#by the woman who took her Adderall too late and is now that person who awkwardly posts poetry on tumblr

[broadwayinabox]

Flour dusted over a wooden board

A pinch of salt to taste

The meat here comes in hourly

Not an appointment goes to waste

She marinates the standing fools

Before they’re shipped above

The imprudent seasoning of ghouls

For an Icarus in love.

- ‘Mrs. Lovett has a lie shoppe’ from ‘musings on a hyperfixation’

[icarusredwings]

For the lovely person in the tags <3 You get it. @banneriscarried

It's 8 am. Here recently, it was normal for Logan to be up before either of his room mates, the second the sun shown in on his face from the couch was the moment he was up and he couldn't sleep until Althea was asleep too.

Maybe it was the way he was raised. Maybe it was the fact he's been used as a soldier as far back as he could remember (ironically seeing as he didn't take orders) but if you payed attention, you always noticed him near that old woman. Like a grandson worried about his grannies health. Fetching her medicine, water, refusing to get her coke bag, giving her the newer pillow to sit on, etc. This was all mindlessy done, might I add. He seeked no validation nor reward, because at the end of the day, he did what was right, not out of morals (these were far proven to be broken for him) rather then what was kind. It was as simple as bringing her the plate that Wade prepared for them during dinner to passing her the remote when she reached her hand to feel around for it.

At 10, he had shrugged off the fact he still wasn't up, having made Althea and him cereal for breakfast. Oh, well. It was like Wade to skip the first meal. Something about making him nauseated?

But now, at noon, his eyes lingered more and more on the doorway that led to the single bedroom, staring off as he mentally waved a hand. Bah. Wade would get up when he wanted. Besides. It wasn't THAT late, nor was it a big deal. And he DID just get back from that job only yesterday.

Quickly, noon became 3:30 as he now was standing a little longer by the hallway than he should when getting himself a drink, subconsciously grabbing two. Blinking, he shook his head, bringing a soda to the woman who didn't need to see to hear his heavy steps and corresponding grunts of thought.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

"Huh? Wouldn't what?"

"Don't play coy with me, boy. You know what."

Tilting his head, he thought for a second, not sure what she meant by that.

"He gets grumpy." She says as suddenly he understands.

"Oh.. No I just-"

"You've hesitated by that corridor 4 times already."

"How would you know that?"

"Im blind, Not deaf."

"And?" He scoffed.

"And! You're loud as hell!" She told him, reminding him that the floor always creaked a certain way depending on who was walking around.

"Mmh..." Getting up, he began to take his drink to the room.

"That's what I thought." She mumbled. Al might have been a coke addict but she wasn't stupid.

With each step he took, he could smell weird things, something he wasn't quite sure of. He could smell the sweat, fear and something he couldn't quite pin point. A scent he ussually just marked as 'Wade' in his mental files but now it was much stronger. A lot stronger.

"Wade?" He asked, softly knocking. Waitng a moment, he opened the door when there was no awnser. There, in the bed, was the man curled up in an old T and fluffy jammie pants that he had cut into shorts after the bottoms were "ruined by not-my-blood", Shivering. Shaking. Sweating. Twitching in some bits of his body.

For a moment, he took in the sight, trying to assess the situation, setting the can on the dresser. ".. Wade?" He asked, firstly checking his arms. Or at least tried. The instant they were touched, he flinched and pulled them close to his chest, still shivering. Glancing over, The AC was completely off but it did look like he had kicked off his blanket.

"Wade." He said a third time, trying to turn him over only for the man to practically jump.

"W-what!?" He snapped, though the end trailed off more into a whimper. There was that smell again. The fear. The sweat. He was soaking the sheet. He couldn't get sick.. could he?

"..Are you okay?"

"Does it look like im okay?"

"...Wade...Are you withdrawling?" He was just checking off the boxes of possibilities. Actually, a bit of heroin might do him some good. Or Adderall. Though they were bassically the same thing.

"What?! Go away! Just.. leave me alone."

Without even grabbing for the blanket, he turned over, hugging himself tight, curling into a ball. Cold.

"Do you want your- Ah ew-" he gruted, trying to pick up the blanket, discovering that the reason he pushed it off was because he vomited on it. Now he was really worried.

"Do you want a drink? I brought you a coke.. erm- the drink. N-not the drug."

(Joke stolen from @monkepenguin )

But he was already passed out again.

"Wade??"

He was completely unconscious. Just like that. But how so quickly? Maybe he was sick?? Perhaps some asshole coughed on him on that mission? No- they were borderline immune to all of that. You had to have specially modified diseases for them, and he doubted he'd ever come home knowingly with a disease knowing how high risk Al was.

Sighing, He came to the closet, getting out a spare blanket and some sweat pants. But wait- should he put sweat pants on him if he was already sweating to death?

Seeing how hard he was shaking made him frown. He looked miserable. Whatever was going on, He didn't like it. And whatever that smell was (that wasn't vomit) stunk in this room, particularly the closer he stepped towards him. What was it?

Maybe it was the illness? Ah, well. If it really was an illness, he needed to sweat it out, but he needed to keep the room sterile.

"Alright, bub. Don't get any ideas. This is strictly for medical reasons. Got it?" He muttered. When there were no jokes about rectal exams or sexy nurses, he took this as an 'Uhh do what ever you want, I'm super dead', moving to put the pants on over top of the shorts.

Immediately, he tried to kick him, and hard from the looks of it, watching how quickly he backed up and the look he gave him was sheer confusion and irratation mixed with terror, as if his mind wasn't functioning enough to tell who he was.

Logan of all people knew how it was to be woken when your brain wasn't - or couldn't - process what was going on. A lot of people have gotten stabbed for touching him while sleeping, so he took no offense to this what so ever.

Watching him proceed to curl up agaisnt the corner of the bed and the wall made him swallow, a string tugging his heart. Ohh.... this was bad. Really bad.

"Get the hell off of me!! I already said leave me alone!"

Tossing the blanket on top of him, a small mumble of 'Ill fucking stab you. I will..' came from under it, but was slower and distorted as if he was sleep talking. Was this a bad nightmare? They've never been this bad before. Not that he's seen anyway.

Leaving the drink, he brought the puke blanket to the dirty hamper, making his way to Al.

"You said he gets grumpy. That's not grumpy. That's a cranky toddler who hasn't slept in 3 days, and he's sweating himself to death."

"I told you."

"So whats wrong with him?"

"Same thing that has been wrong with him since I've known him."

"Which is?? These are not mental symptoms. They're physical."

"Oh sweet boy. What do you think chemotherapy and radiation do to you? You can't honestly think he was born this batshit insane do you?"

"...but I thought." If it wasn't for his patches, Logan would forget that he was stage 4. He didn't show it. Barley at all.

"It's still killing him. Just about as slowly as time is killing me, though."

"But he regenerates.."

"And how much of a toll do you think that takes on him, hm? See you don't get it. You're nice, young, and healthy."

"I'm older than you." He muttered quietly but understood her point. Maybe that's why they got along so well. Because Wade had similar issues to an older person. Either that or he thought she was funny. Perhaps that was the only reason he litsened to her.

"So what do I do?" He asked, not sure how this stuff worked.

"Nothing. Just wait. Even if you found a cure for cancer, he'd still die." She mumbled, petting the sleeping dog in her lap.

"There's got to be something I can do. Anything?" The frustration in his voice made her smile.

"You can make him happy until that son of a bitch death finally comes to collect his dues." She whispered, in a serious yet calming tone that made Logan want to hit her for making him feel emotions he didn't understand.

Hearing him huff and walk off, She petted the dog. "I don't know why you make that idiot so happy, but you better wait until after I die because i'm not litsening to that poor boy cry his eyes out when you're gone. Got it?" Al whispered as the dog wagged its tail, waking up just enough to lick her hand.

I wish I could say the same was going as easy for Logan, who has turned on the AC (after googling that Cancer patiants should probably be kept in cold rooms, but kept warm) and now was crawled into the bed too, pulling him close.

"Let go!" He started but was held until he clonked out again a good 7 seconds later, the resisting and pushing of his chest soon becoming the place for him to rest his drooly head on. It didn't take much for Wade to process 2 things. That A. This man had some awesome tits. And B. These tits were warm. And as a cold person with little ability to retain his own body heat at the moment from the rapid level of dying and regenerating cells within his body, heat was good.

So here he was. At 4:15 pm on a Tuesday. Cuddled up with a man who was both dying and agonizingly surviving, letting him nuzzle himself as close and as deep into his neck that he possibly could, going as far as putting his cold hands under his tank top.

"Aye, watch it, bub. Cancer or not, I'll still kick your ass."

The tiny scoff of a chuckle that came from him was enough for the big manly mans act to drop, a small smile coming to his scruffy face as he held him, the warmth helping him come back to the living world and sleep soundly, instead of shaking.

It wasn't until 8: 37 pm that night when Wade was finally conscious again, now teasing him.

"I can't believe you just let me grope you for 4 hours! I should get violently ill more often!"

"Shut up! Next time, I'll just let you freeze!"

"Oh suuree pal. As if you weren't totally snoring too."

"You were asleep! How would you know?!"

"Oh please, I wasn't asleep that whole time."

"Why you-!"

"Ah ah ah!" He says, putting up his arms. "Cancer!"

"Don't care!" He grumbled, slapping him upside the head, a soft, embaressed blush over his cheeks. God.. this man would be the death of him.. and honestly? That might not be that bad..

"Ow!"

Thinking about Logan getting really worried when Wade's (metaphorical) mask comes off and he's not the guy dancing on the bar, making boob jokes and kicking people in the face but rather the one with his face in the toilet at the club, promising he's okay while still struggling with the side effects that come with cancer.

"No no, really its fine! Go on, go have fun ill be out in a second!"

And being the emotionally closed off manly man that Logan is, doesn't press about it but still waits outside by the door, not letting people in the bathroom, ending up causing a bar fight because hed rather get punched in the jaw then let someone see Wade like that and embaress him.

Thinking about him coming home with groceries and finding him dead asleep on the couch, but the kind of sleep that looks like it was taken by force rather than comfy. The kind where you pass out because your body has had enough and just coming to check on him every couple of minutes before eventually sitting next to him and just waits until he wakes up.

Al can't see. But she's had a smug look on her face ever since Logan has walked in the door because she can hear him walking back and forth to go check on her room mate.

"You're really worried about him, ain't you?"

"What?"

"He's fine, you know. He does that. Go on. Go do what ever it was you angry men do."

But he doesn't go. He stays put. Like a loyal dog at his owners death bed, hoping if he stares enough, he'll get better. Eventually, he falls asleep too And Al is going to tease them both about this for the next month. She took photos to prove it.

Soon enough, it evolves into him picking up tasks so that Wade can rest but refuses to tell him why. He doesn't want to embarrass him and make it feel like a big deal.

"Alright. Well, I'm gonna go walk mary puppins. You want anything from the bodega?"

"No.. actually.. could I walk her? I can take her. Being in this apartment is killing me."

"What need to get your steps in or something?"

"Something like that."

"Ah I get it. Wild cat needs to prowl. Well alright. But dont be taking our baby to any skanks house! Shes too innocent!"

[mercheswan]

He is Mine!

You can also find it in AO3 -> User: MerCevans

“Okay kids! Let’s go, first day of Elementary School, we’re leaving in five!” Peter Hale shouted descending the stairs.

Theodore Raeken-Hale heard his dad’s call and quickly grabbed his shoes and his bag, he stopped in front of the mirror to look at himself, Theo wanted to look good, today was an important day, he was going to meet other kids, human kids, and that made Theo uneasy although he wouldn’t admit it.

Theo was five years old and he was a Werewolf, like the majority of the members of his Pack, his family. Theo didn’t born as a werewolf, though, his parents died when he was a baby, and his father, Peter, saved him and adopted him. He turned into a Werewolf thanks to the bite, that was given to him, by his aunt, the Pack’s Alpha, Talia Hale.

Theo adored his family. He had a step-sister, Malia, she was five years old too and even though, she and Theo fighted a lot, deep inside everyone knew that they really cared for each other. Theo also had three cousins; Cora was also five like Theo and Malia, she was serius and matured for her age’s, but when Theo and Malia planned a prank she was always on board with it. Derek  was eleven, Theo admired him, Derek was strong and very popular, Theo wanted to be like him in the future. And Laura who was fourteen years old, was meant to become the Pack’s Alpha someday.

Theo exited his room and met Malia on the corridor. “Malia wait!” Theo said joining his sister.

“We have to run or Dad is going to leave without us!” Malia exclaimed as she started to run towards the Mansion’s entrance, Theo following behind.

“Are you excited?” Theo asked.

“I guess… I’m worried too… you’re so much better at control than I am, I don’t wanna hurt someone or show my fangs or flahs my eyes accidentally” Malia responded.

Theo, Malia and Cora had been learning to control their powers. People couldn’t find out about them being Werewolves. Despite being kids they were stronger than an average person and they could injure someone unintentionally, so they have to be careful.

“You’ll be fine” Theo assured and Malia smiled.

Theo and Malia met their father at the entrance who was waiting with Cora and Talia.

“Finally! Come on children to the car, we want to make a good impression on your new teacher, right?” Peter said and the kids chanted affirmatively.

“Remember your training, you’ll be fine, have fun, you’re making the Pack really proud” Talia proclaimed saying goodbye to the children.

                           ————————

Mieczyslaw “Stiles” Stilisnki was on the verge of dying of excitement. Today he started Elementary School, he had been waiting for the day to arrive, Stiles wanted to meet and play with his classmates, and show them his new “super cool Star Wars backpack”.

“Mommy, mommy come on! We don’t want to be late!” Stiles bounced at the entrance of the Stilinski household.

Claudia Stilinski, Stiles’s mother, laughed “Mischief wait! You have to grab a jacket is a little bit chilly outside”. Stiles adorably cocked his head to the side assessing what her mother wa saying, before nodding and running upstairs to grab a jacket.

“You’re full of energy today Siles, Did you take your adderall?” Noah Stilinski questioned his son.

“Yes Dad!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Be good, listen to your teacher and don’t be too noisy” Noah advised.

“Nonsense! Just be yourself Mischief, you’re going to make very good friends this year” Claudia assured his son, hitting his husband on the arm.

“Well I’ll be going, I’ll see you tonight so you can tell me all about your day, okay kiddo?” Noah said kissing his son on the head. Stiles cheerfully nodded.

“Bye Dad! Come on Mom we have to leave too” Stiles excitedly said.

Claudia followed his imperactive child to the car with a fond smile on her face.

————————

Peter Hale parked his car in the Elementary School’s parking lot. There were lost of people already saying goodbye to their kids. Parents and children crying and shouting everywhere. Peter’s and the children’s Werewolf senses were overloaded. Peter sighed, what an exhausting day.

The children exited the vehicle. Malia noticed that Cora smelled nervous and took her hand to calm her down. Peter was proud of her girl, Malia wasn’t a very sentimental kid, she was very connected to her animal side, but gestures like this proved that she had an soft side too.

“Let’s go to the entrance, we can see in which class you’re going to be” Peter claimed and the children followed him.

They walked towards the entrance. Then Peter felt a tug in his trouser, Peter looked down and saw Malia pointing with his finger to the other side of the parking lot. Peter glanced at the direction his daughter was signalizing and saw Theo walking in the opposite direction, apparently lost. What’s he doing? This kid is way too good at sneaking it’s going to be problematic in the future Peter thought.

Since Theo exited the car there had been something, some kind of pull inside him that was calling to his senses, to his inner wolf. Theo could hear many hearbeats, he could hear many voices, there were too many people but if he focused enough there was one heart who beated louder than the rest. There were too many scents in the air but Theo could sniff clearly the sweet scent of someone who smelled like chocolate, cinamon, lavender, enthusiasm, and some chemical substances that usually would bother Theo’s senses ,but for some reason Theo couldn’t understand, they didn’t.

Theo needed to find this person, they were here, so close, and his wolf was ordering him to identify them. So without thinking too much Theo moved away from his father, sister and cousin in walking in the direction his instints were telling him that he would find them.

When Theo saw the boy for the first time he paralyzed. The boy, who had to be his age, was breathtakingly beautiful, with pale skin covered in moles and a bright smile, he was talking with a woman, his mother allegedly. Theo needed to hold him, now.

Theo stood in front of the boy who looked back at Theo with a smile and a questioning expression. Theo smiled back and out of the blue hugged the boy who made a cheerful noise and hugged Theo back. When they separeted theo shocked them even more.

“Mine” Theo claimed with a grin taking the boy’s hand into his.

Peter who was walking towards Theo to collect him heard what his son said thanks to his Werewolf hearing and froze. Wait did he? He can’t possibly have found his… Peter thought.

The Werewolf reached to his son. “Theo you can’t wander around, you can’t leave my side” Peter schooled his son.

“Dad! Look! I found him, he is mine!” Theo excitedly shouted while rounding the boy with his arms. Oh my God he did! Peter’s mind screamed.

“No, no Theo, we don’t own people!” Peter said to his son trying to make him behave like a human.

“But Dad! He is so pretty, look at him he is perfect!” Theo protested not letting go of the boy. Peter could feel his son’s inner wolf’s anger, ready to defend the boy who had caught his eye from whoever tried to harm him. Peter needed to calm Theo down.

“Theo that’s enough! You can be the boy’s friend , I’m sure he would like to make a new friend” Peter reasoned with his son. “I’m so very sorry about his behaviour, he must be nervous because it’s the first day of school” Peter apologised to the boy’s mother.

“Oh no, don’t worry, your son is adorable. See Mischief I knew you were going to make good friends this year. I’m Claudia Stilinski nice to meet you” Claudia said.

“Peter Hale likewise. First day is always stressing, for them… and for us” Peter responded and Claudia laughed agreeing.

“Mischif?” Theo asked.

“Only mommy calls me that! My name it’s from a coutry that’s very far away and it’s very difficult to say. It sounds like Mischief and that’s why mommy calls me that, but you can call me Stiles, people call me Stiles, I like it!” Stiles happily rambled.

“Stiles” Theo repeated the name, and Stiles smiled.

“You are weird” Stiles claimed. Theo’s smile dropped from his face, Peter could feel waves of sadness coming from his son. This is not going well The adult Werewolf thought. “I like it! let’s be friends!” Stiles cheerfully exclaimed. Theo grinned widely and both children laughed. Peter huffed relieved.

“I’m Theo” Theo introduced himself. “You smell so good” Theo said sniffing Stiles’s neck.

“It tickles! Hahaha!” Stiles giggled out loud.

“Theodore!” Peter threated.

“You are pretty too” Stiles said blushing a little bit. Theo’s look at Stiles’s words could only remind Peter of those japanese cartoons the children watched in which the characters had hearts in their eyes. Theo never acted so sweetly with anyone this kid must really be the one Theo’s wolf chose. So young… It’s incredibly uncommon Peter thought.

“Dad… we have to go inside…” Malia intervened with Cora next to her, the two girls were confused about what was happening.

“Oh you’re right! Come on sweetheart, come on” Claudia added.

“Who are they?” Stiles asked looking at Theo.

“My sister and my cousin, Malia and Cora” Theo explained.

“Oh! Nice to meet you! I’m Stiles, I’m Theo’s” Stiles said making Peter jump out of surprise. The boy smelled human to Peter he should not be able to feel the bond between he and Theo.

“You’re cute” Malia said.

Stiles smiled brightly. “Thanks! You’re pretty too, like Theo, and you too!” Stiles said speaking to both Malia and Cora.

Theo growled and grabbed Stiles’s hand. It appeared that his inner wolf was jealous about his boy complementing other wolves. Malia and Cora turned around to look at their relative with widen eyes. Rule number one don’t growl or howl at people. Peter was seriously considering taking Theo home his wolf was out of control.

“Wow! That was so cool! You sound like a dog! No! Like, l-like a wolf! Do it again!” Stiles exclaimed.

“He can’t!” Cora confronted.

“Do you like wolves Stiles?” Malia questioned.

“Malia!” Cora hissed.

“Umm yes, they are strong and like big dogs that sing to the moon” Stiles answered.

Theo smiled. “I love wolves. What’s your favourite animal?”

“The fox! They are very nice and the move their tail when they are happy and they like to play a lot!” Stiles blurted.

“You can be a fox and I can be a wolf” Theo claimed and Stiles squeezed Theo’s hand happily.

“Wolves and foxes don’t like each other” Cora argued.

“The can be friends if they try!” Stiles argued back.

“Oh kids look almost all the children have already enter. Mischief, be good I leave you with your new friends” Claudia kissed her son.

“Let’s go inside” Malia proclaimed

“Theo, maybe you should come with me home, you are a little bit out of control” Peter suggested trying to make his son realize that he wasn’t acting as he was supossed to.

“No!” Both Theo and Stiles chorused. “I’ll be good I promise, I’ll be with Stiles and obey the teacher” Theo pleaded.

“Ok. Behave all of you” Peter conceded.

Theo, Stiles and Malia grinned widely and Cora smiled softly. They entered the building where a lady guided them to their class.

“I like you backpack. Star Wars is so cool!” Theo said. Stiles stopped and looked at Theo with awe before hugging him tight. Theo giggled.

Both Peter and Claudia looked at their sons Exchange with fondness.

“I’m so glad that my son met yours, they are going to be very close, aren’t they?” Claudia said softy to Peter.

“Yes, I think they will” Peter responded. “Your child is very special”

“So is yours, they were bound to meet. I guess we’ll see each other a lot” Claudia smiled, Peter nodded. This family is very interesting is like they are connected somehow to the supernatual, or at least they feel it insome way Peter thought.

Peter drove home and when he entered the house her sister intercepted him.

“How did it go? Were they nervous, everything went all right?” Talia questioned.

“Cora and Malia were nervous and excited at the same time. Theo found his mate” Peter blurted.

Talia froze. “What are you talking about he is five!”

“The mother was nice, there was something mystical about her, and about the boy too. And driving back home I realized that I had heard the last name Stilinski before, I belive the husband is a deputy” Peter explained ignoring his sister.

“Peter! Theo is a child you can’t possibly know for sure that he found his mate!” Talia insisted.

Peter shrugged. “Some people find them before others” Peter concluded sitting on the sofa. An exhausting day indeed.

Theo Raeken-Hale is five years old and a member of the Hale Pack. He, his sister Malia and his cousin Cora are starting Elementary School.

When Peter drove the kids to school the last thing he was expecting was for his son to find his mate.

"Mine" Theo claims hugging Stiles.

"Theo, we don't own people!" Peter hisses

"But he is beautiful! Look at him!" Theo insist.

Stiles giggles. "You're weird! I like you!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—————————

Theo's mate couldn't be an ordinary human. It had to be a bright one.

"Because you're Werewolves!" Stiles exclaimed.

"What makes you say that?" Laura asks covering her panic.

"It's obvious" Stiles says.

Oh well.

Theo, Malia, Cora and Stiles were seven years old. They were doing homework in the Hale Mansion.

Stiles integrated himself nicely in the Pack. Malia loved him and although Cora pretended to be bothered by his attitude sometimes, she really liked him too. The rest of the members got used to the imperactive human’s presence. Even Derek didn’t mind having the little mischievous kid around. Stiles was noisy and loud but he was beloved by the Werewolves. They understood the bond Theo and Stiles had and they knew how sacred it was.

Theo was smitten by Stiles even more than the day they met. Theo had a talk with his aunt about the bond he shared with Stiles. She called them mates, Theo didn’t care he knew that Stiles made him happy and that he wanted to protect him and be with him forever.

Stiles’s parents were happy that their son found loyal friends who treated him right. Noah and Claudia often diner with the Hales. Talia wanted to have a good relationship with them. Talia knew she would have to eventually tell them about the supernatural, them and Stiles, but she wanted to wait a bit more until Stiles was older. That was her plan.

Stiles closed his book roughly “Done!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Already? You’re too smart Stiles!” Malia complained, everytime they made their homeworks together she was always the last one to finish it.

“I finished too” Theo claimed and Stiles smiled at him.

“Don’t lie, you haven’t done the last two questions” Derek said to his cousin lying on the sofa reading a book. He had been entrusted with supervising the kids.

Theo poutted bitterly not liking getting caught.

“Cheater!” Stiles accused with a laugh.

“What’s going on here?” Laura asked entering the living room.

“Homework” Cora answered concetrated in her book.

“Finish already! I want to play baseball! I won’t see you in the next few days” Stiles pouted.

“Why not? Are you leaving with your parents Stiles?” Laura questioned.

“No, but It’s the full moon in two days” Stiles responded making the five Werewolves of the room froze.

Derek closed his book and looked at Laura with a little bit of panic in his eyes.

Laura collected herself. “And what does it matter that is a full moon?” She carefully asked.

Stiles looked seriously at the future Alpha. “You are Werewolves, you get affected by it, don’t you?” Stiles allegued.

Derek’s eyes widened, Cora, Laura and Theo looked at Stiles with an atonished face.

“You told him?” Malia asked Theo, who looked at her sister denying it.

“Malia!” Derek hissed. Stiles looked at the Wolves with a questioning expression. “Mom!” Derek screamed.

“She is not home” Laura muttered. The rest of the Pack were working or dping some chores.

“Uncle Peter!” Dered shouted again.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles inocently asked.

“You called?” Peter said entering the living room.

“Stiles says we are Werewolves” Cora blurted making the rest of the Hales look at her with a surprised expression.

Peter blinked “I see…” He said calmly. “Why do you think that Stiles?”

“It’s obvious” Stiles said. “Theo is a Werewolf so you have to be too”.

“Why is Theo a Werewolf?” Malia asked.

“His favourite animal is the wolf, and Theo makes cool wolf noises too. He is also very strong he moved alone the big wardrobe that time when I lost my pencil. Also they found claws of an animal in Jackson’s jacket the day he was really mean to me. Theo is sniffing me all the time and he licks me with his tongue too” Stiles explained. “That only happened once!” Theo protested. Stiles giggled. “Sometimes Malia’s nails are super long, your eyes” Stiles motioned to all the wolves “are very bright” he added. Stiles faced Theo “Your eyes flash yellow, they are beautiful” Theo smiled sweetly at the compliment.

Peter hummed out oud. “Have you tell anyone about this Stiles?

Stiles denied with his head. “It’s a secret, right? Our secret!” Stiles answered.

“Yes is a secret. You can’t tell anyone Stiles, bad people could come after us” Peter explained.

“Ok, I won’t tell. I’ll protect you like Theo protects me” Stiles claimed looking at his mate, Theo grinned widely before kissing Stiles on the cheek making the human blush. “Do you turn into wolves?! Can I see!?” Stiles asked animated.

