#literally neither of these were problems in high school why are they suddenly the devil

[just-a-silly-little-gay]

love being a "fully grown adult" but only when its convenient

[vikingqueer]

music recommendations because i have some thoughts™

i don't wanna be that person who's like "my music taste is so weird lol" but i find that very often most of my friends don't really care for the music i like so i thought i'd just make a long ass post about it on tumblr instead. Fair warning, I'm very passionate about MIKA and The Mechanisms and so this very quickly got VERY long because it is part of my ongoing campaign to convince people to listen to mika and the mechs.

1) MIKA in general, but especially My Name Is Michael Holbrook (2019) and No Place In Heaven (2015) (especially the Deluxe version!!)

MIKA is a kind of British singer (half Lebanese, grew up in France blabla), and you probably know him for Grace Kelly and Relax, Take It Easy from his first album Life In Cartoon Motion from 2007. He writes a lot of FUN music, interspersed with the occasional slightly sadder song, especially when looking at an album like No Place In Heaven, which contains a lot of songs with gay themes, resulting in some songs that are just a little bit ouch. He's originally classically trained and has a frankly RIDICULOUS range and idk he just writes very good pop music. Also I have so much respect for that time he talked about how a lot of pop is very fake, with like expensive cars and stilettos and mini skirts in the snow and said "Because I walk down the street, and I don't see any of that. I see fat women and gay men. I don't know... That's real". He's written 5 albums; My Name Is Michael Holbrook (2019), No Place In Heaven (2015), The Origin Of Love (2012), The Boy Who Knew Too Much (2009), and Life In Cartoon Motion (2007).

For starters, I recommend listening to Last Party, Origin Of Love, Grace Kelly, Blame It On The Girls, Blue, Happy Ending, Pick Up Off The Floor, Last Party, Underwater, Tomorrow and Tiny Love (yes this is a long list but i REALLY love MIKA). If you want a slightly broader palette that's not just my favourites, I recommend the Mika starter pack on spotify.

2) The Mechanisms. I warn you. I am making this a thing. I have been obsessed with the mechs since last march.

Boy, where to start? The Mechanisms were a British 9 member space pirate story-telling cabaret that "died" in January 2020. They rewrite songs to fit retellings of various stories. I don't even know what genre I'd describe them as, but probably folk but steam-punk?? Their 4 "main" albums are concept albums, and I honestly just recommend listening to the from beginning to end in chronological order. A good way to get into the mechs is also to listen to UDAD and then watching the live show on youtube or alternately try giving Death To The Mechanisms a listen, to get good quality live show audio of TBI and various other stuff. Also, it was streamed on YouTube and someone combined the footage with the album audio and it rocks. Really, I think the mechs' best selling points are honestly just their concept albums:

Once Upon a Time (In Space) Their first album from 2012. I'd say this is the most "easily digestible" for the general public, since it's a retelling of various fairytales. So, what if Old King Cole was in fact not merry, but rather a cold-blooded dictator, intent on colonising as much of the galaxy as possible. What if Snow White was a general, looking to avenge what King Cole did to her sister, Rose. What if Cinderella was to be wedded to Rose the day that King Cole attacked in order to kidnap Rose? But y'know, In Space and also like every other mechs album it's a beautiful tragedy. Fave songs are Old King Cole, Pump Shanty, and No Happy Ending.

Ulysses Dies at Dawn You guessed it, it's a story about Odysseus, or Ulysses because I guess Ulysses is easier to rhyme or fit in the meter or something, idk. Ulysses is a war hero of unknown gender who is said to keep something that could take down the corrupt Olympians, meanest families in the City, in a vault to which only they know the passcode. Oedipus, Heracles, Orpheus, and Ariadne have been hired by Hades, who happens to be The Mechs' quartermaster Ashes O'Reilly, to get into Ulysses' vault. I didn't care much for udad at first, but honestly it's got some real bangers and the story is really good. UDAD weirdly stands out as the only of the concept albums to not feature any gay relationships, per se. Fave songs are Riddle of the Sphinx, Favoured Son, and Underworld Blues.

High Noon over Camelot This is my favourite mehcs album. So basically, this is Arthurian legend, but it's a space western and Jonny D'Ville does a bad southern accent. This is the story of the cowboy lovers Arther, Lancelot, and Guinevere searching for the Galfridian Restricted Acces Interface Login, or GRAIL, in order to stop their world from falling into the sun. Meanwhile, Mordred and Gawaine are ruling Camelot, and Mordred has convinced Gawaine to try to establish peace with the Saxons by whom Mordred was raised, but Gawaine hates viciously. If you love getting your heart broken and songs by a fucking off the rails batshit preacher I HIGHLY recommend hnoc. Fave songs are Gunfight at the Dolorous Guard, Blood and Whiskey, and Once and Future King. Honorary mention for Hellfire because it awakens something animalistic in me.

The Bifrost Incident TBI is the frankly only good adaptation of norse mythology I've ever known of, and I say that as Dane who was literally forced to learn things about norse mythology in school because it's my heritage or whatever. I've been listening to TBI a lot lately because it's VERY good. It's definitely the most refined of the mechs' albums (because it's the newest) but also I just love a little bit of cosmic horror. 80 years ago, Odin, the All-Mother, ruler of Asgaard, launched a train through the wormhole Bifrost that would reduce the travel between Asgaard and Midgaard from 3 months to 3 days, but things didn't go quite as planned. Lyfrassir Edda of the New Midgaard Transport Police is trying to solve the case of why suddenly the train has arrived 80 years late; to figure out whether it was accident or maybe it was sabotaged by Loki, who was allegedly sentence to death her murder of Baldur, by the Midgaardian resistance led by Loki's wife Sigyn, or maybe by Thor, who was to take over after Odin, and who holds quite the grudge because he used to be a friend of Loki's. You might've heard the song Thor from this album, it's apparently quite popular. Fave songs are Loki, Ragnarok III: Strange Meeting, and Ragnarok V: End of The Line. Yet again an honorary mention: Red Signal because while Lovecraft was a bitch, his invocations are fucking RAW.

Basically, the Mechanisms do all of their performances in character as captain first mate Jonny D'Ville, quartermaster Ashes O'Reilly, pilot DrumBot Brian, master-at-arms Gunpowder Tim, science officer Raphaella la Cognizi, doctor Baron Marius Von Raum (neither a baron, nor a doctor), archivist Ivy Alexandria, engineer Nastya Rasputina, and The Toy Soldier, who is, as usual, present. You can find very obscure lore about the crew of the Aurora here, tidbits on Tales To Be Told and TTBT Vol. 2, such as One Eyed Jacks, The Ignominious Demise of Dr. Pilchard, Gunpowder Tim vs. The Moon Kaiser, Lucky Sevens, and Lost in the Cosmos.

If you feel like listening to a full 40-50 minute album to find out if you like a band is a bit much, I recommend listening to one of the mini stories Alice, Swan Song, or Frankenstein, which are about 12, 5 and 9:30 minutes respectively.

3) The Amazing Devil You know that guy who played Jaskier in the Witcher? I got into The Amazing Devil from spotify recommending them because I listened to the mechs, and apparently Joey Batey from The Amazing Devil is the same Joey Batey who was in the Witcher. Both him and Madeleine Hyland are VERY talented singers and songwriters and their second album The Horror and the Wild makes me go out into the forest and SCREAM. I listened to it on repeat for like a month straight. I guess they'd also be considered folk, but like. New Folk. Also yes, this is another British artist, I don't know why I'm like this. I've never really gotten that into their first album, Love Run, but King slaps. As I understand there's this whole lore about the Blue Furious Boy and Scarlet Scarlet, Joey and Madeleine respectively, but unlike the Mechanisms it's actually possible to find out things about the actual real people and harder to find the obscure lore? I'm open for people to please help me. Fave songs are The Horror and the Wild, Farewell Wanderlust, and That Unwanted Animal, which is literally a third of their second album, but again. I haven't really listened to Love Run that much, and I just LOVE the harmonies on THATW. (also im gay and dramatic leave me alone)

4) dodie I have so much love for this woman. Like many others, I first knew dodie as doddleoddle on youtube. I think I first stumbled across her in probably 2015, because I distinctly already knew her before she released her first EP Sick of Losing Soulmates in 2016. I think I watched probably every video she's ever made in the span of a few weeks. I just loved her quiet sound and was absolutely HOOKED. Also she's actually the reason I got into MIKA originally, so thanks for that. Dodie just realeased her first album Build A Problem (in addition to her three EP's; the one mentioned above, You, and Human) and it slaps. Yes dodie is also British Fave songs are probably Monster, Rainbow, and In The Middle.

