#they’re not causing constant stress and pressure and guilt they’re just *there*

[hiddenworldofmary]

it’s quiet in my head

[furiousgoldfish]

Trauma symptoms caused by childhood abuse

Early symptoms (childhood and teenage years):

Inability to show pain and vulnerability to others

deep belief that you ‘have to be tough’, secretly fearing that you’re weak and pathetic if you ever shed any tears or break down in pain

personality changes from outgoing and social, to isolated and quiet, trying not to be noticed

feeling like there’s something deeply wrong with you, deep belief that you’re some kind of monster who deserves to be punished

fear that if someone finds out about whats happening to you, they will blame you and hurt you worse

anxiety around adults, always being scared you’ll annoy someone and be hurt for it

very low attention to your needs and wants, feeling pride in neglecting your own well being, even neglecting your pain

belief that your value is tied to how much pain and mistreatment you can endure

urge to self harm, or outright hurting yourself

feeling like you want to disappear, or not be born at all, contemplating suicide

self hatred, feeling extremely negative about yourself and feeling like things would be better if you didn’t exist

spending phases of time being emotionless, feeling like a zombie and not caring about anything

foreshortened sense of future (belief that you wont live for much longer, inability to see your future or plan for it)

not feeling the consequences of events in the real time, or not at all; for instance, being completely unphased by a violent outburst or screaming, not feeling pain when you’re hurt, or not feeling the exhaustion when you’re clearly overworked

strong urge to not think about certain topics or events, or inability to do so

fear that your body is wrong and disgusting, anxiety about anyone seeing it but desperate need for validation that you’re normal

deep sense of shame in yourself, your actions and your appearance

strong investment in finding excuses for people who do bad things, always trying to see things from their angle and to forgive them

feeling like the blame for any bad thing in the world can be put on you

not feeling like a human being, belief that you’re less than human

feeling like your home is not here and you do not belong on this planet

feeling uncomfortable being touched and wanting people to back off

uncontrolled ourbursts of rage

looking for anything to soothe your pain or distract you, indulging with obsessions or drugs

early development of anxiety disorder, depression, insomnia, ocd

trying to regress your age and force yourself to stay younger than you are, because you feel like your value is dropping with age and nobody will care for you anymore

trying to desperately take control over some aspects of your life, which can result in overdoing or completely neglecting school, losing yourself in virtual life, eating disorders, self harm or magic thinking that enables you to believe you can control your circumstances

in case of a sexual trauma, innapropriate sexual behaviour, deep shame tied to your body, indulging in sexual interactions even before puberty, feeling like you’re meant to be used, violent or forceful sexual fantasies accompanied with shame, fear of touch, fear of anyone finding out, reaching out for pornographic material to put your experience into perspective

feeling desperate to appear normal and clinging very strongly to the perception that your childhood is normal

Later symtoms, can develop anytime after puberty, can be in 20s or 30s or even 50s:

Emotional

Flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, freezing up in terror, beyond average amounts of fear and dread

Trust issues, either trusting without suspicion even when you shouldn’t or trusting nobody and feeling completely alone in the world

Episodes of re-living traumatic events from childhood or later in life; emotional meltdowns

Being unable to leave the past and feeling frozen in the moments of trauma

Emotional flashbacks, feeling the events from past as if they’re happening now, except this time you feel it thousand times stronger and completely fall apart from the horror of it

Feeling unstable, ashamed for not being able to control your emotions, fear of being judged, mocked or humiliated for it, trying desperately to not feel it, using distractions or drugs

Self doubt, struggling to know what is real and what isn’t, doubting your memories and emotions, trying to only feel what you believe is obliged from you

Questioning the past over and over again, trying to find sense and who to blame

Trying desperately to put your relationship with your abuser(s) into perspective, feeling both guilt and obligation towards them, but also rage and desire to take over control from them

Self harm, self-destructive behaviour, suicidal behaviour, wanting to die to end the pain

Deep and overwhelming grief over loss of childhood and loss of trust in people you believed wouldn’t hurt you, or believed they were doing it for your good, which now proved not to be true

Depression, loss of joy in anything you used to like doing, loss of optimism in life

Losing the courage to try anything, regardless of how much it would benefit you, if there’s even a slight chance of getting hurt in a way you find impossible to endure, living passively

Feeling irreparably damaged and ruined

Getting lost in maladaptive daydreaming, fiction, or the virtual world, feeling unable to face reality, falling to obsessions or addictions to endure the pain

Feeling other people’s feelings as if they’re your own, especially feelings of pain, anxiety, fear, nervousness, anger or grief; trying to soothe them and especially having strong reactions to anger

Feeling overwhelmed whenever around people, feeling the urge to self-isolate and to be completely alone

Being hit with extreme amounts of rage and struggling to process it; worrying about misdirecting the rage or acting on it, violent fantasies

Getting stuck in a mindset of a child and barely able, or unable to do any grown-up tasks

Struggling to achieve even minimum function, or not functioning at all

Losing the will or the energy to participate in any activities you used to enjoy

Fighting or indulging the urge to normalize what happened or make it ‘not that bad’, trying to re-live it in a way that wouldn’t be traumatic, especally with sexual trauma, needing to perceive it as if it would be normal only if it was ‘consensual’ or more controlled and trying to find a way to frame it as ‘not that big of a deal’ and denying it’s hurting you

Beating yourself up horribly for still being upset and traumatized by events that happened long ago

Inability to have friends or form connections with others, high alert for betrayal and manipulation

Avoding places and people connected to the trauma, getting easily triggered and forced to re-live something that needs recovery time of days or weeks

Losing your sense of reality; not being sure where you are or what year is it for some periods of time, feeling like you’re going crazy

Only being able to focus on surviving a short amount of time (just trying to get thru the day or week)

Physical

Extreme anxety; trembling, spending prolonged amount of time tense and expecting danger and pain at every second, inability to calm down, limbs not working properly, fainting out of fear

Continually activated “fight or flight” response, always feeling endangered, trouble digesting food because your body shuts down your digestion in order for you to be able to escape faster, vomiting, stomach pains after eating

Hyperventilation, problems with breathing, feeling there’s “no air” in small or crowded spaces

Chronic exhaustion, feeling heavy weight over your body, having difficulty moving at all

Chronic pain, tension in your body never leaving, physical pain appearing when you’re experiencing emotional pain, chest pain, heart palpitations

Problems with blood pressure, fainting easily

Dissociation (feeling detached from your emotions and/or body, feeling numb and unreal, your body not feeling yours, feeling outside your body or like you’re stuck in someone else’s body)

Memory issues, not being able to remember whole parts of your life, weak short term memory, not being able to look back on your life in linear way or put the events in they order they happened in, mixing several events into one, remembering feelings but not events

Increased sensitivity to noise, getting very upset at any non recognizable sound, reacting with irritability or rage to background noises, or with terror at loud noises; needing complete silence, or constant soothing background noise

Extreme sensitivity to stress, having to block out stressful things from memory, having physical reactions to stress, like shaking, your hair falling out, feeling incapable of dealing with even minimally stressful tasks

Dry mouth in the night, overheating during the nightmares, getting so distressed after sleep you can’t move from the bed for hours, not calming down for days

Not being able to control your body, falling down and shaking uncontrollably, even trashing around as your body processes violence done to it

Not being able to relax or calm down without experiencing physical pain, feeling addicted to abuse and indulging in self harm, or letting someone else hurt you so that you might gain a moment of not feeling tense, stressed and scared

Feeling sensations of pain or discomfort on your body even when nothing is happening to it, especially the body parts that have been violated in some way; in case of sexual trauma it would mean private parts, in case of overworking yourself or break yourself with effort, pain in all muscles and joints

In case of sexual trauma, reoccurring memories of it, trouble figuring out your sexuality, wanting to escape your body or perceiving it in a distorted way, urge to repeat the trauma to get desensitized to it, hypersexual behaviour or complete lack of interest in sexuality

Weight gain or loss, hatred of your body and desire to change or hurt it, or complete neglect over body, lack of any self care of even acknowledging you need it

Difficulty sleeping or being awake, feeling too high alert to fall asleep or dropping out of consciousness from overexhaustion

Inability to focus or finish tasks, procrastinating or feeling sick just knowing there is a task you have to do.

 If you struggle(d) with 5 or more of early ones, or 5 or more of later ones, you’ve been dealing with trauma.

[bluegarners]

Oooh for the bingo card can I pick survivors guilt with dick feeling guilty cause he ran away from home just like Jason but he lived while Jason died 😢

ahhh sorry this took awhile to get to!! i hope you enjoy this though~ requested for my Bad Things Happen Bingo ; it is also on ao3

Survivor's Guilt

The days bleed into one another to the point where it’s almost offensive, how indistinct and indiscriminate each sunrise and subsequent sunset is. A little boy died and the world carries on like nothing happened. Like his life was nothing less than the lawn being mowed or a tree being cut down. Is there an analogy Dick’s forgetting about, comparing dead children to nature? He’s not sure, he’s just tired, and the days continue to bleed into one another.

Monday is actually Thursday and Dick looks in the mirror and traces the bruise on his face. There’s a line in the fading purple blob that’s just the slightest bit darker. Knuckle indents. He saw it coming but he didn’t do anything. It was… just a punch. He applies some ointment and looks away. A little boy died and he’s still taking care of a tiny little injury, hardly an injury, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, because-

It’s four in the evening and Dick just woke up. It’s not a good habit to fall into, to sleep so late, do so little, think about dead little boys and missed funerals, but Dick can’t help it. Sometimes, he loses time within the bleeding days, just sits down for a moment and then an alarm goes off to remind him that it’s morning now and that he should be getting up to do… something. Go somewhere. Take care of things. But what? But what? Dick only just sat down, it doesn’t seem fair for the world to demand he be pulled this way and that when it already took a child, already took someone that never graduated tenth grade.

What do people learn in tenth grade? They’re just children, and Dick can’t remember much from his Gotham Academy days, so he really hopes they aren’t put under too much pressure. They’re all just so young, tenth graders, so young and youthful and there’s really no reason for them to be bogged down with work or stress from education. Life was infinitely more important than some late homework and Dick wonders if the school requires missing assignments from dead children. Wonders what they do with that extra, empty desk or the absent name on the roster. Wonders if they just shove another kid into their place, cross out the name for attendance, and carry on like the rest of the world seems to have.

What’s more, what do the friends of the dead child do? Do they mourn? Mourning seems so sad for the young, it's got no place in their view, and yet Dick remembers mourning, grieving when he was just nine but it was all so wrong. Dick hopes that the friends of the dead child are okay. Dead child. Dead little boy. Dead tenth grader.

He heard the funeral was nice. Heard that the school hosted a vigil. Of course, he wasn’t able to attend. Wasn’t extended the invitation to attend, but it’s not about him. It’s about the dead boy.

Dick has never been comfortable with children. Not in the sense that he finds them strange or annoying or that he can’t stand youth. He’s just not comfortable with the sheer light, with people who possess so much of it that it literally oozes out in all the things they do. Leaks out from their innocent smiles, their troubled and off-handed questions, their zest for adventure, yearning for dreams so much larger than themselves, their endless compassion for others, their infinite amount of crushes, their worry about deadlines and asking someone out on a date, their constant need to keep up with trends of the day; so many light things that Dick hasn’t touched in so long. So many things he feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to touch.

You were lucky.

Was he? Dick doesn’t think he was, but then again, he’s not a dead little boy with a specially made coffin to fit his small, under-developed, never got the chance to reach a growth-spurt, body. Being Batman’’s partner was terrifying. He remembers it being scary, not knowing if he was going to live through the night or if Batman was going to go off on another rampage because Dick screwed up. Not knowing if screwing up as Batman’s partner meant no longer being welcomed as Bruce’s ward.

How many times has it been now? Twice? Three times?

A key is gone from his chain now and its missing weight burns holes in all of Dick’s clothes. It’s a finality that feels just as permanent as the dead little boy’s gravestone.

A size six and a half pair of sandals sit on the edges of Dick’s tiny balcony. He has a no shoe policy in his apartment, hardly cleaner than the streets below, but it was the principle that counted right? No muddy boots, no dirty sneakers, no rain logged socks, none of that. So Dick keeps a pair of size six and a half sandals on his balcony in case a size six and a half wearer decides to waltz in.

Dick wears a size eleven.

He’ll have to get rid of them at some point. There’s no reason for them to stay there, collecting dust or peeling away whenever it rains. They weren’t even that good of a pair, just some knock off brand he found at a convenience store once, so keeping them for their worth isn’t that important. He spent the entirety of seven dollars on them, so really, he’s not strapped for cash and he can’t wear them himself and he’s sure that some homeless kid or anyone really would be happy to have them. He could just donate them, throw them in a box and leave it outside for the trash to pick up. He could. He could.

He can’t.

They aren’t his. They belonged to someone, someone very important, and he can’t just throw them away. You don’t throw away a dead little boy’s shoes just because they can’t wear them anymore. His parents always taught him to respect the dead, respect their belongings, and those sandals aren’t his so he’s got no say in what to do with them. It’s fine if the dead child’s shoes stay out on Dick’s balcony. It’s fine. He doesn’t go out there much anyway. The shoes are so tiny, only a size six and a half, and Dick can hardly get half of his foot in a size so small and they belong to a dead boy anyway so he shouldn’t touch them. Shouldn’t touch the dead child’s shoes.

He’s distancing himself on purpose. It’s a lot easier to say a dead little boy, a dead child, than it is to admit a name belongs to such a ghastly title. There are so many other words, so many other titles infinitely more fitting for a child than dead, and yet it’s the only one that describes him in this moment. Dead. Gone. Passed.

There used to be a box shoved away in the back corners of his closet. A cramped and banged up cardboard box containing every memory he had from being Robin. There used to be a picture of his parents in there, a cracked glass frame and a stained photo all he had left from Haly’s; there was his old costume from the circus, the same one he wore on the night where the sawdust turned black and he learned what sounds a body makes when it hits the ground; there was a small photo album in there too, pictures Alfred took of Dick’s time at the Manor, of his time as Bruce’s ward. Sometimes he’ll flip through its pages and feel that sting in his eyes, feeling the ghostly fingers of longing cradle his head through each memory every pristine photo contained.

And, most importantly, in that old, worn out, and beat up cardboard box, was Robin. Red, green, and yellow. Shorts and a velcro cape. Boots he doesn’t know how he ever fit into. A vest that would be impossible to get around his shoulders now. The crest, the emblem. Robin.

It was supposed to stay in that box. Remain there for the rest of his days, leave behind a child soldier and trade it out for a freelancer looking for a new war to fight. A new landscape to reshape and hone as his own. But then another little boy, taller than when Dick started out, appears in the night and leaps and frolics and laughs by Batman’s side. Stands over Gotham and gloats and jeers and grasps Robin almost perfectly.

And for the first time, Dick understands the horror that plowed into every other superhero out there when he first debuted as Robin. Understands the numbing terror of the thought of a child, someone who probably didn’t know how to do calculus or read Shakespeare or tie their shoes correctly, out there fighting the dirtiest and darkest sides of the world. That someone with a shoe size of six and a half was out there punching rapists, getting up close with drug lords and traffickers, witnessing and investigating crime scenes and analyzing gore and blood spatters.

Just a child. Just a little boy.

It feels wrong. So, so wrong, to give his blessing to someone who’s just barely hit puberty. Who’s still struggling to perfect a Robin cackle or speak without his voice cracking and pitching wildly. It’d make him a hypocrite not to though. He was younger, so much younger, when he started out as Robin, so who is he to stop an almost teenager from being Robin?

Well, actually, Dick is an adult. His frontal lobe is completely developed, he can pay taxes, drink, vote, organize his own affairs, drive, buy cigarettes, make his own decisions. Help others make decisions. Jas- the dead boy was just that. A boy. He had no idea how to do any of those things, much less think about them for the next few years, so how can he just allow a child to decide if they want to traumatize themselves, bleed themselves dry, for a city that doesn’t love them and devote themselves to a man’s mission that hasn’t changed in over a decade?

But even if he hadn’t given his blessing, the boy would have been Robin anyway. Remember? Dick has no say in anything to do with Robin. Anything to do with Gotham. No, all that was taken away the moment he stepped out of line, stepped out of the conformity and obedience Batman demanded. The blessing… it was just a formality for something Dick had never wanted to continue. Robin was supposed to disappear with him, die with him leaving Gotham, and yet…

Robin died anyhow.

There’s a dead little boy that used to be named Robin buried in a cemetery with a beautifully carved gravestone that just wanted the child to rest in peace, sleep well, and dream of a better life. And Dick gave his blessing for him to die as Robin.

The days still bleed into each other, melting and drifting over and mixing until the sunrises and sets in the same minute. Dick keeps losing time and people keep calling him but he just forgets to pick up the phone to answer. He can’t help but stare at his balcony, can’t help but stare at the empty space in the box, can’t help but listen to his own heartbeat and watch the way his chest expands as his lungs do.

He is alive. Alive when he probably shouldn’t be.

Robin was not meant to last. Dick has told himself that over and over again, the clear and simple fact that Robin was not meant to carry on. Born through the same circumstances as Batman, Robin was supposed to be nothing more than a temporary outlet but Dick got addicted and now he can’t stop. Now his thoughts loop around and around and all he can think about is a dead child wearing his Robin uniform and running out in the night with his blessing.

You were lucky.

Bruce was right. He was lucky. Lucky beyond belief that he survived being Robin. Lucky he stuck around long enough to learn what he needed to and then some under Batman’s tutelage, only to be fired and leave a gaping hole behind that was just calling for a replacement. Screaming for someone to fill the void, beckoning the ears of the young and naive to answer its call. Of course a child would answer. Of course someone eager and looking for love and praise and meaning would find their way there.

And perhaps Dick used up all the luck, all the magic, Robin gave. Used it all up and without a care in the world for who would be next to wear the cape, parade the emblem, because now there’s a dead little boy in the ground and his blood stains Dick’s hands.

Maybe if he had died as Robin instead, died in those early days where he was nine and filled with moxy undeserved, it would have served as warning enough to stay away from Batman. Stay away from Robin. Stay away from the beckon of being a child soldier. And, really, it wouldn’t have been all that bad if he had died so young. If he had died after Zucco was found because then he would have been with his parents, would have been reunited with his family again.

Dick isn’t sure he believes in the after life, if there are places like Heaven and Hell, but sometimes he hopes there is because there is a dead little boy in his arms and he is desperate for the hope that he has a good place to go to. To move on to.

But Dick’s not dead, still very much alive and breathing through working lungs with blood pumping through his veins, and now he’s not only outlived his time as Robin, but the next as well. He has outlived a child.

How do you outlive your own legacy?

He can’t call the dead child his brother. They’re not, legally, and Dick didn’t bond with him like brothers should. He tried, tried to after the initial shock and horror, bought size six and a half sandals, helped with homework, lent an ear to vent to, but it wasn’t enough.

Somehow, a dead little brother is so much worse than a child and Dick can’t give him another title to cling to. Can’t assign another name and still…

Jason is dead. Dick missed his funeral, missed it all, and his name is Jason Todd and he was only fifteen when he died and god, Dick wishes he had been a better brother. Wishes so badly he had never given his blessing, never lived through being Robin, because that would mean Jason would have never had to die and he would be in Dick’s place, simply breathing and alive and that’s… that’s all he can ask for.

The days continue to bleed into each other and the bruise slowly fades away into his skin.

The sandals remain on the balcony.

[maria-scribbles]

loyalty’s all i got | part two

three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.

word count: 8.6k+

ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship

warnings n stuff: angst angst angst all around (with a happy ending tho!!), the reader being a v. sad girl, mentions of anxiety/depression, failed long distance relationship, drifting apart, self-inflicted loneliness/isolation, the classic trope of 'they broke up but they're still in love with each other' that gives me feels, swearing (it's not my writing unless someone says 'fuck' at least once), reconciliation/mended relationships, traditional cheesy rom-com rain scene 'cause i'm a Dramatic Hoe™

a/n: and here's the second and final part of this looooong two-shot! thank you all so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the finale even though i low key kind of hate it 🙃. fun fact: surfrider beach is a real place in malibu known for its great waves :) also i apologize for how long this took to post, i dropped my laptop and the screen broke so i had to wait for it to get fixed lmao. unbetaed as usual, any mistakes are my b. 

