#now that i am in less excruciating pain this is deeply funny

[mogseltof]

the human back is an actual disaster

[a-very-zilly-gooze]

i love depression because, at least in my experience, you miss the little things you used to find joy in more than the big thing you’re mourning- whether it be a loss of a loved one, loss of a relationship, or loss of yourself through trauma and pain.

like yeah, i miss being carefree and loved and held etc etc etc.

but what i miss more is my creativity and ingenuity, my joy.

i haven’t been able to write anything more than the choppiest of poems and the most boring of narratives.

the last book i read was in february. i can’t even finish the newest percy jackson books, which are not difficult, they’re children’s books. the words swim and float and jumble. nothing gets through. it’s so frustrating.

i can’t plan or study or anything. my executive dysfunction is so bad, i can’t bring myself to stand up and get water, much less train for scholars bowl or try to understand my economics work.

i haven’t been able to crochet even the simplest of beanies, not even for my mom’s christmas present.

i can’t talk to any of my friends because i don’t know what to say. i’m scared that i’ll make them not love me anymore.

i can’t find opportunities for good photos because i don’t see the color in the world anymore.

i miss the comfort of my cat. i miss his warm presence. just knowing he was there.

but you know what i miss the most that i never expected? crying.

i couldn’t stop crying when my depression deepened back in may. everything reminded me of what i lost. seeing those who hurt me every single day was excruciating. every day i would sit in my car and just let it all out. over the summer, the most cathartic thing i found i could do was just sob and sing to the radio on my way to and from work.

i think the last time i cried was in august. maybe september. now i am just apathetic. nothing seems worth it, you know? so why get worked up about it. i crave catharsis but can’t make the tears come, no matter how hard i try.

december 2023 marks my thirteenth month of my depressive episode and my eighth month of my major depressive episode. i feel like i’ve tried everything at this point. the meds can only help so much. the pain won’t go away.

all i want to do is just write a fucking song for my band. but thanks to depression, that’s not happening. i just want to create, to release my emotions and pent-up resentment. i just want to truly and deeply feel.

but anyways, lemme tell you a funny joke to distract you from me. that has always worked before, so i’ll be damned if it doesn’t work again!

[fallenesspoetry]

As Hot As You Can Go (full text)

AO3 FFN FICBOOK (RUS)

Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Pairing: Donald Ressler/Jessie Brooks (OFC)

Warnings: Nudity, Swearing.

Summary: Donald Ressler doesn’t expect someone to take care of him.

"Who's there?" Donald asked as someone knocked in his door outside.

It was a sheer luck he decided to check if the door was locked otherwise he wouldn't have even heard the tap. His doorbell was dead, and, frankly speaking, he had no desire or time to fix it. He wasn't expecting anyone to come over, anyway.

Even if someone was interested in stopping by, it wasn't the best time to visit—Donald had been recovering from a nasty shot in the leg for almost two weeks and he wasn't in the mood of welcoming any late night guests.

The cane and painkillers were his best pals, because the slightest movement echoed with excruciating pain.

In spite of his condition, Donald insisted on coming back to work, agreeing to the desk duty. His job had been everything for him, whatever grunt and dangerous it sometimes might have been.

He heard a muffled voice outside.

"It's me, Jessie."

It was his colleague, Jessie Brooks.

Quietly cursing, Donald hung his black coat back on the rack. He also put his car keys and the badge which said Special Agent Donald Ressler in the drawer underneath the rack, and hurried to open the door. It took him a minute longer than usual.

"Hey, Don, sorry to drop by like this," Jessie blurted as if someone was after her.

Agent Brooks had been recently transferred from New York to Washington, and at first Donald saw her as a younger sister who needed to be looked after.

At the office she was a disaster: always late with the reports, almost as stressed as the suspect when it came down to the interrogation, and nearly dozed at briefings.

Donald tried hard to look for an explanation, but since Jessie was great in the field and had had his back so many times he'd lost count, he helped her with the paperwork. Unexpectedly for them both, but mostly for Ressler, they became best friends. They covered each other if needed, and hang out till dawn in bars.

At first it seemed odd for Donald his partner wasn't eager to go home (he thought Jessie was seeing someone). It turned out she'd rather spend time with him scolding at their boss, drinking and talking than coming back to an empty apartment.

It was out of question for them both to fool around to blow some steam off since they could get their asses in a big trouble. Not mentioning the overall morning after awkwardness.

Three weeks ago the blacksite they operated from was under siege, resulted in the worst nightmare of any operative: a clash in a closed area, outnumbered, communications jammed. Somehow the terrorists had learned about the blacksite's location, infiltrated it and took its personnel hostage.

Jessie was late at work on that day, but managed to sneak in unnoticed. She disabled the jammers, and slipped out to come back with the cavalry later. But Donald hadn't been that lucky: he caught a bullet in his leg, trying not to give up the warehouse with explosives.

However, when it was over, Jessie was back to her usual absent-minded self, and Don tried his best to help her.

That's what friends do, right?

Now Jessie, a short, strongly built woman, nervously tugged the zipper of her rain-soaked leather jacket. When Donald first met her he thought she looked, at best, eighteen. She was almost the same age as him, though. Few years younger, give or take.

A couple of curly dark-brown strands broke out of her red cap. She had a shy look on her almost childish, round face. There was a pair of bags from the supermarket.

"I thought, you know, you're here, all alone… Damn, it's not what I meant," she stammered, her cheeks blushing.

Donald didn't get where it was all coming from given the countless times they would talk about occasional one-night stands or cracked dirty jokes.

It was the first time they met like this, since Don had never been at Jessie's. They both preferred not to mix their private life and work.