5) Cladia Boleyn Unfortunately, Claudia Boleyn only has three singles and that's it. She's been making content on youtube for quite a while, and that's how I first discovered her. I don't know what genre her music is, but I like it. The songs are Celesta, George, and Mother Maiden Crone, of which the latter is my favourite. I'm not saying Claudia Boleyn invented women in 2017 when she released Mother Maiden Crone, but she did. Also you guessed it, Claudia Boleyn is British.

6) Hozier I'm not about to tell you about Hozier. You know who he is. Listen to Nina Cried Power, Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene, and Shrike. Also Hozier isn't stricly British in that he is definitely from A British Isle, but Ireland is not part of the UK. Give me a break.

7) Oh Land Oh Land IS DANISH. I like her early music best, because I'm not that into the electronic sound. I guess Oh Land is just you regular old pop, but with the occasional weird vibe? Oddly enough, I like her first album Fauna best. Unfortunately I haven't really listened to her newest album Family Tree much, but it seems good? Fave songs are Frostbite, Love You Better and Family Tree. I cried on the bus, first time I listened to the Danish version of Love You Better, Elsker Dig Mer because my mother tongue always just hits harder. Also Frostbite is Oh Land doing a duet with herself which is pretty cool.

8) Oysterband This is a live recommendation. I mean they're a decent folk band and all, but they're a fucking experience live. If you like folk and you ever get the opportunity to see Oysterband live, do it. Unfortunately, yes. They are British. Either way, they are incredible on a scene and I think they deserve a mention for that.

9) Ben Platt Honestly don't know much about this guy, but he's not British and he was in Dear Evan Hansen. He released an album in 2019, Sing To Me Instead, and I just think it's a good album, there isn't really not much more to it. Fave songs are Grow As We Go, Bad Habit, and In Case You Don't Live Forever.

and thats all for now. this has been a ramble. shout out to you if you actually read all of this, especially the mechs part.

[heathers-wig]

come & find me - heathney hanahaki au part one

synopsis:

“Who’re the flowers for?” Eva interjects.

The question dances around in Heather’s head and leaks out of the others’ imploring glances, but Heather finds herself faltering as she struggles to answer.

“I don’t…” Heather frowns, thinking of the flowers welling up in her lungs that she’s sure will snuff out her life. Her frown melts into a scowl when she thinks of whoever her enamored was, and how they doubled as her soon-to-be inevitable murderer, along with how she didn’t even get the privilege to know their identity. “I don’t know.”

❁

Or: Heather contracts the Hanahaki Disease. Other than the fact that she’s quite literally slowly but surely dying due to flowers rooted to her lungs, she has a problem; she doesn’t know who exactly her unrequited love is for, or how to prevent the disease from worsening. Can she figure out who her “beloved” is and snuff out the floral illness before it claims her for once and for all?

pairings: heathney (heather x courtney), BG gweoff (gwen x geoff), BG izva (izzy x eva)

word count: 15,226

warnings: suicidal thoughts implications + descriptions of coughing/vomiting

A/N: there are two endings, happy and sad! feel free to choose which you deem as the true ending :) thank you for reading!

READ IT ON AO3 HERE!

i. daffodils & gardenias; unrequited and secret love

It starts with a petal. Well, if Heather were to be honest, it had started far beyond the first initial petal, but all the pieces fell into place when the very first petal fluttered from her lips.

Her science teacher was going on and on about the instructions for their next lab — something about carefully dissecting a pufferfish that had long since died, but Heather paid no mind to it.

Instead, she observes.

One of her favorite things to do was observe those around her. It was like dissecting them, similar to how her science teacher was now demonstrating on one of the pufferfish, and their internal thoughts and behaviors. Who they unconsciously drifted to, who they repelled and fought with — or, to be more precise, where the weak links in her class were located. With this frequent and diligent studying, she knew exactly how to break certain students and their allegedly tight-knit friend groups.

Take Bridgette, Geoff, and Alejandro, for instance; all Heather had done was slightly insinuate to the gullible, blonde girl that Alejandro liked her, and she was putty in her hands. Of course, Heather noticed Bridgette stare and stare at Alejandro nearly around the clock, but Geoff, Bridgette's actual boyfriend, hadn’t. She did him a favor, really — all it took was her to mastermind him walking in on Bridgette and Alejandro during a Halloween party, and Heather was satisfied.

Currently, Geoff and Bridgette were sitting awkwardly and stiffly next to one another — a huge mistake on their parts, in Heather’s opinion, to choose to sit next to one another after only beginning to date during the summer, but Heather had never had the patience for high school romances. Bridgette had tried to slide apology notes to Geoff’s direction, but for once, his eyes were glued to the board and the notes went unnoticed.

Heather noticed them, though, and she had to stifle a laugh.

The rest of the class is more or less the same. Some were pointedly looking away from the experiment their teacher was performing, and some were sketching in their notebooks, like Gwen.

There had to be three people genuinely paying attention — Geoff, for obvious reasons, Beth, because she currently had a B in the course and thought it was the end of her small-minded world, and Courtney, because she was, well, Courtney.

It’s when Heather’s eyes stay on Courtney’s head of hair that didn’t have a single strand out of place that it happens.

A scratch in the back of her throat digs into her, but Heather swallows it down instead of clearing her throat. If she did it too loudly over something so mediocre and unimportant, her classmates would just assume she was trying to stir something seeing as how it was the end of the last period of the day and, while Heather loved the occasional entertainment at the spite of her peers, she wasn’t in the mood that day.

And so, Heather waits and makes stray sketches in her notebook — repeatedly writing her name in cursive, drawing hideous illustrations of her peers, anything to pass the time until the bell rings. When the bell finally sounded off, punctuating the end of the day, students unceremoniously gathered their lump of notebooks and textbooks and scoop them in their arms, leaving the classroom in a cluttered, chatty, and hurried mess.

The first one out the door is Geoff, followed by Bridgette on his heels, Heather notes, but she can’t bring herself to follow and eavesdrop and what would possibly be one of the most interesting breakups Wawanakwa High had seen since Courtney and Duncan’s infamous split. She’d probably overhear the details of the split from somebody else, anyway.

The devil seemed to have spawned at the initial thought, as a prickly voice accompanied with a light tap on Heather’s shoulder made with the eraser end of a pencil is what tears Heather’s eyes away from the door. She has half the mind to berate whoever it was for pestering her at the end of the day, but falters when her eyes meet the other’s.

Courtney’s narrowed dark brown eyes are unamused. When Heather rises from her seat, Courtney tilts her head up to meet her gaze — Heather was taller than Courtney, even with the pair of wedges the brunette had on that day.

“I expect you were paying attention,” Courtney’s tone is sickeningly sweet and mocking, the specific one she uses around people she thinks are below her in terms of intelligence, or just in general. She has seen Courtney use it around the young kids she tutors, Duncan, jocks, Heather herself, and practically any student in their school who has managed to sour her mood, which was mostly everyone. “We are partnered for the lab, after all —”

“We are?” Heather questions dryly. She had expected Courtney to pick up on her sarcasm — Courtney had made it her job to scribble Lab with Courtney on every available space in her planner on the days leading up to the experiment, after all — but judging by the brunette’s eyes narrowing further, she either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

“Yes,” She hisses through clenched teeth, before frowning. “Whatever, I actually paid attention —”

“And I thank you for your service,” Heather remarks just as dryly as before, sauntering out the door.

“Wha — hey, where are you going?”

Heather snorted softly. “Come and find me,” she chastised sardonically. She had figured the answer to be obvious, but Courtney never failed to surprise her in one way or another.

Courtney scoffs and follows her, falling into place next to Heather. She fixed the headband on her head that matched her clothes as she rolled her eyes so far back Heather couldn’t help but wonder if they saw the back of her head.

“Haha, very funny,” The brunette doesn’t laugh, which makes Heather crack a smile in satisfaction. Winning with Courtney was always exhilarating and thrilling. “See you tomorrow, Heather,”

Heather hummed, waving a lazy and half-hearted hand over her shoulder, already bolting in the direction of the student parking lot. “See you,”

When Heather is finally in the solitude of her sleek, black car — her parents wasted no expense when it came to spoiling her, despite neither being the affectionate or loving type — the thing building up in the back of her throat is finally released into the palm of her hand, and all Heather can do is stare at it.