~masterlist~

part two: like a ghost that no one knew

When you said goodbye to your friends three years ago, you should've known things would never be the same again. You were sixteen, still so young and naïve and full of an almost childlike hope that kept you from seeing the obvious: life wasn't fair. Sometimes, you could be holding all the right cards and still lose the game.

It should've been easy. You had a video chat schedule already figured out, promises of daily texts and Snapchats, a boyfriend willing -enthusiastically willing, in fact- to go long distance and make it work no matter what 'cause you both agreed that what you had was something worth fighting for. You and your friends had weathered many storms together, what was one more? It could've been easy but you underestimated just how cruel California would be.

You traded one coast for the other and watched the sun set over the Pacific alone when you would've given anything to watch it rise over the Atlantic with your friends. It hurt to surf solo but you did it anyway, even though it felt like a damn sucker punch each time you caught yourself scanning the sand for JJ and his proud smile when you successfully caught bigger and bigger waves at Surfrider Beach. 

Long distance was hard. You had days where all you wanted to do was lay on your bed for hours, safely curled up in his arms as he ran his fingers through your hair but you had to settle for his voice over the phone and one of his shirts from your closet instead. You missed everything about him: his pretty eyes that looked like the clearest ocean, the cheeky grin he'd send your way after making a stupid joke that had you affectionately rolling your eyes in exasperation, that adorable flush that spread across his face without fail each and every time you said you loved him. You longed for his constant affection; the way he always wanted to keep you close somehow, his arm around your shoulders, hand in your back pocket, or fingers entwined with yours; how he could never go a day without kissing you. Being apart was nothing short of torture.

"I fucking miss you." He said late one night during a rare FaceTime session -his phone was a piece of shit so he had to 'borrow' John B's whenever he could- and you smiled despite the knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into your heart as you played with the fraying sleeve of his old sweatshirt you wore. 

"I fucking miss you more, J." You whispered back, giggling quietly when he scrunched up his nose in playful skepticism. 

"Yeah, I don't think so, babe. There's no way." 

"Yes, way!"

Although it hurt like hell, you imagined being tangled up with him in the hammock hanging in the Chateau's yard under the North Carolina sky -the light from the moon would turn his blond hair a pale silver as he grinned down at you and cupped your cheek in his hand, closing that final distance between you for a kiss that'd fuel the fire racing through your veins- and you let that fleeting happiness carry you through the night, long after you said goodbye. You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, unaware that your mother had been listening from the other side of your closed door.

You'd been distant from her and your dad in the months since the move, obviously going out of your way to avoid them both by spending all your spare time surfing at the beach, coming home well past sunset and heading straight to your room without a word. They'd taught you forgiveness wasn't something to be given willingly -it had to be earned- and since neither of them had done anything worthy to deserve an absolution, you simply pretended they didn't exist and let yourself stew in your justified anger.

Until the morning after your video date with JJ, they'd wisely given you your space so you were pretty blind sighted to find them both waiting for you at the dining room table, one of your dad's famous cinnamon rolls on a plate set in front of your usual chair. You paused in the middle of tying one of your boyfriend's worn bandanas in your hair before abruptly continuing toward the front door, acting like you didn't see the hopeful looks on their faces that made guilt slowly start to burrow its way into your chest. 

"Y/N, wait," Your dad sprung from his seat and reached his hand out toward your elbow, his face falling when you instantly pulled back and crossed your arms. "Please, let's just talk for a second."

"I'm gonna be late for the bus," You lied and tried for the door again, sighing in frustration when he blocked your path and ushered you toward the table where your mom was sitting, biting her thumbnail. The guilt burrowed deeper: you thought she kicked that habit years ago but there she was, chewing her nail to shreds and it was all because of you (the empty satisfaction you felt knowing you were the cause of her stress made you hate yourself just a little more.).

"Jellybean, don't worry about that. I'll drive you." 

You bristled at the old nickname but sat in the chair your dad pulled out for you anyway. The smell of the cinnamon roll he pushed your way made your mouth water but you refused to eat and kept your eyes down as you played with the stack of bracelets adorning your wrist. "You wanted to talk?" You asked, deciding to just rip the band-aid off all at once 'cause knowing your mom when she was anxious and your dad being allergic to any type of confrontation, you'd have sat there all day until one of them worked up the courage to speak.

"Talk, right." Bill said with a nervous chuckle, shaking his head as he took a seat and swiped his own cinnamon roll from the pan in the middle of the table. "Uh, how are you?"

"Are you serious right now?" You asked incredulously, looking up from your lap with a raised eyebrow. "All this for 'how are you?'" 

"How would we know?" Your mom finally spoke up as she pulled her ruined nail from her mouth, only to start instantly drumming her fingers on the table. "You're always holed up in your room or at the beach, Y/N. You never talk to us anymore."

You rolled your eyes before fixing her with a deadpan stare. "Hmm, I wonder why."

"Honey, you know I'm sorry-"

"Don't, okay? Just don't." You swallowed thickly and dumped the cinnamon roll back into the pan, blinking away the awful burning pressure building behind your eyes. "I can't listen to some half-assed apology that you don't mean!"

"Y/N, we are sorry. Everything's gonna get better, just give it time." Your dad's reply was muffled by a mouthful of pastry and any other time, you'd usually be laughing at his chipmunk cheeks but instead you just stared back down at your hands again, lip quivering as you tried and failed to hold yourself together. You would not cry. You would not cry. You would not-

"Please, honey." Your mom tentatively reached out one hand like she was approaching a wounded animal, her voice so soft you could barely hear it above the rush of blood in your ears. "It hurts us to see you like this-"

Oh, fuck this shit.

"You're hurt?! Are you kidding me?" Your chair scraped along the tile as you rocketed to your feet, vision blurring when the dam finally broke. "You promised we wouldn't move again until after I graduated and you broke that promise. I let myself make friends for once in my goddamn life -I fucking fell in love, Mom! I fell in love with the most amazing boy who, by some miracle loves me, too despite me being a...a complete loser!" You were rambling now but you couldn't find it in yourself to care about or stop the words flying from your mouth. 

"God, I was happy -so, so disgustingly happy it kind of scared me, okay?" You laughed bitterly and roughly wiped the tears from your cheeks, only to have more immediately take their place. "And you didn't even stop to think before you took it all away from me! So don't even talk to me about being hurt 'cause you have no fucking idea!"

Your dad was frozen, eyes the same color as your own blown impossibly wide in the middle of another bite of cinnamon roll while your mom, two tears streaking perfect twin tracks down her cheeks, looked at you like you'd just told her the world was ending -to her, it just might've been but to you, it already had. Neither of them said another word as you snatched your backpack off the couch and stormed from the house, slamming the door behind you.

Halfway to the bus stop, you decided school just wasn't in the cards that day and doubled back, hiding behind the shed in your backyard until your tears had run dry and both of your parents left -Rebekah to the hospital, Bill to wherever he went while you were in class- before heading inside to change into your rash vest and grab your board. Despite it being early Friday morning, Surfrider Beach was full of life and you welcomed the hustle and bustle as you turned off your phone and buried it at the bottom of your bag, leaving your problems behind on the sand. 

You spent the whole day at the beach, blissfully alone and free to do what you wanted, until the sun dipped low in the sky and you were too exhausted to even think about anything but dragging yourself home so you could pass the fuck out. You caught one final wave before heading back to shore, waving goodbye to the group of other kids you'd surfed with all day (the one thing you loved about California: everyone was so chill) and trudged through the sand toward your things where, just as you expected, your sister sat on your towel, clad in a baggy UCLA long-sleeve with her phone in hand. 

"Bitch, you killed it out there!" She looked up as you dropped your board to the ground and sat down heavily beside her, slipping an old Kildare County High School sweatshirt -the first one you ever 'borrowed' from your boyfriend, much to his delight- over your head. "I mean, look at you go!"

You leaned closer to watch the video she took, the barest hint of a smile on your face when you watched yourself perform a near perfect cutback on the screen. "That's 'cause I had the best teacher." 

Daisy tagged you and posted it to Instagram before you could protest, then tossed the phone back into her bag and turned to you with a forced cheerfulness that kind of made you want to smack her. "So..."

"Mom and Dad sent you to clean up their mess." You finished quietly, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them as your sister sighed dramatically and offered a sympathetic wince. 

"As always." She copied your position and you both stared out at the sun sinking over the water, its fading rays turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and pink. It was typical of your parents to send Daisy after you when you were upset -after all, you'd both been each other's only friend for over half your lives- and normally, you'd be glad to see your sister's friendly face instead of your mom's or dad's. That evening, though? All you felt was...disappointment.

"Guess they really don't give a shit about me." You mumbled under your breath, half-hoping Daisy didn't hear you but from the way she snapped her head in your direction, you didn't get your wish.

"Y/N, that's not it. They're just..."

"Just what? Pretending that they didn't stab me in the back? Acting like everything's all hunky-dory and they actually cared about my feelings?" 

You hastily wiped at your face when your sister silently looped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you against her side, her fingers running soothingly through the ends of your damp hair as you vented all of your frustrations -everything you'd kept locked deep inside your heart- until your voice was hoarse and the sun had long disappeared from the horizon and you had no tears left to cry.

"You have no idea what it's like, being so lonely it hurts to breathe. It hurts knowing Mom and Dad have each other and you have Daniel and I'm alone all the time." You lifted your head from her shoulder and rubbed your red eyes with your sleeve. "Worst part is, they just keep acting like I'll wake up one day and magically be okay and everything'll be all sunshine and rainbows again." 

"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry for not making more time for you. I knew you were struggling and I'm a terrible big sister for not being here for you like I should have," You squeezed Daisy's other hand in thanks as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her voice soft and steady like the waves crashing against the shore. "Second, I definitely don't think Mom and Dad are handling this the way they should, but I think they're trying in the only way they know how. That should count for something, right?"

You sighed and tugged the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands. "I guess, but they haven't even tried to see where I'm coming from and they don't get that I'm not the only one they hurt. If I have to hear one more half-assed apology, I'm gonna lose my shit. Again."

"I'm not saying you have to forgive them right away 'cause I sure as hell wouldn't until they say they're sorry and mean it. But..." She said, pulling you to your feet and shaking the sand from the towel you were sitting on, "you shouldn't keep shutting them out, okay? It's not healthy."

You tucked your board under your arm as Daisy grabbed your bag and swung it onto her shoulder before you both started walking toward the parking lot. "What if I'm never ready to forgive them?"

"That's a question I don't have the answer to." She said with a shrug. "You've gotta figure that one out for yourself."

So you followed your sister's advice. You were civil and gradually, your relationship with your parents improved until you could stand to be in the same room as them and even carry on a short conversation, even though you knew you'd probably never be able to fully trust them again. You caught them exchanging glances you could only describe as wounded when you often turned down their invitations to go to the movies or get ice cream or other things you used to love doing when you were younger but for the most part, they took it in stride and you were grateful for their little efforts. Forgiveness wasn't in the cards quite yet but with each passing day, you felt the icy wall around your heart slowly start to melt away.

But every time you thought you were taking one step forward, life pushed you two steps back. Just when you were getting things back on track with your family, the train went flying off the rails when it came to your friends and it was all your fault.

It wasn't like you didn't try -God, did you try- to keep yourself from falling back into old habits but Malibu just had a way of bringing out the absolute worst in you. Your old self, the girl who kept to herself and pushed everyone away, someone you thought you buried in the deepest grave, slowly came back from the dead with a vengeance little by little, so subtly you didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. 

One missed phone call turned into two, texts went unanswered for days or not at all, FaceTime sessions happened less and less. The last video chat had been with Kiara and it ended terribly, after you blew up at her for mending her friendship with Sarah Cameron in the near two years since you'd been gone, spitting words you couldn't quite remember -something along the lines of 'didn't take you too long to replace me, huh' and calling the blonde girl a 'heinous bitch'- but knew you regretted with everything you had and hanging up before she had a chance to explain. You couldn't even recall the last time you talked to Pope or John B aside from the occasional Snapchat and your daily calls with JJ had turned to once a week, if you were lucky.

He was trying, you could tell, and so were you but the deck was stacked against you and you were never very good at cards, anyway. It hurt to try, it hurt not to try, everything just hurt. Nearly two years apart had done their damage and coupled with your debilitating fear of being forgotten that clawed at your chest like a rabid dog, your relationship was on unstable ground and for the first time in almost four years, you were thinking about the end. It wasn't like you didn't love him anymore (holy shit, were you still completely head over heels in love). In fact, you loved him so much you realized that he could do so, so much better than you and the thought rested heavy and bittersweet on your mind, lurking in the shadows until you were ready to bring it to light.

It happened on New Year's Eve. Alone in your room, your hands shook as you answered JJ's call at midnight, his voice tired and a little hoarse from celebrating the new year three hours earlier on the opposite coast and you nearly started crying right then and there when you replied with a shaky "I think we need to talk."

"Babe, what's wrong?"

You took a deep breath and said quietly, "Everything."

"Talk to me." The pure concern in those three words nearly convinced you to call it off, to tell him to forget you said anything and that you were fine, everything was just fine but deep down, you knew you couldn't.

"I've been thinking about us and I...I just think that you deserve better than me. Someone who can actually be there for you when you need her and hold you when your dad's an asshole and see you every day. Someone who can laugh at your silly jokes and share a joint with you and clean you up when you get into fights defending your friends-"

"Babe, what are you talking about? That girl is you."

"Maybe I was but I'm not anymore and I don't think I have been since I left. I just can't be the girl you want, I can't be the girl you deserve, J -I'm a total fucking mess and you can do so, so much better than me."

"Y/N."

You didn't know you were crying until you heard the broken way he breathed your name and salt water dripped from your chin onto the bracelet around your wrist. 

"...are you breaking up with me?" His voice was impossibly small, the quietest you'd ever heard it and the exact moment your battered heart shattered into pieces was when you realized he didn't even put up a fight. 

"I think so." The words tore through you like a gunshot as you cried, curling into yourself on the bed in an effort to ward off the worst pain you'd ever felt in your life and you wondered if it was possible to die from a wound that wasn't even physical. 

He was quiet for a long time, so long you thought he hung up without you noticing through your tears, until he sniffed on the other end of the line.

"Guess we had a pretty good run, huh?" He asked with a watery chuckle and you found yourself giving a tiny, shuddering giggle in response -God, even when you were breaking his heart he still managed to make you laugh.

"The best, baby." The pet name slipped out like second nature and you winced, hastily trying to cover your mistake with an awkward cough but from the sharp breath you heard him take, he'd heard it anyway.

("I'm sorry," you said, and it stood as an apology for more than just your slip-up.)

"I love you, Y/N. Probably always will."

"I'll never stop loving you, JJ. That's a promise."

You let yourself believe him as you laid there bleeding from a gash you couldn't see, a wound you knew would never heal, and you hoped he let himself believe you, too, even when you ended the call without another word and threw your phone away from you, not bothering to see where it landed. The sound of your heavy, broken sobs filled the room and you didn't even mind when your mom, who you knew had been listening from the other side of your closed door like always, barged in and took you into her arms, stroking your hair as you cried into her lap.

If you were supposed to avoid getting hurt by leaving first, why did it feel like everything in you was broken? If you were making the right choice, why did it feel so wrong? You didn't have the answers and no matter how hard you searched, you knew you'd ever find them.  

So you tried to stay busy. You joined the surf club at school, got a part-time job at the local aquarium, did anything you could to distract yourself from the hurt and the guilt and the way getting out of bed every morning was the hardest thing to do. Surf club introduced you to Mackenzie, the one girl who was more ostracized at school -an even richer version of the kook academy you hated -than you, her for being freakishly tall and you for your East Coast attitude, and the two of you became fast, if reluctant friends. Mack didn't try to stitch the gaping hole in your heart caused by your absent friends but she numbed the pain just enough to make it bearable and you were grateful for her calm, steady presence at your side, even as you both tried to keep each other at arm's length.  

Later, you found out she was just like you, friendless and awkward with no self-esteem and a tendency to push people away, and that just cemented your friendship through the summer and your final year of high school.

Mack told you all about her life, growing up with no siblings, having height that she never learned to deal with, and a debilitating social anxiety that made making friends near impossible, and in turn you told her about how you hopped from town to town on your mother's whims, the wonderful friends you let slip away, and the beautiful boyfriend you loved enough to let go, and you both cried together for the lives you could've led.

"You two looked so happy," She said during the first sleepover you hosted as she held one of the many picture frames littering your dresser, her lips turned upwards in a small smile.

You gently took the frame from her hands and ran your fingers over the grinning face of your ex-boyfriend, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your painted lips planted a deep red kiss on his cheek, and the wave of longing washing over you was almost strong enough to bring you to your knees. "It was the happiest I've ever been."

"Do you miss him?"

"So much it hurts."

i miss you.

i'm so sorry.

i still love you.

You'd typed and erased those texts every day but never mustered the courage to hit send and you couldn't decide if that was a blessing in disguise or the worst possible curse. Of course you still loved JJ: you promised you would and even if you didn't, you couldn't stop if you tried. He was your first love, the boy you so willingly gave your whole heart and then some; you still kept his ring on your thumb -the one he gave you at the airport the day you left- and his bracelet around your wrist, his bandanas in your hair and his face in your dreams and you knew you always would.

Before you could blink, your eighteenth birthday flew by and graduation was upon you.

You thought the second you were done with high school you'd be gone, heading straight back to the Outer Banks and the life you left behind but you found yourself stalling on sending in an application to UNC -Chapel Hill until you missed the deadline for the fall semester. On the outside, you made up a semi-legit excuse about getting your basic courses done at a community college to save money but deep down you really knew why you procrastinated: you were terrified to go back. Ever since your break up with JJ, you hadn't spoken to him or any of your old friends other than the obligatory birthday wishes on Facebook and you wondered if the damage you'd done over the years was too much to come back from, even as you tried to work up the courage to find out for sure.

Another year passed: in between earning college credits, you and Daisy took a sister's trip to Disneyland, Mack asked you to tag along on a jaunt up the coast to San Francisco to see Alcatraz, your parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary (your gift was long-overdue forgiveness and they said it was the greatest thing you possibly could've given them). When the time came, you and Mack both sent out your applications to UNC -you for biology, her for chemistry- and the myriad of emotions you felt when you got in was nothing short of dizzying. The old you was terrified, screaming at you to rip up the letter and join your sister at UCLA instead of opening old wounds but the hopeful you, the girl who lived without fear, the girl who fell in love and let herself be loved, screamed louder.

And so you killed the old you once again, burying her even deeper than the last time in a locked chest and throwing the key as far as you could out into the Pacific where you knew you'd never find it. You clutched your acceptance letter close to your chest and took a step east, away from California and toward the place where your broken heart still rested, scattered in pieces across the sand.

Settling in at UNC was surprisingly easy. You and Mack already clicked pretty well as friends so making the transition to roommates was natural and, dare you say it, even a little fun and the two of you quickly fell into a comfortable routine in your tiny apartment off campus in Chapel Hill. Comfortable and yet...that happiness you once felt all those years ago was missing from your life and you found yourself just as restless as you were in Malibu. While you knew exactly what you needed to do, that fear kept rearing its ugly head in the back of your mind, poisoning your thoughts: what if they wouldn't be happy to see you, what if they forgot about you, what if they hated you? What if he hated you?

It was terrifying, picturing yourself turning up at the Chateau with a hopeful smile only to have the door slammed right in your face. Deep down, you knew they'd never do that to you no matter how badly you'd hurt them but when you'd spent your whole life expecting the worst, taking a leap of faith wasn't an easy feat -something Mack just couldn't wrap her head around.

"I don't get it."

You glanced up from where you were lounging on your bed, flipping through your biology notes in preparation for your lab exam the next morning and shot your roommate a confused look. "Get what?”