And, to be honest, Donald didn't think of himself as a charmer. Of course, there were some lucky nights here and there, with no names or calls after, but that was it.

"Yeah, of course," he curved his lips in a sly smile. "Come on in already."

The bags looked heavy, but in his condition…

"I wish I could—"

"Nah, I'm cool," Jessie interrupted him, sounding less tense. She lift the bags and sauntered inside.

Donald locked the door, his eyes kept on Jessie's back. It was kinda unexpected that someone had actually bothered to check on him... Unlike those "friends" at Quantico who hadn't even called over these years.

Meanwhile, Jessie hung her leather jacket and a cap on the rack, and took off her sneakers. She was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a plaid shirt, almost matching his own home outfit, except the shirt. That seemed odd, since she must be just from work. You couldn't walk into the office like that unless you were going undercover.

"I thought you're free at ten," Donald wondered as they walked to the kitchen, passing a small living room where the faded wall paint asked to be refreshed, and it'd be nice to replace a sofa, too.

There was a neat pile of The Washington Post on the table. A just opened bottle of Heineken loomed lonely on the scratched surface.

"I left earlier. You should see Cooper's face when I told him that," Jessie giggled. "He couldn't forbid me to use my overtime, so here I am. Oh, and if he asks, I had some "family matters", alright? My nephew or what-not… What's so funny?" she broke off, seeing Ressler slyly crinkling his eyes and grinning widely.

"'Family matters', huh? You prefer what, 'sweetie' or 'honey'?"

"Shut up or I'll feed you this carrot. And not in the mouth."

Jessie washed her hands, dried them with the towel and started going through the groceries, putting them either on table or in the fridge.

Suddenly a very strange thought, given their relationship with Jessie, appeared in Donald's mind.

What if every evening could be like that?

Hadn't he wanted at times to leave the job, sell the apartment, empty all the savings and buy some nice house far away from here? Somewhere near the lake or river. To have a life, a family of his own, and a kid or two.

He forced his thoughts back to the present.

"Don't get me wrong, but how do you expect me to eat all that?" Donald sighed, pretending to sound annoyed. He placed himself comfortably in the chair, putting his cane away.

"Who knows, Don, maybe 'honey' will stay here till morning."

Their looks met.

Donald couldn't read anything in her hazel eyes, resembling now spilled amber ink.

Couldn't one just screw all these rules and do what they want?

On one hand, he didn't want to ruin their friendship with a short moment of weakness. On the other hand…

Actually, if she brought this thing up, could that mean she also wanted it?

…Or maybe, it was just another joke.

"So, how you want it?" Jessie asked, looking him straight in the eye, her voice calm and crisp.

"Want what?"

He completely lost the direction this conversation was going to.

"The steak, Ressler. Rare, medium-rare, medium, well done?"

Jessie grinned and took a massive cut of beef from the fridge, and laid it on the chopping board. A moment later she opened the exact drawer where he kept the knives.

"I guess, medium is okay… Listen, you need a hand or something?"

Jessie put away the knife she was sharpening and opened the cupboard. She took a few plates, two glasses, two forks and two butter knives.

"Here," Jessie gave him a dish towel, and went back on to cutting the meat. Finished, she soaked it with oil, seasoned it with salt, pepper and also added a few other spices he had no slightest idea of.

Donald didn't remember having anything else than salt and pepper.

Jessie noticed his confused look.

"These are mine. I wasn't sure you had something."

"You don't live in here, right?” Donald joked, drying the dishes, as he watched Jessie seasoning already peeled potatoes in salt and flour.

"Sorry, what?" Jessie asked, turning the stove on, and leaving the potatoes to roast.

"I said, you look like you've lived here forever."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

She licked a drop of the barbecue sauce from her finger.

"It's just I remembered something," Donald said, trying to ignore a totally inappropriate thought crossing his mind. He blamed the painkillers for it.

"Ah, I see. Who knows Don, who knows…"

Jessie resisted an urge to laugh, seeing how Donald's features changed: his green eyes widened, and it seemed that even his bright ginger hair had lost a shade or two.

She chuckled. "For the record, you did nothing inappropriate." The look on his face told her he didn't believe it, so she added, "Relax, Don, we were off the minute we got into your bed."

She put the steaks in the pan, and leaned to do a raincheck on the potatoes.

Donald was staring at her back, thinking. She seemed different. Not her straightforward, arrogant, sharp-tongued self.

She was… cozy. It's a weird comparison, but that's the closest one he could find to express what he felt right now.

"Stop staring at me like that, Ressler."

She kept grilling the steaks, flipping them.

"I'm not staring, I'm watching. Just in case."

"Just in case?" Jessie wondered, serving the hot steaks on the plate and covering them with foil. Next, she turned the potatoes off.

Turning her face to Donald, she caught a sliding dish towel from her shoulder, and tucked a loose curly strand behind her ear.

Something had changed in her as she approached him.

Her T-shirt clung to her body and her tight jeans embraced the curves of her hips. She came so close her knees were touching his.

At this moment Donald deeply regretted that first of all, Jessie was his friend, and only then—a very attractive woman.

"Maybe, that night I couldn't help but…" Jessie whispered into his ear. She almost breathed the words out, her voice low and deep.

He knew that voice—she occasionally used it over the phone when they needed to smoke the guy out.

Jessie took a long pause. Her uneven breath tickled his ear. Her body was in a very dangerous proximity to his.

"…grab a beer from your fridge."

Damn it!

He got played like some fucking teenager.

You won't get away with it.

"I found your bra in the morning."

