#but a lot of people just treat bill doing therapy as him just sitting there like ‘yeah whatever�� and not really taking any of it to heart

[twoa-plus]

do u guys ever think abt how the fandom blaming mabel and/or ford (this applies to other characters too but i mostly see it with them) for Everything is exactly what bill would’ve wanted. like it’s not his fault for tricking them, it’s their fault for falling for it

bill is the villain here - he’s the manipulator and the abuser and the one who wanted Bad Things To Happen. but somehow all the blame ends up falling on the shoulders of the people he used as unwitting pawns to achieve that goal

in fanfic & stuff i think a lot of this comes down to the fact that it’s easier to “punish” the human characters - they have loved ones and dreams and aspirations, and taking that away from them leads to more of an emotional impact than anything you could possibly do to bill. sure, you can kill him, send him to prison, make him do therapy, whatever, but he doesn’t have anything. there’s nothing you can take away from him that he hasn’t already taken from himself. as messed up as it is i think people just find it more satisfying to hurt someone who actually has a weak point, even if that person isn’t the one really at fault

anyways. idk i just think bill would really get a kick out of seeing people sympathize with him more than they do his victims

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift part 7 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: Sunday lunch with the nightcrew bois, what secrets will come out?

Warnings: Emotional abuse

W/C: 1.9k

Spotify

Part 1 Part 8

The sun was too fucking bright. You groaned and rolled over, mouth dry and head pounding. Your phone told you it was almost eleven, which meant you only had an hour to get ready. That was okay, though. You weren’t exactly dressing to impress. It was only Manny and Frankie . . . Frankie.With a wince, you remembered your conversation with him last night. Had it been painfully obvious that you were talking about yourself? Surely not, if he was drunk too. But as you showered, you thought about what he said, and realised that he was right. At least, he was right about what you could remember him saying. Leaving Kurt wouldn’t mean you would be alone and unloved. You had Manny and Sara; you knew they loved you. But that didn’t change that if you left, you’d have nowhere to go. You had never been the type of person to ask for handouts, especially sympathy handouts. There was just too much to think about.

A text from your phone from Sara told you as much as you needed to know about her night went.

Manifestation WORKS 😉 sent 8:34AM

You spent a few extra minutes washing your face, enjoying the feel of cool water on your skin. Flecks of makeup that you had slept in swirled down the drain, grey and black and blue. Tiny bits of glitter glinted on your cheeks, reminding you of days past when you would drown yourself in glitter to go out clubbing. The memory made you smile, remembering how carefree and happy you were just a few years ago.

Grabbing your darkest pair of sunglasses, you were ready to go. You hadn’t bothered with styling your hair beyond running a quick brush through, and your face was devoid of makeup aside from any remnants left from last night.

It was a quick walk to the bistro, your stomach roiling the entire time. You knew it was food you needed; you had already thrown up several times last night after arriving home. The thought of filling your stomach spurred you on, your feet moving slightly faster. You whipped out your phone to text Manny.

Get. Bread. Please.

There were a few unread messages from Kurt. You knew that avoiding him was immature and would only come back to bite you on the ass when he came home, but the thought of opening them and actually reading them made you feel ill. And he would know when you opened them; he complained whenever you turned your read receipts off. So, you kept them on, to keep the peace, and just avoided opening his messages until you were ready to deal with them.

The bistro came into view, and you saw Manny already sitting at your usual table on the outside terrace. You sat down gingerly next to him and flashed him a weak smile.

“You look terrible,” he said gleefully, pushing a basket of bread and butter your way. You grabbed a small roll and broke it open, inhaling the warm scent.

“I feelterrible,” you told him. “Hangovers don’t suit me.”

Manny laughed ruffled your hair. You groaned loudly, swatting his hand away, which only made him laugh harder.

“Lover, I’ve never seen you in this kind of state before, let me tease you a little,” he said. You flipped him off and ate another roll.

“Is Frankie here yet?” You asked, trying to keep the hope out of your voice. Judging by the look on Manny’s face, you had failed miserably.

“Crushing on the cook, are we?” He waggled his brows.

“No! Of course not!” You said quickly. Liar a tiny voice whispered in your ear. “I was just wondering if he got the right place.”

“Well, wonder no longer, that’s him isn’t it?”

From your spot on the terrace, you could see the familiar figure walking down the shady street to the bistro. Your palms dampened with sweat at the sight of him.

“Francisco!” Manny called, waving him over. Frankie broke into a half jog, raising his arm in a wave. You sunk slightly in your seat, praying that he wouldn’t bring up your conversation with him last night.

“How’s your hangover treating you?” Frankie asked, taking a seat at the table.

“Fucking terribly,” you said, “this is not at all what I was promised last night when I did my fourth shot.” Manny snorted and turned to the waitress who had appeared at your table.

“Good afternoon, dearest Andrea,” Manny said.

“Manny, hun, you know I hate when you use my full name,” Andi, as she preferred to be called, said. You liked Andi, she a couple years younger than you and working her way through a master’s in engineering. “What are we all having today?”

“My usual, please,” Manny said.

“The greasiest thing on the menu for me, I don’t care what it is,” you said. Andy smiled at you in sympathy, knowing the tell-tale signs of a hangover. She then turned to Frankie.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before,” she said, her voice suddenly an octave higher.

“Francisco, or Frankie if you like,” he said. “Can I have the alfredo?”

“Of course, Frankie, anything else I can get for you?”

You and Manny glanced at each other, Manny with his eyebrow slightly raised. You knew Andi was a flirt, you’d seen her flirt with customers dozens of times, but something about this felt different. Personal. You chewed the inside of your lip, hoping your annoyance didn’t show too plainly on your face.

“So, what didyou do last night, lover?” Manny turned to you once Andi left.

“Drank too much,” you said. “Kurt’s out of town and Sara’s in town so I . . . I could go out. And I saw Frankie and his friends out.”

“Are your friends all as gorgeous as you?” Manny asked, turning to Frankie who blushed deeply.

“I wouldn’t say I’m gorgeous,” he mumbled, adjusting his cap slightly. “I’m just average.”

“Gorgeous and humble,” Manny said, “your partner is a lucky person.”

“I’m not- I uh don’t- I’m not with anyone,” it dawned on you that Frankie was terrible at taking compliments.

“Maybe it’s my personal bias, but out of all his friends, Frankie is truly the most attractive of them,” you said. You knew this could lead to something dangerous, but the chance to see Frankie flustered was just too good to miss.

“Yo-you do?” he asked, turning an even deeper shade of red. You nodded seriously.

“Whoever you date in future is going to be very lucky,” Manny said. Then, never one to linger on a topic for too long, Manny took a sip of his water and declared that it was feelings time.

“Feelings time?” Frankie sounded uncertain.

“Well, neither of us can afford therapy, so we use each other as therapists,” Manny explained. “We started it when I was working at Lou’s, and it’s been so long since I’ve had a good feelings time. Of course, you don’t have to participate if you don’t want to, and if you do want, keep it as light or as heavy as your heart tells you. Consent is key.”

Frankie nodded, obviously still unsure of the whole situation. It struck you then how strange you and Manny would seem to an outsider. Andi returned with food for the three of you, placing down the biggest burger you had laid eyes on in front of you.

“Enjoy,” she said with a wink to Frankie. “Come find me personally if you’re not satisfied.”

You could’ve thrown up at the blatant flirting. What made it worse was Frankie seemed to be enjoying it, smiling up at Andi.

“I’ll start,” Manny said, once Andi was gone again. “I’m feeling overwhelmed recently with my new job and the house renovations James and I are undertaking. We had a big fight over fucking tiles last night, and I know we wouldn’t have if I could just be decisive.”

“Does James know how you’re feeling?” You asked. Manny shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’d normally tell him about it in a heartbeat, but he’s been stressed too, and I don’t want to add to it.”

“He’s your husband, right?” Frankie asked and Manny nodded. You glanced at him in surprise. “Husbands should support each other. You usually feel supported by him, right? So why is now any different? His stress is your stress, yours is his. That’s what you signed up for when you got married.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be afraid to tell him what’s going on with you,” you said, realising how ironic that was coming from you.

Manny looked thoughtful as he cut into his vegetable stack. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Now your turn, lover.” You groaned. Feelings time was fine when you were listening to other people, and when the feelings you had weren’t so messy. But you could filter your feelings, and you trusted the two men you sat with.

“Okay,” you took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m feeling like I want to end my relationship. I feel like I’m fucking miserable, but I also feel like I’m trapped. Frankie, you remember that friend I told you about last night? It’s actually me.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah, it was pretty obvious, but I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable by saying that.”

“Oh, my god,” you rubbed your face. “Right. So, like I said, I want to break up with Kurt, but it’s not easy to do.” You waited for one of them to interrupt you, when they didn’t, you went on. “For one, I don’t have enough money to move out. I don’t have much in savings at all because I keep needing to dig into it when he’s short on rent or money for bills or whatever. I don’t love him anymore, I don’t even know if I like him. Also, he said hedkillhimselfifieverleft.”

“Excuse me, he said what?” Manny leant forward, rage curdling his usually placid face. Frankie too, looked furious.

“He said he would kill himself if I ever left,” your voice was small. “I tried, one time, and-and he sent me a video of him tying a noose to a ceiling fan telling me it was my fault he was doing that. So, I went back, because I don’t want his death on my hands.” You realised with growing humiliation that you were crying.

Manny reached across the table and took your hand, holding it gently. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to bother anyone,” you said, “it was my problem to deal with.”

“When does he come back?” Frankie asked quietly.

“Tomorrow,” you said. Manny and Frankie exchanged a look and Manny nodded.

“If you let us,” Manny said carefully, “we’re gonna help you get out. We won’t force you into anything, but we want to help.”

“Wait,” you sat back, confused, “wait. Have you too been conspiring behind my back? How? When?”

“No, not til this morning. I gave Frankie my number when I first met him, in case he had any questions. Then he messaged me this morning, and we got to talking about how we can help you.”

“If you want our help,” Frankie said. Part of you felt like you should’ve been angry, but you couldn’t be. Instead, you were overwhelmed with gratitude, with love. You grabbed a napkin and dabbed at your eyes under your sunglasses.

“I think I want help,” you said finally. You knew you couldn’t do this without help, even though it embarrassed you to admit that. Frankie nodded, satisfied.

“Alright, we need to make a plan.”

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209

[lihikainanea]

Heyy ^^ i found ur blog yesterday and ive been ADDICTED to ur BFF!Bill stories!! they're so so good! I was wondering if you could write something about them both being on a plane, and when turbulence starts to happen tiger is just freaking out and bill has to calm and comfort her. omg that would be so adorable. also maybe them being cute at the airport before the flight, because tiger is all sleepy and soft. as you can tell, i've been desperate for some fluff hahah xx

HELLO NEW FRENN.

First of all, welcome bubs. Welcome welcome welcome to my crazy little corner of the interweb universe, I’m so happy that you stopped by and I’m so happy that you enjoy my insane babbles! do you have a favourite? I love hearing about your favourites.

Second of all, it’s strange to me that the people who are only starting to follow me now--ya’ll know a really special side of me. You know a weird, out of normal side of me. Because my job--I don’t talk about it--but normally, my job is 90% travel. Before this zombie virus hit, for years I was away for about 250-300 days a year. In 2019, I visited LA, Egypt, Iceland, London, Paris, Stockholm, Hong Kong, Japan, Cyprus, Ghana, Colombia, Phuket, Qatar, Milan, Bali, Stockholm, Abu Dhabi, Denmark, Norway--and that’s just to name a few. I was never home. I lived my life at 35,000 feet, in hotel rooms, never quite sure what continent I was on or what time zone I was in--and I loved it. That was the life for me.

And then 2020 hit and I just haven’t been the same since. In fact--because I think it’s important to talk about these things--this has hit me really hard lately, this nostalgia, this longing. And the main topic of my therapy sessions these days has been allowing myself to grieve for a life that I loved, that I may never get back. It’s rough, it’s really intense, and therapy has left me totally drained lately.

I have a few airport-comfort pieces on my #vacation bill tag on my Masterlist, because it meant so much to me at one point in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I was always treated very well when I flew and I had a lot of perks--but sometimes, sometimes it was hard too. When I was on malaria pills and only a few weeks out of a yellow fever vaccine, suffering from an insanely sensitive stomach in Ghana? I was curled up at the airport as my boss slowly gave me carbonated water, and I wanted to die. Curling up and just wanting to pass out on my 5th flight that was trying to get me to Vietnam, when I had no idea what day or what time it was, and all I wanted was to sleep--knowing that when I landed, I had 28 working hours ahead of me. That trip was hard. It was a lot of planes rides for short periods--so right as I started to drift off my seat would be slammed back into upright position, we were landing, and I had to shuffle out and shuffle onto another plane.

In any case, please let me indulge a moment in this because I am always here for Bill comforting tiger in all scenarios.

Bill flies a lot, so he’s used to all of it. He knows airports are chilly, and airplanes are often even more chilly. He knows that tiger errs on the side of cold always anyway, so he packs a few extra sweaters just because he knows that like...she doesn’t. She doesn’t think of it. And make no mistake, the extra sweaters are for him--because he always gives her the sweater off his back. She’s more comforted that way, it’s warm and it smells like him and she always huddles into it. 

And it’s not that travelling stresses tiger out--she quite enjoys it actually--but it’s all just so thrilling, that sometimes she has a hard time focusing. Bill is a high roller, man he has access to all the lounges and always either flies business class, or is ballin’ enough to be bumped to business class just when the airline agents see how many points he has. And tiger is just taking it all in--the wine in the lounge, the fanciness of it all, the prestige. She’s all up in ends and Bill has to help kind of ground her--just be that steady presence that keeps her in check, tells her to eat. He fixes a plate for her always, because tiger is like a kid in a candy store and there’s just so much to be amazed about. He thinks it’s adorable, god she makes his heart skip a few beats, but he knows she’s also looking for a bit of stability, some anchor that she can hold onto amidst all the excitement--and that’s what he is. 

They, obviously, always sit together on the plane. She always gets lots of head scritchies to help her relax and fall asleep. And listen, if turbulence should hit? He’s all over it. I, low key, really love turbulence--man that shit will just rock you right to sleep. I’ve been on a few flights where I have legitimately been scared--I’ve been on flights where an engine blew out after take off and we had to emergency land, or a flight where the tail of the aircraft split clean in half about 3,000 ft above ground and we had a crash landing, I’ve been on flights where the back wheels hit the runway and then the pilot had to take off again at almost a 90 degree angle because an aircraft was too close in front of him and I’ve nearly passed out from the G force. And actually the flight to Bali from Qatar was very turbulent--but I’ve mostly been able to retain my calm. No plane in history has ever been downed by turbulence alone. 

Bill knows that. He’s used to it. But tiger? Tiger has all of her claws dug into his forearm the minute the plane starts to shake even just slightly. It rouses him from a deep sleep--his goofy eye mask on and all--and he lifts it and squints at her. He’s a little grumpy, but the minute he sees the pure panic etched on her face, he morphs into caretaker mode immediately.

“It’s okay kid,” he says, “It’s just a rough patch.”

Sure enough, the seatbelt sign dings and the announcement from the captain comes on.

“Bill...” she says, and there’s a hint of a whine in her voice. He wishes he could just squeeze in close to her, just envelop her in his arms but the centre console between their seats separates them. He reaches his arm around her anyway, cranes so he can kiss her temple.

“We’re okay tiger,” he says into her ear, “Turbulence is normal. Nothing to worry about.”

She whines again, reaching a hand and she balls it into his t-shirt. He moves his hand to her hair, scritching lightly.

“Just breathe kid,” he says, “It’s okay.”

He can’t ding the flight attendant because they can’t move during turbulence anyway, so instead he reaches for his water bottle and uncaps it, offers it to her.

“Drink,” he instructs. She takes a small sip, but she tenses the minute the plane starts to rock again.

“We’re okay, I promise,” he says, “Turbulence isn’t dangerous kid. Not in the slightest.”

She looks unsure, everything about her is tense and worried.

“Hey,” he says and he taps her nose “You trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“And you know how much I fly?”

“Yes.”

“It’s nothing kid,” he reassures, “Try and relax. Come here, I’ll rub your tummy.”

“I don’t need my--”

But listen, he manages to combine their blankets and creates a cocoon around the two of them. He reaches over and reclines her seat back a bit, boosts up the foot rest so she’s comfortable, and then under the blanket he lifts her shirt a little--and his warm hand just rubs back and forth, massages on her lower stomach just how she likes. He puts a pillow on the centre console, pulls the blanket up a little and pulls her over so she can lean across it--and then he rests his thumb on her lips.

“Billy--” she mumbles, but he hushes her.

“No one can see kid,” he kisses her nose softly, “I promise. Go on.”

[writefinch]

Family-Owned Small Business

(CN: incest, sex work, mentions of sexual assault & suicidal ideation)

The worst part of my job is administration. Last-minute rescheduling when a client flakes on us. Chasing up payments. Booking accommodation at short notice. Answering messages! Jesus, every time in the last year when I've slumped, sighed, and thought to myself "fuck working, I need a break from all this" it's been when I've opened my messages and seen thirty different texts that need a reply. Some people are fine with it I guess, but for me it's boring, time consuming, and stressful.

Big deal though, right, I mean nobody loves doing admin, why even bring it up? Well, if I tell someone that for work last night I ate a client's cum out of my mom's pussy, I'd expect that they'd get fixated on the sex work and the incest. I'd expect them to freak out and not pay attention to the specifics of what I'm saying. So, first, I'd like that person to know that the thing I hate about my job is probably the same thing that *they* hate about *their* job. I would rather lick my mom's asshole for five minutes than answer emails for five minutes, and I answer a lot of emails.

Do we have to worry about violence, danger, cops, and legal trouble? Yeah, we do. Am I scared of these things? Yeah, sometimes, but I had to worry about all of those things before I started doing sex work. At least now we've got the money to buy our way out of the worst of it.

I'm not saying that what I do with mom is an objectively healthy relationship, let alone a perfect one. If you took me back in time and told me I could pick a completely different life for me and my mom, I'm sure there's a bunch of choices I'd pick over this one. But I never had that choice. I got hurt a lot growing up. I feel like I've finally escaped the things that hurt me, but I know that I've barely started to recover from them.

That's why I'm writing this. We've saved enough money to afford some therapy and my first session is next week. I want help with the fear, the nightmares, the mood swings and insomnia, I want to stop the rush of rage and terror that flows through me every time I see the word 'dad,' I want help untangling the stuff that came out of being told I was a pansy when I was growing up, then figuring out I'm gay, then figuring out I'm a girl, then figuring out I'm all three of those things while I was living in a place that kept trying to kill me for it. What I don't want is for the psych to pin it all on the two least harmful and least fucked-up things about my life, and worse, I don't want them to make me believe it. This journal is a prophylactic, an assessment of my job, my relationships and my life that I can refer back to if and when someone sticks their fingers in my brain and swirls them around.

I'll start with a problem statement: my dad. The memories that hurt the most are the ones where he almost appeared human, the flickers of joy, curiosity and humor that stood out from the bland cruelty that made up the rest of his personality. I'll remember him buying me ice cream or talking about a book or a movie with me, I'll doubt myself and wonder if I just went crazy and cut him out of my life for no reason, and then my brain will hook onto a random act of sadism he inflicted on me.

The physical abuse was bad all on its own, real psycho shit like driving me out into the woods and making me pick through the brush for a switch he could hit me with and a whole lot more I won't go into, but the emotional abuse was worse. When I was eleven, I forgot to feed my cat one day. He gave her away to my uncle, but told me that she'd developed malnutrition and had to be put down. I didn't find out the truth for another two years, when he just let it slip at Easter. He bragged about it, even, like he'd invented a really smart child-rearing technique. I don't want to write too much down here because I don't need to, if anything I want therapy to *stop* everything he did from running through my head. He's a punishment-obsessed sadist, a Baptist, and he works as a judge. Did he ever sexually abuse me? No. Parent of the year, right? He kicked me out for being a fag the day I turned eighteen, so it's ironic that my biggest fear is that he comes looking for me. He doesn't even know I'm a girl.

