#HIGH SCHOOL AP LIT FLASHBACKS

[nazumichi]

how do I show up to the mythology class without practically oozing the fact that I was one of those mythology kids

[youre-amazing-say-it]

The Marks We Hide

Paring: Peter Parker x OC, OC X OC's Mom, Peter Parker x Tony Stark (scene at the end)

Warning: anxiety, emotional abuse, physical abuse, flashbacks, physical marks of abuse, condescending mother, reporting to CPS, calm Tony stark

Word Count: 2.3k

Midtown High’s debate team room was a safe haven for Carrie Mitchell. She could be loud, bold, and passionate—everything that felt held back at home. The room was filled with trophies and pictures of winning teams from the past, including one from last year, where Carrie smiled proudly, holding the state championship plaque.

During practice on Thursday, Peter Parker watched as Carrie excitedly led a discussion about environmental policy. Dressed in a smart navy blazer, she shared her ideas confidently. "Studies show that companies are responsible for sixty percent of global emissions," she argued passionately.

MJ, sitting next to Peter, nodded in agreement, and even Flash chose to take notes instead of making his usual sarcastic comments. Just as Carrie was about to talk about rules in Europe, her phone buzzed on the podium, interrupting her. The change in her expression was clear; she looked tense and a bit scared.

“What did I tell you about keeping your phone on silent?” That voice echoed in Carrie’s thoughts, along with the sound of her phone crashing against the wall. “When I call, you answer. Do you think my time is worthless?” “I’m sorry,” Carrie stammered, her fingers trembling as she silenced her phone. “As I was saying…” But her words lost their spark, her gaze darting to the device lying face down. Mr. Harrison, their debate coach, raised an eyebrow. “Everything alright, Carrie?” 

“Yes, sir. Sorry for the interruption.” The reply was instinctive, accompanied by a forced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Peter noticed her shaking hands and the anxious glances she kept stealing at her phone. It was as if the vibrant version of Carrie was slipping away, leaving behind someone desperate to blend into the background.

After practice, he walked alongside her in the hallway, concerned about her demeanor. “You okay? You seemed a bit off back there,” he asked, noticing her distraction. “I’m fine,” Carrie replied hastily, a hint of urgency in her voice. “Just remembered I need to text my mom about dinner. She likes to know where I am.” Peter hesitated for a moment before suggesting, “Can we get pizza before heading home? Ned found a new place that—” but Carrie cut him off.

“I can’t,” she said, the words spilling out before she could think. “Mom needs me home right after school. Maybe another time?” Peter quickly pivoted, proposing, “What about lunch tomorrow? That history paper is a real challenge, and you’re way better at citations than I am.” Carrie’s eyes lit up for a brief moment with excitement, but then her phone buzzed once more. “I should really get home. Rain check?” she called over her shoulder as she hurried away, her phone in hand and her focus clearly elsewhere. She nearly bumped into a freshman on her way out, lost in her thoughts.

The next morning, Carrie was absent from her usual spot in AP Literature, where she was always eager to discuss the readings. It felt wrong—she never missed class. As the day went on, Peter noticed her absence in Calculus too, which left Ned looking worried. “Is Carrie okay? She was supposed to help me with derivatives,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. “Maybe she’s sick?” Peter replied, but unease settled in his gut. It wasn’t like Carrie to simply vanish.

Finally, Carrie walked into Chemistry just before lunch. Peter's chest tightened at the sight of her; a bruise was visible under her right eye, and she wore a turtleneck on a warm day, shifting uncomfortably as she set her backpack down. “What happened?” Peter asked quietly, trying to mask his concern. “Oh, this? Just a little kitchen accident,” she said with a tone that was too bright, but Peter didn’t buy it. He recognized the signs of an injury and pressed gently, “Carrie, if something’s wrong, you can talk to me.”

“I said I’m fine! Okay?” Carrie snapped, but Peter noticed her hands shook as she opened her textbook, betraying the confidence in her words.

As the week continued, Peter observed even more strange behavior from Carrie. In gym class, she spent an unusual amount of time in a bathroom stall instead of changing with the others, finally emerging in long sleeves. When Coach Wilson asked her about this, she produced a doctor’s note claiming a skin condition. The excuses were plausible, just like her perfect attendance and grades, but despite her efforts to maintain the façade, Peter felt deeply that something was off. 

Two weeks later, an incident finally pushed Peter to action as the debate team prepared for the state championships, with Carrie chosen as their lead speaker. After a regular practice session, she and Peter remained behind to refine their arguments. "If we lead with the economic impact statistics," Carrie suggested, her voice animated and confident as she spread papers across their shared desk, "then follow up with the environmental data..." Her thought quickly vanished when she glanced at the clock. 

"Oh no," Carrie whispered, panic washing over her as her hands began to shake while she stuffed papers into her bag. "It's 5:30. I was supposed to be home at 5. I lost track of time. I can't believe I lost track of time." Peter watched as the panic overtook her.

"Time management isn't that difficult, Carrie. Or are you too stupid to read a clock? Is that it?"

The click of heels in the hallway made Carrie freeze mid-motion, her face paling when Anne Mitchell appeared in the doorway. Anne looked both perfectly put together and terrifying. Her designer dress and immaculate makeup screamed 'successful businesswoman,' but the icy glimmer in her eyes sent Peter's spider-sense reeling. “Mom! I'm so sorry, I lost track of time, we were just—” Carrie stammered, her voice trailing off as Anne interrupted.

“Carrie, sweetheart!” Anne's voice, honey-sweet and deceptively warm, instantly shifted as she noticed Peter. “You must be Peter Parker. Carrie's told me so much about you.” Peter watched in both fascination and horror as Carrie seemed to shrink beside him. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell,” he managed, though a sense of foreboding settled over him.

“Please, call me Anne. Carrie's mentioned what a help you've been with her debate preparation.” Her smile was perfected through practice, yet there was a subtle chill in her tone when she added, “Though I do wish she'd mentioned staying late today. I had dinner all ready...” Carrie's whispered apology hung heavy in the air as she attempted to explain, “We were working on the state championship arguments—” but Anne's glacial demeanor cut her off. 

“Of course you were, sweetheart. Always so dedicated.” Anne's eyes hardened slightly, a sharp contrast to her previously sweet tone. “Why don’t you gather your things? We're already running late.” Carrie moved with mechanical precision, hands shaking so badly that she dropped her debate notes, scattering papers across the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she muttered, dropping to her knees to gather them, but Peter caught the brief wince as her hand inadvertently brushed her ribs.