Jessie froze, baffled, like a typical straight-A college girl, caught off guard with a question she had no answer to.

Donald struggled to hide a winning smile, watching her.

She hadn't noticed him grinning, her thoughts back to that particular night at Ressler's place.

Both of them were so hammered, that even if something did happen, it wouldn't really matter. She hoped it hadn't. She really liked her job.

And then it came down to her. 

The smile Donald had right now on his face would make Cheshire cat green with envy.

"Ressler! You sly ginger ass!"

Donald acted on instinct: he ducked from the blow and clenched her wrist, pulling Jessie closer.

Her wrist was still damp from water. She had firm, strong hands, but one wouldn't tell that at once. Donald had seen quite often the marks her punches left. No, he wouldn't want to piss her off.

Well, this steak is definitely a turn-on.

This thought had almost made him laugh.

Or was it something else?

At this job you couldn't even remember when it was the last time someone took care of you. The FBI had been everything for him—his wife and his mistress.

And there was that night. Donald's rational self preferred to think nothing happened, but the irrational—wished it woud.

It was super easy with Jessie. She was a great listener and would always find a joke to lighten the mood. However, when you gave her a headstart, she'd talk you to death.

For a moment Donald felt sorry for all those times she had to listen to him bragging about this or that girl he'd got laid.

Suddenly, his left hand acted on its own, sliding a few inches down Jessie's waist.

Totally shocked by his own audacity, Donald yanked it away and loosened his grip.

But Jessie wasn't rushing to step back.

Donald couldn't even say a word, when the dish towel slightly swatted him.

"Sit down and eat."

Her calm and a bit tired voice gave him hope she wasn't angry.

Jessie turned her back from him, grabbing beer from the fridge.

Sure, she must be thinking what a jerk he was.

Or worse.

Things were complicated, because Donald was in charge of the taskforce. And that meant he was her boss. They would always laugh at Jessie, who ignored any kind of subordination. It constantly got her into a lot of trouble. On top of that, her rank was lower than Donald's, and she had been also granted only level two clearance, while Don had level four. Jessie had to wait for half a year to take an exam to upgrade her rank.

Donald, on the other hand, did his best to keep both of them out of trouble.

He and Jessie were very different: she could spark with anger faster than one could lit a match, but she cooled off fast; Don was cold-blooded and reasonable, not letting his emotions to stand in his way.

"Jess, listen..."

Jessie silently cut the roasted potatoes in half, adding a small piece of butter inside, and put them on his plate.

A card player couldn't do a better poker face she was having right now.

Of course, she was ignoring him.

Who wouldn't?

"Jessie..." Donald was almost pleading.

Not uttering a word, Jessie opened the beer, pouring first a glass for him, then for herself.

"Let's blame it on painkillers," she said, her voice flat.

Donald wanted to apologize, yet all the excuses seemed so dumb and lousy...

"Just eat already. Or I'll change my mind."

How come he had never noticed what a radiating smile she had?

*

"…and he choked on his joint when you told him that."

Donald laughed almost to tears. It was one of their night shifts—they were surveilling some junkie whose drug dealer was a subject of their murder investigation.

Jessie, chuckling, opened another beer. Pouring Donald a glass, she suddenly frowned her face.

"You had your meds today?"

"I think I did. Or not. Not sure, really. Actually, it's on you."

"We can always refresh your memory," Jessie pointed at the dish towel behind her back on the chair. "When?"

"In the afternoon, I guess."

"Ressler!"

Donald noticed that the strange mix of anger and worry made her face even more attractive.

"No, it's okay, really. For the first time in days."

He wasn't lying, because for the past few hours the leg indeed didn't hurt at all. And he completely forgot about taking his meds throughout the day.

Jessie's gaze faded a bit. She looked anxious. And sad.

"You okay?" Donald wished he could stand up quickly and hug her. "Thank you," he gently squeezed her hand.

If this gesture confused her somehow, she hadn't shown it.

"No big deal. I don't have anyone to cook for anyway."

Jessie sounded cheerful, but one could hear a trace of longing in her voice.

Don knew that feeling too well. He hadn't gotten to say a word to comfort her, as the phone rang somewhere in the hall.

"It's mine," Jessie blurted, rising herself from the seat. A moment later, she disappeared in the hall.

Don, pouring himself another glass, was thinking what a great evening it had been. It was actually the first time he ate something home-cooked, because usually he picked some Chinese to save time.

His apartment wasn't spacious, so one could hear everything, even if one talked quietly. However, quiet was not Jessie's style. She swore loud and dirty, like a sailor on the ship.

Don didn't care about swearing as he would do the same once or twice. In the end, everyone blew their steam off any way they could, right?

"…No, I fucking can't!"

Jessie came back looking like she could choke anyone who's going to ask her if she's okay. Donald had no intention to see it come true, so he refilled her glass and prepared to listen.

"You wouldn't believe it!"

"Try me."

"Apparently some jerk decided it's a good idea to cook meth in the building I'm fucking living. Of course, a moron he is, this idiot screwed up." She gulped her beer. "The police asked everyone to crash someplace else for the night."

Not thinking twice, Donald suggested, "You can stay here."

Jessie studied him for a moment with her eyes. They grew few shades darker, now resembling a strongly brewed coffee.

"You won't hit on me, right?"

"You want me to?" Donald raised his brow. "I can take the couch," he added.

Well, he couldn't blame her for the remark—she had her reasons. It made him upset somehow. He couldn't get why, though.

"And kill me the next morning? First, your leg, then your back." Jessie took the last bite of the steak. "The couch is okay, thanks."

Don went to look for the quilt and a spare pillow. When he came back, Jessie was doing dishes.