Mack sat at your desk, her own notebooks lying ignored as she spun the chair around to face you, arms crossed. "Why you haven't hopped on that ferry to go get your man yet!"

You froze for a moment too long before offering a half-hearted shrug as you fiddled with the beads at the end of your bracelet. "It's not that easy. He probably wants nothing to do with me and I don't blame him."

"How do you know? You haven't talked to JJ in over a year, right?" At your tight nod, she continued, "What if he's just like you-"

"Depressed?"

Mack fixed you with a flat, unamused look. "Still in love, dumbass."

You scoffed and propped your chin in your hand as you glanced back down at your study guide, trying not to latch onto that little thought -hope and pain all rolled into one- that sparked to life at her words. He'd said he would probably always love you that New Year's Eve and back then you'd let yourself believe him but now, you weren't so sure. "Yeah, right. No way he's still...still in love with me after I broke his heart."

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't," Your roommate said with a shrug, spinning around on the chair to grab her things. "You'll never know if you don't get over there, track his fine ass down, and talk to him."

You stared down at your notes without actually seeing anything, the slanted letters of your handwriting blurring before your eyes as the other girl flipped her chemistry book closed and stood, shooting you an warm smile that you didn't see. 

"Listen, Y/N, you're my best friend and I want to see you happy more than anything but I can't take that jump for you. Yeah, it's scary and nerve wracking and you might end up hurt worse than before, so what? That's just...life."

Mack left after that, crossing the apartment to her room so she could get ready for a date with a girl from her psych class, leaving you alone with tears on your face and a million thoughts in your head, all of them terrifying and exciting and oh so loud.

She was right, of course -Mack always knew the right thing to say- and as you stared down at the bracelets on your wrists and the ring on your thumb, the pictures on your phone and the too-big shirt hanging off one shoulder, you realized sitting around moping wasn't gonna solve anything; if you wanted your happiness, your friends, the love of your life back, you needed to step up and fight for them with everything you had. And so you wiped the tears from your cheeks and walked to the cliff's edge with your head held high, ready for the fall and whatever came with it. You were ready to fix your mistakes, no matter how badly it might hurt.

Still, you couldn't do it all on your own. You needed some help to make things right again and while you knew just who to ask, you weren't quite sure if they'd be willing to lend a hand. Desperate times called for desperate measures though and you penned a good old-fashioned letter, feeling like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel as you poured all your thoughts -your dreams, wishes, hopes- onto a piece of paper in bold blue ink and sent it off to its destination on Figure 8, your Hail Mary for a happy ending sealed up neatly in a single envelope.

Mack, bless her heart, did her best to keep your spirits up as you waited on a response but even her ever reassuring presence couldn't keep you from worrying as one week passed by, then two. Halfway through the third you'd almost given up, already wracking your brain for another way to make your plan work when your phone chimed with a text from an unknown number.

i'll help you

And just like that, the moment you'd been waiting for was finally within your reach; you told your parents not to expect you for Thanksgiving break, called your sister for a much needed pep talk, and started counting down the days until you'd see your friends again, for better or worse.

When you left the Outer Banks three years ago, it was sunny. You were sixteen, young and in love and scared about the future.

When you returned, it was in the middle of a storm. You were nineteen, a little bit older but no less in love and definitely still scared about what was waiting for you at the end of the road.

Rain pounded against the roof of Sarah Cameron's SUV as she drove away from the docks and toward the Chateau, her fingers tapping along to the music playing quietly through the radio. You sat in the passenger seat, soaked to the bone from your ferry ride from the mainland and shaking like a leaf despite the towel wrapped around your shoulders and the warm air flowing from the car's vents.

"Thanks for coming to get me," You said, wincing at the awkward lilt of your voice echoing in the small space as you spun JJ's ring around your thumb and stared out the windshield at the familiar sights streaking by in blurred shades of green and brown. Being back opened a Pandora's box of emotions in your head, both good and bad, and instead of trying to sort them out, you let them bounce around in your brain like a pinball machine and concentrated on methodically twirling the warm metal ring in circles on your finger.

Sarah briefly glanced away from the road to shoot you a small smile, her kind eyes softening at your visible nervousness. "Not gonna lie, I was pretty sure you hated me so when I got your letter it kinda...threw me for a loop. Sorry it took me so long to reply."

You wished the heated leather seat would swallow you whole as you winced again and wrapped the towel tighter around your shoulders. "For the longest time, I thought I did hate you but I realized I was just...scared of losing my friends and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve to be labeled the villain in my story when I was the one, um, sabotaging myself, I guess." You took a deep breath and picked at a loose thread tickling your arm. "And I'm really, really grateful for your help."

It was more than you wanted to admit out loud -nearly the same words were written in the letter peeking out from the center console of the car- but at the same time, you knew it was what needed to be said and from the way the blonde girl's fingers stopped tapping against the steering wheel, she knew she needed to hear it. At a red light, she quickly tapped out a text on her phone before tossing in back into her bag with another tiny grin in your direction.

"Happy to help. For what it's worth, I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you were being replaced, I never intended to hurt you or steal your friends or...or, I don't know, usurp-" 

"Sarah, stop. Please," You held up a hand to cut off her apology and offered her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm the one who's sorry. I let my...jealousy get the best of me and I feel so bad about all the shit I said 'cause that wasn't fair to you at all and I hope you can forgive me-"

"Y/N, there's nothing to forgive! We all say stupid shit when we're mad -trust me, I know." She interrupted with a bubbly, contagious giggle that seemed to scare away the gloomy storm clouds gathered over your head for a moment in time. "But I was never pissed at you, ever. I just want you to know that."

Stunned, you settled deeper into the seat and started playing with your ring again as she kept driving on, unbothered by your lack of response. You felt like you were thirteen again, back when Sarah and Kiara were your only friends, before the birthday disaster and the whole pogue versus kook feud that got completely out of hand; it felt...nice and you found yourself hoping that the blonde girl would still want to be your friend again, no matter what the others thought about your sudden return. 

"Thank you."

Sarah gave no indication she heard your quiet confession of gratitude but from the way you watched her smile grow out of the corner of your eye, you knew she did. The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence as you retreated into your own thoughts, your nerves getting worse and worse the closer you got to your destination.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly through your nose, feeling like your heart was trying to beat its way through your rib cage. You hadn't been this anxious in a long, long time, so long you almost forgot how much you hated the tightness in your chest, how your palms would start to sweat, the way you'd chew the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood on your tongue. By the time Sarah pulled into an open spot beside the achingly familiar Volkswagen parked in front of the Chateau, you were surprised you were still able to breathe.

The sight of the tiny house, one you spent so many carefree days and beautiful nights in alongside your friends, standing virtually unchanged in front of you was like a shot to the heart and your hands, curled into fists on your lap, began to shake without warning. Shit, you were a godforsaken mess; how the hell were you supposed to do this without having a mental breakdown?

"I'm so scared."

The whispered words, barely audible over the torrential rain against the roof, slipped from your mouth before you could stop them and Sarah slowly reached one hand over to give your trembling wrist a reassuring squeeze, the corners of her mouth curled upward in a slight smile.

"Don't be. They're gonna be so happy to see you!"

You turned to look at her, eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "How are you so sure they still care about me?"

"I'm sure 'cause I've seen it. My God, if only you could've heard all the times they talked about you -'I wish Y/N was here,' 'remember that time with Y/N,' hell, just straight 'I miss Y/N so fucking much,'" She said bluntly and shifted in the driver's seat to face you head on, smiling wider at the thunderstruck look on your face. "Pretty sure I haven't gone a week without JJ saying that last one at least once." 

"I thought..." You paused, tongue darting out to run over your dry lips as you tried to put your jumbled feelings into words, "I thought he'd hate me -I mean, after all I've done, you think he still..."

"Loves you? Are you kidding?" Her reply was so enthusiastic it was hard not to believe her as she went on, her words like sunshine brightening the darkest corners of your mind. "He's still head over heels, I've never seen him even look at another girl in three damn years. You know he still wears your necklace, the one with the silver star? Kie told me all about it."

"I-I didn't." You remembered giving it to him the day you left, managing a shaky smile through your tears as you carefully clasped it around his neck, your fingers running over his skin as you settled the charm perfectly alongside that little shark tooth you'd grown to love.

('Be careful with this, baby. It's my favorite.' You had said, crying harder when he'd taken off one of his rings and slipped it onto your thumb.

'Well, this one's my favorite so take good care of it, okay?' His voice had been light but his eyes were heavy with unspoken words that you'd heard loud and clear because you knew your gaze said the exact same things.

don't let me go

don't break my heart

don't stop loving me)

You coughed to disguise the fat tears that started rolling down your face, quickly wiping them away with your sleeve but the blonde girl wasn't fooled as she gave your hand another friendly squeeze.

"Come on, they're probably wondering what's taking me so long," She sent a conspiratorial wink your way and grabbed her bag from the center console. "I told them I was picking up some pizzas but I have a funny feeling they won't be too pissed that I lied."

With a desperate grip on the strap of your backpack and your heart racing, you trailed behind Sarah through the rain to the front porch. 

"Ready?" She glanced back where you lingered at the top of the stairs, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot, and shot you a smile that did little to calm your nerves. "Just wait here!"

She knocked on the door before you could reply and yelled loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain, "Hey, it's me! Can somebody get the door? My hands are kinda full."

"Got it!"

Your bag slipped from your fingers and fell onto the porch with a loud thump at the sound of the voice floating through the open windows, a voice you heard nearly every night as you slept, in your dreams of a future you wanted with everything you had. You knew it better than your knew your own, knew every pitch and tone and lilt; quiet and raspy in the mornings when you woke up in each other's arms, loud and carefree during long days spent under the golden sun with the rest of your friends, soft and warm and laid bare at night when he showed how much he loved you with more than just words.

Sarah gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up before stepping to the side just as the door opened and you suddenly found yourself struggling to breathe as you stared into the wide blue eyes of your ex-boyfriend. JJ stared right back, one of the hands you used to hold clenched so tight around the doorknob his knuckles were white, the lips you used to kiss parted in surprise, the blond hair you used to run your fingers through falling onto his forehead like always and the familiar, beautiful sight of him standing close enough to touch made your knees weak.

"You're not pizza."

It was such a JJ thing to say and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry as you swallowed thickly and shook your head. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not."

"Oh."

Hope flared white hot in your chest at his words but it quickly started to fade, replaced by fear when he made no move toward you, his fingers still gripping tight to the door, and you felt your face start to heat in embarrassment as Sarah looked back and forth between the two of you like she was watching a tennis match. 

God, you were so stupid. What did you expect would happen, showing up out of the blue after over a year of no contact? Everything would fall into place again with just one long, heavy look? Believing it could be that easy turned you into a complete and total fool, tongue-tied and insecure and weak.

"Yo, what's the hold up?" John B's voice asked from inside the house and Sarah leaned down to call through the open window, "Come out here and find out!"

A wave of dizziness hit you like a truck and you took a sudden step back toward the stairs, arms wrapping around your stomach as it twisted itself into knots. "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have come. This was a mistake." You didn't notice the stricken look that crossed JJ's face or the three familiar, stunned expressions that appeared behind him in the darkened doorway before turning away and stumbling off the porch toward the road, leaving your bag behind and you definitely didn't notice how you barely made it off the bottom stair before a set of footsteps hastily gave chase. 

"It wasn't a mistake, Y/N!" JJ's desperate voice stopped you in your tracks, halfway across the yard with more than just rain running down your face. "Not to me, never to me."

His soft touch on your wrist sent shockwaves through your body and you instantly became putty in his hands, letting him turn you around without a fight to face him, watching in fascination as the downpour started to darken his gray shirt and flatten his hair against his forehead. Three years hadn't changed much about him -he was a little taller, hair a little longer, the muscles in his arms a little more defined- and when you met his wide-eyed gaze, beads of rain dripping from his long eyelashes like diamonds, you wondered if he was thinking about the differences time created between the younger you of the past and the you of the right now, too.

"Oh." You repeated dumbly, struggling for something, anything to say that didn't make you sound like an illiterate fool. Even at nineteen, words still weren't your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you as your hand reached out on its own accord to caress the silver star still clasped around his neck, the thumb still wearing his ring brushing slowly against the dip between his collarbones; he shivered, and you weren't really sure if it was from your touch or the cold. 

"Y/N." JJ said your name like a prayer, like he couldn't believe you were there in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when both of his hands slowly, carefully moved to cup your face, his calloused thumbs habitually wiping the tears from your cheeks over and over, even as more instantly replaced the ones he swept away. "I fucking missed you."

You stood there, looking like a damned drowned rat with your hair dripping into your eyes, shivering in your soaked jeans and Kildare County High School sweatshirt, the love of your life cradling your face so gently in his hands, and so many things you wanted to say flooding your brain but only the one that mattered the most managed to get by your trembling lips.  

"I'm still in love with you." 

You noticed a lot when you put your heart on the line: the steady, soothing sound of water falling through the trees, the bright, clean taste of rain on your tongue, how the sun was just barely starting to peek out from behind the stormy clouds, but they all paled in comparison to the little things you noticed about the boy in front of you; blue irises made even brighter by the red rimming his eyes, how he stepped closer on the wet grass until the tips of his scuffed boots touched your worn gray high tops, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly against your flushed face. 

"Well, it's your lucky day 'cause I'm still in love with you, too."

All of the breath left your lungs in one big rush when JJ smiled hopefully -oh, how you loved everything about that smile: his slightly crooked teeth, that dimple in his cheek, the endearing pink blush swept across his nose- and you felt yourself return it without a second thought, your own hope once again burning bright in your chest.

"Even after...everything?" Your voice shook like the fingers you slid into the hair at his nape and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, close enough you could feel his breath on your lips when he spoke.

"I told you I'd always love you, didn't I?"

You nodded, a delicious shiver running down your spine when he tilted his head just so and gently bumped your nose with his. You remembered all the times he did that through the years, a dizzying slideshow of memories that flashed through your mind like lightning, and your fingers wove themselves deeper in his hair. 

"I have so many things to apologize for," You said with a tiny, quiet shake of your head, tearing your eyes away from his in shame and staring over his shoulder toward where the rest of your friends watched from the porch, all crowded together at the top of the stairs with identical enthralled expressions on their faces. "There are so many mistakes I've made and people I've hurt and I have no idea how to even start saying sorry for it all." 

"Babe."

The sound of your old pet name caused your gaze to snap right back to his and your heart felt like it was about to beat right out of your chest when one of his hands trailed down the sensitive skin of your neck and then lower until it traced along the curve of your hip and left a line of fire in its wake.

"We'll figure that out later, okay?" JJ said as his fingers tucked a loose strand of wet hair behind your ear, a coy, ardent grin on his face. "'Cause I've been waiting three years to kiss you again and if I don't get to do it soon, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind."

You smiled -a wide, joyful, elated smile- and rose up on your tiptoes in anticipation. "Then kiss me." 

You didn't have to tell him twice. His lips pressed against yours desperately, like he needed you to breathe, like you were the very air in his lungs, religiously, like your mouth was the altar and he was there to worship as he pulled you close, the fingers of one hand tangling in your hair while the others dug into your hip. You kissed him back just as hard and the familiar taste of him on your tongue -mint, smoke, salt- sent that dearly missed spark racing through your veins like wildfire.

It was a little cliché, having your long-awaited reunion kiss in the rain but it was honest and candid and real and so much better than anything you could've dreamed. You lost yourself in his touch like you used to, clinging to him like a lifeline and pouring your whole heart into every fierce brush of your lips against his, both of you pulling away for a moment only to dive right back in each time. It was addictive, intoxicating, and you could've spent the rest of your life standing there in the middle of the yard and kissing like there was no tomorrow if a loud, ear-piercing wolf whistle hadn't come from the direction of the porch.

The two of you broke apart just barely, with foreheads still pressed together and swollen lips, and you couldn't stop yourself from giggling when JJ blindly flipped the bird over his shoulder before pulling you back in for another eager kiss that filled your whole body with an exhilarating, heavenly heat that never faded, even after four enthusiastic voices suddenly surrounded you like an excited swarm of nosy, buzzing bees.

"You aren't the only one who missed her, J." Kiara said, smiling widely as you reached out to grab her hand and pull her into a powerful one-armed hug, her chin resting on your shoulder.

"Yeah, stop hogging all the love!" John B added, throwing himself into the pile along with Pope, who slung an arm around your shoulders as he said, "Great to have you back, Y/N."

Sarah was the last to join and she quietly tucked herself under John B's arm with a pleased grin on her face, nodding when you mouthed 'thank you' in her direction. The six of you stood there in the rain, smiling like fools, and as the sun started to scare away the dark clouds overhead and in your heart, a weight you didn't even realize had been crushing your chest slowly began to lift away with each freeing breath. 

You still had a lot of work to do: wrongs to be righted, apologies to be made, explanations -not excuses- to be given for every shitty thing you did in your past. But as happy tears started streaming down your face once again and you felt the arms of the friends you’d thought were lost to you forever tighten around you at the sight, you knew in your bones all would be forgiven. You knew that after three long years, you'd finally come home.

-

let me know what you think! i read each and every one of your comments and cry because they mean so much to me! ❤

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[georgescatcafe]

vermillion — 2

rating: t warning/s: period-typical homophobia pairing/s: georgenap genres/tags: cowboy x city boy au, rancher sapnap, rich george, coming of age, slow burn word count: 3,850 summary: When Sapnap gets sent into the city to get quick cash for his family’s struggling ranch, he’s not expecting much from the experience—lights aren’t very blinding when held up to the Sun, and he’s not exactly there to play around. But then he meets George, a boy built on money, who quickly sweeps in not just paying customers but also Sapnap, leading him into what any ruddy country boy would call the mouth of the Devil: high society. Cue a summer spent by each other’s side while feelings run unbidden, uncaring of deadlines and restraints.

It should be enough for the pair—and for awhile, it is, right up until it isn’t.

+ao3 +masterpost

;;

It’s as much an exercise for George as it is for Sapnap. George isn’t actually that good with people; his false bravado stemmed from seeing the lonely boy there with an apple, and some bright bit of light—God’s light, a sign, George would say if he were a romantic—slashed across the boy’s face when George’s eyes land on him, turning his skin golden and illuminating the stars in his midnight hair. The image was enough to put George into motion, sending him over to the boy in the Pappas Ranch booth. Of course, any and all sweetness George had that his mother and her friends cooed and awed about flew from his body the minute he opened his mouth, but now, he sits at that booth and is the one constant company to Sapnap Pappas.

“That can’t be your actual name,” George turns to him when there’s a lull in customers, “Sapnap. Sapnap Pappas?”

Sapnap places the blade of his butcher knife to a particularly thick bit of fat before slicing through. “It’s not,” he says.

“Thought so.” George readjusts, and again, Sapnap reaches out a hand to steady the unstable booth. “So, what’s your actual name?”

“Is Sapnap not good enough for you?” Sapnap sends him a quick glance from under dark brows before going back to his work. George shrugs.

“It’s dumb,” George says. “But I guess it’s fine. But I want to know. Amuse me.”

“That’s because I was named it by my friend,” Sapnap tells him, wrapping up the meat and putting it in a cooler, “when we were, like, five.”

“Friend?” George glances over his shoulder at the market. He’s pretty sure it’s nearing dinnertime. His stomach has started to give the occasional rumble. Sapnap hasn’t noticed, though. That’s fine. George took time away from him at lunch. He can wait a bit longer for dinner.

“Yeah,” Sapnap replies. “I had a pen pal.”

“Had?”

Sapnap nods, then finally meets George’s eyes. “Are you going to contribute anything useful or just keep repeating everything I say?”

“You’re telling me about your past,” George says. “You don’t want to hear about mine.”

At that, he gets a disbelieving look that he chooses to ignore.

“Maybe another time,” George suggests. “Or quid pro quo.”

Sapnap studies him for another second before nodding. “He suggested we switch to email. The Internet at my house is super spotty, so sometimes it’s back to letters, but it’s not terrible, and I’ve got an AOL account. Pa told me it’d be useful for work too, so. No biggie, I guess. So yeah, we email.”