On the other hand, my mom has had an interesting life. She's kind of a fuck up. When I was one year old, mom and dad split and dad got full custody--being a judge helped with that--while mom left the state. She spent a decade trying to kick a heroin habit and a year and a half in prison for related stuff, got banned from even entering the state I lived in on account of her parole--again, dad being a judge helped with that--illegally emigrated to Canada for a while, and went to Oregon by mistake, doing a mixture of bartending, delivery driving, MDMA dealing and whoring to stay afloat.

The only reason we met again is that I was in the same city staying with friends, also whoring. I don't remember the first time I saw her, but the first time we talked was in a mutual friend's tiny studio apartment with a few other hooker friends. We ended up comparing our Pest Lists, shared a few drinks, and swapped numbers. A week later we fucked, and a month after *that* we realized that we'd Oedipus'd ourselves. It seems funnier now than it did at the time.

That was an emotional time. We cried with joy that we'd found each other, we started tip-toeing around the ideas of rebuilding our lives together, and we agreed to pretend that the sex had never happened. Of course, we got drunk together a week later and fucked again. She's hot! I have a thing for older women, I have a thing for breaking taboos, and I have a thing for being mommied in bed. Blame dad for raising me like this, I dunno.

We started doing sex work as a team after she got a dental abscess. The bill for the hospital stay and the tooth removal was insane, and the dentist straight-up told her that she'd end up with another in a different tooth within a year if she didn't get two root canals. Even when she was recovering, we could only afford fish antibiotics off of Amazon. We crunched some numbers and made some inquiries, and figured out that we could pull in two week's worth of our combined income with one night of mother-daughter stuff.

Our first joint session was with a real estate pervert I'll call Stan, a chubby balding powerlifter in his fifties who we'd both had as a client before. Mom took me over her knees and switched between spanking me and fingering me while he watched. I sucked him off while mom made out with him, made out with my mom with his cock between our lips, licked his balls as mom licked my ass, then let him fuck my ass while mom sat on my face. That was the first half hour. He came six more times before we passed out in the early hours of the morning, and I drifted off nursing his finally-limp cock in my mouth. He paid us the price of a used Volkswagen for our trouble, and I blew him one last time before we left as a thank-you.

Six months later, mom's teeth were fixed, I was on spiro, and we had just under a dozen clients for our "doubles sessions." Only a few of our appointments are ones with me and mom together, three or four a month, we mostly work alone. That's not out of a deliberate choice, it's just that we've got a strict criteria for who we'll double up on.

Trust is one thing: depending on the lawyers we can afford, what we're doing is either kinda illegal or extremely illegal. Since my dad is presumably still a judge, I don't want him to ever find out about this. He'd put us in a prison or a mental institution. We won't do a double session with a client unless we've both had individual sessions with them.

Money is the other thing. Getting your dick sucked by a hot mom while her daughter sucks your balls costs a week's wages for the average person. Hiring us for the night is more like a month's wages. Even in a city like this, there's only a few thousand people that can drop that kind of money on hookers. Then, they've got to *want* to fuck a trans girl and her mom together. Don't get me wrong, more people are into mother-daughter incest than you'd expect, but it's not a universal thing.

Clients are, on average, annoying. It's a fact of life. The thing that all clients have in common is a ton of disposable income and a fondness for fucking hookers. They're not necessarily bad people, but there’s a heavy ‘What can a banana cost, ten dollars?’ vibe to them. It’s not that they’re adrenochrome-drinkers who don’t see regular people as human, it’s more that they don’t have an intuitive awareness that other people don’t have savings accounts, health insurance, an investment property, and four figures of walking-around money at any given time. I guess I'd feel differently if I was like, a concierge or a PA, but there's a lot more pillow talk in my job.

I've had bad and dangerous clients before, there's been at least two occasions where I was pretty sure I was going to die--one where the hospital afterwards stay wiped out four months of income, not counting the month where I couldn’t work--but they were all before I met mom, when I couldn't be so careful about screening prospective clients and dropping them if they threw up red flags. I'm sure we'll get bad clients in the future, but we're in a better place to deal with them safely.

I also wanna write down what a "normal day" is like. Friday was a good example. I woke up early at 9am and cooked breakfast for mom. She was up already doing the laundry. We entertain some clients in our apartment, so we go through a lot of clothes and a lot of sheets. You can't fuck a guy on top of another guy's cum stains, that's rude. Some of the job is Housework But More. We don't really use the main bedroom or the sitting room because we treat them like bed and breakfast guest rooms. It's annoying but every time we have a session without getting an actual hotel or motel room we save like $50 minimum.

After breakfast I epilated, showered, and went for a run. Personal grooming isn't that big a deal in terms of time, I'm not saying I don't spend a lot of time on it, I do, but I'd be spending that time even if I worked in a bar or an office or something. Look: I'm hot. I might have been a weird-looking spotty nerd when I thought I was a boy, but as a girl I'm a fucking dime. I could get like, 25% uglier before it had any impact on my earnings. The only part of personal grooming that's necessary for sex work and I wouldn't do all the time anyway is power-washing my guts an hour before every session.

After lunch, mom went to see some friends and I played Magic for a few hours. At two pm, the actual work started. I picked up the work phone for the first time that day and began answering texts. An hour later I'd cancelled the 6pm appointment, blocked out all of Sunday evening, checked in with a few regulars, and provisionally moved three guys to the 'Time Wasters' list.

I spent a while sexting with a good prospect. He was a good prospect because he paid up-front for the sexting instead of treating it like a free samples platter at Costco. We scheduled a tentative appointment for next Tuesday, when his wife would be out of town on a business trip. Most of the guys I fuck have kinks, and I swear that 'cheating on your wife with a sex worker' is the most common one there is. Do I feel bad about it? At my hourly rate, absolutely not.

Mom got back at half four, so I took a break. We made tacos for lunch together and ate while watching Billions. She nudged me and told me that I need to do my injection, and, well, we have a little ritual for that. I'm scatterbrained and I'm not great with needles, but mom has been incredibly supportive with my HRT, and when I told her I was having problems taking them on time, she came up with a way to make me as comfortable as possible. As soon as the needle is ready, I laid down in her lap and she cradled my head in her arms, pressing her bare chest against my face. I took a nipple into my mouth and nursed it softly while she stroked my hair. She called me a good girl, telling me how proud she is of her daughter, how much she loves me, and asked if I was going to take my medicine like a big girl. On good days I inject myself while she pets me and coos over me, and on bad days she takes the needle and does it for me. As soon as I dropped the needle in the sharps container, mom pressed a Hitachi against my cock and took one of my nipples into her mouth, called me her big brave girl, and asked if I was gonna cum for mommy.

As usual, the answer was yes.

Late afternoon and early evening is when the messages start flowing in, especially on Fridays, when the kinds of people with hooker money have either left work early and thinking about getting laid, or are still held up at work and are desperately thinking about getting laid. This kind of messaging gets trickier, because it comes down to what I'm providing. Like, setting up a session is the kind of normal administrative stuff that's baked into the price of a session. It's also partly a sales job, so I'm naturally flirty and solicitous, and because I do sex work I talk openly about sex.

However, *sexting* is not normal administrative stuff. If I'm sending you messages for jerking-off purposes, I can charge by the hour or by the text but I will insist on charging for it. Also, it's not just sex that me and mom provide. There's a reason that 'companionship' is an old euphemism for whoring, it's because whores are good company. I'm a good listener and I don't judge, which means I'm like the fun parts of a therapist but without all the homework and self-improvement. I'm (unsurprisingly) friendly with all of my clients, and I have more than a few clients and former clients who I'd consider good friends and vice versa. I talk to a bunch of them outside of a business context, especially the ones I met outside of my job, and that's a normal part of maintaining a pool of clients for any sales job, but on the other hand... it's a demand on my time and it's a part of my services. I can and have bluntly told guys that they're wasting my time when it comes to uncompensated sexting, but the platonic stuff requires a lighter touch.

One of my regulars, Fintech Pete, sent me a message. Two messages later, he sent me $100, and we're off. Describing in gratuitous detail exactly how I'm going to suck his cock, begging him to fuck me until my clit is drooling all over the sheets, sending him feet pics, things of that nature. Pete is great for sexting because he barely jerks off while he's doing it, he saves all the messages and pictures and jerks off to them later, because he's got some biohacking routine where he only cums once a week. He said once that part of the reason he hires sex workers is that he takes each nut a lot more seriously if he's paying three digits minimum for the privilege. He does this teleconferencing report with the board of directors at his company four times a year, and every time he hires me to kneel under the desk in his home office and suck him off while he makes his presentation.

Anyway, while we were going back and forth like that, he mentioned that I'd made a joke one time about doing a joint session with my mom. I told him it wasn't a joke, and to cut a long story short, half an hour later I was asking mom if she was up for an overnight session starting at 9pm. She agreed, Pete confirmed, so we both got ready--think getting dolled up for a night out but with a more thorough enema--and drove to his place. He lived outside of town in a two-bedroom suburban home, alone with his two dogs.

As soon as we were parked in his garage I did the safety call in front of him: I rang a friend of mine, told her we were visiting a friend, told her it was at the address I sent her earlier, and told her we'd call her again tomorrow morning. Was it really necessary to do that with someone like Fintech Pete? No, but practice makes permanent. If you let these things slip when there's no danger, eventually they'll slip when there is danger.

Now, I don't want to imply that I'm in a lot of danger! There's a reason that most of the faces you'll see on the Trans Day of Remembrance are of poor black and brown women, because real danger comes when you can't turn skeevy jobs, when you can't afford to take precautions, when you have to make the choice over and over between maybe starving and maybe getting murdered. I'm white, I've got a good support network, and I've been relatively lucky in that I can do all these things to minimize my risks. I've still got to do them, though! Things like safety calls are a good habit to get into and it helps all sex workers if there's an expectation that they've all got someone looking out for them.

...I get that there is some bravado creeping into this journal. I start off saying that admin is the worst part of the job and a page later I flippantly mention that the job has put me in the hospital. On a day to day basis yeah, the admin is the bit that sucks the most, but if you offered me a deal where the admin is twice as bad but I never took that session, I’d take it in a heartbeat. This job has left me with some scars. Any time something cold touches my wrist I get a vivid flash of the first time I had my hands zip-tied behind my back in a cop car. I've had nightmares all my life, and more than a few of my nightmares are about stuff that's happened since I got into sex work.

If it seems like I’m downplaying it, it’s because the harrowing stuff is where the job has gone wrong, it’s not baked into the everyday stuff, and most importantly it has nothing to do with my mom. The work I've done with her is some of the least stressful and dangerous I've had since I started this job, and whatever wounds I have, she's not the one who caused them.

On a more positive note, a cool thing about doing sessions with my mom is that we can dress pretty conservatively and still have it come off as insanely lewd. Mom wore a black cocktail dress with an imitation pearl necklace and her hair up in a bun, I was in a white blouse under a lambswool sweater, a pleated short skirt, cheap dark tights--Pete has a thing for tearing them--and patent leather shoes. When you're going to suck a guy's world entirely off alongside your mom, the more modestly you're dressed, the more perverted it looks. Out in the suburbs it also means you get to avoid the microskirts and fishnets look which screams to the neighbors 'I've just hired a pair of hookers' or the mid-range raincoat over microskirts and fishnets look which screams 'I've just hired a pair of pricey hookers."

Pete's living room looks like the back room of a Radio Shack, computer guts everywhere, every surface turned into a makeshift workbench. It's not a suitable place for lovemaking; I don't want to have to pull shards of a soundcard out of my perineum. His bedroom is a lot neater, with a king-sized bed to sit on, a ton of pillows to lounge up against, and a TV mounted on the wall. Mom poured out some wine, a mid-range red zinfandel that we'd picked up on the way, Pete brought out some imported dark chocolate that costs like $40/kg, and I swung my legs over his lap and turned on the Food Network. I took a bite of chocolate, mom took a sip of wine, and before either of us swallowed she pulled me into a deep kiss, mixing the wine and the chocolate. It's a good combination, and Pete enjoyed the show.

The night started off with chatting. None of us were in any rush, not with an overnight session, and since Pete has been a client for each of us for a while it was a pretty relaxed atmosphere. Pete's fingers danced over my thighs, absent-mindedly plucking ladders into the fabric as we talked baseball, business, sex work, the difference between the gentrified fag bar downtown and the really gentrified fag bar downtown, programming and other nerd shit, local politics, the contestants on Cutthroat Kitchen, just normal stuff. Mom and Pete started talking about fancy cooking stuff so I started annoying them both by claiming that sardines are just fully-grown anchovies, that DOP labels are all fake, and that instant grits are better than the regular ones until mom jabbed me with a finger and told me that my mouth should be put to better use elsewhere.

You know how some people say "Cilantro tastes like soap, that's why it's good?" Same thing for how weird it feels to go down on my mom. The first time I ever jerked off, watching a 144p clip of Rocco Sifreddi fucking a girl in the ass while flushing her head down a toilet bowl, knowing that this meant I was going to go to Hell unless I begged God for forgiveness and never did it again, I came so hard I passed out. It feels good, it feels wrong that it feels so good, and it feels even better because it feels so wrong.

She was already wet when I got between her legs. I kissed her clit and started licking, her bush tickling my nose and her thighs squeezing my ears. Fabric rasped over my head as she hiked her dress up to run her hand through my hair. Everything was muffled but I could hear kissing and clinking, and I knew that mom was undoing Pete's belt and jeans to give him a Catholic-quality handjob.

I got mom worked up, bucking her hips and getting all breathy, until she asked me to get up here and give her some help. I crawled up to his groin and winked up at him. He blushed and grinned back. Pete's not a bad-looking guy. I mean, I don't care about looks in general, I guess I can look at someone and say that objectively they're ugly, and if someone is beautiful it adds something to the experience, but like... it doesn't really figure into it. Obviously most johns don't look like supermodels but they're not uniformly ugly, as I said before the thing that johns have in common is being horny guys with a lot of disposable income. Still, Pete is towards the better-looking side of that scale.

...Okay there is one thing about him that's weirdly common for my clients, I call it 'John Balding:' where a guy is losing his hair but in a slow, uneven, and kinda weird pattern, so that even when they cross into being more bald than not, they never bite the bullet and shave it all off. Pete is only like 30% of the way through that process so it doesn't look terrible yet, but he's on that track.

Anyway, back to the sex. A fun thing about double blowjobs is that you can take them a whole lot slower than solo blowjobs. Me and mom have had a lot of practice so we go at about 1/4th speed and it feels twice as good. She started off by wrapping her hand around the shaft, slowly stroking it while she softly kissed the tip, and I licked his balls, gently lapping at one, then the other, cleaning away the day's sweat and musk, carefully taking both of them into my mouth at once. Mom swallowed half his length, and I started kissing my way up his shaft as she pulled back up, my lips touching the head as hers reached the very tip. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me into a deep French kiss with his cock in the middle, precum mixing with spit, moaning as we felt him twitch and grunt, mom's hand on his balls and my hand on his shaft. We broke the kiss and repeated it in reverse, taking his cock in my throat as mom kissed her way down to his balls. He came after five minutes of gentle little schoolgirl kisses on each side of his cock from the pair of us. The first rope caught mom on her cheek, the second hit her hair, but I wrapped my lips tight around the head and sucked him dry before he could spill another drop.

You can't give a client a mother-daughter blowjob and not snowball the cum back and forth in front of him. We've done it enough times to get the timing down: wait until he sits up straight, because if you don't he'll be too dazed from nutting in your mouth to really appreciate it. Make sure he's looking at you, move your hair out of the way so it doesn't obstruct his view, open your lips so that a trickle of jizz almost sloshes out, move in close to your mom so that your noses are touching and it's clear that you're about to kiss, sink a palm into her tits as she grabs your ass, and then you gotta really go for it: wide-mouthed, feral, energetic, like you're trying to reach each other's sinuses. If a little bit of cum spills out because you're being so sloppy, that's a sign that you're doing it right. You're going to lick it up afterwards anyway.

We broke the kiss, I licked mom's face clean, and we took a break. We drank some more wine, he offered us cigarettes--the coolest clients are the ones that let you smoke indoors--and we cuddled and relaxed for a while with Guy's Grocery Games playing on the TV. Pete went to get some water, and returned with three bottles and a strip of Cialis. He downed two pills, we both stripped off--it was sweltering by that point--and got ready for the next round.

Mom played with his nipples and I got between his legs again, this time going lower than his balls to eat his ass out. Rimming is a trusted client privilege like the mom-daughter stuff is, except it's less about trusting them in the legal sense and more about trusting that it won't be grainy down there. I like it when a client is clean enough to rim, because I'm extremely good at it. Mom says she's better, she claims she once made a guy no-touch cum with a rimjob, but I don't fucking believe her.

He got hard after a minute of digging my tongue into his ass, but his cock was still super-sensitive so we figured we'd tease him for a while longer. We swapped places, mom ate his ass while he made out with me, squeezing my tits and playing with my cock. I like it when guys touch my tits, my cock is... fine, I guess? I don't viscerally dislike people touching it but it doesn't do much for me. After a minute of that he reaches around and works a finger into my asshole, which is much more my speed.

By the time he was two knuckles deep I looked down and saw his cock twitching, leaking precum onto his stomach. He seemed pretty worked up. I kissed his neck, nipped at his ear, and whispered, "Do you wanna breed me, Mister?"

He sure did.

I use condoms unless I've got an extremely compelling reason not to, and mom has a cool trick for getting them on. She grasped Pete's cock around the base, placed her lips around the tip, deepthroated the entire thing in a single stroke, and as she slowly lifted her head back up, his cock was neatly fitted with a condom.

As soon as I lubed up he put me on my back, pushed my ankles up to my ears,  pressed his cock against my hole and sunk into me inch by inch. He muffled my moans with a kiss and rutted me into the bed. I gotta give it to him, all that biohacking and cardio is doing something right because he railed me at a fast, steady pace until my dick was leaking all over my tummy and I couldn't form sentences in my head any more. Mom made out with him as he finished, and at that point I was just babbling nonsense. He was gentle and cautious as he pulled out of me, stroking my hair as I reached down to take off his condom. I poured the contents out over my tits, slumping back against the headboard as mom licked them clean.

It wasn't yet midnight by then, and we went on like that through the night. Licking his feet, mom-daughter 69, him sucking my cock while mom rode his dick like a Sorority cowgirl champion, more wine, more double-blowjobs, tacking an extra $200 onto the fee for the privilege of pissing in my mouth instead of having to get up to go to the bathroom, a whole buffet of fun whore stuff.

We woke up at around ten in the morning, stayed for breakfast, then said our goodbyes. Me and mom thanked him for his custom, and he thanked us for a good time. By midday we were at home, we both showered, checked our calendars, messaged our evening clients to confirm that they were still on, and then... well, the rest of the day kinda evaporated. I played Demons' Souls until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, passed out in bed, and woke up when my alarm went off in the evening.

That's one of the things I don't like about overnight sessions: you're technically only spending like, ten to twelve hours with a client, and for some of that time you're either not fucking or actively asleep, but it kinda feels like it destroys two days. By the time it's scheduled, everything in the rest of the day is either preparing for it or doing it, and when you get back it takes the rest of the day just to recover. I don't like that part of my job, and if I sit down I can probably go through a whole bunch of things I don't like about my job. I still know that my job isn't a *bad* job, because the last time I had a bad job it was at a chicken processing plant. Know how I know that the chicken job was bad? Because I excused myself for a bathroom break four hours into the shift, walked off site, and never came back.

You know what, there's another reason I know that this isn't a bad job and that mom isn't a bad mom, and I guess it's part of the reason I've written all this down in the first place. I was seven years old when I first wanted to die. By the time I got to high school, suicidal thoughts were just the radio static in my brain. I can't remember any point after like, grade school where I didn't daydream about suicide every single day.

Now? I sometimes go for weeks without thinking about killing myself. It hasn't gone away completely, it still pops up when I'm upset or stressed out or tired or really hungry, but what I do is I talk to mom about it, and she talks me out of it. I feel guilty sometimes about putting that pressure on her, and taking that pressure off is part of the reason I'm going to therapy I guess.

I hope it works out.

I really think it will.

[yikesharringrove]

Only if you want no pressure but maybe Billy with a therapy dog for when he's struggling with trauma symptoms?♥️

The bell above the door jingled as Billy held it open, his big golden retriever loping in next to him.

He gave Steve a small smile as he came up to the counter, the dog sitting primly next to him. Steve leaned all the way over the counter.

“Hello, today Jimmy.” He wagged his tail. Billy didn’t know that Steve fucking loved dogs until he got Jimmy, just a little puppy. He passed him a treat, passing it on his nose.