She’s coughed up bile and phlegm before, and she’s heard of blood being coughed up as well, but the tiny, dainty and crumpled thing laying in her hands was unheard of and felt unreal as it rested in her palms. She was suddenly aware of how dry her hands were as she felt the thinness of the soaked object, given that it had been resting in her throat.

Rifling it in her hands, Heather scoffs when she realizes just how ridiculous it was to believe she had just coughed up a flower in the school parking lot. However, she blinks harshly and firmly, and when she opens her eyes, the yellow petal is still there.

A foreign feeling of confusion and uneasiness settles over her like a blanket, but she instead scoffs once more and crumpled the petal, wrapping a tissue around it to keep it from dirtying her leather seats, and rolls out of the parking lot, avoiding any acknowledgment of the flower petal she’s convinced she imagined coughing up.

(On the ride home, she coughs up two more additional petals, too — one white and curved to perfection, looking much too angelic and innocent for having just been lodged up in her throat just moments prior, and the other the same shade of yellow as the first. Heather ignores both, and tosses them out the window to sink further in denial, similar to how she felt her stomach sink as she watched the petals flutter aimlessly to the ground, destined to be run over or stepped on.)

❀

That night, after finishing both her math homework and leftovers for dinner, Heather switched off the lights and settled into her bed before impulsively flicking open her laptop. It was for school purposes, her parents insisted, and was to never be used at night when she should be asleep, but quite frankly, Heather hadn’t cared much for her parents’ opinion of her considering their clear distaste for her.

Her fingers mindlessly fly across the keyboard, the same feeling of dread from when she was stunned upon the initial discovery of the petals resurfacing.

why am i coughing up weird shit

Healthline - Signs of Lung Illness

If any of the following symptoms apply to you, be sure to contact your health agent and schedule an appointment to discuss your symptoms and possible diagnosis. If you experience a burning, aching, or squeezing sensation in your chest, illnesses such as Lung Cancer, Pleuritis, etc. may be at play.

why am i coughing up petals and how do i stop it

Derrit - r/AskDerrit, in an old manga I read today, the Hanahaki disease was a plotline. Is it real? I can’t find any research indicating an answer.

BlaineleysBitch: no. the entire premise of the disease doesn’t even make sense. it’s not real.

Mr.CocoNutty: tbfh i haven’t heard anything about it? i’m sure if it were real there would be some coverage abt it considering how unbelievable it sounds

KittyKat16: yea, i don’t think it’s real, but it would be really cool if it was!!

what’s the hanahaki disease

Wikiresource - List of fictional diseases

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated. The flowers in particular symbolize the specific love and relationship the patient has for the enamored, as told through flower language. Hanahaki can be cured through the confession of the victim's feelings. The response of the enamored is unimportant. The victim may also develop Hanahaki Disease if they believe the love to be one-sided but once the enamored returns the feelings, they will be cured.

how to get rid of hanahaki disease without having to confess shit

Making sure to groan inaudibly — her parents were under the impression she was asleep, after all — Heather pressed her finger down on the backspace key with a familiar scowl on her face, her finger remaining in place atop the key long after the words had been removed. The feeling of resentment and annoyance was familiar, but the overwhelming confusion and petals she felt building up in her throat were not.

Sighing, Heather rubbed her eyes gently yet urgently. Mindlessly, she resorted back to her idle habit: observing.

Assuming she had the disease that was supposed to be fictional, somebody had swooped Heather off of her heeled feet without her even realizing it. That had to be impossible, as Heather wasn’t dense enough to not realize something as obvious as feelings for another. After all, she read people and their infatuation with others as easily as one read magazines — who was to say she couldn’t do the same for herself?

Recalling the wiki page, Heather sighed as she began to re-type. The article had said that the flowers she had coughed up symbolized her love for whoever her crush was in flower language, and seeing as how it was her only lead on whoever her supposed enamored was, Heather wanted to crack down who it was exactly and quickly exterminate any and all contact with them to execute any possible feelings.

how do you identify a flower

PlantCapture - What Flower Is This? How to Instantly Identify Flowers

If you already have a photo of a flower saved on your phone, you can also instantly identify it by uploading the photo to PlantCapture. Once you've instantly identified a flower, PlantCapture stores it in your library. You can easily go back to see how many flowers you've identified.

Heather whipped out her phone with another sigh as she begrudgingly began downloading the app. Watching the small icon load, she scowled even deeper. Even the smallest inconvenience in the entire situation was enough to dampen her mood even further, despite the fact her own alleged feelings brought this on herself.

Remembering she had tossed out her only petals, Heather just barely resisted another groan before a familiar scratchiness formed at the back of her throat. Being sure to cough quietly, Heather slipped the petal out of her mouth as she winced at the taste of copper rolling down her tongue. The article hadn’t mentioned anything about blood, Heather bitterly notes, before shaking her head at her own stupidity. Of course there wasn’t a full list of symptoms for a disease that was believed to be fictional.

Switching flash on, Heather got the results of her flowers instantaneously as promised: the yellow and white flowers she had been hacking up all day were daffodils and gardenias, respectively.

Heather’s fingers flew to her keyboard once more automatically. With bated breath, she hoped that the results would be specific enough that she could put an end to the investigation that night and stomp out whatever ties she had with her “enamored”.

But, as noted from Heather’s luck that day, things rarely went her way.

what do daffodils mean

FlowerDictionary - Flower Meanings: Flowers A-K

Daffodil symbolizes regard and chivalry. It is indicative of rebirth, new beginnings and eternal life. It also symbolizes unrequited love.

what do gardenias mean

Flower Dictionary - Flower Meanings: Flowers A-K

The gardenia is a flower that symbolizes purity and gentleness. However, this symbolism often depends on the color of the gardenia. ... Another symbol of the gardenia is secret love between two people and also joy.

Upon quickly searching them up, the results did little to ease the dread pooling in her. The test was definitely correct, as it seemed, but was entirely unhelpful when it came to figuring out the identity of whoever it was that Heather had unknowingly developed an unreturned love for.

Slamming her laptop closed — a bit too loud for her liking, but beats pass and she doesn’t hear the annoying patter of her mother’s footsteps reach her room, so she assumes she’s in the clear — Heather grunts one final time, unceremoniously moving her laptop back on her desk. Raising the petal to her line of vision, Heather has to squint to make out some of the details. This one was white, identifiable even in the dark. It was a bit crumpled from having been clutched so tightly, and still wet from her own coppery blood.

A gardenia, Heather recalls with another scowl that was deeper and more ferocious than the last were. Meant to symbolize a “secret love”... so much for a clue.

She wonders, her last coherent thought before succumbing to sleep, how big of a secret her love must be for it to have left Heather herself in the dark on who her loved one was.

At the thought, Heather wrapped her blankets tighter around herself, lulling herself to an uneasy sleep of blood, thorns, beautiful but deadly flowers, and a figure in the distance who looks so comforting and familiar whose name is on the tip of Heather’s tongue, but can’t be reached.

❀

ii. amaryllises & white chrysanthemums; pride & loyalty

Despite Heather’s praying to a God she didn’t believe in, the flowers didn’t disappear overnight. Instead, they bloomed rapidly in her lungs, and at times when she felt the familiar tickle in the back of her throat, flowers in full-bloom were coughed up.

They would be beautiful, if not for her own blood staining them, a grim reminder of what would become of her if she did not find a fix, and soon.

Still, Heather was nothing if not quick on her feet. She managed to keep her illness under the wraps — of course, her second in command was Lindsay, so it wasn’t difficult to conceal her bloody bundles of flowers as just “feeling under the weather”; any other person would be suspicious of the foreign scratchiness and hoarseness her voice now had, the way she would breathe shakily as if her lungs were rattling and about to give out, or the way she barely restrained the flowers from being coughed up after a gym class, but since it’s Lindsay, Heather can get away with her lie.

When Lindsay sweetly wishes for her to feel better, even dropping off a bowl of badly homemade chicken noodle soup, Heather couldn’t help but scoff as she shook her head at the feeling of guilt lingering in the back of her head, and the feeling of bloody flowers in the back of her throat.