Laura smiled. “No we don’t we only shift a little,  we can show you other day” Laura said.

“Well mom can turn into a real wolf” Cora added.

Stiles beamed. “Cool!”

“I will be able to turn into real wolf when I’m older” Theo claimed trying to impress Stiles.

“You don’t know that!” Malia argued.

“Kids! You can finish your homework later, Why don’t you go play in the backyard?” Peter sugggested.

Stiles agreed enthusiastically grabbing Theo’s arm and running towards the backyard.

Derek, Laura, Cora and Malia stood there watching at the older wolf. “He was going to find out sooner or later, the kid has a very bright mind, don’t worry, since the begining Stiles has been able to feel somehow the mate bond with Theo, he won’t do anything to harm him, or us” Peter reassured his family. “Go to play” Peter insisted. Malia and Cora stood up and and ran to join the boys.

“Are yo usure it’s gonna be all right?” Derek questioned.

“Yes. I guess we have to invite the Stilinskis to diner after the full moon, and we will have to invite everyone” Peter proclaimed.

It would have been better to wait a little longer, but seeing how happy Stiles made his son, everyhing was worth it.

[ratchedspeach]

R&R

Prompt written for Falliam Frenzy Week 4 - “Are you flirting with me?” and “…or we could make out.” This isn’t nearly as angsty as my other stuff - thought I would let these two have a little fluffy moment hehe

Femperial was a success — not just profitable, not just breaking even, but a real, bonafide success. By the end of their first year, Fallon had managed to double their profits, bringing in almost fifty new authors to publish and help launch careers for, and she did it mostly single-handed (by and large because she couldn’t loosen her grip on the reigns). It was a somewhat thankless job, not that she minded. Work was the only life Fallon really knew, and the one she felt most comfortable in.

Liam would watch and offer his help when he could, which … wasn’t very often, because he didn’t actually understand the business side of his own industry. It made him feel a little foolish that mostly what he was good for was bringing her too many cups of coffee to count. Fallon never complained, though — never expected him to do anything for her, never mind what he already was. She would just smile, and thank him gently, before turning back to her computer.

There was something almost confounding about watching her focus — eyes squinted, lips parted gently, bent slightly forward towards her computer screen. It wasn’t necessarily when she was her most flattering (at least that’s what she would tell him), but it was certainly when she was least worried about what others thought of her. It was intrinsic, and personal, and passionate.

Today is different.

Usually when Liam came, she would tell him that she was too busy for visitors, not that he would listen. Today, though, she had simply smiled as she accepted the coffee and kiss on the cheek, because she actually was too busy for visitors, let alone the three minutes that their usual useless banter. He noted the change in their routine, as well as the way her jaw clenched as she continued typing away at what he assumed was an email, but he hadn’t looked at long enough to be sure.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you its not nice to stare?” Fallon teased, eyes maintained on the screen.

He was seated on the couch, legs crossed with a book abandoned against his chest, and his hands placating a now cold and mostly untouched latte. Liam smirked, making the dimple in his left cheek protrude. 

“Actually my mother was always upset when I didn’t stare.” He mused. 

She rolled her eyes, heaving a sigh, because of course that would be Laura Van Kirk’s prerogative. There was a ping from her computer before she could respond. Fallon tensed, biting the inside of her cheeks and clicking the email open. The further she got into it, the further her face fell, and the more Liam’s concern subsequently rose.

“Fallon?” He murmured, standing from his perch and coming to lean next to her.

She closed the email before he could read beyond Dear Ms. Carrington, tensing as she starts searching through her files for only god knows what. Liam backed off the desk pressing his hands out as if to signal his white flag. She relinquished almost immediately, exhaling heavily and pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes, and for the first time Liam saw her for what she was: exhausted. A pang of guilt settled in his stomach for not having seen it sooner — for not even considering the fact that after launching her own company with all bets against her, she must be …

“You need a break.” Liam murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder and kneading into the spot behind her shoulder blade.

Fallon groaned in protest, but did nothing to stop the contact. “I don’t have time.” She mumbled, and he could feel her back tense again at the omission. “If I don’t secure the Griffin option before one of those little Penguin gremlins gets to her, that’s it for Femperial.”

“It’s one option, Fal.” Liam looked at her like she was speaking another language. “I don’t think it will make or break you.”

It’s the first time all day that she looks at him, and he almost wishes she hadn’t. Fallon’s blue eyes are bloodshot, and unfocused, and maybe a little panicked, and her lips are pursed into a decidedly uneasy grimace. She’d been pulling late nights, Liam knew that, but he’s beginning to think he doesn’t know the full extent. He’s always asleep by the time she gets home, and she refuses to wake him. Liam’s grown used to taking her word for it when she promises that she’s home no later than midnight.

“Jesus, when’s the last time you slept?” Liam breathes, his brow furrowing.

“I’m fine.” She huffs, rolling her shoulder away from his grasp. “At least I will be once Griffin responds to my email instead of getting one of her assistants to do it for her.”

“Well have you called her?”

Fallon quirks an eyebrow. “She hates phone calls ... she’s an author, Liam. I swear you and your kind are going to be the death of me … what ever happened to face-to-face communication?”

He smiles at the hyperbole, but he thinks she might be right judging on how close to the bone she’s working herself. She’s mentioned the Griffin option once or twice — Leila Griffin, a prodigal eighteen year old fiction writer who had just finished her first full-length novel. Liam had pushed her to fight for it because it was, admittedly, an impressive opportunity. He doesn’t realize what pushing for something means in her mind, though, but now here she is - running almost purely on coffee (and some Adderall she stole from her father’s medicine cabinet, not that either Liam or Blake know about that), and going out of her mind over one book option.

“You need a break, Fallon.” Liam repeated, cupping her face softly in the palm of his hand and reveling in the way it made her eyelids flutter. “You know, rest? Respite? Relaxation? Any of these words ringing a bell?”

She rolled her eyes at his alliteration, swallowing down a giggle, and fixing him with the closest thing to annoyance that she could muster. He had grown impressively adept at making her pause, and it was equally comforting and aggravating. Fallon loved her work — more specifically she loved doing her work — because it was only her’s.

She had grown up with the expectation of her future holding marriage — more specifically, marriage as a means of some business merger for Carrington Atlantic, she would come to realize. The first Christmas she can remember is when she was six and her brother as ten. Steven had received a chemistry set, and his first briefcase (amongst other things … they are the Carringtons, after all). Fallon, on the other hand, got clothing, and her first eyeshadow pallet. She would smile, and thank her parents gently, and try to ignore the disappointment she felt settling in her stomach, because truth be told she was too young to really articulate why it was there in the first place.

Femperial is the first time she’s felt like her life has direction, like she has direction outside the confines of expectation and without anyone’s aide. It had started as a passion project — something to occupy her from the crippling devastation that came with Liam’s absence, but …

By the time he was back (and actually remembered being back), it was a career, and one she loved, but one that Liam thought was starting to run her ragged.

“I know what a break is.” Fallon snapped, but he saw the humor glinting behind her gaze.

Liam smiled in return, tilting his chin before leaning forward to kiss the top of her head. “Well then,” He mumbled into her hair, “maybe you should bring it into practice before you go crazy. Or … drive Griffin crazy.”

Fallon felt he way her nerve endings tingled and fizzled as he formed the words against the roots of her hair. Her eyes closed, and he took it as permission to bring his kiss from the top of her head, to her cheek, to the space just below her jawline, and —

“Liam …” Fallon whined softly. “I can’t. Not here.”

“You’re the boss, last time I checked.” Liam whispered, marveling at the soft murmur his lips moving against her bare skin elicited from the woman.

Fallon gigged, grabbing him by the chin and kissing him squarely. “Maybe so, but that actually makes me more culpable … last time I checked.”

Liam groaned when she rolled her chair a few centimeters away from him, but complied, reclaiming his seat on the far side of her desk. She watched as he placed the book he had been largely ignoring back on his lap and quirked an eyebrow upward. Fallon chuckled, shaking her head, before returning back to whatever she had been doing prior to the interruption on her computer. Liam watches her brow furrow as she returns to her work, before heaving a sigh and unfolding the page of his novel.

He’s not sure how long they sit like that — long enough that the next time he looks up from his half finished book, the sun is golden, and Fallon is … she’s asleep? Liam thinks, crooning his eyes to wear her head is placed on the crook of her elbow and her curls are spilling over the edge of her desk. Oh my god she fell asleep. 

He has half a mind not to wake her — Fallon’s stillness is something of a relief if he’s being honest — but he knows that if he doesn’t, someone else will eventually barge into the office looking for her, and that would simply mortify her. From his vantage point he can just barely make out the way her ribcage rises and falls to give way to the slowness of her lungs expanding. Liam smiles, closing his book delicately, and coming beside her.

“Hey.” He whispers, pushing a few strands of hair off her cheek with his index finger before tracing the profile of her face.

Fallon stirs, mumbling softly, but otherwise does not change. Liam can only assume that its the equivalent to her rolling over were they in bed, Liam thinks, and has to stifle the laugh that threatens to spill over his lips at the sigh.

“Fallon, babe, wake up.” He practically sings before leaning over to kiss her cheek.

She wakes with a start, then, practically knocking the side of her head into the front of his as she sits upright, placing her hands on the desk like she’s holding on for dear life, and snapping her eyes open.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” Liam gripes.

“How long was I out.” Fallon groans, blinking her eyes and checking her phone screen as she once more orients herself with where she is.

“Not sure. A while, I think.” He shrugs. The brunette looks at him, and his smile falls when he sees the panic streaking across them. “What’s wrong?”

“The … the goddamn Griffin option.” She breathes. “It was due at three.”

Liam fumbles with his coat pocket until he finds his phone, clicking the home button, and … shit. His eyes close, breath dropping out of him in as his knuckles close around his phone. “It’s 4:30.” 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” It comes as a dangerously low grumble, and he jerks his gaze towards her.

Fallon isn’t just angry, she’s pissed — cheeks red, eyes narrowed, lips drawn into a snarl. Liam looks at her a little incredulously, because … it’s not my fucking fault. He doesn’t say it, because he knows it won’t help, and ultimately he knows that she doesn’t actually think it's about him. Which begs the question …

“Fallon what the hell is wrong?” He asks, and before she can snap back, adds, “Really?”

It was rare for him to come to her dance recitals. As a matter of fact, Fallon can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her in the audience. When she joins the competitive team at her school, and even earns herself a solo, she had begged Blake to come. He complied less because he was proud, and more because he was curious.

She was a beautiful dancer, admittedly, and were she not born into the family she was, it might have made a viable career option for her. Blake had watched her dance, and feels something akin to pride. It was short lived, though, when awards were announced and she came in second. He left before the ceremony was over, stalking back to the car, and sucking down scotch in the back of Bentley while he waits for her.

She’s thirteen the first time her father tells her that she’s “a Carrington. Loosing is not an option, Fallon.”

“I lost!” She shrieks. “I … fuck, I didn’t even loose, I just wasn’t a contender!”

Liam realizes that what he had mistaken at panic in her wasn’t that at all — it was grief. Grief over a lost option, over something that she would see a million more of during her time as a publisher, that she would lose a million more of.

“Fallon, it’s ok.” He says, and its a little harsher than he means it to sound, but … is she fucking serious?

“No it’s not, Liam.” Fallon rasps, shooting out of her chair and slamming her hands on her desk. “If I can’t even get a goddamn eighteen year old to sign with me, how is anyone going to take me seriously? Leila Griffin was a perfect client for us, and I dropped the ball, because I was —“

“Because you were tired, Fallon.” He cuts her off, ignoring the sharp look it earns him. “Because … Jesus, because you’ve been working nonstop, and you’re not taking care of yourself.”

It hits her like a ton of bricks. “Oh my god, is that what this is about?”

Liam’s brow furrows as he tries to keep up. “What … what? What what is about?”

“The visits.” She seethes, color rising in her cheeks once more. “The coffee, asking me to wake you up when I get home, and your incessant company. Is … is this all because you’re trying to fucking play doctor?”

“I’m trying to help, Fallon.” He shoots back, his voice low in his tenor. “I was trying to take help take some of the pressure off of you! Jesus, what did you think this was all about?”

“I thought you were flirting!” Fallon shrieks, arms jutting out to her sides like she’s presenting tangible evidence. “I thought you were — … ! I … fuck, I don’t know! I thought you were bored, and looking to be preoccupied, or something. That’s all!”

He can’t help but laugh by the time she’s done, because even she sounds uncertain about her reasoning. Liam watches the muscles in her shoulders release as she considers what she’s just said. 

“Ok … maybe … maybe, like, deep in my subconscious, I knew why you were here, but that doesn’t change anything.”

He’s full on cackling by the time she’s done, which he thinks she might kill him for, but he doesn’t care. he starts to giggle too, covering her face with her hands to hide her smile. It’s almost off putting, because he’s really expecting her to be angry, or defiant, but she’s just …

“Maybe I am tired.” She mumbles, the sound getting muffled into her palms.

“Are you sure? I think you’re doing great.” Liam teases, silver eyes glinting, and Fallon groans softly, and yeah … she’s sorry. Liam pulls her into his arms, the scent of his shampoo making him heave a contended sigh.

“You’re gonna have a million opportunities thrown at you, Fal.” He levels, weaving his fingers through her curls. “You can’t win ‘em all. Hell, no one expects you too.”

He thinks he might have hit on something when he says it, because she pulls away (not before he can feel her tense in his arms) and looks at him with stormy blue eyes, it takes everything in him not to break her gaze, because she looks so somber. He thinks there’s something particularly unsettling about somberness on her because it requires a certain amount of defeat, and Fallon Carrington does not go down without a fight.

It might be the first time she hasn’t been punished for making a mistake. A sheer B+ was reason enough for Blake or Alexis to come down on their children, going so far as to insult their characters when they were especially upset with them. Fallon has heard how mistakes are her fault so many times that she’s effectively learned how to stop making them - or at least how to project the blame. It makes for a great businesswoman, but a sometimes shitty woman, woman. In a lot of ways, Fallon owes who she is to them, which is as much reason to love them as it is to resent them, she thinks.

“I was off my game.” Fallon inhales when she sees a way out within what he says. “I do need a break.”

She spins, clicking a few buttons on her computer. He hears it whirr and hum for a moment before falling silent, and he realizes with a decent amount of relief that she’s turned it off. Fallon, on the other hand, seems uncertain, her fingers trailing idly on her keyboard as she brings her gaze back to him. Liam smiles softly, reaching for her hand and squeezing it softly.

“This is a good thing.” He says, and he’s only half teasing her.

Fallon bites the inside of her cheek, giving him a knowing glare, before squeezing his hand back. She hadn’t realized how quiet her office was without the humming of her desktop, and she’s not sure yet if she likes it. Her eyes flick to the window pained door that separates where she and Kirby work. The other woman’s desk is covered in papers and empty coffee cups, but there’s no sign of her.

Or anyone else, for that matter.

“Where did everyone go?” She murmurs mostly to herself.

Liam shrugs, the image of everyone finding times to sneak out before she woke up flashing through his mind. He doesn’t say anything, just places his free hand on the small of her back and kisses her delicately. She squeaks at the jolt in movement, before melting into him and bringing her arms around his shoulders. Liam pushes her against the desk, trailing his hand up her back to the spot just below her ribcage.

“Liam…” She protests weakly when his lips find her neck. “This is still where I work.”

“Right, because your moral compass is always pointed due north.” He breathes, kissing her neck again and smiling when her breath hitches in her throat.

“Are you flirting with me, Liam Ridley?” She muses softly, her fingers finding the space between his pants and his shirt trailing up the muscles in his back. 

Liam pulls away so that he’s looking at her and god she wants to wipe that smirk straight off his face, because he looks all too pleased with himself, and it makes her heart melt. 

“Maybe.” He coos, kissing her again and bringing his own hands to toy with the top button of her deep green Chanel blouse.

Fallon’s breathing goes a little ragged, and before she can really think about what she’s doing, she’s kissing him again, hard and fervent, and mussing his hair between her fingers. Liam pulls away after a few moments, his eyes meeting hers knowingly as he ignores her whines in protest.

“We can go home if you want.” He flirts easily.

“You’re right, we could.” Fallon says cooly back. “Or …”

“Or?”

“… Or we could just make out.”

[amandaoftherosemire]

IDGAF -- One-Shot

Fandom: Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6539

Format: One-Shot

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff

Summary: Standing in line for coffee, cursing the ex-boyfriend who won’t leave you alone, you lay eyes on Bucky Barnes for the first time.

A/N: I started to write this months ago because my darling @hellzzzbelle was having a hard day and I wanted to make her feel better. Unfortunately, once I got half-way through I couldn’t get it out of my brain and onto the page. Once my long fic was out of the way, however, this was one of the first things I finished. I figure this is another opportunity to make “Better Late Than Never” the tagline of my life. I hope y’all like it, especially you, peach.

As you stood in line for coffee, you glared down at your phone in disbelief.

I don’t know why you’re being so childish about this.

“Oh, fuck you and everyone who looks like you, James.” You were muttering under your breath and figured no one in the coffee shop could hear you but to your surprise, the giant in front of you turned around.

“I beg your pardon?”

When you'd gotten in line, the part of your brain that has nothing to do but search for eye candy had noted the man in front of you with approval. Tall and broad, the muscles of his back, shoulders, and arms stretched the long-sleeved t-shirt he wore in all sorts of fascinating ways. A tight ass and thick thighs only added to the allure. You'd been too involved in cursing James six ways to Sunday to pay close attention when you came in, but you couldn't help but think if the face matched the body, he'd be downright lethal. You’d been looking for a new coffee spot since your ex ruined your previous haunt and you were pretty sure you’d found the one if guys this hot hung out there.

As your eyes climbed up from your phone into ice-blue eyes set in a face carved by gods to drive mortals crazy, you realized you were absolutely correct. Lethal.

The man was just plain beautiful. His dark brown hair was pulled back into a stubby ponytail with a few loose locks falling to frame his pretty face. His jawline and cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass, but his lips were plump and full and looked soft enough to sleep on. His eyes, though, were bright and amused as they caught and held yours.

You realized you'd been staring when that gorgeous mouth quirked up at the corner.

"I'm sorry," you stammered out. "Text message pissed me off."

"Ah." He nodded with a smile. "My given name's James, so I thought you were talking to me for a second." His voice was low and warm and sent shivers down your spine.

Desperate to keep him talking, you asked the first thing that came to mind. "Given name?"

He smiled wider and you had to fight the whimper that wanted to escape your mouth. "Most people call me Bucky."

You stuffed your phone in your back pocket and held out your hand to shake. James could go fuck himself. You had much, much bigger, hotter fish to fry. "Nice to meet you, Bucky. I'm y/n."

Bucky took your hand in his and the feel of his callused palm against yours was delicious. You'd never met a man more physically magnetic than this one, so when he held your hand a little longer than necessary, it made your heart beat faster at the thought that he might be as interested in you as you were in him.

"Pleasure's mine," he rumbled. "How'd James piss you off? If you don't mind me asking."

You laughed, a little breathlessly and you hoped he didn't hear it. "Have you ever been dumped and then had the asshole try to come crawling back?"

"Can't say that I have," he replied with grin.

"It's both immensely satisfying and incredibly irritating." You were grinning back at him, neither of you noticing that the man behind the counter was waiting on Bucky.

The 40ish woman behind you, who'd been eavesdropping and was thoroughly enjoying the meet-cute happening right in front of her, leaned around you and said to Bucky, "If it was your turn, handsome, what would you do?"

Bucky blushed and you thought it might be the cutest damn thing you'd ever seen. Seeing a man this big, this muscled, this gorgeous so sweetly embarrassed was devastating. As he turned around to speak to the barista about his order, you turned to the woman behind you and rolled your eyes as you mock swooned. She grinned back at you and murmured almost inaudibly, "Get it, girl. Do it for all of us.”

You stepped forward when Bucky moved down the counter towards the pick-up window, though he appeared to be taking his time. You hoped it was because of you, but you couldn't believe a man this unbelievably attractive would genuinely be interested.

Except when you pulled out your wallet to pay, the barista smiled and jerked his head towards Bucky, who was acting like he wasn’t listening. “Already taken care of.” You shrugged and stuffed a couple ones in the tip jar before moving to stand next to the gorgeous creature that had just bought your coffee.

“Thank you,” you said with a shy and quiet smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Consider it an apology from the Jameses of the world.” Bucky was hunching his shoulders a little and his face was going pink. The sight of this big, beautiful man smiling so shyly made your heart sigh a little and you damned the thing for being so easily wooed.

“I’d rather consider it a present from my new friend Bucky.” You didn’t know who was more surprised at the flirtatious words coming out of your mouth, you or Bucky, but his face flamed just as you felt your own cheeks heat.

Bucky, who was cursing himself for ordering ahead to save time, picked up the three drink carriers on the counter in front of him as he replied, his expression pleased. “I like that better, too.”  You were astonished to see him balance them with an almost uncanny ease, but the way his biceps moved under his shirt distracted you. When at his words you met his gaze, he shot you another blushing smile before ducking his head a little.

“I hope I see you around, Bucky, and not just ‘cause you buy me my favorite coffee.” You winked cheekily at him as you said the last. You were astonished at your own forwardness but unable to stop yourself. You’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t throw yourself at him just a little bit.

Bucky had opened his mouth to reply as he lifted his eyes to yours when his eyes caught something over your shoulder. His face went sheet white and you glanced behind you. You saw nothing but other patrons and no one looked upsetting enough to disturb a man this well-muscled.

When you looked back, Bucky seemed to be hiding behind his hair as he mumbled, “Yeah, nice to meet ya.” You stared as he turned and fairly bolted from the café.

“Y/N!” You jumped when the barista called out your name, so stunned were you by the sudden change in Bucky’s demeanor. You knew it was foolish to be hurt by the behavior of someone you’d only just met, but that didn’t stop the tears that were pricking at your eyes. You grabbed the hazelnut macchiato and turned to leave when the woman who’d been behind you in line placed a hand on your arm.

“I bet this is what set him off,” she said, her face and voice kind as she placed a newspaper in your hand. On the front of the paper was the man who’d just bought you coffee in handcuffs next to Captain America under the headline The Winter Soldier: Truly Reformed?

Your mouth fell open with a pop. You vaguely remembered hearing about this, but as you'd been buried in graduate school when the trial had been going on, the bearded man with his hair in his face hadn’t made an impression. You looked at the door Bucky had run through and remembered how he’d seemed to hide behind his hair just before he’d run out.

When you looked back down at Bucky, because it was undeniably Bucky, though he was clean shaven now but for a little sexy stubble, the woman who’d handed you the paper murmured, “Didn’t seem that bad to me, but I’ve always been a sucker for a killer smile.” You gaped at her as she tipped you a wink and breezed by you with an airy wave. She was gone before you could find your voice to remind her you still had her paper.

You read the article. Of course you did. Then you spent all of your free time over the next three days searching for any other information you could get your hands on. Now that the man had bought you coffee and you weren’t living off caffeine, nicotine, and occasionally Adderall to make it through your Master’s thesis, the story caught you and you couldn’t get enough.

Also, you needed to understand. Bucky had seemed totally normal, except for being possibly the most beautiful man you’d ever personally laid eyes on. However, the one thing you remembered was that the Winter Soldier was a Russian assassin. It didn’t make any sense.

Once you started reading about James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Captain America's oldest and best friend, prisoner of war and unwilling HYDRA test subject, you couldn’t stop yourself. Using everything you knew, which was considerable, about researching and verifying information, you had learned enough to come to a conclusion of your own.

Based on the testimony at his trial, you thought the verdict to acquit obvious. You simply couldn’t see how he could be held responsible for what he’d been forced to do when what had been done to him had been taken into account. The fact that he’d not been caught but turned himself in once he could no longer be used as a weapon, proved beyond a shadow of a doubt in the courtroom when the trigger words had been read aloud to a stoic, persistent Bucky Barnes, spoke volumes as to the kind of man he was.

You weren’t going to judge before you knew him. Hell, if you saw him again, you were going to buy him coffee.

Bucky slid soundlessly into the elevator with a sigh of relief. He jabbed repeatedly at the door close button; he was almost home free. He could tell by the look in her eye that Natasha had noticed his new habit of haunting the coffee shop. He had no doubt she’d be following him soon.

As the doors slid closed, Bucky breathed a sigh of relief, cut painfully short by the slim redhead slipping into the elevator at the last second.

“You want some company today?” Natasha asked, the corner of her mouth lifting in quiet amusement.

Internally, Bucky was cursing viciously, but he answered quietly. “If you want.”

Though Natasha wasn’t looking directly at Bucky, she could see his thunderous expression out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t know why the people in her life insisted on trying to keep things from her. “For future reference,” she remarked casually, “the door close button doesn’t do anything.”

Bucky paused for a fraction of a second before answering, considering how best to NOT confirm that he’d been trying to avoid her. “What?” he asked, infusing as much puzzlement as he could into the word.

Natasha tipped him a long, vaguely insulted look. She would never understand how this man in particular could so often underestimate her. “It’s called a placebo button. It doesn’t do anything but it’s still there because people like to believe they have some control over their lives.”

Bucky stared in disbelief at Natasha’s impassive profile. “Gee whiz, Natasha. If you’re gonna be this much fun, can you come with me every time?”

“Is that a dare?” Her head turned slowly as she spoke, and the look of challenge on her face sent a chill of fear running down Bucky’s spine.

“God, no.” Bucky spoke fervently as they exited the elevator. “I haven’t forgotten.” He didn’t know how exactly, but Steve always managed to find the most dangerous women on the planet. He now had a scar at his temple where he’d cracked his head open in fright thanks to Natasha.

When Bucky had first come to live with Steve, he’d expressed doubt that she was capable of sneaking up on him. Over the next week, she’d scared the shit out of him dozens of times before he’d finally admitted defeat. He’d kind of loved it; it had been nice to be not be treated like he was broken.

Once they were on the street, Natasha slipped her arm through Bucky’s and smiled winningly up at him. “Do I need to interrogate you? Or are you gonna make it easy on yourself and just tell me why you’re always going to the coffee shop?”

Bucky refused to look at her, well aware of how uncannily observant she was and hoping to avoid giving himself away. “I’d cop to an interrogation.”

Natasha smiled fully this time. “They all think that.”