“Get it, Jim.” Steve laughed as he bucked the treat off his nose, catching it in his mouth.

He straightened up to look at Billy.

He was so much quieter after Starcourt, spent most of his time wrapped up in thick sweatshirts, his big dog always by his side.

“What’s goin’ on, Bill?” He came by Family Video everyday while walking his dog, it was part of his therapy to walk longer and longer distances, and part of Jim’s training, getting him used to being around many people, lots of different smells while still focusing on Billy, keeping him calm and getting help if need be.

Jim was trained to stand between Billy and any other man, just for his own feelings of comfort, trained to stop Billy from scratching at his chest every time he had a panic attack. Sometimes he would go at it until it bled, trying to feel something, the scar tissue was thick and numb.

Billy had also been training him to trust and love Steve, would only let Steve touch and pet him, give him treats. He even once stole a shirt from the back of Steve’s car and let Jim smell it a bunch before slyly returning it. Wanted him to know Steve’s scent.

“Just walkin’. You know how it goes.” Billy’s voice was soft, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding tight to Jim’s leash.

“You and J-Dog wanna come over later? I have more of Claudia’s lasagna than I know what to do with.” Billy shifted a little.

“Um, yeah. What time?”

“Just come by around six when I get off and we can drive there.” Steve had moved into a shitty shoe box apartment on the other side of town, the bad side of town. Steve had never told him why he had moved over there, always got closed off and quiet when Billy asked.

-

Billy was almost to Family Video, could literally fucking see the building when he slipped.

He just stepped funny right on a patch of ice, his feet going out from underneath him.

He landed flat on his back, the cold overtaking him, the air slamming out of his lungs. It felt like he was fucking choking, just like when that thing dragged him, shoved down his throat-

Jim was laying on his chest, trying to ground Billy, remind him to regulate his breathing. He was whining loudly as Billy only spiraled further, his chest tightening more and more.

-

Steve was standing outside, waiting for Billy when Jim came around the corner, barking at him wildly.

He bounded up to Steve, pawing at him, turning around.

“Jimmy, where’s Bill?” He just parked more, running off a few feet before coming back. Steve took his leash, only to have Jim strain against it, running back the way he came.

He eyes went wide.

“Fuck, take me to him!”

He sprinted after the dog, finding Billy on his back, taking shallow breaths. Steve skid on his knees next to him as Jim lay back onto Billy’s chest.

“Bill, it’s me, it’s Steve. It’s January 28th, 1986. You’re outside the arcade. You’re safe, you’re here with me, and Jim. We got you Bill. Just take deep breaths.”

Billy’s eyes were locked on Steve’s face as his hands fluttered over Billy, checking to see if he was injured.

“Steve,” he just breathed it out.

“Yeah, Billy. I’m here.” Billy fumbled for Steve’s hand, couldn’t give a fuck if Steve thought it was weird, just needed him. He threaded the other hand into Jim’s thick fur.

“Just breathe. We got you, Bill.” Steve placed one hand on his chest.

He sat there for Billy doesn’t even know how long, just holding Billy’s hand talking to him softly.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Steve helped him sit up, Jim stood behind Billy, let him lean a little of his weight into him. “Can we go? It’s cold.”

“Shit, yeah. Of course we can go. You still wanna come over, or you wanna go home?” Billy had been living with the Byers. They had bought a new house when Joyce and Hop decided to stop dancing around one another.

“Wanna go to yours. They’ll worry.”

“Billy, I worry too.”

“Yeah, but I can take your worry.” Steve helped him stand up, helped him walk slowly to Steve’s car.

It was dark by the time they reached Steve’s place.

He had a studio apartment with cracked drywall and a curtain instead of a bathroom door.

But he had nested hard.

The whole place was a mess of posters, string lights, potted plants and thick blankets. Steve once told him after a few too many margaritas made with cheap tequila that his parents had never let him decorate his own room, so he liked getting to decorate his own place, liked getting silly kitschy things, whatever tickled his fancy. He led Billy to the couch, letting Jim leap up onto the couch next to him.

He made them two plates of lasagna, heating it up in the old gas oven while Billy fiddled with the radio. Steve didn’t have a tv.

“Do you wanna talk about today, or?” Billy liked that Steve always asked before asking.

“I really don’t.” Steve just nodded.

“Guess who rented a hardcore kinky porno today!” He chattered away while he heated their dinner. Billy just watched him, stroking over Jim’s soft fur, his head on Billy’s lap.

He didn’t know when Steve had started keeping dog food in his place, but he set out a bowl for Jim nonetheless.

It was quiet after they ate, Steve washing the few dishes quickly.

They moved to Steve’s bed, just a mattress on the floor in the corner. They lay next to one another.

“You sleeping here tonight?” Sometimes Billy would get antsy, would need to go home. But other times he just liked to stay, to sleep on Steve’s queen mattress, (he’s pretty sure it’s Hop’s old one from the cabin) smushed between Jim and Steve.

“If that’s okay.” Steve’s place made him feel safe, the string lights Steve left on every night, the warm scented candles he burned.

But Steve also made him feel safe, his big pretty eyes and his softness.

“It’s always okay, Bill. You know I like having you around.” Billy was just looking into Steve’s big eyes.

They would do this sometimes, just quietly gaze at one another.

Sometimes Billy thought Steve would look at his lips, sometimes Billy thought Steve was going to kiss him.

Jim shoved his way between them, tail wagging as he plopped himself there, licking Billy’s face once.

Steve laughed.

“James D. Hargrove! Mind your manners!”

“What’s the D stand for?” Steve just grinned at him.

“Dog.”

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

here’s some stuff that happened to harry between the end of the war and seeing draco again in moonrise

-he gave kreacher all the money sirius left to him, and tried to give him grimmauld place but kreacher didn’t want the house; for a while they lived together like roommates, and then kreacher went to live with some elves from the free elf movement in france

-harry testified at a ton of death eater trials, including draco malfoy’s and narcissa malfoy’s (lucius disappeared between the battle of hogwarts and the arrest of his wife and son; he was later found dead and draco has some very specific theories about that)

-due to harry’s testimony,  draco had a reduced sentence of 2 years of house arrest and 1 year of no magic (harry still had draco’s wand at the time so he knew draco was lying when he said it was destroyed during the war but he didn’t say anything); narcissa spent 6 mo in azkaban and is technically still under house arrest at the start of moonrise, but she breaks it to visit her sister bc she’s a malfoy damn it and she does what she pleases

-harry went back to hogwarts for a while to get his NEWTs because obviously hermione wanted to go and ron wanted to go with hermione and the idea of being without them and figuring out what to do with his life next made harry feel like he couldn’t breathe

-he had a VERY emotional first term with lots of yelling and storming off to sit by himself and he’s having trouble sleeping and he and ginny got back together and then broke up again and halfway through exams week during first term, he broke into the headmaster’s office in the middle of the night and just broke down sobbing because he couldn’t take it anymore and dumbledore’s portrait told him that he didn’t have to carry on at hogwarts and no one was going to be hurt/angry/disappointed in him, and he was SUPER relieved and he scared the crap out of professor mcgonagall (headmistress obvs) in the morning by having fallen asleep under the desk

-he went to stay at the burrow after that like he went for christmas and then the week between christmas and new year he broke down again and ginny told him that it’s okay that he needs help coping and there’s nothing wrong with getting it so he checked into st. mungo’s

-st. mungo’s has a new ward to treat wix who have been traumatically impacted by magic like straightforward spell damage or just had some kind of traumatizing experience with magic (mainly due to muggleborns being like please ma’am a crumb of therapy) and there are a ton of hogwarts students there including a bunch of slytherins and harry sees a lot of folks he knows which he finds kind of sad because they are all suffering at the same time for the same reasons and then also he knows there’s something good about it too because they can get help now, which they wouldn’t be able to before

-he sees neville a lot at st mungo’s, bc neville goes there to visit his parents and he gets sort of fascinated/obsessed with neville the way he does sometimes bc he can’t stop thinking about how neville could have been the chosen one and also he realizes that he’s attracted to neville and for a while he thinks neville kind of fostered this fundamental change in him because he’s never been conscious of being attracted to men before

-harry tries to ask hermione if there’s some kind of magical explanation for his interest in neville and hermione very gently tells him what being gay is, and harry’s like uhhhh yeah i actually have heard of that hermione but i’m not gay what about ginny so hermione goes to a muggle library and brings harry back a book about bisexuality and harry is like !!!!!!! he also revisits his past and realizes that he was very attracted to cedric diggory and viktor krum (he likes jocks) and also he realized that he still IS attracted to bill weasley 

-harry gets really into books because he didn’t know books could tell you such personal, useful things! hermione makes him get a library card

-ron leaves hogwarts after having obtained an acceptable number of NEWTS and moves in with harry at grimmauld place; hermione lives with her parents and ponders magical law school and visits a lot

-he starts dating neville! he only meant to come out to neville but neville thought harry was asking him out and accepted and harry was like okay yes let’s go with that 

-he gets a job in a muggle feminist bookshop and the middle aged muggle ladies who work there LOVE him so much because he’s polite and kind and down to earth and he loves books and harry is so MOVED because they don’t know he’s harry potter, they just know he’s a lovely boy. there’s one point where someone mentions a niece rather hopefully and harry’s worried it will get awkward but he just politely brings up neville, and they love him even more

-he breaks up with neville because he’s a little bored? he feels like there isn’t enough friction and then he is kind of miserable and self loathing for a while because he hates disappointing people and he has a little bit of a downswing

-ginny comes out as a lesbian and starts dating luna and at first harry kinda wonders if it had anything to do with him and he kind of hints at that to ron and ron scoffs and tells him he’s got a big head and harry is sheepish and realizes he’s being silly 

-ron and hermione get engaged which makes harry feel panicky again for a while and he thinks about how charlie weasley is part of a triad and harry wonders if he wants that with ron and hermione and then decides he’s not in the least attracted to either of them so probably not and then he makes them camp out in the sitting room of grimmauld place with him and they toast marshmallows on the fire and sit up all night talking and harry feels very loved

-the slytherin kids start showing up at grimmauld place one by one after they stand up to their bigot families and get disowned or else they just burn out in general. they tend to be a little snide but harry makes it clear that there is a standard for respect and kindness at grimmauld place, and people mostly meet it. harry and hermione help them learn some muggle skills and find muggle jobs so that they can support themselves (some of them have been banned from using magic or had their wands snapped but they’re trying to better themselves and learn how to treat ppl and harry rlly respects that) 

-around this time, harry starts spending more time with teddy lupin, and he keeps running into narcissa malfoy at andromeda tonks’ house, and he’s honestly kind of impressed that she’s risking being sent back to azkaban by breaking her house arrest just to see her sister and her nephew and he’s seen some other slytherins change, and besides she did save his life just because she loved her son, so he’s cautiously friendly to her

-the way narcissa (aunt cissy to some) talks about draco makes harry very curious about him like she implies he has a Terrible Secret and harry’s like !!!!!!!!!!! i must know all at once

-harry digs up draco’s wand, which he has never bothered to return and decides now is the moment to return it because he’s DESPERATE to speak to draco and see him with his own two eyes

[wayward-nephilim]

Before it all started // Rafe Cameron

Prompt: You finally break up with Rafe after you catch him doing coke again and you can’t stop thinking about how you guys were before.

Warnings: Drug abuse, angst

A/N: I hate Rafe and he’s kind of awful, but you also can’t deny that he’s just a boy with daddy issues and I believe that he would have been a halfway decent person if he didn’t have a shitty father and drug addiction. This is my take on what I believe he was like “before” (Ps re-reading and editing this i realized i made him like not a villain at all. Maybe i’m confusing Drew with Rafe)

“DONT YOU DARE LEAVE!!” He yelled at you, getting up from his spot on the couch. The lines of coke spread out on his table. Reflecting perfectly on the mirrored tray he had. You felt sick to your stomach and it felt like everything keeping you alive had been ripped out of you. This wasn’t the first time you caught him snorting, the first time was the worst and you voweled to help him but you had failed.

You fought back the tears in your eyes. “Rafe. I can’t do this, I can’t watch you fall down the same hole my mom did.” You loved your mom, and you loved Rafe almost as much. But you sat back and watched your mom kill herself and were watching the love of your life do that same thing.

The blue in his eyes were hardly able to be seen, his pupils so dilated from the coke. You knew how he got, you watched him start it. And at first he actually had you convinced he had it under control, he could do a line and that would hold him off for a couple days, it was a social thing. And then slowly you saw him doing more and more. You saw him stumble down into a dark and twisty hole as he battled with his mind.

“Baby, please. I can get it under control. I can fix this, I can fix us.” He sniffled, eyes glossy.

Your lip quivered as you watched the boy in front of you plead. “Rafe.” Your voice broke, “I love you, but I can’t do this. You promised me you would get a hold on it and then you didn’t. I offered you my support and I broke my back to get you help. I did everything I could to help you and I’m tired.” You sighed, disappointed in him and yourself.

“Listen, Y/N. Give me a couple of months.” He said, now crying, “I promise I can get better.” He seemed so small, gabbing the edge of his shirt and pulling it down as a nervous tick.

Your heart broke as you watched the boy you were in love with completely crumble. You wanted to believe him, you supported him and loved him when everyone else was against him and the both of you knew that you held him down and kept him grounded. “Rafe.” You sighed, disappointedly. “I can’t keep doing this with you. Why didn’t you take my help when I offered it?” You pinned the blame on yourself, thinking you could have pushed him harder.

“Look- It’s not that simple.” He looked down, refusing to make eye contact with you. “I have it under control.”

You groaned and threw your head back, “NO, YOU DON’T.” You yelled at him flinging your arms in your direction. “You don’t, Rafe. And you know it. I can’t help you this time.” This situation felt too familiar, and you needed to get out of there. Your chest rising and falling even harder and tear spilling from your eyes.

“Please.” He pleaded, noticing your change in demeanor. He straightened up and walked over to you. Trying to comfort you. “Y/N. Baby, it’s okay.” He hugged you. “I promise.”

You pulled your body away from his and looked him in the eyes. “It’s not, Rafe.” You sniffled, “You know it’s not. And I can’t ask you to get sober for me. Clearly it doesn’t work. I need you to get sober for yourself.” You sobbed, “I need you to want to be okay for you, I want to be able to live a long life with you and have kids and get married. But I’m not going to sit here and watch you refuse my help.”

“I will. I promise Baby.” He tried reaching for you and you pulled your body away because you knew that if you hugged him back you’d fall back into him. “I can get sober. I’ll do it.” You wished with everything in you that he would.

“I need to go, Rafe.” You said, turing around and letting your tears stream from your eyes. He wasn’t a bad man, he wasn’t mean to you and he hardly ever got a temper and not once in the year you guys have been dating has he ever put a hand on you. He just needed intervention and therapy, a lot of it.

Every step away from him felt like another string of your heart was being pulled. You ignored his begging and continued to walk, breaking down every step of the way. Your body was sweaty and you were hyperventilating. Rafe was always the one to calm your panic attacks and now he wasn’t hear and this one had to be fought on its own. You texted Sarah,

‘please keep an eye on your brother for me. we broke up and i need to know he doesn’t do anything irrational.’ You would always care for Rafe, nothing could change that.

You turned your phone off and walked towards your home that was only a couple doors down from the Cameron’s. You glanced up at the sky, clouds rolling in. Storm season was bad this year. Rain drops started falling slowly and you were kind of grateful, hoping they would wash out your tears so your father didn’t ask questions on your way in.

You sloshed around the foyer of your house and hang your soaking jacket on the coat rack, slipped your shoes off and walked up to your room. Not bothering you turn your light on, you stripped out of all of your clothes you flopped into bed. You lay staring at your ceiling. The ache in your heart over powering everything.

“Rafe, put me down.” You giggled, he had grabbed you by one arm and a thigh and was swinging you off of the boat. You squirmed in his hands until he placed you down on the deck of your tiny sail boat.

“What’s wrong, baby?.” He smiled at you, his blue eyes filled with life and his blonde hair wasn’t slicked back as you would normally see it. It was messy and all over the place. You loved seeing him like this, he was himself and he was happy and it was just the two of you.

“You know I’m ticklish.” You pouted your lip out, looking up to him.

“Oh, that’s just an excuse.” He said, running towards you and playfully tackling you down to tickle your side.

You kicked and laughed until your belly hurt. “Rafe-“ You laughed, “Stop it.” You managed to get out from his hold and run away laughing. He caught up with you and picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he placed a kiss on your lips. You moaned as he laid you down and deepened the kiss. You pulled your head away and put your forehead onto his, staring into his bright blue eyes. And felt completely lost in them.

“Rafe.” You spoke softly, putting your hand on his face, “I love you.” It was the first time you said it, but you knew in that moment how you felt about him.

His mouth fell open in shock before he closed it and smiled, “I love you too.” He said against your lips and you opened yourself up to him.

Your tears fell even harder. The beginning of your relationship with Rafe was perfect, he was every thing you could have dreamed of and treated you good. He never pushed you to do anything you weren’t comfortable and was patient. It made you miss him even more.

“Y/N.” Rafe tried to offer you a smile, but you saw through it. His shirt was unbuttoned and both his face and ribs had bruises on them.

“Rafe. What happened?” You spoke, dropping your bag and keys and rushed over to him. You fell down to where he was in the ground and cupped his face in your hands. “Baby, what happened?” You cooed, glancing around the room, you saw a shiny tray on on it was little white lines and a rolled of $50 bill. You held him close to your body.

He cried into your shoulder and held you right. “I fucked up.” He sobbed,

“Rafe. What happened to you?” You voice cracked,

“He hit me.” He didn’t need to tell me who, I knew. It was his father. Ward had a tempor, everyone knew that. Especially you.

“I won’t let him do anything else to you. I’ll protect you.”

You lay stuff on your bed, digging your palms into your eyes to stop the flashbacks of you two together. You didn’t want to see all of the intimant moments. There were too many good ones. Rafe was good to you. He cared about you and pushed you in a positive way to do better than him. You knew he loved you and he knew you loved him.

Turning over, you put your head into your pillow and screamed until your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. Sobbing, wanting to be held by someone.

One hand was on your waist, the other clasped around your hand. He spun you so your back was against his. “I love it when you dress up.” He whispered in your ear.

It was Mid-Summer and you couldn’t deny that you hated it but also couldn’t deny that you enjoyed dressing up in a beautiful light dress and wearing a flower crown. You smiled up to him and gave him a kiss on the lips.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” He spoke in your ears. You didn’t take much time unwinding yourself from him and pulling him into an empty locker room. Locking the door behind you.

You eagerly kissed him and pressed him against the lockers. He moaned and put his hands in your hips, pulling you into him. You smiled and pulled away, “I love you.” You kissed him, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” You said kissing him between each statement. And you did, you loved the Cameron boy with every fiber of your being.

“I love you more.” He laughed, pulling your dress up and then lifted you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist.

“Not possible.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he undid the belt and button on his dress pants.

“It totally is.” He kissed you.

By now you were convinced that you would never find another love like his. He was a sour puss to most people, but he was real and true and wasn’t afraid to be himself around you, even if you were out in public. He wasn’t afraid to show his affection despite his reputation.

You wanted to call him and tell him you love him. But the rational part of you told you to not do it. You know it’s not your job to keep him clean, but you wanted to protect him from everything. You knew him better than anyone in his life. You know what he’s thinking right now and it’s not too different from your own thoughts.

This time, it was you two laid out on the deck of your boat. Staring up at the stars. Rafe was clueless when it came to the sky. The only thing he knew was where to find the big dipper. “That one right there, that’s Orien. He’s my favorite.” You smiled over to him, pointing above you. “Mainly because he’s the easiest one to find.”

“How exactly do you know so much?” He questioned you, looking over to you.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just into stars and stuff. It’s crazy what’s out there. Ya know?” You shrugged, feeling slightly insecure for geeking out. “I find it interesting.”

Rafe noticed your change in demeanor. “I don’t think you’re weird for it.” He said, “I dig it.”

The both of you stared so intensely at each other. Comfortable with where you were in life. You turned to face him and placed your arm around his torso, snuggling into him. Being alone and comfortable in his presence was the one thing that always made you feel better. He made you better.

Right now, you wanted nothing more but for things to go back to the way they were before it all started.