❀

With every fistful of the flowers beginning to stain her clothes, Heather took responsibility for her own laundry, for the first time in her life. Her parents put on a spectacle of overexaggerated joy and relief when she announced it, saying that, oh, thank goodness their darling was beginning to take responsibility instead of pooching off of them; Heather had just forcefully smiled and nodded, as she always did now, and excused herself to hurriedly put in the first load.

Her clothes were stained red in her own blood. Some petals began to stick onto her clothes, as well, and the last thing Heather wanted was the intrusion of her parents and their nosiness as she deciphered just who she was coughing flowers for.

Interestingly, the flowers she was now coughing up were different. Amaryllises and chrysanthemums, as she had identified — the red flower was the former of the two and symbolized pride. The white chrysanthemums, wide with many intricate petals, symbolized loyalty and the truth. Thankfully, they were more of a clue than the daffodils and gardenias with their meanings of unrequited and secret love.

That still didn’t mean that Heather had any clue of who they were for, though — she just knew that they had to be high-maintenance, and part of her refused to believe she would unconsciously fall for someone who had to be so pretentious, but seeing as how the thought sent her into another bout of coughing sloppily disguised, it had to have been the truth.

Heather was beginning to hate the sensation that arose when she felt a coughing spur coming on. She hated how she could feel a crumpled lump form in the back of her throat, squirming its way up her throat and nearly out her mouth. It feels hot, sticky, and suffocating, and when the flowers come up, Heather hates them too, and especially whoever her beloved is. However, the disease doesn’t cease even just a little, and so Heather finds herself heaving, coughing, and puking chrysanthemums and amaryllises in the middle of the night as she ponders on who it is she’s supposed to be loving.

Still, she manages to keep herself from hacking during class in front of her peers, and that’s all that matters to her, even when the flowers she chokes on splinter into her like thorns in her side.

❀

It’s here that Heather messes up. Well, to be fair, she messed up as soon as she began feeling things for whoever it was that had captured her sight unknowingly, in Heather’s opinion, but that was irrefutable and couldn’t be helped.

This, however, could have been helped.

Like many things, it started at school. Like the first petal that had been coughed up weeks ago, it started during science class, when she felt the feeling of hot bile, blood, and petals rising in her throat as Courtney bent over their lab report. She didn’t notice Heather’s discomfort, as her eyes were fixed on the report, her brows scrunched together in concentration.

At least, that’s what Heather thought, until Courtney suddenly looked up from the report and eyed her curiously. “Are you feeling alright?”

Heather barely contained her surprise at the sudden inquiry. The only person to ask that was Lindsay, not even her own parents, let alone her (unofficial) rival and (official) lab partner.

Upon seeing her confusion — had she done that bad at a job of hiding it? — Courtney sighed and looked back to their work. “To be honest, you’re quieter than normal and you look kind of sick — you look like you’re going to pass out at any time now.”

“Thanks,” Heather mutters coarsely, finding her voice. Despite her calm exterior, she could feel her heart racing, and the flowers itching their way up her throat.

Courtney squawked indignantly. “Hey! I’m just being honest!”

“Mhmm,” Heather hums absentmindedly as she rises from her seat. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She barely hears Courtney’s grumpy and hesitant “Fine,” before stalking out the room, grabbing a hall pass on her way out. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, out of sight from her peers, Heather dashed as quickly as she could to the solitude of the nearest bathroom. She slams the stall door closest to her open noisily, thankful there was nobody around, and heaves into the toilet as the blood and flowers bloom from her mouth.

They hurt more than the daffodils and gardenias, now that they’re coming out as full flowers accompanied with a few stray petals rather than just petals, but Heather shoves the thought to the side in favor of pulling her hair away from her face. The toilet bowl is filled with a hideous mixture of blood and petals, and Heather feels like a decaying corpse as the energy leaves her, crumbling to the ground as she heaved from the aftermath of the coughing fit.

Picking petals from her backmost molars, Heather spits once more, the remaining drops of blood falling into the sink. Her chin is wet and sticky with her own blood, and she’s sure her teeth are stained red as well; Heather half-heartedly debates asking her parents to pick her up as she flushes the toilet, whisking away most of the evidence excluding the blood dribbling down her chin from her mouth and a few stray petals, before deciding she’d rather vomit flowers rooted to her lungs for the rest of the day than be with her family.

As she rinsed water from the sink in her mouth, Heather nearly spits it out in surprise when she notices a bathroom stall crack open from the mirror. Then she actually spits the stained water from her mouth, whirling around to threaten whoever it was to secrecy. When her eyes meet a head of blue hair, she falters slightly, and that’s all it takes for the other to take control.

“You too?” Is all Gwen asks, having recovered from her initial surprise. She doesn’t look grossed out by the blood, and instead joins Heather by the sinks.

Narrowing her eyes, Heather recoils to what she knows best around Gwen: defense. “Excuse me?”

Gwen laughs, sardonically and self-deprecatingly, with a hint of amusement. It’s the most Heather’s seen her laugh to her since, well, ever. Then, still in astonishment, Heather felt herself stagger back and her eyes widened when pale pink roses, white carnations, and yellow coreopsis flowers fell from Gwen’s blue-lipsticked lips, gracefully fluttering to the tiled floor.

Suddenly, Heather understands, but Gwen still unnecessarily elaborates. “The flowers. You too?”

Heather only hesitates for a split second before sighing and staring down at the sink bowl. “Yeah,”

“Didn’t expect it from you of all people,” Gwen chuckled humorlessly. “Didn’t think the Queen Bee Heather knew what emotion was, let alone be stuck in unrequited love,” she mocked bitterly. She turns to Heather, gaze softening. “So, who is it?”

Heather blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gwen snorted and gestured to the petals and trail of blood on the tiled floor. “The flowers, honors student,”

Ignoring the sarcastic remark, Heather paused before admitting, “I don’t know,”

Gwen grunted disbelievingly. “Come on, I know you don’t like or trust me, but really, who am I going to tell?”

“Hey, I’m actually being honest here!” Heather snapped, glaring at the goth. Of course, I’m told I’m lying when I’m actually being honest… she thinks with a scoff as her scowl returns.

“Whatever, have you tried…” Gwen trails off, frowning as her brows scrunch together. “I don’t know, I just knew who mine was for—”

“Who?” Heather asks curiously, having not picked up on Gwen displaying any of the usual symptoms of a horrid teenage crush. No staring, attention-seeking, stuttering, or blushing — it was the same behavior for everyone with Gwen.

The goth hesitates only for a split moment before sighing and giving one name: “Geoff,”

Heather hums, unsure what to say. Gwen narrows her eyes, seeming to just remember who she was talking to.

“Seeing as how we’re one and the same right now, if I catch you telling anyone, I will spread the news of your diagnosis, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Weird Goth Girl, your secret is safe with me,” Heather promises, the corners of her lips twitching up at the use of the old nickname. “Just help me clean up all this before someone walks in,”

Gwen nods once, before bending over the sink and coughing a few more flowers and petals in the sink, blood spilling from her mouth. Awkwardly, Heather pats her back, unsure what to do, before realizing she should probably hold her hair back.

“Thanks,” Gwen murmurs, her voice even more hoarse and tired than normal. Heather just gives her a nod before crouching down to pick up the flowers trailing the ground; Gwen hurries to grab a mop from the back closet to clean the blood.

It’s when Heather comes across the petals of the pale pink roses, white carnations, and yellow coreopsis flowers that a pang of empathy spurs in her. She turns to Gwen.

“Those type of roses specifically mean joy, the white carnations mean purity and loveliness, and the yellow coreopsis means cheerfulness.”

Gwen looks up from her work and blinks, taken aback, before smiling slowly and softly. “That fits him,”

Wordlessly, the two set off to finish the cleanup of their shared death sentence in the form of flowers and blood, when the bathroom door flies open once more. Both Heather and Gwen look up, eyes wide in surprise. Before either can communicate, a thunderous voice and a ticked-off Eva enter the area.

“Get back to class, we have to clean up —” she gets cut off from her own demand, faltering at the sight of Heather and Gwen bent over the floor, cleaning blood, flowers, and bloody flowers. Her eyes flit back to the duo who are too frozen and flabbergasted to speak. “What happened?”

Heather opens her mouth to bullshit her way into an explanation as she always did when Eva’s eyes suddenly narrow dangerously, intercepting the unsaid lie. She spits out one last order before turning on her heel, leaving the bathroom.

“Meet me in the library after school. Come alone, and hurry up and get back to class so no one else walks in on you.”