Bucky slanted her a look out of the corner of his eye, then burst out laughing at the sly grin on the little redhead’s pretty face. “I met a girl.” He gave in with a wry laugh. He didn’t know why he bothered to resist. The Black Widow wasn’t dangerous simply because she was deadly; she could have her prey fully wrapped in silken bonds before they even knew they were trapped. “I’m trying to run into her again.”

“May I ask why you do not already have this girl’s number?” Her tone told him she already suspected he’d fucked it up. “If she’s worth this much effort.”

Bucky ducked his head, hiding behind his hair, something Natasha considered a terrible habit. His voice low, knowing she’d disapprove, he confessed. “I met her the day that big article about me came out. I panicked and bolted before I could work up the nerve to ask.”

Natasha’s secret tender heart melted a little, but she kept her expression sardonic. “Story checks out.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re too sensitive about it.”

Natasha’s airy tone had Bucky snarling. “Am I?”

“You should at least pretend it doesn’t bother you.” The spy that always lived under the surface of her skin spoke absently, her attention caught by the scuffle up ahead on the sidewalk between them and the coffee shop they were heading toward.

Bucky couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a touch of wistfulness behind her words. His voice gentler than it might have been otherwise, he murmured, “Is that what you do?”

“Get fucked, James.”

The sound of your voice, ripe with the same loathing he’d heard the first time he’d heard you speak, had his head snapping up to scan the street in all directions.

Next to him, Natasha was smiling again, having noticed Bucky’s sudden alertness. “Are my thoughts audible now?” she asked, mock concerned. “That’s not good.”

Bucky wasn’t listening, his attention entirely on the drama unfolding in front of the coffee shop where he’d met you. His heart was galloping in his chest, either in terror or anticipation, he wasn’t sure which. He was trying to think of a greeting that didn’t make him feel like an asshole when he realized the slickly handsome man in front of you was blocking your path.

“Come on, Y/N!” The man’s voice was a wheedle, and immediately set Bucky’s teeth on edge. “Give me a chance to explain.” With this he reached out and grabbed your arm as you tried to walk around him.

Your eyes went cold as ice as you looked down at James’ restraining hand. He’d gotten completely out of control lately. It was time to remind him who he was dealing with. Your hand closed around the pen in your jacket pocket. “You’re gonna want to take that hand off me.”

James’ eyes narrowed and you felt his hand tighten on your arm. Typical. Quick as a snake, you struck out with the pen, stabbing him in his pretty artist’s hand with vindictive glee.

James yanked his hand away with a yelp and a plaintive, “Look, I’m sorry.”

A few feet down the sidewalk, Bucky and Nat slowed to watch the tableau. Now that it was abundantly clear you had the situation under control, he was happy to stand back and observe. Natasha murmured out of the corner of her mouth. “Did she just stab him in the hand with a pen? I approve.”

Bucky breathed out, attraction and admiration warring in his chest. “That’s her. I think I’m in love.”

You were so fucking done with this bullshit. James had been bugging you for days about getting together “for closure.” You’d naturally been ignoring him. As far as you were concerned, your James chapter was closed. “For what?” You raised your voice, fully prepared to make a scene. “Touching me without my consent or all the other douchbaggery you’re guilty of?” You snarled, using your hand to punctuate your words and ready to brawl if he didn’t back off. “Get it through your thick skull: I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.”

Though Bucky was enjoying watching you tell this asshole off, he and Natasha had gotten close enough that it felt weird to not speak. Clearing his throat, Bucky said quietly, “Hi, Y/N.”

Bucky’s voice brought you up short. You had started to give up on running into him again. To do so under these circumstances was less than ideal, but you weren’t the type to question Lady Luck.

You spun around and the smile broke on your face like daybreak, lighting you up. Bucky thought you might be the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Bucky! Hi!” You worried you were being too enthusiastic but based on the look on Bucky’s face when he’d fled, he needed the encouragement. To be fair, you tended to wear your heart on your sleeve on a good day. “I’m so glad I ran into you again. You have to let me buy you coffee this time.” You’d recognized the beautiful woman at Bucky’s side immediately and turned to greet her warmly. “Hello!”

Bucky ducked his head and shot you a shyly embarrassed smile before performing quick introductions. “Sorry. Y/N, Natasha. Natasha, Y/N.

Natasha rolled her eyes at Bucky and offered her hand to shake with a quiet smile. “Pleasure to meet you.” If you hadn’t already seen Bucky, you’d consider making a play for the gorgeous woman in front of you. It’d be quite a ride, but you were pretty sure it’d be worth it.

“Excuse me, we’re trying to have a conversation here.” James’ voice made you jump. The moment you’d seen Bucky you’d completely forgotten about the asshole you’d wasted entirely too much time on.

Your head snapped around, your mouth open to blast the bastard when Bucky replied, his voice low and dangerous. “A conversation she seems to want to escape.” His face had fallen into dark and cruel lines and he looked at James like a roach beneath his boot. To you, however, he shot a sweet smile and asked, “Would you like to have coffee with us?”

You weren’t proud of it, couldn’t explain it, but that darkly violent expression had your underwear going damp. You felt like everyone on the damn street could hear your heart pounding. “I would love to,” you replied with a delighted smile, “but would you mind giving me a minute or two? I really should deal with this.”

Bucky sneered with disdain at “this.” James glared back but said nothing. He wasn’t a fool and could tell when he was painfully outclassed. He was a fit and good-looking man, but Bucky Barnes was intimidatingly thick. He didn’t stand a chance.

Next came the cocky smirk and you were starting to get offended at the level of sexy you were required to endure. “Sure. We’ll wait over there.” Bucky and Nat passed by you and James to wait by the door to the coffee shop. They seemed far enough away to give you privacy, but with his heightened super soldier hearing he couldn’t help but overhear. Natasha overheard because Natasha always overhears. No one knows how; it just is.

“Alright.” You turned to James with a sigh. You couldn’t imagine why he was being so persistent; he hadn’t really cared about you at all. You were thoroughly done and couldn’t understand why James wasn’t. “What do you have to say that it’s worth slipping into stalker territory and has me considering a restraining order?”

James reached out, palm up, as though he expected you to put your hand in his. You grimaced at his hand as he spoke, his voice low and throbbing with emotion. You wondered how he turned it on and off like that. “I miss you,” he said, lifting his hand as though he’d touch your face.

You took a step back. “Uh-huh. What happened to what’s-her-face?”

James hand fell away when he realized you weren’t going to give in that easy. “We broke up when I realized what I’d lost with you.”

The rude snort you gave in response had both Bucky and Natasha choking back laughter. “Translation: she dumped you and now you’re bored and lonely.”

James moved closer, crowding you in to make you more aware of his body. It was his signature move as it could be used for both intimidation or seduction depending on the situation. “When did you get so cynical?”

You’d acquired an immunity to James’ signature move. You stood your ground as you replied, refusing to give a single fucking inch. “When you told me you were only with me because I was fun until something better came along.”

At that, Bucky’s eyes narrowed in fury and only Natasha’s restraining hand kept him from returning to deck the other man. Starting brawls was more Steve territory, but he’d make an exception in this case.

“I didn't mean it.” James’ eyes were limpid pools of chocolate brown and had once been your downfall. You’d acquired an immunity to that, too.

You replied with truly astringent sarcasm coating every word. “Of course you didn't.” You shot him a look rich with derision and waved your hand dismissively as you continued, “Look, this is boring and stupid so I'm gonna go have coffee with my ex-Russian assassin friends. You and I are back where we started. Get fucked, James.”

With that parting shot, you turned and walked toward said friends, both of whom were grinning at you, Natasha in approval, Bucky in relief and the first real stirrings of hope. Once the coffee shop door was closed behind you, the glee was bursting out of you like light. “Oh my god thank you! You guys just gave me the best exit line.”

Bucky was grinning like a fool at you, already utterly infatuated. Based on your ex-Russian assassins comment, you knew who he was and apparently didn’t give a fuck. “Absolutely my pleasure.”

Lucky for you, the pleasure turned out to be yours. Coffee with Bucky and Natasha was a riot, the two of them making you laugh until you laid your head on the table, tears of mirth streaming down your face. Natasha had a wicked sense of humor and she used it to tease Bucky without mercy, but with affection. He mostly teased her back, but it was clear she had the upper hand in their interactions.

After she left the two of you to go back to work, Bucky explained that her loyalty was to Steve, first and foremost, but because Bucky’s was, too, she had happily made him one of hers. You wondered at that explanation, because even you could see the infamous Black Widow had a soft spot. It occurred to you that Bucky might not see himself very clearly.

Since both you and Bucky had the day off, neither of you even considered following her lead. Two hours later, time that had flown by as Bucky kept you telling him everything about yourself, he noticed the time when his phone lit up with a text from Steve.

Couldn’t help but notice you went out for coffee three hours ago and haven’t returned. Everything okay?

“It’s Steve,” Bucky said. His pretty face was sweetly nervous as he went on. “Should I tell him I’ll be back soon, or would you like to have lunch with me?”

The next second, Bucky was struck stupid by the smile lighting up your face. You’d been smiling all morning but this one was something special, sparkling and sweet. Though you seemed completely at ease, he had been on edge, terrified that he’d end up frightening you. This smile was too beautiful, too open, too sweet. The likes of him could never inspire such a thing, let alone deserve it. He was starting to worry that he’d misheard you and when you found out who he really was you’d hate him.

“If you keep giving me options like that, you may never see Steve again.” You couldn’t help but flirt. He was too pretty and something about the dumbstruck look he was giving you made you bold. “I’d love to have lunch with you. It’ll give me a chance to hear everything about you.”

Bucky’s face fell along with his stomach and he ducked his head to hide behind his hair. The sight had the smile falling from your face. “You don’t want to hear everything.” He muttered it, but it seemed to you the pain was crystal clear.

Your voice was a gently teasing caress when you answered, and the wounded animal inside the man lifted its head warily. “Maybe not today. After all, lunch would be a first date and horror stories are generally fourth date material.” You tipped him a sly wink. “Considering the horror story, we can play it by ear.”

Bucky lifted his head a little to stare at you through his hair in disbelief. Were you… joking? If the half-smile and kindness in your eyes were any indication, you were. The only other person to make light of his past was Clint, but Clint was fucked up.

You were certain now. Bucky didn’t see himself at all clearly. Not only was he sweet, and funny, and intelligent, and easy to talk to, and you could go on all day, he was also so goddamn dreamy, you’d actually gotten lost in his eyes more than once. You were pretty sure he noticed, because he’d gotten an infuriatingly sexy smirk on his face each time you had to shake yourself out of it.

“Sergeant Barnes, I’m a fact-checker by trade and by inclination. I would never consider my due diligence done if I didn’t spend a little time with the primary source. But I don’t give a fuck about your history right now. I’d rather hear about your todays.”

As you spoke, a soft smile played around your lips. The sight had Bucky lifting his head, a spark of hope lighting in his chest. The sound of his rank and last name told him without doubt that you knew. As a matter of fact, you probably knew everything in the public record. Yet your face lit up every time you looked at him. Bucky couldn’t understand it, but couldn’t resist it, like a stray responding to a soft voice and a gentle hand. “My todays are pretty boring,” he replied, his sweet smile creeping back.

“I’m still interested.” Your expression turned sultry and you hoped he caught the double meaning behind the words. From the wicked grin he flashed, you weren’t disappointed.

“Let me text Steve back and then, how do you feel about pizza?”

You spoke seriously, without the barest hint of amusement but your eyes were twinkling. “I have very warm, deeply sensual feelings about pizza.”

Bucky’s whole face seemed to light up as he laughed out loud, his eyes squinting tight with mirth while his mouth stretched wide. You couldn’t help but laugh with him, this the most carefree you’d seen him yet.

Bucky was still chuckling as he bent over his phone. So far, so perfect, he thought. He hadn’t yet found anything to dislike about you. Somehow, you seemed to feel the same and that made him the luckiest man in New York.

Her name’s y/n and I think she has the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.

Steve snorted when Bucky’s response came through. A girl. Typical. His face spread in an absolutely delighted smile. Nothing made Steve happier than when his friend was typical. You say that every time. 🙄

Bucky was helping you on with your jacket when his phone buzzed again. When he saw Steve’s reply, he glanced at you. With a cheeky grin, you offered your arm. Laughing again, Bucky held up a finger before tapping out an answer as quickly as possible. When he was done, he dropped his phone into his pocket and took your arm with an amused half-smile.

I can’t remember any others. And since she just agreed to have lunch with me, I’ll see you whenever she’s done with me.

Of course, it didn’t end at lunch. After a long meal punctuated by a lot of laughter and good-natured flirting, you ended up walking together, first through a nearby park, then through your favorite bookstore. Before you knew it, it was time for dinner and Bucky was asking you to join him again.

You were agreeing before you’d even fully thought about it. At this point, you’d come to a conclusion. Bucky Barnes was a fucking sweetheart. As long as he kept asking you to spend more time with him, you were going to keep saying yes. And if he kept smiling like that whenever you did, you didn’t know how you were ever going to say no.

Much, much later, after dinner, dessert, and more coffee, Bucky walked you to your door. The two of you had done everything you could to stretch the time out longer and longer, neither of you willing to part, too enthralled with the other’s company, but neither of you could think of any further excuses.

Bucky had his hands in his pockets and his head down, hiding again behind his hair as you unlocked your front door. Instead of opening it, you turned back to him, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips when you saw him blushing behind the curtain of his hair.

“Bucky,” you said, and the throaty promise in your voice had him easing forward, “it wouldn’t be too forward to kiss me at the end of our first date.”

Once more the grin broke over his face, this one pure male appreciation. “I was hoping that’s what this was.” He teased gently as his bare hand came up, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You laughed a little breathlessly. That look, desire and humor, had you fluttering coyly at him. “It will be if you kiss me.”

Bucky smiled, but he didn’t touch you except that big warm hand cupping your cheek and tilting your face for his kiss. Your heart was beating like a drum as he eased closer, lust and excitement tangling inside you and leaving you a little dizzy. Your breath caught at the sight of Bucky’s normally arctic eyes burning like the searing blue at the base of a hungry flame as he dipped his head to close his mouth over yours.

The kiss started out soft and sweet, almost chaste, but the feel of the full, pink mouth you’d been fantasizing about for most of the day set your body ablaze. Bucky didn’t move in, however, and it seemed he held you in place with that single hand against your cheek and neck as with lips, teeth, and tongue he coaxed your mouth open. Truthfully, coaxing was not necessary as you were as eager to explore that tempting mouth as he was for yours.

Bucky was close enough you could feel the heat of his body, and between that and his heady scent of leather, tobacco, and spice your head was spinning. The taste of him on your tongue was as seductive as the way he kissed you as though your breath was the only air he needed to survive.

Somehow, that chaste hand in juxtaposition against that blazing hot kiss combined with the other sensory overload to make this the most erotic experience of your life. You weren’t certain you’d live through having sex with him. You were having a hard time convincing yourself to not drag him inside and find out.

“God,” he whispered against your mouth, his breathing ragged, “you really are perfect.” He couldn’t remember another kiss so bright and warm but also dark and hot. He’d found in your mouth the reminder of both happy sighs and wanton moans and the mixture was a dizzying combination of elation and confusion.

Your eyes fluttered open and at your breathless chuckle, his other hand, which he’d kept gloved the entire day, came up to cup your other cheek as he brushed his lips gently over yours once more.

Bucky was nearly shaking with need. He wanted more than anything to yank you against him and feast on the honey and spice he’d discovered inside the sweetest mouth he’d ever tasted. He was determined to be a gentleman, however, because you were entirely too perfect to risk scaring, no matter how fearless you seemed.

“So, first date implies a second,” he murmured. The soft rumble was unbelievably sexy and had you wondering how he sounded first thing in the morning. You didn’t normally move that fast, but lust was clouding your brain.

You knew you had a ridiculous smile on your face. What you didn’t know was its dazzling effect on Bucky, who could hardly believe you were real, the perfect mix of sexy and sweet. He snatched another kiss, unable to resist that sparkling smile.

You laughed a little and reluctantly pulled your face from his gentle hands. You held yours out in front of you palm up. “If you wanna hand me your phone I’ll put my number in it. You can shoot me a text the next time you want to see me.”

Bucky pulled out his phone and unlocked it before handing it over. He toyed with an idea while he grinned at the top of your head where it was bent over his phone. Once you’d handed it back, he stepped back, afraid if he touched you again, he’d end up pushing too far too fast and frightening you.

With a wink and a sultry “Good night,” you slipped into your apartment and leaned against the closed door, your heart pounding in happiness, excitement, and healthy lust. You were so lost in starry-eyed memories of the best first-date of your life, you jumped a little when you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Pulling it out, you saw an unfamiliar number.

Is it too soon to ask to see you again?

Laughing, you swung the door open, shot a hand out to grab the edge of Bucky’s jacket and dragged him inside. Maybe it was too soon. You didn’t give a fuck.

The attractive 40ish brunette in the bright red dress caught your eye and winked as you and Bucky walked into the coffee shop. Bucky was stopping to pick up the Avengers coffee order on his way back while you were on your way to work. You grinned back at her, recognizing her as the woman with the paper the first time you met Bucky all those months ago.

Outside on the sidewalk once more, you pulled Bucky off to the side and took advantage of Bucky’s full hands to take his beautiful face in yours for a kiss. Since his arms weren’t free to pull you close, maybe you could escape before you were having to sprint to avoid being late for once.

When you reluctantly pulled away for the third time from that delicious mouth, it occurred to you that you may not be blameless in these long morning goodbyes. “You’re going to be late again,” Bucky murmured against your lips, the warning weak.

You pressed your cheek to his, affection and something that felt a lot like love rising up to become an ache in your throat. In the last few months, the least favorite part of any day had become this one, when you had to kiss him goodbye. “Ask me if I give a fuck.”

Bucky turned his head to nip at your bottom lip with a quiet chuckle. “I will not. I know the answer.” It was one of the things he loved most about, your absolute refusal to care about the little shit. Too busy living on your own terms, you were a master at ignoring opinions you didn’t already value. He found it weirdly inspiring.

Bucky spotted a vaguely familiar face in his peripheral vision and smirked. You were busy nuzzling into his throat; Bucky had already cursed himself for not kissing you before he’d loaded up with drink carriers. His voice was an amused drawl as he asked, “Speaking of things you don’t give a fuck about, is that James?”

“James who?” You were humming against his skin, struggling with the rush of emotion, like fluttering wings inside your chest. Because you were cuddled against him, your face buried in his throat, you couldn’t see the downright smug grin on Bucky’s face, but James could. The other man simply turned and walked the other way.

“You really are perfect,” he said as he pressed a kiss to your hair, still frustrated by his full hands. You tilted your head back with a laugh. He’d been saying that from the beginning and it always made you melt a little. You didn’t know it was what he’d taken to saying when he wanted to tell you he loved you. He hadn’t yet gotten the courage to say it out loud.

So tenderly you could help but wonder if he was struggling with that same flutter in his chest, Bucky pressed a soft kiss to your lips and stepped back with a teasing grin. “Get goin’, doll. You’re too tempting, and I don’t want you in trouble again.”

“I like being tempting,” you replied with a flirty smile. You glanced at the time and groaned; you were gonna have to haul ass now. “See you tonight!” you called while walking backward a few steps and blowing noisy kisses. Bucky was still laughing as you turned away to start your run to work.

Bucky was still grinning when a couple of blocks away, he came around a corner to find himself face-to-face with the guy you’d dated before him. He didn’t even try to stop himself from saying what he’d wanted to for months.

“Hey buddy! I wanted to tell you: on the one hand I want to punch you in your fucking face for treating my girl like shit, but on the other if you hadn’t, she wouldn’t be my girl. So, thanks. Asshole.”

With a taunting smirk, Bucky walked around the gaping man and kept walking. Behind him he heard James’ outraged shout. Bucky neither stopped nor turned. “I’d give you the finger, but my hands are full,” he shouted back instead.

That had probably been immature and had definitely been unnecessary. Bucky didn’t give a fuck.

The End

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[yourdeepestfathoms]

Monsters Don‘t Soften When They Die (part 1)

so here’s another project!! however @millie1536 is lending me her amazing writing talents to co-write with me! It’s been so much fun to work with her and I can’t wait to see where this will take us!

———————

Stage door was never really Bessie’s cup of tea. It’s not like anyone ever wanted to take pictures with her, hell, half of the time people didn’t even know who she was, despite having TWO introductions. That being said, Parr jogging up to her while she was trying to pack up to leave and saying someone was requesting to speak with her was a bit strange, but she decided to oblige.

  “Who is it?” Bessie asked while following Parr to the front of the theater.

The queen shrugged.

  “Some kid,” She replied, “She seemed pretty excited to meet you, though.”

  “Hm.” Bessie merely said.

While she was happy that she wasn’t completely forgotten by fans of the show, Bessie wasn’t quite used to people wanting to see her. It felt almost strange. She just hoped this would be worth her time because it was movie night with the other ladies in waiting and none of them liked being late to it.

Stepping out into the lobby, Bessie was immediately met by a flurry of people bustling around the room. Among them was a little brunette girl, around eleven or so, who was pointed out to by Parr.

  “Her.”

There was a strange feeling in Bessie’s stomach, then in her heart, especially when the little girl smiled up at her.

  “Miss Blount?” She said sweetly.

  “Margaret?” Bessie whispered.

The girl’s eyes go wide, but she’s quickly smiling again.

  “Mummy?”

That was enough to send Bessie to her knees, a hand clasped over her gaping mouth. She screws her eyes shut as tears pour down her cheeks. The girl, her daughter, Margaret takes a small step forward and Bessie reaches out, pulling her into her arms.

  “Oh, Margaret,” Bessie murmured over sobs, “Darling, I missed you. I missed you so much. I’m so sorry we never got to meet, my love.”

  “I-I never thought you would hold me ever again...” Margaret whispered as her eyes grew watery, “Mama...!”

  “I’m here now, baby, I’m here,” Bessie told her, holding her tighter. “I’m never going to let you go.”

—————

       “Are you sure this movie is appropriate for Margaret?”

  “I hope so,” Maria said, “I’ve been waiting all week to finally watch Lizzie Borden Took An Ax on my pick for movie night!”

It’s been two weeks since Margaret had shown up and everyone loved the kid. Although it was unknown how she figured out about the show or was even reincarnated, nobody decided to ponder over it. The girl was polite and sweet and friendly and she made Bessie happy, so everybody decided she was a keeper (although Aragon was a tiny bit jealous about how only the BASSIST’S kid got to come back).

  “Don’t worry, mama,” Margaret said from where she was sitting in Bessie’s lap, “I’m brave!”

  “This movie isn’t even rated R, anyway,” Joan added.

Suddenly, Maggie yelped out loud, jumping at least three feet off of the couch when the mutilated, caved in, bloody face of Andrew Jackson Borden popped up on the screen. She placed a hand over her heart and tried to catch her breath while the others laughed, and she eventually joined them in the fit of giggles.

  “You good, Mags?” Joan asked, tittering.

  “I’m good,” Maggie assured her.

  “We are getting RIGHT into it!” Maria exclaimed before shutting up as the movie went on. Of course, though, she would end up piping up again. There were just so many things to talk about!

  “Ooh,” Joan winced when Andrew Jackson’s destroyed face popped up again, “They really like showing that, don’t they?”

  “You could fill that hole up with soup!” Maria said and the others all burst into laughter.

Maggie’s giggles died down and snuggled back against the couch cushions, slightly curled against Maria. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Margaret looking at her. She smiled. The girl smiles back. Bessie saw them exchange grins and got a warm feeling in her chest at the two getting along.

  “That’s what I need,” Maggie piped up at the scene where Lizzie was being injected with medicine.

  “Morphine?” Joan tilted her head.

  “Yeah.” Maggie nodded and Joan and Maria snort.

Once again, Margaret is staring, but looks away when Maggie tries to make eye contact. The guitarist merely shrugs and pays back attention to the movie.

Eventually, the tale of Lizzie Borden comes to a close and Maria stands up first, stretching out her arms and back.

  “Damn!” She exclaimed, “That was good! We’ll have to watch all of the movies based off of Lizzie Borden and rate them.”

  “I’m down,” Joan said, “That woman is badass.”

  “Hsst,” Bessie lightly kicked Joan when she cursed.

  “That woman is very cool,” Joan corrected with a laugh.

  “Better.” Bessie said.

Maggie stood up, rubbing the heels of her palms against the small of her back. She yawns.

  “I think I’m going to head to bed,” She announced, “Night everyone!”

  “Goodnight!” Came the chorus of voices.

——

       It was some odd hour of the night when Maggie woke up. She grunted sleepily and rolled over to get into a more comfortable position, only to see a dark figure looming over the side of her bed. With the murder movie she had watched still fresh in her mind, she flinched backwards, gasping out loud.

  “Lizzie Borden?” Her dazed, but scared mind made her say.

No answer.

Squinting, Maggie realizes this figure is very short and not wielding a weapon that she could see.

  “Margaret?” She called out.

The person shifts in their spot.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

The pitch and tone of the voice confirmed that it was, in fact, Margaret.

  “What are you doing?” Maggie asked, rubbing her eyes.

Margaret shrugged and then turned and walked out of the room.

Maggie sits on her bed in the dark completely dumbfounded.

—————

       Maggie had completely forgotten about what happened during the night until she saw Margaret again. Naturally, she was a little confused about the incident, as it had been the middle of the night and the girl didn’t even ask to sleep with her. She just...stood there.

It was just weird. Really, really weird.

But Maggie decided to ignore it and continue on with her day. Margaret didn’t bring it up, so she wouldn’t, either. Maybe it had all been a dream or something.

However, once she got a forty milligram dosage of Adderall in her, her paranoia went through the roof. Watching that Lizzie Borden thriller movie probably didn’t help either. She kept imagining Margaret being there at her bedside with an axe. Her smiling face was the last thing she would see before cold iron cleaved deep into her skull.

It was just absurd! Margaret had never done anything to warrant Maggie to think of her like that (although Lizzie Borden did seem just like an innocent woman...). The girl was nice and friendly, so Maggie knew she shouldn’t look at her like she was an axe-wielding maniac, and yet she found herself watching Margaret more often. Making sure she knew where she was and what she was doing made her feel more at peace.

Maria and Joan had noticed fairly quickly how unsettled Maggie had become towards Margaret since they watched that movie, but they could also see how happy Bessie was to have her daughter back. The house seemed to be split into two different worlds: One filled with joy and glee, and the other was wry and paranoid. Joan and Maria were walking the borderline between the two.

They discussed it in the privacy of Maria’s loft bedroom one day. They had enough of Maggie jumping every time she heard Margaret’s voice.