[theblackbirdsgemimagines]

May I request for the Leona, Vil, Azul and our boy Jack getting stuck in their MC's world and their experience? (MC is with them)

Oh sweet Jesus akdhakdhsk FORGIVE ME OF MY RATHER CYNICAL OUTLOOK ON OUR LIL BLUE PLANET 😬 I think it’s understandable to be more cynical than ever in this Hell Year, lolll

Send these poor, sweet babies back home, they deserve better than to be stuck here of all places 😅 ESPECIALLY JACK AAAAAA SAVE THE BABY 💔

Ok, not even going to play with you... Vil would thrive, lol.

Just give him time enough to stop panicking over all his lost clothes, magic, etc., and find new things that works for him and his detailed self-care routine, and whatever he chooses to do, he will make Fat Stacks in.

He’s the male version of Belle Delphine, here ajdhakdhsj

He appears anywhere, on tv with some company to continue his performer career he had back home, or on youtube/instagram, and he is almost immediately just as famous here as he was in Wonderland.

Can we really blame anyone, tho? Look at him.

And there’s no Neige here!

Also, ‘my’ Vil is definitely the one that knows there are many different ways to be beautiful~. He may be a bit more blunt to his friends if he thinks they’re not quite hitting the usual mark their talents place them in. But that’s only because he cares about them, and wants everyone to see their best, as he does~. He’s an absolutely encouraging sweetheart to anyone else/a beginner at whatever their passion is, though~. And either way, he’s your best cheerleader~.

Of course he still just doesn’t feel himself without his magic, or ability to do potions. I don’t think he’d find the witchcraft in our world would suit him very well.

If he was really stuck for good, of course he’d make the best of it. But if he could go home, especially if you wanted to go back with him, he’d jump at the chance. And always be on the lookout for the chance.

But that being said, I think, aside from all the world’s problems, of course, he’d find it interesting just how similar, and vastly different, things are here.

He donates Ass Loads to so many charities, like honestly.

Rich boy knows his privilege, and lets others ride off his advantages as much as he can. 💜

He becomes friends with James Charles. You know he does.

You can’t be truly fully beautiful if you’re not also lovely on the inside, too, after all~!

Rip Rook wherver he is, he is lost without his Queen 😔

Gosh, in direct contrast to Vil, Leona probably suffers the most over here?? Jahdkshdj

I know they based his sleep habits off a irl lion, but that also sounds just a Tad Bit like possible depression to me (along with a lot of the other ways he’s behaved so far, lol).

Get this sweetheart to some therapy, maybe?? Help him get a lil energy boost at least to help him feel better 💛

He’s going to HATE the work pace people have to maintain just to eat here, 100%.

He enjoys the entertainment the most, though~. Video games, things you can watch online, all those sorts of things~. Might like a few of our sports, too~.

Poor bby struggles with having to work, though, please help him 💔

At least he doesn’t have to live under being Forever Prince, here, and doesn’t have to worry about turning anything he touches to sand. And the lions in the zoos are pretty cool to go see~!

He’d probably love it if he could go to Africa and see what our “Afterglow Savannah” looks like here~. Meet the lions that are in the wild~.

I imagine he and Jack would both lose the ears for human ones, and the tails, too. (😢💔) So he probably feels weird seeing himself like that, and might miss his tail. Especially if it helped him with balance. Give him some time to adjust to it~. There’s these neat new tails people made for cosplay, that can move around on their own, if he’d like one to help him not miss his old one so much~!

I had to really think about what the heck he’d even do for a job, cause he’s so grumpy to everyone, retail’s just OUT, lol. And I don’t think he’d be that great at something like youtube, either ajdhsjjd

It’s hard for him to not just lay around all lazy, rather than think of stuff to do for it/actually get up and go do it. Let alone all the meetings, and interacting with fans, and the like.

So maybe actually being one of the zookeepers would be a good fit for him~. He’d be obligated to actually go, and he’d get to be around lots of different animals~. Might help him feel more at home, too~. I think he’d be pretty good at it, and the animals would probably be drawn to him~ 💛

He’d also absolutely challenge the authority here (or anywhere else that has appalling governments, especially if they’re not run by women). The state of things, and the way women and minorities are treated by white men around the world, and men in general, would absolutely appall him. He so drunk on that respecc women juice, he just can’t wrap his head around what the hell the problem is with those rich assholes in power. Put him in power, and he’ll ruthlessly show them what-for! ALL the others behind him would be women! Good grief, humans!

All in all, he doesn’t mind it here, but would also prefer to be home, where he can sleep more, and Ruggie can run around for him most of the time, lol

Besides, that allowed him to spend more time with you~! 💛

(LOOKIT THAT HAPPY BOY SMILE!!! I’M DEAD 💞💞💞)

Oh, Jack. Sweet, sweet Jack.

He absolutely becomes a personal trainer as a job, here. 1000%. He lives that Exercise Junkie Lifestyle, there’s just no doubt about it.

He’s VERY encouraging to his students, though~! Build up that beef, guys, he has total faith in you~! 🤍🤍

He absolutely loooooooves going anywhere to see wolves. He’d probably really love the wooded mountains in Europe, if you ended up there, or in Oregon/Washington if you ended up here in America~. Definitely Canada, or Alaska, too~! Just give him huge trees, snowy winters, and nearby mountains, and he feels right at home~.

Idk if he’d miss his magic a whole heck of a lot, tbh?? But he WOULD miss his friends and family! It’s just not quite the same here, though he thinks it’s beautiful and interesting to see where you came from~. 🤍

He’s a good boy 😭

Also appalled with the state of so many rulers and governings both in your home, and around most of the world, lol.

He can’t stand seeing so many people suffer like that! How can they possibly live the life that’s the most healthy and happy for them to live, disabled, chronically ill, or not, if they’re suffering under an iron fist all the time?!

He CAN’T stand for it. You won’t stop him till he sees good change starting to finally happen. Especially if you live here! There’s no way he can just sit around and have you be subjected to that!

HE’S A GOOD BOY 😭

You gotta calm him down a lot and remind him there are others just as good and kind as he is, fighting to change things too 🤍

God help people if he gets here anytime within 2020-2021. He’s sucker punching nearly everyone he sees without a mask.

He’s also sucker punching every nazi he sees, too.

My goodness, please show him the movie Wolf Children! He’ll hide the fact he’s crying multiple times through it, but it’s one of his favorite movies here~.

If you do manage to go back to Wonderland, please try to bring a copy of it with you. It’s the one thing he’ll miss most, and keep asking to watch with you again, before remembering it doesn’t exist there. 😭

He also misses his tail and ears a lot. Losing all of that + his senses would be very a very awkward adjustment for him, and he wouldn’t really like it poor bby 💔 Give him lots of hugs to compensate U-U 🤍

His favorite thing to do with you would probably be to go hiking, and stay in a little cabin in the woods, for a week or two~. Somewhere in one of the previously mentioned places~.

(I couldn’t find a chibi gif of Azul to use, rip 😭)

Azul is just straight up becoming a mafia boss, probably wkdhakdjjs.

He’s the ‘good’ kind, though. He’s learned his lesson since his overblot, and he won’t outright kill people for not paying him back, or introduce drugs, or anything like that.

He’ll help people obtain what they want as legally as possible... But that doesn’t mean he still won’t be sly as hell about it, haha~.

He’ll protect loyal/good customers and the areas they live in, too~. In fact, he’d probably reDUCE crime from doing so.

He just learns all the dirty ins and outs of everything about how things run here. And as much as he’ll fight for change as the others would, because there’s no way any of that is an acceptable way for you to live, he’ll work dirty in order to take advantage of the system, to do so. What better way, right? Make the dominos fall from the inside out.

He’s a good business man, he knows doing so would also benefit him, too.

He’s like Bruce Wayne if Bruce Wayne was a rich mafia leader jeehskdje

Need health benefits to work for him? Covered. Need above-average pay to actually afford your bills and other stuff? Covered. Need education to do a job for him? They’ll train you.

He’s also practically a Gordon Ramsey, tbh. Lots of his bars will pop up across the world, if he stays here long enough, lol. But they’ll all help a good number of people, in doing so~.

He also donates as much as he can, too. If he’s gonna become even a fraction as rich as Jeff Bozos, he’s ending world hunger and homelessness every year.

And boy oh BOY will he swindle the rich akdhakdhwj

He will whip them so hard, they won’t know what the hell hit them.

He may have been under restrictions at the college, but he sure as hell isn’t here. Watch out as he spreads his tentacles wings.

And, of course, he adores being anywhere near the coast. Doesn’t matter what part of the world you’re in, he just needs to be by the sea.

All the polution absolutely breaks his sweet little heart, and that’s one of the first things on his list to fix. Dealing with trash back home was much easier... you could just zap it all away at big trash fields. But you don’t have that luxury here.

Being that he doesn’t really like his ocotpus form (bbyyyyyy 😢💔), he probably doesn’t mind the permanent legs. At least he doesn’t have to constantly take a potion to keep them, anymore.

But it’s still awkward to get used to. And he can’t stand that he can’t breathe underwater anymore, or go too far down without dying from the pressure.

He’ll dive as often as he can~. And loves to dive, or snorkle, or just swim~, with you, if you want to join him~.

He does miss his home, if only for the beauty and familiarity it had, despite a lot of bad memories around it. But there’s no doubt he’d thrive here, in a way only he could~.

He totally believes your own version of mermaids exists, and gets excited over anything that could prove it to be true 😅

Plus, he’s just obsessed with how marine life works here in general~. If he can juggle being a freakin maffia boss, and a marine biologist just out of the pure love for it, I have no doubt he’d do it~.

Humans most likely evolved from creatures in the water?? That’s amazing~! So the ocean feels like a distant memory of a second home~! He’d love to bond over that, the romantic~ 💜

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 12- Change is Coming

Hello, everyone!

We have officially reached the end of Year 3 and what a ride it has been thus far. The amount of interest this story has generated despite Hogwarts Mystery being somewhat of a let down is very heartening. It's extremely fun to write, almost like writing therapy in a way.

That being said I'd like to give an update for the future which I will also put in the story notes. This story will not be updated again until the New Year. The reason being I have several other projects I'm trying to juggle not to mention I like to write the story ahead of time and then release it over a period of time.

So, for the month of November I will be writing other things which should be done by December in which I will begin Year 4 and hopefully have completed writing it by January. So I ask for your patience as a I try to get everything done in a very difficult time for me personally. I promise it will be worth the wait. I have lots of fun things planned for Year 4, including for a certain cute Slytherin girl ;)

Anyways, enjoy the chapter! David Grant will be back in no time!

Unlike the previous year, no Professor confronted David about the vaults in the aftermath of breaking into one. He expected McGonagall or Snape to confront him about it. The Potions Master did shoot him nasty glares but asked him no questions and was no worse than he usually was. Of everyone Pince was the most likely to try and either punish or get him to confess but nothing of the sort occurred. Oddly enough, he thought the irritable librarian might be side stepping him on purpose as she consistently avoided his gaze while he studied for his exams. But there was one similarity: as it was with the ice the boggarts seemingly vanished in the aftermath of their excursion. The curse was broken.

As for the other affairs at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had returned although no one knew just exactly where he’d gotten off to in the first place. There were rumors to be sure (including one where he allegedly slayed a Hungarian Horntail and another where he took a two week holiday at a muggle resort in France in order to study the magical properties of champagne) but none of them were substantiated. The third, soon to be fourth year, Gryffindor considered himself lucky that the Headmaster was not present during his latest escapade but nevertheless remained on his guard. Very little got by the old man despite his outwardly friendly, eccentric demeanor.

Exams were soon concluded as was the Quidditch season. Unfortunately for the Lions, Slytherin won their last matchup giving the snakes victory in the Quidditch Cup which was difficult to stomach given their resounding success the previous year. Charlie Weasley took it especially hard, but all were reassured by the words of Bill, who reminded everyone the same squad was returning next year and they had only lost their two games by a margin of 100 points. Despite the disappointing season Skye Parkin and Charlie remained two of the brightest young stars in Hogwarts.

Exams were formally concluded by the second week in June and to celebrate their marks among other things Bill also suggested they celebrate at the Three Broomsticks during the last visit to Hogsmeade. With a not so subtle wink he also made plans to invite everyone involved with the latest vault, signaling their latest triumph.

Though still mentally a bit fatigued, David thought the idea was a good one and supposed if there was any time to kick back and relax it was now. The map of the forest and the broken arrow were safely locked away in his trunk, and despite feeling like he was still far from finding Jacob, he was content for now that the boggarts had disappeared and Hogwarts returned to normalcy. Besides, he had a feeling a proper discussion regarding the latest vault was imminent at the Three Broomsticks.

All the same, it wasn’t a proper school year without one last confrontation with Merula Snyde.

It was a bright, sunny day, the kind that reinvigorates the bones and the soul when the weather turns warm in the highlands of Scotland. Happy to forgo the black robes of his uniform, he dressed himself in a white t shirt, red zip up jacket, blue jeans, and a pair of black vans he was quite fond of from a muggle company called ‘vans’ (he saw the advertisement on a commercial street in London and convinced his mother the value of such a purchase). Glancing one last time at the trunk he kept his things in he muttered to himself.

“Two vaults down. I wish finding you was simpler Jacob, we could be a family again if you just came back...why...why don’t you come back?”

Feeling a rare moment of tears surging through, David wiped them and buried the feelings just as he always did. He did not want to lose face in front of his friends nor indicate anything was wrong. A butterbeer and a few jokes would be enough to keep the pain at bay for at least a little while.

He left Gryffindor Tower which by now was largely devoid of anyone given it was a sunny day, exams were done, and most people were out and about. It was only when he reached the edge of the Great Hall that the Slytherin girl stepped out from the shadows.

“Grant.”

“Good Lord, we need to put a bell on you,” he quipped.

But Merula wasn’t laughing, though she almost never smiled (unless it there was malicious intent) this time there was a hard, stony faced expression that betrayed both frustration and deep seated anger.

“I know you found that vault and I know you broke that boggart curse,” she told him quietly.

“Good job, detective. Do you want a medal for special services for the school?”

It was quite remarkable how easy it was to get underneath her skin, but for once David didn’t have the energy to spend going back and forth with her. He was tired and in no mood to pull out his wand and duel her for the umpteenth time.

By the same token, he was prepared to all the same.

“I hope you enjoy your little victory with your pathetic friends. Savor it while you can,” Merula sneered at him.

“I will, thank you,” he responded coolly. “Can’t say the same for you though.”

The teenage Slytherin’s scowl morphed into a snarl as her fists clenched but she did not reach for her wand.

“Why?” she spoke through the clenched teeth. “Why do you always do this?!”

“You’re going to have to be more specific. I do a lot of things.”

“This!” Merula gestured wildly with her hands. “Every time we fight or battle you just respond with stupid wisecracks! And on top of that you always win!!”

David recognized straight away that this was not a typical tantrum from his long standing rival. Rather it was a plea, a desperate attempt to justify why things had gone the way they had. An answer for all of her failures.

“Merula, you’re looking at this the wrong way,” came his straightforward reply.

“And how should I be looking at it?” she snarled.

“I’m not going into these vaults so I can become rich or hold myself above everyone else...I’m doing it for my brother and for the friends who have my back.”

“I had friends!” Merula shot back. “Until you bloody well took Tulip and Barnaby from me!”

“I took no one from you,” David replied more forcefully. “They chose to join my side because you treated them like rubbish and didn’t feel like taking your orders anymore.”

But Merula refused to heed him.

“It’s your fault! Everything bad that’s happened to me is your fault!”

“Classic Merula Snyde,” the Gryffindor said with an angry sigh. “Can dish it out but can’t take it. Have you ever once thought that you might be wrong? Are you capable of caring about anything except yourself?”

“I-I...you-”

“You don’t know what a friend is because you’ve never had one,” he interrupted her. “I doubt you’ve ever cared to either.“

“Don’t pretend to know me, Grant!” Merula shouted. “There is nothing about my life you could possibly understand!”

“Maybe not, but I do know one thing: if you keep on doing the same thing over and over again expect the same results. And if attacking, insulting, and lying to me hasn’t worked thus far, you may want to consider that the source of your misfortune originates with yourself and not with me.”

For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, David Grant had left Merula Snyde speechless. No comeback, taunt, or rejoinder came from her mouth. Instead, it was sealed shut in a tight line and once more he could see that same hurt in her eyes. The soft lavender tortured by pain and anguish. Temptation to express sympathy became suddenly apparent but that emotion was pushed back. How were you supposed to feel sorry for someone who tried to make your life miserable just because of their own hubris?

She’s right, I don’t understand. I don’t think I ever will.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some people waiting for me at the Three Broomsticks. See ya next year.”

As he moved past Merula, he was prepared to engage her again if she attacked. But this time retaliation was absent as the Slytherin stood stock still, posture unchanging.

Taking the staircase down to the grounds, David wondered how long it would be before she moved again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thankfully, the Three Broomsticks was a much noisier but merrier environment and sure enough the entirety of his friends were there- Bill, Penny, Rowan, Ben, Tulip, Tonks, and Barnaby sitting at one of the corner booths. All were partaking in a round of butterbeer and to his pleasant surprise there was a full mug of it untaken as though it were waiting for him.

“Dave! You made it!” Rowan exclaimed. “What took you so long?”

“Had another run in with Merula,” he said frankly.

That caused the entire table to give pause.

“Did you have to-”

“Strangely enough she didn’t attack me this time,” he answered Ben straight away. “It was more like yelling and flailing angrily.”

Bill shrugged, edging the glass mug towards him.

“Well no need to worry about her now. Have a butterbeer. Madam Rosmerta said it was on the house.”

“Cheers, mate!” he thanked, raising his glass and taking a sweet sip.

“I propose a toast,” Tulip declared, raising her own glass. “All hail the conquering cursebreaker! Long may he reign!”

“Here, here!” the rest of the group shouted out.

David was genuinely touched.

“Thank you, all. I couldn’t have done it without any of you….though you might want to be careful where you say that. ‘Officially’ we weren’t anywhere near the vault, remember?”

“Nah don’t worry about that,” Tulip told him. “I’ve heard Pince was so embarrassed about the situation she hasn’t said a peep. Not even to Dumbledore.”

“The Professors aren’t dumb, they know that someone broke the curse on the vault since most of the boggarts vanished. I heard Professor Snape was on the warpath at the latest Prefect’s meeting,” Bill informed them.

“He is,” Barnaby confirmed taking a long swig. “Merula told him about Madam Pince, the Restricted Section, and the Cursed Vault.” A proud grin stretched across his face. “She forgot to mention the part where I defeated her and Ismelda.”

“So if he knows why isn’t he hauling my ass into his office right now tearing me a new one?” David asked.

“It’s like what Tulip said,” Tonks replied. “Pince is too embarrassed to admit what happened. Didn’t stop her from giving me detention through next year though.”

“There’s no proof,” Ben agreed. “Even I’m not worried.”

“Thought I think getting detention into next year might be a new Hogwarts milestone,” David said chuckling and raising his glass towards his pink haired friend. “Congrats.”

“That dungbomb was all for you, Dave. It was also totally worth it.”

“Feels good to get off scot free,” Tulip agreed. “Well almost all of us, anyway. I don’t want to say it was all due to my brilliant plan but…”

“What did you find in the vault, David?” Penny asked eagerly. It was a question she had clearly been dying to ask.

“We found a map of the Forbidden Forest and a broken arrow. So more clues just as it was last time.”

“I’d wager all my galleons and gobstone set that the next vault is in the Forbidden Forest. It won’t be like this year where we had to spend an enormous amount of time just figuring out where the location was. I know I’ll be reading about it all summer,” Rowan chimed in.

“You mentioned in our last private chat that the map had the letter ‘R’ in the top left corner,” Bill said. “Do you have any theories on that?”

David’s eyes scanned the table before lingering on Ben.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing….”

If his gaze was accusatory it was unintentional but it had the added effect of everyone else doing the same thing which unnerved the muggle born Gryffindor.

“Why is everyone looking at me?”

He has no idea. He can’t even remember David thought to himself.

“Ben...I don’t know how to explain this because you couldn’t remember anything...but last year we found a letter on your person addressed to me signed from someone named ‘R’.”

“We think they are possibly related given the circumstances,” Rowan added. “But it’s a suspicious part of this whole mystery. Surely you remember something, right?”