After her departure, all Heather and Gwen could do was stare at one another, wide-eyed and depleted of the fluttery itchiness of their lungs and throats, for once, before resolving to hurriedly finish garnering the crumpled flowers and washing the blood down the sink.

Heather goes back to class for the remaining minutes of the day, her mind elsewhere even as Courtney berates her for the long bathroom break. Her mind drifts to Gwen’s sardonic laugh, the goth's utter defeat after finishing hacking, and the way her eyes are avoiding Geoff’s direction, instead fixated on a pink charm bracelet Heather had noticed her fiddling with on multiple occasions before.

The image of Gwen choking on her own blood and petals momentarily and the sound of her warbled snort had been seared in Heather’s memory, and all she could do was wonder. Wonder if, in due time, her own condition would mirror Gwen’s when she inevitably lost to the disease that was slowly but surely suffocating her.

❀

When Eva had instructed her and Gwen to meet with her alone, Heather had assumed that that applied to Eva as well.

What she had not expected, however, was for her and Gwen to be seated with Eva and two of the most arbitrary (personality-wise, that was) redheads Heather ever had the pleasure (?) of meeting.

She scowled. With herself, Gwen, Eva, Izzy, and Harold, they had practically formed their own little Losers Club. Brilliant.

Harold awkwardly coughed, having declared himself the unofficial leader.

Gwen scoffed, leaning back into her seat. She leaned her chair, balancing it on two legs at a dangerous angle. “What is this, Hanahaki Club?” Gwen mockingly questioned, mirroring Heather’s thoughts.

Harold guiltily smiles. “Well, no. See, Eva here —” Eva glared at the boy, scowling. Harold faltered for the fifth time that meeting, gulping — “had Hanahaki awhile ago. Last year, I think. She confessed to Izzy, and the rest is history.”

Izzy nodded enthusiastically. She grabbed Eva’s hand, making the latter blush furiously at the unprompted gesture. “Yup! Our getting together was actually like this one Romanian film —”

“Anyway,” Harold interrupted. “I noticed Eva’s symptoms and helped her, which we intend to do with you two. Now,” he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, casting a pensive look to Heather and Gwen, who exchanged glances. “Which one of you has Hanahaki?”

Before Heather can think to lie and save her own skin, Gwen answers truthfully. “Both of us,”

“Gwen!” Heather hissed. The mentioned shrugs.

“What, you think you’ll be able to resist coughing up flowers during this?” At Gwen’s words, Heather felt her face twist as she felt an itching in her throat. Satisfied, Gwen nods and turns to the others. “Thought so.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Eva begins. Her tone is softer than before, but just as commanding. “Hanahaki… it’s hell. But just ease your suffering by confessing. I didn’t want to risk my life when a few words could save it.”

At Eva’s words, Heather can’t help but feel a surge of jealousy at her words, her sureness. At how she and Gwen just knew who their flowers were for, and how Eva had the mind and courage to confess.

If she did know who the amaryllises and chrysanthemums that were rooted in her lungs were for, would Heather confess? She wasn’t sure, and she hated the uncertainty.

“Yeah, but, he just broke up with his girlfriend,” Gwen murmured, tracing a finger on the table as she spoke in a low voice. She seemed fascinated with the intricate design of the wood, now, refusing to meet the eyes of her peers that were softened with sympathy. “And… he just sees me as a friend. ‘One of the guys', you know?”

A beat passes before Harold frowns, a hand on his chin like some wannabe Sherlock, Heather notes, face expectedly contorted in pensiveness. “Is it Geoff?”

“Bingo,” Gwen says dryly.

Izzy turns to Heather, the hyperactivity from before dulled as she looks serious for what had to be one of the few times in her life. “And you?”

“What about me?” Heather sighs, though she knows that they know she knows what’s being insinuated.

“Who’re the flowers for?” Eva interjects.

The question dances around in Heather’s head and leaks out of the others’ imploring glances, but Heather finds herself faltering as she struggles to answer.

“I don’t…” Heather frowns, thinking of the flowers welling up in her lungs that she’s sure will snuff out her life. Her frown melts into a scowl when she thinks of whoever her enamored was, and how they doubled as her soon-to-be inevitable murderer, along with how she didn’t even get the privilege to know their identity. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Eva echoes. Her face is not contorted in anger, like Heather assumed it would, but rather thoughtfulness. Neither is her voice thunderous or disbelieving — Eva seemed to seriously be contemplating the likelihood of it. She turns to Harold. “Is that even possible?”

The redhead looks just as lost in thought as Eva. He shrugs. “Maybe…” He shifts his attention back to Heather, who is beginning to feel as if she were being prodded at, dissected, and inspected by her peers. “Have you tried thinking about it?”

“Excuse me?” Heather asks, taken aback. Her scowl diminished momentarily in her surprise, before it fell back into place, more intense than before. “What do you think I’ve been doing? Analyzing the flowers and flower language like I’ve gone insane —”

“I mean,” Harold interrupts, “have you tried… I dunno, fantasizing about the people in your life? Like, placing yourself in your ideal date with them to see if the flowers spur in your throat? It worked in this one manga —”

Heather droned out the rest of his rant, frowning to herself. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Anyway,” Eva cut Harold off with a silencing glare. The boy in question audibly gulps, shifting in his seat and indiscreetly glancing away to the opposite direction. “What do your flowers mean?” She looked to Gwen and Heather.

“The first round were marigolds,” Gwen admits carefully. “They mean jealousy. The second had mistletoe and yellow tulips — they mean affection and longing, and the tulips meant good friendship, or something like that. Now, I have pale pink roses, which mean joy, white carnations, which mean purity and loveliness, and yellow coreopsis flowers, which mean cheerfulness.”

“My first flowers were daffodils and gardenias.” Heather found no reason to lie now. “They mean unrequited and secret love. Way to spell it out,” she chuckled dryly, and humorlessly, and pretending to not notice the varying amounts of sympathy from the group. Her throat stings. “The ones I have now — amaryllises and chrysanthemums — mean pride and loyalty.”

Eva raises her eyebrows. “High-maintenance? Wouldn’t have expected that from you,”

Heather grunted. “Shut up,” Her throat hurt too much for a better rebuttal.

“You know, it’s probably Courtney,” Izzy hums half-jokingly with a grin. Gwen barely stifles a laugh.

Feeling her face flush and a lump form in her throat, Heather opens her mouth to argue, but is silenced when Harold shoots her a look.

“So, to recap,” Harold draws their attention back in, “The flowers represent who you love and/or your dynamic with them. Heather, try finding some privacy and think of your ideal date with people you know who are prideful and loyal, okay? We’ll meet up here on Monday. Hopefully you’ll have figured it out by then.”

“Fine,” Heather agrees, clumsily gathering her things. Her throat is burning, along with her chest and she’s sure her eyes are stinging, and she desperately wants to cough, but not now, and certainly not here with this audience. “See you Monday, Hanahaki Club,” she mutters sarcastically.

Half-hearted laughs register in Heather’s ears, but she’s already out of the library and dashing to the second nearest bathroom, not wanting to be walked in on. Her focus had been shifted from her illness momentarily, but now that it had been remembered, it was all it took for her to cough up the familiar flowers to the bathroom floor, unleashing a familiar strangled and warbled choking noise, accompanied by foreign tears.

❀

At night, when Heather’s parents and siblings are fast asleep, Heather lies wide awake in bed, tossing and turning. Whoever her beloved was was causing her to be unable to sleep at night, and when she was awake, she would cough on petals and blood, and she just craved to sleep.

Part of her wondered if it was possible for her to choke on the flowers in her sleep, before concluding that it didn’t matter. She was going to die, anyway.

Her mind wanders back to the secret meeting in the library, and of Harold’s advice. She had never wanted to date any of her classmates, but seeing as how she had the disease, it was a waste of time groveling in defeat. Instead, she shuts her eyes, and thinks of her fantasy.

Intimacy is what comes to mind first. She doesn’t like intimacy with her family or friends, but maybe she’s a sucker for looking into someone’s eyes and holding hands and telling someone I love you and meaning it. It doesn’t make her a sap; it just means that her needs are impossible to fulfill.