  “What do you think is going on?” Joan asked.

  “Not sure,” Maria answered, “Maybe we’re overthinking it?”

  “Maybe,” Joan sighed, “It could just be that movie. You know how Maggie gets after watching horrors or thrillers. She’s always paranoid for at least two weeks.”

Maria hummed, remembering the aftermath of when Joan had picked out It Follows to watch a few months ago. The guitarist looked over her shoulders constantly and was always glued to someone’s side, never wanting to be alone, especially in the house. Eventually, she got over it and relaxed, but that could be happening all over again. Who knew it would be caused by a Lizzie Borden movie of all films.

  “It’s only been a week,” Joan continued, “Maybe she’ll calm down soon.”

Maria nodded slightly.

  “Hopefully.” She said, “I wonder why she’s been ogling Margaret so much, though. I thought she liked the kid.”

  “People get tired of children,” Joan said, making Maria laugh into her hand. “I’m not saying Margaret is a bad kid, it’s just that having an eleven year old around all the time is exhausting.”

Maria giggled a bit before containing herself.

  “Let’s just keep an eye on Maggie.”

This conversation was why, when it came time for Maria’s turn to cook dinner, the drummer decided to make Maggie’s favorite. They had learned early on that Maggie’s favorite comfort food was lasagna. This worked well for Maria, as it wasn’t too complicated, unlike Joan’s go to comfort food.

  “Can I help?”

Maria turned around to see Margaret sitting at the kitchen counter.

  “Of course! It’ll be a lot faster with an extra set of hands.”

Maria hoped that letting Margaret help would show Maggie that nothing was going to change. Or to be afraid of.

  “I don’t think Maggie likes me very much.” Margaret said as the two of them began cooking.

  “That’s not true. Maggie just struggles with change sometimes.” Maria smiled at the girl who just shrugged.

  “I guess.”

Half an hour later and the meat was cooked and the sauce was ready.

  “Why don’t you put it together and I’ll start washing up?” Maria suggested.

Margaret nodded enthusiastically. If Maria was washing up it meant that she’d have her back to Margaret.

In the dining room, Joan noticed Maggie squirming anxiously in her seat and decided to try and help soothe her.

  “You alright, Mags?” Joan asked quietly, resting her hand on the guitarist’s shoulder. Maggie nodded but didn’t say anything. Joan watched her for a moment before passing the plates to Maria.

It wasn’t unusual for Maggie to fidget throughout dinner; she didn’t like sitting still for long periods of time, but it was strange how quiet she was.

  “You have to eat something, Maggie.” Joan said once dinner was served. She gave the girl an encouraging smile to try and convince her.

  “I’m not really hungry.” Maggie mumbled as she watched her hands flutter in her lap.

  “Just a little bit? Please, you haven’t eaten much all day.”

Maggie sighed. She couldn’t disappoint Joan like that and so she stopped moving the pasta around on her plate and took a bite.

It was fine at first. She coughed a little, but put that down to not chewing properly, something she was known to do. But then her skin began to itch and it felt as though her throat was closing up. Joan, being sat beside Maggie, was the first to notice the faint wheezing sound that accompanied every breath the girl took.

  “Maggie? Maggie, what’s wrong?” The keyboardist asked, but one look at Maggie’s face told her everything she needed to know. “Shit!”

Not wanting to waste another moment, Joan ran to the hallway cupboard where they kept the first aid kit. When she got back to the kitchen with an EpiPen, Maria was already on the phone with the ambulance and Bessie and Margaret were nowhere to be seen.

  “Can’t breathe.” Maggie’s voice sounded as though she was being choked.

  “I know, just relax, love.” In any other moment Joan would have rolled her eyes at herself. Her bandmate couldn’t breathe and she was telling her to relax of all things.

Under different circumstances, Joan would have warned Maggie before she pulled her pajama pants down, but Maggie was too focused on trying to breathe to care or even notice when the needle pierced her skin.

  “The ambulance is on it’s way, Mags. Just stay awake for me, yeah?” Maria knelt beside Maggie, who was still slumped in her chair. “Should we move her to the couch or something?”

Joan gave Maria a quick nod, too panicked to do much else as she stepped up to carry Maggie to the couch.

  “Just breathe, hun. That’s it. It’s going to be alright.” Joan positioned herself on the couch so that Maggie’s head was in her lap and she could run her fingers through her hair, since she knew the guitarist liked that.

A few minutes later they heard sirens and Maria ran to open the door.

The next few hours were a blur. Maggie was put on a stretcher and carried into the back of the ambulance where she was put on oxygen and given a shot of adrenaline. Despite her half conscious state, Maggie would not let go of Joan’s hand and so Joan rode in the ambulance with her to the hospital, talking softly to her to help calm her the whole way. Maria took the car and followed them.

They had been at the hospital for almost two hours when Bessie and Margaret finally arrived. Margaret rushed to Maggie’s side, holding her hand and asking how she was feeling. The guitarist made a tiny noise, almost in resistance, and kept looking from Margaret to Maria, seemingly asking the drummer for help with her eyes. Joan just glared at Bessie.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?” Her voice was cold as she dragged Bessie into the hallway.

  “Is she going to be alright?” Bessie asked, still looking at the closed door separating her from Maggie.

  “What the fuck happened back there?” Joan snapped, “Maggie’s having an anaphylactic reaction to something and you just disappear?”

Bessie’s walls went up at this. She bristled herself up like a rearing bear and narrowed her eyes into a burning glower that almost made Joan buckle beneath it.

  “Margaret was scared, I didn’t want her to see what was happening.” Bessie defended herself.

  “Margaret was scared?” Joan almost laughed, “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that when Maggie couldn’t fucking breathe!”

As quickly as they had gone up, Bessie’s walls crumble.

  “I’m- I didn’t…” Joan just watched as Bessie struggled to find the words. “I’m sorry.” She said eventually.

  “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. Do you have any idea how scary that was for Maggie? You’ve always been there for her and then suddenly when she needs you, you’re gone. How do you think that felt?”

Bessie doesn’t say anything as Joan leaves her standing in the hallway. She just watches as the keyboardist returns to Maggie’s room.

She stands there for a long time before running both hands through her hair- a nervous tick she had picked up ever since reincarnation. She paced back and forth, muttering to herself, and only stopped because she notices Margaret sidle up to her. She drops her arms and knelt down in front of her daughter, who was sniffling and almost in tears.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Bessie asked, softening her tone to mask her stress.

  “I-is Maggie going to be okay?” The little girl squeaked out, “Sh-she doesn’t look good, mama. I’m scared!”

Margaret collapsed into Bessie’s arms and her mother hugged her tightly. She was quickly raised up when Bessie stood, held close to the bassist’s chest.

  “She’s going to be okay, my love,” Bessie murmured, swaying Margaret back and forth, “She’ll be back home in no time.”

  “P-promise?” Margaret sniffled.

Bessie kissed the top of her daughter’s head and said, “I promise.”

Joan watched the two from where she’s slightly peeking out from the hospital room. She scoffs and then retreats to Maggie’s side with Maria. Like Bessie should have done.

[queencryo]

@silly-go-round is asleep right now.

i guess i should make a journal for the past few days. as good a time as any. as AMY. heh. cuz shes super good and amazing. heh.

uh...... lessee.... for the two days after the last journal i just. hung out at the house while silly worked. i managed to not keep her in bed and make her late the second day. hung out a lot, watched more adventure time, worked on my tumblr filter script (lie. i judt ran it on my main. 200 posts / day is a bitchhhh) , played a good amount of ds3 (to pointof tetris effect at a couple points the nexg few days)

also did some like. helpful tasks. washed some dishes (undone quicklu, but. eh). not enough, mot as much as i shouldve, but... i tried i guess.

alao we've like. said the same thing at the dame time a Lot while ive been here and its like. nice. its really nice. same wavelength! i feel so close go her.

oh! alxo night before last we went grocery shoping. got food for prolly enoygh for the two weeks, but i guess we'll see. also a cheesecake! it was.... echausting. hily fuck it was exhaysting. jesus. the store was big and it took like 3 hours and $200 to get everything but. we did itttt.

we both mentionef that like. it felt nice to like. have a full fridge 2gether. cuz. it feels like were gonna have a futjre togetjer? u know. like that is. i love her a lot and it feels good for this to feel like a home for a little while. we hope that it can be so in tbe future.

so YESTERDAY she finally FINALLY taught me how to play magic the gathering. it was. a long time coming. but she brought me into the store and like. sat me down w some regulars and had me play commander. i played moooostly her snake deck, so like.that was fun!! i kept talki g about how i woulda gotten lorescale Coatl up to 39/39 and flying, had i like. gotten q more turn. but on that game D was running a mill deck that was. extremely long to play (that game took like ~>2 hours ugh), and was very bery annoying, so i didnt get to actually do that.

but it was fun! part of me wants to blog everything, but i dont think i will.

im glad to be able to use silly's decks, bc i dont think i want to make my own. im considering making a cheap angel deck or smth, but we'll see if yhat actually ends up happening.

i also met her girlfriend Iz, who is sweet. i played magic w her fkr a while, which was fun! she was runni g an annoying mono black deck (i kkow all these... these Terms and Words now, its incredible...)

shes sweet and i think i like her. dunno if enough to date yet (which makes me Partially regret flirting w her so much in the groupchat but. hey)

talked w her some, mostly about magic, hung out while silly closed the store, pet her cat, silly discovered that cyddling w TWO girlfriends is very nice (not rhat id know ;;;;;;;), was good times. i dont think im as comfy w izzy physically yet as i may have implied in messages, which hopefully wull be rectified by the message i just sent her (my initial physical comfort with people varies, it depends very much on the person)

skip forward, me and silly make a pizza at home cuz were fuckin tired, she admonishes me for not eating for uh... like 11 hours or smth (that mornings bagel was VERY good tho omg), but adderall, so like... meh.

uh... i dont think anything else on yesterday...

today! we waaamted to go to the store at like. 2. but in actuality got there at like! 330.

i went back to sleep cuz im a losenerd, and she. made this breakfast casserole thing. which hse put into a bagel abd brought to me bc i guess shes the best person on the entire earth oh my GOD. jesus

skip... apparently she knows maximum the hormone and doesnt like them very much... fair fair. (cause for xeath)

came to the store agai. tofay. it was fun and good. iz didnt come in today, do played some more with regulars. played w what is apparently called a blink deck, which revolvea arounf exiling cards then immediately bringing them back, to capitalize on "when this enters battlefield, do smth" cards. neat!

i DID actually manage to win today!!! the victory was. literally handed to me, but like. thats fine! i was playing silly's uhhh... elintor the masked? idr her name :( the mask planewalker! deck, which. i had SO much land, most of wh8ch was enchanfed. meaning it could be tapped then untapped w eljntor's thing, then tapped again for DOUBLE MANA. i mean. i had like 9/turn even b4 that but. BUT. i also had. i think i drew 3 creatures total. bit anyway. i had the white card that gave me a life whenever a creature was put on tge board (and also, w another enchantment, made all non-me creagurss and enchantments enter the board tapped, so. nya). so... rob had a card what dealt one damGe to all other players whenevr he puta. creature on the board. then he played united forces, which lets each player commit X mana to create X 1/1 soldier tokens on all players' boards. so. we made 28 white soldier tokens on everyones board. this killed perry, ans gave me, uh. 56 life (84 - 28). i then attacked ron for 28 w the soldiers, and drew sacred mesa, which lets me sacrifice 2 mana (1 any color, 1 white, but i had so many cards that said "this land can instead be tapped for 2 of any color, so like. ueah) to create a 1/1 flying pegasus token. so i. ended the game w 44 white 1/1 tokens. goblins get fucked.attack w my ssoldiers cuz his were tapped, so brought him down to 7 life. i didng catch what he did w the enchantment, but i think he said he like. put a copy of every creature on my side of the board onto his board, and then. cipying that enchantment 3 times. so. holy FUCK. wow. BUT those all came in tapped and i had 18 flying yokens, so. i still won! yay!!!! i won a game of magic!!!!!

goblin decks scare me. stop running krenko you fucks. exponential goblins goddamn

silly would come by every so often and like. look over my dhoulder and say "oh that was dumb whyd u use fabricate for thay" which is fair. but also god i love her. (i used fabricate for a mana generator insteaf of lightning greaves. whateverrrr) i love her so much dear god. i wish i coukd help w the store more, but. on the same time i also. dont enjoy working. so. maybe part time.

hm. what ekse. oh yeah i kove her so much.

by the end of the night it was just. me and her, rob and the two regulars i started out llaying w yestwrday. theyre sweet, i like them. theyre married. the dude calls me honey smtimes, which is. kinda weird? dunno how i feel about that. i guess fine. its gender-nice, but still a lil uncomfy. otherwise i like em fien, though. but they talked abouy moving into sillys apt. so thats cool!! better than her current (awful, terrible, lazy / horrifically depressed / manchild roomate, who doesnt clean ever) roomate. i was reading the monster of the week gamebook thruout, which i... bought, for some reason. idk. oh also i wanna make a fallen angel divine, because im... predictableeee. also a conspiracy thworist whos just a trans woman w way too much time and really weird hobbies (throwing knices, butterfly knife, net friends, etc). also a spooky. i speny like. 3 hours reading thr7 the monster of the week book while ppl played magic around me. i kinda wish i hadnt bought it, but hey! its neat c:

oh, also i didnt take adderall today. i dont think it went toooo bad, i think i like. was meaner and less thohghtful with what i said, but like. i guess thats better than feared. i took a caffeine pill (200mg) at ariund 10 which is. prolly why im wide awake right now. i regret doing that, sincr from what shes said tmos gonna be big)

she says we gotta be at her moms by 4, for reasons she WONT TELL ME. bit she says its part of one of her plans, i ASSUME the romantic one? im kind of afraid that ill like. no-sell it unwillingly because im abroke and soulless human being, but uh. i guess rhats thw risks we take to be alive :shrug: im excited. were also going to a shop (diff one) tmo, which im Quite excited for, as ive only been in similar shops by accident before. also doing laundry!!! which is important ^_^

oh ysah. so we got white castle on the way home. its. yeah she was r8ght. mediocre-at-best sliders. onions are bad.

we also made a pizza. whifh i ate most of. i overate. sob.

she fell asleep halfway thry an episode of nailed it. cant blame her, she seemed really tired. i hipe i dont disturb her rwst. and i feel so utterly blessed thay i can be around her.

ih!! i also fell down the last few staies ywstersay. bruised my arms, but otherwise fine. it was. idk, it is nice to knoe that others worry fir me and like me. she was very concerned. i love her.

[sheislegend23]

10.21.18

Here it goes:: the topic today is PCOS.

PCOS means polycystic ovarian syndrome. There are a lot of things that you can google, but I am going to be talking about my own personal journey and what that means for me now in this moment in time. There’s TMI in here, but reading personal accounts has helped me broaden my mind and knowledge and has certainly helped me realize I’m not alone in my struggles.

First thing you should know is that while some little girls plan their weddings, I planned baby names. I used to say I wanted as many children as I could, and I have ALWAYS wanted to have a family of my own.

Body wise, I was healthy and “normal” until I was about 8 or 9 years old. I slowly gained weight and got “husky”, but nothing to be terribly concerned about. By 12, I was obese. I didn’t get my first period until I was 16, which some say is just being a late bloomer, but in my case was probably the beginning effects of PCOS.

At 11, my parents divorced and my dad and I went off our own way. We had a huuuge learning curve, and I remember eating spaghetti with sauce (and when that ran out - butter) for weeks at a time until he got paid again because spaghetti was cheap, cheap, cheap. We moved again and again and readjusted our lifestyle over and over so we would never have to go back to those rough days, but that period of time was when I went from “husky” to obese.

I hated my body and didn’t understand why eating what was presented as “healthy” as a child wasn’t helping me. At 14, I started dance classes and later tried out and made my high school drill teams. All the dancing and cardio didn’t help my waistline. I didn’t let anyone’s mean comments or my fat body stop me from dancing, which inspired some and repulsed others. I didn’t have regular periods which I chalked up to being so active and fat at the same time. A stressed out body could possibly decide that’s not the best place for a baby to grow, right??

Enter adulthood. Here’s a few things I learned::

1.) Bread is NOT healthy. My mother drilled in my head that bread is good for you and could be a good anytime healthy snack as well as something you HAD to eat at least twice a day. Not sure where she got that information because, especially with my body type, starch and carbs are the enemy. I didn’t learn this til much later, I will alert when it is time.

2.) I have ADD. Specifically, ring of fire ADD (NOT ADHD) which helped explain why I am patient and extremely slow to anger, but once I’m angry, just back off and let me blow off my steam to cool down again. I thought it was because I’m southern. This diagnosis was at the age of 19.

3.) I have PCOS. The doctor I went to perhaps had good intentions, but conveyed very incorrect information and can give you, the reader, a glimpse at how one obese patient was given said info.

At my first OBGYN appointment, she told me that with 95% accuracy, I definitely had PCOS. She glanced over what that meant, but then came to the part she grilled me on - my weight. My weight was most likely causing the PCOS so if I could just stop eating bad and go exercise, I could probably reverse the effects and have a normal body again. I explained that I had danced for years and hadn’t eaten that terribly since I had had to at 12, and she said that I simply must not have been exercising hard enough and eating too much. Insert a HUUUGE eye roll here because as any drill team alum know, it’s plenty.

The real troubling thing came next when I talked about my want for a family in the future. She looked at me very gravely and said that my chances for conception are extremely slim, and if I ever did successfully conceive and didn’t miscarry, I would need to quit my job and stay at home and never be stressed for the whole 9 months because I would be at a very high risk of miscarriage up until the baby came out. Also, “don’t get attached to the first one” because I will likely lose it. Reminder:: A REAL DOCTOR TOLD ME THIS. AT 19. For real.

Her solution: birth control. I was very weary of all types of female birth control because there are a lot of side effects. I took them for a few months, and then stopped.

I don’t hold any ill will towards her, but I later found out that that information is VERY incorrect. My journey however has included believing that lie until 2 years ago.

Shortly after that, I found out I had ADD, so I started taking adderall. I took a high dose because my fat body would absorb it, and when friends or whoever would ask my dosage and I’d tell them, they were horrified and assured me that my heart would definitely explode and they were surprised I wasn’t already dead as a door nail. That’s the problem with opinions, it’s all very personally based. They weren’t thinking of MY fat body at all.

The adderall worked wonders. I could concentrate! I could multitask! I stopped making so many dang piles! Mostly, I stopped eating. I ate regular or smaller meals at “regular” times in the day and if I skipped something, it didn’t matter because I was definitely not hungry.

On weekends, sometimes I would want a break. So I wouldn’t take my adderall and I’d sleep and sleep and sleep and then binge eat and go right back to sleep. My roommates were worried but I felt so healed and cleansed with all that sleep, I wasn’t worried at all.

I grew skinnier and skinnier, and my PCOS symptoms had began to disappear. I was having regular periods, I wasn’t growing hair in weird places, and BY GOD, I could cross my legs like a proper southern belle. Everyone was soooo proud. I was proud, my family, my friends. Everyone from high school was wondering, “how did she do it?!?” My self confidence grew, and for the first time in my life, I started dating.

One day, I met the man who would be my husband. We both expressed our want of children which raised a big ole question:: how could I treat my ADD without adderall? I was scared because I knew what being on adderall is like and what not being on it is like, and my identity as an adult had revolved around and relied on it. If I stopped the medicine, I would get fat again! I was just about to get into single digit clothing, I was beautiful, and yet, I knew I had to stop.

I couldn’t think of any good time to stop, so I just did cold turkey. I was ridiculously tired for 2 weeks, and then I started to feel normal again. Sure enough, I started gaining weight again, eating a lot more, etc etc. I had my soulmate, so it didn’t seem like such a bad deal, but it was depressing nonetheless. The cringes on faces when they saw my weight regain was painful, talks about “what happened to you???” stung, and I felt so ashamed.

Insert that number 1 revelation, bread is BAD. Bad, bad, bad. I learned all about processed foods, and tried the keto diet. It worked and I lost a little bit of weight, but it was unrealistic for long term. Once you’re off keto, all that weight springs back on you, and so it did.

After our marriage, I was off insurance for some time and when I got back on, I was put on metformin for my A1C. My day to day numbers are fine, but my A1C number was ridiculously high. It’s under control now, and we are looking to the next step.

I have researched PCOS and here is the real kicker:: it makes it hard to lose weight but if you could just lose weight, it would get the symptoms under control. However, one of the symptoms is that it is hard to lose weight. It’s a great big freakin’ circle. I’m not talking “stop eating bread” hard. I’m talking “don’t even think about looking at carbs” hard. The only thing that helped was dropping all carbs and then I got yelled at for a non balanced diet. IT’S FRUSTRATING!

Here’s my plan:: cut out things in baby steps.

Step 1:: no more drinking my sugar intake. Proud to say, I have completed this step. This is one southern woman who drinks UNsweet iced tea and water only, please.

Step 2:: no more fast food. Still working on this one, it’s so easy and yummy but I have cut it to once a week.

Step 3:: no more junk food.

Step 4:: healthy meals only.

The scary thing is that the help for conception is all very expensive. The words of my previous OBGYN keep swimming through my head. I struggle to force myself to go to baby showers because while I am thrilled for my friend and their new little one, I am envious and that is an ugly color. Every time I see a child that’s been abused, it makes me tear up because I would love to adopt a child and love them to pieces. Adoption isn’t an option for us sadly due to things out of our hands (still looking into this, but the process of adoption of American children is hard and expensive), but the thought still hurts.

God wouldn’t put such a strong desire for having children in my heart if I wasn’t meant to have any, right?

I hope that anyone who got this far will remember this:: a lot of this struggle was silent as it was happening. I certainly know that if given the choice, I would have the correct BMI for my height. I didn’t choose this struggle, and unkind words make it harder to shoulder. As the Beatles say, “I get by with a little help from my friends.” Thanks to those who have supported me and let me vent to them about these struggles, and for those who have been with me as I navigate my way into the future.

[itspatsy]

you're out on the bottomless sea

Summary: All Jessica wanted was some pizza rolls, but first she had to peel a drug-addled teen idol off the floor. (or: everything good Trish ever learned, she learned from Jessica.)

Read at AO3. 

Jessica trudged through the door, boots dragging and bookbag crashing against the marble floor of the foyer. Dorothy would've scolded her about making scuff marks, but sadly, what she didn't see wouldn't hurt her. It was Friday and time to toss off the week's bullshit, so she made a beeline for the kitchen with a hankering for some inexplicably delicious cardboard flavored junk food. At least that was the plan. But of course, bullshit was inescapable in the Walker home, and as she passed by the sitting room, she saw something that forced to stop in her tracks.

She sighed dramatically. Maybe next time, Totino’s. As much as pizza rolls of questionable nutritional value called to her, she figured she should probably do something about the busted up, glassy eyed child star slumped by the couch.

Again.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately, and it pissed Jessica off each and every time. Not so much at Trish. They had reached something of a truce, a friendship even. They weren't some twee secret sharing bosom buddies kind of shit or whatever, but what they had was still… nice. It was good to have a friend. Jessica had always hung out with a small group of other social outcasts, but they were never tight, and they got all weird when she came back to school after the accident. She and Trish hadn’t known each other before that and had only gone to the same school in the barest sense of the word. Trish was usually away filming or doing publicity, and they ran in entirely different social circles when she was actually there. Jessica had assumed she was some stuck up, empty-headed, spoiled rich kid with an oversized ego and probably a cocaine habit to match.

But as it turned out, it wasn't as easy for her to hate on a spoiled rich kid when the kid was doing all the work and when she was living in the kid’s house benefiting from the money. And mercifully, Trish herself turned out to be different than Jessica expected. She wasn’t entirely wrong with her first impression: Trish was more than capable of being a snarky, sneering brat, and while she didn’t really mess around with illegal drugs, she was never far from a pill bottle, but she was also cool and whip smart and funny and good-hearted. And her taste in music was actually pretty decent, all explosive angry girl rock, not the mind-numbing bubblegum pop Jessica had anticipated. Really, nothing about Trish was as bad as she anticipated. And honestly, who was she to pass judgement on an occasional streak of bitchery? She wasn’t that lacking in self-awareness. She'd have to hate herself too. Or, you know... hate herself even more than she already did. Whatever the case, she liked Trish, and it was hard to be angry at her.

Her mother was another matter altogether. Dorothy Walker was a dangerous whack job and a nightmare to live with. Jessica was able to get by mostly unscathed because Dorothy just... didn't give a shit about her, and she was honestly glad for it, even though she knew it definitely wasn't how adoptions were supposed to go. Trish, meanwhile, was always directly in her path of destruction. Getting slammed into a wall by a superpowered teenage freak might have spooked Dorothy, but apparently nothing could stop her from being a calculating, child abusing assclown. Jessica could threaten and intimidate, but she couldn’t be there every time Dorothy was near Trish, and the woman had her own leverage now that she knew of Jessica’s powers. The fact of the matter was, Jessica was an orphan kid with nothing to her name, and Dorothy was rich, powerful, and well-lawyered. She only had so many options available to her while living under the Walker roof.

And two of those options right now were A.) eating some goddamn pizza rolls or B.) peeling Trish off the floor. As always, option B won out. But she didn't have to be nice about it, so she stomped into the room, bent down, and roughly shook Trish’s leg. “Hey! You alive?”

It took a moment, but Trish turned her head in Jessica’s general direction and grinned. The bloody nose and busted lip colored her teeth red, and her sunken, glazed eyes stood out even more against her ashen complexion. It was kind of creepy. Like Night of the Living Dead creepy. Jessica pulled back her hand, ready to throw a punch in case Trish had suddenly developed a more carnivorous diet.

Her brains appeared safe, as Trish finally slurred out, “Oh, hey, it’s Jessie. Real nice to see you, Jessie. Where’ve yoooou been all day?”

Jessica inwardly cringed at the nickname. That was a Dorothy thing. Trish didn’t use it unless she was being a condescending ass and trying to pick a fight. “At school.”

“Oh, yeah, school. Like the normal kids do.” Trish looked contemplative for a moment. “But then why were you there? Shouldn’t you be in the ‘gifted’ program?”

Trish giggled at her own stupid joke, and Jessica rolled her eyes. She grabbed Trish’s arm and hoisted her off the floor, maybe a little more harshly than strictly necessary. She lurched forward into Jessica, unable to keep her feet about her, and Jessica shoved her onto the sofa. She crashed back into the cushion, still giggling.