“But I don’t!” Ben protested. “I don’t know what happened. One moment I’m on the train looking for you guys and the next thing I remember was waking up in a huge block of ice freezing to death. You believe me, right Dave?”

There was no lie in the boy’s eye. Someone like Ben was practically incapable of harming or hurting another human being and he’d come quite a ways from the frightened first year he once was.

“I do, Ben. Don’t worry, we’re not accusing you of anything. Just trying to connect the small amount of clues we have.”

Ben smiled in appreciation but that was not the end of the topic.

“I hope you aren’t lying to protect us. We can’t help each other unless we know what’s going on,” Rowan said, a harshness to his tone that wasn’t usually there.

Ben’s reply was honest but somewhat cool as he looked Rowan straight in the eye.

“I’m not lying to protect you, I promise.”

Sensing some tension Bill quickly interjected with a positive smile.

“Let’s worry about mystery maps and unexplained memory loss for another day. We’re here to celebrate together and that’s what counts. Now how bout some more butterbeer?”

And so they did, talking, laughing, rejoicing, talking about many subjects. Of particular interest was Penny and Rowan’s regalement of their role in distracting Pince, which took on a whole new dimension when Tonks set off the dungbomb too close for comfort (“It took so long to get the smell out of my braids!” the blonde remarked). Also of note was the fact that the Slytherin Quidditch team celebrated their victory by pulling a prank on top of the Astronomy Tower: hanging a pair of knickers which no one knew how they managed to pull off (“I could have done way better!” Tonks claimed). All in all, it was the perfect end of the year party.

After what seemed like hours and into the mid afternoon, Hagrid made an unexpected but welcome appearance.

“Arigh’ there David?” he boomed coming up to the table. “Celebratin’ with one last butterbeer before yeh all go home fer the holidays?”

“Right you are, Hagrid! Come on, pull up a chair. Join us.”

“I’d love teh, but I was actually sent ter give yeh a message.”

David cocked an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

“Professor Dumbledore wants teh see yeh in his office,” the large gameskeeper replied looking a bit sheepish.

The group immediately went silent as they all gave looks of concern that all indicated the obvious question: did Dumbledore, even in his absence, know all along?

“If it makes yeh feel better, Dave the boggarts are almost all gone,” Hagrid tried to reassure him upon witnessing his distress.

“Thank you. But I best not keep him waiting.”

He reluctantly drained his glass, gave a goodbye to his friends and prepared to face the music.

Maybe Tonks will have a detention buddy next year

He didn’t want to think about a possible worst outcome.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Surprisingly, the password to Dumbledore’s office was the same as it was the previous year ‘lemon drop’ which made David wonder if it was an unintentional design flaw or genius due to the fact that most young witches and wizards had no idea what a lemon drop was. Either way, he didn’t think the upcoming conversation was going to be about muggle sweets as he stepped past the gargoyle and up the rotating stairs.

Unlike the last instance in which he’d been inside this office, the outline and appearance was not as wondrous a second time though the layout was still quite impressive. And on this occasion, Dumbledore didn’t waste any time delving into the matter.

“Ah, Mr. Grant. Please come forward.”

David did so, quite afraid that the Headmaster was not going to be so forgiving and direct him to pack his bags, his wand to be snapped in two. The warning at the beginning of the year echoed loudly in his head. However, whatever the old man was feeling he gave no indication as the bearded face and sparkling blue eyes remained passively neutral.

“This has become something of a tradition,” Dumbledore began. “Our annual opportunity to discuss life, love, endless heroics, and egregious misbehavior.”

“It seems so, sir.”

He was almost tempted to give up right then and there but if there was one thing he’d learned about Dumbledore in his time at Hogwarts it was to expect the unexpected. Therefore he decided to say little for now.

“I understand much transpired in my two week absence.”

“Yes, Professor. More than you could imagine.”

“Even the wildest imaginations could not have come up with the tales retold to me,” Dumbledore said, that familiar twinkle returning to his eye. “Dragons in the common rooms, mummies in closets, werewolves in greenhouses, and Voldemort himself lurking in every cupboard.”

You have no idea

“There was more than one report that even I made an appearance in boggart form.”

“I’m surprised people would be afraid of you sir….by the way does this mean the boggarts are all gone?”

A knowing look passed over Dumbledore’s features.

“I believe you have already made the observation for yourself, David. However, yes most of them are gone. It is important to note, however, that boggarts can never truly be banished because they are born of human emotion. Fortunately they can be of some use. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes can practice ‘Ridikkulus’ on the remaining ones for years to come.”

There was a slight pause in which the old man put something away into his magnificent desk.

“But I’m sure that’s nothing compared to what you faced in this latest vault. Please, tell me everything.”

So he did know. David supposed there wasn’t any use in playing dumb anymore as almost nothing got by the Headmaster in the first place. Yet, it was still amazing to him that he was able to glean his transgressions regardless.

“Sir, I-”

“There is no need to lie, David in case you were thinking of doing so. You are not in trouble for the time being. Please be honest.”

Reassuring enough

The third year Gryffindor acquiesced. Though he left out the details of some parts such as Tulip’s plan, his brother’s room, and the full extent of Bill’s involvement, he was truthful to the letter about what horrors lay inside and the fact that his boggart was You Know Who. Upon finishing his tale Dumbledore took a moment to muse before responding.

“This is all quite fascinating. It seems as though someone else tampered with the vaults which released the multitudes of boggarts.”

“Yes, sir. Originally, I did try to do as you asked at the beginning of the year.”

“And do you know the reason why your boggart takes the form of Lord Voldemort?”

Resisting the urge to shudder at the name, David debated on how to properly answer. Though he gave Tulip a truthful answer before, it was not the full truth, one that had only just come to bear by virtue of entering the vault.

“It’s not You Know Who himself. It’s more what he represents.”

“And what does he represent to you?”

Dumbledore’s eyes were piercing over his half moon spectacles but they were also gentle and understanding giving his pupil ample time to respond. When David did finally answer, it was difficult to get the words out.

“Guilt,” he said with tremendous effort. “Guilt over Jacob and why he left. The rumors after his disappearance about joining You Know Who were constant. If you want a reason why I went after the vaults again that’s the main one. To try and find him...I heard his voice speaking to me in the vault again...”

He couldn’t continue but there was no need to say more as Dumbledore nodded empathetically.

“Naturally. And if I had such information I would certainly share it. However, the mystery of Jacob Grant remains. While I cannot speak to his location I can speak to my personal theory that he yet lives...your bond is proof of that.”

David nodded in return but he was unable to discuss his brother any longer. Switching gears, there was a question he had for Dumbledore as well.

“Professor, you’ve gone at certain points in each of the past two years. Where exactly have you been?”

“Ah yes, I believe it is my turn to answer some questions,” the old man said with good humor. “I take it you’ve heard the wild rumors.”

“Almost every single one.”

“Then you must have discerned I was not in France to discern the magical properties of champagne though it is rather tasty I must say,” Dumbledore chuckled. “No, I have been seeking the world’s finest curse breaker. One who has had intimate experience with the cursed vaults. An exceptional pupil of mine back when my beard was shorter and browner.”

“Who is she?” David couldn’t help but ask.

“A woman by the name of Patricia Rakepick. At present she is currently exploring recently discovered ruins under the Brazilian wizarding school Castelobruxo.”

Familiarity with that name rang through the teen’s head.

“Rakepick...I know that name. I gave Bill a book about her adventures in cursebreaking. I had no idea.”

“Indeed, she is considered one of the magical community’s premiere experts on the subject. When the next year begins, she will be at Hogwarts to assist us with these vaults. I am most interested in hearing her opinion of them and of you.”

Dumbledore’s face then turned stern but the blue eyes did not lose all of its twinkle.

“You have directly disobeyed me, yet you have also once again broken a curse that threatened the livelihood and safety of everyone here. I am running out of excuses for you, David. If you repeat this offense again with a professional on staff, I will not be able to insulate you from further punishment.”

This was the Headmaster at his most serious and despite his general easy going demeanor it was not lost on David that this was also the only man You Know Who ever feared. It would not do to openly argue.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

Dumbledore gestured towards his left, indicating a bright red and yellow bird, sitting on a perch in all its splendor.

“Actions are far better than apologies. Take Fawkes for example. From time to time the Phoenix is reborn- fresh and rejuvenated. You have that power too. Take the summer, and when you return to Hogwarts, start fresh.”

David nodded emphatically taking in the beauty of the Phoenix.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

The old man’s faithful smile was back again.

“In the meantime, take one hundred points for Gryffindor. I daresay that might take the sting out of losing the Quidditch Cup this year.”

“You don’t know the half of...I mean, thank you, Professor.”

Dumbledore laughed heartily.

“I can always count on a whimsical remark from you in our conversations, David. However, there is one more thing I wish to tell you. Though the Vault of Fear has been broken it’s legacy remains ever present in our lives. Fear causes human beings to act in ways they would not normally, and though the Voldemort you fought was only a boggart, the real Dark Lord used the exact same method to gain followers and seize power. Remember that it is only by confronting our worst nightmares that we rise above them and truly become better people. No doubt that is one of many lessons you’ve taken this year.”

The wisdom was not lost on the young Gryffindor. He did not need to be afraid of Jacob or him joining You Know Who. The only method now was to move forward in continuing the search for his lost brother.

“Yes, sir.”

Feeling he was dismissed, David turned to leave but not before one last telling remark from the Headmaster.

“David, my last bit of wisdom was not aimed solely for you alone. There are many other students who could stand to start fresh next year. Including one miss Merula Snyde.”

He didn’t respond to that and didn’t need to. The implication was clear enough. Everyone was going to go through some changes in the coming months. What kind had still yet to be determined.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dumbledore’s last second gesture allowed the Gryffindors to eek by the Slytherins for the House Cup, which did not sit well with the snakes, however given that it was the end of the year, it was too late to do much about it. The party in the tower the night before graduation was legendary. So much so that Angelica Cole even drunkenly admitted how much she cared for and would miss him.

“You’ll be a great prefect,” she slurred, firewhiskey in hand.

David wasn’t overly concerned with that. The naming of prefects for his peer group was still another year away and he knew that Rowan or Charlie were the most likely candidates anyway. At the forefront of his mind was the long summer ahead, a time of relaxation and fun for most people, but for the Grant family there would be little to no vacations. His father would stay stoically silent, his mother constantly hen pecking...only his grandfather seemed to truly sympathize with him.

I reap the consequences of Jacob’s absence, he thought to himself at one point. Mum and Dad are incapable of seeing that

Still, he was able to enjoy the train ride home with his friends, which was a small consolation for the isolated, controlled environment he could expect upon his return to Bath. He scanned the prophet for any signs of beat writers catching wind of the boggart problem at Hogwarts but saw nothing, not even from the notorious Rita Skeeter. Breathing a sigh of relief, he supposed that unless Dumbledore lettered his parents, they would never know he had disobeyed them as well.

“Are you okay, David?” Rowan asked.

He tossed aside the newspaper and rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah sorry, mate. Was just finishing up checking the Quidditch scores.”

“Seems like something else is on your mind, though.”

His best friend knew him better than most people, so he supposed it was fitting he’d realize not everything was settled inside (least of which the eggs and bacon he consumed that morning).

“This year was the most interesting one yet,” he said aloud as he looked out the window. “And yet I feel next year will be even more so. My gut tells me a lot is going to change.”

“It may,” Rowan acknowledged. “But it may not be all bad. You’ll see.”

David turned around and observed the group in front of him- Ben, Charlie, Tulip, and Penny, his hazel blue eyes dilating slightly at the two girls, noticing just how pretty they looked.

“Yeah...maybe you’re right.”

“Besides if there’s one thing I can count on it’s cursebreaking adventures with my best friend.”

David clapped an appreciative hand on Rowan’s shoulder, warmth rushing through his heart.

“Thanks, mate...you’re just interested in reading about the Forbidden Forest this summer aren’t you?”

Rowan laughed at the joke.

“You caught me. Now come on, let’s go play some exploding snap.”

And so they did, and David was able to enjoy the last few sunny hours on the train. All the while he was able to heed the lesson this latest vault had taught him. It did no good to live in fear, especially when you had friends to count on.

But as it was every year, the ride back to Platform nine and three quarters was always quicker than the journey from there. Soon, everyone was unloading their luggage, saying hello to their families against the backdrop of the sunkissed day and over the roar of the hissing steam emanating from the train.

“Another vault down, another one to go,” Bill told him with a grin, shaking his hand. “Can’t wait to do this again next year.”

“As always, Bill. And who knows maybe we can finally get Charlie involved.”

“If you manage to get him away from dragons and Quidditch you might have a shot,” the elder Weasley laughed. “My folks are waiting in the parking lot, but make no mistake mum is very keen to meet you. We have to invite you for Christmas some time.”

“I’d be honored.”

Next was Tulip who had that ever present mischievous smirk but it was much softer in the presence of a farewell.

“Take care, David Grant. You’re a very intriguing person, and I can safely say I’m very glad I met you.”

“I could say the same about you, Tulip,” he responded genuinely. “Nothing we did this year would have happened without you.”

The eccentric Ravenclaw responded with something quite unexpected. She kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand once more.

“You’re many things, David Grant. Boring least of all, but most of all a good person. Can’t wait to make more mischief in the fall.”

She winked at him and ran off to join two people, which looked like her parents, one was a stern looking Japanese man with a bowler hat, the other an Irish woman with flowing red hair who also gave no visible emotion on her face. David felt a pang of empathy go through him. His parents may be strict, but he could only imagine what Tulip went through during the summer. He made a point of reference to write to her. Something told they’d both need it.

After exchanging goodbyes with Rowan and Ben, Penny was the last to see him off.

“Summer always seems dreadfully long even if it is my favorite time of year,” Penny told him. “Feel free to write me any time.”

“You know I will,” David said with a smile. “I’ll need all the post I can get.”

The blonde girl rubbed his arm encouragingly.

“It’s not forever, Dave. We’ll see each other again before you know it. Enjoy the holiday with your family!”

David supposed she didn’t know the true origins of his post semester blues, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her it was his family that was precisely the problem.

“I will, Penny. Thank you.”

For the second time in as many instances, he received a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, causing him to go red and touch the spot where he received the affectionate gesture, which made Penny giggle.

“See you next year, cursebreaker of Hogwarts.”

The last thing David had expected was two kisses on the cheek from two of his best female friends and it made him feel quite funny on the inside.

He had little time to dwell on these feelings however as his parents came into view a brown haired man with a goatee and a short blonde woman, waving and walking towards him.

“David!” his mom gushed, giving him an enormous hug. “So glad to see you safe and well. How are you? Did your exams go well?”

“Now, now let him breathe Heather,” his dad said with a light chuckle. “He just got off the train.” He ruffled his son’s dark brown hair in a show of affection. “It is good to see you safe and well, David.”

“Do you have your things unloaded and ready to go? Are you hungry?”

“Don’t worry, mum. I’m all set,” he said quickly to reassure her. Not even a minute in he was already tired of her smothering.

“Very good then, can’t blame a mother for asking.”

“I rented out a ‘Chevro’ something,” his father mentioned to him as they began to walk away from the platform. “Yank automobile. Runs pretty well, I know we can apparate but I’m thinking of buying one for myself. Dead useful these things.”

“John, please keep your voice down lest the entirety of muggle London know what we are.”

“Apologies, dear.”

His mother turned to face him and beamed a great smile but as it was since his brother disappeared there was a subtle sadness and anxiety within them.

“I have good news. We’re going to visit my side of the family this summer at their house for a get together. My brother is having another baby soon. I hope you’re ready for it.”

David thought back to his friends, his Professors, Dumbledore, the map, the broken arrow and the lively face of Jacob whispering to never give up. He looked up at his parents, two people whose lives were still run by fear...fear of losing him.

“Yes,” he replied. “I am.”

[detectivejigsawpines]

Six Times

Part 2 of the Flipside AU: in which Ford has a bad dream, and then he and Stan have a belated but necessary talk.

Warning: this is going to be a dark short, because Stan is a very unhappy puppy.  Contains references to depression and attempted suicide, as well as kind of seventies-era opinions on mental health and therapy.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

BOOM

Ford’s eyes flew open, and he was quickly reminded that the stereotype of “waking up in a cold sweat” after a nightmare was, in some circumstances, remarkably true.

It was the sixth time in two weeks that this nightmare had manifested in full, as opposed to the numerous fragments of it that kept appearing in his dreams.

It took two minutes for his heart to calm itself down; even then, he could still feel it racing a little as he finally grabbed his glasses, got out of bed and padded down to his brother’s room.

Stan was still very deeply asleep, despite having lost most of his blankets.  His arms and legs were completely stretched out, and faint traces of drool hung around his mouth.  Ford reached out and shook one of the bedposts, having learned the hard way that shaking his brother could result in injury.

Within seconds Stan’s eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright-a knee-jerk response learned from far too much time spent behind bars.

“Wha-Sixer?  What is it?”

“How many times?”

Stan gave him a look of groggy confusion.

“Um…”

“You said ‘a few.’  How many is ‘a few’?”  Ford’s hands had clenched into trembling fists.

“Uh, Ford, I think you’re sleepwalking or something-you’re not makin’ any sense-”

“Scars, Stanley!”  Had he been less emotional, Ford might have realized that his question had been somewhat cryptic.  But at the moment, he was very emotional, and so the words came out in an irritable snarl.  “You said that a few of your scars were made by you! How. Many?!”

Slowly Stan shifted until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyebrows scrunching together as the question sank in.

“You woke me up at-” he squinted at the clock- “two in the morning ta ask me that?”

Ford folded his arms and glowered down at him; his fingers tapped against his arm in his agitation.

“...Did you have a nightmare or something?”

A tiny bit of his wrath dissipated at the sympathy in Stan’s voice, and self-consciousness crept into its place, reminding him that he was no longer a small child who should need to wake people up to comfort him after nightmares.  On the other hand, he’d read that bottling up emotions was just as bad for you as not taking care of physical injuries, and he probably wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight without some reassurance regarding his brother’s emotional state.  So he muttered, staring down at the carpet, “...Yeah.”

Stan sighed, and patted part of the bed next to him in silent invitation.

Ford sank down onto it, letting his hands drop into the space between his knees.  “It was about Bill. About how you made him leave us alone. I’ve dreamed about it a few times since it happened and...”  He shivered. “Mostly...what I remember is the sound.” He mimed putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. “The clicking.  But sometimes...it literally ends with a bang instead.”

Stan shivered.  “Geez.”

“Yeah.”

For a moment they sat still, with their shoulders pressed together.  Then Ford asked again, “How many times did you...hurt yourself?”

Stan gave him an annoyed look.  “Why’s this so important all of a sudden?”

“Because I-” Ford swallowed.  “I want to be able to...potentially prevent it.  If needed. I don’t want it to happen again.”

Stan’s annoyance dissipated as quickly as it had come.  “It won’t.” He leaned against Ford a little more. “I’m fine now.”

Ford was not appeased, but he stayed quiet, deciding to stop pushing and see if his twin would open up on his own.

****

At last Stan said, probably wanting to spare his brother the unhappy details but realizing it was the only way to give him peace of mind, “At first...I was too mad to feel anything else.  Mad at you, mad at myself, mad at Pa-and I wanted to show you all that I could make that fortune, all by myself, and prove that I wasn’t as worthless as you thought. Stubborn, y’know. Even after I got banned from Jersey, I still thought I could do it somehow.”

He let out a sardonic laugh.  For the moment Ford resisted the urge to immediately jump in and tell him that he wasn’t worthless and he’d never felt that way about him.

“And then I got chased out of my third state...and that’s when I got really low.”  Stan looked down, but he could still make out the sadness in his eyes. “I began to see that I was probably never gonna make millions the way I was going...and I couldn’t do anything else because I didn’t have any other skills.”  He swallowed. “Maybe this’d be easier if ya just made me wear the truth teeth.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to do that to you again.”

Stan grimaced.  “Instead ya wanna make me choose ta drag all of this out on my own.  Thanks a lot.”

There was no real heat in it, so Ford didn’t take offense.

After a minute Stan went on, “First time...I don’t remember it that well.  I think I was drunk, and depressed. And I just…” He looked down at his arm.  “Yeah.”

Ford reached out, brushed his fingers over the scars he could see there.  They looked like they’d been made with a piece of broken glass, he thought, and some of them trailed dangerously close to the inside of his brother’s wrist.  He swallowed hard.

