#the fact i had a fucking anxiety attack before i told the teacher what caused the fucking anxiety attack then she says and i quote

[nervousmonolith]

late night horror peeping sesh is underway

[chloroformthelittleb4stard]

Family Relations - Part 4

Summary: Your criminology teacher is acting all kinds of weird, which is the norm, except for the part where his eyes glaze over and he tries to kill someone. Stiles, the hero he is, tries to stop your professor with little avail until he gets some unnoticeable help from you. Stiles seems to find himself with you at the location of multiple attacks, just barely making it out alive. Through the bloodshed feelings, family, and friends mix to create a perfect blend of chaos and calm.

T/CW: Blood, gore, like a lot of fucking gore, swearing, body horror?

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I hope it's worth it. This is a long chapter but because the first part is short I put a time skip in the middle of it, that's what the = means. P.S - Happy mother's day!

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You'd convinced him to stay with you for the night because of what you were absolutely sure Allison and Scott's "after-pack-meeting" activities would include. It wasn't hard, as soon as you mentioned the prospect of Stiles' precious sleep being interrupted by their shenanigans he was on board with staying at yours. Your dorm had two beds, you'd been lucky and not gotten a roommate, a blessing and a curse really. You'd laid the sheets out and gotten your extra pillow, all ready for Stiles to get to sleep. The only problem was, Stiles wasn't particularly interested in sleep yet. You'd had a long day, mostly it was just that bout of magical fighting that wore you out but still, you were tired, and Stiles simply didn't want to be in silence.

"So, Y/n..." You'd been listening to the sound of Stiles fidget like mad, and you were wondering when he was going to snap and finally talk to you.

"Yes." Your tone was smooth and song-like. Despite needing sleep desperately you wanted to talk to Stiles, he was fun to talk to. You'd always been kind of a loner, it was easier to stay hidden that way, but you didn't need to hide with Stiles and it felt fucking amazing.

"What's D.C like?" He didn't look at you when he asked, staring straight up at the ceiling, but you were happy to stare at him, studying the moles on his cheek and the way his hair laid against the pillow.

"It's, interesting." He snorted, turning to you as you whipped your head away so you didn't get caught staring.

"Care to elaborate on that?" He had a dopey smile on his face, looking at your side profile like his life depended on it while he waited for you to respond. You felt his gaze burning your skin, it was a burn you could get used to.

"I don't know what you want me to say. Traffic's a bitch if you live in D.C, that's for sure. It took me half a hour to go eight miles from my house to school." He sucked in a breath at the statement, like simply hearing about traffic that bad was physically paining him.

"Good thing is if you live in the city you don't really need a car. My mom didn't have a car, neither did any of my babysitters, so we took the metro and the subway everywhere." He hummed, like the thought of the subway actually pleased him.

"I'm going to be in the city, that's for sure. FBI headquarters is on Pennsylvania ave." His muttering made you giggle, surprised that he knew so much about the landscape.

"You've been there before?" Your smile was wide from laughter and you didn't even care if you looked like an idiot, you were having fun.

"Yeah, once. I looked at going to George Washington so when I toured we stopped by. It's a really ugly building by the way, they should fix that." He was quirking a smile as well, glancing between you and the ceiling to try and look discreet.

"Yeah they should." You were trying to be quiet for the sake of your dorm mates but you were having trouble, Stiles was funny and it felt so good to laugh. You hadn't laughed like this in years, always too stressed to find anything amusing.

"So, what's is like rooming with Scott?" He made a vague hum of mediocrity, shrugging and leaving it at that.

"Care to elaborate on that?" You giggled using his words against him.

"It's good, we've been like brothers since we were little kids so it's really not that big of a difference. We spent a lot of time together at my house because my dad was gone a lot so living with him is kinda familiar." You felt a pang of sympathy when he said his dad was away, you thought back to your dad and how absent he'd been. The memories cut off almost as suddenly as they'd started.

"What about your mom?" He took a deep breath, he had a slight frown on his face and you knew immediately that you'd hit a nerve.

"She died, when I was a kid. She had a type of dementia and it, killed her." He was fully frowning now, and he was no longer fully with you, his eyes had glazed over and he was staring right through you. He shook his head and came back, frown gone and a small smile took its place.

"I'm sorry, both for what happened and that I brought it up."

"It's ok, it's been a long time and it brought me and my dad really close so it wasn't all bad." His silver lining was slim, slimmer than was arguably debatable to even count as a silver lining, but you didn't argue. He'd shared enough of his past with you, and you felt honored by the confession even if you did accidentally cause it to happen by asking. The fact that he shared something with you meant a lot.

"My mom died too, she was hit by a car when I was 13 and she died in surgery." The air was tense, but Stiles' expression and morphed from fake stability to real sympathy as your eyes locked and you tried to comfort each other without words. You fell asleep shortly after that, Stiles had stayed quiet for more than five minutes and that was all it took for sleep to wave its wand and take you under it's control.

==

Screams woke you up, screams from within your dorm. They woke Stiles up too and you both sprung to get re-dressed properly, rushing out the door as soon as you'd slipped your shoes on. The screaming was coming from down the hall and you already had a sinking feeling what had happened.

It wasn't uncommon for your fellow dorm dwellers to leave their doors open, it helped circulate cool air in the desert that was California. Being born and raised in D.C left you significantly more paranoid than most of them however, and so you decided you'd rather just suffer the heat than the possibility of getting robbed blind. You'd told some people in the common room at the beginning of the year about your fear and they'd all but laughed at you, saying that nothing like that happened here. You'd never wanted to have been so wrong in your life.

One door was already wide open, and blood was smeared on several other doors, also open. It seemed that the killer had gone down the hall, checking who decided it was too hot to save their lives. The first body was in the doorway of the room three doors up from yours. It was sprawled out on the floor and you and Stiles nodded, agreeing not to go into the room considering the carpet was currently soaking up the victim's blood. It seemed there were plenty of others anyways.

Room after room, one slaughtered college student after another left you feeling ill beyond belief. You didn't need to be told what had happened, you already knew. You had never actually had the chance to see what happened when the killer was finished with their dirty work, what they did to the people they used as instruments of mass murder. Sadly it seems you didn't have to go searching to find out. At the end of the hall was another body, this time with a knife in its hand, most likely from the kitchen in the common room. Its throat was cut, much like all the other victims.

The screaming had long stopped, you assumed it came from one of the other residents who peeked out into the hallway and saw what looked like a scene from an upcoming Scream 5. Stiles was bent over the body, examining what you assumed was its deadness.

"Whatcha looking at?" He gave you a vague noise of acknowledgment before standing up and looking at you with a face slightly paler than it was before he bent down.

"I think you should see this Y/n." You squatted down next to the corpse, examining its overall lack of life and raising an inquisitive eyebrow up at Stiles.

"Look in her throat, through the cut." You'd really planned not to come this close to a corpse in your life. What's that saying? Make a plan and the universe laughs.

The throat was indeed, mostly just bloody and disgusting, but also intriguing. The windpipe and both carotid arteries were slashed straight through, a feat that was essentially impossible to do for the normal non-possessed human. In the back of the windpipe, which you could just barely see through the cut, there was a small mark. You dug your phone out of your back pocket, almost dropping it with how much your hands were shaking, and turned your flashlight on to it's brightest setting so you could see the mark clearly.

It was a small symbol, lines and swirls within a small circle that struck you as soon as you saw it. With a soft thud your ass met the ground as your precarious balancing act failed and you fell from your squatting position.

"Are you ok?" Stiles' voice was lost as your brain went into panic mode, the new found information stirring up a whirlwind of anxiety.

"We need to get out of here. Like, right now." Scrambling up from the blood soaked floor you made your way back to your dorm room, dragging a confused Stiles behind you asking a million and one questions.

Without answering any of them you grabbed your nearest backpack and started destroying your dorm room in an attempt to gather all of your most important belongings, a mix of underwear, clothes, and books thrown into your worn backpack.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me or do I get an explanation for why we need to leave your dorm room? Y'know other than the murdered college students..."  Stiles had passed the stage of being thoroughly confused by you, that ship sailed when you fought off the vine that attacked you both. Now however, he was fed up with not having answers to the predicament you now found yourselves in.

"Can I explain it to you in the car? We need to leave ASAP."

"The car has a name, it's Roscoe." You rolled your eyes, of course he named his car, and of course now is the best possible moment to tell you.

"Less talking more walking please."

"Sorry." The keys jingled as he grabbed them and yours, tossing your purple keychain to you so you could lock up. You took the stairs two at a time, almost tripping over Stiles in your haste to get out of the building.

The car seats were cold when you got in but you couldn't be more awake than you already were, adrenaline and fear coursing through your blood, the symbol seemingly burned into the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you so much as blinked. Stiles booked it out of the parking lot, Roscoe's tires making an awful screeching noise as he turned while reversing, a move that would have scared you had there not been the max amount of fear already happening.

"So, explanation." He raised an expectant eyebrow at you, biting his tongue to let you answer before he spiraled into asking questions without enough time for you to answer them.

"Uh, do werewolves have symbols for different concepts, like danger and stuff?"

"Y-yeah they do, there's one for revenge it's a spiral. Why?" A spiral, of course the supernatural weren't creative when it came to symbol differences.

"Ok well witches do, it's called the witches' alphabet, it's a few symbols they mean stuff, the one we just saw in the corpse was the symbol for revenge. It's used to channel the chosen energy into whatever magic you cast." Your voice was shaking, the lack of oxygen in your system making you feel light headed, or maybe that was the endorphins, who knows.

"Ok, so what does that mean?" Stiles was shaking as well, not liking the sound of any more revenge business. He had to deal with this once before, he didn't want a repeat supernatural problem.

"It means that whoever cast the spell is one, vengeful, two, meeting the victims beforehand to get the symbol on them. This is bad, like, really bad." You had to actively sit on your hands to stop their fidgeting, the nervous energy bubbling inside your body like a volcano.

"Just what we need, a witch who wants vengeance. Was a normal evil witch not enough?!" Stiles' comment made you chuckle, the breathy act brought a twitch of a smile to his face, your happiness spreading to him in the midst of your crisis.

"Apparently not. Where are you going, the dorms are the opposite way."

"I don't know, I didn't want to take you back to Scott until I knew what was going on so I kind of just started driving around." Had you not been stressed beyond belief at the moment you would have been endeared by Stiles' care for his friend and roommate, but at the moment it was just irritating.

"You just drove us in the middle of the night down a street you have no idea where it leads? Really Stiles?! Take us to Scott, now." You were fuming but upon seeing the dejected look in Stiles' eyes at your harsh tone you were reminded as to how hard this entire situation must be for a normal human, werewolf pack member or not.

"Please. Could you please take us to Scott." Your manners had escaped you for a moment but with the regaining of your senses they came back.  A pang of guilt struck you at how mean you'd been to the brunette next to you. Reaching out for his hand which was resting on the stick-shift you hoped silently that he would accept your unspoken apology. He did accept, a blush rising to his cheeks at the skin-to-skin contact that you initiated and a smile creeping on his face.

Moments after your mutual flush and giddiness over the contact Stiles pulled up into the parking lot of his own dorm, the tar lit up just barely by a floodlight near the sidewalk. Unwinding his fingers from yours he was the first to get out of the car, you following shortly after, the cold air hitting your bare shoulders per your tank top which you just now realized was covered in blood.

Rushing to Stiles' side you wrapped your arms around your torso to try and cover the evidence of your dorm's activities, only to realize that your arms were the source of the problem. A mix of various people's blood was coating your arms, the red solution drying crusty on your skin. Thankfully it was the middle of the night, the darkness mostly covering your blood-stained everything.

Looking over at the mole-covered man next to you you took in the sight of him, surprisingly not covered entirely in blood. He had spots of it on his hoodie, only barely visible thanks to the floodlight, but he'd managed to stay clear of the mess, something you were currently jealous of. You wouldn't be able to take a shower until you were back in your own dorm and you were really dreading the idea of having to wash off both of your arms in the small dorm sinks.

Stiles opened the door for you and the heat influx from the building was a welcome change, the goosebumps immediately vacating your skin. You both headed up to his dorm in relative silence, trying not to wake his neighbors up. It was a harder feat than it should have been, given how often Stiles almost tripped on the single flight of stairs up to his shared room.

You could hear snoring coming from one of the beds, presumably Scott's, and the embarrassing situation you'd found your friend in made you momentarily forget your current predicament. In the darkness you could see two bodies in Scott's bed, the smaller one of which you assumed was Allison, tucked under her boyfriend's arm. They were sleeping so peacefully you almost felt bad to wake them, Stiles however, did not. With a loud enough greeting and the swift act of turning on all of the lights in their dorm, he woke his roommate and his roommate's girlfriend up with a startle.

"Stiles! They were sleeping!" You'd wanted to put up a semblance of good will with the woman you'd met less than 24 hours ago but in reality you were stifling a laugh, biting your tongue to keep from bursting out. The couple let out groans of protest at being woken up in the wee hours of the morning but got up eventually anyways, thankfully somewhat dressed after what you were still convinced their nightly activities consisted of.

"What the hell dude?" The were-wolf's voice was groggy from sleep and the rough scratch in his throat reminded you of Stiles' voice less than two hours ago when you were woken up by screaming neighbors.

"Sorry but you really can't be asleep right now, also yes that is blood on Y/n's, well everywhere, I will explain that in a minute. Allison could you help her clean up? Scott I need to talk to you." Nodding Allison took immediate heed to Stiles' request and looked carefully for a space to lead you that wasn't covered in blood before eventually deciding 'fuck it' and grabbing one of your slowly drying arms, washing the blood off of the area in the small sink.

There wasn't a lot of space in the dorm for a private conversation but you and Allison made small talk in an attempt to give the boys some facade of privacy.

"So, rough night I guess?" She let out a small chuckle at her own joke while you allowed a smile to creep onto your face at the problem you had earlier found yourself in.

"You could say that. Someone decided it'd be a good idea to murder a solid percentage of my floor mates so, y'know, the night could have gone better." She gasped at that, the light air of the conversation having gone as soon as you brought up the traumatic events that had occurred.

"Murder? Oh God. By 'a solid percentage' you mean how many people exactly?" Your mind flashed through the bodies you'd seen, counting at least six in the haze of the night.

"Six, maybe more. I don't know for sure, it was a lot. We found who did it though, kind of." You wished that you were dealing with a normal murder where finding who did the killing actually solved your problem. Sadly, that wasn't the case and the situation was getting more and more fraught in your mind the more you stressed about it, the images and circumstances pulling the strings in your mind so tightly they were beginning to fray.

"Are you ok?" Allison's eyes were kind and you noted in the back of your brain to thank Scott that he had such good taste in girlfriends.

"Yeah, I think so. I'm not hurt or anything, just a little shaken up." She nodded silently before going into nurse-mode and scanning your now-clean left arm.

"No scratches, all of this blood seems to be someone else's. I think most of the blood is other people's but I need to wash off the other arm to be sure."

"Be my guest, I wasn't feeling the whole blood-sleeve look anyways." You shrugged and let out a small giggle at your own joke, Allison following suit as she lathered up the ruined washcloth for another round of scrubbing.

You were in the process of cleaning the blood from underneath your fingernails when Stiles and Scott crept up behind you, interrupting the light bonding that you had started with Allison.

"Ok, we need to get out of here and go back home, right now." Scott took on more of a dominant personality when in charge and it made you glad that someone knew what to do, even if you didn't. You'd already grabbed spare clothes from your dorm room so you and Allison waited by the door nervously while Stiles and Scott scrambled to gather their most important belongings.

"Where is home?" You knew where you were from and where your home was, but you doubted that everyone would be game for catching a flight at almost 4 a.m.

"Beacon Hills, it's where we all met. Stiles and Scott are from there, so is most of the pack, I moved there sophomore year. The pack started in Beacon Hills, the town is like a beacon for the supernatural, it's probably the safest place to be because it's home territory, Scott's pack has been protecting it for years now."

"So Scott's the alpha?" It made sense given his natural leadership abilities and his friendliness, but it was still a little odd to see your friend as the strongest were-wolf out of the entire group you saw the other night.

"He's a true alpha too." You'd heard of true alphas, mostly by myth however, they were rare but the more you thought back on Scott's character the more it made sense. He was easily one of the most loyal people you'd met, and he was brave as well, fighting for people he didn't even know, or people he didn't know well. He was willing to risk his life to save the barista on the day of that attack, even willing to let her see him shift, it was only logical that he was a true alpha.

Your conversation was interrupted as it took all of five minutes for the two best friends to pack their things, swing the backpacks stuffed full of items over their shoulders before they led the way back down to the Jeep that was parked out front.

The ride was quiet and tense, Stiles in the front with you and Scott in the back with Allison, explaining the specifics of the situation that you had purposely left out because you didn't know how to explain it without making a joke out of it. Dark humor was quickly becoming your most solid coping mechanism for morbidity.

Scott went to protect Allison as she ran up to her dorm to grab her things as well, insisting that she tell her roommate she was going home so no one would file a missing person's report and make the entire situation more complicated.

She came back downstairs quickly, Scott in tow looking noticeably dazed as he held on to his girlfriend's hand when she plopped in the back of Stiles' Jeep. You let out a snort at what had most likely been a 'our lives are in danger' make out and let them have their secrecy as Stiles started up for what was the drive to Beacon Hills.