Jessica sneered. “You look like shit. Maybe I should take pictures, send ‘em to the tabloids. How much do you think they’d pay to get proof that perfect Patsy Walker is just another drug-addled fuck up of a child star?”

Trish’s eyes turned hard, or as hard as her strung out state would allow, which was pretty unimpressive, frankly. A fly could knock her ass over right now, and she was a scrawny thing even on a good day. “Fuck off, Jessica,” she growled, but her baby bird voice just further undermined any intimidation factor. It was honestly just sad.

And ugh, okay, fiiiiine. Maybe what she said was kind of low. She thought all the anger was for Dorothy, but maybe she was kind of angry at Trish too. Not for the bleeding on the carpet, obviously, but more the part where she was blitzed out of her fucking mind, and Jessica was the one left dealing with it again. Though she knew the drug habit wasn’t exactly Trish’s fault either, and that just made her feel more guilty for being a dick to her when she was in her "most vulnerable state" or whatever psychological mumbo jumbo a shrink would've called it.

As they'd gotten closer, Jessica had gotten the low-down on the pills, and in an utterly unsurprising turn of events, Dorothy's negligent parenting featured heavily. Basically, Trish once had a panic attack on set when she was 13, so Dorothy took her to the doctor, and she was prescribed an anti-anxiety medication. Pretty standard and what you might expect from a decent parent, right? Of course, when it happened a few more times, Dorothy took her back and made the doctor up the dosage to eleven. By that point, Trish was practically a zombie on set, and that just wasn’t acceptable either. So then came Adderall in an attempt to offset the effect of the benzo, which was insane but also classic Dorothy, and hey, as it turned out you could get more work out of a girl that was hyped on speed, and it just snowballed from there.

Trish told Jessica she resisted at first, said she hated the way the meds made her feel. But as it almost always did, Dorothy's browbeating and bullying prevailed. Now Trish took them willingly, gratefully even. And too damn often, in Jessica's opinion. It wasn't as bad when Dorothy was off schmoozing with producers and ignoring them for days on end, but if the mom-ster spent any time hovering on set or at home, Trish would start popping pills, which led to fucks ups, which led to more abuse from Dorothy, which led to more pill popping until Trish could barely string a sentence together or was bouncing off the walls. It was a fucked up cycle, and it was getting worse. She'd come home one too many times to find Trish slumped at the kitchen table or, like, flying around the room talking a mile a minute and waving a bleeding hand because she hadn't realized how hard she was holding a glass.

It was becoming a problem. Like, the kind of capital P problem that would result in a Very Special Episode in some 80s sitcom, and it was not something Jessica was equipped to deal with. She could absolutely see the appeal of being barely conscious when Dorothy Walker was breathing down your neck, but she dreaded the possibility of finding the least annoying person she knew dead on the floor from an overdose. And maybe she took her fear out on Trish sometimes, and maybe that wasn’t fair, but maybe it also wasn't fair that she had to worry about her friend dying like that.

Whatever it was, being mean to Trish always made her feel like a creep, so she sighed, resigned to her fate. “Stay here. I’m gonna get something to clean you up with.” She went to the bathroom and grabbed a few wash clothes, wetting them in the sink. Then she grabbed the first aid kit. She looked longingly at the kitchen as she passed it on her way back.

Trish hadn’t moved at all.

Jessica sat beside her and brought the washcloth up to her chin slowly. She jerked away, apparently surprised even though Jessica had telegraphed her intention. She brushed her fingers through Trish's hair a little to ease her, then held the back of her head and brought her face to the cloth, gently wiping at the dried blood. It didn’t look as bad with the blood gone, but it wasn’t great either. No broken nose, but her left eye was already beginning to bruise, and the lip would take a few days to heal.

“Isn't there some rule about hitting you in the face or something? Or is your mom trying to change the theme song? 'I wanna be your abuse poster child’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it."

There was a long silence, and Jessica worried she might have pushed too far. Trish had a dark sense of humor that could rival her own, but it had to be the right moment. And maybe the right moment wasn’t just after getting her face smashed by her shitty mom. Or maybe it was, because Trish smirked and let out a chuckle.

"Haven’t you heard? Bruised is the new black. She’s just making sure I stay up to date with the latest fads.” The smirk dropped, and she ran a tentative tongue across the cut on her swollen lip. “Anyway, we wrapped for the season, and I don't have any public engagements coming up for now. So." She gestured to her face.

“What about school?”

Trish shrugged. “She’ll just keep me out for a few days if it’s not healed enough by Monday. The school doesn’t really know the filming schedule, and it’s not like they’ll ask the set tutor. Besides, makeup does wonders.”

That was true enough. Trish had an assortment of methods to hide the bruises, though they weren’t usually so obviously placed as her face. A little concealer here and there, bracelets, sleeves, scarves. Jesus, scarves ga-freaking-lore. People probably thought it was some trendy statement piece, and "gosh, that Patsy Walker is just so fashionable, isn't she?" but really Dorothy just liked a go for the neck.

She wasn't as subtle as she liked to pretend either. People knew. They had to. Sometimes they added to it, like the crapass producers that nodded along to Dorothy's sniping comments about the rail thin starlet standing to lose a few more pounds. Everyone else just let it happen. The doctors that prescribed enough medication to down a grizzly bear, let alone a tiny teenage girl. The directors that waved off Dorothy's cloying "please excuse us" smiles and pretended not to hear the yelling through the office door. The actors that saw their co-star flinch every time her mother walked on set. The make up artists and costumers that covered the bruises. The set tutors that didn’t even argue when Dorothy cut lessons shorter and shorter. Hell, even the craft table workers that watched her smack a cupcake out of Trish's hand and shove a handful of celery at her. Not a word from any of them.

Then there were the agents and publicists, working double time to cover it up and keep it quiet, making sure the Patsy brand and origins stayed shiny and wholesome, the American Dream at work. Such humble beginnings, just a little girl and her mom, poor but hardworking, rising to fame and fortune with a little luck. A great American success story, and a girl who could be you.

Trish didn't want their help, didn't want anyone saving her, but Jessica didn't know how they all stood by and pretended to ignore it. She guessed that was how the entertainment industry had always worked, its golden legacy, abuse or at least a blind eye to it for the sake of one more dollar. Most of them likely didn't care at all. And the ones who did were probably too scared to speak out for fear they would conjure the all-powerful, fire-breathing industry lawyers that would force them out of their jobs, destroy their reputation, and leave them with nothing. Money grubbing or apathy or self-preservation, whatever the reason, they all relied on the It's Patsy cash cow and didn't dare disturb the unspoken balance.

How did you fight a system so full of structured indifference and greed and self-protection? Jessica figured you didn't fight it. You just tried to escape it with whatever scraps of yourself you could carry with you. She knew Trish had the strength to make it out, but she worried more and more each day what would be left of her when she did.

“Where did Mommy Dearest get to anyway?” she asked.

Trish inspected her nails, appearing completely disinterested. “Passed out drunk by the pool? Tormenting some producer’s beleaguered assistant? Giving blowjobs to the entirety of the Teen Choice Awards voting panel? I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

Jessica almost smiled. “Can’t we dig up some evidence against her or something? Tax evasion? Embezzlement? I mean, she’s done worse, but sometimes you gotta catch them with the smaller stuff. Like Capone, ya know?”

Trish made a mock scandalized face. "C'mon, Jess, don’t talk about her that way. When Mom's not smacking me around, piling me with pills, shoving my own fingers down my throat, pimping me out, hoarding my money, or adopting kids for publicity and then ignoring their existence, she's…” Jessica raised a questioning eyebrow and Trish smirked, continuing, “...still a total hellspawn incapable of human empathy or feeling."

Jessica laughed. “Truer words.”

If her coherence and vocabulary were anything to go by, Trish was sobering up, which was good as far as Jessica was concerned. Apparently not so much as far as Trish was concerned, since she was stretching an arm to the end table where her pill bottles were scattered.

"Hey." Jessica reached out and stopped her, knowing it was probably going to provoke a fight but not giving a shit. "Don’t."

“Don’t what?” Trish snapped.

“I think you’ve had enough already. What do you even need them for? She’s not here.” But I'm here, she wanted to say. Stay here with me.

Trish scoffed, shaking her head. "God, what do you even care, Jess? What difference does it make to you?" 

Of course, she just had to be right about it starting a fight, and now bitter, belligerent Trish was in full action. Always a pleasure, that one. Hadn't they just been cracking jokes and laughing? Things always turned on a dime in this house. But shit, Jessica could be snotty too. “Because then I have to clean up the mess.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it. You don’t have to do anything. You could just skulk around your room, stick on some headphones, ignore it all. But you don’t. You've never been able to keep your nose out of it." Jessica was still holding Trish's arm, could feel the tension, see her fist clinched tightly. Her nails weren't long, but it was enough to leave little red moon crescents on her palm. She did it often, and Jessica knew it had to sting. Which was probably the point. 

"What's all this about? What do you really want?” Trish asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Goddamn, now she was acting paranoid. This was quickly escalating into uncharted territory. Jessica shrugged a shoulder, trying to remain casual, but she was becoming increasingly agitated herself. "I don’t know. Aren't we supposed to be family now or whatever? Isn’t that what family does for each other?"

"Family?" Trish sneered. "What do you even know about family?"

Okay. Okay, then. It was just a day of low blows, wasn't it? Trish was usually careful not to mention Jessica’s family unless Jessica brought it up first. Which was basically never. For a damn good reason. Seriously. Shit. Just... shit. It wasn't... what the fuck? It felt like her head was collapsing in on itself and her skin was was trying to peel itself off, and okay, yeah, casual was out the window now, it flew the nest and got swiped out of the sky by a feral cat.

Trish made to push her off but she held tight. Held hard. Harder than she intended or realized. She wasn't there, and she didn't know. Trish gasped in pain, and Jessica quickly let go, coming back to reality. But now she had a different reason to want to throw herself in a hole and collapse the dirt around her. Red marks were already forming on Trish's wrist, as if she needed more bruises. Except this time it was Jessica that caused them. What was wrong with her? Why did she always fuck everything up? Why did she always cause the most harm to the people she loved?  

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't--"

Trish laughed sharply, like acid burning through concrete, and it made Jessica feel even sicker. If they were already filled up with this ugly bitterness and self-loathing, how would there ever be room left in them for anything else?

"Why apologize?" Trish asked. "I'll probably just think it's from Mom in the morning anyway. Well, assuming you don’t flush my pills or something, since you’re suddenly so concerned about it."

Jessica felt a surge of anger, but it wasn't at herself this time. Fuck guilt. This wasn't her fault. This wasn't even about her. She was just trying to do the decent thing, and she was getting crucified for it, getting her dead family thrown in her face. It was so goddamn typical. She tried to keep her voice even and measured, and she just barely managed to grit out, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well, I never asked for your help," Trish snapped. "Just leave me alone already!”

“God, would you shut up!” Jessica shouted, jumping to her feet and just done, done with all the bullshit, the self-pitying destruction. It was selfish. So fucking selfish.

Trish flinched and hunched in on herself, obviously anticipating some withering verbal assault or a raised hand. Usually Jessica would've felt terrible for causing a reaction like that, for making Trish feel unsafe, but this time it just spurred her anger further. She prowled the floor. “Has that stupid wig cut off circulation to your brain? What don't you get about this? Is it really so crazy that I’m tired of finding you passed out? That I’m worried one day you won’t wake up? That I hate that nothing I do seems to help? Well, excuse me if that's too goddamned pushy for you! I don't give a shit. I'm not going sit around with my thumb up my ass while you kill yourself.”

Trish looked at her, wide-eyed, taken aback by the outburst. And a little guilty. Good. Maybe she was finally getting through that thick fucking skull. She came to a stop in front of Trish, calmer. “You know what? I think I get some of it now. This snotty tantrum of yours. I bet you don’t even know how to deal with this, do you?”

Trish took a troubled breathe. "With what?" she asked, voice barely audible.

“Someone caring about you. You asked what I know about family? Well, I know a whole lot more than you, asshole. My parents loved me unconditionally even when I was being a whiny shit. And my brother was an obnoxious little dweeb, but I would've done anything for him. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean I don’t remember what it’s like to have a family and be loved, okay?"

Trish looked absolutely fucking miserable now. She opened her mouth to make excuses, to apologize, to something, but Jessica didn't care. She wasn't finished. "You're the one who doesn't know anything about family, all right? You don't know anything about being loved or loving someone. You don't know shit. You’re used to people wanting something from you."

Trish couldn't even look at her now. She was doing everything possible to sink further into the couch, make herself small and weightless, just dissolve herself right out of existence. But Jessica wasn't going to let her, not now and not ever.

“Look at me, please." Trish didn't move, so she grabbed her shoulders and shook them a little. Finally, Trish turned her head up to meet Jessica's eyes, and shit, she was crying, she'd never seen her cry before. But there was no walking this back now, so she pressed on. "Listen. I like you for you, and I don’t want anything from you except to be your friend, okay?"

Trish just looked at her, tears rolling down her cheeks, jaw clenched tight, and body trembling lightly. But there was hope in her eyes, like she couldn't believe what Jessica was offering but so badly wanted it. Jessica brought her hand up to wipe away a tear with her thumb. "Okay?" she repeated, gently. She didn't really know where this well of tenderness was coming from, when she'd become capable of it, but it seemed to work. After a long moment, Trish nodded. She raised her hands, one pulling Jessica's away to grasp it and the other wiping at her face.

Touching Trish like this, holding her hand, Jessica realized it was the most physical contact she'd had in awhile. Dorothy almost never touched her, except for photo ops, and that had decreased as public interest in the adoption waned… and after Jessica slammed her into the wall. She was fine with it, preferred it even. She didn't need to be touched. Did she miss the feeling of her mother running fingers through her hair or rubbing her back? Her dad kissing her forehead or playfully tugging at her ear? Or even her brother's arms around her neck, choking the life out of her during a begged for piggyback ride? Of course, she missed it, but that wasn't her life anymore. It wasn't fair, but she just had to accept it. Maternal affection from Dorothy Walker left a lot to be desired anyway. She touched Trish all the time. Shoving and prodding and squeezing and pulling. Dorothy hugged her sometimes, if there were cameras around or to use as a subtle warning gesture in public, arm across a shoulder and nails digging in hard enough to leave marks under her shirt.

She thought maybe Trish could use a real hug. She thought maybe she could too.

Before she could have second thoughts about it, Jessica sighed and sat back on the couch alongside Trish. "This is going to be awkward, but I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

Trish blinked at her, eyes still red. “Ummm... how about you don’t do that?”

Jessica went for it anyway.

She was right. It was awkward. She didn't really remember how to hug. Last her parents were alive, she'd been the epitome of disinterested, disgruntled teenager, giving half-hearted pats on the back or dodging hugs entirely because they were lame. She regretted it now, wishing more than anything she could take her parents and her brother in her arms again. But hindsight didn't mean much, except to help her appreciate what was in front of her, so she put all of that feeling into holding the person in her arms now. She felt hesitant hands on her back, and then finally arms coming round her sides, squeezing hard, desperately.

They stayed like that for a long minute, until she felt Trish wince. She pulled back, worried she hurt her again.

"It's okay." Trish waved a hand dismissively, but her other hand went to her side. Knowing she wasn't going to be able to brush it past Jessica so easily, she added, "It wasn't you."

Jessica knocked the hand out of the way and went for the hem of Trish's shirt.  Ignoring her protests, she lifted it up and found a bruise across her ribs. Unlike a few yellowish marks littering her back, this one was red, fresh. It was going to look brutal in a few days and would definitely hurt like hell. Jessica once again found herself caught between violent anger and weary resignation, the most popular emotional exports of the Walker household. But Trish didn't need her rage and righteous indignation, especially not right now, so she settled for a scoff instead. 

"Christ, man, did she hit you with a chair?" Trish grinned wryly, a little blood left on her teeth. "What is this, the WWE? Nah, it's more like..." she paused and poshed-up her accent into a snooty English cadence, "Ms. Walker with a Nickelodeon blimp in the library."

"How is Clue better than the WWE?" asked Jessica, skeptically.

Trish turned up her nose. "It's more classy."

Jessica chuckled, relieved they were back to joking. All this talking about feelings shit, having to actually verbalize what she felt in her blood and her bones, it was way past her comfort zone, and it was freaking exhausting. But snark she could do. "Maybe one day we’ll get lucky and find Dorothy hanging from the studio rafters with the Patsy wig around her neck."

Trish smacked at Jessica's leg in excitement. “Oh! Or come home to find her tragically crushed beneath a Teen Choice Awards surfboard.”

They broke out into laughter and started coming up with the wildest, most outlandish, and comical death scenarios they could imagine. Maybe it was messed up to joke about Dorothy dying, and maybe they were sick fucks for even thinking it. Or maybe it was just the best way to deal with all the shit. Gallows humor, right? Catharsis. It felt good to laugh, and it made everything feel a little less hopeless, like things didn't always have to be this way.

Eventually, their laughter turned to wheezing giggles and finally contented sighs. In their hysterics, they'd ended up pressed close, shoulder to shoulder, legs twisted together. Trish grabbed her hand again with both of her own, holding it so carefully and gently, as if she was some rare, precious thing, and maybe that was exactly what she was to Trish.

"Hey, Jess? Earlier... you said you feel like nothing you do helps. But that's not true. Just you being here and like... actually caring about what happens to me? It makes a difference. I know there's finally somebody on my side. Is that what family's supposed to feel like?"

Yeah, that was it. Jessica squeezed her hands back, knowing that would be answer enough. Then she cleared her throat and asked, “Want me to get the Saran Wrap?”

Trish smiled, her head dropping to the side and resting on Jessica’s shoulder. “In a little while.”

[relatablyinsane-blog]

Quadpolar Part 2!

Just want to let you know that i had instant bloggers remorse after that last post. Welp, I've stepped in it now.

So i totally forgot to mention that I'm adopted (see: Symptoms of ADHD; rushing, inventiveness), pretty important stuff. That means my nice, old fashioned, very old, worked in the post office their whole life parents are not, in fact my real parents. What they did was reach into a barrel of discarded babies and pull out a meth head kid. (Sorry to my biological mom reading this, we have to go in context for a bit). For the sake of sanity my adoptive mom will be Mom and my biological mom will be Mama, although that didn't happen til MUCH later.

I was adopted at birth and told as soon as i was old enough to understand, something i appreciate my adoptive parents for. They never kept secrets from me, made sure i knew what sex was right off the bat, my super paranoid mom even gave me a book CALLED "Child lures" (I'm not kidding this was literally a pedophile's handbook for a seven year old to read, look it up. Fucked up.) But as far as how true it all was, maybe I'll never know.

What I was told by my adoptive mom was that my biological mother was a drug addict with two other kids already (my sister was 4 and my brother was 2). My father, who she was with at the time, was also a drug addict. As the story goes (i still haven't dared to ask), while high on meth one day he beat my baby brother so bad that his ribs and arm were broken and he now has permanent neurological damage. Last i knew my brother had just gotten out of jail and was homeless, so his life hasn't really improved. That was about the time the state of Arkansas decided that my mother, pregnant with me at the time, would no longer have custody of her children and we would all be placed for adoption immediately. My sister and brother, who shared a father that was different from mine, were placed in an orphanage and my Mama chose my adoptive parents to take me from birth. I had no correspondence with her for decades and didn't want to- to me she was a vile, despicable woman like all the drug addicts in the world- but i had mever even met someone on drugs so what did I know? So, born in Arkansas, raised in New Jersey and then....

Fast forward to the good part: the part that sticks my crazy ass in the awful state of Maine. I liked vacationing there, but did i want to move there? Hell no! My one best friend in the world, the boy next door who I'd grown up with and was the same age as, was not coming with us. It was in the middle of nowhere, on the eve of my Fifth grade year. Having skipped a grade, I was only 9 at the time. I distinctly recall my first car ride to the rural beach town, during which I had a small mental break down and screamed "THEY'RE DRIVING TRACTORS ON THE ROAD!!!" because that was just <i>unheard of.</i> The only kid on the street, eventual cheer captain, straight A student and model child was my age but wanted nothing to do with the hyperactive menace next door who came over uninvited and played with the dogs. Yep, that was me. Forcing myself into the company of people who didn't want me around.

And thus I started school at the local K through 8. Wait. K through 8? How many kids went to this school????? Must be like TEN THOUSAND!! Back in Jersey there were 2-3 grade levels to a school, 30 kids to a class and 11 of each grade.That's over 600 kids in just two grades! (And i still had no friends. Sob. Seriously i must have been an awful kid.) You never had the same classmates twice, classes switched every grade. I couldn't imagine how FRIGGEN HUGE a school with every grade in it would be!!

What? What's that. There are HOW MANY kids in my class?

16. And how many in the grade? 16.

....so there's one fifth grade? And how many kids in the school??? ......a little over a hundred.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAA.

At first i was pumped. I get to make friends and stay with them all the way till high school?! YES. Except this was when I remember my life becoming a living hell.

At this point i had been on at least three different medications for ADHD and none of them worked. Ritalin, Concerta, Stratera etc. Apparently i was still as annoying as ever because i remember being tormented relentlessly. Like, relentlessly. When there's only 16 kids in the class and you're the target, there's no escape. The teacher's let it happen. I was called hippopotamus. My lunch got spat in. I was mocked in front of the class. I was called stupid. Everyone would argue about having to sit next to me and i would just sit alone, or if someone did have to sit with me (usually the teacher assigned someone which made it worse) they would push my things off my desk or ask to copy my work once they realized i was almost as smart as the smartest girl in the class.

And i let them. I wanted SO fucking badly to be popular, to have a friend, fucking anything. It always blew up in my face. As soon as i was done being used for answers, a good place in line, a random good pick for a team or something, i was immediately shunned again. I buried myself in my extracurriculars (now it was swim team, violin and piano), joined band, chorus, jazz band, softball and soccer. I told my parents very little unless they were being dragged in for parent teacher conferences about how i was inattentive and always acting out. My grades began to slip because I was starting to learn about depression and constantly forgot to do my homework. My strict as hell parents were making me practice piano and violin for hours a day and my only solace was my meager 30 minutes of Nintendo 64 time per day. At one point my sixth grade teacher (stupid bitch, i hope you enjoy your cancer (sorry, y'all)) told my parents i wasn't as smart as everyone said and i should be held back because she thought i was autistic. I'm a lot of things, but not fucking autistic.

In the summer before seventh grade i finally got a reprieve in the form of my still longest best friend and the miracle drug Adderall. For those who don't know, Adderall is an amphetamine based ADHD medication and widely abused for it's stimulant properties. For anyone with ADHD however, it mellows the shit out of us and makes us super focused. Well, I'm a little allergic to it, so it actually makes me aggressive. On top of that, it makes your appetite nonexistent so, surprisingly, your favorite curvy girl Jay developed an eating disorder. Not on purpose at first. I just wasnt hungry so i didn't eat. I skipped breakfast, skipped lunch, ate the light dinner my parents prepared and went to bed. Hunger was nonexistent. Then one day i woke up and discovered myself at about 135 pounds, i tried on my first pair of short shorts out shopping with my mom. I'll never fucking forget looking in the mirror and saying out loud "Wow... I actually look great in these!" I didn't realize it was the Adderall at the time but I let it get worse. Whenever i did eat off my only light dinner schedule i would make myself throw up. I eventually got down to 117 pounds. My lowest weight. I stayed there for years. Once i had a state ID with me at that weight. Even at 12 i looked emaciated. It was revolting. I kept that ID for awhile to remind myself how awful i looked and to remind me that I look better curvy, but then i got fat and it made me sad. But i digress.

When i got back to school I suddenly gave not a single fuck about anyone picking on me. Adderall made my emotions <i>nonexistent</i>, but my temper started to boil. As a punching bag i was still pretty friendly and docile, like a big dumb dog that comes trotting back for another beating time and time again. Now i was silent and glowery. People took notice, and that's where my first real best friend came in. Let's call her Patti. I will always remember the day it really happened. I was the first person in line for recess, a great honor, but all my classmates were playing the "EW I DON'T WANT TO STAND NEXT TO HER" game. As per usual. I didn't really care. Thank god for drugs amirite? But then one voice rang out above the crowd of heckling...

I'm just kidding, it was more of a frustrated "seriously guys? Grow up." and then there was Patti. Someone who'd never joined in the terrorizing- i didn't and still don't blame anyone who didn't speak up. It would have made them a target too. But why? She was a cheerleader. I don't think anyone disliked her. She wasn't "popular" but she'd been going to this school since kindergarten and knew everyone. I guess I'll never really understand. But she was a lifesaver, even before the depression got really bad. She actually got to know me, the real me, she realized (and helped me realize too) that i was funny, and goofy and smart, and friendly. Eventually, because of her, some of the others started to come around too, but none of them were ever quite as close to me as she was. I thank god for this girl pretty regularly. Not as much as i should lately.

But there was still the matter of the bullies- and of my short fuse. I had my first kiss that year and a few short lived "boyfriends"- all from other schools of course, it would have been an unforgivable taboo to be interested in Jay. But that year was the year i put my foot down. As i mentioned earlier, Adderall had made me apathetic, but also very, very aggressive. The rage built slowly for several months until one fateful day in art class. I can't remember what i was doing to deserve this comment, i genuinely wish i could, but one of my usual enemies decided to say "No wonder your parents didn't want you!"

She was across the table from me and before i knew it i had launched myself across the table and had my hand up around her throat. No squeezing, just pressure. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head and the entire room fucking froze. It was like something out of a movie. That was the first time i ever rage cried. If i ever get angry enough that my eyes start to water, someone's gonna get hurt. We both got sent to the principal, maybe because the sensible art teacher recognized a normally good natured kid snapping. I looked dead into that principal's eyes and told him that I'd had enough. I was tired of being picked on every single day and having nothing done. Teachers watched and let it happen. Some fucking joined in. HE let it happen after i told him time and time again what was going on. I didnt get in trouble. The bullying receded a good amount that day. It didn't stop completely until almost the end of the year.

Through my mother's networking at church i had become friends with one of the most popular girls at a neighboring school- a gorgeous russian adopted girl with a thick accent and a very early onset sex drive. Yikes. In turn, she introduced me to her brother, who i began "dating" for several months. By "dating" i mean we held hands and made out under the bleachers at YMCA dances and he tried to get me to give him a blowjob at my 12th birthday party. Jesus yikes. Needless to say that relationship didn't last long but I'd suddenly earned a reputation of someone who was- dare i say it- close to popular?