“Someone who was passing by stopped me before it got too bad, and seeing what I’d done ta myself sobered me up pretty quick.  I think he tried ta take me to a hospital, but I just yelled ‘Non-specific excuse!’ and stumbled away into the night until I found my car.”  Stan shivered. “I didn’t know much, but I knew I didn’t wanna end up in there if I could avoid it.”

Ford shivered too; from what he knew about hospitals and how they treated suicidal cases, that was probably for the best.

“I began feeling like that...on and off.  Felt like...the world would be better off without me in it.  But there’s only about six more times I can remember where it got bad enough that I actually tried to...you know.  Mostly I just lost myself in doin’ my thing. Suckering people outta their money and stuff, and drowning my sorrows when it got ta be too much.  Trying not to think about...how I was just provin’ Pa right.” He wrapped his arms around himself, clearly uncomfortable with how much he’d revealed.

Ford wanted to take the hint and put an end to the discussion, but he had one more question.  “Were there actually bullets in the gun?”

****

A full tremor went through Stan’s body.

At last he whispered, so softly that Ford could barely hear it, “...Would it make you feel better if I said no?”

“Stanley!”  Ford hadn’t meant to raise his voice; it happened all on its own.

“What was I supposed to do?!  Let him use you for whatever it was he was planning?  I wasn’t gonna do that as long as there was another option!”

“Yes, but-”

“It’s not like I wanted to die.  I was betting that he was gonna give up when he saw that he’d lose his pawn if he didn’t.”  Stan let out a shaky breath. “But if the choice was me or you...you’d win every time.”

Ford’s throat was so tight he couldn’t speak.  After a second, he just wrapped both arms around Stan’s middle, burrowing into his shoulder.  He felt Stan’s arms around his shoulders, one of them ruffling his hair.

“It’s okay,” his brother whispered.  “I’m right here, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”  The ‘now that I’ve got a reason to stay’ hung unspoken between them.

“...If you start feeling like hurting yourself again, come and tell me, please.”

Stan stiffened.  “I ain’t gonna visit any shrinks, Poindexter.”

“I’m not suggesting that unless it turns out you really need it.  Just...”

If nothing else, I want to be able to sleep at night knowing you’re not going to suddenly decide to kill yourself.

After a long pause, he felt Stan nod.

“Kay.”

Eventually Ford felt secure enough to let go of his brother.  He was not, however, secure enough to go back to his room...but wasn’t sure how to ask without making it weird.

Stan, however, seemed to read his emotions, just like old times.

“Sleepover?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

Ford blushed.  “Don’t make it weird, Stanley.”

Stan grinned, and lay back down, scooting over until there was room for Ford to stretch out next to him and pull the covers up around both of them.  It was a little snug, but right now that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Night, Sixer.”

“Night, Stanley.”

****

Is the ending a little cliche?

Maybe.

Do I regret it?

Not even a little.

It’s probably not the last time they have to have a sleepover, either.

[jamiebluewind]

Why I'm So Good At Angst

Why The Latest Episode Of Fantasy High Effected Me So Much

I got pretty emotional after the last episode and when combined with recovering from bronchitis... it wasn't a fun night. I decided to write down a bit of my history to help and then I decided to post it because... well who knows? I just felt like it. Let me make it clear; I am okay. I am going to therapy. I moved 1300 miles away from these people. Most of this was years ago. There is NO reason to treat me differently because of this. But it's dark and PTSD is a bitch sometimes. So here are the crib notes on why I'm so good at writing angst. Trigger warnings abound.

Tw: child abuse, neglect, starvation, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, insults, controling, isolation, sexism, racism, homophobia, biphobia, gross imagery, sickness, mention of surgery without consent, dark themes, blood mention, rape mention, death mention, suicide survival mention, animal abuse mention, very minor spider mention (tell me if I missed any!)

Let's start at the beginning. I was born a "mistake". My mother wanted a kid, so she went off birth control and got pregnant. They were late 20/early 30s, VERY broke, not equipped to have a child, he didn't want more kids (he already had 3 from his first marriage), and they were about to break up. Instead they got married so I wouldn't be a "bastard". Turns out, that is a bad foundation for a marriage.

They were expecting a boy when I came out. The doctor said my heartbeat was so strong that I had to be a boy, so they didn't have a name picked out. Thus James became Jamie and my parents became disappointed.

I was mildly intersex so the doctors "fixed" me, but I didn't find out for years. What I did find out was how much money I cost and what a burden I was on my family with shocking regularity. Also, nobody told my mother that babies aren't cute little bundles that you can use to get more attention. They cry, poop, eat, and repeat and they need constant care. So, I started out with the cards stacked against me.

My mother was also... not the sharpest tool in the shed. Case in point, for about the first six months of my life, my mother gave me formula that I was allergic to. My dad (worked extra shifts and odd jobs to make ends meat) only found out when he was watching me when my mother went out of town. There was a substantial amount of blood in my diaper, he called my mother, a day or two later she finally called back to tell him it was normal, he got worried and took me to the doctor, and they told him I was allergic to whey protein.

Thankfully, my dad's parents lived next door. I stayed with them a LOT. Basically lived there. I would visit my parents, say hi, and then run back next door. Mamaw (dad's mother) kept me fed, never made me feel bad for how I saw the world, and was always willing to help. I had dyslexia and every night we would sit and drill my spelling words before she would sing me to sleep. Papaw (dad's father) was great too, but more of the playful one who taught me jokes and how to play poker.

Then Papaw got sick. First cancer and then Alzheimer's. I had to start staying at home a lot. I helped as much as I could. He lived a long life. I was there when he died. Death is not like it is in the movies.

In the meantime, I had school. It was tough, but I had Mamaw helping me and a friend. We hung out on the playground together for a year or two, but my parents found out and threw a fit that the teachers had "allowed" it to happen. Because he was black. Yes. They were also racist. So my friend and I were no longer allowed to be near each other. Mamaw found the whole thing stupid.

In 6th grade, I had a teacher that hated me. Long story short, long before I was born she and her husband owed my grandparents money and they were bitter over eventually having to pay it back. So she "lost" a lot of my homework and treated me like crap.

At the end of the year (after it was already over with), my mother took me out of school and told everyone that she was going to homeschool me. She did not.

Suddenly, I was my mother's maid. I waited on her hand and foot. I did the cleaning, she told my dad that she did it while I sat on my butt, and I would get in trouble for being lazy. She gave me an allowance and then took it back saying she needed it for bills (mind you while saying they were broke because of me). She told all my friends that the number I gave them was wrong and that I had moved away. She bought homeschool books and when I eventually got stuck on every subject, she told me just to forget it and that I could eventually get my GED. She never registered me, so on paper it just looked like I dropped out of school 2 weeks before the end of the 6th grade. Nobody ever checked on me.

I rarely left the house and my mother used me to con people out of money. I went hungry a lot. Sometimes she would give me food that I was allergic to which would make me sick. Sometimes she would make me eat rotten stuff (just imagine a cabbage stew that has been sitting in the fridge for weeks and has this waxy film on top and a sour smell ones you break through. I've eaten stuff like that because she said I wasn't allowed to waste food). I snuck food out under my clothes and kept what I could hidden in my room. We had a pantry full of food too, but she said I wasn't allowed to have any of it. Things like panties and bras weren't replaced as I grew and became so tight that I still have a dent around my waist and my chest. However, the shirts she bought for me were in her size (so she could borrow them), so they were just massive on me (she was a plus sized adult).

Still, I felt like a selfish brat for asking for even minor things, so I just... existed. I had a game system in my room that helped me escape. My older half brother moved in with his wife and kid and I babysat my nephew (for free) which was... something. A second nephew came along and the pair were a handful, but I did my best.

I snuck outside as much as I could. I would jump on my trampoline (before it broke). Play with a stray dog or cat. Observe a spider. I saw Mamaw (and Papaw before he died) as much as I could, but I hid what was going on at home. Mamaw was my escape, but then she moved out of her house and into a smaller house in town. That's when it got bad. Nobody was there to notice anymore, so my mother could get away with more. Dad worked too much to see.

I asked to go back to school when I was 12 or 13. My mother told me that they would hold me back three years so I would be in a class filled with children and she would get in trouble for me being lazy. It was my fault. She made me scared to go back. Later in my mid teens, she would tell me that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone what she'd done or she would go to jail, my dad would go to jail, and I would get put in an orphanage and raped every day. At the time, I was getting physical contact so rarely that it hurt when people touched me. I had a panic attack when a doctor told me to undress for an exam. So not only did I want to protect my parents from jail, the possibility of... that... it was enough for me to not only keep quiet, but actively try to keep what she was doing from getting out.

A lot of my teenage years are rather blurry (part due to monotony and part due to the food stuff). Mamaw had a stroke and I volunteered to take care of her (which I did). My mother used me to con people out of more money (unbeknownst to my dad). I got sick a lot and was often not taken to the doctor when I should have been. I waited on my mother. I took care of my mamaw a couple days a week. My mother started taking pills and gambling heavily. I was told later that she bragged to people about being able to do as she pleased as long as she got home before her husband because her daughter was at home doing chores. When I cleaned the toilet, I had to do it barehanded with a washcloth. I'm pretty sure she poisoned me a couple times. It wasn't fun. Did I mention that her favorite book was Flowers In The Attic by V. C. Andrews? She had a copy that was extremely well worn. *shivers*

At one point, I rescued a kitten from stray dogs and got my dad to let me keep him. I got a second kitten less than a year later who was so tiny she had to be bottle fed. Their names were Punkin and Hopee and I kept going because nobody else would take care of them if I was gone. I know my motger wouldn't because they weren't fed when I wasn't there. They are the reason that I fought to survive.

At 16, my mother took me to a urologist and told me that they were going to put me under to take a urine sample from my bladder. I woke up having had a surgery on my genitals to make them more feminine. Yes, I know how messed up that sounds. I had to go to a specialist when I got older for pain and get treatment for it. I'm mostly okay now, but that doesn't change the fact that it was objectively wrong. Please, if you take anything from this, remember that.

A week after my 18th birthday, my mother kicked my dad out. She wanted a divorce. She told me that she couldn't get in trouble for what she did anymore because I was an adult. The few weeks I was totally alone with her were really bad. She got a stereo, put it right next to my door, and blasted country music when I was trying to sleep. Made some excuse as to why it had to be there and that loud. We were in a well insulated house, so there was no one nearby to complain. I was so tired all the time and still had to wait on and cook for her. Til this day, I hate country music and I can sleep through most background noise.

I moved in with my dad. I had a lot of panic attacks. Some seizures. I was scared to be alone. Horded food. I was at one point sitting and wriggling because I had to pee and needed permission. I was a mess.

Dad and I were good for a while. I followed orders and kept the place clean. He insulted me some and was... honestly very harsh. He said he was preparing me for the world. He was nice most of the time though and so much better than my mother.

As time went on, the insults became more frequent. How much I looked like my mother. How I got all my bad traits from my mother. My voice could give people a headache. Useless. Dumbass. On and on. Nothing was off limits. He became so controlling. Taught me to drive, but my curfew was 8 or 9 pm. I had to save money and not waist it because I would need it later and buying anything small for myself was stupid (but he would buy random stuff all the time). In fact, everything I liked that he wasn't into was stupid and a waste of time and energy. He was better than my mother in so many ways. I never went hungry with him. He let me hug him sometimes. He would help me out with things. That was why it was so hard for me to see the verbal and emotional abuse and how much he was controling and gaslighting me. Every favor had a price. I was isolated. When I started going to college, the control became worse. The insults more rapid pace. I was beat down.

Then I met a guy whom I thought loved me. You know how it goes. He seemed better than my dad. Better than my mother. That was the best I deserved... right? He isolated me. He tried to get me away from my friends. He controled my money. He didn't take no for an answer. He used my bisexuality as something to guilt trip me over and like it was some grand thing for him to be as okay with it as he was. He made me feel like nobody else would be with somebody like me. It... wasn't good. I was with him seven years. Multiple break ups, but I always took him back. I survived two suicide attempts (OD for the first and called in before anything happened the second time after he had me go off my antidepressants). After the final breakup, we met up about the money that he owed me and he decided to not take no one more time and then blamed me for it. My best friend was on the phone with me afterward as he was texting me. My ex also said that it would make him happy if I never dated another man again. Then he sent me religious pamphlets. There's so much more, but he's not worth talking about.

I lived with my dad a year. I was broke and broken. I had my dog, my albino sand boa, and a few posessions. I didn't even have mamaw anymore (she had died a couple years prior). My ex threatened me. My dad just told me to ignore it, so I didn't pursue it legally. My dad limited the time I could be on my phone, gave me an 8pm curfew and a 10pm bedtime, and a door with no lock that I was to leave open unless I was changing clothes. He did nice things too like letting me stay with him and getting an old beat up PS3 from a pawn shop so I would have something to do, but he also insulted me constantly. I had made friends online and been friends with them for years (including my best friend mentioned before), but he said they weren't "real" friends and would ditch me the minute they had to be around me for any length of time because I was so annoying. I had too much wrong with me and nobody would put up with that shit. Just a string of insults. Dad even insulted how I laughed! It was hard to realize how bad it was due to the duality of it all.

Dad only "allowed" to date white cis men. He also said that if I ever had or adopted a non-white child, he wouldn't be able to accept it. I was chastised when I did things he considered not feminine and not "allowed" to do or talk about things in his presence that he was fine with my minor nephew doing and saying. He blew up if I mentioned anything LGBTQ+. He went nuclear when I got a tattoo to take back ownership of my body (my avatar), saying he thought I would back out and then said it made me that it was ugly and disgusting and no good man would want me now.

Through all of this, I couldn't even get support from the people in my hometown. It was a very religious area (almost infamously so). The locals considered me weird and "off". I was religious positive and supportive as long as it didn't hurt the individual, others, or society as a whole, but it wasn't for me. People were always trying to get me to go to church and praying for my soul. I was accused (more than once) of being possess by a demon that was blocking god from coming into my heart and slowly turning me half gay. Others tried to convince me that I was confusing apreciation for women with attraction and I couldn't prove that I wasn't straight (with the addition that all bisexual women were sluts and I wasn't one). There wasn't LGBTQ+ resources in town or out people to begin with (I only met two or three my entire life). I couldn't make friends. I was used a lot. Some people worried about having me around their kids. It was a stressful environment. I got pretty decent on arguing with strangers who wouldn't leave me alone (I seriously had someone screaming bible verses at me trying to save my soul while my dog was in emergency surgery so... yup). My only escape was my two best friends online and a few other awesome people I met the same way.

I moved into an apartment, but I was still isolated, alone, and touch starved. I broke my arm (oblique compound fracture of radius and ulna with a crack towards the distal end of my ulna) and my family was there for my dad because he had to take care of me. No hospital visits. I had to hire someone to clean my appartment (despite being broke) because they saw the mess as my fault as well as the injury. Dad dropped me off at home much sooner than I should have been left alone. But my two online best friends? Calling. Texting. Sending things to help. Checking on me often. One got on a plane and flew down to see me and do what they could with the day they had there. That's when I realized. They were my support system. They lived fairly close together. So, despite living in one small town my entire life, I packed up the moment I was able to and moved 1300 miles away to be near people who cared about me.

It wasn't easy. I had so many panic attacks. My one year old ESA cat Danny worked overtime. My dog passed away from kidney failure. My dad drilled it in my head that they would ditch me after a couple months because of how annoying I was and that I would either come back to [state] with my tail between my legs or in a body bag. I had to sell or give away everything that couldn't fit in my friend's small suv. It was hard, but I found a way to push through and do it. One of the last things I did was leave daisies for mamaw at places she liked when she was alive. I like to think she helped me have the strength to walk away.

I've lived here in my new home about 9 months now. I'm happy. I'm loved. I don't regret leaving a second. Sometimes PTSD will rear its ugly head like it did with the latest episode of Fantasy High. It's not something that I can control and honestly? The idea of being trapped after getting away and being stuck with my abuser again terrifies me. Seeing it happen to Adaine? It made me sick and I had an anxiety spike. I'm better today and I intend to eventually rewatch the episode to desensitize myself, but still, it was a lot for me. It's okay to not be okay sometimes and to need a break. It doesn't make me weak or bad or stupid. Another lesson for the person reading this I suppose. If it's not bad for me to ask for help orneed a break, then it's not bad for you either ^_^

I still have depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD, health problems, and food issues. I think I always will. But I'm finally allowed to be happy. I'm finally allowd to be myself. I'm finally allowed to let myself be cared for and loved. I'm getting help. Learning techniques. Started taking CBD along with my meds. I'm finally as okay as I've ever been in my life and it's amazing.

PS: Just as a side note, remember to use trigger warnings. Even if something doesn’t bother you or most people, doesn’t mean that it wont make someone else have a bad day. Sometimes all we need is a warning to mentally prepare ourselfs. Sometimes we just can’t handle something that day, but can another. So remeber to tag, even if something seems minor to you or canon complient. Your readers will sincerely apreciate it. ^_^

[minotaurman-ayjay]

Do not drink and drive

This post details the car accident that I survived.

It will be about how the accident occurred.

What happened to me (Injuries, Court).

What happened to the drunk driver (Prosecution)

and where I am, now.

TW: graphic details of car accident trauma, pictures of x-rays (when I get them). Details of out-of-body experience, and potential glimpse on the afterlife.

In 2015, I had just bought a brand new car, a black and gunmetal grey Volkswagen CC. I loved that car, and I was going to treat it like it was my baby. I bought the big, thick manual that details every part of the car so I can fix it myself if I ever need to.

I didn’t even have the car for more than 3 months.

I was at an intersection, about to go north (one way) on an entrance ramp to the highway. I saw these headlights coming toward me. I didn’t think anything of it at first until I remembered “Wait a minute, this is one way.” Before I could finish that thought, he had collided head-on with me. “Why didn’t you react earlier? You knew you were on a one-way street.” Let me tell you, even though you *know* you’re on a one-way street, to see headlights coming at you is confusing. It’s disorienting, and usually it’s way too late when you remember that YOU’RE the one going the right way, and this motherfucker is about to hit you.

He was in a huge pickup truck called a “dually”, it’s a pickup truck that has a set of two wheels in the back and has a hell of a lot of horsepower.

When he collided with me, his truck went over my car, nearly crushing me in the process. One of his tires was about 3 inches away from my face.

I was pinned under the dashboard, I had lost consciousness. I vaguely remember someone holding my hand and saying “It’s going to be okay. Just stay with me.“  I had an out-of-body experience, I saw myself getting extracted out of the car. I was pretty beat up, my face was scuffed up and bloody from the scrapes of the airbag hitting me. When I was pulled out of the car, my limbs were listless like noodles. I remember seeing my legs… My feet, in particular. Both of my ankles were dislocated, and my hip was dislocated and it looked like it was nearly coming out of my skin.

This is where my out-of-body experience ends. I briefly regained consciousness in the ambulance, I don’t remember if I had an exchange with the EMTs or anything like that, because soon I had fallen asleep again.

Then I remember waking up at this house that I had never seen before. There were people everywhere, music being blared, it looked like a party. I approached the door and my friend Evan, who had died several years before in an accident where he was killed by drunk driving, was at the door with is arms crossed.

I’ll never forget this shocked expression on his face as he asked me "What the hell are you doing here?” and I was like “What are you talking about? You invited me.” He scoffed “Like hell I did, man. Go back home. You’re not supposed to be here.” I thought he was just being an asshole, and we were always confrontational with each other… But it’s all in jest. I posted up to him and said “Fuckin make me, man.”, and then he shoved me.

The shove was so realistic, so jarring, so violent that I had fallen backwards— and then I woke up in the hospital, and according to my mother I was on my way to Radiology to get xrays when I came to. I don’t know if I caught a glimpse of some afterlife, or if I was dreaming, but it was very real. My mom knows that I almost died, and watched me fight for my life.

Anyway, they had to restrain me because the drugs that they had given me made me combative. I was taken to the hospital where my mom works, as it was the closest hospital to the accident scene. She was also on duty that day, and for her to see me like that *had* to have been traumatizing to her.

Apparently I continued to go in and out of consciousness, and when I finally came to for good, I was in the ICU.

