#luckily it’s only a psat

[leafyisgreennotblue]

Just wanted to try out a new pen. I think it looks good, but I don’t think I’ll ever use this pen again. At least the original doodle looked nice. The lighting came out really good for the final product too, or so I believe

[wrongcaitlyn]

Completely unrelated but I just took the psats today for the first time and I think I’ve finally felt true academic burnout 😭 Like it lowk drained me for the rest of the day, I was truly only there in spirit. I don’t think a test has ever made me want to never look at anything school related again as much as this did. My english and math classes were both cancelled for this though, which omg thank goodness I could barely focus after that 😭

oh god im sorry😭 luckily psat's don't matter that much in the long run so don't stress out too hard about them!! and more schools are test optional, so if you're planning on college you may not even have to take the sat

[thewincestgospel]

Wincest and J2 High School Fics

2028 AD by inlustwithsammy 

It's in 2028. Sam and Dean got reincarnated and they have no idea who they were in their past lives. They live a normal life as high school students. They grew up as best friends who live close to each other. Dean is still a playboy. Sam is still a nerd. Some things never change.

a first time for everything by riyku  In which Jared announces that his family is moving, and Jensen suddenly becomes very concerned with time.

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" by gothpandaotaku

Sam Winchester, the jaded new kid at school. Dean Winchester, the school badass who rides a motorcycle to school every morning. When they collide, sparks fly- the wrong kind. It's hate at first sight. But over time they find they have a lot more in common than they thought...

All The Other Kids  by AureaMediocritas   Dean and Sam roll into another high school. The first weeks through five students' eyes.        

Baby Steps by cherie_morte    AU: Jared is nine years old when his mom marries Jensen's dad.

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux   This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love.SeriesPart 1 of Invisible Boy.

Becoming What We Pretend To Be by locknkey  In a fit of pique Sam brags to his high school friends that he can get Dean as his boyfriend. Dean's never been able to say no to Sam. Pretense is a slippery-slope when you're romancing your brother and it's all too easy to for the lines between what's real and what's fake to become blurred.

Bend and Break by Winmance  If Jared had to describe his life, he would say that his life is lonely. Between the bullying and his parents lack of interest, the only true joy he has is Jensen, the baseball player with who he's having sex. But everybody has a limit and Jared is about to find out his own.

Best Birthday Ever by ballsdeepinwinchesters prompted for: w[ee]cestiel + bottom!Sam For Sam’s sixteenth birthday, he only asked for one thing. He didn’t want a car, or money, or even a dog (Dean hates dogs). All Sam wanted was to get f***** by Dean and his friend, Cas.

Bitchface No.5 by bookworm1805   There's a new kid in school and Sam is being a bitch, but Dean doesn't see how the two things are related.5 stars

The Craziest Thing by thefourofswords  Sam and Dean find themselves de-aged back to 18. The only solution anybody seems to have is to go back to high school.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Flagstaff by  Linden  John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

Go, Dean... by orphan_account  Prompt: Teenage Dean joining the football team and Sammy cheering him in the stands, Dean calling him his little cheerleader and making him wear the outfit while he rides his big brother... How's that for enduring football?

“Thought you wanted to be my little cheerleader, Sammy,' Dean said, tossing the gathered supplies onto the bed and crawling back between Sam’s legs. His lips sealed themselves to Sam’s, and he kissed him breathlessly. 'Loved watching you bounce up and down out on the field, everyone watching you, wishing you were theirs.'”

Good as New  by  sixtysevenlmpala  When an asshole at Dean and Sam's high school breaks Dean's amulet, he doesn't react well. But as always, Sam's there to make it better.

Hope You Don't Mind by compo67  Jared has no problems being an introvert in a family of extroverted women. He enjoys his alone time as a freshman in high school... that is until signs for prom start showing up. With both his sisters going, he begins to wonder if maybe his time alone is a little lonely.

I'll Give You What You Like by soulmatecest Jared is, by all means, the worst cheerleader in the world.He absolutely fucking sucks; Jensen’s not even sure how he made it to the cheer squad and why would anyone take a look to his really bad dancing moves and still think ‘oh yeah, we definitely need to get some of that for the team.’Jared is honestly a disaster at this.And yet, Jensen has done pretty much nothing apart from staring at him most of the game as Jared dances terribly in a short skirt. Because even if Jared sucks, he’s also the most beautiful omega Jensen has ever seen.

The Jock and The Nerd by JuniperLemon  Unrelated Wincest High School AU. Sam and Dean go to the same school. Dean asks the school nerd, Sam, on a date. Little do they know that it'll lead to so much more. Is there more behind Sam than what meets the eye and how will John react to Dean's bisexuality?

Kiss Me by lotrspnfangirl  Worst case scenario: Jensen would be freaked out and spend the next three weeks until graduation, completely avoiding Jared and not speaking to him. And as much as that would hurt… It was only a dollar to get a kiss from Jensen at the kissing booth.

Little Pieces by compo67 Jensen the Bad Influence is better known as the town hellraiser. He stays out late, skips class, and takes bets on chess games after school. His partner in crime happens to be Jared, raised in a strict Catholic-Protestant household, and reigning chess champion. Together, they've skimmed five hundred dollars from their classmates with no end in sight.If they can survive high school, conquering the rest of the world must be a piece of cake.It just happens that the world has something else in store for them--something no one planned for in a million years.