George doesn’t have spotty Internet; he has an AOL account—his mum told him he’d need it. He doesn’t use it often. Most of his friends live nearby anyway. “Cool,” he says.

Sapnap nods then puts away his knives and leans forward, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. George looks back over his shoulder. “Quid pro quo, George,” when George finally turns to him again, he smiles, “so?”

So George tells him about his AOL account. How he doesn’t use it. Then he tells him about his friends. “But some are just connections,” George clarifies, “and some I think hate me. I don’t really care, but it is stressful. I’d rather not deal with them at all, knowing some of the shit they say.” Sapnap gives a sympathetic hum. “But I do it. If not for my future, then for my mum and dad. They’re good. And under stress. We’ve got noble blood, really, but that just puts a price on our heads, I think. So I just… do what makes them happy ‘cause they’ve got enough to think about, you know?”

Sapnap blinks. George takes that as a no. He continues:

“Guess you could consider yourself lucky. Is that what it’s like? Just being friends with people to be their friend?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says. “Sometimes it’s because we grew up together, and I don’t like them much anymore, but they’re all I know, but… I still care about them. And it’s not… we don’t have prices on our heads. Sorry.”

George wants to laugh, but he bites it back, this time looking over at the woman in the next booth. She sends him a polite wave. George sends her one back. He feels Sapnap’s eyes on him the entire time. “’S fine,” George replies. He sits up, fingers drumming on wood. “So, your actual name, Sapnap Pappas?”

“Nick,” Sapnap says. “Nick Pappas.”

“A lot less stupid than Sapnap.”

“Maybe,” George wonders whether he should call the other his nickname (ha!) or his actual one, “but I don’t know. Going by Sapnap here is kind of fun. Like a secret identity. Or alter ego.”

“Don’t like being a country bumpkin, Mr. Pappas?” George shoots the other a teasing grin.

Sapnap (George has grown used to the name, and apparently, so has the other, no use calling him anything else now) grins back. “Proud of my roots,” he says. “Which isn’t bumpkin, thank you very much. But I do… I like the pretending. Just for a bit. Just for the summer. Takes some of the pressure off, I think.”

“Do you often fall victim to childhood nostalgia?” George raises his brows to show him he’s joking. Sapnap offers a smile.

“Is that what it is?”

“You tell me.” George glances out to the sky, where the Sun has started to set. “Let’s try to get a couple more buyers then head out for dinner.”

“Are you going to study business?” Sapnap asks, nodding when George motions to a father and son pair across the way. “In college?”

“Probably,” George replies, “amongst other things. Here. I’ll be right back.” And then he slips off the counter, leaving Sapnap alone, heading over to the father and his kid. He draws them in easy, a promise of a good bonding experience, grilling some juicy cuts of steak in their backyard, and Sapnap ends up just a little bit richer. After going through the process again, this time taking a goat off of Pappas Ranch’s hands, George watches Sapnap count the money before the other disappears fully behind the booth, locking the cash away in a safe. The emotion in him… George wouldn’t call it guilt, but it’s something that twists his stomach in all the wrong ways, makes him want to hop from foot to foot, not meet the other’s eyes. He could advertise to his parents. To his family. Hell, he could just give Sapnap the cash in his wallet. And it’d be fine. He wouldn’t even ask for anything. “Sell it to other people,” he’d say. “I don’t need it.”

Yet he hasn’t done any of that.

“What’re you thinking about?” George jumps when Sapnap finally walks out from behind the booth. “You look like you need to take a shit.”

“I don’t,” George replies, “I just….” He doesn’t know what to say. Even if he did, he doesn’t think he’d know how to say it. He gives a shrug. “Thinking about dinner, what to get, I guess. I’m hungry.”

“Honestly,” Sapnap says, “me too.” They start to leave, Sapnap continually throwing glances over his shoulder, before he finally continues: “Are you taking me to another French place?”

George shakes his head. “We can go somewhere else. Less fancy if you want.”

Sapnap thinks. George takes them towards the main road. He doesn’t really know all the city, just (he glances over to Sapnap before looking away, to the ground—it’s not guilt, it isn’t) the richer neighborhoods, but he can read a map, and honestly, he knows all the streets well enough, just not what’s down them all. “I just can’t really afford to spend money,” Sapnap eventually says. “And I’m not going to make you spend a bunch either,” he levels George with a look, “even if you can afford to.”

In a way, George can see that as fair. That doesn’t mean he has to accept it, though. “I can pay, and you won’t—if you think it’ll make you owe me or I’ll think you’re in debt to me or whatever, don’t. Just tell me what you want.”

“Where would you normally go for dinner?”

Home. George would be at home.

“I know a place,” he says instead. And when he goes, Sapnap follows.

;;

It’s a bit farther away than the French restaurant, closer to George’s house too, but Sapnap doesn’t seem to mind, and George tells him they’ll catch a cab back. “Walking could cause cramps,” George says. “It’s happened to me once or twice. Did you get it? I imagine working on a ranch is… non-stop.”

“It is,” Sapnap replies. “Ate when working sometimes, but Ma always had us eating together at dinner. But I’ve definitely had a sandwich or two on horseback.”

“Bite your tongue ever?” George glances over at him; Sapnap’s watching his feet on the pavement. Eventually, he turns to meet the other’s gaze.

“Once or twice.” They share a smile.

On the corner of Bell and Lamar sits a diner, the neon lights of its sign flickering on in the evening dark. BENNY it reads, letters vertical. Sapnap stares up at them; the magenta reflects in his eyes. “Come here often?” he asks.

“It’s cozier than,” George pulls a face, exaggerating his words, “Un petit creux.”

“I can believe that.” Sapnap pushes open the door. A bell overhead jingles. A sign reads to seat yourself, so they do, scooting into a booth that has a view of Bell Street, the seat cool through George’s pants. He watches Sapnap’s fingers as they drum against the countertop before disappearing below the table. “What do you usually get?” he finally asks.

George doesn’t come here often. “Chicken and waffles,” he replies.

There’re a couple menus slotted between the sugar and napkins, and Sapnap’s hands come back into view to grab one. His eyes roam over the laminated paper, glancing up at George, who sits there quietly, every few seconds.

“Are you going to look?” he asks, motioning to the remaining menu.

George shrugs. “I’m alright.”

Sapnap studies him for a second before his gaze finally drops. George takes this time to continue watching him. He’s got a bandana tied around his head, holding his hair back, but still some of his fringe falls over the fabric, forcing him to push it back every few seconds as he tries to read. George swallows before letting his eyes wander lower across his brow bone, the slope of his nose before the rest of his face disappears behind the menu. And Sapnap’s eyes are covered by long lashes. George looks away.

Across the room, he accidentally makes eye contact with a waitress, who offers him a polite smile and starts to walk over. “Hope you know what you want,” George warns Sapnap, who looks up, confused, right before the waitress reaches their table.

“What can I get you boys?” she asks, voice cheery, drawl strong.

George smiles. “Chicken and waffles please.”

“And a burger for me please,” Sapnap tells her, putting the menu back.

The waitress gives them a nod before pivoting, and then George goes, “Wait, uh, can I please get a chocolate shake too?” When the waitress writes it down, George wants to take it back.

He wants to take it back even more when Sapnap adds, “Me too please.”

George sneaks a peek at him from the corner of his eye. Sapnap’s just got an easy smile on his face, and when he turns to George, all he says is, “You didn’t get a treat earlier. But now I want one too.”

George completely forgot about their argument after lunch. He doesn’t tell Sapnap that, though. “I can pay,” is what he says instead, “since we’re getting the shakes.”

“I thought we agreed to go Dutch.” Sapnap says. “Don’t switch up on me now.”

“I’m not switching up on you,” George retorts. “I’m being polite.”

“You don’t need to be polite,” Sapnap replies. “We’re friends. Friends aren’t polite with each other.”

“Mine are.” George refrains from rolling his eyes. “And is that what we are? Friends?”

“Here, I’ll start the un-politeness,” Sapnap declares. “George, very not politely, what the fuck does that mean?”

“I just didn’t realize you thought we’re friends already,” George replies, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants.

“Do you think we’re not?”

George shakes his head. “We are. I mean, I think we are. Didn’t realize it’s reciprocated.”

“Yeah, well,” Sapnap’s cheeks puff up as he blows out air, “you know.”

He does.

The food is good, obviously, but when the waitress returns with two chocolate shakes, George has to repress a cringe. As he attempts to take a drink, he looks across the table at Sapnap, who’s already eaten his cherry and is, George assumes, trying to tie the stem into a knot with his tongue. George lifts from his straw. “You look stupid.” When Sapnap glares at him, George takes an innocent sip.

“And you can do it, hotshot?”

“No,” George replies honestly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t look stupid.”

“Well,” Sapnap takes another second to roll the stem around before he opens his mouth, tongue lolling out, cherry stem falling onto the plate below—tied in a neat, little knot.

George looks away, heat spreading under his skin.

“People who can do that are good kissers, so I don’t care how stupid I look if it means I kiss well.”

The first emotion George feels is curiosity. The next is humiliation. “Why would I need to know that?” he asks, eyes resolutely on his shake. It’s melted some, and now he drinks it easily. When he pulls back to breathe, he adds: “Why would you tell me that?” His offense is too extreme, and when he looks up, finally meeting Sapnap’s eyes, he knows Sapnap knows it too. “I’m sorry,” he says. He takes another sip. Though he’s no longer looking at the other, he can feel Sapnap’s gaze on him, and he’s uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He can’t take back the words, though, so all he does is drink his shake and try to avoid any and all eye contact. And then something bumps into his foot under the table.

He freezes, hunched halfway over his straw. Another bump to his foot, a gentle nudge. He risks a glance up. Sapnap is staring at him, expression intense. George swallows.

“No,” he says.

“Why not?” Sapnap taps their shoes together again.

“No.” George leans forward, hoping to convey with that one word just how against this he is.

“Just give me one good reason as to why not, George,” Sapnap replies. “Then I’ll stop.”

There’s lots of reasons. “I’m not… into that.” A lack of attraction isn’t one of them.

Sapnap sighs. “Fine, me neither. I just wanted to see what you’d do. Not going to lie, you seemed like the type.”

George scoffs, genuine hurt rising in his chest. He plays it off as disgust. “You’re such an asshole.” Sapnap sends him a disinterested look, merely leaning forward to drink his shake. George frowns as he watches the other, until he mimics the pose, the cold chocolate an easy distraction and quick way to cool down from the heat that has yet to dissipate. God, seriously. What a dick.

;;

The rest of the night more or less ruined, George keeps his hands in his pockets as they make their way back to the market. Sapnap’s quiet beside him, and whenever George glances over, he’s always looking away or at his feet. George hates the guilt rising in him. It’s not his fault Sapnap chose to be weird. It’s not his fault for reading the signs as they were then having them thrown back in his face.

Sapnap wouldn’t have done any of that if he were actually…. George glances over again; Sapnap’s eyes are locked on the ground. No use thinking about it now.

“We did good today,” he says. “We make a good team.”

When he looks over again, Sapnap is finally looking at him too. And he’s smiling. George smiles back as Sapnap nods. “Yeah,” he says, “we do.”

"I’ll be back tomorrow,” George tells him. “If that’s okay.”

“More than okay,” Sapnap replies, smile still on his face. The market is in sight now. “I like spending time with you.”

George hopes he isn’t as red as he thinks he is. The Sun is setting—maybe he can blame any color he has on that. “I,” he laughs, nervous, “like spending time with you too.”

They fall into an unsteady silence; not uncomfortable, just… cautious. George does his best to keep looking ahead. When they reach the market, Sapnap is quick to check over his booth, making sure everything is still where they left it, and then he hefts the cooler up, the muscles in his left arm flexing as he adjusts it over his shoulder, his freehand digging into his pocket for his keys.

George watches before he finally asks, “Do you need me to carry anything?”

Sapnap, who had been inspecting his keys, looks up at him. “Nah, I’m good. You can head to my truck if you want.” There’s not many cars left in the small lot next to the market—when George looks over, a sleek black car pulls out, leaving only three SUVs and two trucks, one rusted and rough, the other white with mud all along the tires. George honestly isn’t sure which is Sapnap’s. “I can drive you home.” He tosses George the keys, and George’s heart spikes as he reaches out to catch them before they fall. “She’s pretty beat up, but she still works.”

So it’s the rusty one. George turns to look at it again, at the chipping sky blue paint, the rust that colors it brown and speckled—a robin’s egg, before turning back to Sapnap and nodding. Sapnap gives him a smile, and then George turns and goes, marching dutifully up to the truck, inspecting it closer, like there’s much to inspect, before he unlocks it and climbs carefully into the passenger seat. He sits there.

There’s not much inside the car.

Eventually, there comes a thud from behind, and when he turns to look over the back of his seat, he sees Sapnap loading his coolers into the bed of the truck, slamming the tailgate shut before taking his safe with him to the front of the truck. When he opens the door, he drops the safe down on the seat between them. George looks between it and Sapnap before he turns back to the truck bed. Inside, he sees the coolers, along with a pillow, blanket, and duffel bad. He readjusts, once again facing forward. Sapnap’s starts the truck.

“Where to?” he asks.

“I’ll give you the directions,” George replies.

;;

When they reach George’s house, George remains in his seat. Sapnap tells him he’ll see him tomorrow and that he’s actually a big help (and a big pain in the ass—he says it smiling, of course) and that he’s surprised George’s clothes aren’t dirty despite spending all day outside. George asks him if he sleeps in his truck.

“Uh.” Sapnap blinks, and George’s mouth snaps shut, eyes wide and cheeks heating with humiliation.

“I just—because the pillows and there was a blanket and,” he takes a breath, “I shouldn’t have assumed. You probably just don’t like hotel beds or something.”

Sapnap stares at him. George stares at his nose in return.

Finally, Sapnap releases a quiet breath. With the minimal distance between them, George feels it across his skin. Atop his thighs, his fingers curl into his palms. “Yeah,” Sapnap says. “I am. Can’t afford to waste any money.”

George swallows. “Oh.” Right. It’s always money. That twist in his stomach grows tighter. He looks to his house, the dark windows, curtained, blocking views of the inside. The topiaries that stand tall at the sides of the door. Inside, there’s more than one unused room. More than enough space for Sapnap, with his duffel bag and blanket. With his one pillow. And four brick walls, that’s always safer than a truck. George looks down to the safe that still sits between them. He can feel Sapnap’s gaze on him, heavy as always, and when he looks back up, he finds Sapnap has moved even closer. George presses himself to the window but tries his best not to make it obvious. He doesn’t have to. He could just get out of the truck, go to the front door, unlock it and shut it behind him, leave Sapnap to his own devices. Will Sapnap think he sees him as a charity case? He doesn’t. George glances back over at his house. There’s even a spare bedroom across from his own. It’s really not a problem. Sapnap wouldn’t think he sees him as a charity case—they argue too much for him to think that.

But is it really a good idea?

The crank for the window digs uncomfortably into George’s back.

But is Sapnap sleeping in his truck, inside it or in the bed, when he doesn’t have to better?

“Do you want to spend the night?” George asks.

It’s too much. Hell, George is even growing tired of the other’s presence, not necessarily Sapnap himself, but he just needs some time to think, yet here he is trying to get Sapnap to spend even more time with him. Sapnap probably feels the same way. But he has to at least offer. Has to at least try getting Sapnap into a proper bed—not a truck one.

“Like, at your house?” Sapnap looks past George to the imposing structure.

George nods.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit…,” Sapnap makes a face, searching for the word, “I don’t know, weird?”

“Weird?” George repeats.

“Well, like, we just kind of spent all day together, and, like, you’re rich or whatever and my truck looks like—you saw it, and I look like,” he motions to himself, his sweaty t-shirt, the leather belt and worn jeans he wears. On his feet, dirty boots, “y’know.”

He does know. Regardless, he shrugs. “My parents won’t mind.” They might. But George can fend them off… or something. “And it’s not charity,” he adds quickly, eyes widening.

Sapnap sends him a look. “I didn’t think it was, but thanks for the reassurance.”

“I just don’t think you should have to sleep in your truck when there’s plenty of room at my house.” George swallows when Sapnap studies him for another second. He smiles, awkward.

Eventually, Sapnap shrugs. “Fine,” he decides. “But I don’t believe that your parents won’t mind. You’re a terrible liar, George.”

George opens his door. “It doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m not lying.”

Sapnap laughs, turning off the truck and getting out. “Yeah, right.”

George grabs the duffel bag from out the back, and he tries not to squirm when he realizes Sapnap’s watching him. He tugs it onto his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “I'm actually right.”

;;

next

[mrs-geuse]

Empty (Hank Anderson x Reader)

This one is purely a twist of a page from my own diary.

I’ve had some requests for pregnant!reader and Hank and...I just can’t do that right now. My husband and I have been struggling with infertility for a year and a close friend just announced her pregnancy today, my niece was born 3 weeks ago...it’s been emotional for me.

This is purely a therapeutic attempt at getting through this for me and I’m sorry if it disappoints.

Warnings: Infertility, mentions of alcoholism, mental health struggles, and (a history of) self-harm.

Hank hears a slam from somewhere in the house and he’s instantly peeking around the corner, down the hall, warm pizza long forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Y/N? You alright?” he calls. No response. “Y/N?” His mind is instantly working quickly, running through possibility after possibility of the worst shit.

You’d been going through it lately, your mental health at an all-time low for the last few months. It drove you to do some crazy shit and he was always there to pick up your pieces. He worried you’d resort to some of those old coping habits he knew you had. You’d told him you hadn’t done that in years, but it was still a very real possibility to him and it kept him up at night, the image of you bleeding out.

Tonight, he thought you were doing better. You’d been working on getting answers for what was bothering you…you’d spent a lot of time working through things together and – though the touchy-feely stuff was a little hard for Hank to vocalize – you were in a better place than you’d been in, well, ever.

“I’m fine,” you finally call to him, but he can hear in your voice that you’re so not fine.

“Sweetheart, come on, what is it?”

He peers into the bedroom, sees your phone face-down on the nightstand, your body on the bed, back to the headboard, knees pressed against your chest.

“It happened again,” you start, voice breaking a little bit. This could be one of two things, he knows.

Either another friend is pregnant or your period showed up.

Hank knows it’s not the latter, based on the positive ovulation test on the sink, the fact that you’ve been all over him for the last few days…

"Fuck, sweetheart…”

You shake your head, shake it off, try to take a breath.

“I feel like such an asshole, yanno? I’m happy for her, I really am, but I’m so fucking tired of it not being us. It’s been a year, Hank, a fucking year…”

He knows this, is very aware. He knows because you’ve been to the specialist, done the ten vials of bloodwork, the ultrasound up the cooch, the follow-up. Hell, he’d even done the jizz-in-a-cup thing just because he knew how much this broke you that you weren’t a mom yet.

He can remember the anxiety for those results, remember what it felt like to think it was him. He’d been convinced it was him. Hank hadn’t really thought about having another kid after Cole…and then he met you. Young, you, and that almost scared him off – the knowing that you were gonna want kids.

Hank was a drinker, for years, still is – only now he has someone to hold him through the night and that makes the drinking a little less necessary, makes life a little more bearable.

Only the results showed that his swimmers were still good. And your results showed that your stuff was all good…so, what the fuck?

He remembers holding your hand in that office as the doctor told you news, remembers your sleepless nights up filled with guilt, for whatever reason. If there was something wrong, it was nothing to feel guilty for, yet he couldn’t talk you down from that.

The doctor rambled about how some healthy couples can try for a year with no success, have nothing wrong with them…twenty percent. Twenty-fucking-percent of couples and apparently you fell right into that group.