“Here, let me help,” Peter offered but was met with Anne's light laughter, a sound that felt anything but cheerful. “Oh, Carrie's always been a bit clumsy. But that’s our girl, isn’t it, sweetie? Always in such a rush.” The words, though seemingly innocent, made Carrie flinch. She clutched her books to her chest like a shield and quietly said, “I'll see you tomorrow, Peter.” 

Just as they turned to leave, an impulse overtook him. “Actually, Carrie forgot her Chemistry notebook,” Peter called out, hoping to offer her a small lifeline. “I can run it out to your car—” But the sharpness of Carrie's response gave him pause. “No!” she paused, “I mean, I can come back for it tomorrow. We don’t have Chemistry until the afternoon anyway.” The tension in the room thickened, leaving an uneasy silence in the wake of her words.

But as they walked away, Peter had already palmed the notebook and followed at a distance. He told himself he just wanted to make sure Carrie got her notes for tomorrow's test. Then he saw it.

Around the corner, Anne's pleasant demeanor suddenly shifted as her fingers dug into Carrie's arm. "Losing track of time? Making me come all the way down here? After everything I do for you..." Carrie’s attempt at an apology was quickly interrupted. “I’m sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean to—” 

“Lower your voice,” Anne snapped. “You embarrass me by being careless, and now you want the whole school to hear? Do you enjoy humiliating me?” With each harsh word, Carrie shrank back, trying to disappear. Peter stood frozen, the Chemistry notebook forgotten, as he watched them go.

The sound of the building's heavy doors closing echoed in the empty hallway. Peter remained in place, rethinking every interaction he'd ever had with Carrie in a new and unsettling way. The weight of the moment struck him hard as he processed what he had just seen.

Peter hurried into the elevator at the Tower, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, still wearing his school backpack. His hands fidgeted as he rehearsed what to say. When the elevator doors opened, he rushed out. 

"Kid? Thought you had debate practice today," Tony said, looking up from his workbench. Peter stammered, "I did, but we finished early. Mr. Stark, I need help. It’s about my friend Carrie from debate. I think something’s really wrong. Her mom came to school today, and she was nice at first, but then—”

“Whoa, slow down.” Tony interrupted, focusing on Peter. “Take a breath, kid. Start from the beginning.” 

Peter stopped pacing, gripping his backpack. "Carrie Mitchell. She's really smart and helps everyone with their homework, but lately, I've noticed things. Like how she always wears long sleeves, even in gym. Today, she had a bruise under her eye, said she hit a cabinet, but I know what a ring mark looks like. Her mom showed up at school—” He began pacing again, words pouring out. "She acts so differently around her mom, like she’s trying to disappear. Her mom was nice when I was there, but after, I followed them. She changed, saying awful things and grabbing Carrie's arm, and Carrie just took it. I feel like I have to do something, because what if next time it’s worse? What if—”

“Peter.” Tony's voice broke through. “Breathe.”

Peter was shaking as he spoke. "Sorry. I just... I should have noticed sooner. Carrie always has these perfect explanations for everything, and I wanted to believe her because she's my friend. But today, when I saw her mom—" His voice cracked. "She was so scared, Mr. Stark. I could tell."

Tony quickly began pulling up holographic screens. "FRIDAY, get me everything on Carrie Mitchell and her mother. School records, medical history, police reports—" The AI replied, "Anne Mitchell, age 42. Three domestic disturbance calls in Boston. Multiple relocations. Carrie Mitchell, age 16. Honor student. Emergency room visits for broken wrist, concussion, fractured ribs—"

"Oh god," Peter said, feeling weak as he sank into a nearby chair. "They hurt her before. In Boston. And nobody helped?" FRIDAY added, "Her father tried to file for custody when Carrie was seven, citing abuse concerns. The case was dismissed after his death in a car accident."

Peter fidgeted with his sleeves, feeling anxious. "Mr. Stark, what if telling makes it worse? What if her mom finds out?" He jumped up, restless. “I can’t just do nothing. In debate, she’s amazing—confident, smart, funny. But when her mom shows up, she shuts down. She gets scared, and I—”

“Kid,” Tony said gently but firmly. “The first step is calling CPS and making an official report. They'll send someone to talk to Carrie at school tomorrow. That’s standard procedure,” Tony explained, pulling up the number. “They’ll interview her somewhere safe.”

Peter ran his hands through his hair. “She’s going to panic when they pull her out of class.” “Probably,” Tony agreed. “But it’s better than doing nothing. This way, there’s an official record. Evidence.” He glanced at the documents FRIDAY had found. “Those hospital records from Boston and your statement—it all connects.”

Peter nodded, feeling the pressure. “Okay, let’s make the call,” he said, drumming his fingers. “She’ll probably be mad at me for telling.” Tony gave him a reassuring look. “Maybe at first, but you’re doing the right thing, Pete. Sometimes being a friend means making the hard choice.” Peter’s mind raced with the thought of Carrie going home after what her mom said in the hallway. “She looked so scared. What if—”

“Peter,” Tony interrupted, squeezing his shoulders. “You did good, kid. Coming here and telling me.” Peter sighed as he sank into the chair, his leg still bouncing. “I just hope she understands why I had to tell someone,” he said quietly.

“She will. Maybe not right away, but she will,” Tony replied. As the elevator continued downward, Tony said, “You should head home. Get some rest. I’ll have Happy pick you both up before school.” Peter nodded and grabbed his backpack, hesitating for a moment. “Mr. Stark? Thanks for helping me.” 

“Anytime, kid,” Tony said. As the elevator doors opened, Peter pulled out his phone, staring at his last conversation with Carrie about their history project. After typing and deleting a few messages, he finally put his phone away. Tomorrow would be complicated, messy, and probably awful, but it was better than pretending he hadn’t seen what he saw.

Part 2: The Questions We Answer

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous  love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3229

Author’s Note: Here we go, fam! New story, new adventures, new thrills and chills and feels! Who’s excited?!? This story was inspired by P!nk’s song “Walk Me Home”, which you should totes listen to (and watch the video, it’s so COOL) if you haven’t. This was a birthday present for @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , though I will admit it was a few...well, either days or years late, depending on how you look at it. I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! SHE ALSO MADE THE IMAGE!! HOW GORGEOUS?!?!

Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 1

A firm tap on the door of her office makes Kimberly’s head snap up. She blinks, her eyes unable to focus quickly after looking up from her computer screen. She remembers she’s wearing her reading glasses, and slips them off her nose, letting them dangle from the chain around her neck.