[stfulinz]

Murderously Obsessed - Chapter 2

Plot - Kai Parker’s back and he’s worse than ever. He will do whatever it takes to ruin Mystic Falls and this time, nothing  and nobody will get in his way.

Y/N watched as Damon’s body collapsed on the ground, the sound of his neck snapping cut heavily through the air. Kai Parker emerged from the doorway with a devilish grin commanding his face, his arm stretched out as he walked towards the elder Salvatore’s limp body. He kicked Damon in his rib-cage twice, just to make sure he was actually out and not just pretending, it’s a no risk zone when it comes to the vampire with the anger issues, he thought to himself.

Kai sauntered his way to the girl bleeding out on that alcoholic Ric’s table, he honestly wondered if the school knew about their prestigious History teacher hiding liquor in school lockers, would they keep him? Probably. Mystic Falls is a fucked and hopeless town and it honestly didn’t take a genius to figure out why the Scooby Gang loved it here. Probably because they’re all equally fucked and hopeless in their own ways.

His train of thought about ruining Ric’s career so that the old man could drink himself to death was cut short when he heard a soft sigh coming from Y/N. He watched closely as she blinked through her tears, still trying to put pressure on the stab wound and it was only then he noticed that her white t-shirt was lifted up - revealing her stomach. Since she was bleeding non-stop, the rest of her body lost color; she looked so weak. The only source of light was the moon, which reflected off of her skin and he found himself thinking how beautiful she looked. She was just as pale and pristine as the white moonlight.

And then he hated Damon for touching her and lifting her shirt, even if it was to help, and out of sheer spite decided to snap his knees.

Y/N didn’t notice when Kai got so close to her until he rested his hand on her cheek, the other hand went over her own, putting light pressure on the wound. “Please, don’t kill me, Malachai. Please”, she heard herself begging and even though she was the one saying those words her brain could hardly register them. Her ears were ringing non-stop with pain and she felt like she was speaking into fog and mist. She didn’t even know if he heard her.

A small tear escaped her eye and fell right into Kai’s palm, the same one that cradled her face ever so gently. It was hard to believe this is the same guy who stabbed her and temporarily killed Damon all within the span of 40 minutes because he looked at her with so much concern and hurt right now that she almost felt bad. She felt bad for dying.

Kai felt his palm getting more wet as she blinked through more of her tears, he watched her put on a brave face and try to hold it in until she couldn’t anymore and just started sobbing hysterically in his arms. Her vacant hand grabbed Kai’s jacket and pulled him closer as heavy sobs ripped through her body, he was surprised how hoarse her voice had become due to all the torment when he heard her ask, “why am I not dying? There’s no more blood in my body, how am I alive?” She shook Kai more violently than ever, “what did you do to me!?”. Another sob. And another. Until she just conjured up a full blown anxiety attack.

Malachai was honestly staggered at her rage, he watched her rough breaths vanish into the air. Chilly winter air finally settled in and he wondered if she was Hypothermic.

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re angry”, he found himself saying with furrowed brows, “you’re the one who is accusing me of killing you. I should be angry with you, Y/N”.

“Accusing you? Malachai you stabbed m-”

“- Don’t ever call me that”.

“Malachai,” she said with extra emphasis and he rolled his eyes in annoyance, “you stabbed me”. She was mumbling so softly that Kai was having trouble understanding her.

“Ok, I did, so what? Blame Steven for that, I overheard him and Damien talk about draining vervain out of someone by bleeding them out and I thought to myself, huh, I was looking for a way to make you stop taking your daily dose of vampire repellent, or in my case, heretic repellent” Kai laughed at his own joke when he got no reaction from the gorgeous girl in his arms and he stopped talking because he thought about how badly he wanted to kiss her right now, her hand was still on his jacket and her lips were slightly open and she was so close all he had to do was lean in and then-

“Stefan and Damon”, he watched as her lips moved but couldn’t even focus on the words because he was so consumed by her he honestly felt like every nerve in his body was on fire from her touch.

“Huh?”

“Stefan and Damon, that’s their name. Not Steven and Damien”.

“Right. That’s what I said,” Kai was honestly taken aback by the fact that she still had the ability to focus but figured it was for the best because he needed her to stay awake. “Anyway, I didn’t know how to stop you from taking it because they mixed it in your morning coffee so I started to bring coffee for you myself but that did nothing because you just started drinking 2 cups of coffee. No offense, you’re so addicted to caffeine it’s sad, I mean how are your teeth even intact anymore? Is your brain okay from all the energy juice you take?”

Y/N refrained from making a snarky comment about his own eating habits and decided to stick to the point instead of engaging with him in a battle of wits, “Finish the story, Malachai.”

“Hey,” he said gently and then pressed on her wound with so much strength that Y/N screamed with every ounce of energy in her body, pain overwhelmed her from the top of her head all the way down to her toes and a fresh set of tears pricked her eyes, “I thought I told you not to call me that, gorgeous.”

She was horrifyingly surprised at how good Kai was at causing agony, his demeanor was relaxed and his face had an easy look to it, she disturbingly wondered for how long he had been planning this, how many times he had practiced and thought this through in his mind to be so damn immaculate.

Kai removed his hand from her stomach, staring at how beautifully blood soaked it was before licking his fingertips. He closed his eyes and hummed quietly in satisfaction.

“Y/N, you taste so sweet I might have to start calling you sugar, instead.”

She didn’t respond, so Kai continued to talk her mind off. “Nothing is ever really easy with you, which I find to be adorable by the way - always stay feisty, so I just chose the hard way. It’s almost like I tried to be the nice guy and compel you without hurting you but you didn’t want that so this,” he said while gesturing to her battered and bloodied body, “is completely your fault.” 

Y/N had to close her eyes because she couldn’t even look at him. Trepidation filled her up. All this because he wanted to compel her, she was so smitten by Malachai Parker that if he just simply asked her to stop taking vervain, she would’ve. In a heartbeat. She truly would’ve done anything if he asked, and that’s why the emotional pain here was much bigger than the physical pain. Which is saying a lot because she’s pretty sure he stabbed her right through her gut. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing this though; to let him know how uncomplicated this could’ve been, to tell him that she feels more hurt and betrayed than angry. That would put him on cloud nine.

“How am I still alive?” she whispered numbly.

“Oh, yeah, I put a spell on you but all that’s irrelevant”, he waved off-handedly, and she just wanted to break his nose more than anything in the entire world.

“What about Damon?”

Kai sighed, now he was mad. And amused. He couldn’t decide which one, he huffed and stepped away from the fragile girl and smirked smugly, deepening his voice to impersonate Damon - “that’s for me to know, and for you to dot dot dot”, he tapped his finger in the air each time he said dot. “was that good? I thought that was pretty good, Bon Bon would be proud.” His smirk dropped as he saw Y/N’s head lull. The spell was wearing off.

“Kai, listen to me-”

“Enough chit-chatting, time’s up”. She had never seen him this serious before, his clean face was set in focus and his jaw clenched as he moved forward and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to enough proximity to maintain eye-contact. His gray blue orbs, a perfect mix of chaos and calm pierced through her soul as she watched him mouth words that she would forget the very next second.

“You will get up and walk to the Salvatore boarding house all bleeding and confused; balling your eyes out, when they ask you what the hell happened - tell them Damon stabbed you in a fit of rage. Repeatedly. He tried to feed off of you but you ran before he could get a hold of you. You couldn’t make sense of anything but the only logical explanation is that Damon turned his switch off when you told him Elena still loved Stefan. He knew she could never entirely be his so he didn’t want her at all. None of this matters, Damon kept repeating repeating to you before he pierced a butcher knife through your stomach in the Mystic Grill kitchen. You hate him for this, you will never forgive Damon Salvatore.

They won’t know how to help you, they’ve never seen something like this - so just gently say Kai Parker. That’s where our story begins, sugar. Forget this conversation happened, Y/N. Forget you saw me here. Forget all of this. Only remember what I told you. Go.”

[youre-on-your-ownkid]

I owe you an explanation so hi. also I'm not copy pasting this so @i-dont-like-a-gold-rush hi to you too

basically, ever since the word about my offline school reopening started, I started to have anxiety attacks at the most random of thoughts. I thought I was over the whole new school thingy but apparently not... it's easier to talk to people over text and calls. just when I was starting to get used to these people, a huge change occurs again and suddenly I have to meet them and act like I'm one of them.

but I still calmed myself down by saying that mom and dad would never allow me to go, cause there were transportation (buses haven't started) and covid issues. that is, until that day I was talking to you, and our teacher suddenly told us that we have to come to real school to give our exams. it's compulsary. those giving it online will be evaluated, but not given marks because apparently, the minute offline school starts, they think we're gonna start cheating.

anyway I blanked for a second, the next thing I knew I was deleting all the apps on my phone. I've always been the kind of person to prioritize grades over everything idek why I do it but yeah. so the fact that I might not get marks for the work I do just shocked me. also it started to sink in, that not only do I have to now go compulsorily to school, but the first thing I'll do when I get there is give an exam. and I'm reallyyyy not good under pressure. then all my incomplete work started floating in my mind and I just flipped completely. I don't know why it mattered so much to me, but I think the marks thing was the last screw for moi.

I left the meeting, feeling like I was about to throw up (which I didn't, cause I hadn't eaten breakfast that day) and just paced around the room trying to breathe but I couldn't. it was a full on panic attack, and I forgot all the tips I had read about them earlier when I used to have them regularly. my brother wasn't home that day either, though I doubt he would have been of help. so when I finally started to breath after 30 minutes or so, I was in too much of a shock to register what I had done.

immediately after, I got called into a class representatives meeting about somebody acting out, and for some reason I was the only one who could talk to him so I didn't really have time to recover. the others kept talking about school and my head kept spinning and spinning and spinning. I think the only way I calmed down was by listening to music afterwards? and that's when I installed discord and tumblr again.

so yeah. there you have it.

Oh god omg, I'm not disclosing your name or stuff cause ik you wanted to stay anon. Ok so yeah I totally get why you freaked out, I've always prioritized grades too. I mean you toh got the news of offline classes and uninstalled... Maine toh online exams ke pehle hi uninstall kar diya Tumblr and discord from my phone lmao.

Also I get the changing schools and settling down stuff. I've literally changed 3 schools in my life... So yeah it does take time to fit in but I'm sure you're gonna be ok. Just, look I know you're a very good student, I don't need to see your report card for that, so I'm sure you don't have to worry about work load when offline school reopens. But j get the part about pretending to be alright... Cause yeah school toh jate hai padhne ke liye but we do need friends... And it's kinda hard for you considering you've never interacted with them in what, 2 years? But yeah, just, don't worry. Everything will work out perfectly fine... I mean, all of them will like you, I'm sureee. I mean, you must've seemed tolerable enough to make you my friend so eh. But yeah, don't worry, it's gonna work out. -;-

Also like, WHAT IS IT WITH THE FUCKING GOVERNMENT NOT VAXXING US YET FORCING US TO SCHOOL PHYSICALLY SMH, FUCK THEM.

Also, final note before I probably log off from the tab: @i-dont-like-a-gold-rush here ya go

[vintagestrawberrydoll]

tw in the tags (check those first)

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my thoughts are like all over the place right now so this might not make sense so bear with me here. Back during the 2020 school year i fucked up with my grades by not doing my work (i did post some vents about it when it was happening), part of me wants to say it was bc i was being lazy and the other part of me wants to say it was due to my mental health issues (i personally think i was being lazy but i do have a bit of a warped view of myself due my mental illnesses) now bc of this i had to do all (or most) of my missing assignments which and there was a lot (also this was in my second quarter) but i understood that i fucked up and was willing to deal with the consequences (like summer school or whatever) but understandably i was stressed but i was dealing with it. I was still dealing with missing assignments even when i was dealing with finals and i had to do a project for math that i was putting of due to my missing assignments (which i knew i shouldn't have done but i was dealing with alot) anyways i got stuck a math problem (btw math is like my least favorite subject im bad at it and i always need help) and i tried really hard to answer it but i couldn't so emailed my teacher but she was taking a really long time to answer so i was like "ok i'll do other assignments" while trying really hard not to have a panic attack and my mother was on her way home with dinner so i was freaking out but was trying to remain composed and when she got home immediately told her everything and that i could deal with it on my own but my mother has like a bad temper and my oldest sibling even tried to stop her from reprimanding me but it didn't work. So about like five minutes later my mother came into my room where i was working and was basically telling me that this was all my fault, that i was fucking up, and whenever i tried to remind her that i was working on it she told me to shut up and kept on reprimanding me and telling me that i was just like my siblings (bc they also fucked up with their grades) and that i was lazy. She probably said more than that but i can't remember all of it cause i repressed the memories; anyways while she was reprimanding me she made me cry (like full on sobbing) this was due to the fact that i have rsd and no one can trigger it better than my mother. I think she also told me to stop crying then when she was done i went to the bathroom and cried my heart out. i sh by hitting myself over and over again, insulted myself, was going to high restrict the next day, and was kinda planning on killing myself. After i was done i made sure i looked like i didn't cry and went back to my room to work. I came down for dinner kinda binged and then went back to my room. now that i look back on this all im thinking is "what the fuck was my mother on?" I dont think i was diagnosed with rsd at this point so like my mother couldn't have known but like i have had these episodes before bc of her yelling at me or expressing disappointment at me, i think she always thought it was just my anxiety and that i needed to get over it and "stop using it as an excuse" her words not mine. Also she knew that i had dealt with sh in the past so couldn't she also taken that into account and thought "hm maybe i should be more understanding" but no. am i just overreacting? because my mother knew i have had these kinds of episodes before (like me sobbing and having panic attacks bc she told me off) and its not like this was the first time she triggered my episodes, i just feel like im stupid and overreacting bc my mother always makes me feel like im overreacting when i have these episodes and i think she hates when i cry but like in a "you make me feel gulity bc you're crying" way

[anachronisticcrab]

I know that my posts don’t usually get seen when they aren’t about Nico di Angelo or Percy Jackson in general, but I feel like this needs to be addressed. School is shitty in places outside the US

I live in Canada. I don’t have to worry about getting shot if I go to school, but it’s still shitty at my school (especially at my old school)

Quick tw for this entire thing. It deals with eating disorders, mental abuse, physical abuse, psychotic episodes, teachers not caring, mental illness, trauma, and suicide. Please tread carefully before you continue

I’ve been going to Catholic schools since I was 3. I went to a catholic elementary school in Ontario for about 10 years before going to my current Catholic high school

At my elementary school, when I was in fourth grade, one of the girls in my class was struggling with her mental health. Her dad had died a few years before then (by the way, our school NEVER gave her a safe space to discuss what was going on in her life) and she had been through some other shit

Now, in fourth grade, I didn’t know anyone in my class except for her (there were around 70 kids in my grade, I didn’t know a lot of people). So we hung out that year. Some days, she was in a great headspace and was happy and we got along great. She was funny, smart, nice, easy to talk to, and she was probably the first friend I had that I had anything in common with

But as I mentioned, she was seriously struggling. About once a week (at the minimum), she would have what I am going to refer to as an ‘episode’ because I really don’t know any other way to put it. She would scream, throw things, chase people around the class with scissors, and just overall torment me and my classmates. It got so bad that the entire class had to be brought into the hall for our own safety on more than one occasion

Our of everyone in the class, she harassed me the most. I’m not entirely sure why, but I’m guessing it had something to do with her own self-sabatoge since I was pretty much the only person there for her that entire year

One time she tried to cut my throat. Another time she threw a textbook at my head. She followed me around for almost six hours straight, calling me names and harassing me.

None of this was a secret from our teachers. They all knew about this. Our principals knew about this. Half the school knew about this. But none of the adults, who were responsible for keeping us safe, did anything.

They let it slide. They sent her to the office (the principals did nothing). They brought us out of the class, but didn’t ever do anything to help her to stop her episodes or to help her with any of her issues. In fact, just so they could all avoid doing their jobs, they hired college students to come in and talk to me and her at recess a couple days a week. I feel so bad for those girls since they were busy with school and exams, but they had to help out two extremely traumatized and extremely fucked up kids

One time this girl tried to kill me. And I mean this seriously— she came at me and tried to cut my throat with a pair of scissors. There were three eye witnesses (outside of myself and the girl). There was footage of it on the security cameras. And the girl started chasing people with scissors after I ran away from her. Our principals did nothing. Our teacher did nothing.

I asked my parents and teacher and principals to move me to the other class because I couldn’t be around that girl. She tormented me, and I was terrified to go to school because I didn’t know if it was going to be a good day or if she was going to attack me and scream at me. I was terrified of the building, and that year led to a lot of the issues with school and mental illness that I have to deal with now. They didn’t move me. They switched desks and put mine right next to hers. Like, the fuck was wrong with those asshats?

Also, me and this girl were walking around the halls during indoor recess one time and heard our teacher shit talking me, her, and this one other kid we were sort-of friends with. He called her psychotic, called me ‘at fault for (the girls) episodes and aiding (the girls) delusions’ and made fun of our other friend for having a high pitched voice. Like, we were nine? I wasn’t responsible for this girl trying to kill me and having episodes all the time. She wasn’t psychotic, she just had some issues she needed to work out, and she needed help with it from adults. And our friend was allowed to have a high pitched voice, he was nine! Don’t make fun of nine year olds who are clearly dealing with some shit!