The agony this caused you, on top of everything else you’d been through. That year consisted of monthly breakdowns in the bathroom when the bleeding started. You’d been through your share of symptom-checking, so convinced you’d been pregnant that month – you’re not normally queasy, you’re not normally late – yet Aunt Flo always reared her stupid, fucking head and each month he’d have to hold his girl and reassure you that eventually you’ll be carrying a child, things would work out…

Hell, there were months you both went sober – just in case that might help. Only it didn’t, it only made the both of you more anxious, made the constant sex almost a chore, drove you both into arguments and bullshit…

It was only recently that you sat at that kitchen table wearing his police shirt, going on about how you needed to live a little, how you needed to learn to let time do its thing. In theory? Great idea! In practice? There were so many fucking roadblocks to that happiness.

Including when your friends post on social media that – surprise! – they’re expecting!

It’s always like a gut-punch, always feels like falling and anger and guilt and ‘how-dare-I-feel-this-way-it’s-not-their-fault’ yet each month you watch them update with pictures of pregnant bellies and then eventually they post that the baby has arrived. Not to mention the monthly updates from everyone about what their little bundle is into and what things they can do and milestones reached, first steps, first words, pregnancy announcement number two…

You’d been through it all and honestly Hank just wished you’d quit the social media bullshit, cut it out, and focus on the two of you and Sumo.

And then your brother’s wife got pregnant at month one and, fuck, did that send you spiraling. Day drinking, driving drunk, crying all the time. Hank didn’t know if you’d ever get out of the funk.

Yet somehow you did. You were so damn strong, he was excited for that piece of you to grow with a baby, couldn’t wait to see what that child could become, hoped it took more of your traits and none of his.

At first, he was tentative about a child. After Cole, he couldn’t imagine the amount of anxiety he would have. But he knew how much you wanted it, how excited you were every time you went down the baby aisle at the store…

Now all you do is cry, avoid that aisle, look away.

You’d gotten through your sister-in-law’s baby shower just fine and now that the baby’s here and you’re seeing your parents step up as first-time grandparents…that hurt is real and raw.

And it’s not their fault, you know that, and you don’t hold resentment. You do avoid, though. Avoid calling, avoid social gatherings with the family. The shame you feel for not being a mom is something Hank can’t understand as a man, he just can’t. You told him once that it makes you feel like less of a woman and that shook him to the fucking core.

What kind of society puts this kind of pressure on the ‘natural progression of life’? How many people had asked about her getting pregnant, making assumptions that you weren’t trying, that you weren’t having issues.

“How did you let your sister-in-law get pregnant before you? You and Hank have been married longer, he’s old!” -the words of an actual family-friend. What a mess. How fucking painful for you to go through. He remembers that night vividly, remembers you walking him out because he was about to fight someone, remembers the way your tears looked as you paced in the parking lot, wondered how you were gonna go in and face everyone.

People suck, that’s for sure, and this is no different. People don’t understand and no one talks about infertility, you’re realizing. No one talks about the shame of it, the pain, the emotional devastation, what it fucking does to a happy marriage…

The two of you have come through stronger and you’re on a more positive, upbeat path but you still have your down days and Hank is very aware that you haven’t had one in about three weeks…

“Maybe we should start the adoption process,” you mumble with a sigh as he sits beside you, the bed dipping under his weight.

Only he knows you, he knows that you want to carry a baby, knows that there are options…like adopting an embryo…you’d researched your heart out. Researched about proper positions, different tricks, supplements, spent so much money on ovulation kits and doctor visits and pregnancy tests…

“I’m for it if that’s what you want, if you’re ready for that…” he rubs your shoulder.

You sigh, bury your face in his chest.

“I’m just so tired of waiting. I’m so tired of trying and getting hopeful and then bleeding. I’m tired of hearing from my parents that it’ll happen. I sort of wish something was wrong because then we could intervene. But now, what, we wait longer? It’s just bad luck? I’m fucking done with being told to wait and be patient, and that I’m too stressed. I’m pissed that people can have unhealthy habits or try for a month and get pregnant no issue while we have been doing our best to be better and this has been a full fucking year. Hank, we could have a three-month-old right now…right now! Holding a three-month-old. What the fuck?” you let a few tears slip by.

“I’m right here with you. I’ve seen how hard this has been on you. You’re stronger than anyone I know, baby.” He kisses your temple, rubs up and down your back. “You’re gonna be a great mom. And it’s gonna happen. No matter what I have to do, I’m gonna make you a mom.”

He doesn’t care how much money it’s going to cost; he needs to see you happy again. He misses it. You were so full of life once, you’re like a wilted flower now.

“You’ve been great with all this, Hank. Thank you.” You kiss him, lean into it more and Hank feels that spark, feels his arousal start up again.

“Fuck,” he sighs, “I know what you want,” his fingers dance across your neck. “How ‘bout we eat some pizza,” he kisses you, “and then,” another kiss, “we come back in here,” a kiss to your neck, “bring the whipped cream,” you smirk at that, “and enjoy each other.”

You hum. “That sounds so good right now, Hank…”

He nods. “Gonna run me dry by the end of this week,” he stands with you to head to the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, big man.” You smack him on the ass.

So maybe your life isn’t perfect, but it’s yours.

[swordlesbean]

there’s more than one reason adora and glimmer’s relationship fractures, but shadow weaver is a huge part of it, though she ultimately plays a much more passive role compared to how she actively fucked up adora and catra’s relationship. the tension between adora and glimmer in regards to shadow weaver really comes to a head in 4x07, and i’ve highlighted the particularly yikes-worthy moments here. 

basically, glimmer makes some questionable choices regarding shadow weaver that don’t take into consideration adora’s history with her, and adora has a reasonably unhappy reaction to it, and then glimmer responds to adora’s reaction in a way that is frankly terrible and makes the situation more tense. 

and we could just say “what the fuck, glimmer? not okay!” and move on, but hey, that’s not what i do! so let’s take a moment (or many moments because brief and concise is also not what i do) to consider how we got to this point from both glimmer and adora’s perspectives. 

so glimmer. glimmer is grieving her mother and is overwhelmed by her new responsibility. the war has taken a turn for the worst, the horde is gaining ground, and she feels like she’s failing and not doing enough to protect everyone. usually she could rely on her friends for comfort and support, but she’s feeling isolated from them because their whole dynamic has changed now that she’s queen, and she feels like they (particularly adora) don’t trust her judgement or think she’s capable.

enter shadow weaver. glimmer’s always been insecure about her powers because of having to recharge them, but now shadow weaver’s helped her become more powerful than she’s ever been. she’s also able to learn the kind of magic her father knew from a person that taught him, which makes her feel closer to him. but most importantly, shadow weaver appears to recognize her authority and power and treats her like the queen, advising but still letting glimmer be the one to make the final decision, unlike adora and bow who keep challenging her and are trying to keep her out of the action to protect her. nonetheless, glimmer never actually trusts shadow weaver, just uses her knowledge and advice when it’s to her advantage, and she doesn’t understand why her friends can’t recognize this and just trust her on how she’s handling the situation.

but it’s not as straightforward as that, because shadow weaver isn’t just some random asshole. she’s the asshole that raised and mistreated adora, and glimmer knows it. she may not know detailed specifics about adora’s abuse (or catra’s for that matter) because adora most likely hasn’t discussed it in depth, but glimmer has still seen enough to get it. she saw how adora was in a constant state of panic in mystacor at just the thought of shadow weaver’s presence. she witnessed how shadow weaver strapped adora down and tried to wipe her memories in an incredibly painful way (which glimmer just managed to prevent). that was enough to make her hate shadow weaver. she was very protective of adora when shadow weaver turned up in bright moon, and she only agreed to work with shadow weaver grudgingly in order to rescue adora.

but now her circumstances have changed so much, and she’s got all this responsibility, and shadow weaver is seeming kind of reasonable, and it’s just so easy to be frustrated with adora. because adora keeps questioning her judgement about shadow weaver instead of just trusting her and her ability to take care of herself. because adora is the face of everyone being over-protective of her in a way that is very much like how her mom was, but it feels more stifling than ever because she’s the queen now, yet she’s still being treated like she’s less than capable, and it feels like she has less control of her life than ever. because she’s angry at her mom for being gone, but it doesn’t feel right to blame her, so she directs that anger at adora instead. because adora was there and didn’t stop it despite having all the power of the mighty she-ra at her disposal. because the scared and sad little kid part of glimmer that just desperately wants her mom to hold her is whispering, “it’s not fair, it should’ve been adora instead.“ (which... adora agrees, but that’s a whole other topic of discussion!)

everything that’s going on in glimmer’s life makes it easier for her to disregard adora’s feelings and concerns, even though she knows enough about shadow weaver that she should be able to recognize why it bothers adora so much. and if she was in a better state of mind, she almost definitely would understand and would be more considerate, but she’s not there right now. and yeah, glimmer’s behavior is mostly due to her being so caught up in her own grief and stress and insecurities that there’s no room left to really think about how adora feels. but maybe there’s also a part of her unconsciously trying to punish adora for what happened with angella. and we might also consider: purposeful pettiness. glimmer’s got a real mean streak that creeps out when she’s under pressure, and adora keeps butting heads with her, so at least a little of her lack of consideration for adora’s feelings is probably down to spite. which is... not great, but also makes sense. 

speaking of adora, let’s talk about her perspective. big picture, she isn’t totally blameless in the breakdown of her relationship with glimmer. she’s not adept at communication and expressing her feelings, and her own insecurity-driven behavior (over-protectiveness, need to control situations) inadvertently taps into glimmer’s self-doubts and pushes her further away. however, in this particular situation, i think adora’s reaction is not only understandable but very much justified. her friend is doing her dirty. 

shadow weaver controlled and manipulated and abused adora all her life and made her watch as catra was abused too. she’s only recently come to understand how she was mistreated and is still in the early stages of working through the damage, and then suddenly the abuser she’s just escaped is living with her in a place she’s come to think of as safe, and there’s no way to completely avoid interaction. adora tried to set boundaries in s3, but in their first encounter in s4, shadow weaver makes it clear she’s still intent on fucking with adora’s head when she attempts to make adora doubt her friendship with glimmer.

shadow weaver just being in bright moon is enough to put adora on edge and make her uncomfortable, but it goes further than that, because then she finds out glimmer is learning magic and taking advice from shadow weaver, which sets off all kind of alarm bells. adora is intimately familiar with shadow weaver’s manipulative brand of mentorship, as well as her brand of dangerous magic. in adora’s mind, the only kind of magic shadow weaver could ever possibly teach is dark magic, because that’s all she’s ever seen shadow weaver use, and it’s how she’s seen shadow weaver threaten and hurt people. and adora knows shadow weaver will end up hurting glimmer somehow, because that’s what shadow weaver does, especially when she’s taken an interest in you, like she did with adora, like she’s doing with glimmer now. but glimmer tells adora she doesn’t have to trust shadow weaver, she just has to trust glimmer.

and adora does trust glimmer, usually, but how can she trust glimmer with shadow weaver? glimmer doesn’t know shadow weaver like adora does. glimmer doesn’t know her skillful manipulations, the heaviness of her cloying false affection or her terrifying ominous threats. doesn’t know how easily she can slip into your head and make you question your reality or crush you under the weight of her expectations. doesn’t know the way she can make you feel like the most important person in the world and cut you down to worthless pieces in the same breath. doesn’t know how she can force you to watch as she hurts the people you love but somehow trick you into carrying all the responsibility and blame and guilt for it.

and it doesn’t help that glimmer keeps giving adora very good reasons not to trust her when it comes to shadow weaver. because glimmer threatens a horde soldier with magic in a really intense way that is reminiscent of shadow weaver. because glimmer just laughs when shadow weaver makes a gaslighting comment about adora being paranoid. because shadow weaver is suddenly wandering around bright moon freely without guards and it’s under glimmer’s order and glimmer never thought to mention it to adora. and whenever adora brings up shadow weaver, glimmer gets annoyed, brushes her off, says they’re wasting time and she needs to let it go. and even though they’re only meant to be acting, glimmer sounds serious when she says adora’s just mad she’s not shadow weaver’s favorite anymore, and that reminds her of when catra said she enjoyed being shadow weaver’s favorite, and why can’t either of them just understand how shadow weaver has always made her feel bad?

but adora is adora, and it can’t be about how she feels, it has to be about what she can do, which is stop shadow weaver from causing more harm. it’s not about how shadow weaver has hurt her, it’s what shadow weaver has “done to us,” the collective. after all, shadow weaver’s already hurt glimmer once by holding her captive and torturing her, so adora keeps framing her concerns in regards to how shadow weaver might hurt glimmer again and how adora is just trying to protect her. and yes, it’s true that adora is absolutely concerned about glimmer getting hurt, because she loves glimmer, and she’s already been forced to watch as one best friend was irreparably damaged by shadow weaver, but this time she has the power to stop it from happening, if glimmer would just listen to her. 

but then it’s not just about protecting other people from shadow weaver, it’s also about adora instinctively trying to protect herself. because adora’s gut feeling towards shadow weaver developed before there was glimmer and likely even before there was catra, and that’s the feeling adora is reacting to the most. that feeling being fear. shadow weaver has been making adora afraid for as long as adora’s been alive.

and if adora was capable of communicating that fear, if she was able to be more direct about how shadow weaver has harmed her instead of a general “us” or instead of future possibilities about how glimmer might be hurt, maybe she would’ve had more luck getting through to glimmer and easing the tension between them. maybe then glimmer would’ve been reminded what adora’s experienced at shadow weaver’s hands and would’ve understood adora’s reaction wasn’t about about adora not trusting her or thinking she’s incapable, but about adora feeling scared and unsafe because her abuser is once again living in her space and giving seemingly well-received guidance to someone that’s supposed to be on her side, someone that’s been her best friend and primary support system in her new life. but adora hasn’t learned how to talk about stuff like that yet, because adora hasn’t learned how to be considerate of herself and her feelings and her needs.

anyway, that’s a lot of words, so i’m going to wrap it up with a familiar refrain: GET THESE KIDS INTO THERAPY.

[twistytwine]

My own The Lighthouse theory: The entire movie is just one big internalized metaphor for Howard’s psyche. Wake is the constant stress that’s on him, that memory of what happened to Winslow -- and whether or not that caused Howard actual guilt, it at least gave him disturbance with how he talked about it while he was drunk. Wake and Howard have the same first name, so I figured that’s because they’re connected. I know characters can share the same name just because, but it felt... weird for them to share one, because there’s only like, two characters throughout the entire movie. 

Wake appears at random places at random times without explanation to tell Howard that he’s doing a terrible job and needs to work harder. Wake gaslights Howard and messes with him. It’s an entire intense pressure test on Howard to see how well he can handle his messed up past inside his own mind. The terrible jobs he has to do 24/7, how Wake doesn’t do anything with him except for putting up boards and getting incredibly drunk with him, where Howard finally experiences some joy with his own disturbance, Wake, where they both go absolutely bananas. That’s why things seem to go to garbage when the seagull is killed -- it was a temptation back to draw into the violent death of Winslow. And another temptation to ease his suffering was that mermaid, representing his lust. All that. It’s kinda vague but to me it does make a lot of sense. With Howard trying to escape and Wake exclaiming “Don’t leave me!” as he chases him with an axe. All that.

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 18: Tʜɪs Isɴ'ᴛ Wʜᴏ Wᴇ Aʀᴇ

Masterlist

Episode: Contents Under Pressure

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for. 

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Eighteen

“Bellamy!” Octavia cried in a relieved tone.

I turned to face the door and was relieved to see Bellamy enter, closely followed by two figures. As I approached, I realised it wasn’t Jasper and Monty as I expected, but two of his usual crew. Before I could even open my mouth to question this, my gaze caught on the large heap that they were carrying as they threw it to the ground, revealing it to be the beaten and tied grounder that held Octavia captive. She jumped down from the ladder she had been climbing and stormed over to meet Bellamy, who towered over the grounder menacingly. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She asked with an expression of disbelief.

“It’s time to get some answers.” Bellamy answered, squaring his shoulders to seem more authoritative.

“Oh you mean revenge?” Octavia retorted, firmly planting herself in front of him, her frustration plain to see.

“I mean intel.” He defended, and I could tell from his movements that he was preparing to justify himself. “Get him upstairs.” He ordered his men without taking his eyes from Octavia and I quickly stepped into their path to block them. I wasn’t prepared to let him steamroll through the room without a fight.

“Bellamy, she’s right.” Clarke turned from the operating table and approached him with a sensible manner. She opened her mouth to reason with him, but was abruptly interrupted by the crackle of the radio.

“Clarke, honey, we’re ready. Can you hear me?”

Bellamy stared over in the direction of the radio in the bewildered manner, a glint of terror in his eyes as he processed what he was hearing. I watched him as his focus stayed rooted to the radio, even as Clarke spoke and I knew in my gut that she had already lost him to his own agenda. 

“Look, this is not who we are.” She added carefully.

“Clarke?” The radio sounded again and I cursed each new sound from it, feeling it threaten Bellamy with every word. From what I’d seen of him so far, the more threatened he felt, the more recklessly he behaved. I held my position with gritted teeth although the two men glared down at me. Bellamy finally looked back at Clarke, but his expression was one of betrayal and carried the weight of a thousand words that were left unsaid. 

“It is now.” He spat coldly. He stepped toward the men who carried the grounder and at last noticed that I was blocking the way. “Move Indigo.” He ordered firmly, and I crossed my arms, glaring at him in an indignant fury.

“You don’t order me Bellamy.” I growled, holding my position and feeling aggravated that he even dared to speak to me in such a way. His expression faltered for a moment as he considered me, but he quickly returned to looking stern. 

“This is happening. Move.” He stated. His words were sharp and I felt like they weren’t meant for me.

“You’re a goddamn idiot Bellamy Blake.” I spat, feeling anger pounding in my ears. I stepped closer to him, ensuring that he couldn’t get past me. “And I’m not about to stand by and let you make this mistake.” I answered with a determined tone. I almost lost my balance with the force that I was pulled back by. A set of hands suddenly grabbed my arms and forced them behind my back, momentarily restraining me. 

“Bellamy said move bitch.” All in a matter of seconds, hot breath tickled my ear as a deep voice growled from behind me and the men carrying the grounder moved past, starting to transport him upstairs. I struggled against the containment, leaning forward as far as I could against the restraint of my arms before slamming my head back into my unseen attackers face with all the force I could muster. I heard the telltale crack of a broken nose and he cried out, immediately releasing me. I flipped around to face him but only saw Bellamy’s large form gripping him by his shirt. It seemed he lunged for my ambusher at the same moment that I fought back. 

“Put your hands on her again and you’ll be dealing with me.” Bellamy threatened, holding the smaller man alarmingly close to his furious face, before throwing him to the ground. Bellamy turned to face me, his expression no longer stern, but simply tired. “Let it go Indigo.” He sighed, following his goons as they carried the grounder away without a backwards glance.

I paced the room whilst Dr Griffin gave instructions and waited for Clarke to ask me to do something. There was a small scuffle in the waiting crowd and I jumped between it, separating the troublemakers. Clarke glanced over in a stressed manner, seeming as if she was struggling to concentrate. 

“This is ridiculous, you need to be able to focus. Everyone upstairs!” I announced and most people simply stared back at me. “Are you deaf? Get out!” I yelled in frustration, which finally seemed to get some movement. I focused on emptying the space whilst Raven and Clarke concentrated on the instructions from the radio.

By the time I had cleared everyone out, I could hear commotion from the top floor and Octavia’s voice yelling at someone to get off of her. I glanced over to Clarke, who nodded at me reluctantly and took this as permission to leave. I climbed the ladder as hastily as I could and as I reached the second floor, the hatch to the top floor slammed closed. Octavia stood at the bottom of the ladder with a furious expression; I rushed over to her side in concern. 

“I heard you yelling, are you okay?” I breathed as I checked her over and scanned the room for any threats.

“They kicked me out. They’ve got him tied up like some kind of animal, and who knows what they’re going to do to him.” She ranted, sounding exasperated and I widened my eyes at her words.

“They’re out of control. “ I sighed. “As per usual Bellamy thinks he’s doing what needs to be done. This is going to be difficult to stop.” I thought aloud, watching Octavia pace around the room. A flash of blonde hair caught my eye and I noticed Clarke charging from downstairs. 