“Dr. Harper? Could I take a few minutes of your time?”

“Yes, I…” Her eyes finally focus on her visitor, and the room is suddenly devoid of oxygen. “Dean? Is it...really?”

“Kimber?” 

The astonished man framed in the doorway is a far cry from the brash, charming boy she met in a different life, but she’d know him anywhere. Time has been more than kind to Dean Winchester, and Kimberly has to admit some things really do get better with age.

Which is saying a lot, considering.

“God, no one’s called me that since high school.” She stands and takes a couple of measured steps around her desk. Seeing him unexpectedly like this after so much time leaves her physically and emotionally off-balance, but the smile she offers him is genuine. “You’re a helluva sight for sore eyes. It’s been a while.”

Dean recovers from his shock quickly, crossing the small room in a few quick strides, and sweeps her into a hug. She’s engulfed in his presence, not just his physical stature (she does not remember him being this tall or broad or...solid) but also the scent and feel that is absolutely Dean. She feels a shock of vertigo as memories and emotions she’d long laid to rest all vie for immediate attention.

It hits them simultaneously that they’ve embraced for a few moments longer than necessary, and they disentangle with sheepish smiles.

“What are...no, I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Have a seat!” A lop-sided smile pulls at Dean’s lips, and suddenly she’s seventeen again, trying desperately to keep her cool as she finally gets to talk to the handsome, mysterious new kid. Warmth floods every cell of her body, and she comes dangerously close to giggling. 

“Coffee?” she offers, forgetting most of her hard-earned vocabulary in the face of her teenage dream.

“Always.”

...

The last time she’d seen Dean Winchester, his father was burning holes in his elder son’s back from the driver’s seat of his precious Impala. He glowered at Dean and Kimber, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the teenagers stumbled through their good-byes. Dean’s younger brother sat, slump-shouldered and defeated in the back seat, resigned to yet another relocation.

“Don’t forget my number,” Kimberly murmured, her palms sliding over his jaw, fingers threading into his close-cropped hair, and they both knew she meant, “Don’t forget me.”

“I couldn’t if I tried, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. He cleared his throat, trying to turn away before she could see any weakness.

“Don’t,” she said, holding his face firmly. “If this is all I get of you, don’t even take that much from me.”

Five blissful weeks they’d had before Dean’s father concluded his mysterious business in the area. Five weeks since she’d begun tutoring Dean in AP American History; an absolute sham, she had realized exactly five minutes into their first session. Dean may not have been caught up on the exact dates and details of what they were covering in class, but once he set eyes on the material, even she had a hard time keeping pace with his reasoning.

“Just wanted to talk to you alone,” he’d admitted that afternoon, his olive eyes sparkling. He flashed her what had to be an award-winning half-grin, showing a glimpse of perfect, dazzling white teeth and the merest touch of uncertain vulnerability. 

“Does that usually work on girls?” she asked, genuinely curious. He had to practice that expression in the mirror; it was too perfect to be natural. His face lit up as his smile spread, his cheeks gaining the faintest hint of pink. In that one moment, Kimber realized she’d lived her entire life under an overcast sky, and now the clouds had parted. His smile was the sun on her face for the first time, dazzling and vital, and she soaked it in with dizzy abandon.

“Why, is it working on you?”

“Yeah, it, um, it really is.”

They spent the next month or so getting to know each other as only kids can, when everything is new, the absolute pinnacle of priority and passion. They studied each other as fervently as they should have studied for midterms. Explaining how the Age of Enlightenment influenced the American Revolution was a complete waste of time next to finding out that the beautiful, smooth-talking, tough-as-nails Dean Winchester was actually ticklish.

Dean told her the most amazing stories, which she only learned were true after he and his family disappeared. She caught him up in history enough for the teacher to get off his back, and in return he showed her how to get rid of unwanted physical attention with minimal risk on her part.

Dean wasn’t her first kiss, but he wiped the memory of every other fumbling embrace from her mind with a searing permanence. Some nights they snuck out to the treehouse in her backyard, and some nights she snuck him into her room. He would never take her out to any of the famous local make-out spots, though; he said they were too dangerous and just begging for trouble. 

She knew better than to argue with him when he got “that look” on his face, spoke to her in “that tone.” It took many years and some hard experiences of her own, but she did eventually learn that he’d been protecting her from so much more than she ever could have understood at that point in her life.

She found herself in awe of the sheer amount of wisdom contained in such a carefree, often goofy package. That they were chronologically the same age, almost to the month, was irrelevant; Dean Winchester had lived far beyond his years, and it showed.

And then one night, he’d arrived on her doorstep in the middle of dinner, asked if she could come outside for a minute. When he told her he was leaving, she knew he wasn’t joking. He’d warned her it would happen this way, that he had no idea how long they’d be in town, but she’d always imagined that future as some vague, misty destination, like “graduation” or “college.” Definitely going to happen, but not anytime soon, so might as well relax and enjoy things while you could.

“I…” But she couldn’t say it, not yet. She wanted to, had read so many novels and seen all the movies. It was the thing to say, and half her friends had already proclaimed their hearts belonging to various celebrities and hot guys around school. But staring into Dean’s eyes, so much older than they should be, she knew better than to throw that word out so lightly, carelessly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. His eyelids dropped, shoulders heaved once, and when he met her gaze again, that smooth front of cool confidence had slid back in place. “I know, sweetheart. Me, too.”

He kissed her then, despite his father’s glowering, despite her parents’ astonished looks from between the living room curtains. His hands were tight on her waist, and she raised up on her toes, pulling his face just a little closer. 

They pulled apart after a long moment, eyes locked, and she kissed him one last time, chastely, savoring the plush of his velvet-soft lips against hers. 

Then she let him go, and he went. There was nothing else they could do.

She hugged herself against the chill autumn night, ignoring the first dashes of icy rain that stung her bare arms as she watched the black Impala turn a corner and disappear.

She didn’t see him again for nearly two and a half decades. When he knocked on her office door, asking for Dr. Harper, the years melted away. She felt the sting of the rain, the chill of the night he’d left, and for a long moment, all she could do was stare.

…

“How did you find me?” he asks. His fingers slip around the coffee mug she offers him, and she has to make a physical effort to keep her thoughts focused on the task at hand. Everything about Dean has aged so gracefully. She would be envious if she weren’t also granted the absolute gift of drinking in the sight of him. 

“I didn’t,” she says, “not exactly. I’ve been teaching mythology, folklore, and urban legends at the university for a long time now. You got me started on that, back in the day.” She offers him a small smile, hoping he understands she remembers all the stories he told her.

The grin he offers in return melts something in her chest that’s been rigid and frozen, deliberately separated from the rest of her emotions for most of her adult life, and she can’t breathe for a second.

“After you left town, I started digging a little. I looked into some of those stories you told me, some of the places you’d mentioned, and then some of the weird stuff that had been happening in the towns where you said your dad was working. I’m sure you know what I found,” she says, eyebrows raised. 

Dean’s lips purse as he considers her words. He opens his mouth, brows creased, but then he seems to change his mind. He takes a long drink of coffee, and when he lowers the mug his expression is once again neutral.

“Well, I stayed interested. Made a career out of it, somehow. And then people started coming to me, asking for help finding bits of information here, some lore or ancient knowledge there. Some were hunters, some scholars, but it kind of became my thing. I’d hear stories about you and your brother occasionally, Mr. FBI’s Most Wanted,” she adds, and he chokes a little on his swallow of coffee.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” He brushes stray droplets of coffee from his chin absently, and her eyes laser in on a particularly enticing drop on the corner of his mouth. His tongue flicks out, catching it before it falls, and her breath hitches.

“To be honest, I was too nervous,” she admits as he sets his mug on the coaster in front of him. For the first time in many years, old feelings of abandonment, inadequacy, rear their nasty little heads. She has to work to keep her tone even. 

“It’s been how long? I figured you’d forgotten all about me; I thought maybe I was just another conquest to you-”

“You were never a conquest to me, Kimber. You know that.” His jaw works in agitation as he frowns. Hurt and something else - guilt, maybe? - cross his face before his expression smooths out, replaced by a blank mask. “You should have known that.”

Doubt cartwheels through Kimber's mind, sending her thoughts reeling. Twenty-four years of thinking Dean Winchester had forgotten her are suddenly put into a new, alien perspective. She scrambles internally to regain her bearings, stunned in a way that only comes from a solid blow to one’s core beliefs. 

Despite her parting plea, he’d never called her, not once in all the years after, and she’d convinced herself she was just the girl of the month. She’d been angry for a long time, well into college, but bit by bit, she forced herself to shut away her feelings, ball them up into a tiny hollow in her chest where she could at least ignore them, and moved on.

Apparently, somehow, she’d been mistaken. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

He nods stiffly, sitting back in his chair a little, putting a touch more distance between them. He raises his hand for her to continue, his gesture abrupt, and she shrivels inside. She sees she’s offended him, but if she’s in the wrong, then why did he never call? 

“Dean, look, I shouldn’t have said conquest. That was insensitive of me, but from my perspective, what was I supposed to think? You say you won’t forget me, then you vanish into the night? What happened? Not even a single call to let me know you made it to your next stop alive?”

There’s another flash of pain, chased quickly from his eyes by what she’s pretty sure now is guilt. Exhaustion finally settles in, and he suddenly shows every one of the twenty-four years since he last saw her.

“Look, we’ve got a more immediate problem here, if the little bit Garth told me is true. Let’s…” he sighs, scrubbing his face tiredly with his hands. He steeples his fingers in front of his lips, coming to some sort of decision. 

“We can sit down and talk Memory Lane over some pie and coffee, but let’s get through this first. Now tell me what’s going on.”

As much as she wants to argue, force him to tell her exactly why he never reached out, she can tell he isn’t going to budge. 

“I...so...I wasn’t looking for you specifically,” she stumbles, “but I reached out to a former student of mine, Garth Fitzgerald, who I knew had been a hunter at one point and still had contacts. He said he would send someone my way, and then…”

“And then I showed up,” he finishes. His tone is efficient, economical, and all business. “Garth didn’t tell me much except his old professor was having some supernatural stalking issues. Gotta say,” he adds, and she is relieved to her bones to see the tiniest of crinkles by his eyes, “Sure didn’t picture you when Garth said ‘old professor.’ Figured I’d get Indiana Jones or his dad, maybe, but not...yeah.”

His attempt to add a little humor makes the wash of guilt and confusion in Kimber’s stomach even more uncomfortable. 

She fills him in on the details, odd accidents happening to the people she’s closest with at work, strange noises around her house at night, the ever increasing sense she’s being watched. 

“You talk to the police?” he asks.

She nods, letting her sour expression do most of the talking for her. “Went as well as it usually does. They didn’t even talk to my neighbors to see if anyone had seen anything. I had to do that.”

“Still, though. Doesn’t sound too supernatural to me,” he finally says, eyebrows furrowed. He isn’t dismissive, though; he stares hard at his coffee mug as he considers her story.

“Well, I guess you could explain away Helen’s fall down the stairs as a horrible but mundane accident. She could have tripped, but the people near her said she looked like she was pushed. Except no one was near enough to have done it.”

Now that she's getting over the shock of finding him on her doorstep, she remembers why he's there in the first place, and reality rushes back in. Kimber’s composure falters, but she does her level best to keep her voice steady.

“But Professor Lawrence was by himself in his office when his skin just started...boiling, not burning. I don’t care what the police report says. And Allen Simpson didn’t actually want to staple his hand to his dissertation, I promise you. He had just talked with me about one of his sources over coffee an hour before...before…”

Her throat closes as the whole nasty scene flashes before her eyes. She’d found him in the grad student workroom after following the sounds of his anguished howls, and there was just so much blood. She’d heard stories from the hunters she’d worked with, read her own share of horrific incidents, but to see it first hand…

“And sometimes, when I walk home at night, there’s...I’ve never seen anything, but I hear footsteps. Always behind me, and there’s no one there, but I know there isn’t anywhere for them to hide, whoever they are. I can feel them just...watching me. Even at home, a couple of times, when I should be absolutely alone, all my blinds and drapes closed. Once when I was making dinner, and once when I was...showering, and...Dean, it’s...I don’t understand.”

She takes in a stuttering breath and dashes at her eyes with the back of her wrist. Her hand drops limply to the desk as she stares at the glossy surface, finally allowing herself to feel the full depth of her fears.

“I’ve researched, tried to figure it out on my own. It shows all the classic signs of witches, but there’s been no evidence of a coven in town before now. I suppose a new one could have moved in, but I haven’t found any evidence so far. No one suspicious hanging around that I’ve noticed.”

Breathe, she reminds herself sharply. 

“I checked back through as much of my notes as I could find on the hunters I’ve helped with witch cases. I checked in with anyone who had an open case or hadn’t called me back to let me know how their hunts went. Nobody had anything helpful to tell me.”

Silence stretches between them, both waiting for the other to say something, anything. Kimber cracks first.

“Dean, I’m no hunter. I’ve worked it as much as I can from the research end, and I just...I need help. Please.”

Dean’s hand settles atop hers, its warm weight an echo of familiarity, and she swallows hard against the rising bile in her throat. She meets his eyes, and his gaze is malachite.

“We’re gonna figure this out. I know you. You say this sucker’s a witch, I say bring me that bucket of water, Dorothy. We’ll get this fucker, I promise.”

That secret spot in her chest brightens, warms by another degree or two, and she nods her gratitude. “Thank you. So much. Now...it’s been a long day, and I’m kind of beat. Could I invite you over for dinner without it being too weird?”

He squeezes her hand before releasing it with a roll of his eyes. “I can behave myself, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m not feral, Kimber.”

“You’re not exactly tame, either,” she says, softening the words with a half-smile as she stands. She swings her jacket on, and he mirrors her actions. She shuts down her computer while he waits in the hall, looking up and down the corridor.

“I’ll need to do a full sweep of your office and check the scenes of the accidents,” he says as she pulls the door shut behind them and locks it. “Who all has keys to the professors’ offices?”

“Just the cleaning staff and the department secretary, and the professors themselves,” she says. “I can’t think of anyone else who would.” 

He nods, pursing his lips. Suddenly, a smile lights his entire face and he sweeps into a ridiculous bow before popping up and offering her his arm. The years dissolve in an instant, and he’s that seventeen-year-old boy again, still too old for his age but trying so desperately to hang on to that carefree spirit, holding his elbow in her direction after slinging her backpack over his shoulder.

“Walk you home, milady?”

“I would be honored, good sir.” ...

Chapter 2

[teenagefeeling]

if u took ap lit in high school keep scrolling i ain't tryna give you flashbacks but you know what book i was most genuinely surprised about liking in high school? how to read literature like a professor. i genuinely still think about that book sometimes it was actually good

[scurvgirl]

Y’all ever have dreams that are SO BAD they’re traumatic? I had a dream in high school that I came back from Spring Break, hadn’t read the play for my AP Lit class I was supposed to read, and had to take a test on it. It turned into a lucid dream because I realized that it was a dream since I hadn’t gone a trip I was supposed to take during spring break. The play I was supposed to read was “Rosencratz and Guildenstern are Dead” and now whenever that play is mentioned, I flashback to that dream and have heart palpitations. It’s awful. Also says a lot about me that one of my most traumatizing dreams ever is that I had to take a test on something I was supposed to do and didn’t. Calling myself out, really. I’ve had dreams where I’ve been eaten by monsters and THIS IS WHAT GOT ME. 

[queertwilight]

Imagine This: Edward x Bella Fluff

Happy Valentine’s Day!! Everybody go thank @emmettmccartycullen for this! Okay so when asked to do a fluffy Edwards Bella, I immediately couldn’t stop thinking about that summer between Twilight and New Moon we never got to see

Like just imagine it

“We never did go to Seattle.” Edward mentions as Bella finishes putting her clothes away.

“What?” She’s confused, moments ago they’d been in comfortable silence and the sudden question makes her feel off

“Seattle, love, we never did go,” Edward says softly she turns to find him lying on her bed, one arm extended - waiting for her to sit next to him and so she does

She lies facing him and sighs, “Why are you mentioning it now?” Because let’s face it Bella hates surprises and super hates them when they involve Edward

Edward awkwardly shrugs as he carefully tries not to move her from where she has her head tucked on his shoulder, “A man is as good as his promise.” He looks down and smiles at her and she feels her suspicions growing like calm down Bella the poor dude is from the early 20th century he’s trying to be romantic

Her eyebrows lift up and then she narrows her eyes, “You’ve kept every promise that matters. Why the sudden interest in Seattle?”

He laughs and gently kisses the spot between her eyebrows right where they crinkle, “Alice saw that it’ll be cloudy but humid - perfect weather for us to go out, if you’d like.”

Bella blinks, “Like a date?” She suddenly can’t imagine ever really going out of the city limits of Forks with Edward - their crazy and dangerous escape from James not included. Doing something normal with your vampire boyfriend wasn’t exactly something someone ever got used to

“Yes,” he replies as he watches her hand lift to gently draw patterns on his covered stomach, “exactly.” She can’t tell but his breathing is slower and he swears his dead heart is beating because my gosh she’s willingly caressing him and oh! that’s why Carlisle and Esme do it

“But, why?”

“That is what couples do,” he rolls his eyes playfully and she can’t help but swat him lightly on his stomach. It’s strange, that she knows the smallest things about him without ever actually going on a date with him. It’s also stranger that he is asking her so suddenly, because - obviously- Edward was very much a planner.

“Yeah, sure. But why so suddenly?” She’s scared. She won’t admit it but there’s something off about her tone and when she begins to bring her lip between her teeth Edward swoops in and places his thumb to gently pry her lip free. And she can’t breathe right when he’s being so gentle. Can’t think about analyzing his request when he’s so close

“You’re wounding my ego, Bella. I try to be a spontaneous romantic and your first thought is to question my grand romantic gesture?” But his golden eyes are liquid gold and his lips ghost against hers giving her small brushes of almost kisses that have her forgetting everything except his name

“You’re not,” she has to stop to remember what she’s trying to say because he’s so talented at dazzling her it makes her brain turn to mush, “playing fair.”

He pulls away smiling, “I never do”

Just like imagine Bella and Edward walking into a bookshop in Seattle and her making a beeline for the classics and laughing when she spots Dracula

“I’m so buying this,” she laughs but she’s serious and Edward can’t help but groan when he realizes that, “aw c’mon! Not many people can say they’ve read Bram Stoker’s Dracula with THE Dracula himself.” She winks and Edward’s flustered as he tries to respond

“I’m not Dracula,” and we all know Edward is probably gearing up for a long speech about philosophy and souls and our girl Bella is so not letting him

“Of course you are! You’re handsome, far too beautiful honestly, intelligent, and mysterious,” she smiles as she gently leans up to kiss his chin, “and maybe just a little too melodramatic for your own good.”

Edward ends up buying the Anne of Green Gables series (figured it could be why Bella kept having Anne flashbacks later on in Eclipse) for her instead and they walk around hand in hand through the streets of Seattle.