Then there was the summer of 2004. The best few months of my life. Patti and i were inseperable, we rode our bikes around the town every day, snuck into the state park, ate ice cream at the little trailer shop nearby, stayed up all night then nodded off through church the next day. And we dreamed. Oh sweet jesus did we dream about getting as far away from our shitty little town as possible and never coming back. I had honestly never been happier and for the first time in my life i had a best friend. I had a birthday party at the end of the school year and a bunch of people came- people from my school!- we genuinely had an amazing time. The girls all slept over and for once, finally, i felt like i belonged.

Eighth grade was a breeze, if you skim over Adderall making me almost punch my mom in the face. It was the first and last time i ever raised a fist to my parents. But it had done it's job. I wasn't getting picked on, i gained a little more weight and filled out nicely, I excelled at academics, won awards in jazz band, joined the bangor youth symphony orchestra, and actually made real friends (none in my school save for patti really.)

So.... That's my life up until high school. That's when i met depression. 😘

[grunge4losers]

We Met at Midnight: Chapter 1

Staten Island, filled with noises you'd never hear anywhere else, scents you'd never really get used to even after years of living here, and people you'd never forget even though you only met once. Ah, yes. Staten Island, the "B-Side" of New York. You would never suspect that it could ever be so peaceful and yet at the same time it's chaotic. I suppose you'll find a way to relate to that anywhere, really. But, here, it's special because this is where we start our journey as we follow 6 people along with a few random blokes around as they start to see that the Big City isn't all that great...for some. Numb. That's an appropriate word for how Alice was feeling at the moment. She had just finished off a half bottle of Jack Daniel's as she stared at her laptop screen trying to get inspired. Usually when she had writer's block the alcohol would help get the words out. Her old friend, Max, had once suggested she take some kind of drug like Adderall. While it did help her get a few full chapters down, it was all complete rubbish. Some nonsense about a boy who turns into a dog at the first of every month to find a rabbit that stole his hat. Alice had been trying for a good hour to write at least a couple sentences. Her dead hazel eyes were now red around the pupil from staring at the screen for so long and they burned. She rubbed a hand along her face as she groaned. "Come on, man," Alice said to herself. "You got this, you got this," she continued to reassure herself although she knew it was all a lie. If writing is her passion, then why was it so difficult in these moments? All she wanted was to be like her favorite author, J. R. R. Tolkien. His stories and poems gave her so much happiness growing up. Alice Robinson is not ashamed of being a huge geek nor should she be. Her favorite poem of Tolkien's is 'To The Bottle I Go' as it practically describes her now. Her brain felt like it was cramping. "Oh, god," she whined as she screwed her eyes closed. The story she was currently working on was about zombie apocalypse in the late 20's. She got the idea while she watched her friend Joe play some video game that she hadn't cared to get the name of. The main character was a stay at home mom of twins. Her name was Dot Bethany Smith, married to Archie Martin Smith. Their children were James Alexander and Jonathan, "5 years old and just the sweetest boys anyone had ever known". Currently Alice was stuck halfway through the 5 chapter, right where one of the twins goes outside at night and see a zombie coming towards him. The author just couldn't think of what happened to the boy; Does he live or does he die? Alice decided that it was time to take a break. She saved the work and then shut her laptop, placing it on the table next to the couch. The brunette laid her head back on the cushion, taking in the comforting feeling. Almost as if on cue, her brother and their friends came inside. "Oh, shit...It's Friday," Alice laughed to herself. Every Friday they all met up to hang out just anywhere. It was usually just the 6 of them, sometimes one person wouldn't show up or someone knew joined. But in the end, it was always them against the world. James (or Murr) hopped over the couch and landed next to the only woman in the room. "Hey, Ali. You doing alright?" he asked with his sweet smile. She peeked one eye open and looked at him. Alice sat up straight and looked at him with both eyes now. She forced a smile and tried to make her hoarse voice sound somewhat decent by clearing her throat. "Oh, I'm doing just fine. Thanks...And, uh, how are you?" Murray eyed her suspiciously. Something was definitely off about her. I mean, sure they all knew about every single one of each other's quirks and all that, but this was different. "I, uh, I-I-I've been great. Yeah, the show just got renewed for a third season," he answered with a subtle proudness. You see, James, Joe, Sal, and Brian were all on a show called "Impractical Jokers" together where they made each other do embarrassing, but hilarious challenges. They both stood up and walked to kitchen, having enough of the awkward silence. There they saw all the guys. Joe, the blue eyed man who would do anything to make his friends laugh. Brian/Q, the long haired geek with big ol' heart and a hard shell. Sal, the stand up comedian with eyes you could get lost in for days. Charlie, a huge music fanatic with dreams of traveling the world, as well as Alice's twin brother. Then, there was Alice and Murr walking into the group. "Hey, Alice," Sal and Q said almost in unison. Alice giggled at the greeting(s). "Hey, guys," she waved. Alice stood next to Charlie, showing just how average her height really was despite the nickname "Shorty" from Sal. "So," Charlie started. "What, uh, what are we going to do?" He looked across the kitchen at Joe, then his sister as they are basically the leaders. The two gave each other a lost look. "Well, what do you think, Ali?" Joey asked. She shrugged, "I don't care, honestly. Just as long as we can all hang out. I-I really need to get out...so," she nervously chuckled. The past few days had been partly tough oh her, due to her losing her job having cutbacks she was fired on Monday, someone broke into her car Tuesday (thankfully nothing was stolen), and now today her story was what was bothering her. Honestly, all Alice needed was to get outside of the apartment and be around those who brought her joy and comfort. "Well, we could just go out to Central Park and people watch," Joe suggested. Brian and Alice laughed together at the thought of how creepy it sounds. "What?" Joe asked, making a hilarious confused face. After Brian sobered up, he just explained it seemed a bit awkward. "Well, what do you suggest?" he asked. Sal bounced lightly on his toes, showing his excitement. "Guys," he said in a whispered shout. They all looked at him- clearly he was stoned. "What is it, Ja'Crispy?" Murray asked him, giggling like a child. "Guys, we should go to the ice skating rink," he finished with child like glee. They all looked at each other in disbelief and astonishment. "NONE OF US KNOW HOW TO ICE SKATE!!" Joe shouted. They all laughed, and went on their way to the ice rink after all. They took Charlie's mint green Volkswagen Van that was (of course) covered in stickers. Technically, it was Alice's but she had her own small black 2012 Acura. As Charlie drove them, he nudged Murray who sat in the passenger seat with his elbow to get his attention. "What's up?" James asked. "Can you.. Can you pull out my gloves from the box by your feet, please?" "Sure." He handed him the gloves as Charlie parked van. "Thank you so much." He took the black fingerless gloves and slipped them on. The six friends exited the van, walking to the door that Brian held open for everyone. "Thank you, Q," Alice said with a sweet smile. He returned the smile. The group got their own skates, then made way to the ice rink. All of them had a difficult time- except for Murr. Sal grabbed on to Joe's whole arm, taking them both down. Q and Alice were holding on each other's arms for dear life, but eventually getting it. Charlie wasn't having a very difficult time, he just felt awkward because he noticed his ex girlfriend across the ice; with another man. Which was weird to him because they just broke up a day ago. Charlie shook his head to get out of his feeling and thoughts. Alice noticed her brother almost sulking about the outlines of the ice. "Hey, Q, I'm gonna go check on Charlie," she whispering in his ear. She moved away to leave. "O.K. Catch up with you later, then," he replied, touching her shoulder. Alice slowly skidded to a stop with a nervous look on her face since she was scared of falling down. "Char-Charlie," she gasped, out of breath. When she held on to his arm, Charlie snapped out of it. "What?" "What's wrong?" Alice asked concerned. Charlie looked over his twin's shoulder. That's when Alice followed suit. Suddenly, she knew. She turned back to Charlie. "Dude," she started, pulling him into a hug. "Do you want to leave?" "No," he answered. Charlie cleared his throat. "Yeah? Well, why don't you stay with me, then." The two agreed on it and went to catch up with the others. Brian was the first to notice the twins behind them. "Hey," he said, leaning down to Alice. She smiled up at him. "How is he?" Brian asked. "He's okay. Just saw an old ex here." At that, Brian lifted his eyebrows. "Wow." They all continued gliding across the slick ice, pushing each other around and laughing. Sal and Murr had challenged one another to see who could do the coolest tricks, while the others "judged" them. In the end, Murr won. The group returned the skates and left. Charlie drove again, James switched with Joe in the passenger seat. Q, Sal, and Alice sat in the second row, James in the very back. "You guys want to stop by Ronnie's?" Sal asked. Ronnie's is the dive bar that Charlie and Alice met Sal and Q together. After that Sal had invited the twins to a party in the hopes of hooking up with Alice. Instead, they ended up meeting the rest of the gang. That was college, now they just laugh about it. "I don't know, man," Joe started. "I'm not feeling it." "We could always just go to a drive through or something instead," Q suggested. Pretty much everyone agreed. Alice was the only one who hadn't answered, as she was lost in her thoughts. Sal nudged her with his elbow. "Hmm?" she mumbled. "White Castle sound alright?" he asked. The long haired brunette looked around at the guys. "Oh, uh, yeah. I'm not really hungry so it is all you guys." She smiled, but it was a dim smile. Charlie didn't need to see her eyes, he just needed to hear her voice to know something was wrong. Q noticed too.

[gearsfics]

Songsword - camping

Summary: Roy, Steph, Mira and Jason go on a camping trip.

Notes: Whoah, okay this chapter went a little longer than I thought originally, and it's still not done I kinda want to do a little more here but figured should do something else first so... Here's the first half of that week.

Also posted: Here

Mira glanced to see what had caught Steph’s attention.  “Oh wow.” She grinned brightly. The two had stopped in front of a mechanical bull and both grinned a moment.  “You know teasing a girl who spent most of her life before Gotham, bouncing between the big city and an actual ranch, with one of these is just mean right?”  

Steph was smiling brightly as she picked up a cowboy hat from a rack, placing it on Mira’s head.  “No, wrong color makes you look like a ghost.” She took it off and replaced it with a brown one.

“Gah!  Come on, you’re going to mess up my hair.”  Mira chuckled knowing it was useless the younger girl was the kind that wouldn’t stop until it was perfect, and didn’t help that her hair was already a mess thanks to having the top down.  

Summer  

"You know, it will be great without you around for a week.”  Anna, Mira’s father’s lawyer of a girlfriend, said watching as Mira moved around the apartment gathering up the things she had spread out to pack neatly away in her bag.  

“Oh, so you and Dad can be as loud as you want in the bedroom?  Oh wait, that’s right you two usually don’t make it to the bedroom, will be great being able to walk to a kitchen without having to tiptoe around.”  She angrily stuffed the bag she was packing that was full of the rest of the books she needed to finish dealing with before school started back up the next week.   She hadn’t been able to get any studying done at home, thanks to three months of working at her aunt’s, and any free time being spent avoiding going home because she and Anna couldn’t stand each other.

Part of that was because Mira wouldn’t blindly follow Anna’s orders.  She may have had her father wrapped around her fingers, but Mira had spent a little too much time with Ivy to learn some tricks, and she wasn’t blind.  She knew something was up, but couldn’t place her finger on it yet. So, until she could figure it out, she pushed buttons against the whirlwind romance her father was in.  It wasn’t like she wanted him alone, she knew that he deserved to be happy, but she didn’t want him to be with anyone that wouldn’t accept that he had responsibilities, even if she was going to be in college in a year.  

To Anna anyone under eighteen in Gotham were a waste of space, even if they were supporting themself, which Mira had been doing the last three months.  She had worked hard to earn her position at her aunt’s cafe, demanding that June treat her like everyone else. Though she did love Hank, and was trying at least.  

Mira knew how sweet and innocent Anna acted when her Dad was around.  It was almost impossible to get him alone, unless she went to the station lately, and his caseload was so large, she didn’t want to make domestic issues on top of it.  So the few times she went a week, it was usually to bring him and his partner lunches that she hand packed herself. It was a way to get out of the cafe for a little bit to get some fresh air at least.

Anna finding out that Mira was dating someone with priors, even though he was the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, didn’t help.  Mira hadn’t been able to let Jason into the apartment since she had moved in at the start of summer. So a week of freedom was something that Mira was looking forward to.  If only so they could get some time together, even though there would be others with them.

She left her bag on her bed, going to her bathroom looking for the small pouch she usually used for her medicines.  “Anna, have you been in here? I can’t find my meds, I set them on the counter so I wouldn’t forget them.”

“Threw them out.”  Anna was glaring at her.  “And I don’t believe that you need that bottle.  You haven’t shown symptoms of either ADHD or any Diabetic symptoms.”  She crossed her arms. It took everything Mira had in her to not hit the woman that was trying her patience.  The adderall she took, she could get away for a few days with mountain dew at least. Would take the doctor that long to be able to legally replace her prescriptions.  With luck, she might be able to get another bottle of insulin at least, though it would cut into the funds she had saved for the week.

“Moron!  Dad knows I use needles.  I take insulin.” She shoved her out of the way, going to her nightstand drawer.  The small basket that usually held honey sticks, was empty as well. Seemed that Anna had been busy while she had been at work earlier.  There were some in her purse at least, they could hold her over at least until she was ready to go. She’d just have to ask to stop on the way to get the rest of the things she’d need.  “And don’t think you can con Dad into thinking I was careless.” She slammed the drawer shut shooting another glare. “He’ll hear about it too.”

The knock at the door had her glance at the clock.  It was five, Jason… She stuffed the rest of her gear in her bags quickly.

“Come in Jay!”  She called ignoring the glare from Anna.  Mira was done arguing with her, a week without her at least, would be heavenly, she worried about the aftermath, but at least she knew if things got too bad, her aunt would take her in, hell, even Alfred had suggested she start leaving things at the manor since she spent so much time there already.  Starting for the door, she snatching up her guitar case as she went, remembering Roy and Jason both had asked her to bring it for campfires on the beach. Music would calm her, right now, it was just another thing she was looking forward to. If Anna had her way, Lucifer’s strings would have been snipped the first week she invaded.

“Hey Mir, Mrs Boer.”  Jason was at least polite with the older woman.  “Oh, Mira, you look like you packed way too much.”  Jason grabbed the heavier bag from her before she could stumble.  He took note that she had her backpack over her shoulder as well, probably further behind than he was since she had gotten a summer job to escape her house longer.

“Yeah, well, Steph told me to make sure to have some things for heading into town.  Wasn’t sure what she meant.” She gave a weak smile. “So, have a feeling some of the outfits will stay packed away.”

“You’re going with Brown as well?”

Oops, Mira had mentioned two friends, Steph had begged to go at the last moment, when Roy’s friend, a woman that Mira hadn’t met yet, had backed out at the last moment.  Some issue at work if Mira understood what she had been told.

Mira shot Jason a look to keep quiet about the fourth member of the group.  With his past, Anna would surely call her father and want her to stay there, ruin the last bit of a hellish summer she had left.  Hell, Mira didn’t know the whole story, she knew enough, and knew he was trying to get better, moving near Gotham to get away from the situation he had back at home.  Something she could actually relate to.

Both teens rolled their eyes.  “Would you rather Dick and Bab’s take us?  Besides, the three of us are probably spending most of the week studying.  How much trouble can bookworms get into.” Jason suggested getting a horrified look from Anna.  It was actually amusing, Anna was the only person he had met so far that didn’t care for his adopted brother.  Instead of going on with that track he decided to give her the information that Alfred had reminded him to give.  “Hank should be able to reach us on our cells, if not, Alfred has the landline, he asked that I remind you of that.”  Jason smiled faintly, though the look on Mira’s face told him that she was as tired as he was most nights. And she didn’t have to deal with the worst of Gotham.  “We should get going, I left her with the car. Would rather get back before she changes the station to some pop station.”

Mira giggled at that, shouldering the strap of her guitar case.  “Oh, can’t stand us singing along with boy bands again?” She grinned brightly pulling the door shut behind her, slamming it as loudly as she could for self-gratification.  As the two made their way down the elevator she sighed. “I swear she wants me to start shit. She threw out my insulin and needles, adderall too. We’ll have to stop so I can get some, I need sunblock anyway.”  She leaned against the wall of the elevator closing her eyes a moment.

Jason slipped an arm around her.  “You know, Alfred wouldn’t mind if you moved in.”  He nodded though. “We’ll stop. And I made sure to pack extra white out and code red for the trip out there.  Though really that stuff tastes gross.”

She chuckled at that.  “Would make sneaking in easier.  Though pretty sure I’m horrible at it.”  She leaned against him. “This coming from the guy who slams redbulls with pop rocks chasers.”

“It’s good!” Though he only did it on a dare from her to start.  Though, he also may have gotten Steph hooked on them too, much to the dismay of their homeroom teacher.

As for moving in, Alfred usually didn’t mind it if she came over, at least the visits she had made had been when Jason and Bruce were home.  And she usually made sure to not make a mess when she snuck out in the morning, despite the fact that they would have given her a ride home. “Just think, one more year and you’ll be in college.”

“Yeah, still not sure if I want to leave town.  Hell, I think Mr. Fox is still upset I turned him down this summer for the internship at Wayne Enterprises.”  She grinned. “He asked two days after Aunt June offered me a summer job. Seriously she’s basically let me control the front of house.”  It had taken her two months to earn that position, which had taken away from time she needed to study, but wasn’t like she couldn’t just make up some of it with the week, and books on tape.  Most of the reports wouldn’t be due until the end of the first week.

“And now I feel bad that most of my summer has been shadowing Bruce around to business meetings.  I don’t think I’d be able to handle working in an office.”

“I’m still mad I haven’t been able to see you in a business suit.  Bet you look handsome in it. I mean you look good in a suit anyway, but you never wear a tie at the galas.”  Stepping out of the elevator they walked to the front of the building. The car they were taking was a convertible, the top already down.  Steph was in the back seat and to Jason’s relief pop music wasn’t blasting.

“You’re one to talk, I never get to see you in heels, those platform sandals you love don’t count.”  He countered teasingly.

“They so do!  Besides you want to watch me fall on my face?  I don’t even wear ballet slippers for fencing because these feet are both the right foot.”  She huffed a little looking at the said shoes he had mocked, which she happened to be wearing.  They were a pair of her favorites, cork wedges with an inch platform that looked amazing with the frayed jean cutoffs and cropped tank top she wore under a boho styled long vest that were actually longer than her shorts.  Her shoulder length hair sported a few braids that had bright ribbon woven in, used to tie the braids together behind her neck. The outfit was completed with feather earrings and a leather choker sporting a small black stone carved into a bird shape, Something Jason had bought her at the fair when they had gone with Bruce to Smallville a few weekends ago.  The day trip had been fun, and it had been her first time in a helicopter.

Jason smiled, he enjoyed her fashion sense, and the two loved pointing out how they didn’t really fit in high society, hell, he still wore sneakers to galas, because it amused Mira, and annoyed the snobby fashion police.  Bruce let him, because he really couldn’t tell Jason no. Even if Alfred gave a disappointing look. The choker though, had him smile, it was a subtle hint of who he was, without telling her, and had been a perfect end to a fun day.  Bruce had met with Clark, letting the kids do their own thing. Just getting her out and laughing had been worth it alone. And it had kept him from being grumpy around Superman.

“Oldies, sweet, already like your friend Roy.”  Mira bumped his shoulder as she lifted her hand to greet Roy and Steph, who were waiting at the curb.  The song from the stereo was a little darker than she would have liked, but it was one that she enjoyed because even though it was sad, it was beautiful, something that she hoped she could pull off with her own music.  

To her, the only way to pull it off, was to learn from the masters.  Which was something she followed when she was playing with technology as well, or even creating magic in the kitchen.  Both Alfred and her aunt had taught her so much starting from the basics on up, and she hoped that the ingredients she had asked Alfred to stock were at the cabin.  After the argument, she could use the zen she usually felt while cooking.

The song came and went Like the times that we spent Hiding out from the rain Under the carnival tent

-- Mandolin Rain - Bruce Hornsby and the Range

“Oh look at this!”  Mira yelped as Steph pulled her arm going off in a different direction than the guys.  They had stopped at Alfred’s ‘secret place’ for the honey sticks he had gotten Mira addicted to.  Though he had been right in suggesting them, it helped in a pinch if she couldn’t get to her insulin, the pharmacy hadn’t been able to give her a new bottle so she was going to hope that she could handle keeping her levels good.  They said they’d send it over to the branch near where they were camping though, she’d be able to pick it up in a day.

Mira glanced to see what had caught Steph’s attention.  “Oh wow.” She grinned brightly. The two had stopped in front of a mechanical bull and both grinned a moment.  “You know teasing a girl who spent most of her life before Gotham, bouncing between the big city and an actual ranch, with one of these is just mean right?”  

Steph was smiling brightly as she picked up a cowboy hat from a rack, placing it on Mira’s head.  “No, wrong color makes you look like a ghost.” She took it off and replaced it with a brown one.

“Gah!  Come on, you’re going to mess up my hair.”  Mira chuckled knowing it was useless the younger girl was the kind that wouldn’t stop until it was perfect, and didn’t help that her hair was already a mess thanks to having the top down.  

“This so doesn’t seem like a place Alfred would come to a lot.”  Steph looked over at her, goofing around ending for a moment.

“Pretty sure it’s the closest place that has these.”  She held up the small baggie of sticks she had bought.  “He found out that I would get them back home and seriously Dad said he felt like he was in an interrogation room when he was asked about what brand I liked.”  She giggled. “Almost wish I would have been there to see it. I’ve never seen Dad thrown off his game.”

“He suggested we might enjoy it.”  Steph was giggling as the boys caught up.  “Also suggested which car we borrowed. He was right, there’s a lot of trunk space.  Though I prefer my bike.”

“I wish I had more time this summer to ride.”  Mira sighed softly.

“Okay, as much as it’s cliche, I think that fits you.” Roy smirked at Mira, who had forgotten she was wearing the hat still.  “Shouldn’t you be wearing boots instead?”

“Helps I know how to wear one with just about anything.”  She grinned back. “Though, it would be showin’ off with that wouldn’ it?”  She purposely thickened her Texan drawl, which she noted had Jason gulp a little.  She made a mental note to remember that for later. She smirked. “Oh I have the boots, but I’m far too pale to make that look good.”

Roy looked to where she jerked her thumb and laughed.  “No way, last time I was on one of those was a club Dick and I went to back in Star.”  He chuckled. “And have a feeling you’re going to be complaining about burning later. Look a little pink already.”

“Oh, one of those stories my brother would kill you if you told?”  Jason slipped his arms around Mira. “You’re still cute, and we have aloe.”

"More like Ollie and Bruce would.”  Roy grinned brighter. “Remind me to tell it when we’re at the cabin.  Lasted two seconds last time.”

“Seven, on a live bull.  Gave Dad a heart attack too,”  Mira walked over to the man standing next to the machine.  “Steph ya wanna go?”

“Hell no, I’m a city girl and know it.  You and the boys have fun.” She held up her phone.  “I’ll post it to youtube. Last stupid thing Jay did went viral.  And I’m loving the comments.”

“Yeah, Bruce still won’t let me live that one down.”  Jason frowned slightly, almost wishing he could smash the phone.  He briefly wondered how much blackmail material she actually had on that thing, though knew none of it would really get him into trouble with Bruce.  Last thing he wanted was to be benched because of a youtube video.

Mira was silent a moment.  “Oh, right, the thing at the pool party.”  She shook her head, it was an event she hadn’t gone to, sometimes her fencing obligations got in the way.  Many times this summer, it had been when the others had gone to the beach, or hung out by the pool at the manor.  Though Mira didn’t like going into the water, she enjoyed spending the time near it, especially on hot summer days, usually nursing a cold cream soda.

“So who goes first?”  Roy asked with a grin.

“Go for it, I wouldn’t want to set the bar too high man.”  Jason chuckled at Roy as he went up to the bull. The attendant helped him as Mira pulled out her phone turning on her stopwatch.  

“Then by all means Jay, you’re after him and we’ll see if I can beat both of you.”  Mira countered.

Steph kept the camera going.  “Make it good guys, has to be longer than a vine.”  

I laughed and she'd smile  It would last for awhile  You don't know what you got  Til you lose it all again

Jason glanced over at Mira, who was curled up against him in the backseat, his jacket over her shoulders, the two gave each other a brief smile as she shifted slightly so she could reach for her water bottle which had fallen to the floorboard.  Roy stretched a moment as he pulled the car into the parking area in front of the cabin. The lights were on, and it looked warm and inviting. Alfred had made the arrangements for them, four bedrooms, three baths. The place was bigger than most homes that the kids saw in their respective towns, since Roy was the only one who didn’t reside in Gotham proper.  

“I have to thank Alfred, seriously, this is huge.”  Roy whistled low.

Steph was already out of the car, bouncing to the back for her bag.  “I know we were going to study, but you know how hard that’s going to be with all this quiet.” 

Mira frowned a little.  “Right, was quiet before you two started up.”  She stuck her tongue out at them. “Alfred said there was a horse farm nearby too… Wonder if one day we could rent some horses.”  She reluctantly moved from her comfortable position, slipping Jay’s jacket on properly before climbing out of the car.

“You know we’re more used to bikes right?”  Jason asked knowing that she had mentioned horseback riding a few times.  She had a bike though, June had bought it for her, and the two had gone out a few times racing each other around the Wayne property.  But it was clear she was missing the ranch. Jason had already asked about the horses, it would be something just the two of them did, a few hours in the evening.  He just hadn’t told her that yet.

Mira smiled as she got up, brushing her hair out of her face.  “Sore I beat you an’ Roy on that bull?” She kissed his lips. “I’ll just have to massage the soreness out.”  Both boys had only lasted three seconds each on it. Mira had managed seven seconds before she had fallen off, and had spent another twenty lying on the mat laughing about it.  Still not long enough for a proper video according to Steph, but it had been fun.

“Man, now makes me wish Star had been able to come along.”  Roy sighed, as both of them flipped him off. “Promise?”

That got a groan from the two and his bag getting thrown at him.  Roy grunted catching it. “Alright I get it I’m the third wheel here.”  

Exploring the house had Mira taking the room with a view of the forest behind the house, Steph and Roy taking the two with the view of the lake, and Jason taking the room that was in the front of the house.  The living room had a large TV, though no cable, just the local stations. And the kitchen was fully stocked with a note from Alfred telling them that they weren’t to drive into town for junk food everyday.

Mira had found the note on the fridge telling them the planned meals Alfred had left for them, though it was clear the meals had enough wiggle room to switch things around for the week.  And the dish she wanted to make was one of the planned ones.

