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notesforstephen · 2 years ago

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January 10, 2023

Dear love,

Hello! It's actually 1:40am on January 11, but I'll take this as my January 10 entry because I cannot sleep! haha Since I still have two hours before going to the gym, I'll take this time to share my story, to share my vulnerabilities so that you know what you're getting into.

People who are not close to me would see me as someone confident, driven, and strong. Someone who would always gets things done, no matter how difficult things are; someone who rarely asks for help. Only those who are close to me would know what I went through, and later on, you'd realize why they tend to be protective of me.

Though I told you that I grew up with a loving family, with my mom and my sister, I also have my fair share of drama and trauma. Since my sister had ADHD, and she was not doing well in school, it was her who was always the priority. I had to learn to do things by myself, which initially I thought was just normal. Don't get me wrong, I love them both, and I do not have resentment towards them, I know that my mom loved me in a way that she thought was right back then. With my dad working abroad, I learned how to be independent, and did my best to excel in school, to prove that I can be chosen and loved too.

Later on, I started having relationships. My relationship of more than eight years with Paul, helped me grow as a person. Since we were apart for almost half of the relationship, I enjoyed being by myself, and later on got used to being alone. Though he lives three hours away from Manila, we would see each other once a month, or once in six weeks. Back then, I thought that there was nothing wrong with our setup. I thought that it was fine, because we talk everyday, and we are able to achieve our goals. During the last few years of our relationship, the effort that he exerted was even below the bare minimum, and I took that and appreciated whatever it is that he can give. I was so afraid of demanding or asking for more, because I did not want to be rejected. We would see each other when he has errands here in Manila, or I would visit him in Tarlac when there are special occasions. With everyone around me settling down, and me being stuck in a long term relationship, I always justified why we were not headed towards that direction. I always said that we were saving up, when in reality, I still did not know what our set up will be. We slowly grew apart, and phone calls which usually lasted for hours would now last for less than 20 minutes, with mundane topics. Our nightly conversations later on became a chore, and our breakup was like a ticking time bomb. He ended things with me, and he told me that he had this friend (who was a girl) whom he ended contact with, in respect to our relationship. He shared that he felt sad when that happened, and after our conversation, I cried (again) because I was not chosen.

After healing from my relationship with Paul, I started seeing Martin, who initially treated me right. There was effort and time poured into the relationship. For the first time, I met someone who was willing to spend his time on me. Since we were both corporate people, I thought that our goals were aligned, and that he was supportive of my growth. He gave me the usual setup of an adult relationship- dates, constant communication even though he was at work, and his free time during holidays. Despite the seemingly normal relationship with him, I was walking on egg shells when I was with him. He had bad temper, and is very scary when he gets mad. He was not comfortable with me being expressive, and emotional. I compromised a lot of things to make the relationship work, while losing a part of myself. When I moved to SM, and there were a lot of things going on, I didn't notice that he was slowly withdrawing from the relationship. On our last day together, he was being his usual self, quiet because of stress from work, which I didn't take against him. The following day, he sent me a long message breaking up with me because he needed to focus on work. I was lost during that time, I didn't know that people can be so cruel. How can you go from treating someone so nicely, to discarding them like trash, in just a snap of a finger. I was crying and emotional for two weeks, I couldn't eat or sleep. I couldn't work too, and would end up crying in the bathroom, because I just couldn't understand what happened.

When I started making mistakes at work, that's when I realized that I've had enough of being sad, that I need to pick myself up, because at the end of the day, I only have myself. I learned that I always have to choose myself, choose self-respect, and my own happiness. I started working on myself, loving myself, and being comfortable with my own skin. I am thankful for my friends, as they were patient and loving all throughout. They would listen to me, comfort me, and were supportive of my healing. It's like they have this hidden radar, that they know when I'm feeling sad, and they'd reach out to me. I started doing other hobbies, I realized that I can cook, I find fulfillment in hiking, and solo traveling. My journey of self-love helped me rediscover myself, and made me feel that I am capable of going through even the toughest situations in my life.

After more than two months, I felt that I was ready to meet people. I initially thought that it will be exhausting again to start a conversation, and later on go out on dates. But then, how will I meet that person if I don't open myself up, and again, take risks. I matched with you, and we started this incredible conversation. Love, it was never my plan to fall for you, and even be in a relationship with you. But, I ended up doing so, because you make me happy, and I've never felt like this before.

When you come from traumatic and abusive relationships, being in a loving and healthy relationship triggers a lot of anxiety. There's always a ton of what if questions in my head. Questions such as "what if he leaves me?" or "what if he's like the others?" But then, I always have to be mindful and ground myself that you are different from the people I am with. I am thankful that you are very affectionate, and you do the best you can to make me feel loved. I know that we will be apart (for now), but love, I will never stop being grateful that our paths crossed. I am happy to have met someone who sees and appreciates me for who I am. Someone who is supportive of me, and does not see me as competition, or would think that I am too much. I know that we'll be able to make us work, because that's how much we value each other in our lives. Love, thank you for choosing me, and now I know how it feels like.

If there's anything that I would ask from you, I hope that you are patient. I know I've healed from what has happened in my past, but there may be times that I can get triggered or anxious. I hope that you would assure me that things will always be okay, and that we're in this together; that giving up is not an option in our relationship.

Love, this is to close this longgg message hahaha It's 2:30am, and I still have two hours before heading out to the gym. I love you, and I can't wait to see you! <3

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my-darling-boy · 4 years ago

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Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?

Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.

Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.

So let me make one thing clear to you.

The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.

Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.

So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”

Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.

One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?

You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.

When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.

People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.

The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.

The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!

Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!

People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.

Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).

Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.

I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?

And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.

#like this isn’t even half of what I want to say #but I’m gonna stop cos this is So Long #no clowns in my inbox pls #long post #ableism #autism #actually autistic #ok to rb

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fortunatelyfresco · 4 years ago

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A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

------------

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also��over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

#moist von lipwig #narcolepsy #discworld #disabled headcanons #oh my god this got so out of hand #earned itself a title AND a subtitle #mr. cybulskis i'm sorry i fell asleep in your class every day it was at the exact wrong time and temperature and lighting

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kerie-prince · 4 years ago

Text

We're Worlds Apart (4)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: a curse word if you squint, sassy Draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: a day late bc i got distracted watching game of thrones lmao i have adhd so i honestly should've known better than to have something so attention demanding in front of me :P

(gif cred)

Three more days.

Three more days until your brother and his girlfriend come to your Buffalo suburban home to spend Thanksgiving. You came home from work on a better day than the ones from the week before, only to walk inside and was almost convinced you entered the wrong house.

Your mother took the liberty of decorating your house while you were gone. The place looked like an IKEA catalogue. Green and cream colored throw pillows were on your black leather couch, your small dining table had a fall-themed centerpiece and a blood orange table cloth. New dining chairs, all of them matched, unlike the mismatched ones you had before. And that god-forsaken ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ wooden sign hung in your kitchen. That damn thing is leaving first thing in the morning.

“Ma, what the hell did you do to my house?” The more you looked, you groaned at what you saw. Your grandmother’s tapestry was no longer hanging at its original place, now hung hidden behind the tv. “Oh, don’t give me any grief about it. Y/B/N is coming and I don’t want the place looking like the Spirit store.”

You knew you couldn't really fight her on this. It would be more frustrating to have to argue and still not be able to put everything back to how it was until she left. Taking a deep breath, you walked yourself to your room to get changed into comfortable clothes and light some sage for your nerves.

Three more days.

—

One more week.

In a week's time, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were to come to New York to spend the month of December with Draco and to say he was excited was an understatement.

He was excited, nervous, and many other feelings that he was too stressed to name. The guest room was prepared for the two of them to share, all he had to do was figure out what to do with them while they were here. He had taken a week off and had no idea what to do. He still hadn’t gone around the city he lived in. He could always ask his friends at Saint Marie but for some reason, he was too shy to.

He could always ask Mrs. Charles for recommendations on what to do. She was a sweet muggle neighbor that he came to like as well as her husband. He could also ask you, but it’s been over a week since he spoke to you in your yards. From glimpses into your window, you seemed so exhausted. Not that he really cared, but he remembered that you would try to get along better and so far, all he’s done was give a nod towards your direction when he walked into his home as you were leaving yours.

His bedroom blinds were always closed now because he knew that if he were to see you doing your… whatever you do in your room just once, he’d change his mind about the whole thing. It still bothered him, but not as bad as it did when he first saw it.

Draco’s stomach growled as he sat on his couch, bringing him out of his thoughts and walked over to the kitchen. To his despair, his pantry, cabinets, and fridge were all empty. Guess I’ll have to grab something. He pondered on what he was in the mood for as he ran out the door. Draco figured he'd just figure it out as he drove around the streets downtown.

Since moving to America, he found so many new cuisines than he had ever imagined. He usually always ate at home, and if his family ever ate outside of home they usually went to the finest restaurants in France. Of course, they were all wizard-owned restaurants. But in New York, he’s been introduced to new things. For one, he had his first ever hamburger with Blaine. Ashley took him to a Chinese restaurant, and Ian bought Draco a traditional New York pizza.

Yes, all these things existed in London. Maybe not so much New York-style pizza, but there was pizza. Draco, however, never had the opportunity to try any of these foods. Lucius was extremely strict about eating out. It was never necessary considering he could afford the best quality foods to be made at home. When they did eat at restaurants in France, it was only because a higher official at the Ministry had invited them for a night out.

Around the streets, the bright lights of buildings and restaurants lit the streets as he drove around them. Draco turned into a street he hadn’t been into yet in hopes to find something else he could find to try. There were a couple places he hadn’t been into; a Greek restaurant, a Brazillian one, and a couple shops. There was one shop close to the end of the street. It was sandwiched between two boutiques and had a neon green and purple sign in the front. Soul Beads. In front of the building was a man with a weird sign in one hand and an even weirder thing that seemed to have made his voice louder in the other. Draco couldn’t make of the rubbish he was yelling into the thing from inside his car.

Draco pulled to the curb to walk around the street and check out the restaurants. A bell jingle caught his attention, turning around to see one person he didn’t really expect to see here. “Draco?” your face showed the same expression as his. He watched as you closed the door to Soul Beads and walked up to him. The weird man that stood in front of the store yelled out, “DON’T TALK TO HER, THIS BITCH HERE WORKS FOR THE DEVIL!”

“Do you know him?” Draco asks with a quirked eyebrow. The stranger kept yelling profanities at you but Draco saw how you couldn’t be bothered by it. “He does this every couple weeks. What brings you out here?” Your hands were stuffed tightly in your pockets for warmth.

“Do you own the street? Can I not be here?” he asked sarcastically. You faced him with a deadpan look as to ask him again without having to say the words to him. Or call him a smartass. Which he is. With a roll of his eyes, he continued, “I’m looking for something to eat but I’ve never been to these places before.”

“Ah,” you started, “Well I don’t know what kind of stuff you’re used to, but I suggest the Greek restaurant right across. Over-priced, but the best gyros you’ll ever have in Buffalo.”

“It’s yee-roh, not jahy-row.” Draco corrected. He couldn’t tell if you were irritated or confused after he said that. Probably both.

“You know Greek?” you asked.

“I studied it when I was a child. My tutor showed me the word once and hit my hand when I had mispronounced it. Learned the hard way to never do that again,” flashbacks to the older woman teaching him the language cursed his mind for a few seconds.

His stomach growled even louder now in the silence between them. Draco blushed in embarrassment, shifting around to look away so you wouldn’t see. You slightly chuckled and tapped his shoulder. “Come on, neighbor’s treat.” And you walked onto the busy street.

This bloody woman is crazy to be crossing a busy street he thought as he rushed to follow you across the street. He got scared as a car got too close and ran to the safety of the sidewalk. “You’re gonna get yourself bloody killed one of these days like that,” he scolded. “If you’re gonna live in New York, you’re gonna have to deal with annoying pedestrians and sometimes be an annoying pedestrian. Be glad you don’t live in Manhattan, they’re worse. A person could be hit by a car and he’d just get on up and keep walking.” you informed.

Draco would be lying to himself if he said that didn’t spook him a little. Sure, he’s seen a few students get hexed, some by him, but they’d never just dealt with it and continued walking in the halls. They’d either have to hope their friends knew the counter curse or they’d end up in the hospital wing and had Madam Pomfrey help them back to normal. These muggles really are just… strange.

The restaurant looked old and desperately needed a remodel but by Merlin, it smelled amazing. “Now, are you getting a yee-roh sandwich or are you getting something else?” you mocked his previous correction with a playful roll of your eyes. Draco looked at the menu but it didn’t matter as he didn’t know the first thing about Greek food. What the hell did my father force me to take lessons for? “Do you want me to just order for you?” you asked as he kept browsing for too long. There were only 12 things on the menu but it still confused him.

He held back a snarl as he agreed to your help. He stood aside as you ordered and waited until it sounded like you were done, then headed up to the window to pay. “Oh, you don’t have to. I insisted I would pay,” you tried to push his hand away and reach for your credit card but he proceeded to hand the money to the cashier. “It’s nothing.”

“Here or to-go?” the lady asked with a thick New York accent. The two of you just looked at each other waiting for someone to say something. “Do you want to just-”

“Eat it here?” He looked at the small space and saw only one unoccupied table by the window. One of two tables. No longer growling, his stomach was shaking nearly violently, indicating that he can’t wait any longer. It was a strange feeling to be starving. Never had he ever had to wait for food at Malfoy Manor nor at Hogwarts. Whether it was house elves or first years, someone always ran to get him food with a snap of his fingers. “Yeah, here’s fine.”

The lady handed your plates to you as he went to claim the small table before someone else did. He looked around the space with a slight disgusted look. It’s not that it was run by muggles, but just because the place looks so old and kind of dirty. Even the house elves at the Manor lived in better conditions. The corner he sat in made him feel slightly claustrophobic. How do they sit and enjoy anything like this?

You sat the food on the table and shook your jacket off on to the chair. Draco watched as you placed the plates as neatly in front of you both. He couldn’t help but notice the rings that covered most of your fingers. Some were simple silver bands, some bronze bands, and some looked like wire that had a wrapped, colorful rock in the center. They were mismatched but coordinated at the same time. If that made any actual sense.

You started some simple small-talk, “So, what brings you all the way out here?”

“I got a better job opportunity,” Draco responded. His voice sounded uninterested, and his eyes stared at the plate. It had three pieces of meat on a bed of white rice, a small salad and a little dipping bowl of some white sauce. He dipped the meat into the sauce and as he tasted it, he nearly groaned in content. The flavors danced around his mouth and he had to hold himself back from devouring the whole plate in a matter of seconds.

He could feel you staring at him but chose not to look up to see judgement in your eyes. Whether it was with amusement or not. The food was so good and he would most definitely order another one to-go on his way out for his lunch break tomorrow. I’m definitely bringing Blaise and Theo here.

“What kind of job do you do?” Draco stopped chewing his food and swallowed nervously. He should’ve expected this kind of question sooner or later, but here he was sitting in silence trying to figure out what to say. He couldn’t just tell you that he’s a Healer because then that would lead to more questions and that’d be more answers he couldn’t give you. “What, you don’t wanna tell me?” you furrowed your eyebrows at him as he continued his silence.

Finally, the word popped in his mind, “I’m a doctor.” Hopefully that ends that conversation.

“That’s cool, what kind of doctor are you?” Shit. There’s more than one kind?

“Uh, I work with people who come into the hospital with major injuries like a broken arm and such,” Draco stuttered.

“So, an emergency room doctor. You work in the ER then,” you concluded with a hand over your mouth as you chewed. “Y-yeah, that.” Draco tried not to sound suspicious. “What about you?”

You cleared your throat, drank some of your soda and pointed out the window, “You see that store over there? Soul Beads? That’s my store.” It was weird how coincidental it was that of all streets to drive into and of all people to run into, he ran into you coming out of your personally owned store. Looking back at you, he saw your face relax and smile at the building. “What do you sell? I’m assuming it’s not food seeing as you didn’t invite me in.”

Now it was time for you to stutter, “Oh, just candles and stuff. Nothing too flashy.” You poked at your food and took small bites of it. There was an awkward silence between you two for about ten minutes before you started the conversation before, “Assuming you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, will you just be working that day?” Draco didn’t know much about the holiday, only that he was getting paid more that day.

“Yeah, I’ll be at the hospital for the night. Probably until four in the morning.”

“Well that sucks. You’ll miss out on the greatest American tradition that is Black Friday,” you chuckled.

“What’s that?” Yet another thing Draco didn’t understand.

“Black Friday is when people fight to the death for a discount on things like appliances and tvs. It’s quite amusing to watch,” you slightly exaggerated. Keyword slightly. Draco had wide eyes as he heard the description. “I’m sorry, to the death?”

With that, you laughed so hard you placed one hand flat against your chest and the other held the table with a tight grip as if you were to fall from your seat. He then realized you actually didn’t mean to the literal death and mentally scolded himself for being so gullible. You continued laughing and he rolled his eyes before chuckling to himself. You leaned back up and wiped some tears underneath your eyes, “Oh my god, I needed that laugh.”

A shiver went up Draco’s spine once he caught a glimpse of your smile. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you smile at all. Before your little argument, you would smile towards him and all the other neighbors all the time. But this never happened before. He looked away from your eyes and tried to find anything else to look at. Tilting his head up, he saw an air conditioning unit. Oh, that’s why.