Bella can’t help but skip carefully around because holding Edward’s hand feels better than anything ever could - and she felt herself glad the sun wasn’t shining. Forget the sun, she just needed Edward

And just imagine smaller dates? Like Edward and Bella curled on her sofa watching Anne of Green Gables. She’s practically on his lap and happily munching on some apple slices with caramel and he’s whispering Gilbert’s lines in her ear

Edward taking her to the meadow on a sunny afternoon and asking her to place her head on his lap. He’s humming her lullaby as she lets the sun soak into her skin and he silently plucks a couple of white and purple flowers.

Once he has a small pile, he carefully untangles her hair and concentrates on braiding it. Bella stays silent, so at peace she drifts off.

When she wakes up she’s surprised to find that Edward’s woven the flowers into her hair and she tries to stick one into his hair only for it to immediately fall off

He can’t help but laugh at her annoyance, “Would you like me to show you something that might be a little more effective?”

“Yes please,” she’s smiling as she watches him blur around the meadow and appearing in front of her with a pile of flowers. The glittering diamonds off his skin make him even more beautiful if that were possible and she’s so dazzled she can’t help but get lost in his now soft eyes

“Here,” he extends a few long stemmed flowers to her, “I’m going to teach you how to make a daisy chain.”

But this is Bella and while she’s careful she can’t figure out how Edward’s hands are so delicate as she decapitates a flower when pulling too hard. He’s laughing as he gently tried to show her again and she won’t admit it but she might’ve sacrificed a few flowers to hear his gentle teasing again and again

Charlie tries not to laugh when Edward drops Bella off at home later on that day, sporting a daisy chain flower crown and a huge smile that makes that “makes that Edwin kid look even more whipped than usual”

BONUS IDEA because I just realized summer involves studying for next school year:

one day after a particularly hard study session (because Bella is 100% taking AP English Lit and serious about finishing homework early) Bella calls Edward over but makes him wait outside

She takes about an hour to finally come out and Edward keeps wanting to run inside to figure out what’s going on but Alice told him she’d rip his arms off if he did and why did Alice make him wear this three piece suit? And where is Bella? Why is she taking so long did she trip? Did she drown? Did she break her neck? Is she bleeding? He doesn’t smell blood but maybe -

And then she steps outside wearing this super frilly light blue long sleeved Edwardian masterpiece Alice found online and had restored, her hair is piled high on her head and she’s holding a copy of Anne in one hand and a glass of sweet tea in the other

“What-?”

“I can’t make you human again,” Bella says and she’s looking down at the floor with bright red cheeks before she looks up at him, “i can’t meet your parents or stroll with you in the Chicago of your childhood. But I can try and recreate what it might’ve been like.”

And Edward is suddenly so glad he can’t cry because if he could he’s sure Emmett would’ve never let him live this down and his mouth is wide open and his eyes are blinking back the feeling of unshed tears and she smiles

“Hello I’m Isabella Swan,” and he’s about to ask why she’s introducing herself when he already knows her - knows how her neck gets blotchy when she’s overheated, knows she can’t stand getting hiccups, knows she can list all the constellations in the sky but can’t remember what the look like - when she laughs, “and for today you’re Edward Masen.”

For the next few hours they sit next to each other on the front steps of the porch, taking turns reading to each other. Edward can’t help but feel his heart swell every time she stops reading to glance at him. He plays with her fingers and if this is as close to knowing her in 1918 that he can get then he’ll take it.

As the sun sets Edward can’t help but smile, “if I may,” he looks down at his feet and my god they’ve kissed before but suddenly he feels more human than he should and he can feel his veins stirring and trying to push blood into his cheeks, “may I - that is can’t I,” he clears his throat, “May I request a kiss, Isabella?”

“You may.”

Just ahh imagine Bella unable to sleep so Edward sings to her the whole night while playing with her hair. When she does eventually fall asleep her lips are pressed against his neck and she keeps whispering, “I love you,” and “Edward,” in her sleep.

He can’t sleep - he doesn’t even remember how to - but he closes his eyes and lets himself relax into her touch. He can’t help but think this is the closest to heaven he’ll ever feel.

[deafblindshorty]

My Fave OITNB Moments

Piper screaming when she sees Alex at Litchfield

Taystee trading some supplies for a strand of Piper’s hair

Taystee and Flaca fighting over ice cream

The tampon sandwich

Pretty much every Paystee moment

Pennsatucky wanting to hang a giant wooden cross on the ceiling on the chapel and it ends up breaking the ceiling which causes Pornstache to yell at her.

Alex secretly giving Piper a piece of cornbread

The chicken chase/hunt

The WAC election (”Just like high school”)

The inmates scaring the juvies (or trying to)

The Christmas program auditions

The Christmas program itself

The Fight (You know the one)

The inmates dancing/partying and Boo getting down

The Thirsty Bird painting

Piper hugging Alex after Trisha died to annoy Healy

Piper talking to Lolly about almost killing Pennsatucky

The job fair

The Golden Girls plotting to kill Vee

Tasliz mistakenly shivving someone thinking it was Vee

“Okay, I know she fruity pebbles, but...”

Rosa killing Vee

Red greasing the oven and Gina burning herself (I’m sorry, but it was funny)

Daya’s mean comics about the prison staff

Piper annoying her mother by talking about dating girls

“By the way, someone did rat you out. It was Boo.” (That whole scene in the bathroom)

Caputo catching Pornstache doing Daya

Two of the COs (I forgot their names) bribing the hunger strikers with pizza and Angie and Leanne giving in.

Sister Ingalls and Sophia’s friendship

Norma getting revenge on Vee for attacking Red and Gloria helping her

Alex kissing Pennsatucky as payback for sending Piper to SHU

Maxwell and Bell taking Pennsatucky with them when shopping

The pinata not having any candy in it.

Poussey saving Brook

Chang’s entire flashback episode

The Lake (aka the Calm Before the Storm)

Gloria’s abusive ex-boyfriend getting burned to death in that small room 

Pennsatucky making fun of Vee and Suzanne nearly “potato-ing” her

Nicky and her friends trying to steal a cab

Red punching someone’s tit

Cesar’s house being raided by the DEA

Cindy and Alison’s little war

Cindy trying to get a picture with Judy King

The Peaceful Protest turned tragedy

Red trying to stop Dwight’s snoring

The start of the riot

Either Dixon or Luschek trying to get Stratman to pee (that was funny!)

Cindy walking down the dimly lit halls encountering Flaritza and the prank phone call from the methheads.

Boosatucky’s friendship

The skinheads, Yoga, and Anita making Judy’s life miserable during the riot

Alex and Piper playing house during the riot

Piper’s conversation with her mom

Cindy and Janae preventing Suzanne from getting to Taystee with a dead Humps

Cindy singing Suzanne to sleep

Trisha’s memorial

Poussey’s memorial (”Oh, shit, it’s a grief-off”)

Piper proposing to Alex

“One, two...” (Scene change) “...Three years without a pap smear...”

Frieda shooting the guards with “poison” in order for them to let her and a few other inmates out.

The hostage situation (Red’s family) and the rescue

Lorna realizes she’s pregnant

Maureen and Suzanne coming up with ways to kill Humps

Suzanne’s hallucinations in Ad Seg

Red trying to get the message out about Piscatella

Vauseman’s reuinion

Taystee’s and Tamika’s flashback

Max Flava radio show

The ending kickball game

Vauseman wedding

Chatty Cathy’s commentary and pretending to be murdered or something

Taystee beating Badison up

Sophia’s ending

Blanca and Diablo’s ending

All of the Nicky/Shani scenes

Flaca helping Maritza and convincing Gloria to help, too

Suzanne helping Pennsatucky study

Aleida going ape**** on that pedophile

Aleida killing(?) Daya

Cindy getting out and reuniting with her mom and daughter

Suzanne taking peoples’ pudding and someone just saying “Goddammit.”

Domestic!Cindy!

Flaca continuing to prank Clitvack

Chang’s sudden appearance in the finale

Piper getting her life back together and ending up with Alex

The cameos of former Litchfield inmates

Cindy working on healing her relationship with her family

[cozy-the-overlord]

This just made me flashback to that time senior year in high school when I was researching Dracula for an AP Lit project and this was one of the frequently Googled questions

cant fucking sleep bc wikipedia has separate lists for vampires and for fictional vampires

[woebegone-kenobi]

oh god a post just reminded me that lily cole exists and i went into an embarrassing flashback of when we watched the imaginarium of dr parnassus in ap lit my senior year of high school and all i could focus on was how she had such an “interesting” and “compelling” face and it was so “interesting” that she was so tall and had such good hair

and yet i still thought i was straight then lmao

[boloorsportsmania]

#839 Diwali’s priceless moments with a bit of flashback and more...:-)

Diwali is synonymous to fun and great memories. Each Diwali has been spent with a different vibe, flavour and sparkle. Time for a flashback. Late 1980s. We were residing in NR Colony and it had a great buzz during Diwali festival. We used to wake up as early as 5 AM after hearing to early burst of crackers. It was one day when I never complained getting up early. Traditional oil bath followed. Most of the times, Diwali breakfast used to be Masala Dosa and yummy bisibelebath for lunch. In between, I used to take a walk along with friends just to see what crackers each road would be bursting. It used to be fun. Evening would start with a visit to Bull temple where people would just queue up to get one view of the famous Lord Nandi and Lord Ganesha idols. Waiting in the queue to collect yummy Puliyogare as Prasadam was the delight we all waited for. Priceless moments. Dad would get loads of sweets from his customers that used to last for days together. His customers were mostly marwadis who used to invite him to their houses during Diwali. I used to accompany him as well. They used to welcome each guest with so much warmth which was a delight to see. My eyes almost ballooned out when their dining table had sweets spread out all across. I still get dreams of that table. Sweets all across the table with roasted cashews in plenty at the center of the table. There is no chance that a foody like me could control my emotions after viewing that table.  Dad used to close my mouth sometimes too !!!. Once we reached back home, mom and sis would have lit all the DIYAS and CANDLES near the entrance gate. Lantern would be centre of attraction of all houses. It’s a great once in a year view which we always used to cherish. We used to burst crackers in APS ground which was just across our house. Post dinner, we always went for a long walk during Diwali to enjoy crackers view. There were a few big shots who used to burst some colourful rockets, 10000 shot crackers, multi colors flower pots, etc. People used to crowd around those houses as well just to see the spectacle.

After a couple of days, we used to visit our aunt’s house across Bangalore where my cousins used to wait for me and my sis to arrive. We would watch some blockbuster movies in VCD player during day time, eat non stop throughout the day and burst crackers till leg drops in the night. Some crackers which I watched there were a delight. One which I can still recall is the TRAIN cracker where a thread is tied between 2 poles. The cracker once burst travels from one pole to another sparkling layers of fire along the way which was clearly a visual delight.  My cousins would distribute sweets and crackers to people in need across their colony. It was a gesture which I have always enjoyed watching. Giving is as important as enjoying the festivities.  Just as we complete our holidays and resume our school, topic of discussion for first 2 days always used to type of sweets we had and type of crackers we burst. Fun in south Canara especially started after Deepavali when 14 days of tulsi pooja is celebrated !!! I happened to be in Mangalore during this pooja a couple of times. All relatives and neighbours would visit houses where pooja is done. It is a special moment when we all pray together while taking rounds of Tulsi plant. The vibe and feel always is very good during that period. Post that we used to have some sweets. Timing of pooja in relatives houses used to be planned in such a way that pooja at one house followed the other. We used to walk from one house to another. There used to be non stop chatting with cousins and relatives. Final day of Tulsi Pooja used to start at 7 PM and go till mid night. Crackers used to sound like music as well. Priceless moments !!

There is lot of noise around ban of crackers in last few seasons. This noise grows every year. The committees who have objected to firing crackers don’t seem to have any say when it is burst almost non stop during year end parties across the country.  High profile personalities who object to bursting of crackers burst non stop in their own weddings which is such a joke. Reduction in crackers is needed. Instead of banning, the need to make eco-friendly crackers and have definite period during which crackers can be burst need to be followed. Within cities, municipal corporations need to have specific timeline for each area to burst crackers beyond which there is a fine. This would atleast help reduce the impact it has on pollution. Bursting crackers is an emotion for Indians and it is not fair to completely ban it. It is like removing red meat special eateries which is prepared during other festivals. It is not fair to banning that as well. As long as there is a policy to control the usage, there is still a good chance to retain the essence of these emotions. I cant see my kids and next gen not bursting crackers at all. That is not the right message to give.

Other noise around Diwali this time is the amount of sweets we hog during this time. Some have even termed it as Festival of Fat. I have just one point to make for these jokers. The amount of fat they have buried in their mind while writing such a blog has far more calories than the amount of fat we eat in our entire lifetime. Cheers and have fun !! Enjoy the sweets  and savour the moment of happiness with crackers !!!.