Mr High School by  kinkylittlered This is for a bingo competition on livejournal. Each chapter has prompts. AU Sam is a popular boy in high school and Dean is an invisible boy who is coming to terms with his sexuality. Each chapter will have different warning, eventually leading to slash

Putting On A Show by BewareTheIdes15  Lightning fast Dean's grin slants into sly and Sam's stomach lurches hard enough that his lungs get jealous and jump in on the action. Without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction for approval, Dean lifts one shoulder and says, "I'll make out with Sam."

Say the Words by dollylux  A new boy rolls into town, and Jensen Notices. (And... his girlfriend notices him noticing.)

Touch and Go by versaillesatnight  Dean Winchester doesn’t date. He fucks around, sure, but the whole dating thing? He’s never seen the appeal. Enter Sam.

Verses Like Yours and Mine by rivers_bend Sam and Dean are regular brothers--no hunting, no demons--who fall in love anyway.

White Knight by echoes_of_another_life  Jensen is a senior and protects shy freshman Jared, who is being bullied.

Worth It by saltandbyrne Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.(Sam is 14).

You Didn't Listen When You Went To School by Posse Magnet (rhink_is_my_kink)  The kids at school know the new Winchester brothers are different. Everything about them is strange. From the way Dean effortlessly completes any physical challenge that gym class can throw at him without even breaking a sweat. To the way Sam is the smartest kid in all his classes, even though he's a freshman, and all his classes are college-level and full of seniors. But the most peculiar thing about the Winchesters, the thing that everyone notices: the way they come tumbling out of empty classrooms, closets, bathroom stalls, untidy hair, messy clothes, cheeks flushed with a color that’s almost as intense as the color of their lips.

you're a real f*ing page-turner by  grace_fully Jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.

Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell by sonofabiscuit77 While the Winchesters are living in a small-town trailer park, sixteen year old Sam accidentally spies on his brother with an older man. The discovery triggers feelings in Sam that lead him and Dean down a path which will change their lives forever.

[somestuffifindfunny]

I just had appendicitis, and I really don’t want to speak for everyone when I say this because I am not an expert but I want to talk about my own experience an how much it fucking sucked. Here are some things that I was NOT told before I had it.

1. You can have early appendicitis and have it just go away on its own.

Even though it’s not a textbook case, I talked to my doctor about it. I had many pains similar to the one I had before having surgery, and they went away on their own. IN FACT, the pain was already going away when I had the surgery. However, the doctor recommended I had it then and there anyway because of the risk of my appendix rupturing at another time that was more inconvenient.

2. It makes you feel bloated.

Before the pain got worst I just thought I had a big meal. I was in the middle of the movies and I had to unbutton my jeans (luckily I was wearing a big hoodie). Later bloat became pain, then it focused on the right side just as what is characteristic of appendicitis. After you get the surgery, you still feel bloated. The surgery works by literally pumping you full of air so the doctors can see your insides. It goes away after about a week and the more you walk the faster it goes away.

3. Even though the surgery is relatively small, only three cuts on your stomach, waking up from anesthesia REALLY FUCKING HURTS.

When I finally woke up it hurt REALLY BAD, as in “We just cut you open and removed an organ” bad. Before the surgery everyone told me it was a very small surgery so I was unprepared for the pain. Even after I took morphine, everything was uncomfortable. I was so thirsty but when I drank water I got nauseous, I felt so weak I could move my muscles to get the water, and I didn’t have the strength to put myself in a position comfortable enough to sleep.

4. After you leave the hospital you think you are fine because you are still drugged. It. Gets. Worst.

When left the hospital on a Sunday I though I could be back to school by Monday. I couldn’t. After just a few hours after I got home I was in so much more pain and that is completely normal. Listen to your doctors recommendation as to when you can get back to work/school.

5. Your shoulder might hurt even more than your stomach after the surgery.

That was the case for me. I was taking medicine almost every hour, and that made the stomach pain manageable but not the shoulder. When they inflate you it somehow affects your diaphragm which pulls on your shoulder muscles or something like that, but the point is: IT REALLY HURTS. Try to find a comfortable position and stay there, that’s the best way that I found to alleviate the shoulder pain.

6. You’ll heal VERY fast.

Even though I was in a lot of pain for some time there wasn’t much of a transition period, one day I just woke up and the pain was almost done. The timeline was like:

Sunday- Drugged our of my mind for most of the day, then unimaginable pain.

Monday- Unimaginable pain (not as bad as Sunday tho).

Tuesday- Didn’t even have to take meds.

Wednesday- Went to school and even had my PSAT’s.

Again, this is just my own personal experience. Feel free to add your own or contact me if you have any questions.

[butterscotch-cookie]

How come you disappear for a random amount of days and then post 1 thing and then leave again? Not trying to be mean, just wondering.

Depression and stress mostly

When you have depression you tend to have a lot more ‘off days’ where you just dont feel yourself and want to sleep forever. And i still have school and edgenuity. Also, in school we’re looking at what courses and electives to do for next year so thats got me a bit worked up because ive never CHOSEN my own classes before.

Psats are happening on wednesday for juniors so anyone not doing that is allowed to stay home so thats nice. A few more weeks after that and we have another break. After break its about a month n a half before summer vacation so ill be more open then hopefully.