“This is going to be great,”  She heard Roy as he padded down the steps.  She snagged two of the cold drinks from the fridge and padded barefooted across the floor.

“No wanna be parents ordering you around too?”  She asked popping the caps off the bottles. She doubted Jason would have asked him to come along if he didn’t trust him.  And he wasn’t giving off vibes that would make her cautious. Though she did look him over, shirtless she could see he wore a lot of scars, some faded bruises.  At least one scar she saw looked like it was about the same shape as a gunshot wound that her father had. The older boy had seen some action, though she wasn’t going to ask and was careful not to stare too long.

Roy chuckled.  “Yeah, that too.”  He glanced over as she held out the bottle to him.  “Thanks,” He watched her as she tipped back her own, watching the fireflies out the window.  He studied her carefully, having noted she had done the same. She was still pale, a faint hint of sunburn on her skin, but he doubted that she could really tan.  The dark circles around her eyes told him she probably didn’t sleep much, or hadn’t slept well in a while. The comment had him thinking that it had to do with her home life.  

“Right, sorry.”  She glanced at him.  “Guess that’s where you and Jay met.”  She noted his faded bruises since he was just in jeans, the towel he had used to dry his hair over his shoulders.  

“Huh?”  The comment threw him a moment.  Had Jason told her about being Robin?  And the Titans? He would have told them if that was the case right?

“Rich boy fight club,”  she responded, tucking pale hair from her eyes. The response wasn’t what he had expected.  

Roy laughed at that, a genuine laugh.  He had wondered why Jay liked having her in the dark about what they did, and the comment, basically told him that some aspects hadn’t been hidden completely.  He had a feeling Dick would die laughing hearing the team described as that though.

“What?”  She genuinely looked confused a moment.

“I just didn’t realise he told you about that.”  He chuckled, he’d let her stay in the dark about the truth of it.  If only because the way she worded it, was far too cute to ruin, and he liked Dick’s adopted brother.  Last thing he wanted was the kid pissed at him.

“He hasn’t told me much, just the basics.  And the rest of what I know about you are from the papers, which don’t really paint a pretty picture.  Though Mr. Queen looks evil honestly. Wonder how much he pays to spin good press.” She got another chuckle from Roy.  “I mean really who can look that happy in photos. Even Bruce shows a bad side.”

“Let Dick tell you more about Bruce, pretty sure he spends more money on paying off the paparazzi.”  Roy turned to the window. “And Oliver has his issues, he just hides them.” Though not as well.

“More so to keep pictures of us together out of the paper.”  Jason said from above. She glanced up at the loft where he was leaning over the rail.  Roy was glad he had spoken up.

“Most of the papers in Gotham know better than print the picture of a cop’s kid.  Gordon’s a scary man if crossed. And I only know from watching him rip into someone at the station.”  She smiled. “Though all I caught was it was something about Barbara.”

“You never want to be on the other side of that wall Mira.”  Roy responded. He had gotten enough of those lectures in costume with Dick to know that he never wanted the man to know who he was out of it.  

“Steph still in the shower?”

“Yeah, I think I heard her singing Backstreet boys.”  

Mira cringed at that.  While she wasn’t one to knock musicians, she preferred a good guitar riff.  “Remind me to put a different playlist in her spotify. Something with a little less bubblegum.”

“Hard rock?”  Jay asked.

She shook her head.  “I’m on a folk kick lately.  Wonder how she’d do with Springsteen and Joplin.”

“Old school, Jaybird, really more your girl keeps talking more I’m falling in love with her.”  Roy flashed a grin to let Mira know he was kidding.

“You haven’t heard her sing yet.  Trust me, she’s a siren.”

Mira blushed at that.  “Geek, I am not.” She retorted, before taking another sip of her soda, turning back to watching the fireflies.  “And that’s something that I miss, you don’t see them in the city that often, only when I visit June or you.”

“Let us be the judge of that Mir.”  He shot back. “We gonna do a bonfire tonight?”  He was crossing the room to them. “And what the fireflies?  Thought you didn’t care for bugs.” He slipped his arm around her when she leaned back into him.

“Maybe, if everyone’s not too tired. I know I’m starting to get there though.”  Roy admitted stretching a little. “Though could just chill tonight, and have fun tomorrow, not like we don’t have a week out here.”

“I could have taken over if you wanted.”  Jason felt bad about him driving the whole way, even though they had stopped a few times to get out of the car.

“And wake sleeping beauties?   As much as I wouldn’t have minded being a pillow, neither are the one I’d rather sleep with.”

“Too bad that red-head’s smitten with Dickie then?”  Jason commented slyly, grunting ever so slightly when Mira elbowed him.  “Ow so mean,” He whispered to her as she snuggled against him.

“Ow, have to remind me.” Roy mimicked getting hit in the chest, falling against the glass door.

Listen to the mandolin rain Listen to the music on the lake Oh, listen to my heart break Every time she runs away

Jason glanced over to the shore, it was still early morning, Roy and Steph were still asleep, though Mira had joined him outside.  Or at least she was on the shore, leaning on a large log bench, the lantern that had been on the deck, sitting up on the bench, while her guitar was in her lap, and a notebook on the sand by her.

He had heard the guitar while he had stopped swimming out on the lake, about a hundred feet from shore, and had noticed the light.  Being closer he treaded water just enjoying it, not wanting to ruin it just yet.

“Oh, listen to the banjo wind A sad song drifting low Listen to the tears roll Down my face as she turns to go” Her words were soft, the song haunting in the early pre-dawn light.  Jason thought back on the conversation that they had the night before, he, Roy and Mira had been up late.  Steph having gone to bed after about four rounds of rummy.

It didn’t take him long to make it back to the shore.  Though, she had finished her song, and started in on another one, this one at least a little more upbeat.  Every few moments she’d stop and jot down something.

“Sleep well?”  He didn’t mean to make her jump, though how she clutched the guitar close was kind of cute.

She bit her lip startled as he walked up to her.  There was a small nod.

“Though Roy’s snoring woke me.  Serves me right for falling asleep on the couch.”

Jason chuckled as he sank to the bench, reaching for his towel.  “Sorry I didn’t have the heart to move you.” He ran the towel through his hair.  “Whatcha workin’ on?”

“Something that’s not ready yet.”  She closed her book before he could reach for it.  “Sorry, you know how I am.”

“No peeking at your art until it’s ready.  This the new notebook you got? That fancy one?”

She nodded.  “Have my planner in it too for the school year.  Hopefully it keeps me more organized.” She picked up the faux leather binder, which had a few charms hanging from it, musical notes and a fencing sword, just like the charms that hung off her cellphone.  The binder was a soft purple, in the pale light it almost looked grey.

“Aw, this means no more last minute cram sessions with Alfred’s cooking?”  He smiled down at her, fighting the urge to ruffle her hair.

“You know that won’t change.  I need some way to escape my dad now and then.”

“More like escape Anna.”

She nodded.  “Yeah, she is the whole Evil step-monster trope in real life.”  She accepted her journal back and set it on her lap. “One more year, Though have to decide if I’m taking up the offer to go to CalTech, staying in Gotham, or Julliard.”  

“I wouldn’t mind you staying.  I mean yeah, not a high end school, and I know you’ve gotten offers already from both, but would be less time alone.”  He moved so that he could give her a small hug. “That is if you’re not sick of me already.”

She shook her head returning the hug.  “You’ve been a constant that I’ve needed.  I’m just worried you’ll get bored of me.”

Jason pet her hair lightly.  “You’re one of the good things in my life.  One of the few. If I ever leave you it will be to protect you.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt.  And I can protect myself you know.”

Jason smiled.  “I know, my little swordswoman.”

A cool evening dance Listening to the bluegrass band takes the chill From the air Til they play the last song

“Mira, come on the water’s fine.”  Roy called from where he and Steph were sitting on a pontoon about sixty feet out in the water, anchored to the lake bottom.  

Mira looked at the water, something in the back of her mind screamed at her to run, to get back from the shore.  It took all she had to look at the blanket, using the time to shut up the screaming in her head. She didn’t even know where the thoughts came from.  Shaking her head she kicked her feet up, stretched out on her stomach. “I don’t swim. Not a lot of places to learn back home an’ all that.” She smiled.  “Besides, too many lyrics up here, curse of the creative mind an’ all this fresh air.”

There was a squeal from Stephanie, who was pulled into the water by Jason.  Roy turned to deal with the two.

All three missed Mira going pale seeing Steph go under the water, even though she knew that the girl would be okay, it was a game the three of them had been playing all afternoon, something about how she had disappeared had Mira remember a dark room filled with water.

Mira caught it, the voice in her mind, a small girl, screaming not to be shoved under the water again, and screaming for her mother.  She closed her eyes, hiding a moment by hiding her face against the blanket, trying to will the thoughts away.

She was the outsider here, the three were cryptic about where they met, and here she was, being asked to join them, and fighting voices in her head.  

“Hey watch it Steph,” Roy warned helping her up when she coughed from too much water in her lungs.

“Would have been fine if you didn’t try to hold me under you jerk.”  She flailed at Jason.

Jason looked to the youngest of the group, the few years he had known her, he had done his best to keep her from trouble, even as Robin.  He had known that Steph wouldn’t really hurt him, she was trying to be good, despite her father. Hell, the only reason she had agreed to come along was because it would get her out of Gotham for a bit.

Clinging to the pontoon a moment he glanced over to the shore.  “Shit, where’d Mir go?”

“She was there a moment ago, think she actually dove in?”  Roy glanced at the pair, the looks they gave told him that they doubted it.

“Mira tends to freak out if we have to do anything at the pool in gym class.”  Steph admitted. “She can swim, but the girl goes white as paper on the pool deck.  Seeing her actually on the shore was amazing enough.”

“Maybe she went for a drink.”  Jason said calmly. He remembered nightmares she had while curled up next to him on stormy nights in his room at Bruce’s.  Bruce and Alfred hadn’t separated them, figuring the kids wouldn’t do anything stupid. “I’m going to go check on her.”

“Worried?”

“He always worries about her.  If she ever figures out he’s ya know… Doubt she’d sleep ever again, insisting staying up until he called her to tell her he was safe at home.”  Steph sank back to the edge of the floating island. “We give them about ten minutes before heading back?”

Roy nodded.  “Still pretty sure we shouldn’t trust you.”

She leaned back looking up at him.  “Why, because of who my dad is? Please, I’m not the only one with that kind of past.  Besides, Mir’s a friend. And I like the idea of having someone I have to hide a secret that big from.  Though ‘rich boy fight club’? I should be offended. Not all of us are rich kids, or boys.”

“You heard that?”

“Jay did, he told me this morning when we went for a walk.  Was while you and Mira were making breakfast.” She kicked her feet a little.  “Also told me the real reason we have her out here. Seems Greason’s really worried, I mean to ask Batman about it and Jay suggesting this.  Wonder who the hell he pissed off.”

“Other than Bats and Arrow?  Not sure. Have a feeling he’s not as straight as he acts.  Though he seems to play the role well with her.”

“Or she’s figured things out and plays the fool for everyone.  I mean really, she hasn’t figured it out yet, and she’s seen him as Robin, just hours before him as Jay.”

“If that’s the case, she’s a better actor than most of Hollywood.”

I'll do my time Keeping you off my mind but there's moments That I find I'm not feeling so strong

Jay found Mira leaning against a large tree, facing it, breathing heavily.  She was trembling and when she slid down, he saw her hands were clenched in fists.  “Mir?” He moved to her, gently putting his hand on her shoulder. “Mira, what’s wrong?”

“Need a shot, forgot it this morning.”  She whispered. “Jay, hurts, everything’s too bright.”

Jason pulled her closer, glad she didn’t pull back since he was still wet from the lake.  “Can you walk?”

She gave a weak nod.  “I’m sorry, I should have…”

“It’s okay, come on, I’ll give you the shot, but you have to stay with me.”

Listen to the mandolin rain Listen to the music on the lake Aw, listen to my heart break Every time she runs away

"Okay, any more book work I’m going to go nuts.”  Steph flopped back on the floor looking up at the ceiling.  

Her comment actually woke the others, who had been scattered around the living room, various books open.  The storm that had kept them inside most of the day was still raging.

“Ugh, okay, I think we all need a break.” Jason admitted falling back against the couch where Mira was dozing, the German textbook across her chest.

“Remind me again why I took German Jason.”  The sleepily mumbled words, in German, came from Mira as she turned to her side.  Jason chuckled at that.

“Thought it was so we could spend more time together.”

She sighed.  

“Should I worry when you two talk cute like that?”  Roy asked as he tossed the book he had been scribbling ideas in to the side.  “And lemme guess need more coffee?”

“I’ll make some.”  Mira sat up flipping Roy off as she did.  “And I didn’t say anything cute.”

Steph was giggling.  “Actually your accent when speaking German’s kind of cute Mira.”

She sighed, “Don’t get too used to it.  Apparently I can only keep it while speaking German, and some reason… leaves a dirty taste in my mouth.”  She shook her head a moment.

“Oh, sorry.”  Steph frowned.

“Don’t be, get a worse feel with French, which is why I dropped it after two days.”  She headed for the kitchen. “Anyone want snacks too?”

[survivorsforcannabis-blog]

Sheena: Medicating in an Unregulated Market Plus Bringing People of Color into the "Cannabis" Space

Sheena is a 33-year-old New Yorker, survivor and cannabis advocate. Having been a cannabis consumer for most of her life, she began approaching it from a wellness angle in recent years. Today, she advocates within her own communities and volunteers with Women Grow. Here, Sheena shares her story of trauma, what it’s like to live in an unregulated market as a person of color, and what motivates her to advocate as a bridge between the cannabis space and communities of color.  In her own words:

When did you begin using cannabis?

As a teen, I used cannabis to escape thoughts of unworthiness and sadness. I started smoking a little after my first rape at 14. I was impregnated, that was my first miscarriage. And I suffered my first sexual assault at 11. I was abused by another child, forcibly. That took a long time to process and I still have to see this person, because of family ties.

Looking back, I can say that some strains helped calm my racing thoughts, while other heavy sativas exacerbated the racing thoughts, gave me horrible flashbacks and paranoia. That’s one of the dangers of an unregulated market – especially in New York City, where you have great variety but there’s no way to control what’s coming in. I was exposed to really strong strains at a young age. It was sporadic, whatever you could get on the streets.

But I started out on alcohol. Alcohol is actually the gateway drug, not marijuana. For me and other teens around me, it was far easier to get our hands on alcohol and prescription drugs like Xanax and Prozac. You just hoped that whatever you had would numb you out while entertain you.

I also experienced a level of neglect – parental abandonment at first and then later on, they invited someone into the home that made it very hostile. There’s also generational trauma that my parents perpetuated on me, and then there’s all the cultural trauma of being people of color.

It’s a lot, and when you don’t have the tools to process, you’re gonna escape. You can use any number of things as a crutch, so that’s what cannabis was for me then. I would consume outside of the house and then when I got home I could deal with being there. Sober reality was too much to take.

Once I was a bit older and got involved with a heavy smoker, I started having regular access to high-grade cannabis and it started stabilizing, without these crazy episodes of paranoia. So through my 20s, I was a pothead. I liked it better than alcohol, it didn’t give me hangovers and I could still function, even on an indica.

In my late 20s, I ended that almost decade-long relationship with this person I had built myself around, so I had to rebuild my identity. And cannabis was there.

I actually had an intervention, three people told me that I had anger management issues, and that got me into therapy. Before that, I was very anti-therapy. But I had only seen therapy that doesn’t work. Therapy is what you make of it, like anything in life.

Many people also don’t realize that there are many different types of therapy for different experiences. Thanks to all the identities I hold, it was hard to find someone that could assist me in my healing – being Latina, being bisexual, being kinky – it felt like I already had a few strikes against me. I first saw one therapist who was great for childhood issues, but she absolutely fucking sucked for trauma. My current therapist is trauma-based and culturally competent, she’s also Latina. It’s Dialectical behavior therapy, I was extremely blessed to find her.

Has being in therapy affected the way you medicate?

It was in therapy that I started exploring those feelings that I had used cannabis to avoid, and also noticed how it relieved all of my anxiety symptoms at once. Cannabis shifted from something I could sub in for alcohol, to the medicine that it was originally intended to be. This shift also came in conjunction with when vape pens started getting popular here.

<insert photo here>

For the record, I have five disorders – general anxiety disorder, social anxiety, dissociative disorder on top of my PTSD. But now that I was becoming aware of these things, I could realize that my reactions to stressful situations were really my disorders, and I could use marijuana responsibly whereas before, with uneducated use, I used to binge. Now, I can notice that I’m anxious, notice the physical manifestations in my body, take a couple pulls from a vape pen and be okay. I can go on with my day.

I was just becoming armed with this knowledge when I was raped again. It was domestic violence, it occurred within a relationship. This is where my life splits into two parts – my life leading up to that and my life after that. It was like an extinction, of my soul and my spirit.

Cannabis is what’s kept me alive this long, it helped me control my thoughts and be present in my body. There were so many times that I felt dissociative, like I’m floating away, like am I here, am I not? And when I smoked, I just felt like myself. Because when I was sober and had to cope with the rational knowledge that somebody I loved violated me in this way, in my own house… There were some points when I could literally feel my psyche splitting from the inside out. And cannabis helped keep me together. Vape pens saved my life.

What does your consumption look like now?

Cannabis is now an essential part of my self-care. And I don’t need a lot – there’s this beautiful concept, microdosing. I just take enough for me to be okay. Unless I’m using it recreationally, but now I make those distinctions. That’s a distinction that needs to be taught as we move towards legalization, and that’s a distinction we have to make as consumers.

I feel like smoking flower is the most optimal way to use cannabis because it’s the quickest, but when I cannot do that – because I work a very corporate job and cannot be coming back from smoke breaks stinking of anything – a vape pen is the best thing. It helps me handle anxiety and the pressure of my job.

For depression, I like to smoke high THC, high CBD strains. In Denver, I found this strain called Monica’s Miracle – the budtender called it Adderall in weed form. I do feel like I have ADHD, or Executive dysfunction – an inability to do the most basic adult things. I feel like [the reason it’s so common] is that nobody emotionally raises us or teaches us emotional coping skills. I have theories that this has to do with un-dealt with generational and cultural trauma as people of color. We’re taught how to survive, no one teaches us how to thrive. How can you teach someone how to thrive past that when you’ve never thrived past that? I feel like we’ve reached a point now where we’re starting to ask that question.

How has being a woman of color affected your experience of cannabis?

I was arrested when I was 17, for smoking and for two roaches in my pocket. This was the Giuliani era, when he was really cracking down. It was a very traumatic experience. They were two Puerto Rican cops who didn’t really want to take me, they just wanted to take the two guys I was with, but the white sergeant said I had to go, said they had to teach me a lesson.

I got arrested at 5:30 in the afternoon, was driven around Harlem in the van for hours and couldn’t call my mother until 3 o’clock in the morning. I didn’t go in front of a judge to be arraigned until 6:30 the following night. So I was a 17-year-old girl with no prior convictions, was never even suspended from school, and I spent 24 hours in police custody. I can look back now and make humor of it, but it was terrifying, and it was so excessive.

I didn’t smoke for almost a year after that because I just didn’t want to deal with it. I was like, fuck this – this is not worth it. But things were stressful at home and I distinctly remember the night when I started smoking again – I almost got into a fistfight with somebody so it was like, something needs to give. But I didn’t consume in public, was constantly watching my back. It’s only been in the last few years that I’ve ventured to smoke publicly but it’s always in the back of my head, that maybe I’ll go through that again.

The biggest thing that we have to keep in mind as we move towards legalization is access for people of color. It’s very important to pass the Marijuana Regulation and Taxation Act in New York, to ensure equity, to ensure that we do have access to sit at the table – if we choose to sit at it. But from what I’ve seen, we still have a long way to go in terms of education on what’s possible.

I recently attended the Women of Color in Solidarity Conference, so I was taking smoke breaks with other women in community organizing activist spaces, but very few of them were making the connection that they’re doing it for self-care. This comes with education. And overall, women of color are not aware of what their sisters are doing within the space.

I find that when I have conversations with my neighbors, with my friends outside the space, people just don’t know what’s going on and I feel like we’re in a bubble. That’s a big gap and for me it’s important because, especially as women of color, we bear the brunt of almost every ‘ism’ you can think of, to varying degrees, based on what privileges we carry. We’re just not centered on anything. So that is something I’m actively working towards bridging.

<insert photo here>

Did you always call it “cannabis”?

I didn’t consciously start calling it cannabis until I “crossed over” to the cannabis space. As a Latina, Colombian to be specific – it was always weed, marijuana, hierba – slang. If you were around white people you’d say pot or reefer, whatever the fuck they’d say. I only now call it “cannabis” and started talking about the space, and noticed a shift in my own behavior, but I’m trying to keep in mind that this shift occurred because I had access to resources.

One of the things I try to be conscious of is that while I am a woman of color, I do carry certain privileges, such as being light-skinned. So I also think we need to be conscious of access to language.

Sometimes when I do say ‘marijuana,’ people tell me it’s not politically correct. I’ve had people tell me that it’s against me as a Latina, but I really never knew that ‘marijuana’ was racist. Who are you to impose that on me when that was not my experience? I would respect if that was someone else’s experience, but coming to correct people says more about you than it does about the plant.

Recently, I was at a kid’s birthday party in the projects, around my hood friends. They still smoke dutches and I’m telling them about the volcano, vaping and edibles, and they just don’t give a fuck about any of that. I kept calling it cannabis to the point that they told me to call it weed, and what am I supposed to do, keep being snotty and calling it cannabis? That’s their language and that’s what I come from.

If we want to reach people, we need to use language that they understand. What use is it for me to speak in terms that people don’t understand? Meet people where they’re at and sometimes they’ll gravitate to that. Shifts in consciousness don’t happen overnight. It’s a process.

What motivates you to advocate for the plant?

A dear friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer and passed away last December. She was already a consumer when she was diagnosed at stage 4 and shit got real very quickly. We went to Denver last August, to see what was out there. Vape cartridges really helped her so we came back and put up a GoFundMe to get her some. She met her $2,000 goal within 2 days of posting, then GoFundMe shut down her campaign and refunded everyone their money, because she stated on the page that she was going to use it for cannabis. It’s real bullshit.

I helped supply her with vape cartridges and sometimes it worked, other times it was not potent. That’s another problem with the unregulated market, it was an absolute mess to get any consistency in the medicine she needed.

She spent the last month of her life in the hospital, pumped up with opioids. It’s almost like the painkillers were worse than the cancer. They gave her fentanyl, which was far too powerful. It was horrific to know that cannabis could help her but we couldn’t give her that. So there’s always going to be this question, as long as I live: what would her quality of life have been if she lived in a regulated market?

<insert photo here>

Another thing is, all my experiences led me to be trained in Mental Health

 First Aid, through a class offered by the NYC Department of Health. I feel it’s crucial, everyone should take it.  My mom took the class, and that was one of the most affirming moments I’ve had with her, for her to validate me even if she can’t quite understand what I’m going through. The fact that she was willing to see me as I am and not just pray it away or deny it, as people of color often deny these conditions, that helped a lot.

And I hope that as I open up, I can help others feel affirmed and feel that maybe they can open up. As I opened up to my family about my journey in the cannabis space, I’ve gotten more support and acceptance than I could have ever imagined.

When I went to Denver, I bought back an insane amount of edibles, lotions, tinctures – to approach my family from the wellness angle. I brought lotion for my uncle’s psoriasis and arthritis, and gave tea to my grandmother for her gastrointestinal problems. You have to tailor your approach, but the beautiful thing about cannabis is that there are so many products out there.

They were extremely interested and very grateful. They admitted they wanted to try but didn’t know where to look. So that empowers me to continue exploring what’s possible in the space, because I can see what this is doing for my family.