"Go and rest, now," she scolded him like a mother.

He put away his cane, took a dish towel and leaned against the table.

She gave him another angry look.

"I'm not a kid, Jess..."

He didn't finish because in an instant sharp, unbearable pain pierced his leg. It was as if someone tied a knot with his muscles and nerves, tying it tighter and tighter, twisting and pulling, the pain resonating all over his body.

"Fuck!"

He would have fallen but for Jessie's instant reaction. She caught him in a field nurse manner, placing his hand across her shoulder, embracing his waist with her other.

As Donald was taller than her, he occasionally buried his face in her hair, smelling the scent of spices she used cooking.

"Can you walk?"

Don shook his head. He wished he could have cut his leg, if only it would stop aching.

"No offense, but my shoulders getting numb. Where are the pills?"

"My pocket." But as Jessie's hand reached the side pocket, he added, "No, at the back. You have to—"

"I got it," Jessie hissed, trying not to think that he actually had quite an ass. She sometimes checked it out when he, acting bossy, ran here and there in the office. More than she cared to admit it became the reason of misspelled words and missing chunks in her reports.

Muttering, Jessie slid her hand into Donald's back pocket. "And here I thought this couldn't get any more awkward."

"You say like you've never seen my… Ouch!"

Boy, that hurts. Why would she pinch him?.. Yeah. Right. The bra joke.

"Keep quiet, Ressler... It's empty."

Don wanted to joke but another round of pain got the best of him. Burying his face again in Jessie's hair, he groaned through his clenched teeth.

Jessie gently stroked his back, embracing him tighter. A lot of thoughts were drumming in her mind now.

What could possibly ease his pain? An abrupt change of sensation?

Okay. Let's assume it could work. But what exactly?

Suddenly she got an idea. The most crazy and worst idea ever, but if it could help…

"Try to lean against the table with your back."

He didn't really believe it would make any difference.

"Don, just trust me, okay?"

And he did as she asked.

"Close your eyes," Jessie's surreal voice coated him in warmth.

His mind, exhausted from the pain, didn't even bother to pose a question 'what for'.

In less than a second Donald felt her small, slightly wet, warm lips pressed against his own.

It indeed felt much better.

Unexpectedly for himself Donald answered her gentle and unsure kiss with aggressive persistence. His hands slid under her T-shirt. She shuddered, but hadn't broke the kiss.

But he did.

"You sure?" Donald asked, his voice resembling an aroused cat in heat purring.

"Yes," Jessie breathed out, kissing him again, this time much harder, running her fingers through his hair, tugging on it.

She wanted to learn each inch of his lips by heart, as those were changing their mood—gentle at first, yet demanding, and then—as hungry as her own.

Donald's hands possessively slid under her T-shirt again. Jessie, taking the hint, freed herself from both shirt and the tee. A moment later her bra joined the rest on the floor.

Kissing Donald again, she pressed her body against his.

Don, gently breaking the kiss, ran his fingers over her breasts. When he lightly grazed her nipples, unsure of how she wanted it, rough or gentle, Jessie, catching her breath, wondered, what for to have such experienced hands if not using them with proper pressure?

Grinning at this remark, Donald complied. His touches got harder. Jessie groaned. She kissed him again, this time impatiently, digging her nails into his cheekbones.

Donald got his finger wet with saliva and caressed her hardened nipples, watching her body grow more and more supple. She melted into his lightest touch, breathing out something incoherent.

He slid his right hand down to her jeans.

Out of sudden, her thighs slammed his hand shut like a trap.

Well, this was unexpected.

"I need this hand, Jessie," he purred almost in a cat-like manner, kissing her in the neck.

Jessie, still not sure how she felt about what was happening, tried to ignore how quickly his soothing voice turned her on.

It turned out Donald wasn't to give up that easily: the things he was doing with his lips on her neck made her feel like a horny college girl. Her thighs had treacherously opened.

At some point he had hungrily sucked on her neck, almost biting it.

"Jeez, Don, it's not a steak."

Ressler softly nibbled her neck with small, light kisses. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging her body against his. He wasn't overly fit or too lean, just somewhere in between.

"Feeling… better?" Jessie wondered, catching her breath again.

It should have been one fucking kiss!

"I'm not sure," Donald grinned. Now he reminded her of a well-fed ginger cat, content and sly. "It's much better than the pills."

"Don't get too comfortable. It's a one-time offer."

"Don't you like it?" Donald reached to the fly of Jessie's jeans, pretending to be hurt by her words. Unzipping it, he stripped them down a little.

"No, not even—"

The words got lost a halfway through her throat, when Jessie felt his left hand roaming her breasts, this time grazing them harder than before. His right hand slid down beneath her jeans and he pushed aside her underwear with his finger.

Her jeans didn't actually prevented her from getting high on his touches. Yet without them it would be a thousand times better. With this thought in mind, Jessie hastily pushed them down along with the underwear.

"You still don't like it?" Donald wondered, his voice suave and lower then before.

Not giving a damn he could lose his balance, he licked Jessie's hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue, simultaneously caressing her damp, warm flesh with his fingers. He wasn't in a hurry to slip them inside, taking pleasure in driving her crazy.

"R-ressler… we... will… fall..." Jessie was almost growling, aggressively tugging on his hair, breathing unsteadily.

When his fingers caressed her clit, her bizarre, dirty whisper turned into a pleading moan.

His touches were knowing and precise.

He rubbed. Circled. Stoked. Pressed.

Rough. Light. Rough. Light. Up-and-down. Less rough. Lighter. Almost weightless. A bit harder. Harder. Rougher. Slow. Slower. Almost idle. Quick. Quicker.

