say something) and he’s just going to make me feel worse about the situation. It’s how it always goes. And I thought about how we were late going to meet my dad because at the time, I was watching Michelle’s pets and house sitting for her. We spent SO much time together during then because it was only us. We became so close and so intimate during that time. And I cherish that time we spent together. How we were always up until 5am every morning.

And then I came into my room. And for some reason, I was reminded of the first time we slept together. How we would fuck and then just sit there naked with each other. The FUCKING INTIMACY that I felt and we experienced was on a whole other level. You made me feel something that I never thought was possible. Something so foreign to me. I have never been happier, than the moments spent with you. Nothing can even compare to how you made me feel. Something I still feel. Even though you aren’t in my life anymore and you aren’t showering me with your love anymore, doesn’t stop the love I have for you. I don’t think I can ever stop loving you, even without you in my life. I truly don’t think it’s possible. Because it is something that makes my heart swell. You make my heart swell. You are so kind and genuine and your soul is something else. Something so different, but in the best way possible. It’s pure beauty. And I’m sad that you’re not here anymore. That I don’t get to connect with you anymore. To love you anymore. And it fucking sucks. So much so that I don’t know what to do with these emotions. So I write. And I write and I write. And it still just doesn’t go away. And so I cry and I cry and I cry. And it still doesn’t go away so I scream to myself when I’m alone about all the shit I’m upset with and how this could’ve happened and so much more. And it still doesn’t go away. Nothing can help these feelings go away. Nothing but time, but even with time, I don’t think my love will change for you. Cause even though you’re the reason I am this hurt, the broken, this shattered, you are also the reason I have all these wonderful memories. You’re the reason I have so much love in me. You’re the reason I am able to hurt this bad, because I got to love you with everything I had. And I will fight for this. I will fight for our chance to try again. I will fucking fight with everything I have. Because it’s what I want to do. And I believe that this isn’t the end. If anything, it was just the start to bettering ourselves. And I will get through this because I want to see a better version of me. I want to see a stronger, more independent version of me. I want to see myself thrive in this shitty game called life. I want to see myself achieving the goals I never thought I could. I want to see myself happy again. I want to be happy. I want more for myself. More than what I’m giving to myself. I am so much stronger than I give myself credit for. I will get through this. And I will better myself. And then I will come find you. And we will meet again.