But all of this stuff results in me being too tired or lazy to write or just getting writers block entirely. I also havent been able to draw as much because of the same reasons. I try my best to do what i can but sometimes i just get completely stuck and i cant do anything but wait it out. I have a record of posting smth, disappearing for some time, and then posting another thing and disappearing again.

Theres some days when i feel better and more hyped and those are days i can get more than 1 piece of writing or art done. Speaking of which, another reason i dont post as much and disappear for days on end. Its rare i can do more than 1 or 2 things in a day because it takes up all my energy. So i have to make a choice. Spend my energy writing for someone on the internet, or spend my energy doing something i enjoy more (I really love writing but some things are above it).

Im both sorry and not sorry i cant be writing here everyday. Im sorry because i hate to keep people waiting, especially when im one of the few exclusive fluff writers. But im also not sorry because i need time for myself or ill get too overwhelmed again and again and again. I write when i want to. Not when other people want me to.

Creators feel more inclined to NOT do something the more people push them to. Thats why i ask people to not do that to me. I love to write and dont like being pushed away from it, especially if its a fandom im hyperfixated on. Its really discouraging because it seems like people only care about the content rather than the creator. We arent here to serve your every whim and demand. Luckily for me, it hasnt happened at all yet, ive had people tell me to rest instead and im super grateful. I love communities who take care of each other like that so im glad to be apart of it and im glad i get to write for them.

[gapimnydiaries]

Diary Entry #20

Dear Diary,

Do you remember when you first landed in Honolulu? I was nine years old, and I saw the seasons change from the frigid Korean winter to a gentle, wet Hawaiian January. Maybe it was just a sign to show me that I, too, would be plunged into seasons of rapid change in the twenty years to come.

The nosy busybody that I am today takes root from me as a little kid who stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. I always knew that I was undocumented. To be exact, I knew that my family tried our best to adjust our immigration status through many years to no avail. And very unlike my peers for whose heartbreaks came at one moment like a giant wave that they found out that they were undocumented, my heartbreak came in pieces. Like the time we couldn’t go to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. Like the time I had to leave blank the boxes on my PSAT scantron asking me what my Social Security Number was.

We came to call Bergen County, New Jersey home after realizing that the warmth of the Hawaiian sun wasn’t enough to sustain our family. By then, my father had left my mother. It was just the three of us living in a town overlooking New York City. Not understanding English, I sat gazing out into the windows wasting my days away. I’d nod off from time to time, and my teacher was fed up with me. She asked me why I kept on falling asleep in class, so I explained to her that I waited for my mom to come home from work every night - a little past 11 o’clock.

I still remember the exchange that I had with my sister when I got home. She was angry that I had told my teacher all of this. And I retorted back to her that I was proud of my mother for working six days a week to support us as a waitress. But the message was clear. We were supposed to live a life that wouldn’t raise questions.

And that much I did. Until eighth grade, when Mr. Johnson, my music teacher, pulled me aside, and asked the question in earnest, “Tony, are you gay?” It was a question that launched a thousand ships and thrust me into a spiral of questions - questions that I didn’t have the luxury to ask, and definitely questions that I couldn’t have other people asking me.

In high school, people asked me more questions. In my junior year, I was asked point blank, my back against the lockers, “Are you gay?” I remember being asked, “Tony, why don’t you drive?” on my bus rides home. And for those questions, I had to come up with answers that I wasn’t comfortable with. No, I wasn’t gay. I didn’t drive because I didn’t want to contribute to global warming and the rising gas prices. Very luckily, my high school years coincided with the spike in oil prices stemming from Katrina and the Lebanon War. (This is a sentence construction I never dreamed of writing.)

I somehow stumbled into going to college seven hundred miles away from my home, sweet home in North Jersey to the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Kentucky. It was after twelve college applications and subsequent rejections to private colleges for the reason that I could not pay the tuition, being fully aware that state schools would not provide me with aid.

When the first decade of the 2000s came to a close, several things rocked my world. First, Barack Obama was elected president — and while there is no doubt it was a historic win, that came with the accelerated deportations. Every night, I woke up breaking in cold sweat with nightmares that ICE agents were knocking down my doors to take me away. Second, with the financial crisis, my school started looking at corners to cut: specifically, me. What could I do? Third, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer - I suppose the years that she gave to waiting tables in smoke-filled restaurants and breathing in the toxic fumes in nail salons finally caught up with her.

Like a match lighting up a stick of dynamite, the DREAM Act, everything that I had been pinning my hopes and dreams upon, failed. It would have provided me with a way out of living a life where I had to run away from questions. But because six Democrats decided to vote against it, my dreams came tumbling down. I still remember clutching onto my flip-phone for dear life waiting for a text telling me that my dreams came true on that drive to Michigan.

There I was, facing a future where I could only see myself taking care of my mother, never being able to come out. I didn’t want to. I told myself, I only had the right to complain only if I tried my best. So I’m still trying my best.

There’s only so many corners you can face until you start biting back because your teeth are all you have left. I started speaking out. I started sharing my story with my friends. I didn’t know it back then, but I was organizing. I went to a conference of undocumented young people in Memphis, Tennessee. They dedicated a portion of the program to the concept of intersectionality and highlighted LGBTQ undocumented folks. At the end, they asked all the people who identified as LGBTQ to step up to the front. I don’t know what came over me, but I guess I was tired of running away from questions. For the first time in my life, I started answering questions.