The moment I woke up, I felt this whole body pain, like an elephant was sitting on me. Not just my chest, but my whole body felt crushed under this gigantic weight. It was so much pain that it literally felt like weight, like I had woken up on a different planet and the gravity was crushing me. I begged and begged and begged for pain relief, I couldn’t breathe. My mom put the morphine control in my hand and told me to press it. I clicked that thing probably 4 or 5 times. It probably only worked once, but by then I didn’t care. I was so divided from the pain that it didn’t matter anymore.

My mom told me what happened, and what my damage was.

1) I had brain damage and a severe concussion. I was monitored in the ICU for 3 days to make sure I didn’t have a brain bleed they couldn’t detect.  (I can’t remember the details of the brain damage). I had to relearn words, I had to relearn how to talk without stuttering or forgetting what I was saying mid-sentence, or having a word just disappear on me. This still happens from time to time.

2) My sternum had been displaced. Meaning it was fractured and pushed inward. Had my sternum been pushed in any further, I would have died. To this day, I still live with this. Because of this I cannot bind. I still cannot afford the surgery necessary to reposition my sternum.

3) My hip was so severely dislocated that it broke the acetabulum. This is the socket that cradles the ball joint in your hip. I still live with hip complications to this day. Because of this dislocation and the missing piece of acetabulum, I have degenerative osteoarthritis in my hip. I am a fall risk without a cane. I need a hip replacement, but surprise, I cannot afford the surgery.

4) Both of my ankles were dislocated and had bilatural fractures… Which means I had fractures on both sides of both ankles. One of the ankle bones was crushed beyond repair. I needed rods, plates, screws, and a bone graph. I still live with ankle complications to this day. Because of the surgeries and extensive injuries, I have degenerative osteoarthritis in my ankles. If I am to be on my feet or walking for more than an hour, I need to wear boots that are high topped to support my ankles. The drunk driver’s insurance was able to cover these surgery… However, as it became apparent over the years that I needed more surgeries and had more complications because of the MVA, it turned out that the drunk driver had changed auto insurance companies. Since America is the Greatest Country In The World™, health insurance providers DO NOT COVER INJURIES THAT ARE A RESULT FROM CAR ACCIDENTS. You have to go through the at-fault party’s Auto Insurance to get your bills paid. However, SOME health insurance companies WILL temporarily cover what is needed and will go after the at-fault party’s health insurance on your behalf.

But since this fucking shit smear changed insurance companies, I am absolutely fucked, and I can’t track him down to sue him.

5) I have damage to my eardrum. Luckily, it was not punctured by the force of the airbag hitting the right side of my face.

6) I have nerve damage in my knee (somehow? I don’t understand it, either) I can’t kneel on it. I either feel nothing (like the body part isn’t mine or something?) or excruciating pain when I try. There is no in between. Sometimes the nerve damage *itches like fuck*, but I cannot scratch it, as I will either feel nothing, or it will hurt.

7) I have nerve damage on the tops of my feet. I do not like it when my feet are touched. It causes electric shock feelings that travel to my ankle. It’s not pretty.

8) I have nerve damage in my face. I have Trigeminal Neuralgia that is secondary to trauma. Look at my “bloggy” tag to learn more about this.

9) I now have fibromyalgia. When it’s cold, or rainy, or if I’ve pushed myself too much, I will wake up the next morning feeling like I just came to in the ICU. Where I feel this full body pain that’s like an excruciating weight. Luckily, marijuana helps me with fibromyalgia and trigeminal neuralgia flare ups. I take a 2,000mg of gabapentin (spaced throughout the day) and 200mg of seroquil to manage them.

10) I have PTSD that is triggered by the smell of hot metal, the sound of circular saws, and by car accident scenes in movies. It took me forever to get over being gunshy in an intersection, and to even drive at all.

I was bedbound for 2 months, and wheelchair bound for 8 months. I was taking physical therapy and speech therapy for a year before my restitution to cover it had run out.

Needless to say, my quality of life had taken a drastic decline, compared to me pre-accident. Before the accident, I was in shape again. I was gaining muscle and I was close to meeting what I call my “healthy dad-bod” goals. I was going to go to police academy that year, but that was because I wanted to be an investigator for the Crimes Against Children Unit. I’ve had to reshape my future entirely. At the end of it all, my bills were $110,000. Luckily, I only had to pay $10,000 out of pocket, and that’s *LUCKILY*

So, what happened to the drunk driver?

The trial did not last long, he has been given 10 years probation (and straight to prison if he violates), mandatory rehabilitation, and to pay me restitution. Which had recently run out. I don’t know what has become of him, because as I said, I cannot track him down to sue him for my ongoing injuries.

If you are EVER considering driving while drunk, don’t fucking do it. Do not think you are invincible. Do not think it’s not going to happen to you. Do not think you’re not going to hurt someone. I don’t care if you are a “functioning alcoholic” or a “seasoned drinking veteran”, you WILL fuck up. This man that had hit me was 63 years old, and has probably been driving drunk for who knows how long. And once you DO fuck up, you are going to kill somebody. IF they DO manage to live through YOUR mistake, their life is changed *forever* and their quality of life will NEVER be the same again.

You are garbage the moment you sit in the driver’s side with booze in your blood.

[brainboys]

[TOM HOLLAND, CISMALE, HE/HIM] have you seen QUINN WRIGHT around sedona? QUINN is a UNIVERSITY STUDENT/PART-TIME PIZZA DELIVERY GUY, but they’re also THE ENCYCLOPEDIA in the sedona sleuths, so you’ve probably seen them around the firehouse shed. they’re known for being QUICK-WITTED and EARNEST, but they’re also known to be GULLIBLE and IMPULSIVE. when they’re not at the shed, i can usually find them at the PIZZERIA. i can always recognize them by their untied shoelaces, a carefully curated pokemon card collection, adept fingers pressing away on a nintendo, the rush of exhaustion after being late and misplaced optimism. 

biography, playlist, pinterest board & connections.

the encyclopedia:  The brains of the group, they know loads of random facts that come in handy in the tightest of situations. They’re also probably the one doing the background research when needed.

B A S I C S :

name: quinn wright. nickname:  quinn. age: twenty-two. date of birth: october 11th. place of birth: sedona, ka. gender: cismale. pronouns: he/him. sexuality: gay (not out).

P H Y S I C A L :

height: 173cm. build: slim. hair color: brown. eye color: brown. tattoos: none. piercings: none. preferred style of clothing: fashion is not a topic of interest to him,   so he tends to lean towards comfort over style.   he doesn’t go shopping for clothes often,   so he rotates between a few graphic t-shirts,   button-ups,   and light sweaters for the summer.   in winter,   he wears over-sized hoodies and sweatpants as often as he can get away with it.   he hopes people don’t notice,   but he only owns two pairs of jeans and slightly over-sized dress pants for emergencies. 

H E A L T H :

physical ailments: none. mental disorders: dyslexia,   combined ADHD & battling with depression.  smoker? no. drinker? socially. drug user? no. addictions: none. allergies: none.

P E R S O N A L I T Y :

zodiac signs: libra sun,   gemini moon. mbti: enfp-t, the campaigner. hogwarts house: gryffindor. positive traits:

quick-witted: quinn is known for being quick on his feet,  but that’s not only in a physical sense.    when someone pushes him against a corner,   whether it’s with a comment made to tease him or a new revelation during an investigation that throws them off,    he’s sharp with a silver tongue rapier and speedily familiarizes himself with information,   easily readjusting it into what he already has in a way that tends to get them out of difficult situations. 

earnest: this is a trait he had to learn,   for better or for worse.   it’s something he actively forces himself to be in order to get anything done.   since his mind tends to be scattered and he’s doing or thinking about doing five things at once,   and then something else,   he uses tactics he learned at therapy to focus on tasks he needs to get done and that includes having a lot of conviction for the things that other people can do with ease,   like sitting down for long enough to finish a rough draft of an essay without getting distracted for a whole day.   he applies this mostly to schoolwork and day-to-day necessities,   but when they’re working on a new mystery,   quinn sits himself down and does research on the background.   this is something he genuinely enjoys doing,   so he struggles less to focus on it. 

friendly: while he doesn’t stray away from the sleuths,   he has no problems making friends and talking to strangers outside of the group.   he can be shy with new people and prefers being around those who he already knows,   but if left alone at a party,   he’ll have a new friend group in ten minutes.

negative traits:

gullible: quinn really is this tiktok.   someone could tell him anything and he’d be like   ‘ ok yeah why not ’   even though it’s an obvious lie.   he takes everything at face value and rarely tries to see what’s behind people’s words.   people have told him to stop being so trusting towards others,   especially when they’re working on solving something,   but quinn really does the same shit over and over because it’s in his nature to just trust people and not think to question their intentions.  

impulsive: compliment him all you want about how smart he is,   the only reason he’s got so much knowledge inside of his brain is that he has no impulse control and if he suddenly has the thought that he needs to know something about how the future might look like with self-operated cars,   ways of murdering someone through poison,   the algorithm behind rubix cubes or literally any topic under and beyond the sun,   he’ll obsess over it for a few days.   quinn gets hyperfixations because of his ADHD and they range from videogames to wildly specific points in history. 

anxious: anxious counts as one of quinn’s primary moods,   and sometimes anxiety comes right in the middle of a perfectly normal day if anything goes slightly wrong,   like losing his favorite pen or realizing that he forgot to grab his lunch box before leaving the house that day.   since quinn tries really hard to keep a schedule,   he feels off whenever he forgets something on it and it brings down his whole mood.   in stressful situations,   quinn paces back and forth with anxiety,   whispering to himself and trying to catch up with his brain.   this usually means that he’s thinking really hard on finding a way to solve a situation,   though sometimes he’ll be so anxious that it impedes him from thinking straight.

love language: physical touch & words of affirmation.  hobbies: video games (lots of them), collecting pokemon cards, keeping up on scientific developments, researching the sleuth’s cases, running, murder mysteries and general mysteries, and whatever his new hyperfixation is. fears: not fitting in, failure, abandonment, needles.

B A C K G R O U N D ,   T D ; L R :

tw: mentions of cancer, death, and homophobia.

quinn basically grew up in queen’s pizzeria.    that’s where his mom worked when he was a kid,   so his dad would pick him up from school and drop him off there for the rest of his mom’s shift because he needed to go back to his own job and the pizzeria is where they allowed quinn to hang-out. 

he struggled a lot with school and was labeled as a problem child.   he hated doing school work and he fell behind in reading,   but when quinn entered high-school,   he was diagnosed with dyslexia and combined ADHD.    by that time,   his parents had already gotten divorced after spending quinn’s childhood poorly hiding their frequent fights.    his mom also got diagnosed with cancer,   and times were rough.

his dad remarried and quinn stayed with his mom throughout her illness.   at one point,   when the bills were too high even though he was working part-time at the pizzeria,   he convinced his mom to let him go off his meds and join a sports team at school instead.   it was to ease the financial strain off them,   and it only helped a little bit. 

quinn joined track and kept going to therapy.   his mom had ups and downs but mostly downs,   since medication would stop working after a while until they realized that they were only temporarily treating her cancer but they wouldn’t be able to cure it.    it gave them time to prepare for her death,   so they did.

his mom taught him what she could about living independently from her before she passed away,   though quinn doesn’t think that any amount of preparation could prepare him for the grief that came. 

he moved out of his childhood home and into his dads place with his new family,    a stepmom and two stepsiblings.   he lived in the basement,   which was his choice,   and quit his job at the pizzeria to focus on school and track full-time like he’d promised his mom.   his dad has always been high-key homophobic so at some point in high school quinn dated the first girl who said yes because he was having doubts about his sexuality and he was afraid of it. 

after graduating high school,   quinn decided to pick up his old job again during the summer between graduation and his new year at sedona’s community college and he’s been working there ever since.   he tries to ask his dad for as little as possible since he’s already paying for his tuitions.   quinn wants to build a career in biochemical engineering,   so he’s studying biology and hopes to transfer to the nearest university where they offer that degree even if it’s post-graduate. 

he broke up with his girlfriend after graduating high-school and honestly his dad’s going to be homophobic no matter what so forcing himself into a relationship he didn’t want was just toxic for both parties involved and he’d never do it again,   especially because he let it go on for so long. 

and that’s it for this part !   his biography has everything much more coherently laid out but tbh it’s kinda long so !!

H E A D C A N O N S :

quinn is really enthusiastic about pokemon so if ur thinking of a gift,   u can’t go wrong with anything related to it.   it’s been his favorite show and video games since he was a child so there’s a lot of nostalgia tied to it. 

quinn has a ton of game apps on his phone and he rarely uses social media.   whenever he’s bored and sitting around,   he prefers playing a game rather than scrolling through a feed.   he also carried around his nintendos...   the nintendo console depends on which game he’s playing but he’s often seen with the 3ds or switch. 

whenever someone interrupts him,   whether it’s mid-sentence,   mid-homework,   mid-whatever-task,   they’ll always get his ‘oh shit’ face because he knows it’ll be hard to focus on whatever he was doing again.   if his thoughts or sentences are interrupted,   he 100% won’t pick up where he left off unless someone reminds him. 

quinn’s often seen with headphones on because he prefers to listen to books since reading is a whole ass task that requires a lot of focus that he doesn’t have and dyslexia absolutely makes things worse.   when texting,   auto-complete is his savior. 

quinn has loved dinosaurs ever since he read jane yolen’s children's books in primary school.   if it has a dinosaur on it,   he’ll buy it. 

he hates the way alcohol tastes but he thinks that drinking is cool so he won’t tell anyone about it.    he honestly doesn’t even drink to get drunk because he’s a good boy but if holding a beer makes him look like he fits in,   he’s going to hold a beer.

quinn...    tries to fit in.   he’s friendly by nature but he doesn’t think that’s enough.   it might have to do with the comments his dad used to make about homosexuality that made him feel like he has to fit a certain mold or else he won’t be accepted by others. 

he’s known he was gay since high-school but he has only really dated a girl.   he’s afraid of being intimate with a boy because he knows that’s what he wants but he has been suppressing that part of himself and thinks that he still needs to suppress it because of his dad.   

the reason he got re-hired at the pizzeria is that the owner has a quinn-shaped soft spot,   not because he’s good at the job.   quinn has the tendency to be late on deliveries and anyone who tries to get free pizzas will get mouthfuls from him about how it’ll come out of his paycheck and please please please just pay for this pizza i swear i won’t be late next time....   but guess what ?    he’s late next time. 

anddddd i think i’ll leave it at that !!   i’m hella excited to plot with everyone so check out his wanted connections list n i’m sure we can work something out !!!!!!!!!

[thisisabouta]

This is About a... Downfall.

It’s happening. I’ve been taking Lamotrigine consistently for 8 months or so. Maybe longer. This is the longest i’ve consistently taken medication in a long time. It’s Lamotrigine along with Doxepin, Hydroxyzine and Gabapentin.

This is where my head has been during these last 8 or so months. I was driving on the freeway, about to merge and as I saw my car getting closer to the concrete barrier, I decided to go faster instead of slowing down for the car that had the right a way. I was about to crash into the side of this fucking car but I just kept going. The car to my right had to slam their brakes and I waited to hear the loud crash from the cars behind them because there was no way this wasn’t about to be a 5 car pile up.

God was there because nothing happened but that was way too fucking close to a catastrophe. The car that I cut off trailed me for awhile and pulled up next to me, I’m sure they were trying to cuss me out, flip me off, something... Whatever they did, I didn’t see it but it was justified. I would’ve been fucking heated if it had been the other way around. I cut people off all the time. I drive like an asshole, whatever. This was different.

I’ve been disassociating for weeks now. In that moment, I could see everything that was happening but my brain was not telling my body the correct way to react. I knew to slow down but I couldn’t. Everything i’ve been doing lately has had a delay. 1 minute. 5 minute. 10 minutes. My processing is delayed. My speech stumbles out of my mouth and doesn’t make sense. I’ve been blacking out and losing moments of time for years now but not to this severity. Now it’s like i’m blacking out and not fully coming back from it.

I’m around people constantly. I’m in a position of “leadership” at work so I have to direct and plan, be on alert at all times. My work day now consists of getting asked questions that I can’t comprehend fast enough so I stand there with a blank stare on my face, slowly losing my credibility. It’s worse because some of the things i’m being asked, I absolutely know the answer to but my brain just cannot get there. I can’t focus on ANYTHING. I know i’m walking around in circles (literally) and I know other people see it but I can’t stop. This circling shit happens a lot but it’s picked up in frequency. After I realize what i’m doing, it’s already done. People are trying to get my input and ideas and all I can do is squeeze my hands together and stare straight ahead, hoping my brain will figure out that I need it to work.

When I try to read, I can’t. This isn’t all the time but it happening occasionally is already too much. Words are not always making sense to me. I cant understand what i’m seeing and I have to go over things multiple times. It’s the same with counting. I shouldn’t have to use a calculator to add 30 and 20 or hold five $5 bills in front of me and stare at them until I realize what it is that i’m looking at. It’s embarrassing to even acknowledge that this is happening.

I’ve been losing things more and more everyday. I’ve had a habit of losing my keys. I lost my work keys at my last job, three times. My new job, i’ve already lost my keys once and it hasn’t even been 2 months that i’ve been working there. When my coworker texted me telling me that she found them, I just wanted to cry. That sounds ridiculous but having those keys is a huge fucking responsibility. I can get fired for losing them. Somehow I escaped that at my last job but it was a constant fear that I had. This last time, I hadn’t used the keys at all that day and I still managed to lose them. I retraced my steps and I had not taken them off of my keychain. Things like that don’t help me overcome this engrained idea I have that the universe is against me. Those keys represent me trying to do everything I can to keep it together while everything still managing to fall apart.

I’ve been forgetting to pay bills that i’ve been paying on the same day, every month for years. I’ve been forgetting people’s names. I can’t always comprehend what people are saying when they’re talking to me... that’s been a big one. I had a customer walk to my register at work. I was looking down at something when he asked if he could pay for his merchandise (I found out later on). That’s not what I heard. It came out as mumbling so I just assumed he was making a comment about something that was left on the counter. From what I remember, I said “Oh... yeah...” and went back to what I was doing. He looked at the Associate next to me and she told him that there were registers at the front where he could pay (she was already helping someone). He walked to the front and it took me about 2 or 3 minutes to realize that he was asking if I could ring him up. And to add to that awesome moment, he glared at me for the rest of the time he was in the fucking store. Yes, one small incident but that’s nowhere near how many times something like that has happened. Someone will be talking to me and i’m literally catching about every third word they’re saying. You can only ask “what?” so many times before that person looks at you like you’re the dumbest person they’ve ever met.

Writing things down... i’ll go back and read over my notes. They make no sense. Things are spelled incorrectly. Everything’s scattered. Like someone else wrote it. I walk around feeling like i’m not apart of my surroundings. My surroundings are not reality, like walking through a Fun House with no fun in sight. It’s like i’m seeing everything in those mirrors that make everything look distorted. All I can do is stare and try to figure it out. I can only imagine what that looks like from the outside. People walking around me while I just stare. Standing there trying not to cry because i’m in public.

I’ve been hallucinating. That comes and goes. I’m still forgetting why I picked certain things up, or why I walked to a certain room or what I was going to tell someone. Things a lot of people do but usually with somewhat immediate recall. I’m not remembering these things til days later, if at all. That’s the more frustrating part. Very small, seemingly insignificant things are happening over and over and over again. It’s no longer an insignificant mishap, this shit is snowballing and affecting everything. I can’t manage a store if I can’t function like a normal, fucking human being. I talked to my Probation Officer about some of the things that were happening and she asked me what medications I was taking and if any of them were used to treat seizures. Gave her the list and two of them just so happen to be used to treat seizures. I already knew that was the case but didn’t think that they would cause this long, intense stream of side effects. I know all about the side effects of medicine. You’ll basically die if you take it and die if you don’t.

I’ve experienced the lighter ones. Nausea, dizziness, dry mouth. The usual shit. Not forgetting how to read a fucking sentence. To my POs knowledge, those drugs do cause a lot of neurological problems, much that make it feel like i’m disassociating. Most of these things had been happening prior to taking the medications but it got much worse over time. I read up on the side effects in detail when I got home and everything aligned. So [because I will control this situation as much as I possibly can] I stopped taking the two that were the main issue. Should anyone ever just stop taking their medicine without consulting their physician first? No. Did I do it anyway? Yes. Now i’m going thru the withdrawal. Besides me losing my fucking mind, the Lamotrigine was actually working. It was the first medication I had taken for my Bipolar that has ever had that positive of an effect on me. But that was at the expense of me literally going insane. It’s not going to matter if I feel better when i’m dead because I crashed my car into a wall. The risk does not outweigh the reward. It did not cure anything. It did not solve even half of my problems but it did make me feel better. Not taking the Gabapentin doesn’t make a difference.