“Hey! How’s Finn?” I asked eagerly, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving them.

“He’s fine, I think he’s out of the woods for now. Everything okay up here?” She looked at Octavia in an assessing manner before turning back to me. I nodded sheepishly. “Any idea what’s going on up there?” She indicated to the hatch in a frustrated gesture.

“Nothing good.” Octavia replied, crossing her arms. “They’ve got him tied up and they threw me out for the heinous crime of even suggesting they might be wrong.” She added in a sarcastic tone. Clarke seemed surprised at this and I had to admit that I was surprised that Bellamy was allowing his crew to treat her like this. 

“Alright, I’ll try talking to him. Bellamy might be stubborn, but maybe I can convince some of his crew to help. Raven is downstairs with Finn. Indigo would you mind sitting with her, just in case?” She viewed me with a pleading expression and after previously abandoning them, I didn’t feel that I could decline.

“Um, sure.” I replied in confusion, but made my way down the ladder as she went up towards Bellamy and the problem crew. As I descended into the bottom floor, I saw Raven sitting beside Finn, watching him in fearful anticipation. “Hey, sounds like you two saved the day down here.” I smiled, approaching her carefully so as not to startle her.

“It was mostly Clarke, I just watched...and swore.” She replied with a heavy exhaustion in her voice, and as she gazed at me, she blinked slowly in an attempt to stay awake.

“Don’t sell yourself short, she couldn’t have done it without the radio, which is 100% your skills.” I chattered lightly, standing beside her as I watched Finn’s chest rise and fall with more strain than usual. It was difficult to see him looking so vulnerable, and I could hardly imagine how she must be feeling. “How’s he holding up?”

“He’s still alive, that’s more than I dared to hope for.” She answered, not taking her eyes from him as she spoke. I couldn’t blame her for it, she seemed to be coping exceptionally well with all things considered.

“Alive is a good start.” I chuckled. I grabbed a box from the other side of the room and dragged it over to Finn’s bedside, opposite Raven. “Fancy some company?” I tried to sound casual, but I wasn’t sure that I was successful. She shrugged in disinterest, and so I dropped myself down onto the box. We sat in a concerned silence, both keenly watching Finn breathe and it was clear that we were worried that he may stop at any moment. 

“What’s the deal with him and Clarke?” Her sudden question startled me from my daze and I looked up to find her intensely staring at me.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, in a stunned voice, unsure if I’d even heard her right.

“I’m not an idiot, I know something happened before I got here. I just...I need to know what it was, whether it was serious.” She fidgeted with her hands and when she returned her gaze to me, I could see the hurt in her eyes. For once, I found myself at a loss for words. I had never been interested in drama, and I certainly didn’t want to be involved in theirs. I wasn’t sure how I’d ended up in the middle of the camp love triangle. I considered my answer for a moment and I decided to simply tell the truth. 

“I honestly don't know any more than you do , I sense the same vibes but I haven’t heard anything.” I answered, feeling that sharing my suspicions was not beneficial. She needed to hear the truth, not fireside gossip. “ If you think what you’ve seen in your time here is bad, you can’t imagine the shit storm it’s been since we landed. I’ve had plenty on my plate with the people I care about.” I added, hoping to justify my disinterest. I’d almost lost Jasper and Octavia, we had people dying every day it seemed and we were constantly challenged with finding ways to survive simply our basic needs, like food and water. We’d had a murder, a suicide, a rape. I could honestly say that I didn’t care enough to know who was sleeping with who.

“Of course. Not your business right? You don’t know about anyone else.” She sighed, and her tone was one of frustrated disbelief. I squirmed awkwardly, uncomfortable that she thought I was lying. “Alright, tell me something you do know, what’s happening with you and Bellamy?”She spoke with an accusing tone to her voice this time and  I practically choked on my own saliva as I stared back at her in wide-eyed surprise. 

“What?” I breathed, hardly able to get the word out.

“Are you fucking or not? Cuz you definitely seem like you are, but he seems to be fucking several other girls and you don’t come across as the kind of girl to be part of a harem to me. Or do you just hate each other and I’m reading it as sexual tension?” She crossed her arms and raised her brows at me expectantly. I blinked back in disbelief, processing what she had just said. 

“Neither! He’s my best friend's brother and also a massive pain in the ass which makes things complicated.” I rambled, feeling hot and flustered. It was unlike me to lose my cool, but she’d caught me completely off guard. I barely knew Raven yet and even if I did, these weren’t the kind of topics I was good at sharing. She looked at me in an amused fashion. 

“Hmm, so you’re not a liar, you’re just completely oblivious. I’m stuck here with you all now. I know I missed a lot since you first arrived. Of course I chose you as my source of information.” She rolled her eyes at me and I looked back in confusion.

“Why do you even care?” I asked curiously. I could truly say that I didn’t care what anyone else was doing, and I’d never been able to understand nosy people.

“My boyfriend, who is likely cheating on me, is sitting here dying whilst I’m stuck in this hellhole with a bunch of criminals and no supplies.” She replied, all traces of humour gone from her tone as her exhausted expression showed momentarily. “You want to keep me company? Pointless bullshit gossip is the best distraction I can think of right now. Unless you have a better idea?” She asked, leveling me with an intense stare and I shrugged in defeat. We sat in empty silence for a few minutes, with only the sounds of the storm outside and Finn’s labored breathing filling the space. Raven cleared her throat to break the silence, before speaking in her teasing tone again. “Here’s the thing I don’t get about you and Bellamy, clearly the tension is there, it’s obvious. Why haven’t you gone there? I mean, I get why you wouldn’t want to commit, I’ve barely been here a few days and I can already see that he’s a steaming pile of chaos. But if we’re being real? He’s hot and the way he gets in your face...I’d have climbed him like a tree by now.” She winked at me and I couldn’t contain the sudden snort of laughter.

“Raven, ew!” I laughed. “Well, don’t let me stand in the way of your tree climbing adventures. I don’t need any more stress in my life thanks and things with the two of us are messy enough as it is.” I answered thoughtfully and she shrugged at me. 

“That’s fair. Hey, if Finn chooses Clarke over me, maybe I’ll take you up on that.” Raven tried to sound comical, but the hurt was clear in her words and I viewed her with sympathy. 

“Come on Raven, you know he’d be a fool to-” Before I could finish my sentence, Finn started to shake and we both jumped to our feet. In moments, he progressed from lightly shaking to fully seizing up and we could hardly keep him on the table. “Shit, get Clarke!” I yelled, trying to block Finn from falling to the ground. Raven ran to the hatch and yelled for help, quickly returning to his side.

“What do we do?” She cried, blocking him from falling from the other side of the table as we struggled to keep him on between us.

“I don’t know, I’m not a goddamn doctor!” I replied, looking down at Finn in a panic. “Okay, put him in the recovery position, we need to turn him so he doesn’t swallow his tongue.” I reeled off information from somewhere in the back of my mind and we battled to contain his wiggling form.

“Now what? He’s not stopping!” Raven’s desperate eyes were filled with tears as she watched with a pleading expression. 

“That won’t stop him, it’ll just keep him safe in the meantime. We might have to ride it out. Where the hell is Clarke?!” I yelled and openly sighed in relief as I saw her boots emerge through the hatch. “Finally! What do we do Clarke?!” I called out to her. 

“He was fine, then-” Raven started to stutter in her panic.

“Get my mother on the radio, now.” Clarke answered, as she ran to take Raven’s place holding Finn in the recovery position. She pushed her out of the way, but Raven simply stayed frozen on the spot and watched in shock. “Raven, now!” She yelled, trying to shock her into moving. Clarke’s screams finally seemed to shake her back into action and she ran around the desk to join me. 

“The radio’s dead! Interference from the storm.” She stated, before falling back into an emotional state as she stared down at Finn. “Please don’t let him die.” She muttered in a small, pleading voice.

“Raven, the radio, do I just press the button and speak?” I asked, and she nodded back. “Take my spot, help Clarke and I will keep trying to get us help, okay?” I grabbed her arm and pulled her into my place to spur her into action and she quickly took over. I ran wildly to the radio and dropped myself into the seat, struggling to get the headphones on as my hands shook. “This is Indio Sloan. Calling Ark station. Please come in!” I glanced back to see Raven and Clarke still struggling to hold Finn and the terror in Raven’s face only grew as the seconds passed. “This is an emergency! Can anyone hear me? Ark station come in.” I tried to contain the panic in my voice, but I suddenly understood the enormous pressure on Raven’s shoulders as the radio operator.

“Okay, it stopped.” Raven muttered and I felt like I could breathe for the first time since Finn started to shake. “What’s that in his mouth?” She gasped. I turned to look over my shoulder in response to her question and saw Clarke turning him further onto his side. 

“Quick, help me get him on his side!” Clarke ordered and Raven stared at him in a stiff position as if she were going into shock. “Raven! There is fluid in his lungs, he could choke, quick!” She yelled as she tried to plead with her to act. I watched as together they rolled him over and Clarke quickly checked his temperature with her hand. “He’s burning up.” She stated with a worried expression.

“Fluid in his lungs? Does that mean the knife hit something?” Raven’s voice was panicked and I flashed her a look that said she could do this.

“No, this isn’t blood, it’s something else.” Clarke was beginning to sound panicked now too. “I did-I did everything she told me!” Her voice raised in pitch and she began to breathe rapidly, before inhaling sharply. “I’ve seen this before! Shortness of breath, fever, seizing - it’s poison!” My stomach dropped as she thought aloud.

“Clarke, you sterilised everything! I watched you do it.” Raven argued, becoming increasingly agitated. Clarke looked over to the tray of instruments. 

“Not everything.” She stated before grabbing the knife that he was stabbed with. “Stay here.” She ordered as she stormed toward the ladder.

“Clarke, where are you going?! We need you here!” I argued, but she climbed the ladder faster than I’d ever seen her move. I turned back to Raven, who was watching her go with a look that implied she was struggling not to follow. “No!” I snapped, which drew her attention back to me. “You stay with him! I’m gonna keep trying the Ark and I’ll need your help if I can get Dr Griffin back.” I ordered in an attempt to break through her focus on the hatch. 

“You’re not gonna get through to the Ark in this storm Indigo.” She sighed in an exasperated tone as she looked down at Finn with a hopeless expression.

“I have to try! Look no offence to Clarke here but we need a doctor, a real doctor. We’re flying blind right now.” I replied assertively. “So you just keep him on his side and make sure he doesn’t choke and I’ll worry about getting that doctor back.” I turned back to the radio. “Ark station, please respond! Can anyone hear me? This is Indigo Sloan, I’m one of the 100. We need your help!” I repeated the message several times over, keeping my voice as clear and even as possible, but couldn’t hear a single sound in response.

“Screw this, I’m going up there.” Raven was already at the ladder by the time I turned around and I felt that I was rapidly losing control of the situation. I was terrified of being left alone with him, I didn’t want to be solely responsible for keeping him alive. 

“Raven stop! I need you down here” I shouted, as I pulled off the headphones and ran to the ladder but she was already out of my reach.

“Keep an eye on Finn!” She called back down and I growled in frustration. I moved to Finn’s side and felt his boiling forehead. I busied myself with finding some rags and water and held a cold, wet rag to his forehead in an attempt to bring the fever down. “Don’t you die on me spacewalker, as much as it pains me to admit, we need your voice of reason here.” I whispered, dabbing at his face gently. I was distracted as the curtains over the door blew open to reveal Jasper and Monty, who were drenched and looked exhausted. “Oh thank god! You’re alright!” I breathed, rushing over to embrace them both in my relief.

“Well, that’s a nice welcome.” Monty teased and I smiled.

“Look, there’s a lot going on and I don’t have time to explain. Monty, the radio worked earlier but the storm is interfering now. Can you work your magic? If you get an answer, ask for Dr Griffin and shout to us. Jasper, keep Finn on his side and use the damp rags to keep him cool. If he starts seizing or anything changes with him, shout for help. I’m sorry I have to go deal with this!” I ranted and ran to the ladder before they could object, but was pleased to hear them running into place behind me.

The others had been on the top floor with the grounder for a while and no one had emerged yet. As I rushed up the second ladder, I could hear screaming and various other bizarre noises that I couldn’t identify. As I flipped the hatch open, the lights flickered on and off and violent hollering filled the room. I pulled myself up to my feet to see Raven electrocuting the grounder whilst the others watched. 

“What the fuck is going on? Raven, what are you doing?!” I screamed, pulling her away from him despite her viscous resistance.

“He’s all I have!” Raven howled in desperation, trying to fight me off. I threw her to the ground, putting myself between him and everyone else.

“What the fuck is wrong with all of you? Why didn’t you stop her?!” I looked around the bewildered, uncomfortable faces around me until I settled on Bellamy, who simply stared back at me in uncertainty. I was disappointed with every person involved, but I could feel a deep fury burning in my stomach for him. I couldn’t comprehend that he was capable of something like this, and the fact that he had been the one to bring him here made me shudder.

“No more!” Octavia growled, storming over to stand beside me, and I was glad to have her with me.

“He’s letting Finn die!” Raven struggled back to her feet and Octavia and I banded together to block the grounder from her reach. I knew that if this came to a fight it would be difficult, we were badly outnumbered. 

“It’s enough Raven, you need to stop! We’re not letting you get to him again. We need to think, not act like animals!” I argued, staring her down and trying my best to diffuse the situation before it reached violence again. Octavia winced to my side and I looked over to see her arm bleeding. 

“Octavia no!” Bellamy cried and my eyes widened as I noticed the grounders knife in her hand. It was the same knife that Finn had been poisoned with and my thoughts raced with the consequences of this action 

“What are you doing?” I gasped, grabbing her arm to look at the wound and feeling my stomach drop. I had already felt terrified enough when Finn broke into seizures, I couldn’t deal with the idea that she could be doing that soon too. 

“He won’t let me die.” She insisted, staring directly at him. I looked at her in bewilderment, struggling to understand where this unshakable confidence in the strange man who kidnapped her had come from. I took a deep breath, realising that the damage of the knife had already been done and knew that I had to trust her to take this risk if we were to gain anything from it. I nodded reluctantly and allowed her to move closer to him. As she approached the grounder, Bellamy reached out to intercept her. 

“Octavia, what the hell did you-” She dodged out of his reach, with a fleeting furious look at him, before dropping to her knees on the floor in front of the grounder.

“Trust her for once Bellamy.” I approached him and pushed him back from her slightly to give her some space to work. He met my eyes and I looked up at him firmly, keeping my hand on his chest to hold him in place.

Octavia laid out a line of small glass bottles from a small leather pouch that clearly belonged to the grounder and put the knife to each individually. After a few tries, the grounder finally tipped his head to the left. She held up the last bottle to the left and he nodded at her. She handed it straight to Clarke, who rushed to the hatch with Raven right behind. Octavia started to wrap her arm as Bellamy reached out to touch her shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me!” She snarled, and I jumped forward to help her up instead.

“Come on, let’s make sure you get some of that antidote too.” I spoke gently and although she flinched initially, when she looked up to see that it was me, she relaxed enough to let me help her. “You first, let’s go.” I guided her to the hatch and paused as she started to struggle her way down. I turned back to Bellamy, who was still frozen to the spot, shocked from Octavia’s reaction to him. I cleared my throat and he looked up at me. “This isn’t over, we’ll talk about this.” I spoke firmly and maintained the look until he couldn’t meet my eyes anymore.

[furiousgoldfish]

On healing from self-harming thoughts and behaviours (tw for mentions of self harm)

Struggling with trauma-induced brain irregularities, as well as self harming thoughts and behaviours, I learned that the only way to resolve them was to kick out any shame, guilt, or pressure to make it better. All of the trauma induced self hating behaviours are there because at one point, they have saved your life. You wouldn't be doing them without the abuse ever occurring, you wouldn't be doing it if it served no purpose, you wouldn't be doing it if you were nurtured, cared for, and supported sufficiently thru your life. These behaviours are not your fault, they do not make you bad, they do not affect your value. They're signs of struggle, proof you've been thru pain, and that you ideally, everyone should go easy on you and acknowledge you've been hurt too much.

The hormone irregularities in brain are likely to decrease the more time you spend in healthy environment, because your brain is always adjusting to the situation, and a simply by not experiencing abuse, your brain will slowly fix itself to the new environment. Self-harming thoughts and behaviours, however, are likely to reoccur whenever you're exposed to stress, triggers, anything that feels similar to abuse, or just ptsd bringing back abuse memories because that's what ptsd does.

Nobody can go from self-harming behaviour one day, to completely healthy the next, it's like trying to change what you lived with your entire life, overnight. Expecting yourself to simply stop, and not give in to awful urges anymore, is bound to end in a disappointment, and possibly induce even more self hatred.

What it takes it dropping expectations, understanding you're doing this for good reasons, possibly it's the only stress relief you've ever had, possibly it's the only way for you to feel safe or sane, only way to come down from rage or terror or shame. It's not something you can lose and go without. Once you understand exactly why you're doing it, it's possible to imagine a scenario where you had something else to replace that, something that would serve the same purpose, without causing you damage. And then, you don't try to simply replace it, but you imagine your destination, and slowly start steering in the right direction.

For instance, if you're indulging in self-hating thoughts, you go, okay, I will still do it, but I will think of something slightly less self hating. I will reduce the self hate by 1%. If it's a painful thing, you decide, okay, I will reduce the amount of pain just slightly today. If it's fantasies of abuse, you decide to make them only slightly less overwhelming. Just with slightly more care for your well being. 1% is enough. Because that's what it takes to change the direction of where you're going.

Maybe a week later, you'll be able to reduce it by 2%, and maybe a month in, you'll go for 5% less. It doesn't matter how fast, or how slow you go. Progress isn't stark or sudden or visible from one day to another. I look years back, and get stunned by how desensitized I was to the things I was doing, because I've been slowly steering away, I became sensitive to them again. Once you're no longer participating in severe self-hatred, or exposed to constant abusive fantasies, you gain back sensitivity, and it's no longer an every-day thing for you, it's no longer something you reach for.

And you can't expect yourself to always be able to steer in the same way. Of course at one point you'll relapse and go back to your extreme to make yourself feel normal again. Of course life will push and pressure you back into your dark place. It's not a failure of yours. It doesn't mean that you're weak. It doesn't destroy your progress. Because you know how to steer away from that place now. You've steered away from it once before, and you know you don't have to stay there. The ship's wheel is in your hands, and you now know all the places you can take it.

It doesn't matter how many times you relapse, if you never stop steering, your destination will be the same. Give yourself all the time, all the forgiveness and gentleness in the world. You're doing something that is hard, and you're doing it despite the whole world failing to acknowledge it or help you. You're crawling out of a hole you should have never been pushed into. You're changing your own brain, because nobody cared for it to stay intact and undamaged, when you were the most vulnerable and in need of protection.

It's okay to exist and to be struggling with this. Even if you're not working on it. Even if you don't plan to. There's no shame in having thoughts or behaviours that only affect you. You don't owe anyone to fix yourself, to fix your brain. But, if you do want to, you should be able to do it without judgment, without feeling shame or pressure to do it on a timeline, or all at once. This should be in your hands only, and possible to do in a way that doesn't cause you huge discomfort. You've been thru enough of it.

[exaltatuss]

General Info:

Name; ████ Nickname; Ma-Chan Occupation; Scientist Age; ██ Race; Human Gender: Female Height; 172 cm Morality Alignment; Chaotic Neutral Eye Color; Hazel Hair color; Brown Misc; White Streaks on her hair

Personality;

For the most part, Ma-Chan is known as a textbook introvert. Prefers staying indoors, is mostly quiet outdoors, and is so much more expressive towards those she is comfortable with. She’s also the ‘brilliant, but lazy’ type, preferring to either sleep or play video games during her leisure time, to the point others actually question how she got into her profession, in the first place. At least, until they hear her input on things. Still, when she’s feeling it, or during the times where she’s focused, she actually can get things done, getting really into what she had set her sights on, to the point that she ruins her own sleep schedule just to focus on what she’s currently focusing on. 