Small talk ended there with a clear of his throat and proposed to go home. Draco saw how you looked a little disappointed and forced a small, kind smile on your face, “Yeah, it’s getting kinda late and I don’t want to keep my mother waiting. God knows what she’s done to my house while I was gone.” He wasn’t going to keep pressing on the matter as he figured they still weren’t close enough for that. One dinner didn’t make them friends in his book. It wasn’t terrible, though. Maybe he would do it again.

Walking to their own cars, she said “See you around, neighbor,” and got into her car and drove off. He just nodded his head as he always did and drove off as well. They arrived home at the same time and walked inside without looking at each other, thinking that it would just be weird to keep saying goodbye.

—

It was finally Thanksgiving, and Y/B/N and Stephanie were going to be over around three in the afternoon. Your mother was more of a pain than usual, waking you up at six in the morning to do last minute cleaning, grocery shopping, and starting on roasting the ham. The loud argument over ham or turkey in the grocery store the week before lasted for an embarrassing two hours after your mother caved and let you pick the main entree for dinner.

Once you got an hour to yourself, you went to your closet in the hall and grabbed a small glass jar then walked to your backyard for some lavender. You walked to the kitchen for a stick of cinnamon, placed the items on the kitchen counter and walked quickly to your room for something small. Your eyes found a loose ribbon on the floor and grabbed it then went back to the kitchen.

You put all the items into the jar and browsed the kitchen for one more thing. There was a bouquet of flowers on the dining table that your mother bought. Perfect. You grabbed a couple flowers and took the petals to mix in the jar. Once you were done, you chanted to yourself three times:

“Goddess, please take the negativity out of this kitchen.

Replace it with positivity and love. So mote it be.”

You heard your mother waking up from her nap from the guest room and ran into the kitchen to hide the jar somewhere she couldn’t see it. The spell can’t exactly work if she sees something to nag about. She walks in the kitchen and sees you looking suspicious.

She looks at you with squinted eyes - mainly because she had just woken up - but said, “I’m not gonna ask what you’re up to. Can you make the potato salad? I like the way you make it better.” You silently agreed as you looked for the things in the fridge and grabbed a large bowl to mix it in. Your mother walks up to one of the cabinets to grab a pot to boil the potatoes with, only to find the thing you tried to hide. “What’s this, honey?”

You stammered over your words trying to find an explanation before she cut you off, “It’s pretty with all the things in there. You should keep it out.” She placed it beside a photo on the countertop and walked away to fill the pot with water. You were surprised she didn’t ask any further questions. You continued cooking and had a hopeful smile on your face. Maybe it won’t be so bad tonight.

The doorbell rang and you both looked at the clock on the wall. It read 1:55 and you looked at each other in confusion. “Y/B/N must be early,” your mother guessed and went to the door to let him in. The greeting was loud as she greeted him in. You could hear your little brother’s laugh with enthusiasm as he walked into your kitchen, “What’s up, big sis?”

You placed the utensils down and ran up to him with your arms up, “I’ve missed you too, baby brother.” He was much taller than you as he picked you up and hugged you tightly. You slightly swung your legs to give him the signal to let you go. He got his height from your dad, leaving you short thanks to your mother. Your brother had a big smile on his face and you reciprocated the smile. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen each other.

“Oh, lemme introduce you. Steph, c’mere!” He looked over his shoulder and called for the special guest. A beautiful woman with long, chocolate brown hair and doe blue eyes walked next to Y/B/N. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Stephanie.” She held her hand out causing you to quickly wipe your hands on your apron. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“Y/B/N has told me so much about you. I was so nervous to meet you,” Stephanie admitted with a slight blush on her cheeks. “I wonder what this dummy told you. I bet you I can tell you more embarrassing stories about him,” you jabbed his arm.

“That’s not fair, I didn’t say anything all that bad. You’ll hex me or some shit,” he had his hands up in defense.

“Y/B/N!” Your eyes widened and you laughed nervously, “Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot.”

Stephanie looked back and forth at the two of you and finally settled on you, waving a hand, “Oh no, that’s okay. I practice, too.” Wait, what? It seemed your mother thought the same exact thing, only out loud. “Yeah, Stephanie also does the same thing you do. Crazy, right?”

Your mother stood shocked before them, not saying anything. Your brother had a smile that wasn’t exactly fitting the situation. Stephanie had a kind smile, and although you were visibly surprised that your little brother’s girlfriend was, of all things, also a Wiccan, you were laughing inside at your mother.

This is gonna be the most interesting Thanksgiving ever.

—

next chp

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#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x muggle!reader #draco x female reader

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alexandenigtscreations · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Poisoning, cough, lung trauma, Peter Nureyev has ADHD, Heist gone wrong Summary:

After Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev return from a salvaged heist, Juno proves to have a little cough that's more than what it seems.

Chapter 1:

“God damn it Ransom, would you hurry up?” Juno hissed, anxiously pacing back and forth through the garden path.

He cast his eye about the place, the snaking paths, the exotic plants and flowers crammed into every corner; thriving under the environmentally controlled conditions of the dome. Had to admit, as far as giant waists of creds went, an arboretum wasn’t bad... or whatever…

That is if said arboretum wasn’t a cover for a shady cybernetics firm Mercury Wear.

The mission had been on shaky ground from the get go. May have thought that a multi-billion cred company like Mercury Wear could afford some halfway decent security- but no.

The place was a mess from the shoddy placement of it’s security cameras to the guard's off schedule patrols. Juno for the life of him couldn’t figure out why they even bothered with them. Five minutes into the heist and they nearly plowed into a patrol at least an hour late for that sector.

There was something to be said for the unpredictability of their movements, lot harder to navigate a place when you didn’t know what or who was around the corner. But it lost a lot of it’s edge with how haphazard it all seemed to be.

He turned on his heel, pacing up the way he came. Cursing the decorative hedge rows and bursts of color from the flowers, making him see shadowy figures around every turn.

Damn it Nureyev- Where are you? Juno did his best to quash the worry niggling away rising up within, but didn’t have to do so for long.

There was a cracking sound, Juno stiffened, head whipping around for the source-

Nothing-

He was just jumping at ghosts- great.

Juno turned back to his vigil, trying to keep the place clear for when Nureyev made an appearance. Casually shifting his grip on his blaster when wham!

Something plowed into his side, a youthful voice shouting out “Intruder!”

His blaster was sent flying, making him swear. They were bigger than he was and it was hard to stay on his feet with a blow like that. He balled up his fist, and planted it into his attacker’s gut. They coughed, doubled over, and Juno prepared for another blow but this time hit only air as they twirled away.

The opponent may be green, but was no stranger to a fight- that could be a problem….

“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Juno barked at their retreating back. Their arm was wrapped firmly around their middle and they seemed- scared. Juno didn’t have time to think about that as he lunged forward and just managed to catch hold of their uniform before they disappeared between another oasis hedge row.

They hissed and twisted in his grasp, scrabbling for purchase on the raised flower beds. Squeaking “Let me go! Let me go or else!” The fear was plain in their voice, catching and tearing at the edges. And god- Juno hated that, wishing more than ever he could have just stunned this stupid kid rather than dealing with all of this.

“Can’t- Do that-” Juno grunted, and it was true.

The fact was that Juno couldn’t afford to let them go- couldn’t afford to give them the chance to trigger the alarm. Couldn’t afford to bring any unnecessary attention to Nureyev while he still had a job to do.

“Damn it, would ya- hold- still- Ahh!”

They’d taken a fist full of dirt, red as the Martian sands and blown it into his face. A cheap trick, an old trick, but... it worked. Juno reeled back scrubbing at his eye and gagging on the bitter taste. He’d eaten plenty of dirt in his time. Unintentionally, of course, but this was particularly foul.

Soon as his hold loosened, the guard sent a kick to his chest that would make a sewer rabbit proud.

Galaxies exploded in front of his watering vision as he was sent sprawling. The kid was gloating and somewhere he was aware of Nureyev calling out to him.

Nureyev- that thought stuck in his mind.

A shuddering gasp later and Juno recovered enough to realize that the guard made a mistake- There his weapon was, somehow, laying right next to him. He took up the blaster, aimed and made the shot.

The guard crumpled.

“Detective!” Nureyev appeared “Are you alright?” he offered a hand pulling Juno upright.

“Yeah. Fine, just one second-” he crossed to the guard, they were quite still, almost too still. Not something he’d normally worry about if it weren’t for how young they looked, maybe the same age as he was when he joined the HCPD. The hell were they doing in a job like this? “Ohh thank god-” he exclaimed, the kid’s pulse beat a strong tattoo under his fingers. Captain Khan would be proud.

“Juno?”

“Can’t leave an unconscious guard out in the open now can I?” He hoisted them up under the armpits and dragged them behind the hedge. Their sleeve hiked up over their wrist and Juno’s gut twisted.

A debtor's tag.

Damn-

He really hated rich people.

“Love, are you-” Nureyev paused mid sentence, looking down at the glittering bit of tech on the kid’s wrist. “Ah, an…. employee of the Board of Fresh Starts then. That would explain something about discipline of the place.”

“Yeah, I think it does.”

Just then, their radio crackled to life. Though Juno couldn’t understand what was being said, the way the message repeated it was clear that they were expecting a response.

Before he could so much as share a look with Nureyev, the doors banged open and guards started to pour in.

“I believe that that is our cue, Detective.”

“No kidding.” he quipped. But Nureyev was already making his way out of the greenhouse. “Hey! N-Ransom!” Juno took off running after, clearing a path for them to get through with well placed shots.

“Thank you Love!” Nureyev turned briefly to flash him the signature fox’s grin, blown all the wider from adrenaline.

“Yeah, yeah. Eyes front Babe-” he wheezed “you can thank me later. Whoa! Hey!” a bolt of plasma whizzed past his ear, sparking dead against the wall. Juno was about to pivot and return the favor when Nureyev yanked him around the corner, commanding the door shut.

“Juno, the lock-”

Juno saw what he meant. It was a cheap thing made of poor quality metals. “On it.” Not the safest thing in the world, but at this range, he couldn't afford to miss. One shot was all it took to fuse the mechanism.

Though he really ought to have expected the fumes. As soon as he took a whiff of the stuff his lungs seemed to launch a full scale revolt. Probably would have keeled over if it weren’t for Nureyev’s steading arm about his waist.

“Are you quite alright Love?”

His lungs still felt unpleasantly tight, but he was no longer coughing which was a plus. “Yeah, jus’ fine- Forgot how much I missed the smell of burning epoxy in the morning-”

“I’ll make a note not to add it to my cologne collection then.”

Juno rolled his eyes, picking up his pace to match Nureyev’s easy strides. Taking a moment to both appreciate and curse those long legs. They could hear the pounding footsteps come up from behind. Whatever time they’d bought with the door trick was coming to an end.

Damn.

“How do we get out of this damned place?” Juno demanded. He’d gotten hopelessly lost several turns back.

“Like this.” Nureyev flung open a door with a flourish. Several faces stared up at them from the stairwell, “Or not.” He shut it just as quick; moving aside for Juno to fuse that lock as well.

“Just how many escape routes you have left in there?” he wheezed against the pressure in his chest.

“Seven.” He shot over his shoulder. The pounding of boots issued from the corridor to the right, drawing Nureyev’s attention, “Make that five.”

“Five? Oh, Great.” he skidded to a halt at the mouth of the hall, grounding his feet and lining up the shots. Three guards, he could take out three guards.

“A simple process of elimination Detective.” He grinned, pulling Juno out of the way of an erratic burst of blaster fire. At the same time, he extracted a smoke bomb from one of his overstuffed pockets, lobbing it back the way they came.

To their credit, the guards weren’t idiots. They knew a threat when they saw one and high tailed it back the way they came as the corridor filled with a brilliant purple smoke.

Nureyev turned, leading him down the corridor bearing the stunned guards, flinging open another door.

“Another Stairwell?” Juno asked bewildered.

“Of Course love, unless-” he paused long enough to give Juno a cheeky grin “you’d rather we take a window or the vents.”

“You know, been meaning to take more stairs.”

Even skipping two at a time Juno was outpaced. Nureyev could vault over the edges of the banister, his feet barely touching the ground before he was once more air born. Juno plowed on, his lungs burning, itching with the effort of catching up. He suddenly regretted missing all those physical therapy appointments.

There was a loud bang and a shout, sounds of a scuffle. Juno readied his blaster, heart in his throat. He relaxed a little when he heard Nureyev’s voice, slightly strained. He was saying something in a language Juno didn’t understand, and someone was shouting back.

“Juno, Dear, if I might have some- assistance.”

It took less than a second to eye up the situation. Nureyev’s arm wrapped around the neck of a struggling guard, using them as a shield while another had their blaster trained on him. They plainly weren’t ready to shoot their companion, which was good for Nureyev.

“Yeah babe.”

The guard only had a second to lock eyes with Juno before she took a stunner to the chest.

“Thank you Love.” Nureyev tightened his grip on the person’s pulse point. Their mouth opened wide, gasping, desperately scrabbling with his arm until they went limp. He held on for a moment longer to ensure they were truly out before letting their weight slide to the floor. Juno stooped, exposing the guard’s wrist. “I assure you love, they’ll be quite alright.”

Juno gave a soft laugh “Yeah, I know- Just looking to see if they have any accessories.” They did. He stepped aside showing the debtor’s tag to his partner. “Been in this mess for three years by the looks of it.”

“Indeed.”

Nureyev crossed to examine the other guard “Six years.”

“Damn, she looks young.”

“Never too early to acquire debt.” There was a bitterness to his tone that Juno longed to ask about, but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to yet.

Just like he wasn’t sure if he could ask about the subtle change in Nureyev’s fighting style when they were paired on missions.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Nureyev had allowed more people to survive their encounter with the nameless thief. Juno knew this was less about his own sensibilities and more about- trust. That belief that someone had your back as much as you had theirs. The sight of his boyfriend knocking someone out cold with a choke hold probably shouldn’t make his stomach do flips, but there they were. God, they were both saps.

Juno coughed roughly into his elbow, earning him a look from his knight in stolen armor.

“Not much further Love. Jet has been notified of our change in exits.”

“Wow, don’t waste any time, do you?”

“No such thing as wasting time with such delightful company.”

Juno groaned affectionally, coughing again into his sleeve.

He was right, they were practically right next to the exit. Nureyev dashed ahead, drawn to the green of the Ruby. He opened the door wide, allowing Juno to pile wheezing into the back seat before joining him.

The Ruby whistled cheerily and Nureyev returned “It’s wonderful to see you as well Ruby, Jet.” He gave nods to each in turn.

“I appreciate the notice in the change of pick up locations.” Jet acknowledged.

“Thank you for making the- adjustments,” Nureyev searched for his seat buckle, “to the plan. It can’t have been easy on such short notice.” and offered a smile that Jet did not return.

“It is important to be flexible in our line of work.”

“Quite.”

“Nice to see you too Big Guy, but could we get out of here?” Juno coughed, “Surveillance in this place is kind of lax, but I guarantee you that at least a few guards will notice a bright green car.”

“I imagine so, the Ruby 7 is many things but is not inconspicuous.”

The Ruby made a sound that if Juno didn’t know any better would say was disapproval.

Once they were off, Nureyev turned to look at Juno, laughing softly “Love, what in heaven have you got on your face.” He reached up, brushing a thumb under his good eye.

“Wha? Oh! Yeah! The kid fought dirty.” he explained, scrubbing at his face with a sleeve, only for Nureyev to place a handkerchief into his hand.

“Perhaps you’ll have better luck with this.”

Juno smiled fondly, leave it to Nureyev to bring a handkerchief to a heist.

“I suppose I should not be surprised. Out of all the people on the Carte Blanche, the one that would pick a fight with a child would be you.” Jet commented.

Juno’s head snapped up, “Hold on Big Guy,” he objected “first off, they were much taller and secondly I think you and I both know that I-” and he caught it. The crinkle around Jet’s eyes and the faint up turn in his lips that he’d of missed a year ago, he coughed “Oh very funny.”

“I should think this a serious matter.”

“Okay, hey, you know what I meant!”

He spent the rest of the flight back to the Carte Blanche idly bickering with Nureyev and Jet. There was an odd tightness to his chest he couldn't place. His hand kept drifting up to massage his sternum, as if he could magically reach through tissue and bone to ease the pressure.

_____________________________

Once back, he headed to the shower to clean off the remaining sandy residue and, hopefully, open his lungs back up. Juno Steel was many things but lucky was not one of them. The spray washed over his skin, the steam warming his insides as he lathered and scrubbed in his usual fashion. He turned to reach for his towel. He could have sworn he’d stilled- but the shower kept on spinning.

The steam that had felt so good a moment before now felt oppressive, suffocating.

He tried to draw in breath, but he just couldn’t. Couldn’t hold anything down. Fear spiked as dark spots bloomed in front of his vision, threatening to swallow him whole. He launched himself out of the shower, slamming into the opposite wall. Feet only just gaining purchase on the smooth-grip flooring.

By some miracle, his airway cleared on impact. Juno’s chest crackled with each forced gulp of air. But he was breathing, and that was….good.