We told the principal what happened, and the mother fucking teacher got a raise. We asked the principal why, and he said ‘well, he’s retiring this year, and it’s not fair that he has to deal with all of this’. It’s not fair that I had to deal with that, either! Let the crusty old dude get into shit for making fun of nine year olds!

At the end of the year, my teacher had the AUDACITY to send an email to my mom, to thank me for ‘sticking by that girl even when it was difficult, and for supporting her’. Like, bitch, you mean doing your job and putting my nine year old self at risk? Shut the fuck up and help your students when they’re going through shit!

Now, if you’re wondering why I hung out with this girl, there’s a couple reasons.

My teachers, principles, and parents told me that she needed me around, and that she’d been through shit. They told me that she really did care about me, and she needed a friend. That her dad had died so she was allowed to abuse me. More or less, all the adults in my life said that she was struggling, and that her happiness was more important than my safety

As I said before, when she was having a good day, I loved hanging out with her and talking to her. She was really nice, and the first semi-real friend I ever had

I got an eating disorder that year, that still affects my life 6 years later. I got anxiety and depression from that year (there are other causes of it, but it is a big part of the reason). I now have a crippling fear of school and other people, as well as extreme trust issues. I have serious self worth issues and let people push me around because that year I was taught that I could be beaten and bruised and murdered if it made other people happy. I have suicidal ideation and cut myself because of the trauma I endured that year.

The school system did nothing to help. They let that girl fester in her issues and take them out on others, permanently traumatizing and scarring me in the process

And I started talking to that girl again about three years ago, after she’d chilled out and I wasn’t terrified of her anymore. She told me she would have killed herself if it weren’t for me. That her mom was still mourning, the rest of her family hated her, that our teachers didn’t care, and that I was the only one actually there for her. I don’t regret being there for her at that time. She’s one of my best friends and I would hate if she had killed herself

But it’s shitty that the only person supporting her at the time was me. If she had have gone through with it, it would’ve been my fault. I was the only thing keeping her from dying. And that terrifies me. I can’t even be trusted to keep myself from dying at this point.

This is just one of many, many, many stories I have about how fucked up schools are, and not just in the US. I don’t have to worry about getting shot, but my old school is still fucked up, and my current school is a little fucked as well. Let me know if you want to hear any more stories from my experience at Catholic school, or with this girl, or whatever.

[oh-sweet-mama]

Lonely (VI)

T.W - talk of self harm, talk of suicide

3 weeks later 7 days until the full moon Remus

The feeling of my shoulder blades cutting into my ribs, just added to the feeling of the dulcet ache that seemed to consume me.

3 weeks. 3 fucking weeks. Y/n can't stand to be in the same room as me. Let alone my D.A.D.A partner, but she somehow tolerates it.

Fully cooperating with the work we have to do, like a royal servant. Matching purple under eye bags adorned both of our faces, but somehow made her more eternal.

Over the weeks she had slowly stopped coming to the meals at the great hall, and the effects were starting to show. Her cheek bones were becoming more prominent on her face, and her usually rosy color, long faded away.

The usual radiant y/c/e's faded away to leave a monotone grey. She seemed so fragile, like a Porcelain doll, if only I had treated her that way.

So fuckin' stupid Remus.

A note hit my forehead and landed in front of me.

Keep staring at her like that she'll end up with two holes In the side of her head.

S.B

Recognizing the messy handwriting, before even finishing the note, I immediately knew who it was.

The feeling of tears pricked the sides of the eyes, but I ran out of tears to cry long ago. Instead the feeling of a dulcet ache in the chest replaced the physical show of emotions.

6 days until the full moon Y/n

My shitty diet consisted of Tea, cigarettes, and what ever my friends brought me back to the dorm. Of course I tell them that I'm not their responsibility, but they still bring me the occasional muffin or biscuit.

James brought me entire meals, of which I could barely consume the entire thing.

You have to do it you have to tell him.

No. No I couldn't. I can't risk losing someone else. He would hate me if I ever told him. Send me to the ministry, report me to Dumbledore, hell I'd get kicked out of Hogwarts.

I still maintain physical hygiene and grades. The two most important things. Can't smell and can't fail.

The ache in my chest was never there, maybe it had to do with the fact that I'm always high enough to fend it off.

First tip, the best way to get over someone, get all the emotions out, get numb, act like it never happened.

Easy, right? No. You can't just act like it never happened, he was all I had, all I'll ever have.

I just wasn't good enough.

I stopped going to parties, instead focused on my studies. One of the best in my class.

'Y/n what's your secret?'

'I don't know, uh drugs? Heartbreak? Both?'

5 days until the full moon Remus

The increasing uncomfortable pressure on my joints was almost enough to distract me from her. Almost.

I just want to run up to her and tell her everything, drag Sirius, and make him confess too. Maybe we'll all be happy together.

The imagine of the three of us happy together and in love. Clouded my head. I thought about it so much it was almost tangible.

Her daily routine trips to Madam Pompfrey had me assuming the worse. I had my fare share of bandaging up Sirius' forearms and upper thighs.

I tried to think, her period maybe? No, she's had hers for years, she would just excuse herself to the toilet.

My mind just defaulted into the worse case possible.

Suicide?

My heart thumped in an uneven painful rhythm. Swallowing a lump in my throat I hadn't even known formed I continued to attempt to let my teacher teach me the material of today's lesson.

Please be ok y/n, please, I love you to much to lose you, even though I've already have

4 days until the full moon

Tell him, tell him, he'll help you. The pain is too much, please it hurts.

I took a deep breath calming the clamoring thoughts in my head. A very dangerous place to be at this time of the month.

James was sitting next to me on my bed, the way he usually does, reading something. I noticed the title of his cover.

Lycanthropy: Everything you need to know and why their still human

"Didn't know we were learning about Lycan's in D.A.D.A." I murmured, focusing back on my own book.

"We're not, personal purpose." James answered back.

"What's your opinion on them?" I asked getting more nervous for James' answer.

Tell him, tell him, he'll help you. James loves you, he'll help you.

"There people, humans, witch or wizard, just with a condition. Doesn't make them dangerous, just misunderstood." James answered, "why do you ask?"

My eyes went wide, my pulse sky rocketing, the sudden awareness of the blood rushing through my veins.

"N-no reason." I desperately hid behind the small potions handbook from the library.

"Y/n/n?"

"Hmm? Very interesting potion here yes-"

"Wolves bane potion? How ironic, oh and your little wolves bane garden?"

My face paled, all of the blood rushing from my head into my toes.

Oh why can't I just sink to the bed and disappear?

"Very lovely flowers yes?"

"Do you, have, anything you want to tell me?" James asked causally not looking away from his book.

Oh what the hell.

"Fine! Fine!" I got up from the bed, tossing my book in the process, "I'm a werewolf!"

James froze in his spot. Before slowly lower his book so his eyes could peek above.

"What?"

"I contracted Lycanthropy ok?"

"Y/n sit down, and tell me everything, ok?" A sweet tone, of compassion and understanding, allowed me to sit and tell him everything.

3 days until the full moon

Remus

Nearing the summed of the month, a deep pit of anxiety took place, along with the increasing pain across my body. Sleep easily overcome me at any point possible, but restlessness at any other time.

Dozens of old scars, reminded me of the painful transformation. I pondered the lonely pain, that radiated through my diaphragm. Even being with one of the loves of my life, the immense feeling of being alone, was over clouding my mind.

Though James had been acting different, skittish, more than usual. He was usually found escorting Y/n.  

Again in D.A.D.A, We were granted a study hall period, in the Great hall. Books open, parchments being scratched on, quills moving from their ink pots, and light chatter amongst the tables. The table segment of which I sat was mostly empty, Sirius lightly leaning on my left side. A soft voice came by and stopped right in front of me.

Glancing up for a moment, my eyes glued to the figure in front of me. Y/n. oh shit oh shit, keep it cool Remus, don't scare her away now. Though a few seconds later James adorned her side, as usual.

2 days until the full moon Y/n

The secret was out, at least a little, an invisible weight was lifted off of my chest. Granting less anxiety about the first shift of the school year.

Actively avoiding the conversation, about where I go, or how it happened, I seemed to feel free. I guess I hadn't seemed to notice the weight of the secret I had been keeping.

It had become second nature, to harbor such a deadly illness, no harm shall come to them. I promised myself. Even if it meant lying to them.

It's better to not have them know, than having them risk their lives for something I can handle.

1 day until the full moon Remus

Y/n seemed to be getting healthier with the promotion and consolation of James. Every one needs someone to lean on.

I just wish I had been me. Maybe if I had told her, told her about my illness that seemed to consume me at times. Hell, my best friends and boyfriend knew about me long before we even started dating.

Yet 2 years had gone by and I couldn't bring myself to tell her, I was afraid of losing her. But I still did.

The day of the full moon 3rd person

"Y/n, please come with me, trust me please!" James begged to the girl, that refused any type of help. "You've already taken the wolves bane potion, and you can't hurt me. You know why? Because Lycans don't attack Animagus'"

"You're an Animagus?" Y/n whispered, just above her breath.

"Yes. Now please." James held his hand out to her, in a silent last offer of help. Y/n laced her fingers with James' and he sped off with her close in tow.

James pulled a seemingly blank piece of paper from His hoodie pocket, and let go of her hand.

"James, what are you doing?" Y/n asked in a hush tone.

A wild grin played out on James' face, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The Incantation, followed through the tip of James' wand and caused ink to spread around the parchment. Names moved across through what looked like halls.

"What is that?"

"Marauders map, shows what every one is doing, every minute of everyday, see, there Dumbledore, in his office. I was just making sure the rest of the marauders were on their way and was no one coming."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?"

"Yea you'll see, come on now." James snatched Y/n's wrist and ran, taking her out of the castle and towards the shrieking shack.

"James the willow! Be careful!"

He continued to tug the girl behind him.

"James!"

"Hurry, there almost there." Reaching the edge of the field where the whomping willow resided, James stuffed the map back into his pocket.

"James? What the hell, where were you?" The rest of the marauders came out from behind a group of trees, "and what the fuck is she doing here?" Sirius snapped

"Can I tell them, Y/n?" James asked.

"I will," y/n replied in a hushed tone.

"Tell us what! You're dating?" Sirius scoffed.

"No, I-I'm a werewolf, a Lycan, a lycanthrope, whatever you want to call it! James said you could help me, last time I went to my usual spot, I fractured both of my legs and laid in the middle of the forbidden forest for 3 days"

Sirius paled out, and looked back to Remus.

"If you want me to go, tell me now, I've taken the Wolves bane potion, it's only a couple hours hike into the forbidden forest."

Remus felt his heart drop, then a deep ache. How long? I guess she also had no right to tell me, just as I never told her.

"No, Y/n stay, let's go inside." Remus said, sincerity laced into his voice. Her face softened.

"Where?" She asked.

Remus pointed to the willow. Her face paled.

James headed over to Peter to discuss who would stay outside in case anything went south. Sirius looked to Remus.

Remus took a few hesitant steps toward her. Before reaching his hand out offering her safe passage. Instead she swooped in gently under his arm.

Remus' heart swelled, maybe she does still love me after all.

1888 words

Ahhhahahahhah

It's finally coming together baiwbsiaiensl

-Kal

[drake-the-incubus]

Post Note: This is long and I’m sorry.

I want to expand on what I mean but not use that post to do so.

Believe it or not, “x is a sign of y” isn’t as harmful as everyone is screaming about.

For example, my knees. I intermittently use a cane. Recently I haven’t had to use it- or I’ve forgotten it- but I have had days where I needed it.

I’ve had bad knee pain for a long ass time. Issues with pain in my legs in general.

But a lot of the time it would be a dull throb and I was fairly active as a kid and teen.

I also have a joint cracking problem. And I don’t mean I’m purposefully cracking my joints- though I do- I mean I’ve earned the nickname, “snap, crackle and pop” and “rice krispies”.

And my mom, when I was 12, went in for osteoarthritis and after years of pain finally found out she had a degenerating back that caused her back to create shards and she had a pinched cyatic nerve.

Forgive me as I’ve never seen this written down.

I’ve also had a problem with being incredibly sick as a child. Bronchitis to Bronchial Pneumonia almost yearly, and a couple of gland infections.

Do you know what mom tells me and I do?

Warning signs. Very common and not at all unusual warning signs.

I’m at risk for arthritis. In fact mom and I are both certain if it’s not there in my knees it’ll develop at some point.

In fact, earlier this year, I had back pain. God awful back pain. It ran down one leg at some point.

So I asked my mom because these were the symptoms for her issues. She told me to immediately see a doctor.

To most, that’s an overreaction. But it’s not.

I’ll round back to my sickly childhood.

I have a devil of a cough, I’ll hack up a lung if I have a fit. In fact if I’m ill I have the chance to seriously damage my throat- Halls my saviour.

I’ve had colds turn into serious medical issues because they don’t go away on their own, and what was considered a cold turned out to be an infection.

So now I’m hyper vigilant. A cold that last three days with medicine, I go to the doctor. If it’s just a cold, I’ll refuse their medicine, if it’s bronchitis, I’ve caught it early and now can avoid an emergency room visit.

Because of this sickly thing I’ve had for over two decades of my life- since I was an infant/toddler- I now have to tell people I live with, “hey if I’m sick too long tell me I’ll need to see a hospital”.

COVID came around and I literally got messages from multiple people worried I was going to die if I caught it, and I’m going to say, I’m terrified. I’ve been in the hospital multiple times due to illness, days away from being hospitalized.

The virus fucking terrified me. I’ve had more than ten scares of having it, with no idea what I should do, so I treated myself with care, waited for day three, when it didn’t come I was relieved.

I’ve nearly died twice to an allergic reaction, to this day, I’m deathly allergic to two things and I don’t know what they are.

I’m also allergic- but not even close to severe- to other things I can shrug off.

I’ve also had a negative general allergy test. It’s where I found out my blood type.

But I’ve had my throat slowly close up as I took a specific anti depressant. I didn’t notice until my tongue had started swelling in my mouth, that I had more itchy skin than usual and I was having breathing issues. I got told I was a few days out from actual death.

For mental health. I have very weird applications of symptoms.

I can tell if someone is angry or not, I can have genuine conversations with someone and notice minute details.

I’m also traumatized and was forced into recognizing emotions.

But I don’t know when to stop a conversation. I don’t know when to interpret someone’s polite way of ending something. I don’t know the social etiquette to not embarrass people. I can be sociable, but I hate people and I never seek them out myself.

I’m not the model someone looks to for an AFAB with autism.

My trans status really pushed the diagnosis.

But I do have the symptoms, they’re just not presenting in ways that make people scream autism- more like scream freak.

And as a teen I never knew I had it. But I found people who related to me outside of a psychological textbook who explained my issues and gave tips that worked for once.

I was Fourteen before it clicked in my parents were abusing me. That it wasn’t normal to stop and listen to make sure those were their footsteps. If they were coming to my room. How heavy? Is that anger?

I’d explain normal life things and get people telling me it wasn’t normal and I needed to be away from it. That the behaviour was terrifying.

That if my parents were threatening to beat me black and blue, I should be trying to get out.

Trauma causes memory issues? How would I know that as a teen going to the police and not being able to say anything other than, “they threaten me when I brush my teeth”.

A terrified seventeen year old, describing how they were punished and the police couldn’t take them seriously, as they sobbed and begged to not go back.

In a week I had to return because there was no where else to go.

I couldn’t tell the police office my parents threatened my life that night.

I couldn’t remember why I was convinced by my friends online to run away.

My teachers got mad: “Did you think of your grades, you’re graduating this year”

Not even thinking about how I was suffering so much I got sent to the councillor- and then dumped- multiple times for suicidal ideation and the absolute terror I had in ever speaking of my issues.

It took meeting someone who was traumatized to learn I had panic attacks.

“Go take Your medication they give you for anxiety, you’re having a panic attack”

I’ve had them since I was a child and it took frantically talking in a chat room to figure it out.

I got half my diagnoses from the people around me before medically getting them. And that’s not a joke.

I had abnormally painful periods for my entire childhood, and it took a friend telling me it was probably bad I needed my mom’s painkillers for her back sometimes to even exist.

And do you know what, extremely painful periods is a sign for something really bad. And about 1/3 of afabs have that experience.

It’s considered normal. And yet it can lead to a deadly disease if you’re not careful.

A painful boob can be breast cancer.

A cough and fever could be COVID.

People relatively will explain their experiences in a way that people see is normal.

Making it Hard to actually convey how these experiences are normal for US but they’re not normal.

“Haha I Just found out reading a lot as a kid was a sign of PTSD” isn’t someone taking the piss abt PTSD, it’s a common experience due to escape fantasies. I know a lot of people, most who hate reading now, that explained how they’d read for hours as a child to get out of life, sometimes pretending to be something better.

And so in good conscience, I can’t say that post is great.

TDLR; The post that insinuates “x is a sign of y” comes off as ableist, as my lived experiences I know where this comes from.

Sometimes minor things can be a sign of something major and ignoring it doesn’t help.

Physical and Mental health are hard to convey, and most of the time someone doesn’t have the language or forethought to in depth describe their experiences.

[visndcaitswhore]

Ephemeral|| FRED WEASLEY

Summary: Starting his first year at Hogwarts Hades Lestrange thought it was going to be peaceful and he would keep a low profile. But peaceful and low profile isn't in the twins' vocabulary, apparently.

                                                           TWO

The Slytherin dorms where quiet, which made sense since it was the middle of the night and every student after eating to their hearts content had quickly retired for the night. Yet, in the dark and suprisingly warm room- of course, there is no way the wealthy parents would allow their kids to freeze under the lake- a sigh sounded through the quiet of the room.

Hades shifted for the hundreth time that night, sleep wasn't his friend that night. Laying on his side he pushed the dark green curtains of the bed aside slightly to peek at the clock that was resting on the bed side table. He squinted at the clock which told him that it was almost 4 in the morning.

He closed the curtains with a groan.

Whatever, he thought, time is relevant.

Fuck, he needed sleep.

He closed his eyes trying to fool himself into thinking that he is asleep but that did not seem to work because of the unexplained uneasiness he felt. Well, not exactly unexplainable, he knew it was because of the red headed twin storms and their friendship that lasted for almost three hours or so.

It was stupid to think about them so much, of course it wouldn't last. He knew that. But he lost himself, he was happy and he laughed so much he forgot to take in account their worn out shirts, their baggy clothes that obviously weren't originally bought for them but for someone taller, propably a sibling. No signs of wealth anywhere, he couldn't associate himself with them even if they were sorted in slytherin.

Which they would not want, who would seat in a table full of back stabbing snakes?

Assholes, mother fucking, horses ars-

There was a loud snore from one of the boys that broke the silence out of nowhere, causing Hades to fall off his bed with a loud thud, becoming a tangled mess with his covers. Struggling, he managed to push his upper body glaring at the boy,

"Sorry, Lestrange" he mumbled sleepisly before turning to his side and falling asleep.

The dark haired boy just growled at him as he considered attacking his fellow slytherin but he decided to let it go as something dawned to him.

He was a Lestrange- rich, spoiled and entitled. He didn't know what that meant in its entirety but what he did know was the fact that he absolutely should not be bothered by irrelevant Gryffindors who were quite clearly prejudiced against him for his house while ironically calling Slytherins prejudiced.

He scoffed, shaking his head with a smile.

"What a joke..."

And everything went quite again, and stillness conquered.

Then a very loud snore shook the bedroom, again.

"For fucks" Hades grabbed the pillow from underneath the snoring boy, before attacking,

Hades walked the halls of Hogwarts like a zombie on his first day. His dark curls were all over the place, his tie was made up the wrong way and he would glare at anyone that dared talk to him this early.

Any activities before 12 should be forbidden by human rights, he scowled.

But does that mean that he would have a quite day?

No, because the universe had another obstacle for him that morning. And it had purple hair.

"Hey, Hadie, wait up!"

Hades did not respond to the name Hadie so he chose to ignore the female voice but the girl just moved to walk beside him.

"You are Hades Lestrange, right?" Asked the purple ball of energy and loudness.

"No. I'm Miguel"

The purple haired girl threw her head back with an obnoxious laugh, almost falling causing her to grab onto the dark haired boy.

As she laughed Hades kept glaring at her hand located on his arm, then at her face. Glare at her hand, then glare at her face. He continued to do that as she came down from her high, wiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes

"You are funny, mini Lestrange "

Salazar, give me strength to not slap this bitch.

"I'm not that small" he sounded pretty offended. Which he was. He knew he was pretty small for his age but he still had room to grow, or that's what his uncle told him one day when he was giving him the cold shoulder for calling him short.

"Aww, of course you are. You are cute and small, with really cute cheeks. Perfect for squeeezing" she 'complimented' while squeezing his cheek really hard giving him a mischievous smile.

Hades slapped her hand away, suddenly thankful that there were only a few students at the hall.

"Rude" she gasped "Is this how you treat your cousin?"

"No cousin of mine has purple hair, I can assure you" Of that he was pretty sure, purple hair just didn't fit with the dark and brooding death eaters of  his family.  It wasn't angsty enough.

"Well, now you do. I'm Tonks" she extended her hand for a handshake with a huge smile.

"Your first name is Tonks? Your parents dont really like you" he furrowed his eyebrows

Another obnoxious laugh.

He didn't know, or even like this girl, but she sure knew how to laugh.

"You are good, mini Lestrange"

"Meh"

"Dora!" a male voice cut their conversation off giving Hades the opportunity to try and bold as Tonks was looking at the by that called her. Only for her to grab his cloak without even looking.

The red headed boy walked closer to the two with a smile ignoring the pouting and glaring Hades, held captive by Tonks.

"Dora, you need to stop skipping classes. Sprout is looking for you"

"Well, I'm sure that she can excuse me this time. It's a family reunion!" she put a hand around Hades shoulders when he tried to wiggle his cloak out of her hold "Charlie, meet my cousin. Hades, Charlie Weasley"

The dark haired boy stopped struggling, pushing his dark curls back, looking at Charlie in pure shock.

Charlie was a very handsome young man, that much was clear. With red hair reaching past his ears, with shining blue eyes that were slightly screwed as he smiled down at Hades kindly. The boy bit down on his cheek as he could feel the blood rushing through his cheeks, quite a contrast on his pale skin. He wasn't sure if he was blushing because Charlie was handsome or because his last name was Weasley, reminding him of the twins he so wanted to strangle now.

A bit of both.

Charlie moved for a handshake when Hades made a sound of realization. With his mouth agape he pointed at Tonks accusingly "Tonks, Andromeda's new surname after marrying a muggle born." he paused "So, your first name isn't Tonks"

"Nope," she said playfully "but you can just call me Tonks"

Charlie, saw an opportunity and took it "Her name is Nymphadora"

There was a glint in the cousins' eyes.

"Don't call me Nymphadora" said the girl with a dangerous glint in her eyes as her hair turned red.

Meanwhile, Hades and Charlie smirked at each other. The glint in Hades' eyes screamed mischief. And here he thought he would get bored without annoying Draco for a whole year, little did he know the next victim would offer herself over to him. Cousins are a blessing.

"Anyways!" Hades interrupted their bickering "I have to go to my potions class. See you later," he pinched Dora's cheek affectionately with a shit eatting grin "Nymphadora"

Hades turned on his heels, suddenly very jolly as he skipped away with an evil laugh.

So, Hades was set on one thing. His potions teacher is an insecure asshole who likes to bully kids, propably because he finds no real joy in his life. And to top it all off, he was the head of his house.

And to add to that, the asshole kept calling on Hades even when his hand wasn't raised. Obviously because his last name, Lestrange, meant that he knew every single answer. Which he did, but thats besides the point. The point was that Hades' anxiety had reached its peak, and he thought he would propably have a cardiac arrest,

Not to mention he was obviously biased towards his house and he didn't even hide it as he took points from the Gryffindor's mercilessly for every stupid reason he could find, usually undeservingly. The only instance that was excused was when the twins made tampered with another students potion making it explode in his face as they died of laughter. Hades almost smiled.

If the potion had exploded in Snapes face he would have laughed not caring about the consequences.

But that small prank costed 20 points from Gryffindor and Snape seperating the twins, so thats how Hades ended up trying to scoot as far away from Fred as possible. Thankfully, Fred respected his boundaries as they both worked on their seperate assignments while stealing glances at each other from time to time.

As they stole glances at eah other their eyes met, and they held eye contact for a few seconds before the redness spread from their neck to their whole face and they looked away, wide eyed.

Hades cleared his throat, continuing with the potion but not before slapping Fred's hand away as he tried to sneak something into his cauldron.

"Touche" whined Fred rubbing his hand

"I thought we were the snakes that went behind people's backs?" Hades asked not even bothering to look up from his cauldron as he threw in the last incredients.

"I never-" tried Fred, touching Hades' wrist but he was quick to raise his hand

"Professor, I'm done"

The head of his house made his way towards him to check his work. As he examined his cauldron, Hades and Fred examined his face wondering what he felt since his expression continued to be sour and his eyes basically dead. The two first years ex changed looks, then looked back at their teacher in curiosity.

"Very well done, Mr. Lestrange. 10 points to Slytherin." Then his eyes fell on Fred's unfinished project "Mr. Weasley, why don't you follow Mr. Lestrange's," he trailed off as he saw that Fred still had his hand on Hades wrist, the slytherin not bothered in the slightest. Honestly, they had forgotten about it but now they noticed and quickly pulled their hands away ", example" Snape then walked away with a confused expression, not really wanting to know the details.

"Yeah, follow my example, Weasley" Hades smirked.

Fred puffed his chest , clasping his hands behind his back, sticking his nose high in the air "It's Mr. Weasley to you, young man" he shook his head disapprovingly "Kids these days"

Hades just smiled "Well, you should propably get used to following my example."

Fred's smile fell as he instead narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy whose smile widened. Snape dismissed

"Finally," Hades sighed "Now you can go back to your non- backstabbing Gryffindors, and I can finally be rid of your horrible excuse to a humor, yeah?" and with that he grabbed his books and walked out of the classroom.

Fred watched his back before George snapped him out of his daze and they walked out of the classroom with Lee as Fred explained to them their next plan.

[sometimesrosy]

I’m honestly asking this because I’m genuinely curious but—seriously why are you such a bitch to people who are just asking questions and who want to know more? You treat them like them not subscribing to your exact brand of analysis makes them bad people. I don’t get it.

People can have any sort of analysis they want. watsonian, doylist, psychological, cultural, historical, feminist, new criticism, reader response. I support fanfiction and fanworks. I support engaging with the content to understand your own life, experiences, identity and traumas. I ASK that they stick to the text, back up their theories with evidence FROM THE TEXT, consider the parts of canon that conflict with or debunk their theories and point out where they are engaging in logical fallacies like ad hominem attacks or confirmation bias.

This is called critical thinking. It’s pretty close to the scientific method. I’m a teacher, even though I left the schools, and it’s just who I am. In fact, I don’t subscribe to only one form of analysis. One day I’ll talk about trauma, one day I’ll talk about representations of misogyny and toxic mascuilinity, one day I’ll talk about the doylist needs of how to tell a story, the next I’ll fucking squee about bellarke and the epicness of it all.

I will ALSO analyze fandom itself, using critical thinking, social psychology, history, looking for patterns, cause and effect etcetera, and I will be honest when I see fandom doing unhealthy, toxic, irrational, unbalanced, cruel or abusive things I will speak out. No one likes their flaws being pointed out. But that doesn’t mean there are no flaws. I ALSO examine my own flaws and biases and consider the alternate points of view on a regular basis. I examine my own presence in fandom, how I can adjust or change to make the experience better for myself and my followers. But you can’t make other people be self reflective if they don’t want to look in the mirror.

You’re also acting like it’s my job to answer your question nicely and give everything i’ve got just because you ask me a question even if you don’t put the same thought into your ask. A lot of people have thought that I was like some sort of fandom mom or their teacher hired to give them gold stars. It’s one of the reasons I changed my name from rosymamacita, because I was tired of being treated like people’s moms who had to love them no matter how awful they were being. Shoot. My own daughter (a bellarke shipper) gets sarcasm and sass and scolded and punished. When I was a teacher I marked up people’s essays and scolded and told them no and got sarcastic and failed their asses for not using critical thinking. I had rubrics explaining the expectations. And if they didn’t meet them they failed. I mean. Who in the world is expected to only be nice, forever, and never disagree, say no, get impatient, get snippy, be sarcastic, or what ever. Only me is it? Why? 

As an ex english and humanities teacher, some things specifically annoy me. Like erasing canon. Your high school english teachers should be ashamed sometimes. It’s like y’all think shipping or stanning suspends the rules of logic.

When people erase canon it means they can’t understand the show. this isn’t actually analysis, it’s personal response. and personal response is valid, but it’s not understanding, it’s not analysis, it’s not interpretation. No matter how much they love their faves or their OTP, if they ignore the canon to stan their faves, they’ve lost the story. They are no longer analyzing anything that I’m analyzing aka canon. We’re literally not talking about the same thing.

That’s like using unicorns as a scientific basis to study narwhals. 

Unicorns are awesome, but it’s SO not any sort of understanding of narwhals. It’s made up. And not narwhals. Just because they share a singular horn and being a mammal, you can’t say the narwhal is the unicorn. You can analyze the wonder of the unicorn, but it still ain’t the narwhal, and saying the narwhal is the unicorn and failing in it’s job as a unicorn is... well does that make sense?

You ask why I’m a bitch sometimes? Did you happen to read my blog header?

I’m sometimes rosy

These are my rules. I ship bellarke, if you put bellarke hate or bellarke doubt or ‘i’m so worried bellarke is never going to happen’s into my inbox. You’re breaking my rules. If you are negative and disempowering you’re breaking my rules. Shipwars, fanwars character hate and writer hate are all against my rules.

When i was nice and sweet and entertained all that stuff, you know what happened? Constant harassment. Constant anxiety. Constant begging me to feed fandom neurosis in the guise of asking for assurance. All that has gotten a lot better since I developed stronger boundaries. And you know who HATES it when I have boundaries and calls me a bitch for setting them firmly and not backing down, no matter what tone I use?  People who want to cross my boundaries and suck me dry. So kiss off with your tone policing.

Maybe I’m a bitch because someone pissed me off, or they’re ignoring the fifty thousand times I told them to stick to the text, or I’m exhausted and anxious about something in my actual life, since, you know, i’m a real person who is not perfect.

Maybe I’m not a bitch, I’m just sarcastic, and you’re so stuffed up with your own ego that anything but stroking your dick reads as me being a bitch. Oh. Was it when I said the flame was a party favor not canon? That’s the bitchiest I was this morning, and that was fucking funny. Did I hurt your feelings because you think a party favor means lxa is coming back? lol. Maybe that’s what this ask is about. If you had sent me another anon saying I hurt your feelings, I would apologize and explain without the sarcasm. I’ve done that before. But you didn’t. You called me a bitch.

Maybe I’m a bitch because I’m a bitch. It’s my blog. Deal with it. I am allowed to be a bitch. I did not ask you to follow me. I am absolutely a bitch now. Thanks. It’s your fault.

Maybe I’m a bitch to anons sometimes because of you, you coward on anon. Because I get shit like this constantly, and I never know who any of you on anon are, whether you’re one of my stalkers or someone who used to call me The Devil, or part of that kru that SOMEONE is still sending to attack me. I don’t know yet I keep my anons open.

Me? I own up to everything I say, even when I’m wrong, even when I’m called a bitch. I don’t hide behind anon like you so no one can ever judge your behavior or words. 

“genuinely curious” my ass. Because if you were genuinely curious you would  read my blog and see my DETAILED fucking explanations for why I do what I do and think what I think and stand behind what I stand behind.  Do you notice that I wrote a fucking ESSAY explaining why I do what I do, using evidence and examples and types of literary analysis and this is NOT the first time I’ve done this.

Or if you were honestly asking, you would have honestly sent me a private message (which are open and always have been and I respond) asking me what my reasons are without calling me names.

You just wanted to send a nasty anon. 

And I think that makes YOU the bitch. Don’t pull that guilt trip, tone policing, condescending shit with me. Pretending to be honestly asking because you want to understand. 

Sealioning

A subtle form of trolling involving "bad-faith" questions. You disingenuously frame your conversation as a sincere request to be enlightened, placing the burden of educating you entirely on the other party. If your bait is successful, the other party may engage, painstakingly laying out their logic and evidence in the false hope of helping someone learn. In fact you are attempting to harass or waste the time of the other party, and have no intention of truly entertaining their point of view. Instead, you react to each piece of information by misinterpreting it or requesting further clarification, ad nauseum. The name "sea-lioning" comes from a Wondermark comic strip. [x]

[cookinguptales]

Today, SCOTUS is hearing arguments about whether businesses should have to cover birth control for their employees in their health insurance plans and I just. It’s hard to read.

I was going to make up this big informational persuasive post about the situation. But I’m just. I’m just so sad and angry and tired. So I figured I’d make an emotional one instead.

Let me tell you about my hormonal birth control journey. 

(Rest under a cut for length and content. cw: mental illness, graphic discussion of medical issues, injuries, & menstruation, discussions of suicide & self-harm, discussion of opioids, alcohol, & recreational drug use.)

 I started taking hormonal birth control late in high school to help regulate “painful periods”. It wasn’t for actual birth control at that point and I hadn’t been diagnosed with any disease, not even POTS yet. I just had “painful periods”.

Things were okay for a little while, but when I got to college, things started to fall apart. The double whammy of undiagnosed mental illness and a barely-diagnosed chronic illness (POTS was relatively unknown at the time and my doctors gave me information which I now know is incorrect) really caused me to spiral during my first year of college. I didn’t know it yet, but I react very poorly to some forms of hormonal birth control. Put succinctly, they drive me batshit insane. On one pill, I literally did not leave my apartment for over a month. I became very literally agoraphobic. Bouncing off the walls, irritable, angry, high suicidal ideation. As bad as side effects can be.

But I didn’t know that yet. I just stopped taking BC as part of the whirlwind of medicines and doctors that my life became for about two years while I was on my (first) medical leave from college.

My ribs were coming out back then. I didn’t know that yet, either. I knew that when I was around 16, I started getting severe back pains. The first time it happened, I had to go to the ER because I couldn’t breathe and my teachers thought I was having a heart attack. I got a narcotic shot in my butt. It did nothing to dull the pain. That’s how much it hurt. But it went away on its own eventually and I over the years I started medicating reoccurrences with a lot of different things. Physical therapy. Muscle relaxers. (Medically prescribed) opiates that made me puke. Prescription strength Advil. Wine.