[redrosydiaz]

Fuck sallys reciting macbeth's tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow soliloquy and I'm having war flashbacks from when we had to memorize that and stand up in front of the entire class and recite it for my ap lit class in high school ssjdkdk

[crows-are-neat]

Pi Day

So today was freshman orientation, and I was sacred. All of my friends were scared. We were really about to start hight school. So, we all agreed to promised that no matter what happens, we will always remain friends. Then this convo happened

Casey: You know guys, we should call ourself “A Murder”, like a flock of uhhhh (Forgets what type of bird a murder is) Ravens?

Benji: Actually a murder is crows. A flock of ravens is an

Casey: Unkindness, yeah I know. Sounds like some Edgar Allen Poe crap. And I hate you.

  So I don’t hate Benji. Benji is an amazing, slightly cute, little sociopath, who with the exception of ten minutes every other day in the locker room, I am with all of the time, in school. Which isn’t a bad thing.

  So yeah, this is my documentation of our group of murderers. Their is me (Casey), Benji, Jack, Riley, Lilith, Ana, and Laila. The Spanish squad (Another name)

So here is our next convo in Spanish.

Laila: Stop taking my clout goggles, or I will tell Benji what you said last week.

Casey: What did I say last week? (Starts going back through every cringy sentence that said that week)

Laila: And, you still owe me Nutella.

Casey: What did I even say?

Laila: (Whispering in my ears) You said that Benji looked especially cute.

  And now I owe Laila Nutella, to keep her mouth shut.

 So then, we go to math class. And this is where all hell breaks loose.

Cool Math Teacher: So while you take the test, I am going to call you up, to tell you what class you got into. 

  So he calls me up, and as it turns out, I am in Honors Geometry next year, which is a year above what most kids are learning. This is cool. I am better than everyone, which I unhealthily thrive off of. But then I start talking to all of my friends, and realize that I did not get put in the “Smart Kid Class”. Some kids got put in Algebra II as well, which is two years above grade level. I’m not the smartest. I’m not the best. I am therefore a stupid idiot.

  So me, and my anxiety start flipping out, silently dying for the next two periods. Benji is the only murderer that I have the next periods with, and although he tries to make me laugh, it just wasn’t working.

  My arrogance is my worst trait. That, and my insecurity. Mix that in with a tad of anxiety, and you have conflicting personality traits, which messes with your brain. You know how in Sims, when you create a sim, you can’t have conflicting personality traits. Well turn on cheat mode for me.

  By the time that English comes around, I start cooling down, which is great. Me and Benji go to band class now, and we get our new, lit music: The Greatest Showman

  We rocked it! Then my teacher said

Neat Band Teacher: You guys were really good, wanna ditch eighth period, and come play with my other class?

  So, me Benji, and our bari sax, got to ditch class. But we had to also ditch lunch, to do our work. Totally worth it. But then, we go down to band and I saw one person, I was really hoping to see, but not see; my ex best friend, Michael.

  Forth grade to seventh, everything as awesome. During some times, before I met the murderers, he was my only friend, but despite practically being a genius, his work ethic, and lack of motivation got him kicked out of the super smart kid math class, and we now no longer saw each other. Things were none to say the less awkward. 

Casey: (Looking at his folder, trying to make conversation) Nice Dunder-Mifflin sticker.

Michael: Yeah.

Casey: (Desperately trying to think of The Office quotes in my discombobulated head) Bears. Beets. Battle Star Galactia.

Michael: (Slight, awkward laugh) Oof.

  I used to know everything about this kid. I knew the backstory to his geckos names, I knew the whole story of his screwed up family. And now we struggle to have a decent conversation about a fricken TV show.  Laila told me during play practice, that he gets that way when he likes somebody, but A.) She barely knows him half was well as I do/did, and B.) I think she’s just trying to make me feel better about myself.

  I started having elementary school flashbacks, then. I was as talking with Michael (Well, kinda), and my other friend Corey, I was worried about starting a new school, and flipping out over something petty-- something that I have been desperately trying to stop.  But then thing really were like elementary school, when I went to orientation.

Casey: (Looks over, trying to find friends) Is that- Lilith?

  Now this isn’t Lilith, the murderer. This is my friend from elementary school Lilith, who I hadn’t had seen since sixth grade.

Lilith: Oh hey, Casey!

  Now I really started having flashbacks. Since my parents, Corey’s parents, and Lilith’s parents all work together, we all sit together, along with the other Lilith, Riley, Ana, and Laila. With me Corey, and Lilith, it was really like elementary school.

  After a presentation, we were all allowed to break off, and see other presentations, so I went into the room, where we were learning about AP/ Pre- AP classes. Benji, who got their late, so didn’t sit with us, talked with me for a bit afterwards, but was terrified of me. Why? Let’s go back a few hours

  We have an inside joke where all of us murderers, and Laila’s transgender boyfriend, Ace, all brutally assault each other on the nose, calling it either “The Bitch” (Original Name), “The Bit”, or as me and Benji say, “The Bitcoin”. It’s kinda like the cheese touch in a way, except it has no origin. It just happened. Now, we all seem to loose track of who has the bitcoin, so from, across the auditorium, I was just pointing at my nose. And what was Benji doing? Forming a tent over his, with his hands. It’s too much fun to screw around with him. And I didn’t even have it, Ace had/has it.  So this was us in the hallway, after the presentation:

Casey: Benji, you know how many times I’ve told you I don’t have it! (Sees Ace) Hey Ace, give Benji the bitcoin.

Benji:  (In high pitched, prepubescent voice, that makes it seem like he should be saying “Not the buttons) NOOOOOO! (Ducks Ace’s attempt).

 Casey: Well, if I can’t torture you, then I love seeing other people make you suffer!

  I am a terrible friend. BUT BENJI IS JUST AS BAD BACK!

But then I go home, afterwards and start telling my mother about the whole math fiasco, and then this happens:

Mom: How many times have you had a panic attack in that class?

Casey: Uhhhhhhh, five or six?

Mom: Exactly. He didn’t not put you in because you were stupid, he didn’t put you in, because he probably though you couldn’t mentally handle all of the pressure.

  Wow. A teacher actually considering how much pressure a student can handle. And to be fair, I probably couldn’t handle it. But I bring a lot of stress on myself, and I somehow can handle it (In unhealthy ways, but it’s still coping).  So now I am no longer flipping out. I am somewhat calm. And really need to learn to deal with pressure.