#only to figure out 12 hours later. nope that was a panic attack

[inkskinned]

i both firmly believe that self-diagnosing saved my life and i think that the way tiktok and instagram have recently been spreading misinformation about mental illness/neurodivergence is incredibly harmful.

people who are looking for answers are already people who are in a vulnerable situation.

much of the misinformation appears logically sound; and is presented as definitive fact (prefaced with claims such as "research shows"). it's imperative we remember correlation does not prove causation. it is incredibly dangerous to make definitive statements like "if X happened in your childhood, you now Z as an adult." real scientists will almost always use may or other less-definitive terms. similarly, equating one behavior/experience with any single condition is also unsafe. many conditions have overlapping symptoms; and many people "mask" their key symptoms, even to themselves.

we cannot discern from a singular data point any conclusion. in official diagnosis, for a behavior/experience to be considered a symptom, it must significantly influence your life. many people enjoy an organized space. that is a preference. disrupting your daily life even at personal cost in order to prioritize organization is more likely a symptom.

again, a single data point is not an effective diagnostic tool. it is necessary and important work to catalogue and consider all unwanted/distressing behaviors in order to understand a complete picture of the person.

i will see creators in paid partnerships make generalized behavioral/emotional claims that apply to a large portion of a community, and then they will suggest that the "solution" to that behavior is through their paid partner/through their personal support. "follow for more psych tips/facts" is an incredibly evil marketing tactic. i very rarely see unpartnered/unbranded content on how to aid/comfort those behaviors and feelings.

much of the misinformation employs a subtle technique (called confirmation bias) of setting up a conclusion before "proving" the conclusion. "you know you have X when you experience A,B, and C." no person's experience of their conditions/behaviors will look exactly the same as another's. while knowing certain things might be a sign/symptom of a condition, it is irresponsible to consider it definitive.

confirmation bias is unfortunately extremely effective on tiktok specifically. the algorithm will notice that you interacted longer with the video that "proves" (through a singular video) that you "have" a condition. it will continue to feed you related videos that further confirm what you believe.

this is dangerous because we are, unfortunately, not good at knowing ourselves. i did not know it was unusual to vividly nightmare every night; i didn't consider it a symptom. i was similarly dismissive also of any other signs of my PTSD - i incorrectly assigned them to anxiety/adhd. on the small scale, this can mean a longer journey to healing. on the larger scale, it can mean people with extremely difficult situations are unable to get the help they need.

please, if you can, and you're looking to self-diagnose: be careful about what you assume about yourself. try to keep an honest journal of what you're thinking/feeling/doing for a few days.

do not go in with an assumption. try to keep an open mind. i think we all "suspect" we have something - but like i said, i completely missed my own PTSD symptoms, because i suspected the ADHD the most, and only "saw" those symptoms.

do your own research. if the tiktok says "research shows", google that research. figure out who paid for that research. do further research related to that study - has it ever been repeated? is it peer reviewed? do other researchers seem to accept it as conclusive?

if you feel you really resonate with the materials of one person's experience with a condition, find other examples. see if you relate to other creators who identify similarly.

and please - please do not stop once you come to a conclusion. i fully believe that the diagnostic process should be seen as a first step, not a destination. by knowing what you might be struggling with, you gain an incredibly powerful tool on how to gain peace with that condition.

if you feel yourself emotionally respond to a tiktok/etc that suggests something that might be true about yourself, i'm glad you had that experience. but it's also important to not relax into the "easy" answer. interrogate it. start googling what else that could mean; what ways you could work on healing that wound.

healing does not "belong" to any one condition. i want you to begin to look into healing no matter if you have "proven" you have a condition or not. it is never selfish to practice responsible self-care. even if you don't relate to having adhd, you are not harming me by using adhd-inspired study tips. it is not making my condition worse for you to seek peace by asking for more time on tests. even if it was - the fault would be with the system, not in your need of something the system makes inaccessible.

remind yourself that everything you experience is real. and because it is real, it is complicated. while things might be related - even sometimes clearly related - a stranger on the internet cannot make that discernment for you. you as a person deserve the work, attention, and care that goes into the process of unravelling the harm that has been done to you.

it makes me very, very upset to see how popular these videos have become, because they're so irresponsible. and they clearly are targeting a vulnerable group. for example, making generalized claims about children of unloving caretakers is targeting those who have experienced neglect. there is no way to use 30 second videos to correctly analyze what that neglect might have caused in your adult life. i'm sorry, but it's snake oil.

i know it is so powerful soothing to recognize that you aren't broken. that others exist like you out there. i want every person looking for answers to find their answer. i want you to feel seen and heard and understood. i want you to find your community.

i just want it to happen safely.