And then he would start over again.

Jessie's body shuddered, and he knew her release was close.

Unfortunately, given his condition, multitasking was difficult: it became harder to keep his balance and caress Jessie, so her orgasm had to be delayed till better times.

The tip of his tongue toyed with her nipples one last time, and he leaned back against the table.

"I know it, I'm not an idiot," Donald whispered huskily, struggling to keep his balance.

"I highly d—" Jessie didn't finish, because he pressed his lips against hers.

The kiss turned out to be a lot more intense than he expected to. Jessie answered him, digging her fingers fiercely into his jaw. Her tongue delved into his mouth.

"We… can't… keep it… like this," Jessie said, panting, like she had just run a marathon.

But for his leg he was guaranteed to have fucked her right here fifteen minutes ago. And thinking about it had turned her on even more.

Where the fuck those damn painkillers are?

"Something's on your mind?" Donald asked, keeping himself cool as if they were discussing another ongoing case.

Jessie was looking unthinkably hot at this moment: her dark curls, coiled in a snake-like manner, fell loosely on her shoulders; red cheeks resembled two ripe apples, skin reddened from his touches.

Acting like she hadn't heard his question, Jessie turned, kicking her piled clothes aside with her foot. She left the room, not even bothering the neighbors might see her naked shape in the window.

Five minutes passed. Though it felt like forever.

Donald carefully stretched his numb back.

"I'm still here, Jess."

Nothing.

"Listen, I get it if you're on your own. But at least let me watch."

What was she thinking, leaving him all hard up like this? To put it mildly, it's at least not fair. Well, she must be feeling not that great too, given the fact he...

And then it occured to him: she must be looking for his painkillers.

"Shut up, Ressler, if you don't want to be up like that all night," Jessie hissed angrily from the bathroom, going through his meds in the drawer.

What a fucking mess!

Jeez, one could jack up half a block with these. Well, it was the same way at her place. Stress relievers, antidepressants… You name it.

"I'm up anyway."

"Yeah, I can see that," Jessie smirked, coming back in the kitchen.

She gave him one snow-white pill and a glass of water.

"Thanks."

The minutes had never dragged for so long.

Don was devouring Jessie with his eyes, contemplating.

What for to look for something far and unreachable, if everything you ever needed was right by your side?

"Better?" she asked, her crisp voice filled with sincere worry and something else he couldn't make yet.

Donald nodded.

Jessie hadn't gotten a chance to say something else. In an instant she found herself sitting on the dinner table.

"I hate to be a buzzkill..." Donald approached her. His hands stroke her thighs, and those spread at his touch.

Jessie grabbed him by his belt and pulled him closer to her. Rapidly undoing it, she hastily unzipped his fly.

"Woah, easy there. I'm gonna need it."

"Shut up already and fuck, Ressler."

[honestlysuchamess]

The Script - Scene 1

The Script

Summary: Shawn stars in the hot new TV spin-off of the Harry Potter series.  It’s all there - wizardry, teenage romance, drama, and humor. But falling in love with his co-star? So not in the script.

Season 4, episode 4 (Unreleased)

I was going to die.

I was sure of it.

The stone wall was rough against my back. Maddy’s lifeless head rested against the curve of my collarbone, her body cradled in my lap. My arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, the other hand cupping her neck as my thumb ghostly over her jawline, leaving sticky red fingerprints against her skin. Whether it was her blood or mine, I couldn’t tell.

God, there was so much blood. The coppery smell tainted my nose every time I inhaled.

Hers or mine?

Mostly hers.

But I was desperately trying to ignore the fact that my part of my femur was sticking out of my leg.

“Maddy.” I whispered brokenly, closing my eyes and pressing my chapped lips to her hair. “Please don’t leave me.”

I could barely hear the shouts and screams now. The war seemed far away; the fighting had moved onwards. Or maybe that was just my busted eardrum.

We were winning?

The good guys always won. We had to be winning.

But right now, gripping my best friend and the love of my life – not that she knew, of course – as she lay dying, it didn’t feel like winning.

“I am… so, so, sorry..” I choked out, trying unsuccessfully to swallow the thick lump centered in my throat. The corners of my eyes prickled with tears.

That all-too-familiar wave of hopelessness washed over me. I clenched my teeth in frustration, remembering briefly how hopelessness and doubt used to be a stranger to me. God, that life I led – that Maddy and I had both led – even just a couple months ago, seemed so far out of reach.

How had we fallen so far?

The corners of vision began to darken, and I felt the excruciating pain of my broken leg finally catching up to me.

I fell into the abyss.

Yeah.

Didn’t feel like winning at all.

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

“CUT.”

I blinked my eyes open and was immediately blinded by the set lights flashing on. Giving an irritated grunt, I raised my hand to block out some of the brightness.

I could feel Sebastian’s consciousness slip away.

“Gah.” A voice grumbled against my chest. I looked down, meeting the annoyed gaze of my co-star. “Those damned lights. Every fucking time.”

I gave a soft chuckle, my lips widening into a smile. Faye was irresistibly funny like that.  “We should tell them off.” I offered, reluctantly releasing my grip on her and carefully untangling my hand from her hair. 

“Ted would have a heart attack if he thought we were unhappy.” She teased back, sliding from my lap to sit down next to me.

I immediately missed her warmth.

“He sure would.” I agreed.

I glanced across the set, where Ted stood surrounded by the set staff. His hair was messy, a sure sign he was either frustrated or pissed, and judging by the color in his cheeks and the way his hands were gesturing wildly, I opted for the later.  

“Ted looks angry.” I murmured, shifting slightly before drawing my ‘unbroken’ leg up to my chest and resting my elbow on my knee.

Faye followed my gaze before she snorted, unsurprised. “Ted’s always angry.”

Ted was our ‘brilliant’. While his work always turned out extraordinary (our show had been nominated for Emmys almost every year), his day-to-day directing methods were a little… unusual. Lucky for Faye and I, his golden rule was always something along the lines of “keep the actors happy”, so his mood swings and normal displeasure were never directed towards us.

I searched the cluster for a specific face. I spotted him, standing slightly away from the grouping staff. His nose was scrunched, his thick eyebrows pulled downwards as he frowned. Apparently Benji wasn’t happy either.

Benji was our completing one-third; His character that completed our golden trio. His real name was Faris (pronounced FAR IS) but nobody I knew called him that. Something about his character’s nickname had stuck, so that’s what we called him.

“EVERYBODY TAKE FIVE.” Ted bellowed, storming towards the exit. The staff behind him looked thoroughly disgruntled, but slowly began to disperse.

Benji headed in our direction, picking his way cautiously through the rubble that was our ruined castle set. He sat down rather ungracefully next to me.

“Why’d Ted fly off the handle this time?” Faye asked. She was picking at her split ends – that is, if she had any split ends. I knew for a fact she didn’t, but she still reverted to the habit when she was bored.

Benji shrugged. “Scene doesn’t feel right. Normal stuff. I think he’s gone to call up Joanne again.”

Faye threw a rock, watching it bounce harmlessly off the tiled floor. She heaved a frustrated sigh, leaning her head back against the wall.

My hand slipped from my lap, finding hers. I gave a gentle squeeze, before pulling away.

Benji absentmindedly picked at his blue and cranberry sweater. “I know guys. We just have to trust him. He’s never let us down before. The stakes for this season are higher than ever.”

“As opposed to, you know, all the high stakes of the previous three seasons.” Faye muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“We’ve spent days on this exact scene.” I said, carefully trying not to let my annoyance color my voice.  

It was getting harder and harder to slip into Sebastian’s head. I was becoming worried.

“It’s an uphill climb from here. We’ve barely started the battle storyline, much less filmed any of the action sequences. Who knows how long that is going to take.” She grimaced.

“Studio’s put us on a three-month time crunch.”

“Seriously? They expect everything to be done in three months?” I asked, incredulous.

No wonder Ted was throwing a fit. I wondered when they had told him. I tried recalling his rants from the past week, noting that most of them seemed to blend together as I surfaced with nothing.

“Just for filming I think. Can you blame them? The fans have been waiting for this season for over a year now.”

Benji always was the rational one.

A door slam signaled Ted’s apparent return. Whatever his spoke about with J.K Rowling seemed to have soothed him.  He was calmer, the angry look had faded, and the tension he carried lessened. He motioned to us as he returned to behind the camera.

“From the top again please, Shawn and Faye.”

“Here we go again.” Faye said, as she hauled herself back into my lap as Benji got up to remove himself from the scene. My arms instinctively snaked around her, gently pressing her to me. My hand traced the delicate curvature of her spine as it found its’ way to her neck.

She closed her eyes, letting her body go limp against mine.  

I inhaled deeply, following her lead by closing my eyes as I delved back into my mind, seeking Sebastian’s persona.

“Scene #42, Take #108.”

The snap of the clapperboard. The release of breath.

Sebastian’s thoughts and memories overriding my own. Ilvermorny materialized in front of me.

“ACTION.”

[thesecretheadteacher]

Bullying

I make no apology for the length of this entry as the topic of bullying is a very emotive one. Where it occurs, it can be such a damaging and destructive set of actions, leaving the victims upset, hurt or, in a few cases, contemplating or going through with attempts at suicide. It is probably one of the biggest fears parents have for their child whilst at school and also something they feel unable to help with.

The scale of bullying: Once again, for those of us who were raised in the 70s and 80s, we are likely to have witnessed or experienced bullying on an industrial scale. These were the days before there was any awareness or acceptance of difference: the closest anyone got to neurodiversity back then would be if it was the name of a new wave pop group. Anyone with autism, ADHD or any other, fairly common, condition, was just seen as a ‘weirdo’, anyone who was slightly effeminate, or merely kind was ‘gay’ and anyone whose skin colour was darker than you would expect from a 2 week holiday in Skegness, was a N word or the Asian P word. These were just the verbal bullying, of course there was also the physical bullying, I think I was lucky to get through these years with both testicles intact, as they were treated like mosquitos – someone always looking to swat, flick, kick, stamp, punch or knee them, and the resulting excruciating pain provided the watching group with the highest form of hilarity. I guess it was probably different for girls. Fortunately, such sustained and ongoing bullying is very rare and, though parents should be vigilant, in the vast majority of cases, it is something that can be dealt with very easily and effectively by the school.

What is Bullying?: The key starting point for tackling bullying is knowing what bullying is. Most parents will be using their own experiences, possibly from school, but more likely form the media: whether that was watching Gripper Stebson with his 1950s teddy boy style, grabbing various Grange Hill characters by the throat as part of his dinner money pyramid scheme, through to Nelson Muntz giving Bart a wedgie on the Simpsons. Or maybe from stories or videos, some truly horrific, of young people being set upon and beaten up by groups of kids. None of these, however, help to clarify what bullying is.

There is no legal definition of bullying in the UK but, in a school context most would view it as ‘repeated behaviour which is intended to hurt someone either emotionally or physically, and is often aimed at certain people because of their race, religion, gender or sexual orientation or any other aspect such as appearance or disability.’

As well as knowing what it is, it is important to know what it isn’t, because there are many things that rather than having a negative impact upon our children, are actually valuable and important learning episodes (I can hear myself morphing into Oprah here):

-        Falling out with each other – this happens and is an important part of their development into adulthood to deal with conflict with others. Unfortunately, far too many parents see this as bullying because their child might be upset as a result of it.

-        Day to day rough and tumble – this particularly applies to boys as they grow up. There is some good science around the importance of ‘horseplay’ (Fry, D. P. (2005). Rough and tumble social play in humans / Pellis, S. M., & Pellis, V. C. (2012). Rough-and-tumble play: Training and using the social brain). Think of it like young animals that jump and climb and wrestle and fight. Having done thousands of break and lunch duties, I am very familiar with what is horse play and what is a bit more serious – the basic guide being are they all having fun, it is very easy to see if someone isn’t or if one individual is being targeted – that is where we step in.

-        A one-off omission: for example not being invited to something outside of school.

-        Not liking someone: we cannot make pupils like each other. This is another important learning point to help in growing up. I am sure we all have people in our own lives that we don’t like, but through our adolescent development, we have learned how to deal with that.

-        Arguments: these happen all the time, as anyone who has been married will testify.

-        A single act of telling a joke about someone. We have all been the butt of a joke at some point - usually funny for others, less so for us.

Of course if any of these things become repeated or several of them happen towards the same child, then yes this would then constitute bullying.

How to deal with bullying: this is what most parents want to know and is the point at which some parents go horribly wrong. So here is my step by step guide:

1.      The most important thing is that the child tells someone. Staff in school are usually excellent at spotting things going on – I have lost count of the number of times I have been on duty and, amidst the mass of humanity that makes up lunch time, spotted a child looking a bit down, on their own or upset.

2.      Watch out for changes in your child: mood swings, sudden aggression, withdrawal from family life (though take care as these are also the default setting for most teenagers.)

3.      If your child can’t talk about it, get them to write it down.

4.      If it involves social media, which increasingly it does, switch it off – delete the apps and don’t engage.

5.      NOW CONTACT THE SCHOOL. I have put this in caps because this is the most important thing. Having discovered you think your child is being bullied, you will be feeling angry, shocked, protective, aggressive and maybe even feel you have failed your child. This heady concoction of feelings is not a good place from which to start to address the issue.

6.      Work with the school: the vast majority of schools deal with these things on an almost daily basis. They know the other children, they see the interactions, they know the parents of the other child or children. They care deeply about your child and the other children and they will do what they feel is best.

7.      If things don’t get any better, then escalate the matter within the school – schools are hierarchical and above a form tutor is a head of year, above them a member of the Senior Leadership Team and above them the headteacher.

How not to deal with bullying: the steps above should lead to the matter being resolved and your child returning to their usual happy, or at least apathetic, experience of school. However, I have had plenty of first-hand experience of parents who decide to handle the matter differently – none of these led to a better outcome than following my advice, and some led to far more serious outcomes for them.

-        Don’t start the discussion off by being abusive or threatening the school for ‘failing your child’. Venting your anger on a poor receptionist won’t make the wheels move faster.

-        Don’t start at the top. I have had many examples of parents contacting me directly, as headteacher, to deal with a falling out between two pupils. Though I have decades of pastoral experience, there are far more appropriate people to look into the matter. It isn’t that I don’t care, but the school and education system wouldn’t really be getting its money’s worth out of me if I spend 6 hours a day in ‘circle time’ with Year 7 girls who have fallen out.

-        Don’t go above the top. On a number of occasions I have had parents decide that, rather than inform the school, they think the matter would be resolved quicker by going above the school to the Local Authority, Ofsted, The Diocese, local MP, Parish Priest, the press, the Pope or anyone else they could think of. Needless to say, none of these people are really in a good position to unravel the reasoning behind why Sally didn’t invite your Bethany to Cineworld last week.

-        Don’t encourage your child to take matters into their own hands. “I’m sorry Sir but I have told him, if anyone says anything to you, you just punch them” or “You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t tell your son to hit them if they say anything.” Well-meaning as this advice from some parents is, it isn’t really great preparation for the world of work. For that day when little Billy grows up, gets his job in middle management and has a falling out with Steve from accounts and decides a good right hook might progress things. So unless you have grand plans for your child to move into the gangland underworld, it really isn’t good advice.

-        Don’t take matters into your own hands with the parents. Often when parents raise a concern about another child bullying their own child, they will want to meet with the other parents. Nearly all schools will avoid doing this, not because we are being obstructive, but because a) the parents (usually) aren’t the people who have fallen out and b) both sets of parents will have only heard their own child’s version of events and will be overly protective. It doesn’t work. Likewise contacting the other parents by text, social media or be going round to the house – all of these are like trying to put a fire out armed with aerosols and petrol. I have witnessed parents going for each other outside the school gate, or picked up the pieces afterwards when one or more parents have been charged with assault.

-        Don’t take matters into your own hands with the child. No matter what you have been told about the other child, they are still that, a child. I have known many occasions where a parent has approached a child directly to ‘warn them off’ like some sort of mafia enforcer. Now I don’t know how they have thought it would play out in real life, but the reality is usually that the child is with some friends, feels like they can’t lose face and so rather than say “Yes of course Mrs T, it was wring of me to behave like that towards your little Mickey, it won’t happen again, take care.” It ends up more “Who are you talking to? Get away you Pedo. I didn’t do anything. F*&k Off, I am going to get my dad on to you.” To be fair this approach does often end the initial bullying and is replaced by family warfare, police action and lawyer involvement.