Now i’m going thru the withdrawal. I have 11 drafts on here that i’ve tried to complete and publish over the past few months and they’re just sitting in there. I know the only reason i’m able to write this one is because i’m not on the meds right now. Now my heart hasn’t felt off beat for the past few days (that’s a difficult feeling to describe) but in return, i’m the angriest i’ve been in awhile. I got in an argument with one of my employees this morning and did not feel bad at all. I got into it with another ASM a few days ago. I feel my temper coming back.

I made an appointment with a new MD for next week. I need to start over. I made an appointment to see my current Psychiatrist and cancelled it. I’m done with that guy. He keeps throwing these random pills at me and it’s not working. Not that the next doctor isn’t going to do the same, exact thing but I made an appointment at a facility that offers “Advanced Integrative Medical Care”. Basically, they’re on some new age shit. I’ve been reading up on Ketamine Therapy for over a year and even though it scares the shit out of me, i’m not completely against the idea. They also offer Medical Marijuana. I am officially now in my last 3 month stretch of my house arrest and this shit has finally gotten difficult. The first few weeks were hard because I was still trying to figure out what I could get away with and apparently it’s a lot but now, I just need this shit to end. I’m getting restless. I’m scared too tho.

I’m still going to be on supervised probation for a year (based on good behavior) but I need to get back to... something. I can’t be sober and I don’t want to be. Weed has been fine. Good, enough. I’ve grown a liking to it and found some that actually relaxes me. Alcohol. I miss alcohol. I’ll forever miss alcohol. I’ll miss it even if (when) I start drinking again. It’s that important. Watching movies, seeing people drink to have fun, to relax, to be brave, to socialize. And yet, I shouldn’t engage in that. I know I can engage in good things but the drinking is what i’ve been told I should stay away from. I’m not going to stay away from it. Alcohol makes things better. I know it, the people who tell me not to drink know it. It’s there and I need it. Yes, the problem is that I abuse it. I don’t know if I can overcome that problem. I’m going to try. That sounds crazy and insane so... it’s just going to have to be crazy and insane.

There are other ways to deal with my problems and i’m trying to implement them and hang onto them. I need those things too but I can’t walk thru the world with this open wound that is my life, unarmed. Chemicals... drugs... my brain chemistry will never be right and if I know there’s something out there that will give me temporary relief, i’m taking it. I just have to put the recklessness aside. This time around was a lot. I pray that it was enough to set me straight. Or at least to keep me out of jail for the second time.

[loustellaperry]

Draco finds a three-headed dog

     I scribbled up a Harry Potter edition MASH game, and used my answers as the prompt for this post. My answers were Draco, Mansion, Fluffy, and shop owner. This is what my imagination did with this information... 

It was a particularly dark day, but that was to be expected when it’s the middle of April in England. I couldn’t help but race the raindrops on the window, as they fell. My back had gone numb, as I’d been sitting in the same spot, by the same window, since I got home at noon.

…

I had woke up straight from a PTSD nightmare, of a scene I was involved in when I was around fourteen. It was the day, my mom slapped me in the face, right before I got on the train for school. In which case, I wouldn’t see her again until Christmas.

I sat up straight out of bed, with the same nerves I had the second her hand hit my cheek. Shaking fingers, a racing heart, and sweat droplets lining my forehead, I pulled myself from my not-so-dreamy state. The rain hadn’t begun yet, but the sky already seemed rather dreary.

The clock read 9:13 am, and as usual I headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I became a coffee drinker at the mere age of 16. It was my go-to, to keep me going through the toughest part of my life. I carried it with me to adulthood.

Four of my five fingers took turns tapping my finger prints against the table top. In order, from my pinky to my index finger, while my thumb sat there stabilizing them. I sipped my coffee through dry lips. My face still felt swollen, as though I hadn’t seen sleep for four months. I mean, this wasn’t entirely wrong. I lifted my eyes from my coffee mug to the phone, in the hallway. I have never heard it ring… ever. I can’t believe I’ve been living here for four months, and no one’s called me. Not even Crabbe or Goyle. To be fair, I haven’t really reached out to any one since moving in.

I inherited one of the Malfoy manors when my uncle passed, in December. It’s still filled with all his things. He lived alone, and sold bewitched muggle artefacts straight out of the foyer, much like the rest of my family. I’ve distanced myself from most of them, in honor of my mental state. After the battle of Hogwarts, I went straight to therapy and have been there ever since.

It took me three years to realize my situation wasn’t the greatest. I guess I was brought up to believe if you could pay your bills, and have extra left over, then you needn’t complain. I was never taught to take care of my mind. After about a year and a half passed, my relationship with EVERYONE slowly but surely deteriorated. I’ve only talked lightly to my parents, as I transitioned from their roof to this one.

A lot’s happened inside my brain since then. I’ve began using poetry and famous literature to subside the pain. This was my Slytherin shining through. My uncle had quite the collection going, in his book room. It reminded me of a smaller version of the Hogwarts library. Loads of history on famous wizards, spells, potions, poetry, and even muggle fiction. I’ve also took over his garden. He had quite the abundance of herbs, as well. I’m thinking about buying a place in Diagon Alley, and selling them. You see, cutting ties with my family the way that I’ve been, is sure to decrease my income. And I’m just slightly over sneaking around, and selling illegal objects from my home. There’s a peacefulness that comes with the idea that you have nothing to hide.

…

               I took a cabbie to London, to meet my therapist at 10:30. Recently, I’ve been overly disconnected. I find myself lost in a daze, replaying events from my childhood. She said it’s normal for complex cases of PTSD. Talking about it helps, or at least it’s supposed to. My therapist has this way of swimming straight to the darkest depths of my brain, and showing me memories I buried there, LONG ago. Although, each weekly session knocks me down for the remainder of the six days left in the week, I do feel my head becoming easier to carry.

I guess I just miss my friends, and kind of my parents. I’m supposed to forgive them for their ways even though, they never apologized. I just feel shameful, because I, too, feel like I have things to apologize for. I just can’t bring myself to do it. It’s also hard, when I feel like they are still living in their old ways, and just because I’ve found a path out of illegal activity, doesn’t mean they want to.

They also kind of make me feel dumb for living the way that I am. My dad even said I’ve brought shame to the family name, as they’ve given me everything, and the way that I repay them is “seeking help, like some sort of peasant”. If asking for help, makes me a peasant than so be it. I couldn’t open my mouth before, without exploding on someone, about something that was never ignited. Although, I lead a quieter life now, my chest doesn’t hurt as much.

…

Therapy sped by, and was mostly silent on my part, as I said earlier, I’m pretty disconnected right now. Not much to say, when my mind isn’t all there to begin with.

As I opened the heavy door, I was greeted by immediate brightness and thick rain. If the breeze hadn’t been so pleasantly cool, I would have pretended I was dying. I find myself thinking about death a lot. But it’s apparently “normal”, when you’ve encountered the things that I have. According to the plan my therapist has made, those dark thoughts will decrease as I talk through them. It just feels like to me, that they’ve increased… a lot.

I opened my dark green umbrella, and ventured down the sidewalk. Old thoughts from school flooded my brain. Almost all of my peers were already married and having children. Here I am almost 21, and just living off the same wealth, I’ve had since I was young. I’m constantly reminded by my therapist that I’m still pretty young, and have lots of love to give. But honestly, FUCK LOVE…

 and then I caught a glimpse of him. It was a fat, grey dog, with three heads. As soon as my eyes landed on it, it had taken a sharp turn down an alley. I followed closely behind, almost catching up to it, but then it hopped through the brick wall. I ran over to the area, that it disappeared in. I drew my wand and tapped on the bricks. Nothing. I crouched down and examined my surroundings. I didn’t know there was a wizard portal here. Then I noticed the transparent air shaking, as though there was something under it. It can’t be…

I lowered myself to it’s level, and reached into the air, hoping to pull off whatever invisibility device this pup was using. To my expectations and slight surprise, I could feel the creature underneath my hand, it was just… invisible. A few seconds later, it’s transparency faded and against the wall, was a shaking very small but plump three headed dog. The school’s old gamekeeper owned one. Her name was Fluffy and she guarded some of Hogwarts most valuable secrets. Only, that one was the size of a small building. This one was the size of a baby bear.

“Are you alright?” I made my voice small enough to fit the tiny creature.. All three of it’s heads, flinched as if I was going to hit it… them. “I’m not going to hurt you”, I meant, I’ve not been around a dog since at least five years ago, but I definitely won’t kick you.

All six eyes lifted to meet my gaze, with a glossiness of tears. All ears were held down, and it’s entire coat was trembling before me. This was probably the cutest and purest thing I’ve seen all year. I reached out and let it sniff me, and softly touched the middle head. It seemed to not mind.

“Now, do you have a home? This is a strange place for a creature like you to be wondering around”

“Excuse me, sir, are you alright?” A man peered around the edge of a building. “Oh, yeah… I just found…” and when I looked down, the dog had went invisible again, also it had three heads. “I mean, I had dropped something. But I found it, thank you”.

The man shook his head slightly, tilted his hat, and kept walking. Filthy muggles, treating me like I’m crazy!- I mean, he was just an interested man, not filthy, he never said I was crazy… his facial expression did… I don’t know, it just seems like muggles are extremely nosey and annoying. I mean, I’ve met pure blood wizards that were the same. I just hate people, to be fair.

Glancing down, the dog was now in full sight and wagging it’s tail. “How about you come home with me?”

As I picked up the creature, I realized how heavy it actually was, and how hard it was going to be to get into the cab without looking suspicious. “The only thing, I need you to do is stay invisible”.

…

It snores. Also, it’s a boy. I named him Snake, because why would you not name an animal after a different animal? Snake fell asleep shortly after we got home, and I’ve kind of just been sitting by this window, ever since. We’re probably ordering out for dinner.

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this, and using a MASH game as a prompt. Also, I’ve always wanted to write harry potter fan fiction.

Message me, and lemme know what you think of this version of Draco.. 

[a-woman-apart]

Hope

Remember, if you are having thoughts of hurting yourself, please get help.

Crisis Text (U.S.): 741 741

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

You know what I said a couple weeks ago about waiting a couple of weeks before you make a Drastic, Negative, Irreversible Decision?

Well, I have confirmed evidence that it is true. It sounds cliché as hell, but when you are staring down a dark tunnel you really cannot see the light at the end of it. It feels like the pain will never end, and that nothing will ever be different. This is definitely a lie, because things will get better.

They will, because you are going to make them better.

How?

Well, first of all, you need to realize that depression is not just caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain. Even if that is true, that chemical imbalance can be exacerbated by external circumstances. I am talking about real people, places, or things that generally contribute to your feelings of despair.

Here’s a list of questions to ask yourself.

·        Are you in a romantic relationship that is sexually, physically, or emotionally abusive?

·        Have you experienced childhood trauma?

·        Are most of the people in your circle people who belittle, undermine, pressure, and/or demean you?

·        Are you in a codependent relationship with a family member or significant other?

·        Do you work at a job that has become unsatisfying, unfulfilling, or unbearable?

·        Are you under lots of pressure to perform academically?

·        Are you homeless, living in poverty, facing financial insecurity, or living paycheck to paycheck?

·        Do you live in a war zone or a country where your basic safety and freedoms are constantly threatened?

·        Do you have a chronic physical illness in addition to your mental illness?

·        Do you spend most of your time alone and/or feel that you cannot depend on other people?

·        Do you feel that you have to perform or put on a show in order for others to respect your needs, wants, or desires? (This includes having to pretend to be cis or straight in order to be respected or cared for)

·        Do you base your self-worth on your money or achievements, only to have that self-worth come crashing down when you ask yourself “what’s next?”

·        Are you afraid that others will “discover” that you are a fraud and do not deserve the status or position that you have?

·        Do you constantly feel bored or unchallenged, like you are simply moving through the motions of life with no purpose or meaning?

I am aware that the author Johann Hari is a controversial figure, but so much changed for me when I read his book, “Lost Connections”. He looked at causes of depression—some of the things I just mentioned—and possible cures. These cures were not based primarily in treating patients with medicine. Lots of people claim that Hari discouraged or undermined the use of antidepressants in his book, but that was not the interpretation that I got.

My understanding is that he posited that the medicine is kind of a “jump-start” for the brain. I have experienced severe bipolar depression before. I was listless, monosyllabic, barely able to get out of bed or take care of my daily hygiene. I was under the care of my parents. The medicine did not “cure” me, but it gave me enough motivation to begin attending groups, psychiatrist appointments, and therapy sessions.

For most people, medicine is a part of a holistic treatment plan. In my case, it isn’t even the primary ingredient—especially since I no longer take antidepressants at all (A/N: I stopped under the supervision of a psychiatrist; never, never, never stop taking antidepressants or any other psychiatric medication cold turkey).

You see, once I got my manic symptoms under control with mood stabilizers, I thought I was in the clear, but I started to experience symptoms of depression again. However, this was the “good”, or “high-functioning” kind of depression. When you’re “high-functioning”, you can go through the day wishing you could die but you’re still alert, efficient, and outwardly cheerful. Unfortunately, this “less debilitating” depression kills more people. When you are in this state, if your goal is to die, you often have the energy and motivation to follow through. It is extremely isolating because most often, you have created the perfect illusion that everything is fine, and so others often don’t think to reach out to you to make sure you are okay. You also have created walls that you yourself may struggle to break through.

I knew that I wasn’t okay, so I reached out for help. My experience was similar to Johann Hari’s. I was put on antidepressants that would work for a while, and then they would stop, and I would be switched to another.  My weight fluctuated wildly, and I experienced a variety of other unpleasant side effects. I was finally removed permanently from antidepressants when the antidepressant drug, Effexor, contributed to me having a mixed episode (mania + depression), which, like high-functioning depression, carries a high suicide risk. I have written extensively about the horrible withdrawal I experienced from Effexor.

This is not to say that my negative experiences are universal to all. Bipolar depression is often resistant to antidepressants, and most antidepressants carry the risk of pushing us into mania. People with Major Depressive Disorder/Unipolar Depression often respond better to antidepressants. My best friend has been on the same high dosage of an antidepressant for years and it helped to increase his motivation and pull him out of a rut. He, like me, though has attended therapy and changed key things in his life that were keeping him stuck.

My point—after saying all that—is to say that drugs alone won’t solve your problems.

Also, you have a real reason to be depressed.

This is not to say that neurons misfiring in your brain don’t contribute to your depression, or that there is no such thing as a chemical imbalance. However, often there are things in our lives that make us feel small, trapped, or powerless, and these are often things that we can physically point to if we ask ourselves the right questions.

E N V I R O N M E N T A L

One big thing is work. You may work in a job you actually despise because you want to support your family. Most of us spend a third—or more—of our day at some kind of job. Maybe school is your job, and you’re drowning in a sea of assignments and deadlines.

Maybe there is no feasible way to leave that job or school (yet), but Johann Hari gives tips on how to hate it less. You could rearrange your schedule, change departments or majors, request different kinds of work, or otherwise try to find meaning in an outwardly shitty situation.

F I N A N C I A L

If you are in financial trouble, you could begin utilizing your community resources more. This includes getting local or government help with food and bills, but it also involves things like attending free job training and educational workshops or going to your local library so that they can connect you with employment resources. Libraries and colleges also often host hiring events and have bulletin boards where you can see the latest job postings for your area.

You could stop also depending on people financially who belittle you or make you feel guilty for receiving their help. Some people do nothing but give off unproductive energy—it isn’t worth it to receive assistance from these kinds of people, because you will never be able to do enough to pay them back. Even if you pay them back the physical resources, they will constantly try to violate your boundaries by saying, “Look at everything I did for you and you can’t even do X”. Run, do not walk, from these kinds of people.

A B U S E

As for abusive situations, these can be incredibly isolating. Your abuser has probably already driven wedges between you and your friends and family. You can however call the National Domestic Abuse Hotline and get help. If you feel like you are in danger—even if that person has never physically attacked you—you should still call and get help and advice. They can connect you with shelters and other resources. They also provide help for people who are suffering from spiritual abuse, an overlooked but often devastating form of abuse.

You can also call Day One Services and get help if you are dealing with emotional abuse.

I S O L A T I O N

It takes a community. It takes us leaning on each other and working together. The lie is that you do this thing called life alone. You don’t. In disaster zones or war-torn areas, depending on the community can mean the difference between life and death.  

I know many of us don’t live in a disaster zone, but we still need community support. A lot of us don’t have friends—and struggle to make them—but if the Friendship Goal is too lofty, then you should start by just spending more time with people in general. You could start by just sitting in a coffee shop or going to a park and people watching. Or you could try to join online groups where you can speak freely about your hobbies. When it comes to taking the bigger steps, like joining an offline group or volunteering, set the bar super low.

I had been using Meet Up to try to find groups in my area, and I made this absurdly low goal of “attend one Meet Up this year”. Not five, three, or even two. Just one. I was terrified, but I did it. I still haven’t gone to another one, but it was a starting point. It helped my brain see that I could do it. Loneliness and isolation are dangerous; any small action you can take towards reducing those two factors will be incredibly helpful.

P E R S P E C T I V E

Sometimes our issue can be with the way we see the world; Johann Hari described some of these as “Disconnection from meaningful values”. If your fundamental view of the world is that you need to just continually climb the ladder of achievement—hording material wealth along the way— until you die, you lack meaningful values. If you have physical comfort, but your life lacks purpose or meaning, it can feel incredibly bleak. We need to both change our outward circumstances, and our behavior and way of thinking in order to see improvement. We need to stop thinking we deserve less, and instead start cutting out toxic people and working on moving out of toxic environments.

S U M M A R Y

At first, when I dropped out of my university, broke up with my boyfriend, and started planning to quit my job (and leave my overpriced apartment) I felt like I was going to lose my mind. Most therapists and psychiatric professionals would not recommend that someone with a mental health condition make that many changes at once. I overhauled everything within a six-month period, and the stress of it all made me need to go to inpatient. I was very ill physically for a while, lost tons of weight, racked up medical bills, etc.

In the end, though, what do I have? I can say that I am truly happy for the first time in ages. My tears are now happy tears. Everything worked out. I’m going to go to a much smaller, more accessible college for my Bachelor’s. I’m moving in with friends to save money and deal with the loneliness issue. I have a new job that is currently a much better fit than the old one was. My ex and I continue to be close friends, but it did take a period of adjustment. I was in big financial trouble, but now, with support, I am getting back on my feet. I was even able to sell my piano keyboard to make a few more simoleons.

Of course, sometimes I still feel very anxious because This Is A Lot, but my anxiety crisis is over. All these new life events are teaching me something that I severely lacked: flexibility. I am also now more resilient, knowing that having made it through this, I can make it through anything.

You are going to make it, too.

I understand that it is important to make sure you keep an internal locus of control. This means that certain things in your life are your responsibility and yours alone, and that you have power to change those things. You can’t make someone love you, but you can ask that they treat you with kindness, dignity, and respect, and remove yourself from the relationship with them if they do not acknowledge your request.  You can’t singlehandedly change the world, but you can volunteer and do other things that make a difference in your local community. These changes often have a ripple effect that alter the surrounding areas for the better.

It is going to be hard to change your environment, improve your financial situation, and discover your purpose in life. You could think you have it all figured out, and everything can change. If you feel overwhelmed, please reach out for help. Trust me, tons of resources are just a Google search away. If you’re stumped, go to your local library and ask for advice or books on the subject you’re struggling with.

For those of you who can’t leave home, even here on Tumblr there are users who have compiled tons and tons of “master posts” for things like “How to Get a Job”, “How to Be Frugal” or “How to Make Friends.” Even if you can’t make it to your local library, there are often links to databases in the library catalog that have a wealth of information on every subject. I know a huge amount of you struggle with executive dysfunction so starting and completing tasks can be really hard, but there’s posts for that, too. Even if all you do is get out of bed today and eat something instead of laying in bed and constantly scrolling through here, that is a start.

I know this has gotten incredibly wordy, but the point of it all is please, please, PLEASE don’t give up! You really can make positive changes, but it takes time. Don’t throw all the time you might have left away.