Eyes still shut, the image of her perfect date materializes in Heather’s head. Limbs entangled around one another as she and her mysterious person cuddled on a couch while watching an arbitrary film. Sharing a cup of hot chocolate and blankets as the chilling air from outdoors was kept out from inside by the heater. Talking animatedly about their interests and such over the movie, gazing into one another’s eyes; no judgment was to be found in either. It was peaceful and isolated, and perfect to Heather. Her parents never showed affection, and couples in high school never lasted — that type of love wasn’t real, but Heather allowed herself to fantasize, still, for the sake of finding who her enamored was.

Thinking it was best to start with the girls Heather was acquainted with that fit the bill, Heather sighs before imagining the ambiguous person as her classmates.

Leshawna. She’s the most faithful person Heather knows of, and she’s certainly proud. The flowers remain still and unmoving in her lungs, and so, she decides to move on.

Gwen. Unsurprisingly, the flowers don’t itch. The goth was more of someone Heather could respect, anyway.

Eva. Still, no reaction. Part of her is grateful, as she didn’t want to face the wrath of Izzy ever.

Dakota. One of the least likely, but it was possible, Heather supposed. They had some things in common, after all.

Court—

Her dark brown eyes were the only thing that had materialized in her mind when the flowers came out roughly and swiftly. Her blood is hot and thick in her throat as she tries in a daze to not suffocate on it, but still, she chokes on it. She can feel tears springing in her eyes and the sweat piling on her back and under her armpits; she can feel her chest burning in indescribable pain that was unlike any of the other coughing fits. It’s worse than anything she’s ever endured which is, granted, not quite the resume, but nevertheless, Heather feels as if her body is tearing and ripping itself apart while simultaneously hastily stitching itself back together by the amount of pain unleashed from her floral disease.

She scrambles to the sink of the bathroom attached to her bedroom, retching into the basin. The blood and flowers look like an artful arrangement, though Heather barely registers its appearance through both the pain and the unwavering amount of hatred coursing through her at the thought of Courtney unknowingly inflicting this upon her. Somewhere, she’s sleeping peacefully, while Heather is choking on her own blood and the flowers rooted to her lungs from just the mere thought of Courtney’s eyes.

Finally, mercifully, after a few minutes, the coughing fit ceases, but all that’s left is Heather’s heavy heaves as she attempts to retain her breath. Her vision flickers as black dances across her vision, and all she can smell is an overwhelming smell of metal and cleaning supplies. Her sink looks like the delicately painted masterpiece of an artistic sacrificial seance scene with all the blood and flowers. With a sigh, Heather strips of her bloodstained clothes, tossing them in her hamper to wash in the morning. After changing into a new acceptable and clean pair that Heather is sure will be ruined in a few hours, she brings out the cleaning supplies from under her sink and begins to clean at a feverish pace in a dazed state.

Ah, Heather thinks bitterly with a crazed and forced smile on her face, scrubbing extra hard on the sink as the thought flits in her mind, I get it now.

❀

“It’s Courtney,” Heather admitted to the group with a scowl present on her face. None had to ask her to elaborate, and none mention her scowl or her cough at the name. Heather’s scowl deepens further when she notices Gwen and Harold sighing in unison, sliding money to Izzy and Eva, who gladly accept them, with defeated sighs. “Wha —! Did you guys seriously bet on this? I’m literally dying over here!”

The words silence the group before Gwen snorts, and with that, the rest join her and laugh. Heather has half the mind to tell them that they’re in a library, but realizes she sounds freakishly like Courtney. Plus, for once, Gwen is choking on her laughter rather than flowers, so Heather allows it just for once with her own small smile and laugh.

“You know,” Harold manages to choke out, eyebrows raised in either surprise or amusement, “I didn’t take Courtney as your type.”

“Me neither,” Heather mutters. “Who did you think my type was?”

He shrugs. “Alejandro was my main suspect. I thought Justin was Eva’s crush, at first, to be honest.”

The laughter dies down momentarily as the group stares at Harold in confusion. Gwen, cracking another smile, mutters, “Harold, they’re lesbians,” before collapsing in another fit of laughter.

This time, Heather joins in more easily, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The flowers momentarily disappear, along with Courtney and thoughts of her love.

❀

END OF PART ONE

[forevfangirlwrites]

high school au promposal but percys stupid n thinks annabeths getting ready to propose to someone else

The beat up poster on the wall proudly announced the “Winter Gala” which was just the school re-branding turnabout to be less sexist? He’s actually not sure why a group of directors met to change the name of the school dance that was never as popular as homecoming or as extravagant as prom.

But he’s glad because this is his chance. His chance to-

Speak of the devil and she will arrive, or rather angel because Anna-actually…with the look she gets when attacking a math problem, devil might be more accurate.

And while he’s pathetically going over a pointless mental debate, the subject of his thoughts walks by and manages to miss him completely on her walk to Leo’s locker, a little ways down.

Normally he’s be upset upon being missed but today he’s grateful and leans further into his open locker to mess with papers as their conversation drifts over.

“So Annabeth, wanna go to the dance with me?” He can hear the laughter in Leo’s voice as he asks the question but it still causes him to freeze.

Will Annabeth-

“I’m asking someone else,” she responds dryly, “And I know you already said yes to Cali.”

Leo breaks out into a laughter and he can imagine Annabeth rolling her eyes at his antics. She’d have a slight amused smile, he can imagine her smiling, and laughing and showing up to the dance with a mystery guy and-

Percy was today years old when it hit him that Annabeth already had someone she wanted to ask out.

Suddenly imagining Annabeth is not a good thing and he’s doing that what Grover calls Unproductive Spiraling.

But needless to say his seventeen-year-old heart is so crushed that even when Annabeth does notice him, directing a smile and wave his wave as she rushes to class, it does little to numb the pain.

(But it does a little.)

-.-.-

Percy’s in A Mood™ ever since he heard the news that Annabeth Chase, the one and only girl he has had a crush on for the past three years, is asking someone else out to the Winter Gala. Which is why he’s sitting at the back of his class (which is his normal seat so that isn’t anything new) with his hood up, headphones in, blankly staring at the math worksheet they’re supposed to be completing.

Annabeth, for her part, has already shot him two different concerned looks that he would normally address but he’s not feeling it and neither is Green Day.

(It’s that kind of Mood™)

Leo, for his part, has a wide grin on his face as he watches the interaction which makes Percy wonder if he knows that he overheard their conversation in the morning. Knowing Leo, he probably does.

Percy wonders if he should punch him in the face for ruining his plans to ask her out or thank him for preventing him from making a fool of himself in front of her.

He settles for returning his focus to the staring blankly at the math worksheet and turning Green Day up.

The rest of the day continues to make Percy more emo (he briefly considers asking Hazel for some eyeliner and dying his hair blue) and Annabeth is still concerned.

So much so that after he reassures her during lunch that he’s just tired he begins to straight up avoid her so he can be emo in peace.

Like now.

The setting is perfect, a mostly deserted hall after most people have gone home, a stray wrapper on the floor. With his hood up and headphones in he can see it, the Boulevard of Broken Dreams lay in front of him, he is on that Boulevard.

So lost in his own world he doesn’t notice that there’s a commotion behind him till someone literally smacks his head.

“Hey! What the fu-“

He’s cut of by Leo, who has a mixture of frustration and amusement on his face, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around.

“Jesus Christ Percy!” Annabeth’s panting slightly from her apparent race to catch up to him while also carrying Many Things.

“What?”

“I’ve been calling your name for two minutes!” she continues, slowing down and readjusting some of the stuff she’s carrying.

“He’s too busy being goth,” Leo interjects.

Percy shoots him a look. “Emo.”

“What?”

“Oh shut up both of you!” Annabeth has caught up with them. She shoves some Things towards Leo but Percy can’t really focus on anything besides her cause she looks so pretty.

He hasn’t really gotten his staring at Annabeth time at all today since he turned emo at 7:25 this morning and wow…

Did she do her hair differently? Was she wearing…makeup?

He’s probably shamelessly staring so he manages to get himself together in time to hear the last word of whatever Annabeth was saying.

“-me?”

She’s looking at him hopefully and he’s not sure what’s going on but he’s too embarrassed to ask her what she just said because he was just staring at her.

So he stares back blankly for long enough for it to get awkward and the telltale signs of Annabeth closing herself off and he needs to do something fast.

Context clues like-

Wait is she holding a sign?

Me + You = Winter Gala

“It’s okay,” Annabeth says quietly putting down the large poster board she was holding.

Wait what?

He grabs the poster board and stares at it. Winter Gala, she’s asking him? He’s the person??