In the same room, I didn’t see other Asian American faces. It left me with an appetite to see my community wasn’t left out in the shadows anymore. And maybe it’s because of that, I became the first Asian American youth to come out publicly as undocumented on the East Coast. And maybe it’s because of that I’m still speaking up.

I even ended up on the cover of TIME magazine on June 14, 2012 with a group of my peers and Jose Antonio Vargas proclaiming that we were American - just without papers. The day after, it seemed like all of our tribulations came to an end: President Obama announced Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, a program that provided me and 800,000 of my peers with a work permit and a reprieve from deportation.

In those five years, I’ve worked to make sure that the rest of the 11 million who weren’t covered by DACA were not left out. I worked at a community-based organization where I was pressured to keep myself in the closet so that they could continue their work without antagonizing their relationships with the heavily evangelical Korean American community. I walked 11 miles from St. Patrick’s Cathedral to Staten Island to pressure a Republican member of Congress to vote yes on immigration reform. (He didn’t.)

After Election Day 2016, I saw the world around me for what it is. A sandcastle. A house of cards. That these protections were temporary, and the focus was on the word temporary. I did what I did six years ago. I bit back.

On January 21, 2017, I helped organize one of the biggest marches in Washington, D.C. as one of the national organizers for the Women’s March on Washington. The day prior, as I took rest in my hotel room, I caught a glimpse of the inauguration coverage on the television. I cried into my bed, asking “Why do you hate us so much?” It was time for me to ask questions and get my answers.

That same night, I went on an errand to Target in Columbia Heights to purchase a printer for the march. As I stood in the checkout line, they made an announcement over the loudspeakers, saying that they were out of poster boards. I broke down and cried again: the people were with me. The next day, as a crowd of 3 million started turning out at 5 a.m. on a deserted Independence Avenue, I knew that I wasn’t alone. And that I had something to fight for.

On September 5, 2017, the decision was made. The program that breathed life into me was ended because White supremacists had the loudest voices in the White House. Nobody had asked for this except them: not the business leaders, not the evangelicals, not the grassroots. But in the end, White supremacists won the White House. They were determined to rip me and 800,000 of my peers away.

That same day, I was out in front of Trump Tower. I shouted the same chant I had been shouting for nearly seven years: undocumented, unafraid. And underneath the sunglasses, I was crying. Not for myself. I had been ready for the moment that the shaky ground gave way beneath me since November 8th. I cried because this was the future that my mother had fought for. The same future that she sacrificed her legs and one of her breasts to. And it came crumbling down like a sandcastle.

On this coming January, twenty years will have passed, and it seems like an eternity will have passed. In Korean, we have this expression that the rivers and mountains change every ten years. So by next 2018, the rivers and the mountains would have changed twice.

The Korea that I remember no longer exists. The only thing that awaits me there is a two year mandatory military service where they go on regular witch hunts to out gay men. I speak Korean well enough, but I speak it like a very intelligent middle schooler and write like a third grader. I draw my line in the sand. My life is here. The family that I have is here. Everything I am is here.

Right now, the world seems like such a precarious place with hurricanes battering the most vulnerable communities, battles to defend access to healthcare raging on every two months, and possibly a nuclear war looming over our heads. But the fact of the matter is that in about 160 days, the first batch of people will lose their DACA protections. There is nothing that stops ICE agents from storming their houses to deport DACA recipients and their families at the strike of midnight. How do we make sure that we still stay in the spotlight so that people remember us?

I still go back to that stage on January 21 in my mind all the time. This is the answer. It reminds me that I’m not alone as I, one of 800,000 and 11 million, sink into a sweet uncertainty as strings from our tethers unwind.

Tony

--

Join GAPIMNY and NQAPIA in pressuring Congress for a clean DREAM Act. By simply typing in your street address and zip code, we'll prepare an email to send to all of your congresspeople.

[mca-attack21]

Weaponized

Author’s Note: This is another part of the Stilinski Sister Series. This is based off of season 4 episode 7. For the rest of the series, check out my Masterlist.

To say that things had calmed down in Beacon Hills would be a lie. The pack discovered out the truth about Malia being Peter’s daughter (although Stiles decided against your better judgement not to tell her). Derek found Satomi’s pack, most of whom were dead long before he arrived. In this endeaver, Brayden was shot, and the two of them were heading towards the hospital. Regardless, you were standing in line for the PSAT. 

“Normal Teenagers”, that’s what Scott had called you in his attempt to persuade that the PSAT’s were a good idea. You could appreciate the sentiment, but how were you supposed to focus on the test when you needed to figure out how to survive and eliminate the deadpool? It felt wrong in a way to be here, when there was so much going on in the town. But here you were...

“Where’s Lydia?” Kira asked.

“She took it her freshman year,” Stiles replied. 

“Wait, does that mean I could’ve taken it some other time?” Malia asked. 

“Malia you have studied harder for this than anyone,” Scott started. 

“That doesn’t mean I’ll do good” Malia interrupted.

 “Well,” Stiles said. 

“Well what?”

“It’s do well, not do good” he replied. 

“Stiles, I don’t think you're helping,” you added noticing how uneasy he was making Malia. 

Scott turned to Malia, “You’re doing this because while we are trying not to die, we still have to live, I mean if I survive high school I’d like to go to college, a good college”.

Then Kira spoke up “It’s only three hours, we can survive three hours”. 