He coughed again, spitting pink into the sink.

A knock came at the door making him jump "Juno, love. The Family Meeting is about to start."

"Jus-" his voice came out harsh and broken. He rinsed and repeated, "Just-a minute."

“Alright. I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah-”

Once it became apparent that he wasn’t going to keel over any time soon, Juno straightened, dressed. The itch was still there but whatever freak thing that had him choking on nothing seemed to have resolved itself.

"Juno-" Buddy admonished, "how kind of you to join us."

"Yeah-" he coughed "had a lot to consider, like why you didn't tell us Enterprise Labs had dealings with the Board of Fresh Starts. You said you'd-"

"There were people from the Board of Fresh Starts there?" Buddy queried.

"Yes Captain. The security team seemed to have been compromised entirely of the unfortunates indebted to the organization." Nureyev’s hands flourished through the air.

"We knew they had ties darlings, but had no idea the connection ran that deep."

Rita’s eyes went overly large, “I didn’t see nothin’ about that in our intel Captain A, I swear- Unless-” she gasped “Wait- let me check somethin’.” and she dove nose first into her comms, hot pink nails clacking against the screen.

Juno opened his mouth wanting to argue further but Vespa cut in. "If you think you are the only one that cares, Steel, think again-" she flicked back her sleeve revealing her debtors tag.

The anger from a moment ago dissipated in an instant. Hell, he felt so tired, drained. Juno kneaded his chest trying again to ease the prickling.

"Yeah, right. So what are we going to do about it?" Another cough, the harshness of it taking him by surprise.

"As loath as I am to admit it. For now there is nothing we can do darling, save plot and scheme our way to the cure mother prime. A collapse of their business model ought to put quite the dent in their debtor’s practice.” she frowned, “Are you quite alright?"

"What? Yeah-"he coughed all the harder "Just forgot how to breathe and swallow at the same time-" and dissolved into a fit. He was making a scene and worst of all he didn’t even know what was causing it. All he wanted was to shut the hell up and get out of there.

Buddy gave a disbelieving humm as she watched while Nureyev massaged circles into his back with clever fingers. Stars burst in front of his eyes and his head was set to pounding in no time.

“Damnit” he rasped at last, panting.

“Quite. Well if you have similar issues in the future darling, might I suggest you pay a visit to our resident physician?”

Juno pulled a face, Vespa took offence and the rest of the meeting passed in much the same fashion. Juno didn’t really need to talk, so didn’t. After all, he'd just been playing lookout while Nureyev stole some data and installed some spyware. Mercury Wear’s security seemed to be something of a joke to Rita. She kept bouncing up and down in her seat with each new discovery on her comms. Juno very much doubted anyone else would be able to get that far in such a short space of time. He may not know much about computers, but he did know Rita was one of a kind.

___________________________________

“Are you sure you want to stay Nureyev? I think I’m comin’ down with somethin. Wouldn’t want you to catch-”

“Nonsense love,” Nureyev waved him off, “Besides,” he sidled up closer and delicately laid a kiss on Juno’s forehead, much to the Detective's chagrin “how could I possibly leave a lady in distress?”

“‘Reyev~” Juno groaned, despite himself sinking into the man’s chest.

“And- I'm certain to have caught whatever it is you have by now love. We do spend a lot of quality time together."

Juno scoffed "If you call a shoot out, 'quality time' then we may need to reevaluate our leisure activities."

"But oh my Detective" Nureyev coyly walked his fingers along Juno's collar bone, sliding into some silly character "I do love a lady who knows their way around a blaster-"

"Reyev-"

"Why, the smell of the plasma-" he made the words as breathy as possible.

"Come onnnn-" Juno mock groaned, hiding his smile in a cough.

"The smell of the plasma-" Nureyev plowed on as if Juno hadn't said a thing "just makes me all funny inside."

Juno burst out laughing "funny inside?"

"I assure you love," Nureyev broke character "this is a serious matter. Now where were we-"

Juno laughed all the harder, until his breath caught and he dissolved into a fresh fit.

"Oh Juno-" Nureyev wrapped an arm around him bracing him through it. "Sorry love, I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"It's- fine-" he managed between coughs.

"I dare say it isn't. We should have Vespa take a look at you."

"Nn-no." Juno panted, swallowing against the soreness. "no way- in hell- am I bothering her at this hour. And certainty not for a cold or whatever."

"It's the 'whatever' that concerns me Juno-"

He wasn't going to let it go. It was easy to see that, so Juno decided on a compromise. "I'll see her tomorrow if it makes you feel better." messaging his sternum again.

Nureyev made a resigned sort of sound. "It will have to do."

"Good." Exhaustion pulled him down into the bed "you coming?"

Nureyev looked as though he had something to say, but thought better of it "Of course." and climbed in. With a practiced ease he cuddled close, worming an arm under Juno's neck so that the lady could curl into his side, a gentile hand running lazily down his spine. Juno shivered at the touch. The persistent itch in his lungs continued, but that nagging pressure seemed to ease up.

He nuzzled in, ear to Nureyev’s chest and allowed the beat of his partner's heart to lull him to sleep.

[Reblogs are greatly appreciated]

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #peter nureyev #juno steel #jupeter #hurt comfort #whump #fanfic #writing #my writing #AlexandeNight #cough #sick fic #kind of #heist #shenanagans

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tw-anchor · 5 years ago

Text

23. The First Battle

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 2x11; Battlefield

Word Count: 6,291

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence, therapy, semi-dead Jackson, lacrosse championship, Stiles’ birthday

Author’s Note: After this there’s only one episode left of season 2. I hope you enjoy! Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlink in Profiles Description!

"You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out."

There, that seemed like an appropriate thing to say. It wasn't changing the subject even though Stiles didn't like the question that Miss Morrell had asked him, and it wasn't answering it, either. It was fact, a statement that was true. Stiles knew a lot of facts.

"It's called voluntary apnea," Stiles focused on the net of his lacrosse stick, threading it tightly to make sure that it was game-ready. "It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's...it's actually kind of peaceful."

"Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments?"

How the hell did she get that from his answer? He was just telling her about drowning and how much the people who died suffered until they didn't. He didn't care about the fact that Matt had drowned in the river by the police station that night. There were no feelings, no attachments. Matt was dead and that was that.

Stiles exhaled out his nose. "I don't feel sorry for him."

"Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?"

Morrell's face was blank, her voice was calm. She wasn't judgmental, she was good. Stiles had been going to sessions with her once a month since he started high school when his temper and ADHD had him struggling to adjust to the new environment. She gave good advice and helped him through things that were bothering him. Before his sessions started, he hadn't thought that talking about what he felt was going to work but she proved him wrong.

Still, that didn't mean he had to sympathize with Matt. "Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one."

Morrell nodded and went to move on but Stiles wasn't finished yet.

"And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer," he shook his head, disgusted. "And not just of her, though. I mean, he photoshopped himself into them. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing. You know, he had built this whole fake relationship. So, yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what sent him off the rails but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train."

Morrell smiled softly. "One positive thing came out of this, though. Right?"

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, thinking about how Noah got his job as sheriff back. "Yeah, but I still feel like there's something wrong between us," he nervously fiddled with the lacrosse stick. "I don't know, it's just like tension when we talk. Same thing with Scott."

"Have you talked to him since that night?"

"No, not really," he went back to tightening the net. "I mean, he's got his own problems to deal with, though. I don't think he's talked to Allison, either, but that might be more her choice, you know? Her mom dying hit her pretty hard but I guess it brought her and her dad closer."

"What about your other friends, Jackson and Lydia?"

"Jackson..." he wouldn't consider the prick a friend but he'd answer anyway. "Jackson hasn't really been himself lately. Actually, the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia is the one who seems the most normal."

"How's Olivia doing? Have you guys talked since the night at the station?" Morrell prodded. She was more than versed about Olivia Martin, Stiles' interest in her, and their slow and steady climb toward a relationship.

"Yeah and she seems fine, but," he shrugged. "she always seems fine. She was more concerned about me, to be honest."

"Maybe it helps her come to terms with her own feelings," Morrell theorized quietly. "You told me before that Olivia isn't one to share her feelings."

"I know, but she seemed to be better about that lately," At least with me, he added mentally.

Morrell hummed. "And what about you, Stiles? Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night?"

Stiles spit out the small length of rope he had been chewing on, tying it back to the net. "Why would you ask me that?" he didn't miss the fact that she looked pointedly at his lacrosse stick. "Ah...uh, no, I-I never actually play. But, hey, since one of my teammates is dead and another one's missing, who knows, right?"

"You mean Isaac," Morrell realized. "One of the three runaways. You haven't heard from any of them, have you?"

Stiles quickly changed the subject. "You're still doing that no-notes thing, huh?" he pointed at her empty desk. "I still can't believe your memory's that good."

"How about we get back to you, Stiles?"

Stiles sighed heavily. "I'm fine," he lied. "Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen."

"It's called hypervigilance," Wasn't that what Mad-Eye Moody talked about in Harry Potter? he tried to recall. Livvy would know about it. "the persistent feeling of being under threat."

"But it's not just a feeling, though," Stiles shook his head. He was familiar with what he felt when his anxiety went off the charts. That tight feeling in his chest, that was a panic attack. "It's like a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe."

"Like you're drowning?"

Stiles didn't even think about the comparison she was trying to make. "Yeah."

"So, if you're drowning and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in?"

"You do anyway," Stiles pointed out. "It's a reflex."

"But if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?"

"Not much time."

"But more time to fight your way to the surface? More time to be rescued?"

"More time to be in agonizing pain," Stiles argued, blinking rapidly. "I mean, did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding?"

Morrell blinked at him. "If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?"

"But what if it just gets worse?" Stiles asked, fears racing through is mind. "What if it's agony now and then...and then it's just hell later on?"

"Then think about something Winston Churchill once said," Morrell leaned forward, demanding all his attention. "If you're going through hell, keep going."

That moment in Morrell's office, that quote that somehow encompassed Stiles' whole world in seven words, would stick with him for the rest of his life.

It smelled like rotted wood, blood, and smoke in the old Hale House. It made Olivia want to vomit and it wasn't just the scent alone that made her nauseous. She hadn't stepped foot in the Hale House since the fire and even when she went looking for Lydia two months earlier, she had refused to go in.

She didn't want the memories that this house gave her. There were good memories, sure, ones where she and Cora used to play dolls, Laura would read them fairy tales, and Derek taught her how to ride a bike. But the fire loomed over those like a shadow. Her mother died in the house, trapped in the basement like the rest of the Hale family. While Peter had escaped his own death, Grace Martin was suffocating from lack of fresh oxygen.

Suffice to say, she hated being there. But for Jackson, she'd spend time there if she had to. She needed to find a way to take care of the kanima without killing Jackson since no one seemed concerned about that anymore, so if she had to spend time in the worn-down house to read a billion of moldy books, she would.

Derek stood at the other side of the table, helping her look for useful information. He was just slapping a book closed and tossing it back on the table when Erica and Boyd entered the room.

Derek stiffened and Olivia paused, looking from Derek to Erica and Boyd. The two betas had decided to leave Beacon Hills, to leave the pack. They weren't cut out for the supernatural war that raged around them, even if Derek had warned them from the start.

"You decided," Derek turned toward them. "When?"

Erica looked reluctant to tell him. "Tonight."

"Everyone's gonna be at the game," Boyd explained. "We figured it was the best time."

"It's not like we want to."

"What do you want?" Derek asked Erica, stepping toward her and Boyd.

"Since I just turned sixteen a month ago, I wouldn't mind getting my license," Erica answered him. "I can't do that if I'm dead, you know."

Olivia bowed her head, thinking about Erica's words. She understood where they were coming from; they weren't family, they didn't know what was at stake, and they had no dog in the fight. They didn't want to die because of who they were or what pack they were in. When Derek bit Victoria Argent and she had to commit suicide because of their ridiculous hunter's code, he had declared war. The Argents weren't going down without a fight, but neither were they.

Still, Olivia would be sad to see Erica and Boyd go. They were pack, plain and simple.

"Well, I told you there was a price," Derek reminded them.

"Yeah but you didn't say it would be like this," Boyd defended themselves.

"But I told you how to survive," Derek raised his voice. "You do it as a pack. And you're not a pack without an alpha."

"We know."

Olivia raised her eyebrows, surprised at Boyd's statement. "You wanna look for another pack?" she knew they could see that she was hurt by that. Hell, Derek was hurt by it. "How are you even gonna find one?"

"We think we already did," Erica told her. "We were running in the woods last night and all of a sudden we heard all this howling. It was unbelievable."

Olivia shared a look with Derek, both of them almost betrayed. Erica and Boyd trusted random howling in the woods over them? Derek was the one who bit them, the one who gave them the gift of lycanthropy. They were Olivia's friends. They were pack.

"There must have been a dozen of them, maybe more," Boyd smiled in amazement.

"Yeah or maybe only two," Derek burst their bubble. "You know what the beau geste effect is?" they shook their heads. "If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift of tone, two wolves can sound like twenty."

Erica huffed, getting frustrated. "Look, that doesn't matter, okay? There's another pack out there. There's got to be," she raised her chin. "We've made up our minds."

"We lost, Derek," Boyd stated. "It's over. We're leaving."

"No, you're running," Derek snapped, getting angry like he always did to cover up the hurt. "And once you start, you don't stop. You'll always be running."

Olivia pressed her lips together as Erica glared at them, grabbed Boyd's hand, and dragged him out of the house. Derek turned back to the table, resting his hands on the warped wood, as his pale-green eyes flickered over to Olivia.

She was distracted, her wide eyes on the spot where Boyd and Erica had previously stood. When he inhaled, he knew why; he grabbed a sharp piece of glass that was resting on the table in front of him and spun around, whipping it at the intruder.

Peter caught the glass just as the point hit the skin of his throat. "I expected a slightly warmer welcome," he stated, lowering the glass. "but point taken."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at her father. She couldn't believe that he was standing right there in front of them. It wasn't a happy kind of disbelief, either. It was the kind that made you want to pull your hair out and punch someone in the face. He wasn't supposed to be alive. He wasn't supposed to be able to hurt anyone ever again.

It had been a shock to find out that Peter had come back from the dead. Derek had told her shortly after the showdown in the police station and she went quiet, not talking for the rest of the night while he stayed in her room, keeping vigil so she wouldn't have nightmares.

Peter had gotten into Lydia's head and manipulated her. That was what all the things that Lydia had been seeing were about. It was him, playing her mind from his grave underneath the floorboard. He got her to do some weird ritual that included drugging Derek with wolfsbane and using mirrors and moonlight—and honestly, it was hard for her to comprehend. Olivia was a smart girl and she believed in science, so how did that explain Peter coming back to life from some alpha blood and light from a full moon. Granted, the existence of werewolves was hard to comprehend, too.

"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply.

Peter grinned at her. "Hello to you, too, pumpkin. It's great to see you," he gave his attention to his nephew. "Quite the situation you've got yourself in here, Derek. I mean, I'm out of commission for a month or so and suddenly there's lizard people, geriatric psychopaths, and you're cooking up werewolves out of every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town."

His voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you want?"

"Well, I want to help," Peter stated like it was the most obvious thing in the word. "You guys are family, my daughter and nephew. The only relatives that I have left. There's still a lot that I can teach you. Can we just talk?"

Peter finished his statement by placing a hand on Derek's shoulder. Derek stared at it in disgust while Olivia raised her eyebrows. This was going to end in a fight, she was betting on it.

"Sure," Derek agreed way too happily. "Let's talk."

He swatted away Peter's hand and pushed him, sending him flying into the stair case.

"Good talk," Olivia hummed as she stood from her seat. "I'm gonna leave before it get any worse."

She'd rather walk the mile back into town and order a ride from Lyft than stay and watch Derek and Peter fight. No, thank you.

"Liv, I brought your psycho father back from the dead," Lydia hissed at Olivia as they walked through the empty school hallways, heading toward the boys' locker room. "and you haven't said a word about it. It's been more than a week and nada."

"Because there's nothing to talk about," Olivia insisted stubbornly. "Peter's back, so what? I'll just ignore him."

"You used to visit him every week." Lydia thought she was in denial about how she felt about Peter. She knew Olivia was angry and she was justified, but you can't hate your father. Lydia had tried and she couldn't.

"That was before he murdered a bunch of people, bit me and Scott, almost killed you, and then manipulated you until you thought that you were crazy," Olivia pointed out. "That doesn't seem father material to me, Lyds."

"I mean, yeah, he's a psychopath, but—"

"But nothing," Olivia cut her off, sending her a sharp look. "I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"You know, one day you're gonna explode from all those emotions you keep bottled up inside of you."

Olivia snorted, a little amused. "When did you get your doctorate in psychology, Lydia? I think I missed the ceremony."

"Very funny," Lydia nudged her as they turned down the hallway where locker room was located. "All right, change of subject. You got Stiles a birthday present."

Olivia grimaced, looking down at the wrapped package in her hands. She had hoped Lydia wouldn't bring it up, since she was already tripping out about it, but like any older sister, she just had to tease her about it. Yes, it was Stiles' seventeenth birthday and yes, she got him a gift but it wasn't a big deal. It was a friendly gift. People gave their friends birthday gifts still, right?

"Yeah, and...?" Olivia's strategy was to just face Lydia head on.