Don’t arrange a ‘settler’. This is where both sets of parents arrange for the children to meet up and have a settler (a fight to resolve things). For many of you reading this, the very thought would be horrific, but for some of the communities I have worked in, this is the ‘honourable’ way to do things. I have known parents set up times / places for the fight, have rules around not jumping in and even drive their children to the event, like an evening at a Justin Bieber concert. This is not just for boys, I have known it happen with girls too and heard a child describe how her dad had watched her get knocked all over the place then afterwards suggest that the matter was no closed.

[mahokoyuki]

Revelation

[wideislandblues]

Yesterday was amongst the worst days. And this weekend is amongst the worst weekends. I woke up Thursday with noticeable pain in my left ovary, and chalked it up to a standard cyst. Realistically it was 2-4 out of 10. Once it was still there on Friday, I decided it was time to finally get diagnosed with an official issue, like PCOS, so I wouldn't have to be bothered so much anymore. After 2 hours of waiting, the doctor barely touched my stomach and said there was nothing out of the ordinary. He was skeptical I needed an ultrasound and the nurse chewed him out in the hallway until he agreed that I needed it. It wasn't going to happen until Tuesday. Well, less than two hours after rushing back to work from the appointment, I was teaching and I had to excuse myself. Everything was white and my stomach was hot. I completely drenched my two shirts with sweat within minutes. I thought I was going to puke. I'd say 9 out of 10. With 10 meaning I've passed out from the sheer pain. I was close. A coworker found me, and I agreed to let them call 911. I was having such terrible chest pain. I assumed I was hyperventilating or something. My right lung was spasming and kept me from breathing more than fast, panicky breaths. The EMT kept assuming I was pregnant (I assured him that unless this was a case of immaculate conception, that I was far from pregnant) and that i was just freaking myself out. He kept telling me to breathe deeply and relax, and I just no??? My class finished in the meantime, so my students were just out in the hall with wide eyes and worried. I shot them a shaky peace sign and said dooo your homeworrrrk, as an attempt to joke. They probably didn't find it so funny hahaha After we got to the hospital, the halls were full of patients, so I got turfed to the regular waiting room for 4 hours, and the lobby nurses wouldn't let me drink any water until I saw the doctor. What a brilliant use of an ambulance. A lot of my coworkers rolled through. They're fucking amazing. I mean, they all tried come bring me food today and check up on me. Around 7pm I was called back, and they order a chest X-ray and abdominal CT. Turns out, I have an 11cm mass on one ovary (about the size of a grapefruit) and a 4cm mass on the other. I'm so fucking mad at the negligent doctor from that morning. The ER doctor is not sure what caused them to suddenly freak. I think one may be leaking a little, because there's loose fluid in my abdomen. I definitely look a little pregnant now. I have to schedule a biopsy on Monday, so they can determine whether or not it's cancer. Hopefully they just remove the masses while they're in there. They ordered a chest CT to see what's up with my breathing. They seriously suspected a pulmonary embolism, because if the masses were releasing blood loosely into my body, it could be releasing clots. Which, we're way too young to be having strokes, so that seriously freaked me out. Luckily that was not the case. It's an infection, usually tied to pneumonia, but for some reason I have it without the pneumonia? It could have been triggered by the freak out though. I was finally released around 3 am, with a prescription for high strength Motrin and tramadol. My mom drove us 20 minutes away to the closest 24 hour pharmacy to fill it and take me back home. Everything hurts. I can't completely lay down because it stretches my lung out too much. And I can't easily sit or move. Coughing or laughing or burping causes my lung to spasm, so I've been confined in this sad body tomb until the inflammation goes down. I've been eating soft foods because I'm honestly scared to poop. When I pee, it takes upwards of five minutes to even stand and reach the bathroom. Then my bladder emptying causes an excruciating shift in those loose fluids. Can you imagine pooping in that nonsense?? Noooo thanks. I don't care so much if they need to take the ovaries. I have no plans or aspirations to have my own children. Besides, adoption is rad. I just don't want to have cancer, because who the fuck does? I don't want to do chemo or radiation, and I don't want to always be scared of it coming back in other areas. With this, and my dad dying in November, being 26 has blown hard. I'm trying to keep in good spirits since November. I've been doing yoga and meditation, guided by a Buddhist monk and everything. I've let a lot of my fears go about death and aging, and have been trying to live a more fulfilling life. So far so good. But the threat of cancer while 100% managing my father's estate (bills, landlording/slumlording, filing the insurance claims, and keeping up 3 vehicles and two houses) are an overwhelming combination. I just. Fuck. Can't I catch a break? Today, a friend was nice enough to bring me some soft foods. Mashed potatoes, apple sauce, and a smoothie. She sat on the couch for three hours while I tried to nap. She refilled me water, helped me stand and sit, and helped me change my clothes. I would have been such a hard day without her. I'm so grateful. Day Roommate has heard me cry and gasp on the other side of the house. He'll text me and ask if I need anything. Every time before he left for somewhere he'd ask me if I wanted him to pick something up. Then after I took my meds for the evening, he turned on all of the white Christmas lights we have in the living room, turned off the overhead lights, and put on some pleasant music. He did some work on his computer while I drifted in and out of sleep for two hours. It's the best rest I've gotten since coming home. A couple of times my lung spasmed, and he would quietly ask if he could do anything for me. Later he turned off the music and I said "bed time?" And he said "bed time." I'm definitely lucky to have such good and concerned people in my life. My coworkers are all trying to stop by with food, and my bosses were texting and trying to get me some takeout. Hopefully tomorrow things will be just a smidge easier. That's all I want.