She’s also one who really enjoys memes, and silly things, sometimes laughing on the most stupid of things, too, and would most certainly get out of her way to spend a good majority of the time on looking for ‘spicy memes’, as she call them. Some can say that her sense of humor is somewhat dark, too, depending on the situation.

However, she does tend to bottle up her emotions, to the point that she doesn’t speak out whenever people did ostracize or berate her if said occasions do happen. This then would sometimes lead to emotionally explosive scenarios when she does reach her breaking point. Hence, she simply does her best to ignore most things that would stress her, and simply do the things that actually help with alleviating her stress.

Backstory;

Born to, or rather, adopted into an above-than-average middle-class lifestyle, Ma-Chan had it easier than others. What with her being well fed, well educated, and taught to be a good person, in general. However, the expectations for her were high, considering that it was found during her early age that she was more intelligent than her other peers, and thus, had to make sure said expectations were met, keeping a good reputation on her earlier school years as much as she could, all while trying to balance out leisure activity, as well.

However, she did experienced her fair share of misfortunes. To start things off on said misfortunes that really left an impact on her, the supposed ‘aunt’ that should supposedly take care of her during her younger years while her mother had to work abroad, didn’t really do good on that department, and did the opposite. In other words, she wasn’t treated well. At least, until such problem was finally found out by other relatives, and got said aunt away from her before things had gotten worse.

Additionally, her choice of peers were, to be fair, while they were fun, not really the absolute best. On one point, they’d be good with her, on another point, she’d be made fun of. Didn’t help that at times, a few of them pressured her on to do some things due to the fact that she found difficulty on turning them down or simply say no, either by shouldering some of their expenses, or outright giving some of her possessions to them, regardless of the fact that she knew that she won’t be able to get a new one to replace the one she had just given away again. Really, guilt tripping her that she’s “more well in life than them” anyway didn’t help.

All these were a good recipe on why she had inner problems to deal with up to this day. She didn’t opened up to anyone, she didn’t see any therapist, at all, hence why there would indeed be problems she had to deal with as it festered on within her, that can sometimes be seen even to this day.

Yet, despite all this, it was, as funny as it sounded, video games that had helped her cope with things, as well as reading stories and all, and listening to music. These are what kept her together.

Come her university life, and she did think that things would be okay now. A new chapter, so to speak. Everything did turned out initially well. New peers, good memories, and the like. But a few years onward, it only really took an a drinking session with said peers that the following few days, almost everyone of those peers were turning on against her, due to one of them accusing her of something she didn’t even do. The only friend that believed she didn’t do what they were accusing her can’t even help her, due to the fact that they’re outnumbered and all that. This then caused her to shut herself off from others completely, just minding her own business, not bothering on actually trying to socialize much, which also took a heavy toll on her academics.

Upon learning that her adoptive mother died eventually did also added to her distraught more, motivation leaving her and all. She did inherit a good amount of money, and land, and other properties to her name, but from where she’s from, even family relatives, if one were unlucky to be part of such a family, do tend to be enemies, or even go so much as to plot the death of another member, all for the inheritance, so that got her worried as well, considering that its only really her mother that’s holding the others back when she was alive.

She did her best to have her academics on a stable route again, with very much of a struggle due to her being so down in the dumps, but she did found her motivation again, however, and eventually slowly built that up, until she had finally gotten things sorted out a bit, as well as finish her studies.

She had to keep forward, after all. If there’s one thing she had learned from her family that she was adopted to, then it was tenacity. She built herself up, slowly, surely, and was able to finally, at the very least, get herself together enough that she wouldn’t be as self-destructive as she was back then.

Additionally, as well, after meeting Ojou-Sama, it actually helped her piece herself back together more and more, until she’s finally able to get back up to her feet properly this time, without slipping and tripping back down, unlike before.

Life may be cruel at times, or would have a very nasty sense of humor, but she had to continue on, after all. Enjoy what she’s doing in her life, ignore most of the things that can potentially drag her down, make sure she stays alive and not resort to the self-destructive tendencies she had been doing. Sure, she still have to deal with her inner problems, but she’s making sure to make a steady progress.

Be All Smiles.

Facts;

-Whenever she introduces herself by name, there would always be interruptions, or loud noises that would mute that out. Really, a funny coincidence that happens all the damn time, hence she resorted to just give out her nickname. ‘Ma-Chan’. It was, of course, taken from one of the games she had been playing on her smartphone, which in turn, is also a nickname given by one of the characters in-game, considering the main character there is only referred to as ‘Master’ and all.

-The white streaks on Ma-Chan’s hair is natural. Or rather, it was brought upon by constant stress. At times, she also jokes that she’s getting old really early, too.

-As shown on the image above, she was given a really wondrous body that people would kill for. She does get teased or get called out on, due to her eye-catching features, but pays no heed to them, really.

-Since she did also inherit a renting business, she does make sure to keep the rent per month on an affordable level, knowing how hard things can be on the country she came from. At times, when she does make sure that the renter can’t pay up for the month, due to any serious reason, she’d give that month free of charge. Sure, its bad business practice, but its better that way, too. Its either lose a portion of income, or see that person have troubles on thinking where they can find a place to stay in again.

-She did also eventually set up her own research facility, too, that helps with the further development of the world for the foreseeable future. While she did reach some scientific milestones, she really doesn’t brag about it, as there’s no real reason to. She’d already proven herself. That’s enough, and no real need to rub it on other people’s faces.

-See, outside of the science stuff, she applies her intelligence over to playing video games, too, what with doing near perfect runs, or outright perfect runs, at her very first attempt of the game, single player-wise. Multiplayer-wise, she does tend to outsmart and outplay others. This wasn’t really a closed secret, anymore, too. Rather, Ma-Chan didn’t care anymore, when people ask her of such, she simply replies with “Maturity doesn’t mean you have to give up what you enjoy. That’s something we all fail to understand, at times.”

-She only has very few peers at this point, seeing that this is outright better than to make peers with as much people as she could, which she did back during her younger years. And out of the very few peers she can count by hand, its Ojou-Sama that she trusts the most.

-And as stated, the reason why she also had very few peers now is that she has this strong inability to say “no”, hence why she keeps her number of peers very limited, as said inability to say “no” would just lead to a wide array of abuse.

-She’s a fan of several shows, anime, and games, that at times, she’d start making references out of them, from out of the blue. Its funny and silly when she does it. But she doesn’t really mind, anymore.

-She’s an avid fan of the works of HP Lovecraft, or cosmic horror, in general, that she can rattle and talk about things related such for hours on end. Well, such knowledge of such did helped, especially when she and Ojou-Sama, are one of the very select few that get to know of the existence of Vacosians, or simply put, Outer Gods, which then made her realize that these weren’t just the works of a man. This was a very concise, depiction and recollection of very real beings, which were projected into his works. Not only that, but she also found out that other worlds with sentient life, as well as straight up universes, exist too, which also proves the Multiverse Theory, as well. Thus, this all happened due to the Noodle Incident involving her, Ojou-Sama, and █████. Hence, they never really talk about it, or refrain from talking about it. Thus, Ma-Chan keeps a tight lip of their existence. Her only dismay is that horror games wouldn’t be as scary anymore, though.

[juupajaa]

🥀Suffering phase:

Ah man this is gonna suck. I hate this. Just feck everything about this stage. This is where it just turns so dark and brutal that there’s nothing that can make it work. I hope it’s at least informative and reaffirming. This might get heavy so read when you feel you’re ready.

So one day you wake up and go to engage in your disordered behaviour, but for some reason it didn’t really make you feel any special way. You don’t think too much of it yet. You try again later, but still you don’t get that good feeling from it. You do it again, and again, but it’s just not doing it for you anymore. I’m sorry to say this, but honeymoon is over.

Ok so here’s where eds and de split. I’m gonna go through de route first, since this is pretty much where de stops. 

Some with disordered eating might recover right now. If your quality of life has improved, seeing your coping mechanism not work anymore can turn you back and make you run back to real life. For example, let’s say you started to use de to cope with pressure from school/work/hobbies. The pressure has now eased up and you don’t need to deal with it anymore. Your disordered eating isn’t needed and you can phase out of it in a short period of time and best case scenario, you never go back.

For other’s the situation hasn’t improved, they’re still at a bad place and can’t deal with the shit that’s going on in their life, so the disordered eating stays, despite it not helping anymore. Some might wallow in a state of not really getting worse or better, which can be extremely distressing since there is never any improvement or relief. Other’s might get into a cycle where their disordered eating perks up every now and then when they feel negative emotions, and sometimes is backs off and leaves when things get a bit easier for a while. 

The thing about disordered eating is that it doesn’t solve your problem, so there might be pressure to try harder to engage in disordered behaviour, which can lead to your de turning into an ed. I’d like to point out that de is getting more and more common in western/modern society. Some things that probably have contributed to this are sugar addiction, high accessibility of already prepared food, and snacking instead of eating regular meals, but I didn’t check any of that so don’t take that as anything but my own ramblings. Here are some examples of what disordered eating is like and how to differentiate it from a full blown ed:

experiencing anxiety about food/nutrition/your body on the daily basis (eds have this too)

disordered behaviour, for example, restricting, purging, binging, obsessing over nutrition, other abnormal eating habits (eds have this too)

 being able to take part in meals with others and act out normal behaviour most of the time, despite the extreme discomfort from the disordered thoughts (in eds, this ability is fading or completely removed)

being able to do things that go against your disordered thoughts most of the time, despite feeling extremely terrible about it (in eds, going against the disorder becomes near impossible)

being able to “switch it off” when needed, for example in order to keep it secret or to “take it easier for a bit” (in eds, there is no off switch, the disordered thoughts are constant and there’s no way around them)

being able to go on for long periods of time without really having that many disordered thoughts or without letting them bother you and hinder whatever you’re doing at the time (in eds, the disordered thoughts are intrusive, overwhelming, and they prevent you from doing unrelated things constantly)

I know this can be hard to hear for some, since the need and desire to get a full blown ed can be extremely strong. There’s no shame in that and I’ll tell you why. Your de isn’t helping you cope anymore and your life is overwhelming. Thanks to that bitch honeymoon phase, you know for a fact that this can help you feel better. The problem is however that it won’t help you, but you don’t have a lot of options, since you don’t know how to cope with your situation. The assumption is that you need to get even “better” at your thing in order to cope better again. It makes perfect sense, so don’t feel stupid for wanting for it to get even worse. For some it does, for other’s it don’t and we don’t know what exactly is that thing that makes the difference, but we all need help and new, better coping mechanisms, no matter if it’s de or a full blown ed we deal with. Disordered eating can be dangerous too and the discomfort alone is enough to start affecting you negatively. Further down I have written a list of stuff that you might experience from having disordered thoughts and engaging in disordered behaviour and a lot of what I will write about eds can ring familiar to you too. I’m not gonna talk more about disordered eating, but if you feel like you have it, I recommend looking more into it in order to understand it better.

So now let’s talk about eds. Ok so let’s say one day you get up to do something you were planning on doing, but suddenly you realize, you can’t do it. Your de prohibits you from doing something you wanted to do. And then it happens again. And again.

And AgAiN anD aGaiN. 

You’re out of the honeymoon and your ed has fully formed. The difference between an ed and de is the frequency and intensity of your obsession with food/your body. It’s starting to take up hours upon hours of your day to do everything that your ed asks you to do and the pain, sacrifices, shame and guilt, are just barely worth the tiny bit of relief you get when you perform your disordered behaviour. 

So by now some of you are getting malnourished. Now, being malnourished doesn’t mean you’re underweight, nor does it mean you haven’t eaten in two days. Being malnourished means you haven’t been getting proper nutrition in months. This can be because you don’t get enough calories in, you purge too much of your intake, or you are eating foods that don’t provide you with enough nutrition, such as eating only one or few things or not eating enough of something specific. You can be malnourished at any weight and you can be malnourished even if you eat multiple times a day or have some “good days” in between. Here’s what being malnourished might feel like:

You’re in a whole another world. It feels like other people aren’t even in the same universe as you

It can feel like everything’s a bit slow, even if days go by quickly, colours aren’t quite as bright as they used to be and sounds seem muted

Your work memory is so minimal that you’re having trouble getting through basic tasks without stopping to think about what you’re doing

You feel exhausted all the time, there’s no point in talking or doing anything, you just want to go lie down and even then you don’t feel like you’re resting

You’re either irritable or apathetic, rarely anything else

Even something as small as reaching for something feels like a task

You’re having trouble communicating your point to others and your point seems lost on yourself too

You’re having trouble following conversations and sometimes it feels like people are speaking gibberish and not real words at all.

Being malnourished is not fun, that I can tell you. It can sound similar to depression and those two usually go hand in hand. A lot of people with eds also have anxiety or depression and as we have already established earlier, other mental disorders play a part in your ed as well and equally, your ed might be making your other disorders worse.

Getting malnourished isn’t a requirement for an ed (or de) by no means and even if you aren’t malnourished, there are several physical symptoms you might get from the mere strain of having an ed (or de). Eds (and de) cause a lot of physical instability in your body, since your eating is disordered and you experience anxiety and stress over food/your body. Here are some physical symptoms you might experience from the continued stress alone (but trust me you probably are also malnourished):

digestive problems (constipation, diarrhea, bloating)

headaches, clenched teeth/tight jaw, neck and shoulder pains

hair loss, brittle nails, dry or irritated skin, dry mouth, bad breath despite dental hygiene

heart palpitations, a sudden sinking feeling in your chest

numbness in your limbs/shoulders, pain or weakness in your joints

excessive sweating, cold sweats, shaking/shivering for no apparent reason

irritability, fatigue, exhaustion, difficult to focus

insomnia or other sleep problems (too much, too little, not waking up feeling rested despite getting a good amount of hours in)

weakened immune system

So let’s talk about this stage itself, since we’ve been rambling about pretty much everything else. Suffering phase is pretty much what it sounds like. You’re just suffering. You’re not getting worse and worse and everything just kind of rots around you. You might be losing friends or hobbies, since your ed is making you avoid a lot of situations. You’re becoming isolated and you can’t really talk to anyone out of the fear they might intervene with your behaviour. Most of your day, if not every minute of it, is consumed by your ed and you have to keep on doing what you do, just to feel little less horrible. Here are some thoughts and feelings you might experience:

apathy over the loss of your other hobbies/interests/friends

increasing loneliness and isolation, yet you don’t want anyone to get close either

feelings of worthlessness, shame and guilt about yourself

disinterest in others, such as your friends, family, significant other

overwhelming and all-consuming disordered thoughts that get mixed into every situation, no matter if food is involved or not, making it impossible to focus on anything else most of the time

difficulty do handle anything unexpected or just mildly inconvenient without having to resort to your disordered behaviour for comfort

increasing fear, anxiety and discomfort

Suffering phase doesn’t have a time limit. It can go on forever. Some people die here, some keep coming back over and over again on endless repeat. Those with chronic eds stay here for years upon years. This is such a dark and miserable stage and while you’re in it, you might be so lost you don’t even realize to feel sadness for it. It can feel like there is no way out, there’s no way for you to ever recover, you don’t even want to recover, let alone try. I know it can feel like this is what you deserve and this is just how things are, but trust me, there is more stages to eds. It doesn’t have to end here. 

The next stage is just around the corner, you just gotta start eyeing it. It is so hard to shake anyone out of this phase and we all know by now that the will to recover has to come from the inside. You’ve got to start hoping for something better. I know for a fact that you can still get a new start and there’s a reset button a little further down the road. Just please, start thinking about things you’d like to do. Places you’d like to go. People you’d like to meet and the person you want to be. Whatever these things are, think about them and try to get that spark of hope going.

[missmentelle]

Could you describe what an emotionally abusive father/the rest of the family would look like? I’m looking back at my life and having an epiphany that maybe my dad was, but he never outright put me down; he’s just super manipulative and has extreme anger problems (usually throwing things to get his point) and then he turns around and acts like a victim because “none of my children love me or want to be my friend”. I’m 23 and out of the house but I still get anxiety when people near me get angry.

There are a lot of possible ways for a parent or family member to be emotionally abusive. In the words of Leo Tolstoy, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”. It’s possible for two people to come from equally abusive households and have very few experiences in common. Your family member doesn’t have to have all the characteristics on this list to be abusive, and this list doesn’t cover all possible abusive traits and behaviours - this is just a general guide to the major things that you can expect to see from an abusive family member:

Name calling, put-downs and insults. It is not acceptable for a parent to say harsh, cruel things to their child or call them insulting names. This is not an okay form of discipline. Parents are expected to express their anger and disappointment in healthy ways, even when they are upset. Removing privileges and giving a child a stern talking-to for a bad report card is acceptable. Calling the child “stupid” and telling them they’re an embarrassment is abusive.

You were punished for having emotions. In a healthy household, you have to have the freedom to feel the full range of emotions - sadness, grief, fear, anger, insecurity - without fear that you’re going to be mocked or punished for how you feel. In a healthy household, parents validate their children, comfort them and help them work through their feelings. In abusive households, parents are unable to deal with negative emotions, and demand that their children only display happiness or neutrality in their presence. Any sign of negative emotion is not tolerated.

A complete lack of privacy. Responsible parents should monitor their children’s activities in an age-appropriate way; however, all children need some amount of privacy, and this need for privacy increases as they get older. A parent who reads all diaries, goes through all belongings, reads all messages and constantly accuses you of hiding things is an abusive parent. Parents should also know when to keep your issues between you and themselves; a parent who insists on discussing your most humiliating issues in front of others is not a healthy parent. 

Your goals or ambitions were belittled and mocked. Parents are supposed to support their kids’ dreams. That’s a pretty low bar. It’s natural for a parent to have concerns about a child with risky or unrealistic career ambitions, but a decent parent still finds ways to support their child. A parent who mocks your dreams, implies that you think you’re better than other people, or makes fun of you for not being “good enough” is an abusive parent. 

You were expected to lie for your parents. Abusive parents’ biggest fear is that their behaviour will be uncovered, and they often force their children to lie in order to cover up problems at home. Forcing a child to lie causes stress and guilt for the child, it teaches terrible habits for future relationships, and it prevents issues in the home from being addressed. 

Isolation from others. Abuse generally requires that you not have a support network to help you recognize and escape the abuse, and so abusive parents will do everything they can to keep you isolated. They forbid you from hanging out with friends outside of school. They forbid electronic communication, or monitor everything you send. They sabotage your relationships with your siblings. They convince you that the world outside is dangerous and not to be trusted, so you won’t confide in teachers or peers.

Fear is used as a weapon. A parent doesn’t have to hit you to abuse you. Punching walls, breaking objects, throwing things, slamming doors and screaming are all abusive tactics. These are scary behaviours, and they make you live in constant fear that the parent’s next outburst might involve hurting you or your siblings or pets. 

There is constant emotional manipulation. Healthy parents explain that your misbehaviour has disappointed them, remind you of what is expected of you, and try to work with you to correct the problem. Abusive parents accuse you of never loving them, tell you that you’re the reason they don’t have any friends and tell you that you’re responsible if they die from a heart attack. Small situations get escalated to emotional catastrophes and everything is always about them. Your emotions never come into play - you live your whole life in orbit of your volatile parent.

Expectations of you are unrealistic and constantly changing. You’re never good enough. Ever. Your 95% average should be a 99%. Your lead in the school play is a waste of time when you should be playing sports. Your sports career is a waste of time when you should be getting a job. There is zero tolerance for mistakes or imperfections, and the goal posts are constantly moving. The point isn’t really to ensure your happiness or success - the point is to make sure that you always feel like a failure. 

Mistakes are never forgiven or forgotten. A failed math test from the 4th grade is trotted out as proof that you’re a bad student until you graduate from high school. The one time you talked back in middle school is used as proof that you “never listen” for the rest of your life. There is nothing you can ever do to repair or move past a mistake, no matter how hard you try. You are reminded of all your flaws and shortcomings over and over and over again, and all of the many things you’ve done right pale in comparison to the handful of things you did wrong. 