"And you're giving it to him before the regional championships," Lydia pointed out needlessly. "You're going to sneak into the locker room to give it to him. Sounds awfully like what I would do when I was dating Jackson."

Olivia rolled her eyes as they came to a stop outside the boys' locker room. "I'm giving it to him now because I don't know if he'll be busy later."

"Mmhm..."

"And I don't give belated birthday presents," she huffed. "It's tacky."

"Yeah, sure," Lydia nodded like Olivia was making sense. "Well, you better go on, then. I'll wait by the concessions for you."

"Get me some some—"

"Air Heads, I know."

Lydia walked away and Olivia inhaled deeply before entering the locker room. Boys were in various states of undress as she walked through the aisles but she ignored them. She spotted Jackson and Danny by their lockers, and usually she would have wished them good luck, but she wanted to give Stiles his present and get out of there before she could get in trouble with Coach.

She found Stiles by his locker, pulling his maroon jersey over his gray compression shirt. "Hey."

Stiles flailed at the sound of her voice, almost tripping backward over the bench he stood in front of. He quickly found his balance and fixed his jersey before plastering a cheesy smile on his face at the sight of her.

Olivia's heart practically turned to goo.

"Hey, Livvy!" he greeted her enthusiastically. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to give you this," she held out his present, looking more confident than she felt. "Happy birthday, Stiles."

"What?" he quickly took the present from with her a grin. "I can't believe you remembered my birthday."

"Oh," she shrugged awkwardly. "um, yeah, you told me a couple weeks ago."

"Yeah, I guess I did," he ripped away the wrapping paper and gaped at what was inside. "You didn't, Olivia."

Apparently, he liked the present. She had won an auction online where she was able to score a signed mini bat from the Mets. It was Stiles' favorite baseball team and when she saw the low price for an item she knew he loved, she didn't hesitate to get it for him. She also made a joke in the card about how crazy he was for cheering for the Mets, knowing it would get a laugh out of him.

Olivia blinked in surprise when Stiles wrapped her up into a tight hug. It didn't take even a second for her to respond to his affection, burying her face into his warm neck. She couldn't help but notice that his skin was soft and he smelt really good.

"Thanks, Livvy," Stiles breathed when he let go of her. "This is—this is great."

"You're welcome," Olivia smiled at him. "So, are you nervous for the game?"

"Nah," Stiles shook his had nonchalantly. "I probably won't play, so..."

"I don't see why you wouldn't. You're good."

"Have you actually seen me play or are you trying to make me feel good about myself?"

Olivia opened her mouth to respond and paused when Stiles quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I knew it."

"You did not!" Olivia protested, playfully slapping his arm. "I do think you're good."

"Why'd you hesitate then?"

"I wasn't hesitating, I was taking a breath."

"Who takes a breath for that long? It was like you were getting ready to perform some dramatic-ass Shakespeare monologue."

"I don't even like Shakespeare."

"You got a perfect score on your essay about Othello."

"How'd you know what grade I got?"

Suddenly, there was some loud feedback as Coach readied his megaphone. Olivia and Stiles jumped apart in shock, not even realizing that they were moving closer together during their playful banter, to look over at him.

"Good morning," Coach spoke into the megaphone, dead serious. "In less than an hour, aircraft from here will be joining others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind."

What the hell? Olivia mouthed to Stiles, completely confused.

Stiles just shook his head at her.

"Mankind," Coach mused. "That word should have a new meaning for all of us today."

"Does he do this every year?" she whispered to Stiles.

He nodded. "Every year."

"Dear God."

"No kidding."

Coach continued on, "We are fighting for our right to live!"

"Yeah!" most of the team shouted.

Olivia perked up in realization. "Wait, isn't this?"

"Yeah," Stiles confirmed. "it's the speech from Independence Day. It's his favorite movie."

"But as the day the world declared in one voice, we will not go quietly into the night!"

"I mean, the speech from Braveheart would be better than this," Olivia snorted. "Couldn't he rip off Friday Night Lights or something? Glory Road? You know, anything from any sport movie?"

"I don't think he cares," Stiles chuckled.

"Today," Coach ended his dramatic speech. "we celebrate our Independence Day!"

"Yeah!" the players cheered once again, sufficiently hyped up for the game. Olivia couldn't believe that the speech actually worked.

She and Stiles stiffened at the same time as Gerard slithered in next to Coach. "Well spoken, Coach," he praised the man. "I might have chosen something with a little more historical value but there's no denying your passion."

Coach gave him an offended look but Gerard completely missed it.

"And while I haven't been here long, there's no denying my pride in having a winning team for this school," the Argent patriarch continued, looking around at the lacrosse players. "I know you'll all be brilliant tonight, even with only one co-caption leading you."

Olivia gave Stiles a questioning look but he furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing why Scott wouldn't be playing, either.

"Now, I'm your principal but I'm also a fan. So, don't think I'll be content to watch you merely beat this team," Gerard grinned creepily. "Get out there and murder them."

"You heard the man!" Coach yelled. "Asses on the field!"

Olivia shivered at the menacing look on his face as he smirked and left the locker room. "He's probably the worst person on this earth," she mumbled, turning back to Stiles. "This is going to be bad."

Stiles' expression turned worried. "You think?"

"Yeah, I do." She wished that it wouldn't but everything seemed to point in that direction. The whole day, her body had been on edge, like she was waiting for someone to get hurt. The feeling was unsettling and had looking over her shoulder wherever she went.

Argent hunters were brutal. They had proved it time after time.

"You're gonna be careful, right?" Stiles grabbed her hands, squeezing them nervously.

"You don't have to worry about me," she shook her head, squeezing him back. "There's not really anything I can do."

"You can still get hurt, though."

"I won't," Olivia assured him. "Just focus on the game, yeah? Good luck, Stiles."

Stiles smiled lightly, not liking the fact that she was brushing off his concern. "Thanks, Livvy."

"And I'll be careful, okay?" she noticed the look in his eye.

Stiles nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he let go of her hands and ran a finger across the right shoulder of the jersey she was wearing. "Nice jersey, by the way."

Olivia's cheeks flushed; she had forgotten that Lydia forced her into a mock-up of Stiles' jersey, complete with his last name and the twenty-four on each side. "Oh, um, yeah," she nodded nervously. "Good luck, Stiles."

She practically sprinted away from him and out of the locker room, cursing Lydia the whole time.

Stiles nervously bounced his leg as he thought about what Olivia had said to him earlier. Things were going to get bad. He knew that, yet he couldn't shake the feeling he had inside of him. He was nervous, scared that someone he loved would get hurt, and angry that there was even a situation like this to begin with. Most of all, he felt helpless. There wasn't anything he could do to help. He couldn't help Scott. He couldn't help Olivia or Derek. He couldn't even help himself.

It frustrated the fuck out of him because he had that determination inside of him, he just couldn't act on it. He couldn't go up against a hunter or a werewolf, let alone a kanima, and make it out of the fight. He couldn't even protect his dad from Matt, so how the hell would he be able to protect Olivia when the Argents came after her?

He couldn't just stand by and watch the action unfold while people got hurt. He had to do something.

"Is your dad coming?" Scott broke him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Stiles looked to the bleachers for a second, seeing his dad already settled in a row near they bottom. "he's already here."

Scott nodded. "You see Allison?"

No, he hadn't, and he didn't think they would at all. Allison had been absent since the night of the full moon when her mom had killed herself. She didn't respond to Scott at all, she was angry with Olivia for siding with Derek—though he didn't know what Allison expected Olivia to even do in that situation—and she was determined to get revenge on the Hale pack. She had dived into the deep end and Stiles was worried she couldn't swim.

"No," Stiles shook his head. "You know what's going on?"

Scott exhaled heavily. "Not yet."

"But it's going to be bad, isn't it?" Stiles knew it would but hearing it from Scott made if feel more real. "I mean, like people screaming and running for their lives, blood, killing, maiming—that kind of bad?"

It was quiet for a second as Scott looked over at him; it unnerved him. "Looks like it."

Stiles inhaled shakily, his eyes starting to sting. "Scott, the other night, seeing my dad get hit over the head by Matt while I'm just lying there and I can't even move," he sniffed and looked back at his best friend. "it just—I want to help, you know? But I can't do the things that you can't do. I can't—"

"It's okay," Scott's voice was soft as he nodded at Stiles in assurance.

And Stiles was glad that out of every other guy in their class, Scott was the one who was his best friend. Because Scott got it. He got that Stiles was afraid but willing to do anything to help. He knew that Stiles felt trapped, sitting on the sidelines while everyone else fought. He understood Stiles. And Stiles knew Scott just as well.

They were lucky to have the relationship they had. It wasn't often that kind of loyalty came around and there it was, each of them sitting next to it.

Stiles tried to make the topic lighter, even if he failed. "We're losing, dude."

Luckily, Coach was there to pep things up. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked him incredulously, having only heard the last statement of their conversation. "The game hasn't even started. Now, put on your helmet and get out there. You're in for Greenberg."

"What?" Stiles perked up, looking around for Coach's most-hated player. "What happened to Greenberg?"

"What happened to Greenberg?" Coach scoffed. "He sucks. You suck slightly less."

Stiles raised his eyebrows in shock. "I'm playing?" he pointed to himself. "On the field? With the team?"

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

"Yeah, unless you'd rather play with yourself."

"I already did that today, twice," Stiles told him absentmindedly, too shocked about the fact that he was playing to notice what he had just revealed.

Scott snickered, making him realize what he said.

"Just get the hell out there!" Coach ordered him.

Stiles squeaked nervously and gathered his lacrosse stick and helmet, running onto the field with the rest of his teammates. On the bleachers, Olivia and Lydia had just taken a seat next to Melissa and Noah, when they noticed what Stiles was doing.

"Oh, no," Noah groaned. "Why is my son running out to the field?"

Olivia perked up, finding Stiles immediately. She knew that he'd get to play today. It was a great opportunity for him to show that he was actually athletic and good at lacrosse. She wasn't lying when she said she thought he was good.

"Because he's on the team?"

"He is," Noah confirmed blankly before realizing the excitement of the situation. "He's on the team. He's on the field," he stood up, throwing his arms into the air as he cheered, "My son is on the field!"

Okay, that was adorable, Olivia mused, sharing a grin with Lydia.

The game started shortly after Stiles ran onto the field and it wasn't going well, to say the least. The first quarter went by fast, with the opposing team scoring two goals within eleven minutes. Every time the Beacon Hills players had the ball, it was a bad play or someone would foul out. When the ball went to Stiles, it always seemed to miss his net.

The next time he got the ball, he actually caught it in his net. Unfortunately, he was too busy celebrating to notice the two large defense players sprinting his way. There was an audible thwack as he was tackled to the ground.

Olivia winced while Melissa sighed. "He's probably just warming up."

She nodded in agreement but her hope was quickly dashed when the ball was tossed to Stiles yet again. He ran backwards in hopes to get it, but ended up tripping over his own feet.

Okay, maybe she hadn't seen Stiles do anything but run fast. In her defense, she thought that would translate into being good on the field.

"He's just a little nervous," Lydia tried to console Olivia and Noah, who were both cringing in on themselves. "There's plenty of time to turn it around."

As if the world was disagreeing with her, Stiles was tackled. The crowd booed loudly; Noah hid his face in his hands.

The new quarter started and when Scott went to enter the game, Coach pushed him right back onto the bench. Luckily, Isaac appeared, dressed for the game and ready to enter.

Olivia sighed in relief, glad that he hadn't gone with Erica and Boyd. She was closest to Isaac out of the three of them and she had been pretty sad when she learned that he was planning on leaving with the other two. He didn't, though. He was here to help.

Erica...Boyd...Erica...Boyd...

Olivia winced when she heard the whispers, the tingling that she had been feeling all day getting more intense in her stomach, chest, and legs. Erica and Boyd were in trouble and she didn't know if it was this so-called pack they had discovered or if the Argents got to them.

She quickly pulled out her phone and texted them both, asking if they were okay. She also messaged Derek, giving him a heads-up on what she was feeling.

Isaac entered the game for the second quarter and it was chaos. Instead of actually playing the game and trying to score, he spent the time tackling players from his own team. As more and more of his teammates went down, Olivia figured out what he was doing. He was making sure that Scott could play—there was no way that Coach would forfeit instead of putting Scott on the field.

It was smart and she was impressed. Until Jackson tackled Isaac and the team paramedics had to run onto the field. From what Olivia could see, Isaac couldn't move anything, which meant that Jackson had used the kanima venom on him.

Isaac, Isaac, Isaac...

Melissa had jumped off the bleachers to run onto the field in order to talk to Scott but she stayed put. She already knew that something was going on and she had learned from Scott earlier that Gerard was now in control of Jackson, the old bastard. This was part of the war, a battle to be won.

The rest of the quarter went by quickly and then it was halftime. The whispering of Isaac's name had gotten so intense that she had to run down to Scott as he rested, telling him and Stiles that something was happening to Isaac inside of the school.

Scott had assured her that he'd take care of it, since there wasn't really a way for her to defend Isaac on her own, and took off inside of the school. Olivia told Stiles that he was doing a great job with a horribly fake smile that he quickly saw through before going back to her seat on the bleachers.

The third quarter started and Scott was still absent. Beacon Hills were down by two points. And then, the fourth quarter started and everything changed. Players from both teams clashed together, sending the ball rolling down the field. It stopped right in front of Stiles, who stared at it like it was a foreign object for a moment.

And then he scooped it up into his net and took off down the field. None of the other players even knew he had the ball, the field between him and goal wide open and clear. Olivia jumped to her feet, cheering loudly with Lydia, as he raced to get there before the other team's defense could catch up.

Olivia was pretty sure she could hear him screeching as he looked back at his huge opponents and when he paused just in front of the goal, she yelled, "Shoot it, Stilinski!"

Stiles whipped the ball into the net, scoring his first goal in his first game.

Olivia screamed in excitement, hugging Lydia as they both jumped up and down. Next to them, Noah was going crazy with pride and Melissa was equally excited, yelling Stiles' name.

With two minutes left in the game, Stiles was on fire. He caught the ball from his teammate and sprinted down the field, twirling around the opposing team's defense like he was made for the sport. He easily scored, tying up the game. The whole crowd was on their feet, cheering him on. Olivia was so proud she felt like crying. Like, actual crying. What had love done to her.

Holy shit, she paused in realization. Love? I love Stiles Stilinski?

She didn't have time to focus on that. There was a minute left in the game and one goal to win.

Stiles didn't disappoint. He scooped up that lacrosse ball and took off, his teammates running after him and shouting in encouragement. Olivia waited anxiously and then screamed excitedly when he scored the winning goal, goosebumps erupting all over her body.

He won the game. He did it. Did she fucking call it or what?

And then the buzzer rang, signaling the end of the game, the crowd roared in excitement, and the lights around the field all went out at once.

Jackson...Jackson...Jackson...JACKSON!!!!

"Jackson?!" Olivia screamed, pressing her hands against her tingling chest.

The crowd was screaming as chaos erupted. They were running down the bleachers and heading toward the field and the parking lot. Lydia was tugging on her arm, and Melissa and Noah had taken off, seeing if they could do anything to help the situation.

Olivia was frozen. Something was wrong with Jackson, something worse than she ever felt.

"Liv, you're crying," Lydia said frantically; Olivia hadn't noticed. "What's wrong with Jackson? Is he okay? Liv!"

Everything sped up at once. Olivia grabbed Lydia's hand and jumped off the bleachers, running onto the field as the lights came back on one by one. There was already a crowd in the middle of the field, surrounding something.

"Somebody's hurt," they heard a guy say as they passed him. "Somebody's down on the field."

Olivia's stomach dropped. It was Jackson. It had to be.

She and Lydia pushed past the crowd in order to get to the middle to see what was going on. Jackson was on the ground, unconscious, with Melissa hovering over him, doing chest compressions.

"He's not breathing," she said rapidly. "No pulse."

"Oh, my God, there's blood," Lydia whimpered, her breath catching. "There's a lot of blood."

Olivia shook her head in complete shock. Jackson wasn't supposed to be dead. He was the kanima, the kanima that Gerard controlled. And now he was dead? He couldn't be dead.

He couldn't be.

"Get down here!" Melissa barked at her, in full nurse mood. "Get down her and hold his head."

Olivia scrambled to obey, dropping to her knees right by Jackson's head. She tilted his head up just as Melissa instructed her to do and tried not to shed anymore tears. Lydia was watching. Lydia was watching Jackson die and she had to be strong for her.

And then all the breath left her as the whispers started up again.

Stiles. Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

"Where's my son?" Noah shouted from a few feet away, looking around the thinning crowd. "Where's Stiles? Where the hell is my son?"

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

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grasslandgirl · 4 years ago

Note

oooo i sent it more as a fix prompt but also from one adhdhead to another i’m glad we agree!! thinking about sam and peter study dates

ahhhh fvbjsjvkbjf im so dumb i’m sorry i saw “adhd sam” and my brain just yelled YEAH. RADICAL. and that was it kjdvskfj

that being said i’ve been haunted by ricky montgomery’s Line Without a Hook + eldonado since yesterday so........ hmmm.... (oh no this got wildly out of hand)

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Peter threw himself wholeheartedly into anything he worked on. It was just how he was built. Peter was either on or he was off, and it was hard to get him to change course once he was en route. Head down, eyes narrowed, his whole body angled down at his computer like if he got his face close enough to the screen, it would start streaming information right to and from his brain. His hair would flop, unnoticed, into his eyes and he would shove his glasses so far up his nose that Sam would worry he was going to bruise his nose.

All this to say, of course, that study dates were something of an occupational hazard when you were best friends with Peter Maldonado.

And also secretly in love with him.

Well, mostly-secretly. Secretly to Peter, and probably only Peter, because Sam was 90% sure everyone else was in on the secret and knew how hopelessly gone Sam was for his oblivious best friend. Gabi was the only one who ever said anything to him about it, though. So, little victories.

Finals were looming over their heads like a dark storm cloud. Looming on the horizon, fucking with barometric pressure just enough to make everyone jumpy and nervous. Peter worked well under pressure- which was a good thing, because Sam knew Peter put more pressure on himself than anyone else did- but he would always show up the night before a big exam and demand that Sam help him study. It was so commonplace after seven years of friendship that Sam didn’t question it anymore. Mostly.

There was always that small, hopeful, and nervous voice in the back of his head asking why Peter always studied with Sam when he studied just as well on his own. The only answer he could think of was that Peter knew Sam studied better with him there. But that wasn’t- that couldn’t- Sam always shut that annoying little voice down before it spiraled any further.

It didn’t do anyone any good to overcomplicate things that were objectively very simple. Peter liked routine, they were best friends, Sam was the only one who could talk Peter down from an academics-induced panic attack at 2 in the morning the night before a final exam. 2 + 2 = 4. Simple math.

Sam was slumped on his back, halfway falling off his bed with his head and shoulders draped over the side of his mattress. The notebook he was supposed to be reviewing was abandoned, sitting on his stomach. Peter was sitting at Sam’s desk, leaned over and scowling at his laptop.

It was unfair, really, how pretty Peter looked illuminated by the blue-white light of his notes document. Sam had the perfect view of Peter’s upside down profile, all furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw and dark hair that’d had hands run through it too many times. It was late and Sam’s brain was wrung out and exhausted, only able to focus on Peter’s expression as he mouthed whatever obsolete moment in history he was trying to commit to memory, and the looping chorus of a Carly Rae Jepsen song he’d had stuck in his head for the last two hours.

A big part of being friends with Peter Maldonado was knowing when to draw the line.

“Pete, dude.” Peter looked up, blinking away the lines of notes Sam could almost see in his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Either we know it or we don’t at this point.”

“You think we should cut our losses?”

“I know you can survive on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, dude, but I can’t.” Sam tapped himself on the forehead. “This baby needs r&r or I can’t fucking function.”

“Right, right. What time is it?”

Sam sat up- an impressive showcase of his abs that Peter didn’t notice, of course- and dug around in his rumpled comforter for his phone. “12:30.”

Peter sighed heavily, tipping his head back against the headrest of Sam’s computer chair. “I should go home.”

“Dude. Just-” Sam was his own worst enemy sometimes- “just spend the night.”

“Yeah? Your moms won’t mind?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they assumed that’s what was happening when you showed up after dinner.”

It was probably just a weird reflection from the computer light on one of Sam’s posters onto Peter’s face. There was no way that Peter was blushing.

“Anyway,” he continued, shoving his textbook and notes off of his bed instead of looking at Peter, “I’m gonna drive you tomorrow anyway, right? Saves me a trip.”

Peter closed his laptop with a soft click. “Yeah, sure, if it’s not-”

“It’s cool, dude, don’t be weird. Just two bros-”

“Chilling in a hot tub?”

Sam prayed Peter couldn’t see the hot blush he felt rising to his cheeks. Five feet apart cause they’re not gay. “Whatever you want, dude.”

Peter knew Sam was gay. He was the first person Sam had come out to- followed closely by Gabi and his moms. But there was a difference, Sam was sure, to having your best friend be gay versus having your best friend be gay and in love with you. An invisible line in the sand that would shift their relationship forever. Sam didn’t want to test how that shift would happen. Didn’t want to risk losing his best friend on the off chance that he wasn’t alone.

“Right.” Peter repeated.

They went to bed in pieces: Sam pulling on an old pair of sweatpants and throwing one to Peter, Peter neatly stacking all his notes on one corner of Sam’s desk, Sam kicking all his schoolwork to the edges of his bedroom floor as opposed to the middle of it, Peter brushing his teeth with the same toothbrush he’d kept in the Ecklund house since they were ten, Sam turning off all the lights, Peter wandering back into his bedroom, Peter’s hair turning to gold and ink in the faint streetlight coming in from the window, the two of them curling up back to back in Sam’s bed just like they always did.

And then it was dark and quiet and all Sam could hear was the faint sound of Peter’s breathing beside him. The warmth from Peter’s back mere inches from Sam’s. They’d fallen asleep next to each other a million times, but Sam still felt electric with the proximity. How easy it would be to just- stretch his legs out and wind his feet with Peter’s, to flip over and press his nose into the soft place where his hairline met the back of his neck, to whisper something hopeful and mortifying into the still night air and hear Peter’s breath catch in silent response.

Sam stayed still, held himself perfectly motionless lest he finally show his hand. And eventually, they both fell asleep.

-------------------------

Peter woke up surrounded by Sam. The pillow he’d pressed his face into smelled like Sam’s hair and the sheets on his bed were the same tacky Star Wars ones he’d been so proud of in the seventh grade and the bed was warm with Sam’s body next to him. For an instant, Peter let himself consider it: waking up next to Sam like this every day. Falling asleep with his arms wrapped around Sam and waking up with his head on his chest.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the glaring dawn light, and against the daydream that quickly threatened to spin out of control. He could still hear Sam’s sleep heavy breathing behind him.

Slowly, Peter sat up in bed, pushing his hair out of his face and scrounging the nightstand as quietly as he could for his glasses. He allowed himself a single glance at Sam- sleep soft and sprawled out on the bed, his hand inches from where Peter’s shoulder had been, like he’d been reaching out in his sleep- before standing up and grabbing his phone from where he’d left it charging on the desk.

“Sam.” Peter poked his shoulder. “Sam.”

He groaned incoherently, but rolled over, which was a good sign.

“You have to get up, dude.”

“Breakfast?” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah,” Peter laughed a little, “I’m sure your mom’s making breakfast.”

“Urrgghhh.”

Peter grabbed the clothes he’d left in the corner the night before and pulled an old t shirt out of Sam’s closet. “I’m stealing a shirt.”

“Oh,” Sam said, half sitting up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah- good, okay.”

“I’m gonna go-” Peter gestured weakly towards the door, and beyond it, the bathroom. Sam peered up at him, the light from the window hitting his face in a single pane, like something out of a sun-soaked French movie. Like this was the moment where one of them broke the uncertainty, the silence. Peter could see the scene unfolding in his mind’s eye, like he’d seen it a hundred times. He’d say something like, did you sleep well? And Sam would answer, better with you here, and Peter would oh-so-slowly close the distance and drop his jeans to the floor and Sam would arch up and meet him halfway and the camera would pan away, leaving them both washed in the golden early-morning light. “Bathroom. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Peter said, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

He splashed water on his face and combed through his hair with his fingers, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and Sam’s t shirt under his sweatshirt and hoping it wasn’t obvious to anyone else how badly Peter wished every morning could be like this.

He left the bathroom quickly and perched on the edge of Sam’s bed, scrolling through twitter while Sam did his hair in the bathroom.

Breakfast was quiet and normal and filled with the usual mini-dramas in the Ecklund house. Kara didn’t want PB&J for lunch and one of Sam’s moms left the flat iron on in their bathroom and Leah almost burned the eggs and Sam spent half of breakfast finishing the math homework he’d almost forgotten he had.

Sam drove them both to school early for the Morning Show, laughing and singing along to his “perfectly composed drive to school playlist,” and the rest of the day went on normally. He took his history test and saw Sam in math class and they sat with Ming and Randall and Phil at lunch.

But all the while, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. He’d had... feelings for Sam for a while, unquantifiable and nebulous. He’d categorized them all: the way his stomach twisted when Sam smiled at him crookedly, the skipped beat of his heart when Sam slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders, how his hands got clammy when he caught Sam watching him out of the corner of his eye, how he always found ways to hangout during and after school. But he’d never dared to name the feeling. Defining it meant- meant he should do something about it. Made it real.

But that morning, waking up next to Sam, borrowing his t shirt to wear to school, falling asleep next to each other- they were all things they’d done a million times before. Peter’s chest ached with the normalcy, the domesticity of it.

Peter’s fingers itched to try and piece it all together, his feelings and Sam’s and their history together. String it all together on a corkboard until it made sense. But Peter knew it wouldn’t work. Not without Sam there to see the bigger picture in the first place. It’s why they worked so well together; Peter would gather and organize all the information, but Sam was the one that knew how to put it together, knew how to see the forest from the trees in a way Peter never could on his own. Even if he tried to map out the snarl of feelings in his chest, Peter knew he’d be left with a labyrinth of post-its and red string without Sam there to untangle it for him.

Dramatic irony, he supposed.

Peter caught the bus home, Sam had something for theatre after school, and spent the entire ride with his music turned as high as it would go, trying not to think about Sam as he stared out the window.

The problem, Peter realized, with being a self-professed movie lover, is that your brain starts to treat life like a movie. He could imagine a dozen different ways his life could spiral out from this moment, a dozen different movie time-lines he could find himself in. The tragedy, where he never tells Sam and lives his entire life in uncertainty. The drama, where he tells Sam and it tears their friendship apart. The tragic love story, where he and Sam are together and happy until they’re not. The comedy, where Sam laughs him off and they go back to their friendship with a tiny crack between them, spackled over with laughter that’s just a little strained.

The romantic comedy, where everything goes perfect and they ride out into the sunset.

Life wasn’t like the movies, though, nothing ever went as simple or as straightforward or as cinematic. There isn’t a director behind the camera who can call cut and change the scene halfway through. There aren’t any sweeping cinematic shots with atmospheric indie pop playing in the background.

It was just Peter, and Sam, and the creeping uncertainty hanging between them.

Right before dinner that night, Peter got a text from Sam.

sam: thanks for the study help last night, felt good about the test today

sam: don’t stress i know youre freaking out about it too

sam: you did great on the test pete i know it

Peter blinked at his phone, at the unspoken I know you hidden inbetween the lines. Sam knew him better than anyone, knew his habits and his worries and his annoying little tendencies. And he was still there.

And that, Peter realized, said more than anything else.

Love wasn’t a panoramic of a passionate kiss at sunset. It was knowing someone, learning them backwards and forwards, all the good and the bad pieces of them. It was staying, not despite everything, but because of it.

Peter loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

--------------------

The doorbell rang at the end of dinner. Sam rushed to get to the door before his sisters- if he was lucky, it was their batty old neighbor Mrs Gorschtt and she would prattle on for fifteen minutes about her cat, shove a cake into Sam’s hands, and get him out of having to help clean the kitchen.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Mrs Gorschtt standing on the front porch, it was Peter.

“Hey, dude, what’s up? We don’t have like a math test tomorrow I blanked on, do we?”

“Huh?” Peter blinked at him, “No, no.”

“So, what’s up?” Sam stepped out onto the porch beside Peter, closing the front door behind him. Maybe he could still get out of washing the dinner dishes.

“Uh- so, the thing is-” Peter muttered, twisting one of the strings from his hoodie between his fingers. Sam’s stomach dropped; something was wrong. Peter was nervous, uncertain about something. He wasn’t looking Sam in the eye, and he had one arm wrapped around his stomach like a shield. His head started spinning with a million different things Peter could be upset about, but the thing Sam kept coming back to- he knew.

Somehow, Peter had finally figured him out. And he was coming to tell Sam- what? That they couldn’t be friends anymore? That Sam had made it weird?

“Pete-” Sam started, trying to cover his bases, trying to fix this before his best friendship in the world went up in flames.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” Peter interrupted, finally looking at Sam.

“What?”

“Pete. You’re the only one.”

“I- we’re friends, dude, I’m allowed to have nicknames.” Sam tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, even to his ears.

“I- I know,” Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he was staring at Sam like he was a page of history notes he was trying to memorize. “I got your text.”

“Oh, uh okay.”

“Sammy, I uh, I have to say something, and I want you to promise you’ll let me finish.”

Sam’s stomach dropped even further. Here it was. The end of everything. “Right,” he tried to smile at Peter, “sure dude, whatever you need.”

Peter nodded. “You’ve been my best friend since the fifth grade. You know all of my secrets, all the bad things that I don’t tell anyone else. You know that I don’t like orange-flavored things because I had too much orange-flavored medicine as a child and that I stay up too late studying the night before a test and I panic after I finish taking it. You watch movies I recommend, even though you think High School Musical 2 is the best movie ever made, you- god-” Peter scrubs his hands through his hair, clenching his eyes closed briefly- “this would be so much easier if I could just- you can see the big picture. Like with this you could just- take the words, the discrete pieces of data and put them together. Make it cohesive, coherent. I’m not making sense,” he muttered.

“Pete-”

“I don’t want to just spend the night after study dates.” Peter blurted out abruptly. His face froze, like he wasn’t sure what he just said, like he was terrified Sam was going to misunderstand. “I- I mean. I want to do real dates. With you. And spend the night and wear your clothes and have my hoodies smell like you and watch you spin around in the morning show chairs without having to worry about you catching me and I want to see you without gel in your hair and I want to lean against you when we have movie nights and-”

“Pete.”

“Sammy,” Peter said, kind of breathless. “Go on a date with me.”

“Like a study date?” Sam said, also kind of breathless.

“Like a date-date. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, just- come here-” and then Sam’s hands were on either side of Peter’s face and his fingers were in his hair and Peter’s hands were caught in Sam’s sweater and then-

Peter kissed like he didn’t know all the answers, for once, and he was okay with it. Peter kissed like he was memorizing everything about the moment. Peter kissed like he was planning on replaying it like an old video tape, over and over until the tape wore thin and tore. Peter kissed like he could hear the orchestra playing behind them, like they were in some cheesy made for tv rom com and were about to get their happy ending.

Peter kissed like Sam was his happy ending.

Finally, they broke apart- more to catch their breath than anything else.

“Hell of a study date,” Sam breathed, unable to stop smiling.

“Shut up.” Peter was smiling, too.

And, leaning back in, Sam did.

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etraytin · 4 years ago

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Quarantine, Day 178

September 5

A bit of late night journaling here because it was a busy day and I needed some decompression time after the kiddo and the kittens were safely asleep. Today was the day I set aside as our big cleaning day and have been warning the kiddo about for the past two days. To say he was unenthused would be putting it mildly. A lot of that is my fault because I am a lousy housekeeper and have never gotten him used to the simple pleasantness of a clean house, and to be honest I sort of agree with him when he says that he likes his room messy. I don't like, actually enjoy a messy room, but I do enjoy a room that requires none of my attention.

I suspect that he and I share the common ADHD trait of visual static, where familiar things in your surroundings literally drop out of your mind's eye until you are required to notice them for some reason. I can be surrounded by old plates and stacks of mail and balls of yarn until they're nearly cocooning me and never notice until my husband sighs and starts picking up or nudging me to do it myself. Then I open that mind's eye and suddenly am grossed out and have to clean up. I am okay if the kiddo never becomes a fastidious man, but I do need to know that he will have an acceptable threshold of "this is gross and I must correct it." We have some work to do there.

In any case, today we alternated working on our own rooms and on cleaning the living room. The strategy was a half hour on our rooms, a half hour on the living room, and then a half-hour's break, which included an episode of The Good Place. The first round was like pulling teeth. The kiddo was intensely whiny, did not want to do anything, demanded to know why we needed to clean, etc, etc, etc. I scolded him over the whiny voice and he complained in a normal voice, which was at least more bearable. Eventually, though, he did accustom himself to the idea that we would be cleaning today, especially with the deal sweetened with the promise of a Good Place marathon and something good to eat in the evening if we got a lot done. I also went in several times to help him with tricky bits in his room, places where the old papers or clutter had piled up in a way that threatened to overwhelm him, or in one case where he needed a new peg to fix his bookshelf. Luckily that shelf has given us enough trouble over the years that I had a whole package in my toolbox and we got it fixed up easily.

After three rounds, so basically an hour and a half of work, his room looked not perfect, but much better than it had. Wonder of wonders, once the bed was made with fresh sheets and soft blankets, he decided that maybe he didn't want to sleep on the floor after all and snuggled into his real bed tonight for the first time in two months or more. (I have made up his bed nearly as many times as he has pulled the sheets off for fort-related purposes with no success in getting him to sleep in the bed, but this time an extra-fuzzy blanket seems to have done the trick.)

The living room was challenging because it's a place where a lot of our stuff tends to accumulate when it comes up from the car. Things come into the apartment and never quite get where they're going, so I have little snowdrifts of items in the corners, waiting for my attention. That's actually one reason I started cleaning by organizing our bedroom closets and other storage spaces, because I didn't have any places to put the things I needed to put away. Just putting stuff away took the majority of my cleaning time in there, followed closely by "fixing the damn vacuum cleaner again." It really has no capacity whatsoever for coping with cat hair. But we got the living room cleaned and vacuumed, even used furniture polish to spiff up the coffee table and got all the gross stuff out from under the couch cushions. Again not perfect, but so much better! An hour and a half was not enough to finish my room, which also wound up being the staging area for our major laundry project, but it got much better and I have continued picking at it throughout the evening. I need to figure out how to get the two massive contractor bags full of clothes to donate down to the truck. I may wind up taking some of each and putting them into a third bag because discretion is the better part of valor. Tomorrow is for finishing the bedroom and cleaning the kitchen, after which point the house is going to be in the best shape it's been all year. I'm quite proud of myself already!

The kittens had a good day today, if by good I mean "eating like piranha and climbing on everything." They hit a milestone this morning when Robinton escaped the playpen and went wandering around on his own, so now the playpen tops have to be zipped when I'm not in the room. It won't be much longer before they can go into the three level kennel, but they have to figure out gravity and momentum a little better first. I didn't get to play with them as much as I'd have liked, but they got a couple half hour play sessions and of course they have lots of room and toys in the duplex playpen so it's not like they're deprived and lonely. And as much as they would deny it, they got a lot of food and ate all of it. Even Audiva now goes for the wet food with gratifying enthusiasm! We're now living through the food-change poops and that is never exactly fun, but this too shall pass. So to speak.

#quarantine #cleaning #foster kittens #parenting #adhd

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kodemunkey · 4 years ago

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ADHD and Me

I’m a British guy, 37 years old and I found out in April that I have innatentive adhd. I also have dyslexia, dyspraxia and suspected high functioning autism. I’ve seen a lot of things over the years about how people with adhd are always hyperactive and can never sit still. I’m neither of those things, I was always the “quiet, smart kid with his head in a book” It was only in October last year that it dawned on me that after years of struggling with my grades (always “acceptably bad” just enough to scrape by in school, college and later university, where they thought “Oh maybe he has dyslexia, let’s get him tested” I was seen and tested by one of the leading experts in the country to get my statement organised, and I utterly baffled them, as one of my test results came back as the highest test score she had ever seen, and this was a woman who had been doing this for close to fourty years solid at this point. So, I had my dyslexia statement and everything was figured out and I was pigeon holed quite nicely, next person please. I had gone to university, primarily to spite my school teachers (aside from one, who passed away a few years after i finished primary school and had always tried to find ways to help me, I miss her even now) My attempt at a foundation degree was, to be frank quite bad, as the college it was run through was labled as an “Arts College” But was anything but that, they would give you 6 weeks to do a project, where everything was to be done in a set way, you were expected to spend two and a half weeks researching and exhaustively analysing your research before going out to shoot and comng back and doing the same to your work and going out again to do more. I would go out and shoot for four weeks and come back with two weeks to spare to work on my analysis and just about made the cut for submissions. It wasn’t until four years on various courses with the same tutor that he thought I was “different” They spoke to the other tutors and staff, who knew me quite well at this point and decided I was an “intuative photographer” which I guess helped a little, but i still struggled. I somehow managed to scrape enough brainpower and grades together to go to the University For The Creative Arts (UCA) at Rochester in Kent. The difference in education styles was, to be frank, shocking and alarming. I didn’t have to produce a lick of written analysis or a single contact sheet and I had up to three months to produce a project! The quality of my work improved immensely, as did my grades when it came to my written work, I was a C average student, which is far more than I ever thought possible. I graduated with a third class honours degree in 2014. It’s now 2020 and I still can’t read or write for pleasure like I used to pre university. As for the employment situation, it’s been pretty bad for me, the Job Centre don’t know what to do with me, I’ve been on every single scheme they can get money to send me to, and i’m still no better off. I even tried to go self employed through a scheme they put me on, I chose to be a pet photographer after a lot of market research. The scheme provider and HMRC give you two years to turn a profit before they make you shut down if you’ve not earned anything. The Job Centre demanded I pull the plug after six months. I’m still continuing my photography, at present it’s a “profesional hobby” and i’m starting to alright with it. Fast forward to this year when I was diagnosed in April via a Zoom call (god how I loathe and hate video conferencing) by a wonderful consultant named Marco Cattani, who I believe is one of the leading ADHD experts. He told me after a conference between me and my older brother who had arranged everything that he suspects i have innatentive ADHD and possibly high functioning autism. I was in a daze for about two weeks after that, though i do remember at a followup conversation we spoke about medication, he told me all the options available to me and I asked to be prescribed medication from the weak side of the scale, my older brother also has ADHD and is on amphetamine based medication and it has benefited him immensely. He runs a web design agency in brighton with a sizeable staff and has a small art gallery too. Even before his diagnosis, he was, in any conventional sense successful, his agency has won numerous awards, he (pre covid) went on holiday a couple of times a year, owns his own house and has a flat he rents out in Brighton, he’s also married to his long term girlfriend and has a chubby ginger cat who adopted him out of the blue one day. Marco (the adhd consultant) prescribed me Concerta XL at 18 mg dose to start with, I now take 36mg once a day) What follows next is what taking Concerta XL was like (and still is) for me. Day 1, i take the tablet early in the day as I was told to, so that it would have time to kick in, which takes about 30 minutes to absorb it. 30 minutes later, my heart starts to race (which is something I was told would happen) I had to leave the house right there and then and I went for an extremely long walk (this was also during the opening stages of the Covid-19 pandemic here) Three hours later, I come back home and was still pretty wired from the tablet, so I spent the rest of the day alone in my room, not wanting to inflict myself on anyone. The next day, I felt utterly sick to my stomach and had a headache, I tried to actually be sick in the bathroom, but where i hadn’t eaten the previous day, there was nothing to get rid of. I sat dazed and under three huge blankets in the middle of an early summer, feeling like crap. My brother checked in on my later that day, having been told by my parents (who I live with) what had happened. He told me: “Oh, I should have warned you about that, I forgot”. That’s great, thanks for that. Over the next month, the palpitations gradualy subside as the tablets start to work. An “added bonus” is appetite control, pre meds, i was almost 22 stone as I would be eating and snacking all day long to try and control my anxieties (food and social mainly) These days, I don’t actually want to eat unless i’m going out on a (socially distanced) photoshoot. My weight has dropped off slowly since then and is almost stable, which has pretty much never happened before in my life. The most difficult thing I’m dealing with is that the meds are making me re-examine large parts of my life, to the point where I tell people that I feel like i’m owed the past 20 years of my life back. To me i’m somewhere between serious and it being a bit of a dark joke, to anyone on the outside they either don’t respond or say “well, we all wish that” It has also lead to me questioning my gender identity, which until this hit me in the face like a ton of bricks I didn’t know was even possible. I can’t talk to my family about this as they’re somewhat “traditional” and won’t understand, with the exception of my sister, who I belive identifies as asexual. I have a long way to go before I figure out the “normal” for me, which I guess is true for a lot of people during the current pandemic. I myself used to believe the adhd stereotypes before I found out i have it and am now on medication, now though I see things very differently. While the tablets do help me to focus on things (such as this) It’s taken me about 4 hours to type out and I feel like this is the most useful thing I can do today, even though I have photoshoots to organise for the next month. Medication is extremely useful, but it’s also life changing, It’s basically like having your brain removed, spun around, put back in and then rewired on the fly. I’ll have to stay on these things for the rest of my life, which is fine. Thank you for reading.

#adhd #medication #writing #kodemunkey #autism #questioning

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vincent-frankenstein · 5 years ago

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different anon, but heck yeah u should definitely infodump about lucid dreaming!! im really interested in it

aaaaa okay !!! uh hold onto ur ears yall im abt to talk em off lmao

so !! if u didnt know, lucid dreaming is basically when you become aware that you’re dreaming while youre in a dream. once you’re aware, you can take control of the dream in literally any way u want — u can do anything, go anywhere, meet anyone, all with the knowledge that nothing can hurt u and nothing can stop u

its a fascinating concept and, the feeling when u actually become lucid for the first time? its better than anything else in the world. its the most invigorating thing u can ever feel, i think. but actually becoming lucid is, ,, , , hm. a time and a half.

putting the rest under a cut bc, hooooo boy this is gonna get long

first things first! you absolutely have to keep a dream journal. forgetting ur dreams is all well and good when ur not trying to accomplish anything in them, but if you become lucid and then wake up with only the vaguest memory of what you actually did? thats painful.

u can either go all out and get a fancy journal and write them down physically each morning, or u can do what i do and just download an app. i personally use the app Dream Catcher, which lets u tag ur dreams for easy organization. just get in the habit of writing down your dreams every morning, and if you really, really cant remember anything, just write down that you didnt dream anything that day. you’ll train your brain to remember your dreams better

secondly! reality checks! are absolutely imperative! the idea behind them is that, if you do something throughout the day that “proves” your reality, eventually you’ll start doing it in your dreams as well. for example, a common thing in my dreams is that i’ll have extra fingers, so i check my hands a lot throughout the day.

it can’t just be a casual thing, too. if all you do is glance at your hands and b like “yo looks normal, we gucci”, then you’ll do the same in your dreams even if you have Weird hands. trust me, Dream-You is an idiot, you gotta be obvious with this stuff. take a few moments, look at your hands, count out your fingers, and really think to yourself “am i dreaming?”

try to get in the habit of doing that at least 15 times a day, and eventually you’ll start doing it in your dreams too.

now, if you just stick with doing those two things — which is what i’m doing right now — your chances of becoming lucid will raise astronomically. even just those two tiny things can train your brain into realizing when the world around you is real and when it isnt. you can also attempt something really easy called a MILD — a mnemonic-induced-lucid-dream — which can help your chances even more without upping the effort

whenever you go to bed, just take a few moments — even just five minutes can help — and just. lay there. and think to urself, again and again “the next scene will be a dream” or “i will become lucid in my dreams tonight” or something similar. get ur brain really focused on lucid dreaming right before you fall asleep and chances are, those Vibes will bleed over into ur dreams and you’ll become lucid

practice those three things consistently, every day, and pretty soon you’ll start becoming lucid. it takes time, though! dont be discouraged if you end up not becoming lucid for the first few weeks, or even months. sometimes your brain just needs a bit of extra training

that’s what ive been doing for the past year or so — bc damn do i Not have the energy to actually put in too much effort — but!!! there are other techniques!!

my personal favorite is the WBTB, or wake-back-to-bed method. with this technique, you set your alarm for roughly 5-6 hours after you go to sleep so you’ll wake up inside of one of your REM cycles, specifically one where your dreams will be the most vivid. dont do anything, just roll over and go right back to sleep.

you can even use a MILD along with this, repeat whatever mantra u usually use as you fall back asleep. you should start to see hypnagogic imagery — blobs of color and vague shapes floating before your eyes. just observe them. at one point, they’ll start forming more familiar shapes, and places, and maybe even people — and there should be a moment, a snap, where you go from observing these images to actually being in the scene. you literally build the dream around yourself, its magical

i have read that WBTB can cause sleep paralysis, but i’ve never personally experienced any problems with it, aside from the fact that im always tired the next day.

another thing that could severely increase your chances of being lucid but also involves Effort — meditation. specifically mindfulness meditation. the act of bringing full awareness to your Existence, honing in on just Your body, Your mind, Your breath, will make you a more aware, mindful person, which in turn makes you more perceptive of dream signs. also, the ability to clear your mind and center yourself with a moment’s notice really comes in handy when the dream becomes destabilized and you have to take control

if ur an adhd lad like me — or neurodivergent in any way, really — the idea of meditation can be,,,, terrifying. honestly, i havent meditated in like six months now, because it really wasnt?? doing anything for me?? mostly because im absolutely incapable of sitting still for that long without Something to stimulate me

so! loophole! guided meditations. having someone else guide you through the process can make it a bit easier to focus. just find one that works for u on youtube. there are even guided meditations made specifically to prime ur brain for lucid dreaming!

so thats how you get lucid. now for when youre lucid

at first, lucid dreaming is going to be extremely hard. dreams fall apart very easily — if you get too overexcited or if a dream-character looks at you the wrong way or if you cant seem to do what you want to do, your lucidity can fade and you’ll either go back to being your normal dream self or you’ll wake up. dreams are volatile and hard to control, and even harder to master

thats where meditation comes in handy. youll have a much easier time controlling your dreams if you can look at the world around you, take a breath, center yourself, and know that you can control it. that being said, you can absolutely learn to take control without ever having meditated a day in your life. its all about your mindset!

you have to go into it with confidence. the key to controlling your dreams is knowing that they’re your dreams. you cant forget that you’re in control. thats why i feel like learning to lucid dream doubles as a lesson in self-confidence — you have to learn to trust yourself, trust that you can handle any scenario thrown at you and come out on top.

if you can achieve this mindset, you can literally do anything. ive had maybe 50 lucid dreams since i started learning about them — which… is honestly a really low amount, but. i havent really had the time/energy to really throw myself into it as much as i want to. but just in those dreams, ive flown, ive shapeshifted, ive met my sides, ive teleported to vast, gorgeous lands and seen some of the most beautiful things ive ever seen. anything is possible in a lucid dream; thats why its so worth it to put in the effort

but when youre first starting out, itll be extremely hard to maintain that mindset. like i said, Dream-you is dumb as shit — you’ll forget youre dreaming, you’ll be unable to control anything, you’ll wake up before you manage to accomplish anything. more often than not, the dream will destabilize, which is Not Fun

if the dream starts to destabilize — basically, if things start going fuzzy or vague, if you suddenly cant see, if you can feel ur body in bed, basically anything that points towards you waking up — there are ways to fix it. literally just spinning around helps for some reason? spin around, fall down, run ur hands along anything u can find and feel the texture, or just demand that the dream stabilize itself. most of the time, thatll work

and if it doesnt, dont be discouraged. theres always another night to dream

so basically: start a dream journal, do reality checks, mmmmaybe meditate if youre up for it, and your dreams will become like. at least 10x more interesting. trust me, try flying: its literally the best feeling in the entire world

its just !!! such a huge, incredible thing, and its so fascinating to learn about too. all the different ways you can train your brain, all the different things you can do, all the studies done on the subject. i suggest reading about Steven LaBerge or keith hearne. hearne led the study that proved lucid dreaming existed in the first place! he got a lucid dreamer to signal to him that he was conscious while asleep using REM (rapid-eye movement), because lucid dreaming happens during the REM state. also, robert waggoner’s book Gateway to the Inner Self is really fascinating too!

hm wow i really went ham here lmao

thanku for giving me a chance to infodump im very happy rn

#me: /spends a full half-hour infodumping abt something most people havent even heard of/#now if only i could remember this much when it comes to schoolwork lmaooooo #ty for the Infodump Permission im !! vibin rn #lowkey highkey this makes me wanna get back into it. . . might do a wbtb tonight...#personal #logan talks #lucid dreaming #Anonymous

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hallowtide · 5 years ago

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What are the best ways to help with ADHD/ADD?

Answered on Quora by Iris Crain on July 30th, 2019.

https://qr.ae/TWvd59

I can answer you from the perspective of someone with Adult ADHD that started in childhood, mother of three with ADHD, and now at least three of my grandchildren are diagnosed…

First, you need to *understand* us. Our brains are literally wired differently. They’re calling it “Neural diversity” now, which I like because it really is just thinking differently, not so much like we’re crippled by some ‘disorder.’ But life for us is like having 35 tabs open in your browser, all on different topics across several genres, and knowing exactly how each one corralates to the others (I actually do this a lot, boggles my husband’s mind.) It’s like having five different radio stations going all at once in our heads, rock, talk radio, news, classical and reggae.

And we really want to be understood. The biggest issues in relationships is when we feel the other person doesn’t understand us and we feel alone. My son had an issue over 20 years ago where he was being defiant in the principal’s office in the presence of a police officer. When I walked in, the cop was unclasping his handcuffs to take him to Juvenille hall. I sat in a child-sized chair in front of my son and said “So, what’s going on?” After 10 mins of being heard, he was calm and understood that his response to the situation was inappropriate (although I took issue because he was being bullied) and the officer said he’d never seen anyone so effectively handle an ADHD kid that wound up. I replied “All he wanted was for his feelings to be heard and understood.”

We feel very deeply. We seem to get our feelings hurt pretty easily. Because we attach to the things that get our attention accutely, when they’re taken from us or otherwise destroyed, we feel like we’re being hurt. We’re often told we talk too much, because we want others to understand and feel things as muc has we do. And we don’t understand why people can go through life without feeling things like we do.

We’re not stupid. I was tested and have a 167 IQ. And yet I forget simple things like remembering to set my alarm the night before so I make an appointment, or what I had for dinner last night. I can hear a song and tell you the song title, band name, and usually the album name, what the album cover looked like, the track, the lead singer, and often a bit of other trivia about the song, band or album. My husband calls me his “own personal ‘Behind the Music’.” Yet many ADHD kids grow up to be adults with a lot of self esteem issues from being called lazy, stupid, crazy, spoiled or weird. They often have PTSD (and some like me have actual physical scars) from bullying, poor grades because they just don’t think like the other kids, and a high suicide rate.

We move at a very fast pace. We thrive in situations were we can apply what we know and are good at in a focused manner. My ADHD son would be so into a video game he wouldn’t notice his bathroom urges and wet his pants as a teenager. If I’m working on an important project or event, I typically spend the last two weeks before the event in what my kids call “pre event psychosis” where I get almost zero sleep, only face-planting my keyboard for 15 mins at a time, with little side effects. My husband says he marvels at everything I do out-of-sight until he notices them or I bring them up. My grandparents used to call it “running circles around them” (sometimes literally.)

We want to be helpful, and involved. We forget that people might not want our help, beause we’re so busy butting in trying to join in. We have so many ideas how you can improve what you’re doing that we don’t understand why you’re comfortable doing things the same way every time. Or by yourself. Or it’s not the best/fastest/most fun way possible. We don’t understand why people say “go away, I’ll do it myself” or “I don’t want your help.”

We’re easily distracted. Scatter-brained. Forgetful. Spastic. For example the other day I was sitting at my desk writing a fiction story on my computer, fixing a USB charging cord, making a short grocery list, organizing my top desk drawer and talking to people in the room, all at the same time. I also fed the fish on my desk, and periodically swapped out the page of the document I was scanning into my computer. What most people don’t understand is that ADHD people can actually do that, and we’re usually good at it. We will also have a thousand and one unfinished projects.

We need different coping mechanisms. For some ADHD people, they need quiet to function, to keep the distractions limited. Me, I like to listen to music, preferably non-lyrical like “handpan” music or binural tones. Something with energy. I put headphones on and five hours later I have the outline of a small novel (and sometimes that’s bad, because it started as a simple reply on facebook that went WAY out of control!!) However, if my husband can’t find something in the fridge, without looking up from my computer I can say “second shelf, towards the back, under the sour cream behind the mayo.” And my office area that looks so cluttered and disorganized? I know what and where everything is, so please don’t move anything.

Yet we’re visionary too! Some of the best writers, philosophers and scientists were or are ADHD. We think outside the box so much, we forget to think *inside* the box, and “Neuraltypical” people don’t have a reference in normal thinking to understand what we’re talking about. It’s not anyone’s fault, we literaly have a different perspective on the world. We can imagine all the “what ifs” in the universe (which can challenge even the most patient parent.) But we’re usually very good problem solvers, inventors and creators.

We get easily frustrated. Because we move at such a fast pace, we have trouble learning the rest of the world dosen’t manifest things as fast as we’d like. We want to be instant Mozarts and Wozniaks, we want the paint to dry faster, we want our TV show to come on now, we want to arrive at our destination as soon as we pull out of the driveway (are we there yet?) We can be pushy and demanding beause we want things to go at our speed. And if we grasp a concept, we want to move on to the next step, whether the people around us are on the same page or not.

We also have trouble slowing down, which is why things like belly breathing, grounding and centering, meditation, yoga, martial arts or even simple playtime in the bath can improve our mood and behavior rather impressively. Learning to do these things is hard for us though…

We get easily depressed. The problem with moving fast in a slower paced world is that we get disapointed on a regular basis. We’re different, and a lot of ADHD people describe feeling like a “Stranger in a Strange Land” (good book by the way…) With all the expectations we have of ourselves and our world, and the disapointment from them, people with ADHD have some of the highest rates of mental health disorders and suicidal ideation overall. (It’s also why learning how to adjust one’s perspective and let go of expectations and live in the now is so theraputic for us.)

Our brains specialize. Much like a savant, we’re usually really good at something, but lackluster at most of the other things around us. When we fixate on a topic or field, it’s one of the few times that we are able to shut out the distractions, and so we excel at that thing. The drawback is that it’s also really hard to get interested in anything else. If we’re good at math in school, we don’t hear the bell ring ending the class, we get distracted at our locker looking *one more time* at those equasions, and we miss 90% of everything the next four teachers talk about because in our head we’re seeing numbers and fractions and sums. (As you can tell, mine was English class, adding sociology in college.)

The best way you can help us is to understand us. Be patient. Be kind. Don’t get angry when we try to help. Or when we don’t remember. Learn more about how we think and approach us from our perspective once in a while. Help us set up the structures, reminders and mechanisms that help us function. Or at least try not to throw us off-track if we’re doing good.

For kids, give them lots of stuff to do, but make sure it’s something that catches their interest. Don’t be surprised when that interest changes overnight. Learn the concept of a “teaching moment.” In those moments, you have their attention - use it to teach them why the situation is good or bad. Don’t nag about the failures or differences as much as recognizing and praising the successes. ADHD people have so many little failures throughout the day that praising us for a success goes a log way.

Realize they are mini adrenaline junkies! My daughter’s teacher realized she needed to be evaluated at seven when, instead of going around the table like most her peers at that age would, to get a marker she wanted she not only went across the table for it, but she did so standing, not crawling, and didn’t understand why it was such an issue. I loved to climb trees, big tall pine trees, all the way where I could touch the top, despite it swaying from my weight, or my mother’s terrified screams.

Make them learn to read, without it they will have trouble finding coping mechanisms because neuraltypical people don’t think like they do, but in the myriad of universes and galaxies in stories they can find descriptions of things that their minds will connect with.

And it goes without saying I hope that most of all, we’re human. We deserve the same love and respect you would give anyone else. And if you do, you’ll find no better or more loyal helpers in all of society. Just let us be us.

#adhd #adult adhd #adhd inattentive type #adhd problems #adhd inattentive #living with adhd #adhdlife #add #adhd mood

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earlgreyandadderall-blog · 7 years ago

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What Does ADHD Look Like In Girls? - Things I Wish I Knew Ten Years Ago

Hello world!

I'm back, as promised, and today I'm going to talk about some stuff I wish I knew ten years ago- ADHD symptoms that are common in girls but often get overlooked. Why, you may ask? Because a teacher or parent normally won't notice that a child is struggling unless it's very apparent – if she is extremely hyperactive and disruptive, for example – or if the child admits that they are struggling. That girl in the corner who's always daydreaming, but still gets good grades? Or the one who has a hard time making friends or making relationships work, but otherwise seems "normal" (whatever that means)? She's going to be passed over while her teacher is busy worrying about the boy who can't stay in his seat for more than five minutes. Plus, girls with ADHD are more likely than boys to internalize their struggles, so if you or your child is anything like me, you might not realize something is off until high school or even later, and even when you do, you might be too embarrassed to ask for help.

If anyone besides my mom ever starts reading this blog, one thing that would make me really really happy and feel as if I've made a difference is if even one young woman out there doesn't have to go through the failed relationships, ruined friendships, and lost semesters that I had to go through before she realizes something deeper is going on than just laziness and being emotional. If you're a girl who often feels like she's getting in her own way and suspects there might be something up, but aren't really sure what it might be, here are some often-overlooked ADHD symptoms that you might relate to.

1. Daydreaming/Getting Bored in School

As long as I can remember, I've had a hard time paying attention in class. When I was very young, I would get called out for daydreaming all the time. I worked on my French homework in science class, flipped aimlessly through my agenda while the teacher was talking, and doodled all over ever single desk I've ever sat in. In grade five, I got in trouble for – get this – reading a book during a spelling test. Don't ask me how I thought I was gonna get away with that, but I was sooooooo booooooored and the teacher was taking soooooo loooooong to read these words that I knew how to spell in grade one. That's a big reason why inattentiveness in female students often gets overlooked- girls with ADHD don't usually perform poorly, especially in elementary school. Because I was gifted, my inattentiveness was treated as a quirk rather than a problem. I had a handful of teachers who tried to give me harder work to keep me motivated, but more often than not I was left to entertain myself. It always bothered me that kids who needed extra help got IEPs, the latest learning technologies, and one-on-one time with the teacher, but kids like me, who needed an extra challenge, were neglected

2. Impulsive Spending

The most important thing to keep in mind when analyzing the behaviour of people with ADHD is that our brains don't produce or transmit enough dopamine, which is the feel-good chemical that controls reward-motivated behaviour. Because of that, we seek out anything that will give us a dopamine rush... the only problem is that those behaviours are usually impulsive. You know the saying money can't buy happiness? Yeah, not necessarily true for ADHD brains. At least for a little while after buying something we've managed to convince ourselves we so totally need, we actually do feel really happy, because we're experiencing a dopamine high. My friend recently got me into doing my makeup properly, and I'm embarrassed to admit how much I've spent at Sephora in the last month. I know it's dumb, but I do it anyway. Why? Because ADHD brains have a hard time distinguishing what is urgent from what is important. Once I get it in my head that I need that contour kit right now (because what if a surprise event comes up in the next week?), I can't convince myself otherwise. That sense of urgency releases dopamine, which tells my brain that wasting $60 to look more like the MUAs on Instagram will make me happy. And for an hour or two it does!... Until I look at my bank account.

3. Relationship Problems

So, dopamine rush-producing behaviours are usually impulsive, right? What does that look like when it comes to romantic relationships? Dopamine-seeking brains love anything that's new and novel, and that includes the first phase of a relationship, when you're sooooo in love and can't get enough of each other. Of course, that phase ends, and neurotypical people settle into a more lowkey relationship just fine. ADHD brains? Not so much. If you don't recognize what you're experiencing as a dopamine withdrawal, you may interpret it is a lack of love from your partner, or as a sign that the relationship is getting boring. I tend to fall into the first category, and people like me can become really insecure thinking that our partner doesn't care about us. We become excessively demanding and need dramatic displays of affection all the time, which naturally alienates our partners. If you're somebody who just gets bored, that can result in two unhealthy behaviours: one, moving really quickly from one relationship to the next and never learning how to be alone, and two, cheating. If any or all of these three behaviours are a pattern in your life, you just might have a dopamine shortage, and are unknowingly looking to your partner(s) to fix it.

4. Word Vomit

It's really hard for me to explain my tendency to over-explain every little thing (ha, that's ironic), especially if I'm nervous about it. Have you ever taken seven sentences to say something that could have been said in one? Found yourself repeating the same thing in different words three times? I find I do this the most when I'm apologizing, or trying to explain why I did something that someone else didn't like or understand. You think you're being helpful, but really you're just annoying the other person. Then you realize how annoying you're being, and apologize for being annoying five times, and now they're annoyed with you for apologizing for being annoying... okay, that's when you know it's time to turn your phone off and cool down. On top of excessive explaining, ADHD brains can get a little word vomit-y when we're talking about something we're passionate about. Just ask my mom- get me on the Israeli occupation of Palestine, or, at the moment, information about ADHD, and you won't get me off it. Sometimes we don't really know when to shut up. If you have a tendency to keep talking even when you know nobody is listening anymore, then you might want to keep reading.

5. Road Rage

Everybody road rages once in a while (okay, I'm told that not everyone does, but I don't believe it. Come on, how can you NOT scream at the person in front of you going 5 km under the speed limit?) but I legitimately feel claustrophobic and panicky if I'm on a four-lane highway stuck behind a car in each lane going the same speed and I can't get out to pass them. If the person in front of me is doing something stupid, I could literally run them over I get so frustrated, and not just if I'm already cranky- I yell at someone on the road every single day. I'm told this is “apparently” because of our “inattentiveness” and “inability to sit still”, and not because everyone else on the road is a freaking idiot. I don't know if I believe it, but that's what I'm told, anyway. ADHD brains are also more likely to get into car accidents. I've never been in a major accident while driving, thank God, but I'm only 22, and I've had four minor fender benders that, embarrassingly, didn't involve other cars, but me driving into things in parking lots. Once, I just wasn't looking behind me and backed into a pole. Another time, I thought that texting in the Tim Hortons drive-thru was a good idea. You get the idea.

6. Forgetfulness

Again, everybody forgets things once in a while. But if you're forgetting or misplacing your homework, your car keys, your purse, your work pants (yes, I have actually lost a pair of pants before) every single day, then there might be a problem. Once, I parked my car near campus, spent the day studying in my friends' office, and then got a ride back to my car at the end of the day. My friend Dan was driving up and down the street I told him I had parked on asking me "is that your car? What about that one?" before I realized that I had parked on a different street on the other side of campus. I never thought being a bit scatterbrained was a problem, and if it only happens once in a while, it probably isn't. But all of these symptoms together paint a different picture.

7. Difficulties With Motivation

I never really enjoyed studying, and I guess I was lucky that throughout grade school and high school, I didn't have to do very much of it. It's not that I didn't like learning, it's just that studying for extended periods of time is so boring. Even in my first three years of university, my super strict immigrant parents watched me like a hawk, so I did what I needed to do, as difficult as it was at times. That all changed when my fourth year rolled around and I moved to Ottawa for an exchange. With no one to stand at the foot of my bed and scream at me until I dragged myself out of it, I just... didn't. It wasn't because I didn't want to, it was just that I couldn't bring myself to. Same went for going to class, doing my readings, handing in assignments, showing up for exams... it wasn't pretty. This can also be a symptom of depression, and many people with ADHD, myself included, meet the diagnostic criteria for depression. The difference is that people with depression can't get out of bed because they're depressed; people with ADHD get depressed because they won't get out of bed. We aren't lying in bed all day because our mood is low, but because we struggle with executive functioning - motivation, planning, organizing, and self-managing. Those things happen in the prefrontal cortex, and ours are underdeveloped. It can be hard to distinguish where the cycle begins for you, and before being diagnosed, I thought I had depression for sure, but as soon as my psychiatrist explained how ADHD works to me, it fit like a glove.

8. Starting Projects and Never Finishing Them

This kind of goes hand in hand with lack of motivation, and it's something I've struggled with all my life. It's also one of the very few ADHD symptoms that isn't also a hallmark of something else, like depression or anxiety, so it should be a huge red flag if it's accompanied by some of these other symptoms! Most people tend to procrastinate things they don't want to do, like studying or cleaning their room. A big indicator that you might be dealing with something more than just laziness is when you procrastinate or don't finish even things you actually really want to do. And it's not because you're lazy or don't want to do it, it's because as great as it sounds, you just... can't. If you've ever started a scrapbook and tossed it to the side three days later, tried to start a club on campus but let it fall to the wayside, or created a blog then never actually updated it (I meant to have this posted a solid five days ago, whooooops), then you know what I'm talking about.

9. Being Scatterbrained

You're in the middle of a sentence and you completely lose your train of thought. Alternatively, you'll be halfway through a sentence then think of something more important that you want to say and totally abandon the idea you're halfway through and start talking about the new one instead. You interrupt people a lot, because you feel like you HAVE to say the thought that just popped into your head right now, lest it no longer be relevant if you wait five minutes, or even worse, you forget it again in 30 seconds. You're in the middle of an important text conversation but you open Instagram while you're waiting for them to text back... then half an hour later you're creeping your crush's ex's brother's best friend when you realize you never answered that super important text. You zone out while people are speaking directly to you, which makes you look super rude because it seems like you aren't paying attention. Our inability to focus hard on things can affect our lives in ways you never would have guessed- for example, I am terrible at proofreading and finding typos, and the number of assignments I've handed in with words missing from the middle of sentences is embarrassing. If this sounds like you (and if course, if this happens all day every day rather than once in a blue moon, because everybody get scatterbrained when they're overwhelmed), then you've come to the right place.

10. Being SUPER Enthusiastic... Sometimes

We've already established that ADHD brains can have trouble with motivation and with staying committed to something long-term, but that doesn't capture the entire picture. If you think of depression as basically always being in a low state, ADHD is different in that you sort of swing from highs to lows and back again. Like I mentioned, ADHD brains don't have enough dopamine transmitters, and we kind of get addicted to anything that does produce a dopamine high. So if something does make us happy or excited, we're gonna be the happiest, most excited people on earth. My psychiatrist gave me a situation where an ADHD person might win $5 on a scratch off ticket, but the way they jump up and down all excited makes the people around them think they've won a million dollars. In my case, this often looks like getting really excited about a paper or assignment for a class I'm particularly interested in. I'll take out books from the library and hyper-focus on planning the assignment for about three days... then the whole "starting a project but never finishing it" kicks in, and that's a whole different story...

11. Verbal Aggression (As Opposed to Physical Aggression)

Although I don't mean to generalize or to imply that every single boy or girl is the same, this tends to be a notable difference between girls with ADHD and their male counterparts. Girls are much less likely to be physically violent, but when you piss us off, or trigger our Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (that's what my next post is going to be about, by the way!)… watch out. You might get a verbal beatdown like you've never experienced before. This is one of the ugliest and most frustrating things about having ADHD for me. I'll tell the people I love that I hate them, that they're ruining my life, that I wish they were never born; I'll pick on the things I know they're sensitive about and call them every curse word in the book... only to regret it five minutes and sheepishly try to convince this deeply wounded person that I didn't actually mean it. It sucks. Big time.

And finally, the one I really wish I knew all this time...

12. Being Diagnosed With Something Else

Throughout this post, I've given a dozen examples of the ways ADHD symptoms can appear like symptoms of depression and anxiety. ADHD in girls is notoriously misdiagnosed, and girls with ADHD are three times as likely as boys to be treated for depression before being properly diagnosed. Beyond that, ADHD can be comorbid with anxiety and depression. I've dealt with anxiety and panic attacks since I was eight, and was formally diagnosed with anxiety at 17. When I was diagnosed with ADHD, I was told that I meet all the diagnostic criteria for depression, but it was likely that treating my ADHD would make it go away. My depression went away within literally one week of starting ADHD medication. My anxiety did not go away, but it has been reduced by about 50%. I realized that about half of the somatic experiences I identified as panic attacks were not triggered by mental anxiety but by sensory overload because, as ADHD brains do, I was perceiving way too much of what was going on around me and getting overwhelmed to the point that I would experience panic attack symptoms- dizziness, shortness of breath, nausea, you know the drill. Another statistic that would have made a difference in my life is that girls with ADHD are 2.7 times more likely to suffer from anorexia nervosa than girls without ADHD. I struggled with anorexia from age 16 to 19, so this was quite a shock to discover three years later. There's definitely some cool brain science behind that why that is, so maybe it'll be the subject of a future post!