You were about to say something when the doors opened. All of the students filed in one by one, stamping their fingers, handing over cell phones, and finding their designated seats. You sat anxiously by Stiles, as the proctor explained the test. It hadn’t really hit you before how important this was, you had barely even considered that it could affect college. You glanced over at Scott and met his eyes. He gave you a reassuring smile which helped calm your nerves. Something about having him around reminded you that everything would be okay.  

It was a couple of minutes later when Lydia’s mom came in announcing that she was filling in for Coach who was MIA. After reading the instructions, she started the timer and with it, the exam. It honestly wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be. You had only had to guess on a couple, beside you Stiles was flying through his test. Scott had that look on his face that he gets when he is trying really hard to focus. You were about to refocus on your own test when the student in front of you, Sydney, fell out of her seat. Mrs. Martin walked over to her, helped her off the floor, and asked “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, I just felt kind of dizzy,” Sydney answered sitting back down. 

“How long have you had this on your arm?” Mrs. Martin demanded in a hushed voice. When Sydney hesitated to answer, Mrs. Martin went to the front of the room and grabbed her phone. “Nobody leaves the room,” she demanded.  

This obviously caught everyone off guard and they looked around for some explanation. Before you could ask Sydney for a look at her arm, you heard Mrs. Martin yell from the hall, “Get back! Don’t come in here, get back outside!” 

At this point, everyone was out of their seats trying to figure out what was happening. “Everyone close your tests and remained seated. No talking,” the proctor instructed.

You sat there for about twenty minutes when the doors bust open. People in yellow suits came in for the CDC. You looked to Stiles and then Scott, what had you gotten yourselves into? The CDC set up containment units, they were taking blood samples. You and Scott snuck in to the bed they had Sydney on. “What happens now?” you asked Mrs. Martin. 

“We isolate the sick and we wait for instructions. If I am wrong we will be out of here in no time,” she replied before leaving. 

The two of you were about to leave when Scott looked at Sydney and said “You are going to be okay.” 

“It’s not that, it’s the PSAT’s,” she replied. 

“I’m sure they will let you take it again,” you added before pulling Scott away to go find the others.

“I bet they think it’s smallpox,” Stiles said nervously.

”Not likely” you chimed in, “considering it was completely eradicated in 1979.”

 “At least that’s comforting,” Scott sighed. 

“Unless it is something worse and we all die,” Malia added. 

“Whatever it is they are taking it pretty seriously. The police and ambulances are here, plus the CDC,” Scott replied. 

“I should probably call Dad,” you said to Stiles going to get your phone from the front of the room. 

“Don’t bother” the proctor said, “they would have shut off any access to all outside communication by now, wouldn’t want to start a panic” he finished. 

You backed away, as the severity of the situation was starting to sink in. “Y/n what’s wrong?” Scott asked as he saw the look on your face. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you replied avoiding his eyes.

Scott excused himself to the restroom, leaving you, Malia, and Kira to listen to more of Stiles’ conspiracy theories. When he took longer than usual to return, you sent Stiles to check on him. Mrs. Martin intercepted him in the hallway and sent him back to the classroom, deciding it was best if she looked for him herself. She got to the boys bathroom and knocked, “Scott are you okay? You’ve been in there a while?”

Scott was sitting on the floor his head was pounding so loud he didn’t even register Mrs. Martin at first. After what felt like forever, he forced himself up and left with her struggling to keep from shifting. Luckily, Mr. Yukimura distracted Mrs. Martin and helped Scott into the locker room. 

“Scott? What’s wrong? How can I help?”

“Get Y/n and Stiles,” Scott all but growled.

While Mr. Yukimura was looking for you and Stiles, Malia and Kira were getting their bloodwork done. Malia went first, no big deal. But when Kira went, the needle was electrified, burning through the suit of the CDC worker and causing a scene. Fortunately, Malia was quick enough on her feet to get both of them out of there and to the locker room. They arrived just as you and Stiles did. And that was when everything started to go to hell.

Scott and Malia were no longer able to control their shift, Kira was being affected neurologically, and Stiles almost passed out. You went to grab him, to heal him, and that is when you felt it. It was like you got struck by a wave of pain and exhaustion on steroids. You pushed through it and forced yourself back up, pretending that nothing had happened.

“It’s affecting everyone differently,” Kira spoke. 

“You guys need to be quarantined from the quarantine,” Stiles decided already starting to devise a plan. 

“What if they get violent like a full moon?” you asked gesturing towards Scott and Malia. 

“We can’t stay here” Scott agreed.

“Where will we go?” Malia asked. 

“The Hale vault,” Stiles thought out loud, “There is an entrance in the basement, we just have to find it.” 

With that the five of you snuck down to the basement and searched for the hidden entrance. After moving a couple of shelves, the entrance was revealed. “Anyone can open it, right Scott?” Stiles asked glancing at Malia. It took Scott a second to catch on. 

“Malia why don’t you open it?” he asked. 

“Okay I will, but first what are you hiding from me?” she asked. You thought this meant that they were finally going to tell here about Peter. Before anyone answered, she added, “I know I’m on the list, how much?”

“4 million,” Scott replied slightly relieved. 

Malia paused. “Are you okay?” Stiles asked, taking a step towards her. 

“Yeah, Y/n’s worth 35, Scott’s worth 25, they’ll be taken out way before me,” she remarked unlocking the vault. 

As you all entered Stiles muttered, “Believe it or not that is progress.”

It was not much longer before it started to hit all of you harder, except for Stiles who was seemingly okay. He held Malia in his lap, Kira was pacing back and forth, and you sat beside Scott trying to help him stay calm.

Stiles spoke up “You know this is where it all started,” he points out, “That’s where the money was,” he said more to himself more than to anyone else.

After a while, Scott went to the door to listen. “They are looking for us, we need to send someone out there,” he said. “I’ll go” you volunteered. But when you stood up you got super dizzy, the color faded from your face and all of the strength left your body. Scott caught you just before you hit the ground. 

After making sure you were okay, it was decided that Stiles would go because he was the only one who didn't seem to be infected any longer. He went first to Malia, “Malia,” he called as he shook her awake, “I gotta leave for a few”. 

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Whatever’s happening it is worse for you guys. That means it is not just people getting sick, but another assassin,” he said as he shed his coat and put it around her. 

“You are coming back right?” she questioned. 

“Of course, I would never leave you.” he assured, kissing her forehead and making his way to the door. He took a knowing glance at you and left.

As he got farther down the hall a second wave hit him. He wanted so badly to stop and rest. But he knew he couldn’t, the life of his pack depended on him. He had to find a clue, there had to be something they missed. That is when he was stopped by Lydia’s mom. “Stiles, you don’t look so well, I think you ought to lie down,” she said. He was turning away from her when he noticed coach in one of the containment rooms. ‘Coach was the only adult to get infected’ he thought. “I’ll be back,” he said to her as he rushed down the hall to Coach’s office. He was scrambling through everything to find a connection. The answer was there, he just had to find it.

Back in the basement, Scott was holding you as you started violently coughing into your hand. When you pulled it away you noticed blood. You quickly wiped it off hoping Scott wouldn’t notice, but of course he did. He was going to say something, but his thought’s were interrupted as Malia reached into her pocket and pulled out the deadpool list. Scott was worried that she was going to lash out, but instead she revealed that she was completely blind. 

“My visions starting to go blurry too,” Scott realized. After about ten minutes, Scott pulled you closer to him, wishing that there was something he could do. 

“Hey Scott,” you said softly, “If for some reason we don’t make it out of here, I just wanted to tell you I love you, I-I can’t remember the last time I said it,” you said before starting to cough again. 

“I love you too,” He said pulling you tightly into his chest.

Meanwhile, Stiles had finally figured it out, everyone who was infected, it was the ink, which meant the assassin was the test proctor. He was looking at a paper on Coach’s desk when he was startled. “I was wondering how that idiot got sick.” the assassin spoke, “I’m also wondering where your friends are, how about your sister?’ he continued. ”Since in order to get paid by the benefactor I have to have proof they’re dead”. 

“Visual Confirmation” Stiles muttered in utter disbelief. The assassin then pointed a gun at Stiles and forced him to walk. 

“You still look feverish Mr. Stilinski, but you should know something, the virus can’t hurt humans, you will be fine in a couple of hours. So don’t you think you should tell me where they are so at least one of you get to live?” 

“I think I saw them in the library or maybe in the cafeteria, it was definitely one of those two though,” Stiles returned sarcastically. 

“I’m going to count to three and then I am going to kill you,” the assassin said as he pointed the gun at Stiles’ temple. 

“Think you can scare me?” 

“No, I think I can kill you, I just thought the countdown would give you a chance to change your mind,” the assassin said monotonously. “3...2….” Stiles shut his eyes and then a gun went off.

He was so surprised to still be standing. He honestly thought it was over. He looked over to see Scott’s dad holstering his gun. He was breathing hard, was he in shock? “Where the hell did you come from?” he asked. 

“Stiles I need you to listen to me,” Mr. McCall said. He then explained the message left by Melissa.

Back in the basement, Kira and Malia had both lost consciousness. Your conversation with Scott was the only thing keeping you going. The two of you were going different milestones of your relationship. You finished recounting your first date, and then prompted Scott to go next. That is when you realized that he wasn’t responding anymore. You struggled to put your ear to his mouth, his breathing was shallow, you know he didn’t have long. This caused you to panic. Deciding that you didn’t want to live in a world without Scott, you focused all of your remaining energy on Scott. You put your hands on his chest and willed him to wake up, to be okay. You didn’t get far before the power proved to be too much. Blood ran from your nose and the last thing you saw before everything faded to black was Scott dart awake.

As this was happening, Stiles was sprinting back to the vault. It was as he arrived out of breath that he realized the fatal flaw in his plan...he couldn’t open the door. He started pounding on it like his life depended on it. “Y/N! SCOTT!. THE CURE IS IN THERE WITH YOU! IT’S THE MUSHROOMS! OPEN THE DOOR! Y/N! SCOTT!” He screamed despairingly. The exertion became too much and he sunk to the floor. What if his friends were…? Was he too late? What was the last thing he said to his sister? He failed her, he failed all of them.

Meanwhile, Scott struggled to get up. He had placed you as gently as he could on the ground but he couldn’t see. He was so tired he just wanted to give into the darkness. But you, Malia, Kira, and Stiles were counting on him. He couldn’t give up. He made his way over to the shelves. He had seen the jar earlier, he just had to find it. He flashed his alpha eyes which allowed him to see. He reached for the jar, but was too tired to get the lid off. He weakly threw the jar against the ground, praying that it would be enough to save everyone.

Stiles was on the verge of crying when the vault opened. Scott came stumbling out being able to really see for the first time. He embraced Stiles. “You did it,” he said before turning and re-entering the vault. He went to help Kira up and Stiles went to Malia. It was moments later when they realized something was wrong, you weren’t awake yet. In fact, as Scott tried to wake you he realized that you were burning up. The blood running from your mouth and nose was enough to make Stiles nearly pass out. 

However he knew that that was simply not an option. Kira promised that she and Malia would be fine, so Scott and Stiles carried you out to Roscoe deciding that they needed to get you to Deaton. Neither of them had grabbed their phones so they couldn’t call anyone. To their dismay, the clinic was empty. Stiles then made the executive decision that they were going to take you to the hospital, not that they really didn’t have any other option.

As they were rushing you into the emergency room, they ran into Derek, Melissa, and Deaton. Melissa immediately hugged Scott so tightly he thought she might not let go. Stiles quickly explained what was going on and Melissa found a way to sneak Deaton into your room. After giving you an examination Deaton came back out. 

“Y/n is not like Scott. She is supernatural, but she doesn’t have the ability to heal herself. She will just take longer to wake up than you guys did. As for the blood and fever, all of the energy she had was protecting herself. When she tried to heal others it overwhelmed her and this was her body’s response. When she wakes up she will be fine. It’s just a matter of when she wakes up.”

“Well, we can’t leave her here, not with everything that’s going on,” Scott said looking over you carefully.

“Can we take her home?” Stiles asked Deacon.

“I think that’s your best option,” Deaton answered.

So they snuck you back out to Roscoe and drove you back to your house where your dad was eagerly waiting. Scott carried you bridal style up to your room and Stiles explained everything to your Dad who looked both relieved and worried. 

So much for “Normal Teenagers”.

[princessnijireiki]

@black-dragonize it's like splitting into two versions of yourself & one is rod serling doing narration about "a girl, quiet for too long… contents under pressure…" looking ppl DEAD IN THE EYE while violently shaking up a bottle of soda with a mentos in it… then rolling it into the frame of the episode itself where the second you, UNAWARE OF WHAT IS COMING NEXT, despite SEEING this obviously frothy coke roll to you along the ground, then opens the shit in slow motion with dramatic music like fucking "platoon" as you #2 goes "OHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOO" and rod serling you is still staring @ ppl like "see??? I know right" and before the closing notes for the intro clip play, has the AUDACITY, while the other you is still SCREAMING in the bg to say sth like, "a thirst for knowledge can be a messy thing… in the twilight zone." and you're also the fucking can. you are three entities. the can is your brain. soda = id, you freaking out about it = ego, the detached you who instigated all this shit but can't stop it now = the fucking superego. beat THAT, tatiana maslany. luckily, in elementary school, my blown gaskets were on stuff like making my handwriting eeeeeextra small & precise (I got in trouble for this more than once bc it made me a pain in the ass to grade when you gotta hold a paper 2" from your face to read it), always reading ahead, drawing on Every Piece of Paper, fidgeting, and generally spacing out… by the time I hit the outburst zone in mid 5th grade on, we'd just moved, so I lowkey reinvented myself as The Weird Girl & rolled with it… I wasn't "Not Like Other Girls" JUST bc I didn't care for Britney Spears, it was also bc I would occasionally burst into song & dance, or walk funny if the mood struck me, or say some off the wall shit about aliens, or spend a whole day not talking to anyone w. my nose in a book and come in the next day yelling nonstop about dragonball z… and it was all effortless lol. we moved again tho & my sr. high classmates had not grown up alongside Weird Gena so they had no fondness for her… neither did my teachers, who also were flabbergasted that I could kick ass on the psat but fail english by not doing ANY homework for a year… but Weird Gena did not go gentle into that good night & uhhhh it turns out she is Unkillable™ so long story short if I don't sleep enough, I dr. jekyll / mr. hyde into this like fuckin'… tasmanian devil bugs bunny ass version of myself… my true self… and the only cure for it is patience & rest.

[autisticadventurer]

My History

CW: emotional, sexual, and financial abuse, suicide, drugs and alcohol, conversion therapy, divorce, homelessness, seriously... you name it.

For the very young among my readers, and for those who simply weren’t aware of what was happening in the queer community in the 90′s, let me tell you a little more about my family. 

My dad is from a city. His family later moved to a more rural environment, but he also grew up with a cosmopolitan experience. His mom’s parents were filthy rich and disinherited her for eloping with my grandpa but my dad still got to do rich people things when he was a kid. He has funny memories of his grandma nearly killing them because she was too drunk to drive but he also remembers doing farm labor as a teenager. He was a math whiz and played varsity football his sophomore year but had to quit after a car accident when the doctors discovered that one of his kidneys is totally non functional and the other is under developed. When he joined the Air Force, he was training to be a helicopter flight mechanic but there is something wrong with his depth perception so he was recycled and ended up with the far less glamorous but still noble position of cooking. Cooking runs in our blood.

My mom is from a very small town, 1000 people or so. The only diversity she ever really knew was Lutheran or Catholic and because of her heritage on her biological dad’s side, she may have been the only Jewish person in town. She was raised Catholic, though, by her mom and step dad. Her stories of childhood have a much different tone than my dad’s do. She was constantly angry at her mom for being too stupid. She earned average grades in all subjects and helped in the family store from the time she started high school. She played basketball for a few years in school, but most of her time was spent getting drunk probably because she had no framework to understand her attraction to other women. When she joined the Air Force, she did so as a diet tech. 

My parents met in a kitchen on an Air Force base thousands of miles from their home states. My dad told me that it was love at first sight. My mom has never talked about it. Their marriage was unhappy. They produced two children and then divorced a few years later. My dad was depressed for years and my mom openly shamed his depression to us kids. I have heard so many versions of why he left the Air Force but he was the primary parent when I was a kid. After the divorce, he struggled to find suitable work. 

My mom convinced us kids not to visit my dad more than once and even forbade us from visiting him on other occasions. I remember being coerced into signing a contract that we would not visit him at all when I was eleven. I figured out that my mom was gay when I was seven. Luckily, I had not been exposed to other culture stories about homosexuality before this so for me it was just data. We had to keep it a secret from the Air Force. In the 90′s being queer could cost you your job, especially in the military. This secrecy was used to convince us to keep our mouths shut about all the abuse that was happening in the home. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll be investigated and lose my job.” 

Ironically, my mom preached tolerance while perpetrating all kinds of conversion therapy on me that would have left me traumatized for life if I had not taken matters into my own hands as an adult. It was on a nearly daily basis that she openly declared my sibling the favorite and called me Number Two. I think that may have something to do with why I make so many poop jokes. I tried to earn her love and respect by doing well in school but my straight A’s did nothing but only further enrage her. When my IQ was tested at the age of 8, she denied the score because scores in that range almost always point to autism and she was working her ass off to deny that part of me. She even hid my fidget, my teddy bear, from me as a prank on more than one occasion. Imagine what it is like to have a mother who makes fun of you as a rule and will only show you love if you act right, and you never act right because you’re not right. 

You can imagine that I lived with my dad as often as I could. My dad is strange though. He would only want both of us to live with him. He was also very poor but I didn’t care because being able to breathe freely was a luxury that I didn’t have when living with mom. (I actually had to see a specialist at one point because my stress was preventing me from being able to breathe. The muscles in my neck were locking up but this only lead to being teased about putting less strain on my vocal chords. She didn’t love me at all.) Living with my dad wasn’t perfect. I was unable to continue the swim team into high school because my dad was fearful of me riding in a car to get to practice (unresolved trauma from his past) and his work schedule prevented him from taking me. But I was allowed to be in the IB Program and I begged my way into a few summer camps at the university. During my Junior year, my mom and dad got into a stupid fight and my dad lost it. I can’t say I blame him now because as an adult, I understand my mom’s power to provoke and pick at emotional wounds... but at the time, all I could think was, “what the fuck?” and I had that thought for years.

We ended up back with mom who wanted me to drop out of IB and get a job which also derailed my plans to attempt to get into MIT and they had been scouting me since I took my PSAT. Why did I do what my mom wanted me to do? I guess I trusted her, I still saw her only as my mommy and not as the manipulative, abusive person that she is. Staying in the IB Program would’ve led to my finding a suitable job but you have to remember, she hated the idea of having a genius child because that meant having an aspergers/autistic child and she retained her small town mentality for fear and shame of difference. In a weird way, not becoming an engineer has worked out for me and if she hadn’t treated me like so much dog shit for 25 years, we’d probably still have a relationship. My relationship with my dad was later repaired because he apologized for what had happened as a result of the fight. 

During my twenties, I was chronically homeless. Although I did well in school, because I was taught, but nobody ever taught me how to live in this world. I struggled to find work because I am strange, I cannot work full time because of the intensity of my sensory processing disorder, and the paychecks I earned were never enough to even cover rent, let alone food or a phone bill or student loan payments. I tried living with family, which meant my mom, and this only lead to my second suicide attempt at the age of 25. (My first was at age 12, also while living with my mom.) My sibling found me and I woke up in the psych ward a couple days later. It was after this that I lived in a home called a Board and Lodge. About a third of us were autistic but requiring less staff than a traditional group home. There were also people with physical injuries, drug addiction, prison re-entries, and one guy with schizophrenia. It was not a safe place to live because there was a great deal of abuse amongst the residents and staff due to what I think was a social power struggle. It was so bad that some of the staff wouldn’t even perform their jobs appropriately and I reported it when I moved out. 

I’m leaving a lot out: my years in college, my marriage and divorce, my time in a cult, being taken advantage of financially, the sexual assault, and other things. Being unable to recognize danger does not magically help an autistic person recognize danger. I have a lot to thank my therapist for because she has mentored me to help me recognize danger and to help me see the world as it is. She has helped me to build life skills and self care skills so that I can live independently and not be at the mercy of people who don’t understand autism and think they’re doing me a favor by trying to abuse me into being normal. I am hoping against hope that I can find a part time job in this state that will be understanding of my autism and accommodate me in the way the law requires them to. I have a lot to give but I cannot give what I do not have. 

Everyone you know has a hidden past that has been molded and shaped by the hidden past of their parents and grandparents. Try to put a hold on judgements and assumptions, if you can. It will help to foster tolerance and acceptance without having know things that are none of your business. It is an important lesson to learn that nobody owes you an explanation for who they are and nobody is obligated to share what they consider private.