“YES!” He yells loud enough that the few stray students look over weirdly. Leo can’t hold back any longer apparently and burst out laughing which is enough of a slap in the face of reality.

“I mean,” he controls his volume, “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” The hopeful look is back and his little emo heart grew two sizes too big.

Wait no, that’s the wrong holiday.

She grabs one of the Things she told Leo to take, a small heart chocolate box and hands it to him.

He thinks her smile is sweet-er but that would be too cheesy to say out loud.

So he does.

A/N: Thank you for choosing a prompt! I hope this is what you were envisioning! (I changed it to turnabout cause it’s more topical) Thank you again!!

[blueraith]

Less funny post, but:

These movies also heavily feature the Catholic Church. Same church I was raised in, don’t follow anymore with the exception of holidays with my family, and heavily resent.

I prefer not to think of it most days, and when I do, I joke about how bad of a Catholic I am. Very bad. The worst.

But these movies the Church is front and center in, and I find myself thinking about them and my relation to them. I used to be a far better Catholic. Not a perfect one. I did find myself stuck in between what I could see for myself and what faith meant to me. Faith is something I still grapple with. I suppose it means something different to everyone, but I’ve never been much of a faithful person. Why believe in something if you can’t prove it? I find comfort in things like numbers, statistics, and trends. It means that whatever it is I’m looking at has happened before, this was how it panned out, what people did, and how it ended. Rinse and repeat for a vast variety of subjects.

Faith, on the other hand, means believing in something that may not even be real. That no one has seen. That you just have to hope is real.

I’ve tried that before. I used to pray every night. As a kid it was about dumb stuff. That kid’s prayer one will see in movies a lot. Praying for a Christmas present. That my school bully wouldn’t mess with me the next day. Those were easy prayers to ‘answer.’ If such a thing was happening. People like to say God challenges you. Well, I’d like to think that I challenged God as a teenager. Because that was when my prayers started to get more serious.

My ADHD hit around the eighth grade. That was when I started to fall apart academically. I didn’t happen all at once nor did I completely collapse all in one moment, but between that time and the time I graduated, it was a rollercoaster of failure, developing mental illness, and constant, nightly prayers that desperately hoped for something to change. To get better. For an answer or even a goddamned hint as to why this kept happening. Why couldn’t I just do my homework? Why was I always overwhelmed to the point of feeling sick? Why couldn’t I get out of bed sometimes? Why did I feel this way? Why was I doing these things? Why?

I hate that question, because that was one I was asked by my parents, teachers, and administrators constantly. Why? I don’t know. That’s not an answer. I don’t know. Why not? How can you not know what’s wrong with you? I don’t know.

See, I pray to this guy every night, and nothing happens. I wake up to the same repeating nightmare over and over again. My parents call me a failure and eventually, I see myself as one too. Because I was smart enough for the grades they wanted. My teachers and administrators were so confused as to why a previous straight A student could just systematically collapse like this for seemingly no reason.

It was maddening. Oh. I remember sitting on the couch and getting absolutely roasted by my parents for an answer as to why I couldn’t just pass my classes. For hours. The stress eventually got to me, and I distinctly remember telling my dad I hated him in a fit of anger. Man. That was the last time he ever spanked me. It sucked.

And you know, I didn’t get answers until I was twenty-two years old. Long after I stopped praying. Long after I was out of the view of the adults who really should have noticed what was wrong. I went after answers on my own. Got a therapist, who suggested a psychiatrist, got evaluated, and suddenly, I do have a mental illness on top of a disorder. Oh, man. My mom used to ask mockingly if I had some kind of learning disorder.

“What do you have ADHD or something? Do you need medication?”

Why, yes, mother. Medication would have actually helped a hell of a lot.

Too bad nobody ever answered my fucking prayers and had anybody notice a god fucking thing and sent me to a mother fucking doctor to get this shit sorted out. I slipped through the cracks, and I will forever resent certain people for that. My parents for one. That bitch high school counselor I had, who I talked to regularly, who barely enjoyed her job, said trite things to me every meeting, and never did actually ask me any real questions.

So, science ended up saving the day. Soft science, perhaps, but a real science, nonetheless.

But that’s not the only thing that led to my resentment of the Catholic Church. Because, all of the above is really just the first sledgehammer sized hole knocked into my sense of faith as a whole. I didn’t become angry at the Church itself until I realized I might just be gay.

That was a tough one. First, I didn’t even know gay people was a thing until I got into junior high and heard kids joking, mockingly or course because I live in Texas, about them. Didn’t even know homosexuality as a concept. No wonder it took me until twenty fucking years old to realize what was up with me. Geez. Anyway, I eventually did realize that I was possibly gay, and then proceeded to have an existential crisis.

Because gay people aren’t hidden from you, aren’t renounced as a ‘lifestyle choice’ and ‘sin’, unless the purpose is to make you hate them. I mean, Catholics who believe this shit might say that ‘hate’ is a strong word, but that’s what they believe when you get right down to it. I’ve heard my grandparents enough times to know that. “Hate the sinner, not the sin” is a bullshit lie. They hate the sinner too.

I had a lot of beliefs that threatened to crush me. I tried to literally pray the gay away. And, like before, received no sign that I was even heard, let alone answered. It’s absolutely crushing to grow up religious, led to believe that someone’s always listening, that you can turn to this person if you can’t go to anyone else, and then when you absolutely need them:

Nothing fucking happens.

I mean, yeah, sure, I didn’t expect God himself to come down and solve my problems. But, if this religious stuff was to be believed, he was supposed to act through others. If God had heard me, I would have been noticed struggling in highschool. That didn’t happen. If God had heard me, I would have been able to find some kind of sexual feeling towards men. Neither of those things happened.

Turned to him. Twice. And was either ignored, or just wasn’t heard.

For a formerly religious person, this hurt a lot.

But what ended up being the final nail in the coffin was when I turned to the Church itself for answers.

When I realized that this gay concept wasn’t going to go away.

Well, if it wasn’t going away, if it was my new normal, then what did the Church expect me to do with it?

My mother has a catechism book. It’s thick, and heavy, and dry, and the pages are about as thin as an actual bible’s, and small printed. The index was a thing to behold. I looked up homosexuality in it.

And what I found was what finally made me angry. At all of it.

Because the Church believed that what I was going though was either a ‘trial of abstinence’ or a call to serve.

My choices were either to never act on any of my sexual or romantic feelings for the rest of my life.

Or become a nun.

I’d always struggled with the story of Job. That story seemed cruel to me. Excessively so. I mean, what kind of God just goes out and absolutely torments an innocent man, worse a man who believes in him with all his heart, just to get in a pissing contest with the devil? I mean, this is an all knowing, all powerful being. The devil basically told God, “Na-na, I bet I can get this guy to believe in me more than you! What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

And then God did his best to destroy this man, just to see if Job would still believe in him in the end.

The story, of course, ends with Job still believing in God, God gives him back everything he took (which includes the guy’s family for fuck’s sake) as if to say, “Psych! Just fucking with you, man! Tee-hee!”

You mean to tell me that God was so fucking insecure, that he spiritually, mentally, and emotionally tormented a human being to his breaking point, just to prove his superiority to the devil?

Fuck that.

That story was the only thing I could think of when I read that in the catechism. I didn’t want to be a trial or a test. My life was mine. I didn’t want to have my faith tested or some shit. I just wanted what everyone else got to have. The option to get married. Maybe have kids if I was so inclined. I don’t even know if I want that stuff, but the fact that some being whose never heard a goddamned thing I’ve ever asked of him just thought he could close the door on those options, without even so much as asking me, it stung. Worse than that, it was infuriating. It was the last straw, because it felt like my life was a joke to him.

I remember closing that book and going to bed.

The fiery resentment didn’t kick in till later when I processed all this over the course of a couple of years. When people tell me about ‘God’s plan’ and shit like that, I just feel it in my chest. That anger. They say that about all kinds of things. Gay people trying to abstain. People dying too young. All part of ‘God’s plan.’

It’s a shitty fucking plan if you ask me. I don’t want any part of it. I don’t find comfort in it. And I sure as hell don’t want to be told about it. Because if God has a plan that involved tormenting me to the point of potential suicide, then I was going to systematically go through every single thing I believed in and determine whether or not that belief needed to be changed. For my own mental health. If what I believed in made me hate myself, then it needed to be changed.