<insert photo here>

[goldfistgirl]

adderall really helps me stay functioning and not depressed and not having these invasive constant thoughts. i’m actually impressed. sad thoughts still occur to me, but they feel manageable every time and sometimes, when i’m lucky, they’re even fleeting. that hasn’t been the case in probably a year and a half. i’m so thankful, and i need to sort out medical care for that.

i also need to meditate on parts of my life that i can’t change. i need to work on accepting them. i have historically been brilliant at this (low income, father not in my life, etc). i have even been understanding of things like my dad not raising me or not being able to be driven places during high school (like tennis matches). gg’s loss even felt inevitable and ok to me. somehow i managed to accept and handle her loss with relative ease because i knew it was inevitable. the hardest parts of that were dealing with suzanne’s cruel wish for gg to “just die already” and the way my family absorbed her finances for their selfish gain, rather than allowing me to become her caretaker and use that money to actually take care of her. we could have stayed in the apartment she likes, i could have bought a car, and i could have driven her to the places she needed to go. i really wish that is how it would have gone. i learned i need to take initiative rather than allow others to take control and patronize me. i still remember crying so much when we drove gg to mt rainier and she got sick in the car and threw up. what a miserable several hours for her to suffer. i just hated it. it makes me so so so so sad. her end was so painful, and i just... i think there’s so little dignity in the way she passed, and it hurts my heart, because she truly deserved better. a woman so fucking strong, so fucking stubborn, so self-assured, and so invested in the lives of the people around her... it’s cruel that she ended up alone. she liked being alone, but it was wrong that she was condemned to that, because even people who love being alone that much shouldn’t constantly be isolated. it’s bad for our mental health. sigh. tragic. 

 i really only recently lost the ability to cope with certain things. i couldn’t handle last february when those girls bullied me online. that fucked me up. i spent my entire mexico vacation depressed. i couldn’t cope with how ugly i felt in my clothes and body. i am glad i am investing more in my appearance because it makes me feel like i’m taking initiative over how i look. i want to continue to take care of my body and appearance. i want to tan my legs, lose weight, wear fitted and stylish clothing, and practice makeup. i want to get my gouache-like tattoos (rather than watercolor, i should say, since i dont want drippy looking stuff, just faded/blended colors that are kind of “wet” but not like it was painted on a wet canvas). sometimes i get scared that these desires are because i want a man’s approval, but actually a lot of these feelings existed prior to any interest in a man. interest in a man simply exasperated this issue.

other things i couldn’t handle were my shitty job changes, failing at interviews, feeling unloved by josh (which always comes in waves, it’s so bizarre, and now i feel more confident in his love for me, but why? i never used to feel like it before... more just like he won’t leave because he has settled on me), and then of course all the drama with KJosh. That was so toxic from the beginning. I cannot BELIEVE I allowed my self to be involved with him like that in a way that dissatisfied me. And then now again sigh. 

i am also glad i took initiative to talk to a doctor about depression. i am glad i tried medication. i need to continue that path because it will help me cope, i think. adderall or prozac or something. i need to continue to use the gym to relax and watch tv and move my body. i need to gain the courage to try weights. i need to eat good food in the day, hydrate all day, and limit late day eating.

i need to take initiative to make things the way i want them. i feel bad about. if i want to see josh, i need to say, “do you want to hang out?” you know? i mean, i did try to take initiative like that in january, and it flopped. he turned me down so many times, mostly so he could be with girls (or alone because he was exhausted from those girls). he even made copl jokes then, so it’s important to remind myself that his inside jokes and callbacks to stuff are just how he interacts with women. he likes to be close to women on a girlfriend/boyfriend level without actually dating them because for him, dating = path to marriage, and that looms over him. he doesn’t understand that what he wants from a female friendship is literally a girlfriend lol. that creates a strange sort of demand of intimacy from women in his life without him actually caring about that kind of intimacy on an equal level. like for sure he’s weird. he doesn’t even acknowledge that we are currently casually dating. but i am not gonna push it because it will just depress me to hear him say shitty things about whatever.

what i do need to do is, again, meditate on the fact that i can’t control his feelings toward me. i need to constantly remind myself that he does not love me nor does he ever, ever want a long term relationship. his personality cannot work with LTR because he quickly becomes bored and needs new people in his life. he is not familiar with how to maintain long term friendships, even. i am happy to try to show him what that looks like, but it is possible that his personality is not compatable with ltr. personalities change, but i am not in control of that, and if he does not change, it is not a reflection on me. it does not mean that i am not “good enough” to motivate him to want to be around a person for a long time. i can potentially avoid “burning him out” by giving him space, and i like space too, and since i feel more secure in his at least friendly interest in me, i do not feel threatened by staying away. i dont feel like i need to be near him to show off my awesomeness. it is somewhat healthier now, and hopefully i can be down to earth and accept it if it becomes unhealthy and i need to leave. i need to remind myself that it is ok to become fed up with waiting and toxic mentalities. it is sad to leave, but i need to be realistic. meditate on this shit, jenn! daily reminders so i don’t fall into some emotional please-love-me trap!

see, even when he was using me last year, there were still opportunities for me to have a good time with him, like go to some destination with him in jenny’s car. i just needed to actually literally ask. he would have potentially said yes back then. january was a bad time because he was so Over me. damn, he got over me before he even dumped me. hell, he was never under/into me! 

i’m still worried i’ll take it personally if he doesn’t see me on the weekends, so i need to like... brainwash myself into being ok with it. i mean, ffs, i have my own fucking life and interests. i should do my own god damn shit. i literally WANT to do my own stuff again, too, which is a nice refreshing feeling. last year i had lost interest and motivation for my own things, like a fucking shit depressing cycle. 

i need to take initiative to enjoy the time i do have with him because it’s temporary. i had that mentality before--that i needed to enjoy what i could before it came to its inevitable end--but i need to for sure be more active now. ask him to do things, go places. i dont want the whole “go to mt rainier” thing to be just talk. i wanna DO that with him. and i also wanna do chill things like have him over to my house. i wanna learn to cook with him. just all that shit. 

when i think about being his girlfriend, i actually don’t like it. but i do know i like what we are doing now. and that i selfishly want him to want to be with me for the ego boost smh.

[mindocr]

Generation Adderall

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Chad Wys. Source image from the Getty’s Open Content Program. “Portrait of a Woman,” by Jacob Adriaensz Baker. Generation Adderall Like many of my friends, I spent years using prescription stimulants to get through school and start my career. Then I tried to get off them. BY CASEY SCHWARTZOCT. 12, 2016 Have you ever been to Enfield? I had never even heard of it until I was 23 and living in London for graduate school. One afternoon, I received notification that a package whose arrival I had been anticipating for days had been bogged down in customs and was now in a FedEx warehouse in Enfield, an unremarkable London suburb. I was outside my flat within minutes of receiving this news and on the train to Enfield within the hour, staring through the window at the gray sky. The package in question, sent from Los Angeles, contained my monthly supply of Adderall. Adderall, the brand name for a mixture of amphetamine salts, is more strictly regulated in Britain than in the United States, where, the year before, in 2005, I became one of the millions of Americans to be prescribed a stimulant medication. The train to Enfield was hardly the greatest extreme to which I would go during the decade I was entangled with Adderall. I would open other people’s medicine cabinets, root through trash cans where I had previously disposed of pills, write friends’ college essays for barter. Once, while living in New Hampshire, I skipped a day of work to drive three hours each way to the health clinic where my prescription was still on file. Never was I more resourceful or unswerving than when I was devising ways to secure more Adderall. Adderall is prescribed to treat Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, a neurobehavioral condition marked by inattention, hyperactivity and impulsivity that was first included in the D.S.M. in 1987 and predominantly seen in children. That condition, which has also been called Attention Deficit Disorder, has been increasingly diagnosed over recent decades: In the 1990s, an estimated 3 to 5 percent of school-age American children were believed to have A.D.H.D., according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention; by 2013, that figure was 11 percent. It continues to rise. And the increase in diagnoses has been followed by an increase in prescriptions. In 1990, 600,000 children were on stimulants, usually Ritalin, an older medication that often had to be taken multiple times a day. By 2013, 3.5 million children were on stimulants, and in many cases, the Ritalin had been replaced by Adderall, officially brought to market in 1996 as the new, upgraded choice for A.D.H.D. — more effective, longer lasting. Continue reading the main story Advertisement Continue reading the main story Adderall’s very name reflects its makers’ hopes for an expanding customer base: “A.D.D. for all” is the phrase that inspired it, Alan Schwarz writes in his new book, “A.D.H.D. Nation.” And in fact, by the time I arrived at college in 2000, four years after Adderall hit the market, nearly five million prescriptions were written; in 2005, the year after I graduated, that number was just under nine million. By then, sales of A.D.H.D. medication in the United States totaled more than $2 billion. Sign Up for the Magazine Newsletter Get the best of the Magazine delivered to your inbox every week, including exclusive feature stories, photography, columns and more. Sign Up Receive occasional updates and special offers for The New York Times's products and services. SEE SAMPLE MANAGE EMAIL PREFERENCES PRIVACY POLICY By the mid-2000s, adults were the fastest-growing group receiving the drug. In 2012, roughly 16 million Adderall prescriptions were written for adults between ages 20 and 39, according to QuintilesIMS, an information-and-technology-services company that gathers health-care-related data. Adderall has now become ubiquitous on college campuses, widely taken by students both with and without a prescription. Black markets have sprung up at many, if not most, schools. In fact, according to a review published in 2012 in the journal Brain and Behavior, the off-label use of prescription stimulants had come to represent the second-most-common form of illicit drug use in college by 2004. Only marijuana was more popular. We know very little about what Adderall does over years of use, in and out of college, throughout all the experiences that constitute early adulthood. To date, there is almost no research on the long-term effects on humans of using Adderall. In a sense, then, we are the walking experiment, those of us around my age who first got involved with this drug in high school or college when it was suddenly everywhere and then did not manage to get off it for years afterward — if we got off it at all. We are living out what it might mean, both psychologically and neurologically, to take a powerful drug we do not need over long stretches of time. Sometimes I think of us as Generation Adderall. Adderall as we know it today owes its origins to accident. In the late 1920s, an American chemist named Gordon Alles, searching for a treatment for asthma, synthesized a substance related to adrenaline, which was known to aid bronchial relaxation. Alles had created beta-phenyl-isopropylamine, the chemical now known as amphetamine. Injecting himself to test the results, he noted a “feeling of well being,” followed by a “rather sleepless night,” according to “On Speed: The Many Lives of Amphetamine,” by Nicolas Rasmussen. By the 1930s, the drug Benzedrine, a brand-name amphetamine, was being taken to elevate mood, boost energy and increase vigilance. The American military dispensed Benzedrine tablets, also known as “go pills,” to soldiers during World War II. After the war, with slight modification, an amphetamine called Dexedrine was prescribed to treat depression. Many people, especially women, loved amphetamines for their appetite-suppressing side effects and took them to stay thin, often in the form of the diet drug Obetrol. But in the early 1970s, with around 10 million adults using amphetamines, the Food and Drug Administration stepped in with strict regulations, and the drug fell out of such common use. More than 20 years later, a pharmaceutical executive named Roger Griggs thought to revisit the now largely forgotten Obetrol. Tweaking the formula, he named it Adderall and brought it to market aimed at the millions of children and teenagers who doctors said had A.D.H.D. A time-release version of Adderall came out a few years later, which prolonged the delivery of the drug to the bloodstream and which was said to be less addictive — and therefore easier to walk away from. In theory. The first time I took Adderall, I was a sophomore at Brown University, lamenting to a friend the impossibility of my plight: a five-page paper due the next afternoon on a book I had only just begun reading. “Do you want an Adderall?” she asked. “I can’t stand it — it makes me want to stay up all night doing cartwheels in the hallway.” Could there be a more enticing description? My friend pulled two blue pills out of tinfoil and handed them to me. An hour later, I was in the basement of the library, hunkered down in the Absolute Quiet Room, in a state of peerless ecstasy. The world fell away; it was only me, locked in a passionate embrace with the book I was reading and the thoughts I was having about it, which tumbled out of nowhere and built into what seemed an amazing pile of riches. When dawn came to Providence, R.I., I was hunched over in the grubby lounge of my dormitory, typing my last fevered perceptions, vaguely aware that outside the window, the sky was turning pink. I was alone in my new secret world, and that very aloneness was part of the great intoxication. I needed nothing and no one. I would experience this same sensation again and again over the next two years, whenever I could get my hands on Adderall on campus, which was frequently, but not, I began to feel, frequently enough. My Adderall hours became the most precious hours of my life, far too precious for the Absolute Quiet Room. I now needed to locate the most remote desk in the darkest, most neglected corner of the upper-level stacks, tucked farthest from the humming campus life going on outside. That life was no longer the life that interested me. Instead, what mattered, what compelled, were the hours I spent in isolation, poring over, for instance, Immanuel Kant’s thoughts on “the sublime.” It was fitting: This was sublime, these afternoons I spent in untrammeled focus, absorbing the complicated ideas in the texts in front of me, mastering them, covering their every surface with my razor-like comprehension, devouring them, making them a part of myself. Or rather, of what I now thought of as my self, which is to say, the steely, undistractable person whom I vastly preferred to the lazier, glitchier person I knew my actual self to be, the one who was subject to fits of lassitude and a tendency to eat too many Swedish Fish. Adderall wiped away the question of willpower. Now I could study all night, then run 10 miles, then breeze through that week’s New Yorker, all without pausing to consider whether I might prefer to chat with classmates or go to the movies. It was fantastic. I lost weight. That was nice, too. Though I did snap at friends, abruptly accessing huge depths of fury I wouldn’t have thought I possessed. When a roommate went home one weekend and forgot to turn off her alarm clock so that it beeped behind her locked door for 48 hours, I entirely lost control, calling her in New York to berate her. I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d slept more than five hours. Why bother? By my senior year of college, my school work had grown more unmanageable, not less. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t able to complete it. My droll, aristocratic Russian-history professor granted me an extension on the final term paper. One Friday evening well into December, when the idyllic New England campus had already begun to empty out for winter break, I was alone in the Sciences Library — the one that stayed open all night — squinting down at my notes on the Russian intelligentsia. Outside, it was blizzarding. Inside, the fluorescent lights beat down on the empty basement-level room. I felt dizzy and strange. It had been a particularly chemical week; several days had passed since I had slept more than a handful of hours, and I was taking more and more pills to compensate. Suddenly, when I looked up from the page, the bright room seemed to dilate around me, as if I weren’t really there but rather stuck in some strange mirage. I seized with panic — what was happening? I tried to breathe, to snap myself back into reality, but I couldn’t. Shakily, I stood and made my way toward the phones. I dialed my friend Dave in his dorm room. “I’m having some kind of problem in the Sci Li,” I told him. My own voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. An hour later, I was in an ambulance, being taken through the snowstorm to the nearest hospital. The volunteer E.M.T. was a Brown student I’d met once or twice. He held my hand the whole way. “Am I going to die?” I kept asking him. Dave and I sat for hours in the emergency room, until I was ushered behind a curtain and a skeptical-looking doctor came in to see me. I wasn’t used to being looked at the way he was looking at me, which is to say, as if I were potentially insane, certifiable even. By then, I was feeling a little better, no longer so sure I was dying, and as I lay down on the examination table, I joked to him, “I will recline, like the Romans!” His expression remained unamused. I described what I’d been taking. His diagnosis: “Anxiety, amphetamine induced.” I had had my first panic attack — an uncommon but by no means unknown reaction to taking too much Adderall. When I left the hospital, I left behind the canister of blue pills that I had painstakingly scrounged together. I still remember the sight of it sitting next to the examination bed. Photo Credit Illustration by Chad Wys. Source image from the Getty’s Open Content Program. “Portrait of Louise de Keroualle, Duchess of Portsmouth,” by Peter Lely. A few days later, I drew incompletes in my classes and went back home to New York. My father knew about the hospital incident, but I promised him I would stop taking the drug. And I fully intended to. I spent that long winter break at the public library on 42nd Street, soldiering lethargically through the essays I hadn’t been able to cope with while taking amphetamines. What I didn’t know then, what I couldn’t have known, was that the question of whether Adderall actually improves cognitive performance when taken off-label — whether or not it is a “smart drug” — was unresolved. It would be another few years before studies appeared showing that Adderall’s effect on cognitive enhancement is more than a little ambiguous. Martha Farah, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of Pennsylvania, has conducted much of this research. She has studied the effect of Adderall on subjects taking a host of standardized tests that measure restraint, memory and creativity. On balance, Farah and others have found very little to no improvement when their research subjects confront these tests on Adderall. Ultimately, she says, it is possible that “lower-performing people actually do improve on the drug, and higher-performing people show no improvement or actually get worse.” My pill-free period didn’t last very long. I turned in my incomplete school work and duly received my grades, but by graduation that spring, I was again locked into the familiar pattern, the blissful intensity and isolation followed by days of slow-motion comedown, when I would laze around for hours, eating spoonfuls of ice cream from the carton, desperate for the sugar rush, barely able to muster the energy necessary to take a shower. It took me exactly one year from the time of college graduation to come to the decision that would, to a great extent, shape the next phase of my life. It hit me like a revelation: It might be possible to declare my independence from the various A.D.H.D. kids who sold me their prescription pills at exorbitant markups and get a prescription all my own. The idea occurred to me as I walked among the palm trees on the campus of U.C.L.A. By then, I was living in Los Angeles, working as a private tutor for high-school kids, many of whom were themselves on Adderall, and taking summer-school classes in psychology and neuroscience in order to be able to apply for graduate school. I had decided I wanted to be a psychologist — infinitely more manageable than my secret ambition of being a writer, I thought. Infinitely more realistic. Like many 20-somethings, my decisions were informed by panic and haste, but also, of course, by whatever short-lived supply of the pills I happened to be in possession of. I was now surrounded — or had surrounded myself — by others caught up in the Adderall web. Together with two of my closest friends in Los Angeles that year, we traversed the city in a state of perpetual, hyped-up intensity, exchanging confidences that later we would not recall. Adderall was the currency of our friendship; when one of us ran short of pills, another would cover the deficit. Driving through Los Angeles in a sun-drenched trance, weaving in and out of traffic, I found it all too easy to lose track of exactly how many pills I had swallowed that day. As soon as it occurred to me that I might be able to get my own prescription, I went to the nearest campus computer and searched for “cognitive behavioral psychiatrist, Westwood, Los Angeles, California.” I knew enough about psychology by then to avoid the psychoanalysts, who would want to go deep and talk to me for weeks or maybe months about why I felt I needed chemical enhancement. No, I couldn’t turn to them — I needed a therapist with an M.D., a focus on concrete “results” and an office within a 10-minute drive of U.C.L.A. The very next day, I was sitting in exactly the kind of place I had envisioned, an impersonal room with gray walls and black leather furniture, describing to the attractive young psychiatrist in the chair opposite me how I had always had to develop elaborate compensatory strategies for getting through my school work, how staying with any one thing was a challenge for me, how I was best at jobs that required elaborate multitasking, like waitressing. Untrue, all of it. I was a focused student and a terrible waitress. And yet these were the answers that I discovered from the briefest online research were characteristic of the A.D.H.D. diagnostic criteria. These were the answers they were looking for in order to pick up their pens and write down “Adderall, 20 mg, once a day” on their prescription pads. So these were the answers I gave. Fifty minutes later, I was standing on San Vicente Boulevard in the bright California sun, prescription slip in hand. That single doctor’s assessment, granted in less than an hour, would follow me everywhere I went: through the rest of my time in Los Angeles; then off to London, with the help of FedEx; then to New Haven, where I would pick it up once a month at the Yale Health Center; then back to New York, where the doctor I found on my insurance plan would have no problem continuing to prescribe this medication, based only on my saying that it had been previously prescribed to me, that I’d been taking it for years. Any basic neuroscience textbook will explain how Adderall works in the brain — and why it’s so hard to break the habit. For years, the predominant explanation of addiction, promulgated by researchers like Nora Volkow, director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse, has revolved around the neurotransmitter dopamine. Amphetamines unleash dopamine along with norepinephrine, which rush through the brain’s synapses and increase levels of arousal, attention, vigilance and motivation. Dopamine, in fact, tends to feature in every experience that feels especially great, be it having sex or eating chocolate cake. It’s for this reason that dopamine is so heavily implicated in current models of addiction. As a person begins to overuse a substance, the brain — which craves homeostasis and fights for it — tries to compensate for all the extra dopamine by stripping out its own dopamine receptors. With the reduction of dopamine receptors, the person needs more and more of her favored substance to produce the euphoria it once offered her. The vanishing dopamine receptors also help explain the agony of withdrawal: Without that favored substance, a person is suddenly left with a brain whose capacity to experience reward is well below its natural levels. It is an open question whether every brain returns to its original settings once off the drug. Nearly three years after getting the prescription, in 2008, I found myself sobbing in a psychiatrist’s office in New Haven, where I was finishing graduate school, explaining to him that my life was no longer my own. I had long been telling myself that by taking Adderall, I was exerting total control over my fallible self, but in truth, it was the opposite: The Adderall made my life unpredictable, blowing black storm systems over my horizon with no warning at all. Still, I couldn’t give it up. The psychiatrist was a kind Serbian man with an unflappable expression. He observed my distress calmly and prescribed Wellbutrin, an antidepressant with a slightly speedy quality that could cushion the blow of withdrawal and make it less painful to get off the Adderall. His theory was sound. But soon enough, I was simply taking both medications. Through my Adderall years, I lived a paradox, believing that the drug was indispensable to my very survival while also knowing that it was nothing short of toxic, poisonous to art, love and life. By 2009, I had a contract to write a book about psychoanalysis and neuroscience; shortly after, I took a day job as a reporter for a news website. What was required of me there was the constant filing of short, catchy pieces: to be quick and glib and move on to the next one. It was the kind of rhythm perfect for an Adderall-head like me — and the kind of writing at odds with the effort to think slowly and carefully, at book length. The goal of slow and careful thinking came to feel more and more anachronistic with each passing week. It didn’t escape me that just as Adderall was surging onto the market in the 1990s, so, too, was the internet, that the two have ascended within American life in perfect lock-step. I was terrified I had done something irreversible to my brain, terrified that I was going to discover that I couldn’t write at all without my special pills. Occasionally, I would try to get off the drug. Each attempt began the same way. Step 1: the rounding up of all the pills in my possession, including those secret stashes hidden away in drawers and closets. Debating for hours whether to keep just one, “for emergencies.” Then the leap of faith and the flushing of the pills down the toilet. Step 2: a day or two of feeling all right, as if I could manage this after all. Step 3: a bleak slab of time when the effort needed to get through even the simple tasks of a single day felt stupendous, where the future stretched out before me like a grim series of obligations I was far too tired to carry out. All work on my book would stop. Panic would set in. Then, suddenly, an internal Adderall voice would take over, and I would jump up from my desk and scurry out to refill my prescription — almost always a simple thing to achieve — or borrow pills from a friend, if need be. And the cycle would begin again. Those moments were all shrouded in secrecy and shame. Very few people in my life knew the extent to which the drug had come to define me. Over the years, I’ve been told by various experts on the subject that it should not have been so hard to get off Adderall. The drug is supposed to be relatively quick and painless to relinquish. I’ve often wondered whether my inability to give it up was my deepest failing. I’ve found some comfort in seeing my own experience mirrored back to me in the dozens and dozens of disembodied voices on the internet, filling the message boards of the websites devoted to giving up this drug. One post, in particular, has stayed with me, a mother writing on QuittingAdderall.com: I started taking Adderall in OCT 2010. And my story isn’t much different than most. ... The honeymoon period, then all downhill. I feel like I cannot remember who I was, or how it felt, to go one minute of the day not on Adderall. I look back at pictures of myself from before this began and I wonder how I was ever “happy” without it because now I am a nervous wreck if I even come close to not having my pills for the day. There have been nights I have cried laying my daughter down to sleep because I was so ashamed that the time she spent with her mommy that day wasn’t real. “Nobody starts off by saying, I’m going to go develop a drug problem,” said Jeanette Friedman, a social worker with a specialty in addiction, when I met her in August at her Upper East Side office. “No one means to get addicted. But there’s such a casual use of something like Adderall nowadays — because it’s seen as benign, or a help to becoming more productive. And in our culture, to be productive is kind of everything. There’s a tremendous pressure not just to do well but to excel.” When she is face to face with an addicted patient, Friedman explains, what is at stake is that patient’s very ability “to become a full person without the shadow of always needing something.” Adderall complicates the usual dynamic of drug addiction by being squarely associated with productivity, achievement and success. “It’s very hard to think about going off it, because you don’t know if you’re going to be able to produce,” she says. “Plenty of people have gone off of it and have been able to tell the story, that yes, they definitely can produce. But the fear of not being able to is what keeps people still using.” I remember that fear, in school and, later, at work, and it’s palpable in those message-board pleas: The way I feel now is way worse than my A.D.D. ever was before I went on this stuff. I no longer feel, at this present time, able to get a Ph.D. I don’t feel able to do coursework, I don’t feel interested and passionate about the things I loved. I need to know from you, dear readers, that this will be temporary. Harris Stratyner, a psychologist and addiction specialist at the Caron Treatment Center in Manhattan, told me that each year he’s in practice, he sees more people desperate to get off Adderall. Stratyner estimates that he has treated more than 50 patients trying to stop using the drug; currently, they range in age from 24 to 40. His Adderall patients are overwhelmingly creative people who wanted to work in the arts — yet, he says, many have chosen other paths, safer paths, resigning themselves before they’ve even really tried to achieve what they hoped for. “They often give in to practicality,” he says. “Then they feel they missed out. And when they take Adderall, it makes them feel good, so they don’t focus on the fact that they feel like they sold out.” Many people are using Adderall to mask a sense of disappointment in themselves, Stratyner says, because it narrows their focus down to simply getting through each day, instead of the larger context of what they’re trying to build with their lives. “It becomes extremely psychologically and physiologically addictive,” he says. “It’s really a tough drug to get off of.” The side effects of Adderall withdrawal that his patients report include nausea, chills, diarrhea, body aches and pains, even seizures. Occasionally, it is necessary for him to hospitalize his patients as they come down off Adderall. In the end, I did not get off Adderall alone. I had a brilliant psychiatrist. I believe she saved my life. On the wall of her office, she had a single image: a framed print of an Henri Matisse painting. Through our time together, Matisse came to stand for the creative process. You start one place, go through hell and wind up somewhere else, somewhere that surprises you. Adderall, we both agreed, was a perversion of that journey. Gradually, her words entered my inner dialogue and sustained me. I was 30 by the time I got off Adderall for good. This statement horrifies me even now, more than three years later, recognizing the amount of precious time I gave away to that drug. During the first weeks of finally giving up Adderall, the fatigue was as real as it had been before, the effort required to run even a tiny errand momentous, the gym unthinkable. The cravings were a force of their own: If someone so much as said “Adderall” in my presence, I would instantly begin to scheme about how to get just one more pill. Or maybe two. I was anxious, terrified I had done something irreversible to my brain, terrified that I was going to discover that I couldn’t write at all without my special pills. I didn’t yet know that it would only be in the amphetamine-free years to follow that my book would finally come together. Even in those first faltering weeks, there were consolations. Simple pleasures were available to me again. I laughed more in conversation with my friends, and I noticed that they did, too. I had spent years of my life in a state of false intensity, always wondering if I should be somewhere else, working harder, achieving more. In the deep lethargy of withdrawal, I could shed that chemical urgency that kept me at a subtle distance from everyone around me — and from myself. On one of those earliest days of being off the drug, I was moving slowly, more than a little daunted, trying to walk the few miles to an appointment I had in Midtown Manhattan. It was a glorious summer evening, the sun just going down. As I approached Bryant Park, I heard live music and wandered in to see. A rock band was performing onstage. I hovered at the back of the crowd. The singer, muscular and bearded, gripped the microphone in front of him with two hands, pouring his heart into every word that left his mouth. His voice soared into that summer night. Suddenly, tears were streaming down my face. I was embarrassed, but I couldn’t stop. It was as if I hadn’t heard music in years. Casey Schwartz is the author of “In the Mind Fields: Exploring the New Science of Neuropsychoanalysis.” She last wrote for the magazine on whether brain-scanning can help save Freudian psychoanalysis. Sign up for our newsletter to get the best of The New York Times Magazine delivered to your inbox every week. A version of this article appears in print on October 16, 2016, on Page MM54 of the Sunday Magazine with the headline: Generation Adderall. Today's Paper|Subscribe Continue reading the main story TRENDING Trump Says Focus on Russian Hacking Is a ‘Political Witch Hunt’ Inside a Killer Drug Epidemic: A Look at America’s Opioid Crisis Transition Briefing: Trump’s Long-Awaited Briefing on Russian Election Interference Nears In Break With Precedent, Obama Envoys Are Denied Extensions Past Inauguration Day 52 Places to Go in 2017 Op-Ed Contributor: Why Rural America Voted for Trump Countering Trump, Bipartisan Voices Strongly Affirm Findings on Russian Hacking Feature: One Man’s Quest to Change the Way We Die Op-Ed Columnist: The Age of Fake Policy News Analysis: Michelle Obama Can Now Speak Her Mind. Will She? View More Trending Stories » More in Magazine