If you have any questions about this post, or think that you or a loved one might be dealing with ADHD, do not hesitate to reach out to me with any questions! I also want to stress that this might seem like a lot, and that anyone dealing with all of this crap would stand out from a mile away, but if that was the case, so many of us wouldn’t go undiagnosed until post-secondary. I experienced all twelve of these signs and symptoms, but the only ones that pushed me to see a psychiatrist were relationship problems, difficulty with motivation, and verbal aggression. Most of these things didn’t seem like they were impacting my day-to-day functioning- I get good grades, have a job, and have no trouble making friends. So please don’t get fall into the trap of telling yourself that what you’re going through “isn’t bad enough to be a real problem.” If something feels off, see a doctor, because you deserve to live the best life possible.

That’s all for now folks! Stay tuned for my next post about Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria.

#adhd in girls #adhd #attention deficit hyperactivity #mental health #adderall #earlgreyandadderall #adhd symptoms #girls with adhd #depression #anxiety #eating disorders #anorexia #anorexia nervosa #stress

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annegreifwrites · 3 years ago

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thread - chapter 01 (part 1)

an original story about magic in the real world

I could start by telling you how it was just a day like any other, how everything was just like it had always been, but isn't it always, before something changes? The stories of normal days are never worth telling, everybody has normal days, there's nothing new in that, and the people who pick up books to read don't do it because they want to go back to their completely mundane and non-important days, do they? Did you? I bet no. If you're anything like me, you picked up this book because you don't particularly want to pay attention to your surroundings or deal with your world's issues right now, with your mundane life, so you'd rather hear about when my days started to get interesting.

If that's the case, then go ahead. Just know this: once you're finished, you might not look at some things the same way you did before, and if that happens. Well. Then you might just be different too.

Just, before I get to the interesting part of that first day, I figured I should give you some context. I'm a normal person, you know? I mean, average. I'm average. Always had average grades, a couple of average friends, average problems with family that were cured with some distance, a handful of average lovers along the way, anxiety issues and some basic ADHD most people from my generation seem to have picked up on the way to college, you know, normal. Or at least as normal as anyone is nowadays anyway.

I used to be normal, I mean, before all of this started, there was no real reason for it to happen to me - or with me, maybe - as far as I know, those things just. Happen. Like everything in life, I suppose, we just have to adapt and deal with them the best we can, and that's what I did. Sort of. But then again, I'm getting ahead of myself, I was giving you context, wasn't I?

Picture someone in a huge, beautifully busy city. At first being alone in such potentially hostile environment is extremely overwhelming, yes, but once that particular anxiety attack is done with, it was like life finally begun. Except it didn't. I moved out of my parents to go to college, to a course I wasn't exactly fond of, but gave me a scholarship so I wasn't exactly complaining. I was seventeen, with no big dreams besides leaving my small town, my family and every single bad thing that ever happened to me behind, but it turns out bad things still happen to you, even when you decide to take a different approach to life. Life doesn't always get the memo I guess.

I was taking some morning and afternoon classes and working whenever I wasn't in class, homework be damned, who needed that anyway? The first job I got was at the McDonald's near the small apartment I shared with three other college students, then I traded my disgusting, grease scented "lovin' it" shirt for a name tag that read "sandwich artist" on it. It wasn't much, but it paid the bills and gave me free relatively healthy meals a couple of times a day - and the lack of the cloud of grease and shameful outfits was a bonus.

Now, you're probably wondering why would you care about the professional experiences of someone barely legal, and to that I say: Hush. For this to work, you need to believe what I say it's important and matters to the story, so keep up. And as a matter of fact, my time at Subway is important because I was on my way to work the first time I met him.

Who's him, you ask? Well, now you're the one getting ahead of yourself.

When I say "him" it makes it sound so ominous though, doesn't it? That's not what I mean, trust me, it's not like that. He's more of an annoyingly brutally honest piece of mentally stable shit, really, the kind you just get used to having around at some point.

Like I said before, I was on the way to my shift the first time I saw him, it's hard NOT to see him really. He has this presence, it just demands to be noticed in a I'm tall and here so I'll make you notice me just by standing and breathing kind of way, completely effortless and still quite effective. It's just the sheer amount of confidence he has, combined with someone as slender and pale as him with styled silver hair on top. You see, it's hard to miss.

I was listening to music and trying hard to ignore the world using my noise cancelling headphones as a shield while dodging the faceless figures that moved around me when our eyes met. He was across the street, waiting the light to turn green to then come walking in my direction and he spotted me in the crowd as if our irises were magnets. He looked right through me. Not through me like most people would, making the shape of my body blend in with the ignored background in a blur of white noise. No, he saw me. He looked through me like my eyes were two keyholes and he could just see what was behind them, and by the smile that appeared on his face, he saw a fucking jackpot.

Now you need to understand, I don't usually look at people. I mean, I see them, their shapes, what they're wearing, what their hair is like - especially if they have colorful strands or cool tattoos - but I don't look at their face. Ever. I've lost count of the amount of times I've had trouble for not remembering what a stranger looked like or for not recognizing someone, being it a classmate, a Facebook friend, fucking family, you name it. Something about it just makes me incredibly uncomfortable and uneasy and I just can't make myself look a stranger in the face, it's like I'm intruding and staring at someone I'm not supposed to, so until we're friends you're a faceless blob to me.

So anyway, the fact that my eyes went straight to his - and that he was staring right back - freaked me the fuck out. My blood ran cold and I froze in my spot. I wasn't even sure I was breathing by that point. I couldn't look away and I couldn't move and my mind went on a spiral of both what the fuck you're doing, you're staring, just move and you just made this stranger hate you, great job (And consciously, yes, I know, a stranger's opinion about me shouldn't matter in the least, but hey, I never said any of this made sense, ok?) The song that blasted through my headphones seemed to grow exponentially louder by the second and in the century it took for the light to turn green, my poor, non medicated brain had come up with at least a dozen theories as to why that stranger loathed my guts. If that grumpy lady hadn't bumped into me and cursed, I'd probably still be glued to that same sidewalk to this day, stuck in the same paranoia. When I discovered how to move my limbs again, I stumbled with the wave of people that crossed the street, making my way to the other side, and somewhere along the way the stranger went missing.

I'm not exactly tall, so my efforts on spotting his silver hair amongst the sea of New Yorkers - heavily clothed, with colored hoodies and beanies, I might add - were useless. As cliché as that is, he was gone as quick as he appeared and by the end of that day I was already sure he was an hallucination or just the result of my lack of sleep.

That is, until I saw him again on the same crossing the next day.

He did the same thing; he always did the same thing. He'd stare right into my soul, smile, and walk past me into the crowd. A couple of days he'd nod a greeting, as if we knew each other, as

if I was supposed to recognize him. To remember him. And when that thought crossed my mind, that's when my paranoia went wild.

I started scanning every class I had, checking if they were all silver-hair-free. Turns out they were. There was also no sign of him on the places I usually went to, like the library or the coffee shop I had breakfast at or the building I lived in. It was like he only existed in the space and time of those few seconds each day. When I was almost certain he was just a glitch in the Matrix or a freaky dejá vù, he broke his pattern.

#orginal story #novel #thread #original work #novel writing #writing #2019

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sing-for-theongreyjoy · 7 years ago

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Equus Interview with Alfie Allen from March 18, 2008

Theatre and Dance Previews

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Alfie Allen

What's Alfie all about?!

Katy Lewis

The brother of Lily and son of Keith, Alfie Allen tells us about his first big stage role ahead of his arrival in Milton Keynes.

Equus

Milton Keynes Theatre

17-22 March 2008

Mon – Sat: 7.30pm Wed & Sat: 2.30pm

Starring Simon Callow, Alfie Allen, Linda Thorson and Laura O’Toole.

Psychiatrist Martin Dysart (Simon Callow) is brought the most challenging case of his career by magistrate Hester Saloman. Alan Strang (Alfie Allen) seems like a normal 17-year-old. His life is routine and his family loving. However, Alan’s passion for horses and his first experience with a girl, stable-hand Jill has led him to behave in the most devastating way. Only Dysart seems able to grasp the answer to this psychological puzzle.

With actor father Keith, music star sister Lily and film producer mother Alison Owen (Shaun of the Dead), it may have been inevitable that Alfie Allen would pursue a career in the spotlight.

He is undoubtedly the latest rising star of the Allen family, having appeared alongside Keira Knightley in the blockbuster film Atonement and who can also be seen at the moment on the big screen in The Other Boleyn Girl.

Alongside that, he has just turned his attention to the stage and can currently be seen in his first major role, alongside Simon Callow in Peter Shaffer’s award winning play Equus, where he plays troubled teen Alan Strang, the role which also brought Daniel Radcliffe critical acclaim in the West End last year.

But Alfie first came to public attention when his sister wrote a song about him - "Derek". OK, it's "Alfie", where the lyrics included the lines:

Ooooo deary me My little brother's in his bedroom smoking weed I tell him he should get up cos it's nearly half past three He can't be bothered cos he's high on THC I ask him very nicely if he'd like a cup of tea I can't even see him cos the room is so smoky

And since then, his various expulsions from school in a turbulent early life have been well-documented. So, what’s Alfie really all about? Well, as it turns out, he seems to be a rather thoughtful young actor who is thoroughly enjoying his new role on the stage. I spoke to him during the Equus tour where he told me more.

How would you describe Equus?

Alfie: It’s a play about a boy’s love for horses and the problems that arise during it – and that’s it in a nutshell, a really short way of putting it. It kind of questions what is normality and who’s got the right to say what is sane and what is insane and why is this boy’s passion for horses so wrong. That’s kind of what Simon Callow’s part, Martin Dysart does. He questions it and gets pulled into it. He’s supposed to be analysing this boy’s behaviour but starts admiring it.

So Alan Strang, your character, has got a kind of condition, and Simon Callow’s role is to look at it and while he’s looking at it, he begins to question whether what Alan is doing is actually normal and everybody else is wrong?

Alfie: That’s completely what it’s a about, yes.

Alfie Allen in Equus

This is a subject that’s always interested me – who has got the right to say what’s normal or not?

Alfie: Completely! That’s what Peter (Shaffer – the playwright) said to me when I had a meeting with him. He said that what made him write the play was that he started thinking about things like, why do some men like blonde girls, what makes us like these things, what makes us who we are? It’s just a very interesting play that raises a lot of issues.

Alan Strang is described as a horse-crazed anguished creative, yet disturbed, teen. Is that how you’d describe him?

Alfie: Yes. In the play there’s a couple of lines where the mother says he’s a very gentle sensitive young boy, which he is, yet he still does these terrible, terrible crimes, which is what it’s kind of all about really.

And he’s under a psychiatrist, but the play is questioning what’s normal and what’s not, so in a sense, is the play having a pop at psychiatry as a profession?

Alfie: Maybe it was when it was written in 1973, but I think that now, the methods of psychiatry have changed so much that I don’t think it’s having a pop at psychiatry, I think it’s almost just having a pop at authority really. I say that, but it’s so broad really, and that’s why I think people should just come and see it because everyone will have their own opinion of it. It really covers so many issues. It’s a very interesting play and I think whoever comes to see it, whatever age they are, or sex they are, they can bring something different away from it.

It’s well known that Daniel Radcliffe played this part in the West End and there was a big hoo hah about him being naked. Obviously you are doing that too – how do you prepare for something like that?

Alfie: You just do it really. I went to the gym a lot to keep myself in shape, not really to make myself look good but to keep healthy because it’s such a demanding part. But in terms of the nudity, funnily enough, it was harder doing it in the rehearsal rooms than on the stage for the first time. Because when you’re doing it in front of 900 people you don’t know, it’s easier than doing it in front of 20 people that you do know. But the first time you do it, you just do it.

You’ve done quite a few films recently but this is your first stage role, was that daunting?

Alfie: It was at first but I’ve learnt so much going along. I thought theatre would be a little but more difficult, but to be honest I don’t think you can even compare the two, I think they’re so different. Obviously in theatre you work chronologically so you kind of know where your emotions are supposed to be and you’re always on top of things, and as an actor you always know what’s coming next.

I haven’t played a huge role like this in TV and film but I think I can basically take what I’ve learned in doing theatre and apply it to TV and film. In those, I could be doing my most important scene on the first day of filming and then go back to the beginning the next day, so you need to know where your emotions are.

Theatre seemed more difficult at first, but once I got into it, you kind of go into autopilot on the stage, and always know where you are supposed to be.

As you say, it’s a very demanding role. Have you found it quite easy to relate to the character?

Alfie: Yes, but I think any actor of my age would find something in this play to relate to. I think that’s how any actor would make their performance convincing, by bringing an element of themselves into the character.

You can say to actors that you’ve got to be the character and really get into it but you have to make it realistic by bringing an element of yourself into it.

I saw a psychiatrist when I was younger because I had ADHD and I had some problems with authority, so I guess I can kind of relate to that in a way. I know what it’s liked to be probed and to be asked questions where people are looking for a certain answer, and are trying to pull something out of your answer. So, in terms of that I knew what it was like to see a psychiatrist, but in terms of the love for horses it was kind of hard to relate to.

During rehearsals I went to a stable up in Wimbledon, and I got to groom horses – and there’s a very important part in the play where I have to groom a horse – and I definitely saw the sensual side of it. It was strange being up close and personal to horses like that but I could kind of see what Peter was thinking when he wrote the play, and about why Alan was like this. I could see where his love for horses came from.

I read a quote from you that said you were born angry! Do say if you didn’t say it, but it’s been well-documented that you’ve been expelled from various schools so are you an anguished creative too?

Alfie: Well, I’m just like any person really, if you are pushed too far you can crack, and get angry but I don’t think I said I was born angry!

Alfie Allen in Equus

It’s also well-known that you come from a family of performers, so was it inevitable that you would act? Were you encouraged or discouraged from performing?

Alfie: Neither, I always wanted to do it. Obviously I saw dad, but I didn’t see him in a film or something and say ‘oh wow that’s what dad does, I want to do that’. It was more seeing him with his friends and with other people and seeing how he made people laugh and suddenly just create a character out of thin air. I think that’s what made me want to be an actor.

It took me a while to realise that’s what dad does for a living, but even at school I was a bit of a class clown, and did impersonations of people and was good at drama – I did GCSE. I always knew I wanted to be an actor, it wasn’t like mum or dad encouraged or discouraged me. To be honest my dad told me when I started acting that 95 per cent of it was about rejection and I soon discovered that by going to auditions and not getting jobs for about three or four years, that was kind of my drama school really. I was going to auditions and being turned away the whole time, but then it started to go well for me.

Harry Enfield was also a kind of step-father to you. Did he have an influence on you do you think?

Alfie: Probably yes. He was a very, very nice person and a very funny guy. Me and my friend went out to dinner with him recently and my friend said he can see a lot of his humour in me so he must have had an influence in some way. As a child I think that any kind of male living in the house would have an influence on you.

The media have put you and your sister in a sort of new cool Britannia set of young up and coming stars – how do you feel about that? Do you think you are?!

Alfie: Well – if people want to call me that great! [laughs] But I don’t really pay attention to all that to be honest, I just get on with the job that I’m doing. I just live in the present I guess and don’t really read the papers.

Obviously you do get press attention – how do you deal with that?

Alfie: I just ignore it! Some friends call me up now and again and say ‘have you seen what they read about you in the paper’ and I say ‘no I didn’t see it and I don’t want to see it’! I just get on with it. I’m an actor - I act - I don’t want to be a celebrity.

Have you read really ridiculous things about yourself that just aren’t true?

Alfie: No – I don’t read much of it but some people tell me some funny things. I know that after my first night in Equus someone put the heading ‘Willy Allen’, which I thought was hilarious! But other than that I don’t really pay attention to it.

What’s next for you? Or do you just play it by ear?

Alfie: I have an idea of what I’m doing after this but at the moment I just want to concentrate on this and see what happens. I really do live by the motto that I just want to live in the present. I don’t really like to plan things too much. I’m quite un-organised to be honest so I just take things as they come.

Do you want to do more stage work?

Alfie: Definitely more stage work! I would love to do more stage, it’s very stimulating, and it’s exhilarating. But people have asked me what would you rather do, film, TV or theatre but I don’t think you can compare them. Film and TV are probably quite similar but theatre is just a thing on its own. It’s a complete learning curve which is fantastic, I’m enjoying every second of it.

Did you like the song that Lily wrote about you?

Alfie: I loved it!

Was it true?

Alfie: At a point it was yes! That was when I was much younger so I’ve grown out of it now!

last updated: 18/03/2008 at 10:25 created: 18/03/2008

source: http://www.bbc.co.uk/threecounties/content/articles/2008/03/18/alfie_allen_equus_feature.shtml

#alfie allen #equus #young 21 year-old alfie

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