You are exposed to physical abuse. Witnessing physical abuse is still abuse, even if you never get hit. A parent who abused your other parent or your siblings in front of you was abusing you too. The fear, stress and anxiety that can be caused by living with abuse can be just as severe as the stress of actually being physically abused. 

Affection and love are withheld. Healthy parents hug, kiss, cuddle and smooth your flyaway hairs. They tell you that you are proud of you and ask you how school was. They attend parent-teacher meetings and generally act like they give a shit. A parent who doesn’t care if you live or die is an emotionally neglectful parent, even if you are well-fed and clothed. Similarly, a parent who withholds affection specifically as “punishment” is abusive - children need to know that they will still get love and goodnight kisses, even if they screw up. 

Your parents interact with you as if you were an adult. The parent-child relationship is inherently imbalanced, and parents have to be the adults in the relationship. When a six-year-old tells you that you’re a poo-poo head, you don’t take it personally and start an adult argument. You chuckle and tell them that they’re not being very nice, because they’re too young to engage you as an adult. Abusive parents don’t understand this - children are held to the same expectations as an adult, even when they don’t have the emotional maturity for it. A parent with a rocky marriage may also use a child as a “substitute partner”, forming an inappropriately close relationship where the child is expected to listen to their parent’s adult problems. This could include listening to a parent talk about their financial issues, body image issues, or sex life - issues that children should not be dealing with. 

Trust is constantly betrayed. Your parent gets angry with you for not trusting them with secrets. As soon as you’ve confided the secret, they tell all their friends and neighbours and discuss it openly at the dinner table. This happens over and over, and if you get upset or point out this pattern, you are the one who somehow gets in trouble for it. 

The environment is sexualized. You don’t have to be sexually touched or molested to have experienced sexual abuse. Children should be introduced to the idea of sex in a gradual, age-appropriate manner. A parent who shows a young child pornography, has sex in front of their child, or tells their child graphic details of their sex life is committing child abuse. Likewise, a parent should not be constantly making comments on their child’s body, nagging their child to be more sexual or pressuring their child to engage in sex acts with others. 

Intentional humiliation. Some abusive parents enjoy humiliating their child, even if they deny it. They might intentionally buy their child clothes that are unflattering or ill-fitting, or force their child to get unflattering haircuts. They might also constantly force the child to do things they are bad at, in order to laugh at them. No matter what their tactics, abusive parents know how to wield shame and humiliation as a weapon, and they have no qualms about doing it. 

Obvious cries for help are ignored. No healthy parent could notice self-harm cuts on their child’s arm and walk past without a word. Healthy parents look for signs that their child might be struggling, so that they can intervene. Abusive parents don’t give a shit. They will ignore cuts, bruises, obvious signs of drug use, or any symptoms of mental illness. You could be sobbing in the living room, and they wouldn’t bother to ask what’s wrong. 

It’s important to note that no parents are perfect, and that everyone screws up from time to time. You are not an abusive parent because you flew off the handle one time and called your child a name. Abuse means that these behaviours occur as part of an ongoing pattern. A parent doesn’t need to check off every item on this list to be considered abusive - even having a handful of these traits is a problem. Frankly, from the sounds of it, there was some emotional abuse going on in your household - it sounds as if your father was emotionally manipulative and wielded fear as a weapon. This wasn’t an acceptable way for him to behave. Realizing that a parent had abusive tendencies does not mean that you automatically have to hate the parent or cut off contact with them - mostly, the point of realizing the abuse took place is so that you can heal and learn from it, and avoid passing these behaviours down to your own children. 

Hope this answers your question!

[startenthousand]

I don’t think I’ve talked much about what bullshit work has been this (academic) year on here so here are some cliffs notes. The very, very short version: I am trying to teach a DIFFICULT and COMPLEX subject to students who are, for numerous reasons mostly related to societal and institutional failures, not yet prepared to be successful in that subject. I am scolded by literally everyone (admins, other staff, students) for not magically making all students successful in this subject, and in the cases of a few individuals, actively undermined in my attempts to do so.

Context: 

8th year in education, 5th year teaching, 3rd year at this school. 

School population is highly heterogeneous, has much higher than average ELL & SPED populations, and is also in the district with the worst achievement gap in the nation. 

I teach physics. We have two classes - ostensibly regular and honors, but really watered-down-to-the-point-of-causing-me-pain regular and just-above regular. They have not been aligned at the district level & we have zero guidance as to what standards/learning targets to set, so we’ve been setting them on our own using our best judgement. 

We have been doing an extensive amount of curving grades/extending the grading scale/etc to the point where I honestly don’t want my name connected with some of the grades we’ve given over the past few years, because students were earning Cs in physics when they really didn’t understand or even DO anything. But there’s a lot of pressure to reduce the number of Fs - which has historically been around 25% for first semester in the “regular” class, in part because:

We are not allowed to have prereqs for courses. Students in the “regular” class range from “has not passed a single math or science class in their high school career” to “could be taking the honors class but didn’t want to do the work.” 

Students routinely move between classes as late as the 10th week of the semester. Building classroom culture is nigh-on impossible. Students are moved between courses, sections, and teachers with zero consultation of the teachers.

Discipline is all but non-existent. The district has theoretically been moving to restorative practices, which I’m all for, but in reality they’ve done away with all punitive measures and replaced them with...nothing. It is impossible to enforce any kind of boundaries because there are no consequences for misbehavior until it reaches the level of a physical altercation.

My supervising AP is incompetent (literally no one in the building respects them) and tried to fire me/bully me into quitting my first year.

Also, my mother died less than a year ago. 

A brief summary of relevant events:

Other physics teacher (OPT) wants to try a self-paced, mastery-based learning approach for the regular class for a variety of reasons. I have some reservations but also see the merits so I say sure - we’ve been struggling to adapt more traditional teaching styles to meet the needs of all of our kids.

We revert to a standard (90+ = A, 80+ = B, etc) grading scale for the honors class

The school is looking more closely at supporting our ELLs this year, and notice that many are struggling in physics. OPT and I were aware of this and had been trying to adapt on our own, but gladly start working with a coach to build in more support for those & all students.  

Rather disastrous meeting with head principle & AP wherein OPT & I try to explain our frustrations (students who are NOT READY to learn physics yet) and they somehow think we’re calling them stupid?

Students in the honors class act incredibly rude & entitled, to the point where OPT walks out of class one day, and I can’t even deliver a 5-minute lecture because they’re all talking to each other about what’s on their phones (see above re: behavior/discipline)

Students are caught cheating, sent down to the office because OPT is stressed and can’t handle the situation in a professional manner in the moment (so took the responsible course of “let’s table this conversation until I *can* deal with this). OPT is yelled at and told kids should never be sent out of the classroom.

OPT finds a new job, leaving the field of teaching entirely. Their last day is our first day back after winter break.

I inform my head of department that unless there are some significant changes to the situation, I will be leaving at the end of the year.

I am now left solely responsible for making & justifying grading decisions, etc. based on a pedagogical experiment that was OPT’s idea.

A long-term sub (LST) is hired and starts the second day back after winter break. I do not even learn LST’s name until the evening before. LST has taught physics in private schools in a different state.

Useless AP does NOTHING to facilitate transition - tells LST that OPT will have sub plans for them, but does not ask OPT to make sub plans, etc. I throw some materials at LST and scramble to keep things from being a total disaster.

Coach & I have some meetings with LST to try to figure out what changes to make for second semester. LST does not want to collaborate on anything, in spite of district requirements that we do so for shared courses. LST does not want to make any adjustments to their teaching style to better meet the needs of our kids or at least ease the transition. Kids from LST’s sections are coming to me and complaining about their teaching.

Students BLOW UP AT ME about course policies that have been in the syllabus from day one and have been discussed multiple times throughout the semester. Failure to plan on your part does not constitute and emergency on my part.

Useless AP doesn’t make decisions about schedule changes to the point where I’m still not 100% which/how many sections of which courses I’m teaching and the semester starts in two days.

[TW: mental health, suicide, etc]

I’m a mess. I am overwhelmed and under-supported and I don’t know what to do. Dragging myself into the building is a victory most days. I’m not eating well and sleeping too much. I’m having suicide ideation, which I’ve NEVER had before in my life. I always thought it would be more...depressed, but it’s much more frantic than that - everything is a constant onslaught and it’s unending and I want to violently destroy SOMETHING but I’d feel guilty if I destroyed something external and at least if I destroyed myself I wouldn’t be around to feel the guilt later.

I love my kids and I believe so strongly in what I’m trying to do but I can’t do it under these conditions because NOBODY could do it under these conditions and it’s poisoning everything and I don’t know if I need to leave the district or leave teaching altogether but I don’t want to do either of those things because being a teacher is My Identity and I don’t know who I am if I’m not doing this? I want to keep doing this but like...actually be able to do it. I’m at the point where I feel like I don’t even know what “good teaching” is or looks like because apparently everything I do is insufficient. I honestly just want to hand in a note tomorrow that says “everybody gets a C, I’m out” screw two week’s notice because I can’t handle this.

Meanwhile my therapist’s hours have changed so I’m not going to be able to see her as much and so generally things are just swell. 

[madammuffins]

UNDER HEAVY REVISION

Title - Assault on Fire

Genre- Apocalyptic, Supernatural, Horror/Thriller

Rating- Adult

Summary- Jake uses the excuse of abroad study to flee the constant pressure of his families expectations and demanding cultures - perpetually stuck between the disappointment of his mother breaking her betrothal to marry a Frenchman and his Indian relatives using his successes to measure his families worth. All he wants to do is free run and live, competition not being a word in his vernacular. According to his mother and younger brother he left just in time as they report of strange illness and comas sweeping over the countries.

Until all communications go dark. Panicked he books his flight for the next day out of the Utah airport cancelling the rest of his plans, unaware of the danger awaiting.

Terry’s only 17. He can’t walk too well. He’s not in the best shape. He’s only trying to get back home from some stem cell doctor who, of course, couldn’t do anything. Just like the rest of them. He’s just minding his own business in the airport when he notices the announcements overhead getting more and more urgent, almost along with more and more bodies lining the floors. They look like they’re sleeping; the bodies do. But Terry knows better. He’s seen enough by now. In the slums, in the section-8 rentals. And then the gates sGreg is a 33 year old mute Autistic with a gift for spacial reasoning that he’s learned to harness to give his family some level of YouTube fame via shooting. He never misses a target. With the love and support of his mother and his younger brother he’s booked an interview with a quick layover in Utah, the surprise is when his distant and spiteful father volunteers to travel with him.

Maddison’s only visiting her mother in Utah, a shoulder to cry on when she hears the new boyfriend went missing. When she arrives at her mothers house to find the animal corpses, funny smell, and hole in the wall she immediately books a flight back out of Utah to her hometown in LA, missing the warmer winters in her chilled bones, the cold not doing any favors for her achondroplasia.

Stephanie is cold, and her fingers hurt, and no one is going to look twice at a filthy little boy whose wandering the airport. Not when her hair’s tucked into her hat like this. Mom’s waiting. Mom’s always waiting. Just outside the gates. Just outside the testing at the security check. It had been easy to slip past the TSA, the whining kid who’d tested positive had been distraction enough. And now mom was waiting. But the voice overhead kept going off and now the gate was closed and she couldn’t get back to her mom and there was this strange man holding her and all these weird people with him and where are they all going?

Oh God, are those people eating other people in the airport? Oh god, how are they going to survive?

Characters

Jake - A French/Indian traveler his English is broken. His nurturing and warm personality doesn’t allow him to leave anyone behind. He has a love for physical fitness and parkour that bordered on the obsessive, perhaps a coping mechanism for his stress and anxiety.

Terrance - A 17 year old red-head. He is incredibly intelligent, though socially awkward and reclusive. Most of his distance from others and society is self-inflicted due to his Multiple sclerosis.

Greg - A 33 year old non-verbal Autistic, Greg is named Tom after Jake and the gang find him due to none of them being able to speak in ASL. He has a natural gift for spacial math which has given him a deadly accuracy with any projectile. It was a gift he used to gain a low level of internet fame, also the cause of his separation from his family and possibly the cause of his fathers abandonment and death.

Maddison - A 27 year old tattoo artist and special education teachers aid. Maddison has a natural motherly instinct and a special knack for intense situations. She often has an intense guilt linked to her mother and two siblings for her achondroplasia, blaming herself for her father leaving their family. She is very handy with both an inking needle (keeping a small stash of tattooing supplies on her at all times) and her trusty shot gun.

Stephanie - Only 12 Stephanie is incredibly mature for her age being homeless and caretaker to her mentally ill, drug addicted mother. She isn’t nearly as bothered by the end of civilization as Jake feels she should be.

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TAGS - Assault on Fire, AoF, original novel, madammuffins, WIP

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[fairycosmos]

+ i have a job interview tomorrow and i just cant go. its a rlly good job but i just cant. idk why. maybe its my anxiety or me sabotaging myself again. i know my mom will think im a failure. but i just want to keep studying. i want to keep trying. it just feels more important. i want to want be alive before anything else. do you think im lazy?? iknow you'll never anwser this but should i go anway? is it awful that i never had a job? i just feel like a bum. idk sorry for putting this on u.

hey. no, i dont think you’re lazy at all. quite the opposite. i admire you a lot for caring so much about your studies, for wanting to make something of yourself and for continuing to try your best even though you’re going through such a difficult time at the moment. that’s a lot easier said than done, and yet you’re still managing it, which is really fucking cool. you should be proud. and listen, i’m 18 as well, and i’ve never had a job either. it’s super, super common. it’s not like it’s easy to get a job these days, especially while you’re still studying. and just cause you’re older now doesn’t mean you’re singularly responsible for the financial situation of your family. it’s not just down to you to make money, and that’s not your sole purpose in life. also, you’re definitely accomplishing more than i am, seriously. i know the world kind of pushes the idea that you’re only worth something if you’re constantly being used, if you’re constantly providing money or results or good grades. but that’s genuinely not true. it takes years and years to come to terms with the fact that it’s not true, but it’s not. honestly, how ‘well’ you perform from a capitalistic standpoint doesn’t reflect who you are as a person. how you treat others, how you choose to experience life, your interests and your hobbies - those all say more about you than whether or not you have a job. i know you’re not going to believe me, but you being here is good enough. your presence is the most important thing.  it probably feels like i’m lying, and it will for a long time, but if you start letting that idea into your mind, you’ll begin to accept it eventually. 

your parents clearly have fucked up priorities. and i’m sorry. because you deserve so much better than that. having a bad relationship with them will always be shitty, and you’re totally allowed to feel whatever you need to feel about it. anger, sadness, bitterness, fear, guilt. process it all one day at a time. as long as you try to cope with those emotions in a healthy way (letting yourself cry, talking about it, writing about it, practicing self affirmations), then you’re doing fine. but at the same time, there comes a point where you have to realize that your family have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about. they really, really dont. if they only want to acknowledge you when you’re in a top school or when you have a great fucking job, then they dont deserve you at all. they wont even give you a chance to find your balance. seriously. they wont even cut you any slack. you owe them nothing but respect and since they dont respect you, you dont even owe them that. i dont know how else to put it but i cant stress it enough, they’re awful for making you feel so bad for no reason. i know exactly how you feel. and it’s just. like there’s no point in constantly overexerting yourself for the approval of people that are NEVER going to be satisfied. how they feel about you isn’t actually about you. it’s about them, and their own fucked up mindsets. you are not alive to serve them. you are not alive to be exactly who they want you to be, you know? this is YOUR life, not theirs. and it’s the only one you’re ever going to get. so if you have to make a few choices that disappoint them, then so be it. they’ll either get over it or fuck off, and either way you’ll be better off. it’s ok to start making choices for yourself, man. and it may take some time before you work up the courage to do so, but that’s alright too. it’s all a learning process. 

it seems like your anxiety/depression is the real crux of all of this, though. it’s really worrying, what you said in your other ask. my heart dropped reading it. if you dont confront that issue then you wont like it anywhere, because you wont like being yourself. whether you get a great job, or make a shit ton of money, or continue to study. whatever path you take, you’ll only be truly comfortable if you make your mental health a priority. you have to take it seriously. it’s okay to put yourself first, before the people around you, before school and work. because struggling with a mental illness is one of the most difficult things in the world. and you dont have to beg anyone to understand that. are you currently on any medication, or seeing a therapist or some sort of counselor? if you are, is it possible for you to ask for additional support? and if you haven’t spoken to anyone, is than an option for you? even if you just begin by talking to your usual doctor, to see if he/she can refer you to someone? if you’re worried about money, there are low cost/free options, too. it’s just that, suicidal thoughts are not something you just have to ‘put up with.’ and they’re certainly not something you have to deal with alone. others have been exactly where you are, others understand more than you realize. you dont have to hurt yourself outwardly to show that you’re hurting inwardly, alright? if you believe anything i say, believe that. your life is so precious and rare and significant, man. and where you’re at right now truly isn’t where you’re always going to be. you’re not trapped, you have a choice to make. making the conscious effort to seek help, to admit that you need some guidance, will make a massive difference in your perception of everything. if you work closely with a professional, then you’ll be able to create a care plan for yourself, you’ll be able to learn how to incorporate healthy coping mechanisms into your life, you’ll be able to find the root causes of why you feel the way you do. you’ll be able to talk openly about your family, and the way they make you feel, and your worries about the future. all of that will make the pain manageable. there is treatment available. it wont be an instant improvement, but reaching out is a wonderful place to start. your mental health is just as important as your physical health. and of course, there will always be a part of your mind that tries to talk you out of it. there’ll always be that moment of anxiety/fear, when you dont know what you’re doing. but you need to try to look past that, and to have a bit of empathy for your future self. temporary feelings should never stop you from getting the care that you need. so even if you just begin by calling a hotline to see what they think you should do next, then that’s still something to be v proud of.

i know it’s hard. i get it. i understand more than i can put into words. and i know that asking for help is a massive step. i’m not saying you have to make any big decisions right now. i’m just asking you to consider it, consider yourself for once in your life. i know there are days where you feel like living like this isn’t worth it at all. you dont want to live like this anymore, right? and you dont have to, but killing yourself wont solve anything. it’s ok to feel like giving up sometimes. as long as you know the difference between having a thought, and actually acting on it. you dont have to lean into the pain, you can just let it wash over you. your mental illnesses and your family and all of the bullshit is stopping you from seeing how wonderful and worthy you are, how much life still has to offer you. there’s so much you haven’t experienced. there is so much happiness waiting in the future. it won’t be constant, but it’ll become a theme in your life. you have all of the time in the world to figure things out. this is the exact age that you’re supposed to be confused and lost, and to not know what to do. you don’t have to have everything worked out right now. you’re doing so much better than you think you are, i promise. the only thing you have to worry about is taking care of yourself. that’s the only thing that’s truly in your control. you can create a better environment for yourself. you can create a life that you dont want to escape from, and that’s what you truly need. not to die but to re-envision your own existence. it’s healthy to do that from time to time. 

as a sidenote, it’s completely up to you whether or not you go to the job interview. there’s no pressure, there’s no wrong answer. but i just hope you know it’s okay to take things at your own pace, regardless of what your dumb ass family has to say. i think the smartest move for you to make is to put all of your energy into reaching out for help. continue to study, just put it on the back burner for now. continue to look for a job (tho i think smth part time is realistically a better option for you), but dont put all of your self worth into it. more than anything, this is a transitional period in your life. it’s the stepping stone between here and there. uncertainty is to be expected, anxiety is to be expected, but that doesn’t mean you have to handle it all on your own. i believe with all of my heart that you’re going to be okay. you said ‘i want to be alive before anything else.’ you should always hold onto that. you’re so fucking capable, and you’re so much stronger than you realize, dude. i’m not bullshitting. i’m being straight up. keep taking it one day at a time. if that feels like too much, one hour at a time. even getting through one minute at a time is something to celebrate. look at the next 24 hours of your life, and see what you can do in that time to help yourself - fuck everything else. i’m always here if you need a friend, or if you want to talk about this properly. i’m sorry i couldn’t be of more help. if you ever need anyone, hmu. if you think you’re going to do something, hmu. and please stick around. you’re not going to regret it.

http://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines