my empty bed


Richey Edwards and James Dean Bradfield Belga Beach Festival (1992)


I followed all the rules, when I came here the first time. Listened to all of the stories, the tips, believed all of the warnings and the worries. Watched some classmates disappear, sometimes covered with excuses of transfers, sometimes not, watched suspiciously or with awed eyes to those who were suspected to be other.

But I never saw a single thing. I never saw the creatures late in the library, I never heard things scratching on my windows, and I never felt eyes on the back of my neck walking home in all the dark, clutching iron nails in my jacket pockets.
I’m from the South, you see, and down there we don’t have this Fae nonsense. There’s no flimsy fairy circle to be warned about, no rock in the middle of the road; sure, I’d read the fables, but that’s all they were to me. Fables.

I believed in something different. That’s all it came down to; belief. 
So when I brought the shrine with me, and gave it its own shelf, I shouldn’t’ve been surprised that everything left me alone for the first year. I shouldn’t’ve been surprised that, as I was deaf to my gods, so was I blind to the Fae. (You learn to listen in other ways.)

It was only that first summer, when I wore something other than a t-shirt for the first time, and my ankh tattoo finally was blessed by the sun for the first time, and my friend flinched away from me when I turned to talk to someone, it was only then that I started to take note.
I couldn’t see them - of course, this will come as no surprise - I couldn’t see them, I couldn’t hear or touch them, not like some of my friends swore they could, but.
When I was holding that ankh necklace, when I was wearing that tattoo, when I was believing, they could tell. I learned which days to wear the necklace over my shirts, and which days to hide it under the binder.

It wasn’t until two years later, when I painted gold onto my eyelids, that I could see for the first time.
But that’s getting ahead of myself. I had two years of knowing nothing; of seeing friends Taken and gone, of some of them coming back, of wondering what it was that I wasn’t seeing, and wondering when my belief wasn’t going to hold me safe anymore.
I brought my cat up to campus, in one of the apartments nearby (did the campus own these? were they just affiliated with it? I’m still not sure, to this day) and then when I set up my shrine, certain friends stopped coming in without permission. My cat followed me about the small space, over and over again, waited for me by the door every single day, and purred on my lap for hours. (It wasn’t until years later that I would call him a “familiar” for the first time.)

The next year was rough. I still never saw a thing; I made friends, I joined clubs, I branched out to new places and new people and new classes, I drew fantastical things in my sketchbook, I wondered and wondered whether the softest tone of a bell I heard in one class was something Other, I wondered and wondered whether the thunderclap that we all heard one day with clear sky was something Other, and yet I never knew anything for sure.

I stopped carrying iron, stopped wasting my ramen packets (that stuff is so, so bland without it, so I savored every possibly last bite I got) stuffing them in pockets, stopped wondering. I stopped looking at certain students with awe and wonder, stopped darting glances over my shoulder late at night, stopped pretending to have seen something my classmates had. I had followed all the rules; done everything right; and never seen a thing. I had friends who would swear up and down and around the mountain that they were real, that the Gentry (their word, never mine), had done this or that, that they had seen something or other, but never me. It was a quaint university, that was for sure, but was it really magical?

And then I saw her. She was the first person to ever seem More, to me, the first person to shine in my eyes like she had some kind of luck brimming in her smile, the first person to freeze me solid with her laugh (oh, there were others, who sent shivers all up and down my spine in the best ways, but this one, this one was different somehow) and the first person to touch the fox tail I’d worn for years with wonder, and not disgust or barely-hidden half-curiosity half-abhorrence. 

I bribed her with gummy sharks, all the while thinking about the fables - for, to me, they were truly only fables - of eating food in the Fae world, of being stuck there forever. All the while wondering breathlessly about the idea that maybe, for the first time, I was Seeing.

I met her again on the lawn, looking for someone else, and I sat and found that she, too, drew fantastical things and creatures without name. I found that she wore no shoes, and when she laughed I wanted to listen to the sound forever. And when her eyes glittered just so, then I wanted to drown in their blue.

I bribed her with gummy sharks, and dances, and honesty; the greatest gift that one could give on this campus, I had learned, and I’d honed mine to a brutal point.
And, eventually, when I tangled my fingers finally in that curly ocean of teal, dyed colors and colors that I did not know could come in a tube or a on a brush, I felt like magic for a moment.

It wasn’t until she flinched at the first mirror that I started to suspect anything, for real. It wasn’t until then that my heart knew, and my mouth started speaking with that brutal honesty it was so good at. It wasn’t until then that something in my gut changed, something in my heart stirred, and something in my hearing clicked.
I heard padding footsteps on the path behind me, that night, felt something curling in the mist around me, that night, as I walked away from her dorm.

I still didn’t believe it. Not really, not truly; but I did clutch to my necklace when I walked away, a little too fast, and I did relax in my car, sheathed in metal, a little too much. 

She changed me.

And when I told her my stories, her eyes lit up, and when she told me her worlds, I listened with rapter attention than I had paid anyone here, shivers dancing on my spine and gooseflesh on my arms (no feathers; I was embarrassed to admit even to myself that I had checked, later, in the bathroom, alone with my cat.) and something shivering new in my heart.
And when she looked at me, I felt like I had become the center of every vision on earth; and when she laughed for me, the feelings that swelled in my heart swelled without name; and when I kissed her, I thought that it was nothing more than what it was; smiles and flattery and - daresay - love.

But then the meat in the dining hall tasted a little bit different that night. But then the salt burned my tongue a little more than it should - how should salt burn your tongue, anyways? How do you describe what should and shouldn’t taste, how things changed just enough to notice them but only once, because pineapple and oranges taste so good, how had I never tried those before?

I’m getting away from myself again. It’s easy; easy to get lost. Maybe that’s what they mean by Taken, sometimes. Maybe that’s why english majors and storytellers and musicians are the most oft to come back.

Anyways. It entered my life in bursts, leaps and bounds, fits and starts: the half feral cats purred at my touch, the crows regarded me with careful eyes, the rain kissed my lips and dusted my eyelashes like gems. The music spoke back to me, random patterns finding less random and more sass; the tarot deck she would push into my hands would speak louder, eventually.

She called me beautiful; and I had no words to reply. She called me divine, and my heart sung out in response so loud and so unerringly that I could not say no, and within a month I had inked it into my skin.

The artist gave me rose quartz to hold, told me that there is no divinity without pain, and the sigils on my arms burned like fire the first time I stepped foot back on campus.
But that was alright.
Because I could hear them now, because I met the fox eyes and lightly glowing gazes with my own raised high, with a proudness that had infected me, somewhere, when someone a little less human and a little too magic had told me I’ll have enough confidence for the both of us, and at the end of that winter everything had changed.

I mean that mundanely, of course. I couldn’t See anything yet, but new scars stretched across my chest and suddenly, shirtlessness was possible, and suddenly, my tattoos meant something more, and suddenly, I was myself and there was no other way to be.
I convinced her she was Fae at some point, over that break, too. With whispered words beneath blue fairy lights, and the snow trapping us alone, with my heart beating so much closer to the outside world than it had been, wrapped in a form that wasn’t quite mine, we spun tales at one another until she was half joking to worship me, and I was half joking to change my piercings out for less iron ones.

The joke stopped the day I painted gold onto my eyelids. With her supervision, and my nervousness - just a little bit of makeup - just a little bit of makeup - we surrounded my eyes in gold and she smiled, by my gods did she smile, and my heart felt so radiant I could not want for anything else in that moment.

And then I left her dorm to trek my way home, to my cat, and my lights, and my bed - sorrowfully empty - and when I raised my head to meet the eyes of another student, I had to look twice as high as I ever had before.

As it turns out, the Fae have an agreement - this Court with others, that Court with some, ancient beings with ancient beings, and - for me at least, far be it for me to speak for others - occasionally, the child of the divine.
All it takes is belief - belief in the Fae, belief in the rumors, belief in the iron around your fingers and the salt in your pockets - belief in what will and will not work, belief in the world around you and the one that you cannot see - and belief in your own kind of magic.

I believed hard enough in the divine touching me - and, maybe, roped a child of the Fae into speaking it into truth - that maybe they did.
And now I never leave the house with my eyes unburdened by gold, without my fingers wrapped in a carefully picked pattern of gold and iron rings, without the glitter of divinity speckling my skin, without the pride in myself decorating my features, inspired by someone who won’t use her roommates’ iron cutlery anymore.


I feel so empty sometimes

Drove All Night

So I was inspired to write this after watching the Voice in which Celine Dion was coaching some singers to perform her version of Drove All Night that’s been redone like a thousand times.

Waverly and Nicole are in a long distance relationship, but Nicole feels like surprising Waverly. If the title didn’t tell you exactly what happened… the below gif has nothing to do with the fic, I just think I’ll use it as often as possible

Originally posted by mzhyde48

“Wynonna….” Waverly whined in frustration. “I have to go.” Looking at her wristwatch, she could feel each second that bled away with her sister’s asinine…

“But… you’re the only one that pours my shots the way I like them.” Wynonna gave her a pleading look until she received the snap of a towel to the back of her head. “Hey!”

“Leave your sister alone, Wynonna.” Gus slipped behind the bar, grabbing a few empty pint glasses. “She’s got a date.”

“It’s not a date.” Waverly protested, unable to hide her smile as she untied her apron. “It’s just a call.”

“A pre-scheduled call that happens every Friday.” Gus pointed out as she filled a glass with beer.

Keep reading

look, maybe we could start over, maybe
we could love softer, maybe it would hurt
less this time. maybe we could pretend it
never hurt, just like before. i don’t know if
i’m drunk yet or just lonely but i really just
want you back, just want someone to be
here. and yeah, i know it only hurt us both,
i know you don’t want to stay, i know i hate
you and love you, somehow at the same
time. i’m just tired of my bed being empty,
of my heart being tired, of my body wishing
it were something other than a body. i need
something to fill all this goddamn space.

Author: @sincerelystiles
Pairing: Isaac x Reader
Word Count: 1,280

Warning: nsfw

inspired by reminiscence (listen on repeat) 
A/N: this is dedicated to my hay-babe @sarcasticallystilinski bc she’s ill and has major isaac feels, i luh u bby x x

Originally posted by young-marauder

Keep reading

Rascal Flatts   {Sentence Starters}

  • “Wow, your hair got so long.”
  • “Just tell ‘em we’re survivors.”
  • “Been waiting on a girl like you.”
  • “’Cause it’s yours if you want it.”
  • “There you go again, it never ends.”
  • “I love you, now, like I loved you, then.”
  • “Every kiss already feels like you own it.”
  • “I just feel it’s time… it’s time to move on.”
  • “I don’t want to spend another lonely night.”
  • “I’m not afraid to cry every once in a while.”
  • “There’s one more sip in this bottle of wine.”
  • “Call me crazy for missing you like this, but I do.”
  • “Baby, come back to me. I swear I’ll make it right.”
  • “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you love me.”
  • “May not be what you want, but it’s what you need.”
  • “I can feel the change… the change you’ve made in me.”
  • “I know it ain’t much, but it comes alive with every touch.”
  • “Yeah, life throws you curves. But, you learned to swerve.”
  • “You talked me out of giving up on myself so many times…”
  • “I’ll try to be that kind of man… because you love me like I am.”
  • “You’ve got a place to lay your head on the other side of my empty bed.”
  • “I was born the day you kissed me. And I died inside the night you left me.”
  • “Some people say we’re too good to be true. But, they don’t get to be loved by you.”
  • “And every bit of love left in this beat up, banged up, scarred up heart, Baby, it’s yours if you want it.”
  • “Every dollar, every dime, every drop of rain, every single thing I could beg, steal, or borrow…”

I’m drinking on the bathroom floor again,
kitchen tiles cold against my kneecaps
curled up against my bare feet.
I lick my lips and gag when I taste your kiss,
skull expanding with every vision of
your shoulder blades against my hips.

I imagine your brows curving like our bodies
coexisting after sex, begging me to
tell you why I put you through all of this.
I replay in my mind how every day,
instead of answering, I stayed silent.

I thought I had an excuse because I was sad.
I thought I had an excuse because I didn’t
know how to tell you that my depression
and anxiety are playing tug-of-war:
I can’t tell the difference between
what I am uninterested in and what
I am held back from by fear.

I didn’t know if I really loved you
and I blamed you for not giving me a sign
that our love wasn’t just a product
of picking apart past loves.
I was so lonely, so afraid of abandonment,
so tired of waking up with my bed half empty
that I pushed you off of it.

I woke up one morning and realized I lost you.
I realized that maybe you’re the fire,
but I’m the gasoline. I never wanted to
trap our love inside of a burning house,
but now instead of watching you put it out,
I am the only one watching it ignite.

—  Your new girlfriend is pretty and perfect and I am happy for you. No really, I swear.
Rain is a Good Thing (DeanxReader)

Originally posted by littleblondesamoan

Prompt: Imagine laying in the backseat of the Impala listening to a thunderstorm with Dean.

Pairing: DeanxReader

“Y/n, darlin’ wake up.” I heard as Dean tried to pull me from my sleep. I groaned softly rolling away the hands that were laid gently on my right side. He chuckled deeply causing me to involuntarily smile as I opened my eyes and turned back to look at him.

“Ahh there she is.” He said quietly reaching his hand out his fingers ghosting over my cheek. I chuckled blushing under his loving gaze. “Here I am.” I said softly as I yawned. “As much as I love waking up to those green eyes of yours, why did you wake me up?” I asked him as my eyes glued themselves to his.

He smiled down at me. “Oh really just my eyes nothing else?” He questioned raising an eyebrow. I sat up chuckling gently pecking him on the lips as I moved to slide out of the bed shuffling over to my bag that laid near the main door of the hotel room. “Where’s Sam?” I asked realizing that the Moose wasn’t anywhere in the room.

Dean shifted on the bed and put his feet flat on the ground resting his elbows on his thighs leaning on them as he watched me move around the room throwing my bag on Sam’s empty bed as I rifled through it looking for something to wear. “He left about ten minutes ago to go get some breakfast.” I nodded and pulled out an old and faded AC/DC tee and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans. 

I changed quickly before I finally turned my attention back to Dean finding him looking at me with a smirk gracing his handsome face. I rolled my eyes shoving my dirty clothes into my bag. “What?” I asked sitting down on Sam’s bed shoving my socks onto my feet. Dean shrugged his eyebrows raising as he held held up his hands in defense. “I’m not saying anything Sweetheart.” He defended chuckling at my reaction.

I smiled and went to say something when the front door swung open causing both Dean and I looked over to see Sam standing there  soaked head to toe. My hand flew to my mouth in an attempt to cover the laugh that was threatening to fly from my mouth, Dean however made no attempts to control himself as he immediately burst out laughing causing Sam to shot him a glare as he moved into the room slamming the door behind him.

“It’s not funny Dean.” Sam hissed setting the bags of food down on the wooden table. Dean still laughing quite loudly nodded making me grin. “It is pretty funny Sam.” I said chuckling a little as I said it. Sam moved his glare to me before grinning taking the keys to the Impala out of his pocket gaining Dean’s attention as the man quickly stopped laughing. Sam smirked as he rushed to the door throwing the keys out of the room into the parking lot.

Dean gasped loudly jumping from the bed rushing out the door as Sam gently but firmly forced me out the door slamming it and locking it behind me. My heart sank slightly as I began pounding on the door. “Sam come on open the door.” I yelled over the sound of the heavy rain and thunder sounding above me. I groaned when I didn’t receive a response. “He locked the door?” Dean asked as he ran over his hair soaked and laying against his forehead.

I nodded glaring at the door before I turned it on Dean. “You had to laugh.” I growled as I reached out my hands running over the front pockets of his jeans causing him to jump. “Woah I don’t think right now is the time, I mean unles…” I glared at him cutting him off before he could finish the end of his sentence. “You didn’t grab a key did you?” I asked already knowing the answer as I pinched the bridge of my nose. He pouted shaking his head as he watched me racking his brain for something that could remedy the situation.

“I have an idea though.” Dean said a smile finding his lips. “Idea?” I questioned tilting my head before yelping when his hand shot out grabbing mine. “What’s the plan?” I asked as he dragged me to the Impala. He opened the back door shuffling inside with me following quickly behind him closing the heavy car door behind us as he moved to settle against the other door facing me. “This is the idea, we’ll stay in here until Sam calms down and gets all worried and guilty and lets us back into the room.” He said in a cocky matter-of-fact tone.

I shook my head but sighed in defeat moving to sit in his lap his arms wrapping around me. “Well you can’t be wrong all the time.” I teased. He gasped and looked down at me a look of mock hurt plastered on his face. “Hey I’ve had some pretty good ideas over the years.” I laughed nodding my head in agreement. “I guess you have a point.” I said causing him to grin. I rolled my eyes and leaned forward to nuzzle into the crock of his neck. It was silent for the next  few minutes as we listened to the heavy rain against the top of the car and the occasional boom of thunder, finding the sound oddly relaxing.

“Maybe this isn’t so bad.” I whispered my words coming out slurred in my drowsy state. Dean hummed in agreement his breathing already slowing as he fell asleep. I smiled curling against him further “I love you.” I whispered to him as I closed my eyes letting the sounds of the rain and Dean’s heartbeat lull me back to sleep.

twenty one

request: Please can you write a piece where Harry forgets y/ns birthday? But she tries not to show she’s upset with a happy ending? Xx

no warnings! pure fluff ahead

It was my twenty first birthday. Harry hadn’t mentioned he had any plans for my birthday, but I assumed it was because he was trying to surprise me. I was pretty attuned to what he was doing at all times so if he had even mentioned anything about my birthday I would have figured out in seconds what he was planning. He couldn’t keep a secret from me if his life depended on it.

I woke up on my birthday to an empty bed, which was slightly confusing as I was sure Harry had been in it last night. I rolled over to his side and found a paper on his pillow.

In the studio today. See you later tonight, love you. -H.

I frowned at the note. He was really going to spend my birthday in the studio? Had he forgotten? How could he forget? It was January 26th, just under a week away from his own birthday. There was no way, no way, he could possibly forget my birthday. Maybe he left a present in the kitchen?

I yawned and pulled myself out of bed, padding down the hallway. I searched the kitchen high and low, the living room, I even checked Harry’s closet in our room to see if he was trying to hide it. Nothing. I frowned and bit my cheek. He could have it with him? Not that the present was the point, I just wanted some indication that he hadn’t forgotten my birthday.

Keep reading

Your name shouldn’t be the first thing I want to say when I wake up. I always roll over to say good morning, but it falls from my thoughts when I see an empty bed. But every morning I wake up with a smile and your name on my mind.
I shouldn’t want to see your name on my phone throughout the day. I look at the screen countless times hoping it will light up, it never does. That doesn’t stop me from holding my phone too tight.
Your favourite movie shouldn’t be what I fall asleep to ever night. The one you played when you were too excited to sleep; the one that makes me miss you more. Still, I press play every time I collapse into bed.
You shouldn’t be on my mind at all, yet you’re the only thing I ever think of.
—  KJS // Excerpt from the book I’ll never write #47

phichits-hamsters  asked:

A tip for other ADHD ppl! When i clean i tend to just move stuff around, so when i clean my desk, i start by putting everything on my bed. The empty desk is a nice thing to make me feel like ive made progress, and if my stuff is on my bed i cant hang out there until everything is put away! that way i dont just half clean, then stop. idk if itll work for others but it does for me

The Fire That Won’t Go Out

The first fires started on Monday and by Saturday we were all evacuated from our homes, told to grab only essentials. And although it was never directly said to us, it’s implied we’re never going back. I’m writing this from my parent’s house in Michigan, far away from the hellscape that was once my home.

My boyfriend Ike, a volunteer firefighter, got called about the first house fire. Typically he doesn’t get called on for this sort of thing but apparently it was a rager. So with a kiss to my cheek and a cheeky reminder to let the cat in tonight, he took off. Meanwhile I settled in for a day off of work, I don’t get them often enough and I wanted to relax.

About noon Ike called me. I was dancing around my room to the Hamilton soundtrack while eating Pringles when the phone went off. I turned off the music and answered.

“Hey babe.”

“You won’t believe this- it’s the McGowan house.”

Keep reading