I didn’t see that it was all connected yet. Not yet. I didn’t realize, with my periods as irregular as they were, that the back pains were coming around the same time in my cycle each time.

My “painful periods” got worse. I talked to an OBGYN, with my mother in the room. I told her that I was scared of something like childbirth. I knew that my blood flow was dangerously bad. What if the fetus didn’t get enough blood? Oh, my doctor laughed, that wasn’t a problem. The fetus would always get enough blood. The risk was that I wouldn’t. That it, like the tiny vampire it was, would take it all until I simply died. If I got pregnant, I would likely die. I asked about permanent sterilization. My mother cried. My doctor said no. I didn’t ask again.

I went back on birth control.

It was odd. I didn’t want children before that visit, not really. I was so tired all the time. I knew I’d never be able to manage to raise a child — and honestly, I didn’t care to try. I was so depressed. I was so sick. It sounded like so much work. I still don’t want to have kids. But it still feels… weird, knowing that I can’t. And knowing that I could die if I get knocked up.

I’m bisexual, but I have zero sexual contact with men (because I don’t love them, despite being somewhat sexually attracted to them) and zero sexual contact with people with penises (because they could literally kill me and it would be no one’s fault). But I’ve been followed home by men before. I’ve had cabbies lock me in and ask me for a date. I’ve had men who won’t take no for an answer. And my god, it terrifies me that I might have to deal with both sexual assault and a slowly creeping murder all at once.

(It’s laughable to think he’d be tried for both.)

I ended up getting sick off birth control a few times. I went on and off it periodically during my college career. I now in retrospect see that a lot of my “meltdowns” were a combination of discrimination-based stress, physical breakdowns, and hormonal whirlwinds. At my worst times, I was on birth control. The wrong ones.

My periods, over time, got worse. My back would hurt. The cramps were unbelievable. I couldn’t feel my legs. I could feel them too much. I couldn’t keep food down. I’d be so angry, so sad, so everything.

I went to the doctor again. I was diagnosed with both endometriosis and PMDD. PMDD, or premenstrual dysphoria disorder, is like PMS on steroids. I remember telling my doctor, in halting tones, that I wasn’t well before my periods. That I always had depression, always had anxiety, but I wasn’t well before periods. At her prodding, I confessed that sometimes I would just lie there for hours, for days, in the fetal position. That I’d clutch at my own arms, mooring myself, because I knew that those white knuckles were the only thing between me and killing myself. That my brain, always somewhat malevolent, became an inescapable mantra of death. That I’d just lie there and sob because it took everything I had not to hurt myself. That I’d find claw marks, bruises, on my arms later, and all I could do was get some ice.

It was better than the alternative.

I told my doctor about how painful my periods had always been. How I’d heard a story once about, y’know, that Spartan boy? The one who hid a fox kit under his shirt during an examination and stayed perfectly silent even as it clawed at him so he wouldn’t be caught with it? How it tore at his stomach until he fell down dead, still silent? I told her how I felt like I was holding a fox kit every damn month and sometimes I couldn’t stand the pain of it. Sometimes I considered ending that pain, one way or another.

She put me back on birth control.

A little less than a year later, or in layman’s terms, about a year ago, my mental health was so bad again that I was almost committed. Literally committed. I had to go stay with my parents for a few months while I transitioned to new medications because it wasn’t safe for me to be alone. I learned that the birth control I was on could create those symptoms — but they didn’t start until months after you’d started taking it. So you didn’t realize it was the medicine. You just assumed you were crazy and unlikable and so, so angry. At the world, at your loved ones, but mostly at yourself.

I learned, around that time, that I also had Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. That the pain I felt every month right before my period wasn’t just cramps. It was my bones coming undone from their sockets. It was my hips dislocating. It was my ribs popping out of my spine. I realized that that lump my parents could feel in my back wasn’t a hard knot of tense muscles. It was my fucking rib poking out of my back. I learned that there is a period right before menstruation that mimics a period during pregnancy where your joints loosen — your body thinks it is preparing you for birth, for loosening your pelvic cavity so an entire head can pass through. For someone with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, that period of joint looseness was enough to wreak absolute havoc on a system of already-weakened joints.

I learned how to put my own ribs back in with a foam roller. I started drinking marijuana tea for the pain. I went on a different birth control. I stopped taking the placebo pills. I had to fully eradicate that entire portion of my cycle. Goodbye PMDD and ribs constantly popping out. I don’t miss you!

I am still on that pill, y’know. Every day I take it and wonder if I’m one step closer to the day when it inevitably destroys me. The last one took about a year. Tick tock.

Or maybe I finally found the one that works… I really just don’t know.

The fact of the matter is that I have a full handful of maladies that require birth control so I can function. PMDD, endometriosis, dangerous pregnancy, EDS. I need hormonal birth control. I would probably be dead by now without it. The PMDD especially was that bad. My internal organs are likely a scarred-up mess. But the birth control itself almost killed me, too. God, it was close.

Simply put, birth control is heaven and hell all wrapped up in a pill. It treats illnesses and it prevents pregnancy. In other words, it provides you with both freedom and peace of mind. It is absolutely essential. But it’s also monstrous. The sheer number of sometimes-deadly side effects that come with hormonal treatments is staggering. Which is why you need to be under a doctor’s careful eye when you’re on it. You need to be free to choose whichever brand you need. You need to be free to switch kinds at a moment’s notice. None of these things are possible in a system where these pills are not fully covered by insurance.

(And yes, I know, this is a stupidly American problem in so many ways. Obviously the ideal thing here would be single-payer for all medical procedures. But that’s not up for debate here and insurance for BC is. Because for some reason we let some people’s religious convictions determine others’ health care. But I digress.)

Please don’t worry too much for me. I have a good employer who has told me in no uncertain terms that I don’t need to worry about my healthcare coverage. But there are so many people just like me. Who may not have diagnoses yet. Who may have “problem bodies”. Who only know that they need to do something and that they might have to go through several pills to find it. Whose employers either have the strong religious belief that hormonal birth control is a sin or the strong religious belief that they want to pay as little as possible for their workers’ health care. (Call me cynical.)

Those are the people I worry about. Those are the people I feel absolutely sick over as I watch the SCOTUS argue whether we should be allowed to have life-saving medicine. The people who I know will fall through the cracks the second that the cracks are widened enough for them to do so. The people who will die.

It’s a tense time right now. It’s a tense time for very obvious reasons. But this morning I find myself to be even tenser, and my stomach hurts thinking about it. It feels like all I can do is stare at a pill packet and remember every horrible reason I need it and every horrible thing it’s done to me and I just.

It’s a lot.

[artificialqueens]

From Under Liquid Glass (1)(Branjie)- Ortega

a/n: in the words of Malcolm Tucker, i’m on turbo! i’m sorry to disappoint u all and say that no, this is not part 3 to Your Move, although the good news is that a) re-reading it when i had to resubmit gave me all the feels and made me fall in love with the universe all over again and b) i finish work for 6 weeks so so soon, so i’ll soon have lots of time to get a part 3 constructed. yay! in the meantime, please enjoy this. as always…of course it’s a lesbian au. what else would u expect from me. it’s a completely self-indulgent almost-autobiographical thing that i began a while ago and i never submitted, so if people enjoy it then i’ll write some more. lots of love, bye!

p.s. the pin number line is stolen from a film. i think it’s called Employee of the Month. i watched it so long ago that i cannot remember.

p.p.s. i promise i’ll make my author’s notes short one day

Trigger Warning: lots of discussion around anxiety so avoid if u don’t want to face that

Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes was always told she’d have it all. She was never told that “all” would include crippling anxiety. Signed off from work at 27, Brooke moves back to her childhood home and has to get her head around her fall from grace.

Vanessa “Vanjie” Mateo has no job, no degree, and -£32.65 to her name, but she prides herself on keeping a level head. That all changes when a certain high school crush moves back into town and back into her life.

***

“Brooke?”

Brooke’s eyes sharply darted up to her colleague, her friend, and the only person she could trust in this godforsaken hellscape of a workplace. She felt like a small, trapped animal.

Nina’s eyes were kind, but worried. “Should you even be here today?”

Brooke blinked one, twice, three times. In an effort to keep her breathing steady she took a big gulp of air, which was restricted somewhat by the pressure on her ribcage. Was she about to have a panic attack? No, she could reign it in. She wished she could stop crying, though, the tears falling in a steady stream from her eyes which hadn’t stopped since Nina had entered the dance studio and asked her how she was. It wasn’t a secret that Brooke was having a tough time of it at work- the pressure of a chaotic management to get as many children as possible into the most prestigious dance schools in the country was tearing her mental health apart, but she’d always been able to cope with tough things, been able to push on and get through it. Although now, it was looking increasingly difficult.

Remembering Nina’s question, Brooke looked up at her. She tried to push a smile onto her mouth as she shook her head, more tears rolling down her cheeks in the process. Brooke almost wanted to laugh. She must have looked horrifying.

“Oh, baby. It’s okay. I think you just need some time away,” Nina sighed, putting a comforting hand on Brooke’s arm and letting it rest there. Brooke’s heart broke when she realised that Nina’s own eyes were tearful. “God, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you how you were, it’s just made things worse-”

“Nina, the wind blows and I cry,” Brooke deadpanned, rolling her eyes at herself and causing her friend to laugh. She took a deep breath. “But no. Yeah. I…can’t be here just now.”

Nina nodded. “Do you want me to go and tell Michelle?”

Brooke exhaled loudly. She didn’t want to have to actively seek out her head of department in the state she was currently in. She thought about it for roughly three seconds, but in that time about fifty thoughts managed to run through her head like the end credits of a film played at double speed. “Yes please.”

Nina said some other vaguely comforting things. Brooke couldn’t process them. Her mind was replaying the scene from only four days ago over and over in her head- she had been at the doctor’s, sitting all scrunched up in the chair in front of her.

“I would really like to sign you off, because it’s your work that’s causing you stress. But if you’d rather give it a couple of weeks to see how you feel and make another appointment then we can definitely do that.”

Brooke wanted to laugh at the memory. Even in the fucking doctor’s surgery, a shell of her former self, in a literal appointment she’d made to try and repair her fractured mind, she had still been too afraid to say the words- yes, do it, sign me off- as that would have meant it really was completely over. Instead, she was here at work, hands shaking, mouth bone dry, and she was still typing at her computer in an attempt to get her reports finished.

Eventually, Michelle appeared. They spoke, and Brooke still hadn’t been able to stop her tears falling. Michelle had been supportive if not sympathetic, and Brooke had apologised for causing them all inconvenience once, twice, three times. Eventually, Michelle told her to phone her doctor and go home, and took her into her office to make the necessary calls. Brooke had taken some deep, shuddery breaths that felt as if she was trapped under ice.

She hit call seven consecutive times before there was any answer.

“Hey, Mum. Um. Can you come and pick me up from work?”

***

It was sort of entirely ridiculous, the fact that Brooke had reached the age of twenty seven and had never learnt to drive, but the moment that she saw her Mum’s white, midge-splattered family car roll up outside reception she had never been so glad of having not had a license. It had taken roughly 45 minutes for her to reach the school that Brooke taught in, and on the drive back to her house Brooke listened to her chatting away about how she’d had to take her cat to the vet’s for his injections that morning so she’d had to drop him off back home before she could come for Brooke. Brooke had been worried about phoning her Mum, and she knew she worried about her, but she reasoned that she was probably just glad Brooke was coming to be at home with her.

Brooke had thought about going back to her own flat and resting up there, but she knew all she had waiting for her there were some slightly withered potted plants. She needed to spend at least a day back home with her parents, be treated as if she was back in high school all over again. As pathetic as it sounded, she just needed looked after.

As the cars sped by on the motorway, Brooke looked at her reflection in the wing mirror, running her fingers through her hair and noticing her dark roots coming through in dismay. Brooke had always had a long, thick head of platinum hair, but various escapades in highlights and lowlights over the years had cause roots to begin to appear every so often. She’d always been organised enough to get it sorted before it ever got too bad, however as she looked at herself now she realised she must have slipped up. She noticed her Mum looking over at her from her position behind the wheel.

“I’ll treat you to a haircut while you’re off,” she said quietly, her tone cheerful and making Brooke’s heart hurt more. “And we can make a nice dinner tonight. How does fajitas sound?”

“If you’re nice to me I’ll cry,” Brooke said dryly, sighing deeply and sinking further down into her seat. She saw the sides of her Mum’s mouth jerk up quickly into a suppressed smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle and deepening her crows’ feet.

“I think there’s some bubble bath in the bathroom cupboard, and I’ve still got some of that Liz Earle face mask your Dad got me at Christmas. You can get a nice relax when we get home.”

“You are queen of serotonin,” Brooke gave a small smile, rubbing at her tired eyes.

It was hard feeling like she’d let people down. She’d forever been seen as a success in her family- the hard-working, quiet, well-behaved little girl, the head girl of her high school with straight As, a solo seal ballet dancer with an offer from Cambridge and eventually a First Class Honours degree in Education. A well-respected dance teacher at the last school she’d worked at, with staff who all loved her and children who respected her. The move to her current school should have been a great development opportunity- a private, fee-paying secondary school well-known for its excellence in the expressive arts. Instead all that had come with it was pressure, scrutiny, and absolutely zero support from any member of management. It was hard for Brooke to admit she was struggling, and it was even harder to accept that she’d lost her battle with work- she was going home. She wouldn’t be returning for weeks. She knew that several of the girls she taught had exams coming up in the near future, and her competition group had finals in a month. The thought of all of this made her stomach sink and her heart thud deeply, fight-or-flight impulse kicking in although instead of telling her to run away, it was telling her to run back. But she couldn’t of course- she was trapped in her Mum’s car rolling down the motorway back to the house she grew up in, back to the town she grew up in, and back to mundanity and quiet.        

Eventually, Brooke arrived home. She shuffled, numb and dazed, through the doorway, being brought back to earth with a bump by her family pet Henry, still a little tired from his vaccines and rubbing against her legs. She tuned in and out as she listened to her Mum explain that she’d have to go back to work until the evening (despite being sixty-eight, her Mum insisted she would never be able to retire) so Brooke had to be in the house on her own for a while. She had looked worriedly at her as she broke the news, as if Brooke had been about to break down sobbing, but she was strangely comforted in the fact that it would just be her and the cat and her house full of memories. It would be like spending time with an old friend.

So once her Mum left for work, Brooke tried to push her own work out of her mind. She took a long, hot bath and then found some cosy sweatpants and a huge black hoodie in one of the closets in her old bedroom, mixed up with old clothes she’d brought back from uni before she’d started her first job. It was funny to be back in her little pink-painted microcosm that she’d spent so many years in, really where she first began her struggle with anxiety. Brooke frowned at herself as she thought. She shouldn’t use the word struggle- she should use the word relationship, or battle, or coping, but if the very fact that she was back living with her Mum after a complete work-related mental breakdown didn’t indicate a fucking struggle, then what did?

Brooke then knelt down on her old white carpet and opened her wardrobe, the bottom of which contained a bunch of sentimental items that she had never gotten round to throwing away- old programmes from dance shows, certificates from exams, photos, her old high school yearbook. Opening it, she found the photos from her leavers’ prom and her eyes fell on one of her and her friends all standing lined up on Brooke’s staircase. She smiled as she remembered her girlfriends- Plastique, who she hadn’t spoken to in months, now working as an air hostess for Emirates. Yvie, who had moved to New York and was touring with some acrobatics company- she exchanged the odd half-arsed catchup Facebook messenger message with her now and again. Scarlet, who she’d fallen out with before uni over some childish thing- she couldn’t remember what, but they hadn’t spoken since. Bianca, who only lived then next town over but could never make their schedules match up for a coffee, so busy was she with her job at a fashion editorial. Detox, who she’d fallen out of contact with. It was so fucking sad. Everybody else seemed to have a little group of school friends they still spoke to, at least if she went by what instagram showed. Looking at the photo, Brooke felt a million miles away from the girl with her hair swept up in a bun wearing a blue satin ballgown, and she couldn’t quite believe it had once been her.

Pushing the yearbook to one side, she finally found what she was looking for- some mindfulness colouring-in book her Mum had once bought her for Christmas full of different patterns. At the time, Brooke had wanted to make some comment about how it was cheaper than therapy, and the memory made her snort an ironic laugh. She sat gently on her old bed, all freshly made up with white sheets and pillowslips although still with its old mattress that sagged in the middle. She coloured for an hour or so, and then decided to listen to some relaxation tape she’d found through an anti-anxiety app she’d once downloaded in a vain attempt at self-care. It was hard to switch off. Every time she finally felt as if her mind was clear, some thought from work would hit her out of nowhere with a start, like a car crashing into her. So it was a welcome relief when she eventually drifted off into a nap, her mind finally at peace from its self-inflicted torture.

Brooke woke to find it was still light outside, her Mum perched gently on the edge of the bed and her eyes crinkled up in a smile.

“Good sleep?” she asked, her voice quiet. Brooke stretched in response. “I need to take a walk to the shop to grab stuff to make fajitas. You want to come with me?”

Every fibre of Brooke’s being wanted to stay curled up in the bed, but she found herself saying yes.

That was how twenty minutes later she found herself staring with glazed eyes at a crate full of red onions, as her Mum tried to find the one that was the least bashed. Brooke took a deep breath and tried not to grow irritated with her as she watched her pick up and put down onion after onion.

“Mum, you’re not quality control. Just get one in there,” she said weakly, reaching over herself and putting one in the shopping basket her Mum had slung over her arm. As they traipsed the aisles, Brooke found her heart hammering in her chest as she realised- here she was in her home town, wearing black baggy sweatpants and a black shapeless hoodie, Birkenstocks on her feet, with black roots poking out through her hair. She was a complete sight, but her saving grace was that most of the people she’d known from school had moved out, and that it was a relatively big town. She wasn’t really likely to bump into anyone she knew. At least, that’s what the logical part of her brain told her. The part captained by anxiety had convinced herself that the supermarket was a front and that the aisles were all about to peel away to reveal her standing on stage as part of Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway in front of an audience of millions.

Eventually, they had completed their circuit of the shop and Brooke was helping load everything onto the conveyor belt when her Mum suddenly gave a small cry. “Shit! I need cat food.”

“I’ll get it,” Brooke said, trying her best not to sound downtrodden as she strode slowly away from the checkout desks. On the rare occasions she’d spoken today she’d either been on the brink of tears or she’d given her best impression of Eeyore on beta blockers, and it was a million miles away from the voice she knew she was able to speak with. It frustrated her.

Reaching the pet food aisle a couple of metres away, she marvelled at the astronomical price of ground up pieces of animals that humans didn’t want in sauce, picked up four little gold foil trays and was about to turn around when the unthinkable happened.

She heard her name.

At least, she thought she had. It sounded as if it was being said in a girls’ voice, perhaps her age or slightly younger. Either way, that wasn’t good news. Frozen in place, she decided to turn back to the tills when the voice stopped her again. This time, it was clearer, distinctive, and it hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Brooke Lynn?”

Brooke slowly turned around, trying to mask the confusion on her face when she locked eyes with the girl who had spoken her name. She was small, with tanned caramel skin, dark hair and perfect makeup, and Brooke didn’t recognise her at all. What she did recognise, however, was the voice.

The girl took a couple more steps towards her, putting down her bags full of stuff from other shops and giving an awkward wave. “Hey! It is Brooke Lynn, right? Shit, sorry, you just really look like a girl I knew in high school-”

“No, yeah, it’s me…” Brooke began, then trailed off, embarrassed because she looked exactly like someone that was failing at life and because she still had no idea who the fuck this girl was. “Um sorry, this is embarrassing, I actually don’t remember you.”

To her credit, the girl gave a blush and a loud laugh. “Aw no, shit, no, of course you don’t. I mean, why would you, right? I’m Vanjie, remember? We went to the same high school? When you were in sixth form you helped out with the Year 7 dance club? I went to that.”

A brief flash of memory shattered through Brooke’s already very crowded mind- Vanessa Mateo, a small, slightly chubby girl with braces and a big attitude, who answered her dance teacher, her friends and Brooke back, who had a lot of potential and a fiery temper. Brooke did remember her. She was very different to the girl in front of her just now.

“Oh, God, yeah, no, I remember you,” Brooke stammered out, trying and failing to cover up her disbelief. “No, yeah, shit. I didn’t recognise you at all, you look so different!”

“How so?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow, as if she was daring Brooke to start digging.

“Well, um, obviously everyone looks so different back in high school. You got the braces off, obviously. And you lost weight, right? You look so good. Not that you were needing to lose weight, I mean you were what, fourteen? And there’s nothing wrong with being bigger, obviously. I’m not saying you were big at any point, just-”

“Jesus, are you havin’ a stroke?” Vanessa suddenly let out a peal of laughter, her eyes at once mocking but kind. It was a funny gaze to be regarded under, but not an altogether unpleasant one. Brooke found herself letting out the first genuine laugh she’d omitted in days. “Girl, it’s fine. I was ugly. We all were in high school. Except you. You always looked fine.”

Brooke gave a humourless laugh, gesturing down at her clothes. “‘Looked’ being the operative word. I usually don’t go out like this, honestly.”

Vanessa gave her a once-over with her eyes and shrugged. “You don’t look so bad. Could wear a bin bag and your face’d still look the same.”

Brooke felt a sting of blush prick at her cheeks, not used to being flattered. Vanessa frowned, clearly sensing Brooke’s embarrassment and quickly changing the subject.

“So what brings you back here? I know you didn’t stay when you left high school. What’re you up to now?”

“Oh, uh,” Brooke felt her heart tightening. It would be so easy to lie- it’s not like she’d ever see this girl again after their chance meeting in a supermarket cat food aisle- but if she was being honest, Brooke didn’t even have the energy to come up with a simple lie. So she felt herself jumping straight into deep, freezing cold conversational waters, and her heart froze up as she spoke. “I’m just back home for a visit. I actually got signed off work today. So. Yeah. I was a dance teacher at one of the private schools through in the city. I mean, I guess I still am, I’ll have to go back at some point. But, yeah. That’s where I’ve ended up. I bet that’s the glamorous life you would have expected the head girl to end up living when you were sat in assembly all those years ago.”

Vanessa gave a sympathetic smile. “Damn, that sucks. I’m sorry. Still, it’s good you’re taking time out and being open about it and stuff.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go around telling every fucker all my problems. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Here’s all my emotional baggage. Hope you enjoy it.”

Vanessa’s face lit up as she laughed again, and Brooke felt something in her heart warm up. Maybe it was because Vanessa’s reaction had been so blissfully unremarkable, as if Brooke had told her it was going to rain tomorrow. Maybe it was the way they were talking like old friends, despite the fact that Brooke’s only claim to knowing this girl was through teaching at a dance club she went to twice a week ten years ago. Brooke often forgot, however, that she’d always been under the spotlight being head girl in sixth form. The year sevens, straight out of primary school, had all looked up to her, and that was exactly the year group Vanessa had been in. It felt weird seeing her as an adult, quickly working out in her head that she had to be twenty-something by now.

“So, uh. What did you end up doing yourself? Do you still dance?”

“Dance? God, no, I can barely even walk in a straight line these days. Uh, no, I do nothing. I’m professionally unemployed at the minute,” Vanessa’s foghorn voice grew quieter, rubbing her neck as she spoke. “I apply for jobs, they reject me because I have no experience and no A Levels, the cycle begins again. It’s a great job. I’m lovin’ life.”

Brooke smiled at her and shook her head. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Job hunting is a full-time job in itself, you need to be kind to yourself about it.”

Vanessa smiled shyly as Brooke spoke, which made a little bubble inside Brooke pop. She’d so rarely seen Vanessa smile before, since most things she’d said to her in dance club had been met with a defiant scowl or a frown. She looked nice when she smiled.

Brooke was suddenly pulled out of her thoughts by her Mum shouting over from the till. “Brooke! What’s my pin number?”

“5280, Mum. Now we’ve gotta change it again,” Brooke shouted back, delighting as she turned back round and saw Vanessa laughing at the exchange. Brooke realised she was still holding the cat food. “Well, I’d better go before my Mum gets frauded. But it was nice seeing you, Vanjie.”

“You too, Brooke Lynn. Take care, okay? Hey,” she said suddenly, reaching into her shopping bag and holding out a bouquet of pink lilies. "Here. I bought them to brighten my flat up, but I think you need ‘em more than me.”

Brooke blushed in spite of herself, and she watched as Vanessa smiled shyly back at her. “Oh. Thank you, that’s sweet.”

Brooke could’ve sworn Vanessa blushed back at her as she shrugged. “Well. I’ll maybe see you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Brooke stuttered out, as Vanessa picked up her shopping bags and passed by her with a little wave. Dazed and confused, almost as if she’d felt something land on her but couldn’t feel what it was, she made her way back to her Mum and handed over the cat food to the girl at the till wordlessly. Her Mum raised an eyebrow.

“Ooh, who was that? A gorgeous girl giving you flowers?”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Mum that’s not…no. It was a girl from high school, we were just catching up.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I know I always give flowers to whoever I catch up with from high school,” her Mum said dryly, avoiding Brooke’s eyes as she packed up her bags. “Come on, then. These fajitas won’t cook themselves!”

Brooke nodded and absent-mindedly sniffed the flowers in her arms, a smile forming on her face that she wasn’t aware of until it was firmly planted there.

[skruffie]

in which I’m getting to know my brain better

I can’t really pinpoint a time when I started reading about ADHD and believed that maybe it was something that I had. I think it’s kind of been in the back of my head from when ADD was still a commonly-used term but then I would go “naaaah can’t be me, I’m just a lazy person!” I remember ages ago in high school I was at a friend’s house and watching their brothers and I thought “This is what actual ADHD looks like” so I guess that kind of pins it for me thinking about it as long ago as 15 years ago but I never gave it serious consideration until more recently.

(This is very, very long so I don’t blame you if you want to just skip it entirely)

Just last night I was talking to Zack and I was giggling and going “I still can’t believe I really didn’t see this before” and they were going “Really?”

Let’s think about this. As a kid I was always pretty sensitive and had weird... I used to call them compulsions but now I wonder if it was more impulsive behavior where I would hoard things like rocks and leaves or do dangerous shit without thinking about it (one memory comes to mind immediately when I noticed there was broken glass on the playground and I started meticulously picking it up as carefully as I could, and my teacher freaked out when she saw what I was doing. It unsettled my mom too, but me explaining that I didn’t want anyone to get hurt didn’t help put them at ease). I would be deeply sucked into my imagination at times, like... 

When I was a kid I always kind of pictured myself like everything that was happening was a movie. I don’t really mean this in a dissociative derealization kind of thing, but just imagining every second was a movie or a video game. Sometimes I still do this. I can’t really pinpoint if there were a lot of hyperactive symptoms other than countless times my mom told me to stop fiddling with my hands or string or whatever was within my grasp. I would always come home from school dirty with grass stains on my jeans and holes in my knees and rocks in my pockets, earning the title “skruffy ragamuffin” from my sister, but I just kind of figured that was part of being a kid. Looking at it NOW through this viewpoint gives me second thought though.

I picked up on physical activities rather quickly from a young age like dancing and karate--probably the physical movement was what I needed to help me focus--and I do things like pick at the skin around my thumbs, bite the inside of my cheeks (Didn’t realize this was a thing until I watched Hannah Hart describe it as part of her fidgeting and went “OH.”)

As I got older and after my sister died, see... I always viewed this time period in my life as I couldn’t do school or focus because of my grief and my home life falling apart, and I think part of that is still true. However, I would continue this with “And because of that I didn’t form good study habits and that continued into highschool when I stopped giving a shit”. Which was better than thinking I was just a stupid failure, and I really don’t think I am stupid... I can think quickly on my feet, I notice things that other people don’t, I’ve been an advanced reader from a VERY early age and I can infer correct answers from context clues and analyze things in that way. 

There is one memory from high school that, in the past, I thought maybe was tied to an emotional flashback but I realize now that it might’ve been Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. There was a weird disagreement that I was having with a friend of mine over something (truly can’t remember what it was about now), and somehow this rejection of him not listening to me spiraled me into this state of Why Should I Fucking Bother and the first target for this heavy, painful feeling was “okay, well I should just stop drawing because Why Should I Fucking Bother”. My English teacher found me sitting in the hallway crying and sat down with me to ask what was happening and I tried to explain, and then he had me show him my artwork and he goes “You are an incredible artist, you shouldn’t give this up.” One of few teachers in my life who I will always respect because he was always stern in a kind way, understanding, and an overall wonderful man.

I’m kind of getting off track here but I think that’s really just self-demonstrating at this point.

When I worked at Target there wasn’t really an opportunity for the ADHD type symptoms to manifest because I was pretty much always moving. In school I could zone out very easily but at work I was able to have more bouts of focus, but traded off my inattention for anxiety instead. This was also just a few years after the big PTSD causing event, but retail in general can give pretty much anyone some anxiety issues. Nonetheless, the things that I enjoyed about working there is that I was able to master my work zone completely (to a point of annotating the training guide with new information and keeping it updated), became the go-to person for several things, and I enjoyed being able to have a bit of freedom of movement around my work space. I enjoyed being able to have physical, tangible ways to see progress being made on something and there was a surprising amount of nuance and problem-solving when it came to resolving customer complaints. 

Moving to a desk job in 2018 was a weird departure from all of that. I had started off kind of as a clerical worker and would compile the concrete goods vouchers that we send out to our clients, receive them back, prepare them for scanning, scan+upload to case files, etc. It was dreadfully boring a lot of the time but I didn’t mind the long stretches where I could sit and prepare documents for scanning because I was able to listen to music while I got them ready. After a while I was encouraged to become a fiduciary, and that is really when the Maybe I Have ADHD started to rear it’s head.

My job doesn’t have the tangible way to see that I’ve made progress. I update placements to generate foster care payments, I generate the vouchers for concrete goods, I put in ongoing foster care case management payments or daycare payments, I will sometimes resolve some payment issues but only to a certain point--I’m able to see information but being able to solve the problem is actually not my area unless I can correct it within the case management system. There is an extreme need to be detail oriented because we work with specific service dates, with some services ongoing but some needing to be renewed every six months, gobs of emails with paperwork and trying to get the right signatures on everything because we’re dealing in state money...

on top of this, in order to move into the permanent position, I’ve been taking the accounting classes online outside of work and (until the pandemic started) having a long commute-work-commute day that totaled about 12 hours out of my waking life. My diet changed radically because Zack and I didn’t see each other often and getting home at 6:30 at night didn’t leave a lot of room to cook and then eat before having downtime to sleep... only to wake up at 5:30 AM again... my insomnia started kicking in to a point now where I take a benadryl through the work week to keep my sleep schedule on track. I started having anxiety attacks at work because trying to keep up with remembering all the little details I need to at work was getting to me. 

As I was training, I would write a post-it reminder whenever I repeated a mistake and stick it to my monitor. I got up to about 14 post-its before it became distracting and I instead compiled them onto a list and tacked it to my cubicle wall.

A few months into this I had a crying jag talking to Zack because it felt like something was really wrong and I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Depression? Anxiety? Trauma? School trauma? I think it’s just been untreated ADHD this whole time. I keep thinking back to this post I’ve seen on Tumblr a long time ago where someone said “disability exists in the context of the environment” and I think that’s what’s happening to me. I previously have bee in environments that weren’t butting up against The ADHD as much, but this job has been extremely challenging for the past 11 months. 

Thankfully, my boss and I have one-on-one discussions regularly (used to be every other week but since the pandemic started it’s been weekly phone calls) and she has no issues with my work performance... likely because I exert a lot of mental and emotional energy to keep up with everything I need to do. I’m also in charge of the busiest field office in our region--there’s a high turnover rate, lots of child welfare cases, etc--and the social workers that I talk to on the regular enjoy having me as their fiduciary. There have been many times however, despite the fact I seem to be doing pretty good, where it feels like I am hanging on by a fucking thread. Here’s something personal that I don’t think I’ve shared yet on the blog: last year, within the first month and a half of adjusting to this new pace of work and school and the long commutes, the schedule was so stressful for me that it made my period late. Worrying I was pregnant just stressed me out more. Not being able to treat this Probably ADHD has been detrimental to my mental health.

On the 22nd, I’m going to have a telehealth meeting with a doctor to see if I can get a referral for a screening. I kind of worried that if I do get diagnosed with ADHD it would send me into this mourning state of what-could-have-been but honestly... I’m tired. I’m tired of beating myself up for exhausting myself into keeping up with other people. I think I owe it to myself to get the help that I need. Looking at my life with the lens of I Probably Have ADHD has actually given me a renewed sense of self-worth and confidence because it’s something that I can learn how to take control of. It’s worth it. I’m worth it.

[lilyvandersteen]

Facing Your Dragons Chapter 7

Author’s Note: I know, I know... It's been ages!! The fact of the matter is, though, no matter how much I like writing this story, I have no real plot for it, and it's going to be shelved after this chapter until I figure out where to take it. I know that I want Sam to end up living at Blaine's house, and I know I want to keep the tone of the story light and upbeat and fluffy. Apart from that, it's all a big blank. Suggestions are more than welcome. Please help me shape this story, so that I can bring it to a satisfying conclusion.

Chapter 7: Back to School

When he felt his phone buzz with a text message notification, Blaine got off his motorbike and sighed.

Show time, I guess.

He’d arrived at school early, had parked his bike near the back entrance and had been waiting for Kurt and his girls to turn up.

From: Kurt

We’re under the bleachers.

Blaine made his way to the bleachers, his eyes darting left and right to check for jocks with a grudge, but there were none. Too early in the day, perhaps.

Kurt was leaning against a metal pole, his eyes half-mast and his lips curled into a lopsided smirk.

Blaine couldn’t help grinning, and Kurt beamed back and met him half-way for a kiss.

“He’s cute, Porcelain, I’ll give you that,” a smoky voice behind them drawled.

Blaine turned around to look at the three girls under the bleachers. One blonde and two brunettes, all sporting the same smirk he’d seen on Kurt’s face just now. Had to be a Skank thing.

“Nice butt,” said Brunette no. 1, peering at him from over her glasses.

The blonde gave Blaine a slow once-over and then an approving nod. “He clearly works out. Great biceps, and look at the thighs of him!”

Kurt huffed. “Stop objectifying my boyfriend.”

They quirked an eyebrow at him – eerie how in tune they were – and said in unison, “No.”

“You bring us a piece of man candy, we’re gonna look,” said Brunette no. 2.

Kurt rolled his eyes and turned to Blaine. “Okay, so… These are my girls: Lauren Zizes, Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray. Girls, this is Blaine Anderson, my boyfriend. Look all you like, but don’t touch. He’s mine.”

Santana snorted, and Lauren murmured something like, “Making no promises.”

Blaine smiled at the girls. “Nice to meet you.”

Quinn smiled back politely. “Pleased to meet you too.”

Santana snorted. “No need to dust off your country club manners for us.”

“At least I have manners,” Quinn bit back. “And they’ll help me get out of here after high school.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll go to an Ivy League school and become a big-shot lawyer and fight for women’s rights in America. Tell that to someone who’ll believe you. None of those snobby schools is gonna want a teen mom.”

Quinn’s spine stiffened. “That’s behind me.”

“It’s all in the records. Like your Lucy Caboosey period. It’s gonna come back to haunt you forever.”

“Fuck you!” Quinn snarled, and she stalked off in a huff.

Kurt swore under his breath and went after her, talking to her in a low but urgent voice, and eventually bringing her back.

Lauren grinned and seemed to gear up for another attack, but Kurt stopped her. “Don’t. Okay? I know you’ve got ammo enough to make all of us miserable, but let’s face it, everyone else here at school already has it out for us, so it would be nice if we Skanks could have each other’s backs. All right?”

Lauren shrugged. “Sure, ruin my fun.”

Kurt smirked at her. “Oh, I’ll give you plenty of fun. Blaine here knocked Karofsky into hospital, and his football buddies will no doubt try and get even with him. So girls, stick with us and show those jocks why nobody messes with us.”

The three girls grinned at Kurt, their good humour restored at once.

“I can defend myself,” Blaine grumbled.

Kurt rubbed his arm in comfort. “I know. But one more strike and you’re out. And I want you to stay here at McKinley. So let us deal with the blockheads. They won’t come anywhere near you with us around.”

Blaine gave in with bad grace, and went over his schedule for the Skanks’ benefit. He shared each of his classes with at least one of them, and promised to stick with them to keep safe.

He soon found out that Kurt was right. Everyone, even the jocks, gave the Skanks a wide berth.

“We can fleece them with our snark, kill them with our glares and hurt them in a million ways,” Kurt explained during AP French. “We’re not boxers, but Quinn and Santana and I used to be Cheerios, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of our high kicks. You really don’t. And Lauren is a champion wrestler.”

Blaine blinked at Kurt. “You were a what?”

“A Cheerio. That’s what the cheerleaders are called here.”

Blaine looked at his boyfriend, trying to picture him in tight spandex, showing off his acrobatic prowess. Nice!

“So why did you quit?”

Kurt shrugged. “Quinn got kicked off the squad when she got pregnant. Santana got kicked off when she got a boob job. At least, I think that was the reason. And for me, it was the community service that did me in. The Cheerios’ schedule is insane. They train for hours and hours every day, even on weekends. And Coach Sylvester didn’t like me skipping training on Wednesdays and Saturdays to go sing and tell stories at the home. At first, she cut me some slack, ‘cause her sister lived in a home too, and ‘cause she has a soft spot for me, and ‘cause I always trained at home by myself those days. But then my forty hours were up, and I just kept going to the home, though I didn’t have to anymore. And she told me I had to make a choice: Cheerios or volunteering. I bet she thought I’d snap out of it fast. But I’d already lost my friends Quinn and Santana on the squad, and volunteering made me happy. So I handed in my uniform and left.”

Blaine pouted, sad that Kurt no longer had the uniform, because oh, the possibilities…

« Monsieur Hummel et compagnon, comme vous semblez avoir une opinion très forte concernant Baudelaire, vous pouvez venir ici et nous en parler ! » (Mr. Hummel and company, seeing as you seem to hold a strong opinion on Baudelaire, you can come here and tell us about it!)

Blaine looked up at the teacher, aghast, but Kurt wasn’t intimidated in the least. He went to stand at the teacher’s desk, and gave a passionate speech about Baudelaire, and about his work being censured for the themes it contained. All in French. And he ended it by reciting what he said was his favourite Baudelaire poem.

Blaine’s mouth wasn’t the only one hanging open when Kurt stopped talking. Even the teacher needed a minute to regroup.

“Intéressant. Je vois que Baudelaire vous passionne. Et vous, Monsieur… ? » (Interesting. I can tell you’re passionate about Baudelaire. What about you, Mr. …?)

“Anderson,” Blaine hastened to supply. “Comme je viens de dire à Monsieur Hummel, je préfère l’œuvre de Verlaine. J’adore sa musicalité. » (As I just told Mr. Hummel, I prefer Verlaine’s work. I love his musicality.)

Just then, the bell rang, and Blaine felt his anxiety ebb away.

The teacher smiled at him. “Très bien. La semaine prochaine, vous pouvez nous en parler plus en détail. Cela compensera pour les devoirs que vous avez manqué les jours passés. » (Very well. Next week, you can tell us more about it. That will make up for the homework you didn’t make the previous days.)

Blaine nodded and jotted down the assignment before gathering his stuff and following Kurt out of the classroom.

“Your French is impressive,” he told Kurt, who grinned and told him he looked forward to hearing Blaine’s views on Verlaine.

In the cafeteria, Kurt steered Blaine towards what he said was the glee club table, and he introduced Blaine as his boyfriend, which made Blaine’s stomach swoop happily and made him beam like an idiot.

The only one at the table Blaine recognized was Rachel, who greeted him and asked if he was joining glee club.

“Oh… Uhm… I…”

“Your singing voice could use some work, but it’s got definite potential.”

Kurt rolled his eyes at Rachel and then turned to Blaine. “So that’s Rachel. You already know her from the home. Next to her is Finn, and then there’s Artie, Tina, Mercedes, Puck, Mike and Sam.”

“Sam’s the one from the superhero club?” Blaine whispered to Kurt, and Sam perked up when he heard the club mentioned.

“Yep, that’s me. Blonde Chameleon at your service! What’s your super alter ego?”

Lunch hour flew by as Blaine talked superheroes with Sam, and he had to be reminded by Kurt that the bell was about to ring, and that Quinn was waiting for him to go to AP Biology.

Blaine quickly exchanged numbers with Sam and then hurried away.

That afternoon, after a history class he shared with Lauren, Blaine was accosted by Rachel, who asked if he was going to the home.

“N-no. I’m scheduled tomorrow.”

“I see. Well, think about glee club, okay?”

Blaine nodded, and then his face brightened when he saw Kurt coming towards him, Sam by his side.

“Mind if Sam joins our cooking lesson today?” Kurt asked.

Blaine grinned and shook his head. “Awesome. Are your brother and sister coming too?”

Sam grinned back. “Yep. We were just about to go and pick them up from school.”

“Come to my place,” Blaine said. “So you can borrow that comic book I was talking about at lunch. And there’s a big garden to play in, and spare bedrooms for when your brother and sister get tired. Mom won’t mind a bit, I promise.”

Kurt frowned. “Dad won’t like that. He had to make his own dinner yesterday, and grumbled about it.”

“Well, today at yours and tomorrow at my place, then, maybe?” Blaine asked.

Kurt bit his lip. “Friday Night Dinner is sacred for Dad. Can’t skip it. But you and Sam can cook by yourselves. I’m thinking vegetable wok. I’ll write down the recipe for you.”

Blaine looked at Sam. “What do you say? Can we do this? Stevie and Stacie can help, too.”

“We can do this! I do have a shift delivering pizzas starting at eight p.m., though, so we’ll have to make it an early dinner. Today too.”

“No problem,” Kurt promised.

Stevie and Stacie proved to be just as outgoing and friendly as their older brother, and instantly enamoured with Blaine when he told them the story of Jack and the Beanstalk while they were cooking.

When Burt got home, he grumbled a bit about Kurt always bringing more people home, but soon enough, he was talking cars with Stevie and football with Sam and Blaine, with a wide smile. And when Stacie fell asleep on the sofa soon after dinner, Burt was the one to suggest Sam’s siblings could stay over and sleep in the spare bedroom.

“And you can kip on the sofa,” Burt said to Sam, “after your shift. Kurt will give you the spare key.”

Sam looked at his sleeping sister, bit his lip and nodded, walking out of the living room. “I need to call my mom.”

He came back a few minutes later and said it was okay. “I asked for tomorrow, too, Blaine, if you were serious about us staying over?”

Blaine beamed at Sam. “Totally! It’s going to be amazing!”

Sam carefully woke Stacie so she could get ready for bed, and Kurt and Blaine went to the attic to find her and Stevie some pajamas from when Kurt was little, sharing some sweet kisses while they were alone together.

As soon as the children were tucked in, Sam and Blaine left, and Blaine dropped Sam off at the pizza place. “See you tomorrow! Can you find someone to bring you back to Kurt’s?”

“Yep, no problem, Puck will come and pick me up. Thanks, man!”

K&B

On Friday morning, Blaine had his first altercation with a jock since he’d come back. He was securing his motorbike when something hit the back of his head. Hard.

A voice hissed, “You think you can put my best friend in hospital and then come back here and parade your nancy boy around school?”

Blaine turned around slowly, and saw a tall black teen glaring at him.

“Adams! No fighting or you’re off the team!”

The jock turned towards his coach and opened his mouth to retaliate, but she stopped him. “No, I don’t need to hear it. I know what happened to Karofsky, but I also know it was provoked. I know that under Coach Tenaka, you could do as you pleased, but I’m telling you now that I don’t condone fighting. Nor bullying. I don’t care how well you play. I WILL throw you off the team if you so much as touch this boy again. Leave him alone.”

The jock glared at her. “And let him get away with almost killing Dave?”

The coach sighed. “Don’t exaggerate. Karofsky was never in any danger of dying. And it was five against one, hardly a fair fight. Can’t fault the boy for wanting to knock you guys out as fast as he could. I would have done the same. Why were you picking on him anyway?”

That seemed to take the wind out of the jock’s sails, who shrunk and shrugged.

“Just for the fun of it, huh? Well, that stops now. I’m going to work you guys so hard that you won’t have any time or energy for shenanigans.”

The jock grumbled under his breath.

“How many games have you won so far, Adams?”

More grumbling.

“My goal is to make you winners. So you had better apply yourself, or I’ll find a replacement for you. Is that clear?”

The jock nodded.

“Now clear out and leave this boy alone.”

The coach stared the jock down until he turned and left, and then turned to Blaine. “I know the fight wasn’t your idea. And I promise I’ll keep an eye out for you, pumpkin.”

“Thank you, Coach.”

She smiled at Blaine. “Feel free to join our power training on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sometimes we do some boxing, and I think my boys can learn a thing or two from you.”

Blaine grimaced. “I’m not sure I want them to learn how to beat me up.”

“Adams and Karofsky tend to skip power training, pumpkin. They’re lazy. As soon as I find decent replacements for them, they’ll be out in a heartbeat.”

Blaine stared at her. “Won’t their parents make a fuss?”

“More likely they’ll be mad at their son. I’ve won the championship with every team I’ve ever coached. So if their child doesn’t make the team, they’ll blame him, not me.”

She winked at Blaine and walked off.

K&B

That afternoon, Sam and his siblings came to the home with Blaine, and together, they told the story of the Four Clever Brothers, who saved a princess from a dragon.

Like Dolores had said, Sam was great at doing voices, and the children listened as if spellbound, and cheered when after the story, Blaine announced they still had time for a few songs.

Sam played the guitar this time, and they all sang together until the hour was up.

At Blaine’s house, they did their homework before starting on dinner, Blaine pairing up with Stacie and Sam with Stevie to help them where needed.

When Pam came home, Blaine and Sam were wearing Star Wars costumes from Blaine’s chest of Halloween apparel, re-enacting a fight scene to the loud encouragement of Stevie and Stacie.

Pam quirked an eyebrow at Blaine and inquired, “New boyfriend already?”

“Mom!!”

She smirked when Blaine hotly denied having swapped boyfriends, but her eyes softened when he introduced his new friends. Clearly, she remembered what Kurt had told them about Sam’s family, which was probably why she didn’t say a word when Blaine mentioned all the Evans children were staying over.

The next morning, when Sam’s parents came to pick up their children and thanked Pam for her hospitality, she reiterated what she’d told Kurt. “You know, this house is WAY too big for just the two of us, and I’m having a hard time covering the rent on my own. So if you like, you and your family could move in here temporarily, until you get back on your feet. You could have the second and third floor, and share the kitchen and the living room with us.”

The Evanses looked taken aback, and Pam waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, this is sudden, and we don’t know each other yet, and I’m probably weird for mentioning this straight off the bat. I know, I know. I don’t expect you to decide right away, of course, but think about it? Our children get along well, and it would help out both our families.”

Mrs Evans nodded and thanked Pam again, with a smile that was a bit brittle around the edges, but genuine nonetheless.

Her sad eyes haunted Blaine the whole weekend.

[bastionkeeper]

Write a short story about the first thing you see out the window!

It’s nighttime so my vision was slightly limited so all I saw was the window lit up next door. Also this isn’t a short story anymore cause I went way off the rails and got super into it and it got away from me and now this is a preview for a story I want to write asdlfkjasd;lfkj hope its good please tell me your thoughts guys is this worth writing more of cause I wanna.

The light in the house next door hadn’t gone off for several days now.

Normally, seeing the lights on in a neighbor’s house was no cause for alarm. In fact, one normally liked to see the neighborhood illuminated on a dark night, it brought a sense of safety and a false guarantee that no harm would come knocking on the door that looking to pilfer your Playstation. However, Lacey knew that the old man next door went to bed early, and that he turned off each light in his house one by one at 7 p.m. sharp.

Only one light was on, the one shining in the window across from Lacey’s living room. The only reason she noticed it was that her insomnia had worsened and she found herself spending several nights sitting on the couch searching for a show on Netflix that would fill up the emptiness in her chest with a story.

“Do you think he’s okay, Fizzgig?” she asked her cat, a lazy brown thing made of impressive weight and unmanageable tufts of fur. He was laying on the windowsill, glaring out the window seeing nighttime creatures only a cat’s eyes could see.

Fizzgig had no opinion on the matter, but he meowed anyway because that was just the polite thing to do when a human attempted to communicate with you.

“Yeah, he’s probably fine,” she said. “Maybe it just takes too much energy to get to that room these days, so he just leaves it on.”

Fizzgig batted at moth foolish enough to draw near him.

Lacey moved back to the couch, throwing her legs up on the coffee table and starting her Netflix browse again. However, as she searched for a show, she found herself skimming over titles without reading them. Her eyes kept being drawn back to the light in the window.

“... maybe I should go check on him?” Lacey mused. “I don’t want to do that. That’s weird right? Or is that just neighborly? Neighbors really don’t do that anymore, huh? I say that like I was around for the time neighbors hung out because we didn’t have streaming television. Not that technology is evil, just that it has the capacity for desocialization.”

Fizzgig was used to his owner yowling in such a manner. She got excited easily, and he found the best way to rectify this problem was to hop up onto her lap until she quieted down, her fingers finding their way to the soft spot behind his ear for some quality scratches.

“But he is really old…” Lacey said. “... if he’d fallen and couldn’t get up, and I could have helped him, but I didn’t cause anxiety, and then he died-! I would never be able to sleep again.”

Fizzgig complained loudly as Lacey stood, lifting him in her arms. She deposited him back on the couch and moved to the front door. She was still in her pajamas-shorts worn thin by age and a tank top with a popular anime character on it-but she grabbed a jacket from the hook to throw over them before stepping into a pair of sandals by the door.

“Be good, Fizzgig, protect my stuff,” Lacey said as she left.

Fizzgig watched her leave, before ignoring her orders in favor of chasing after the damned moth he’d decided was his ultimate rival.

Lacey shivered as she walked down the sidewalk and up the rickety steps leading to her neighbor’s front porch. It was strangely cold for a July night, and for a moment she even thought she saw her breath. She drew her jacket closer as she rang the doorbell.

No answer.

She waited a few minutes, then rang the doorbell again, and again there was no answer.

“Hello?” Lacey called, peeking in through the front window. The curtains were drawn, but she could see a bit of the room beyond through a slight gap in between them. Was that the figure of a fallen old man in there or was it just the shadows playing tricks on her?

“I’m not a home invader!” Lacey said, for anyone who might be watching, before trying the doorknob.

The door was unlocked, and opened with a creak. Lacey almost turned tail right then and there, as dark houses and creaking doors were two things she did not want to encounter alone. However, she could see the one illuminated room in the distance, and the thought of leaving someone who needed help scared her a lot more than ghosts.

Or maybe ghosts were scarier, but still.

She tip-toed across the darkened living room, moved through a dark hallway sticking close to the wall as if she could sink into it if danger came.

“Mister?” she called out. “Are you in here?”

She crept closer to the illuminated room, the dining room it looked like. Her heartbeat rang in her ears.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” she whispered to herself. “Ghosts only show up in scary movies and webcomics, and this is real life. I can’t have an origin story I just finished college I’m supposed to go into debt and find a roommate on craigslist and hope I don’t get axe murdered.”

Lacey took her final step into the dining room.

“Oh my god,” she said.

Then she screamed.

The old man was laying on the floor, his limbs bent in a way that didn’t look comfortable and clearly not breathing. He might have been dead. He was probably dead.

That isn’t what made Lacey scream.

“Whoa, whoa!” the floating purple thing in the corner said, gesturing with things that might have been hands in an appeasing manner. “Don’t freak out kid, I just slipped and popped out of my guy, that’s all! No problems here, alright? No one’s gonna get haunted, no one’s gonna die! It’s all good, got it?”

“Ghost!” Lacey accused, pointing at the purple spectre.

“Yeah, okay, that’s rude,” the ghost said. “What if I was like ‘human!’ all in your face, huh?”

“I am a human,” Lacey said.

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’ve got a name I could use instead,” the ghost said sarcastically. “For example, I’m Reggie, hi, nice to meet ya. What’s your name?”

“I’m… I’m Lacey, sorry did you just say Reggie?”

“The fuck is wrong with Reggie?” the ghost asked.

“I just…” Lacey paused, her fear being totally overwhelmed by the absurdity of her situation. “I expected something… scarier?”

“Why would my name be scary just cause I’m a ghost?” Reggie huffed. “You don’t get a ghost name when you die you know. ‘Oh hey, welcome to the spiritual plane, here’s your ghost name, you’re Tralifax the Miserable.’ I got a regular person name, okay?”

“That sounds like an alien name,” Lacey said.

“Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking of ghost names when you broke into my house, I wasn’t expecting to have to come up with one on the spot,” Reggie huffed. “Look… I need you to do me a favor while you’re here, okay?”

“A… favor?” Lacey felt dizzy, like she might fall over.

“First of all, take a deep breath,” Reggie said. “You’re hyperventilating, it’s gonna feel really shitty if you keep doing that. Next, I need you to break this jar I’m floating out of.”

“J… jar?” Lacey stammered. She looked to where Reggie was gesturing and saw that there was in fact a jar laying on its side on the floor. The purple smokey creature that called himself Reggie seemed to have a tail that stretched down into the jar.

“... if I break this are you gonna be free to kill and haunt me?” Lacey asked nervously.

“I mean, no I’m not gonna do that, but if I was I wouldn’t tell you so,” Reggie did something that must have been a shrug. “Take your chances. I’d appreciate it if you helped me but I ain’t gonna make you do something you don’t wanna.”

Lacey slowly approached the jar, glancing up at Reggie occasionally. She picked it up, and as she did Reggie seemed to adjust his position based on how the jar moved.

“... if you kill me, please feed my cat,” Lacey said, squeezing her eyes shut and throwing the jar against the ground as hard as she could.

The jar shattered, and as it did Lacey heard a loud sound like a gust of wind. When she opened her eyes, the ghost was gone, and the old man was picking himself up off the floor.

“Phew, thanks, kid,” Reggie said, his voice coming from the old man’s mouth. “Went and tripped carrying some evidence and got myself trapped. I was like that for days, it was really boring.”

Lacey felt her knees buckle underneath her, and suddenly the old man was catching her before she could hit the ground.

“Look, you sit down here, I’ll make some chamomile and I’ll explain things,” he said, pulling out one of the dining room chairs for her.

Reggie did in fact make tea, and brought it out to the table in a fancy porcelain teapot with matching teacups. He poured them each a cup, and offered Lacey a bowl of sugar cubes. She mindlessly went through the motion of stirring two of them into her tea, and only after her first sip did she speak.

“Do you have maybe something stronger?” she asked.

“What, like Earl Gray?” Reggie asked.

“Like Jack Daniels.”

“Jeez, you kids,” Reggie pulled a face. “Booze is no way to treat a panic attack. Drink your tea and take some cleansing breaths.”

Lacey did as she was told, and despite the fact that she was sitting at a table with a possessed old man, she found herself growing calmer.

“Okay,” Reggie said. “So, ghosts are real. You probably already suspected that but decided to ignore it cause it sounds scary. Sorry, but we’re real. Some dead people have unfinished business and they stick around. Nothing to be scared of really, I mean no more than you’re scared of other people. There’s ghosts of murderers and crooks, sure, but there’s ghosts of accountants and preschool teachers too. Some ghosts, like me, get lucky and make friends with a human that’s about to die totally satisfied with their lot in life. Old Percy here shed his mortal coil and bequeathed it to me so I could conduct my business tangibly on the mortal realm.”

“Wh...what are you saying…” Lacey said.

“Okay, the Sparknotes version,” Reggie groaned. “I was friends with the old guy. He croaked. Gave me his body so I could talk to humans and touch things. Need to do that for my job you see, I’m a spectral investigator and mortal mediator. I save ghosts from exorcists and people from malevolent spirits. I basically keep things nice and peaceful, and sometimes that requires saving some spiritual fellows from nasty ghost traps like that spirit jar. I brought it home to throw it in the evidence locker and tripped and wouldn’t ya know it but with my luck it didn’t shatter but I sure popped right out of Percy and into the trap.”

“You’re a ghost ghost hunter,” Lacey said.

Reggie looked at her with disdain, and sighed.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m a ghost ghost hunter,” he said. “Kinda makes my job look simple and small but if that’s what you wanna call me okay.”

Lacey sipped at her tea, and felt a bit underdressed for a ghost tea party in her pajamas.

“So,” Reggie said, pouring himself another cup. “Now that you know about me-”

“You have to kill me?” Lacey shrieked, standing up so quickly her chair fell to the ground.

“Forget the killing, no one’s killing!” Reggie shouted. “You heard me before right? I’m not the ghost of some murderer, I’m just a person! I’m talking to you, person to person, ghost to living being, and I’m asking you… if you can keep a secret.”

“... you mean, as long as I don’t tell people you’re a ghost… you won’t kill me?” Lacey asked.

“I won’t kill you even if you do tell,” Reggie said, his voice growing a little kind even though he was exasperated. “You helped me out, you’re a good kid, and I’m not a killer. Besides, if you did go around telling people the old man next door is a ghost… they wouldn’t believe you so... this secret keeping thing is really for your own good.”

Lacey cleared her throat, blushing, and put her chair back. She took a seat, making a big show of crossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap. She took a sip of her tea.

“This… ghost ghost hunting…” she said. “Does it pay well?”

“Does it pa… kid the fuck are you asking me?” Reggie groaned.

“I’m really short on rent and I’m looking for a side gig to make some extra cash,” Lacey admitted. “And it sounds like you need someone human nearby just in case stuff like this happens. And I’m terrified of ghosts but I’m more terrified of homelessness or moving back in with my parents because let’s be real capitalism is the real horror show here, so-”

“Stop.” Reggie put up a weary hand to stop her rambling. “Just… let me think about it, okay?”

“Really?” Lacey asked, surprise written all over her face. She really hadn’t been expecting anything but a refusal.

“Yeah, really,” Reggie sighed. “Go home, get some sleep-don’t think I don’t see you staying up all night watching cartoons-and tomorrow I’ll give you my answer.”

“Holy shit, wow, okay, cool,” Lacey said. “Cool, cool, co-”

“Stop talking,” Reggie said. “Home. Now. Sleep.”

“Right! Yeah! Sleep. That thing living people do aha… was that offensive?”

“Yes,” Reggie said. “Go.”

Lacey shot Reggie an awkward two finger salute before backing towards the hallway, bumping into the wall clumsily and spinning to face the way she was walking. She stumbled out of the house, and immediately had to bent over and put her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath.

“That was so fucking insane,” she gasped. “Okay, chill. Sleep time. Can’t sleep with adrenaline. Gotta calm down.”

As she straightened and made her way back to her apartment, Reggie watched her from the window. One aged hand held the curtain back as he saw the young woman trip up the stairs and look around to make sure no one had seen, before going inside.

“... well… I’m screwed,” he sighed. “I definitely gotta hire that disaster kid.”

[nicoforlifetrue]

Summery:Dee Roman and Remus practicing a dead religion has some hiccups when it comes to history

Notices:

none of these are in any real timeline yet!

Yes the other sides are here

More then one person wrote this

There is a prologue! Read it here

The History Class Incident-

History was taught by Professor Thomas Sanders, he was a bright, cheery guy who never called Remus out for the 'juice' in his water bottle. He was a great guy by the standards of the three. That is, until the mythology course started. 

You see; Roman, Remus, and Dee hadn't yet told their roommates why they burned their food or why Remus was always inebriated or high. They hadn't said why Roman was so focused on appearance or why Dee's knee jerk reaction was to lie. Because all that was normal to them. It was how the three followed their respective patrons. But after the first day of mythology, the boys dragged their roommates out to meet the people they grew up with and rage over the inaccuracies of the course; expecting said roommates to rage with them. 

Dee had talked Virgil into going the entire way to the little coffee shop a friend of theirs worked at. The college student was seething the whole way there; you see the first unit in the course was Norse mythology and dear Professor Sanders had called Loki, his patron, the main villain of all things! Now Virgil, the good but anxiety ridden person he was, finally asked Dee what was wrong about halfway to the coffee shop. "Dude, what's your deal? Why are you so pissed?"

Dee sighed at that, rubbing his face before he stated, "You sat next to me in history; I know you heard what the professor said. He insulted the gods themselves and insinuated that Loki was a villain! That's why I'm pissed; he's a disrespectful cunt!"

Virgil laughed. "Dude, chill; he's just talking about an old religion. Like, sure, Loki is a cool superhero, but he's still pretty crazy in the myths."

Dee leveled his gaze at Virgil upon hearing that; disbelief written across his features. "Are you fucking with me? Please say you are; ‘cause if you aren't, I might have to kill you."

Virgil raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh really? Why are you taking it so seriously?"

"How are you not?" Dee snapped back before he sighed, trying to calm down. "I'm sorry I just- good gods and goddesses he called Loki a character, flattened his story's into two dimensional cluster fucks, left out all of the good Loki did; and all around disrespected him; thus disrespecting me and all other wards of Loki! I have no idea who your patron is but imagine if that happened to them. It physically sickens me just remembering that 'lesson', ugh."

"Wait wait wait," Virgil said, putting two and two together. "You take mythology seriously? Like it's actually your religion?"

Dee gave him a look. "Stop calling it a mythology and what; you don't? I always thought you followed Hades or Nyx," he hummed. "I grew up learning about the gods and goddesses, yes."

"Oh that's cool, I didn't know anyone still believed in that religion. I've no clue who my patron would be though," he said, laughing a bit.

"You don't?" Dee questioned before pausing and humming. "That actually explains some things…. But he's still a fucking cunt."

Roman, on the other hand, felt more betrayed; though not quite nearly as much as when he had watched Hercules. He knew what Loki meant to Dee, and to hear such a grossly incorrect retelling of the gods stories? It was devastating. And to hear not just that, but Loki being reduced to his greatest mistake and flattened into an evil villain? He was brokenhearted at the fact that his favorite teacher could be so ignorant and brash, to the point of calling Loki a character! Now Logan, despite his ineptitude with emotions could tell the class had upset Roman. So as at least a good acquaintance of the man he felt obligated to ask what was wrong.

"Roman? Why were you feeling upset in class?"

"How could I not be?!" he responded, throwing his hands up. "The professor grossly distorted one of Loki's stories and refused to tell any others! Instead he just honed in on his greatest mistake and made Loki seem like a Disney villain!” 

“I still don't see why you are getting angry over a retelling of a simple character's story."

Roman’s gaze flattened at that. 

Staring at his roommate angrily, "Logan. You did not just call Loki, the trickster God of Asgard, a character from some fictional work. If you did, may the gods and goddesses help you when Dee finds out."

"Gods and Goddesses are not real, they are simply imaginary characters people created to explain the causes of natural phenomena, they are useless now that we can define the world with science."

Roman stared at him dumbfounded. "Logan, my friend, blessed by Athena, unless you wish to end up being mauled by my brother; I suggest you change that perspective before he runs out of wine. And perhaps pay more respect to those higher than us mere mortals." 

Logan sighs. "You will not understand that one cannot praise something that is just a fictional character, so I will end this pointless conversation."

Roman rolled his eyes at that. "You’re going to be punished for ignoring the gods, you know."

And the last pair was Remus and Patton. Patton wasn't a fan of Remus, the only reason he was coming along was so the drunk didn't hurt himself.

 

"I just can't believe the guy!" 

"What?" 

"What do you mean, ‘what?’ He shit-talked the gods!" Remus huffed, well more like pouted. That statement basically ended the conversation.

The door to the cafe slammed open, an angry Dee storming in and over to their table. The other four were already there as Virgil trailed behind him. He slammed his palms against the table staring down at the wood, eyes full of fire.

"Fuck Professor Sanders."

Roman and Remus made noises of agreement as Dee sat down. "Who does he think he is! I mean, he's so clearly biased against trickster gods. Holy fucking Underworld!"

Roman nodded in agreement aggressively, and Remus kinda hummed as he took another sip of his drink. 

"I do not understand why you three are getting so riled up about what Professor Sanders said, he was merely telling the story of a mythological character." Logan said, monotone.

All three looked at him askance. "Because he retold it incorrectly, and refused to share any stories that would make my patron seem like he wasn't a complete shithead," Dee snapped; Roman frowning and Remus giggling drunkenly.

 

"Your 'patron' is a complete shithead, as you say, he wasn't a good person at all."

Dee stared at him at that "I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? Did you, one, put air quotes around the word patron and then secondly, follow it up by calling my patron a villain?" His voice was cold and dead serious, angry to the point of pulling a Remus and ripping the next person who insulted Loki to shreds.

"Yes, I was speaking clearly, so unless you are deaf; you heard me correctly. Secondly, I did not call him a villian; you called him that."

Dee took a breath, then sighed. "Logan, you dumb fuck. How has Athena blessed you?" he stated, mostly to himself. "Ok, here. Think of it this way. Let's say someone explains something as simple as the water cycle in a grossly incorrect manner. Wouldn’t you be pissed?" 

"I would fix their falsehood and move on. Yes I would be mad, but I would be right and they would be wrong."

"Now think of it like that, but it’s fucking stuck with me because I was also personally insulted with this falsehood. It would be like someone explaining how colors work to you as if you’re five; but they do it so very incorrectly. That's why I'm pissed off, get it?"

"Yes, I'm now partly understanding, but how were you insulted by this 'falsehood'?"

"’Cause it's also a fundamental part of who I am," Dee responded blandly. "Loki being my patron shaped who I am today; and what I present and act like, being Loki's ward, has made me who I am. And to insult him? It's a personal attack on who I am as a person, as well as an attack on someone who I hold higher than myself." 

Logan places his hands on the table. "So let me get this straight, you hold Loki in the same esteem that, say, a Christian would hold God?"

"Kinda; unlike Christianity though my patron, though unlikely, might change. I don't know how but it can happen. But basically, yeah." 

Logan nods. "And Roman and Remus are the same?" 

"Different patrons, but yeah." Roman chimed in, Dee nodding.

"Big ego, loves his own appearance; Roman is your patron Aphrodite?" Logan asks.

"Got it in one, Teach!" 

"Teach?" Logan says confusedly. 

"You act like a teacher. So, Teach." Roman responded with a smirk; Dee chuckling, Remus watching him with his loopy tipsy-but-not-quite-drunk grin. 

"Thank you for explaining, Princey." Logan says holding back a smile

"Ooo! I like that one," Roman hummed; Remus's face scrunched up before he grinned.

"Can I be Dukey then?" Logan ignores that. 

Virgil, who had previously been quiet, snickered. "Sure, why not?"

Dee sighed, relaxing.

"Now I'm worried about what he'll do to the rest of our patrons, especially Aphrodite." Roman shook his head. "I might just file a complaint, at this rate."

"I mean, Aphrodite was a little bipolar in the stories. And no, Roman, I'm not insulting her." Logan said, trying to stop Roman from getting mad.

"Good," Roman huffed; Remus giggling again.

"Yeah, but with what the professor did to Loki; he'll turn her from bipolar to outright batshit crazy."

"Yeah; that's my job!" Remus cheered. 

"Wait, drunkenness, insanity…is your patron Dionysus?" Logan said.

"Bingo!" Remus responded.

"You could just offer to teach things the right way around, since you have first hand experience with the stories," Virgil offered calmly.

"They could; but wouldn't that be taken as slander to Professor Sanders’ teaching?" Logan said, pulling a Rubix cube out of his pocket.

"Yeah, most likely not worth the risk," Dee hummed with a sigh. "We'll just have to grit our teeth, and hope he doesn't damn us all by insulting the gods and goddesses too badly..."

"Yeah, oh! Why do you have the snake tattoo, Dee?"

Dee raised an eyebrow. "I like snakes, and they’re a sign of my patron; tattoos are also a sign of rebellion against higher ups, especially on the face and areas of high visibility, so..." he gestured at his tattoo. "I got one."

"We should get back to school."

"But we have the rest of the day off! Don't tell me you need to study that badly," Roman whined; Dee nodding.

"Nothing to stress over…"

"You can never be too behind on your work. Also, seeing how we have to do something about Loki, I would suggest you get it over and done with."

Dee groaned at that. "I'm going to put in the truth, not whatever nonsense the professor was spouting." 

That promptly started a 'discussion' on work ethics.

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