Religious or politically inclined, those beliefs were flipped seemingly over-night. (It took just over two years. Hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. Changing your entire belief system is not easy and if I had to do it again, I’d do it with the help of a therapist because this shit was emotionally backbreaking.) My mother just doesn’t get it. She thinks all of this is because of her. That I became a ‘raging liberal’ overnight just to spite her.

No Mom, I became a ‘raging liberal’ because I didn’t want to kill myself over the toxic beliefs the Church uses on its members. Because God never answered my prayers. Because I didn’t want to be a living ‘trial’ and I sure as hell didn’t want to end up serving a nebulous being that put me in this situation in the first place. Become a fucking nun?! Are you serious? After the shit you’ve already put me through? No.

I’m sorry. This rant is particularly long, sad, and angry. I’m mostly making it because I’ve been reminded of it by the movies I’ve been watching, and because I know I’m going to actually be talking about these thoughts very soon. I’m sure my parents will bring up religion when I come out.

Hoo-man. I’m gonna have to come out twice in one conversation. Once for sexuality, and second for my less than stellar views on religion. I don’t know if I’m strictly atheist. I’d like to think that something’s out there. But I’m currently mad at that something. If it wants to talk to me or judge me, then it can do it when I fucking die. Clearly it doesn’t want to talk while I’m alive.

[makknays]

compassion. | 1

2 | 3

not requested.

“Your ass looks great.” “Will you fuck off for a second?”

“You've really fucked me over this time.”

“Please let me in.”

genre: fuckboi!jungkook, roommate!jungkook, possibly smut in the future? angstish for now tbh

How you ended up with the world’s biggest fuckboy as your roommate, you don't know; actually you did but still why you stayed you don’t know. This was seriously one of the world’s wonders; there were no common interests or reasons we had to get along but somehow we both ended up in this place together. You had been placed in the same apartment thanks to your friend Jimin who was moving to his own place and he said he’d look for a roommate for you, you didn’t expect that guy to move the worst person he could possibly choose into your home.

“I’m sorry, okay? He needed a place to stay after getting kicked out of Youngjae’s place.”, Jimin sympathetically told you whilst you tried to enjoy a meal. “If they kicked out, what makes you think I want him?” “Come on, he’s like a younger brother to me, he’s your age. Give him a chance?” “He’s literally the worst, since the day I met him I’ve wanted to murder him.” “Jeez, you need to stop hanging out with Yoongi.” “Besides the point, Jimin.” “I’m sorry, just give him a chance, if you can’t stand him, just leave, come to me, I don’t care, but give it a go. I kinda do wanna live on my own now?” “Am I the problem?”, you asked unamused by his hectic argument. “No, no, it’s not you, it’s just easier to get to work and school from my new place. You’re always welcome over if you need to stay or something, don’t worry.” “Fine, this is all for you Park Jimin.”

The things you do for this guy; you had a soft spot for Jimin, he was like an older brother to you. The one you never had, he really needed a roommate and soon you became friends, that was after realising you guys had mutual friends. Well, now you were living with Jungkook for Jimin’s sake.

It wasn’t too bad at first, neither of you spoke to each other and when he did attempt to make conversation you would simply tell him: “Did we agree on talking at this time or am i hearing things?”, causing him to sigh and give up on trying to gain your friendship. Other times you were forced to speak to him, like when he was in front of the fridge, the stove, the microwave or the door. “Move out the way dickead.”, you told him after he was blocking the entrance to the bathroom. “That's not how you pronounce Jungkook!”, he pouted as he dried his hair with a towel. “Was I trying to pronounce your name? I don’t think so and you’re still in the way!” “My apologies, my lady.” He would always attempt to joke around with you and be friendly, but you assumed he was doing so to be civil not to be friends with you after he dropped you and Isla back in high school, even if you weren’t friends with Isla anymore, it still sucked.

You didn’t enjoy his company anymore, after he left your friendship group to pursue his fuckboy lifestyle he had changed, for the worse. He became less friendly, more annoying, more flirtatious and more drunk. Now you weren’t saying that you didn’t go out and get pissed, cuz you totally did as well but you weren’t exactly sleeping around with everyone you met. You probably have had the same amount of sex as Jungkook, just with fewer people in total.

One morning you had waken up early, not for a lecture or seminar but because you felt like it; it was nice and quiet. You couldn’t hear any girl in Jungkook’s room or even Jungkook. The silence was comforting. You made your way over to the fridge to pull out some fruit and yoghurt, you placed the whole lot into a bowl for breakfast. However you felt that something was missing when you sat down on your sofa. That was it! A nice warm cup of tea. You made your way back into the kitchen and boiled some water in the kettle, while you did so you searched for the tea bags. “Where did I place them?”, you asked yourself, searching everywhere; finally you spotted them on the top shelf. “Jungkook, I’m gonna kill you.”, you muttered to yourself and as if summoned the devil himself appeared. “Your ass looks great.” “Will you fuck off for a second?”, you snapped back at him. “Fine, get those tea bags by yourself.” “I will.” “Good for you.” “Good.” Just like that he managed to ruin your morning.

That same day you attempted making dinner for yourself while Jungkook was gone, probably to a party or a girl’s bed. You had all your ingredients laid out, tonight you were finally gonna have a home cooked meal of spaghetti. Spaghetti for one. Just as you started to boil the spaghetti noodles and were working on the sauce, Jungkook and 6 other people walk in. “I’m home with some friends!”, he shouted as he moved towards the living room, where he could easily watch you cook since there was no wall obstructing his view.

Jungkook made his way into the kitchen to grab a few drinks from the fridge, of course he had grabbed your drinks. “Whatcha cookin good lookin?”, he smirked as he moved closer to you, you had to stop yourself from kicking him in the shin. “Food, duh?” “Any for me?” “Do i ever make any for you? Fuck off.”, you simply replied, going back to your cooking, causing the poor, poor fuckboy to pout. “I won’t make food for you either.” “You never even make food for yourself.”

After you were done with your cooking you made your way into the living room, before realising there were 7 guys already occupying the space. “Hey ___, come join me, you can take a seat here.”, Jungkook smirked as he pat his lap. “I think I’ll pass.” “Aww ___, don’t leave, I came to visit!”, Jimin smiled as he got off his position on the sofa to offer it to you. “Thanks but I’ll still pass.” “___, please stay.”, Taehyung whined as he pat the now empty space beside him. You always had a soft spot for Taehyung, probably because the two of you had some great memories from your childhood. “Fine, but only until I finish this meal. Also you guys are drinking my booze, so Jungkook you better repay me.”, you told them as you sat down, causing everyone to chuckle at your childishness. You had missed hanging out with the guys minus Jungkook, you really enjoyed their company until he came and took them away from you. However later that night you wanted to murder yourself for thinking it was a good day, Jungkook had a girl over and she was the worst one yet, she sounded like she was dying and from what you could hear her head game wasn’t too good either; you shook your head when you realised you were evaluating this girl’s skills and tried to fall back to sleep.

A week after Jungkook had brought the guys round he was acting nicer to you; you figured he wanted something from you but you didn’t confront him about it. “Taehyung is coming around later.”, Jungkook told you as he sat down beside you on the sofa. “Finally someone nice.”, you muttered while taking a bite out of your sandwich. “I'm nice.”. Jungkook pouted as he flicked through the TV channels. “You're funny, you know that?” “Why are you so horrible to me?”, he suddenly and very seriously asked. “You’re serious?” “We used to be such great friends, what happened?” “You happened. Dude, I don’t wanna talk about this right now, just hang out with Tae and ignore me like usual, please.”, you told him as you stood up to make your way to the kitchen, however he followed you.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, ___. What’s wrong with you? You’re bad at hiding how you feel.”, Jungkook said as you placed the plate into the dishwasher. “What’s wrong is you ditched Isla and me to be a fuckboy. You wanted the popularity and whatever and you could’ve had it even without ditching us. I know it’s petty to not like you over this but you were a good friend, more than that to me. You were like family, now you’re this. And even if you are good looking with your stupid ear stretchers and your stupid strawberry blonde hair and your stupid muscles, you still fucked me over man.”, you confessed, feeling a heavy weight lift off your shoulders. “How long have you been keeping that in?”, he asked me, sounding like he cared. “Three years maybe?” “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “I didn’t ever have the chance to, you know with girls jumping on you this way and that way. Besides I miss the old you, this person is someone else. Enjoy your day, I’ll be at work.” “Wait…