#every time i write this im like #i just want to say a short thing about this #and every time it ends up being 12 pages long #but since it keeps happening #and i keep seeing shit like this... #this isn't even everything i feel about this #i hope this is clear like #what im saying is #NOT ''you don't have it if u selfdiagnose'' #it's instead.... #you might!!! just don't let 1 or 2 videos confirm it!! #also!!! don't assume that symptom A belongs to condition X!! #even as someone who did eventually get diagnosed like #i still find myself being like - oh that's my adhd #only to figure out 12 hours later. nope that was a panic attack #also none of those videos are about how to HELP the behavior #also this doesn't talk about getting a therapist eventually but please get professional help if you can #it took me fucking forever tho #what im saying is that in the meantime #u can heal now #this is too long im posting it on a sunday so nobody reads it

[danidoesathing]

ok! i’ve got the beginning and end written, it’s the middle that i need to write still, and it’s disgustingly sweet (i’ll post it to ao3 when i’ve got it finished bc i refuse to upload an unfinished work). also lemme know if you wanna read the ending as well, i wasn’t sure (it, too, is fluffy to hell and back)

Chapter 1:

Tim hated this. He hated it all. He’d rather be anywhere else in the world if he could, he could’ve been at home in his room with his laptop and Jay to talk to, but instead he was here with his mom who thought that she had any right to his life after leaving it for good (when he was twelve years old in a mental hospital too, who did that to their child?) and apparently forgot why she did, since she wouldn’t shut up. He’d had enough by the third hour of the “vacation” she took him to, and maybe if he hadn’t hated pity as much as he did, especially from the one that caused him to be pitied, he would have enjoyed the five-star hotel stay more, rather than feel like he was stuck in one long panic attack. He had managed to get away, though. He excused himself to the bathroom and felt grateful she had allowed him that much. He didn’t pay too much attention to the walk to the bathroom - he was trying to breathe in and out regularly and count to ten and pay attention to what he felt and all the other coping methods they taught him in the ten years he spent in the psych ward. He only realized there was someone else in the bathroom when the person (Tim assumed they were male, this was the men’s bathroom) sighed and firmly said, “I need more time, you can’t just ruin my entire life to gain a few weeks.” 

Brian had really been looking forward to the week he��d spend on his own - privacy and being alone weren’t really concepts that his family understood, and it had only gotten worse when the marriage proposal came. He’d tried to explain countless times that he was gay and that he would rather marry a frog than the fake, manipulative, entitled, rude, homophobic, racist, bitchy, but most importantly rich girl his parents had chosen for him to marry. As if he’d spend more than a minute within a five-mile radius of the piece of shit who wanted his money and his name, nothing else. When the call from his mother (Brian had stopped calling Carol Thomas his mom years ago, when she first started denying his issues and instead punished him for things he couldn’t control) came, he escaped to the bathroom since it was closer than his room, even though it was a lot less private. He didn’t think anything would go wrong, it wasn’t busy at the restaurant and even if someone entered, they would probably leave him alone to suffer in his misery. 

Brian hadn’t noticed the tired man who slunk into the bathroom at first, but when he saw the defeated slump of his shoulders and how utterly exhausted his eyes looked, his mother demanded that he come home the next day. He was pretty sure that everyone within the state could hear his sigh, and he thought about how he had gotten so sick of his own family that this was the case with every conversation he had with them. After his final compromise, he hung up without saying goodbye or waiting for Carol to respond. He knew what she would have said anyway, was far too familiar with the same conversation.

Tim hesitated, trying to figure out what to do - he couldn’t just leave and pretend he’d heard nothing, but he didn’t know this man, like, at all, so he also couldn’t try to comfort him or ask him what was wrong, because something clearly was. 

“Family problems,” Brian said into the silence, which was probably just a few seconds long but to Tim’s anxiety-ridden mind it was a lifetime of waiting. 

Tim smiled slightly. “I’m familiar.” 

Brian made an interested noise.  “You tell me about your life, and I tell you ‘bout mine, alright?” 

He understood what sort of deal this was, he was used to therapists and doctors and psychiatrists trying to take his brain apart and figure out what was wrong with him, to try to fix him (or that’s what they said, but he wasn’t sure there weren’t any other reasons behind their words). He despised being treated like a wild animal who could lose his mind and attack at any moment, with a single wrong move. They had treated him like he was dangerous and they pitied him for it, but Brian, he hadn’t looked scared of Tim. He hadn’t acted like he was trying to play it safe - rather, he had tried to make Tim feel comfortable by making himself as vulnerable as Tim was. He realized that he didn’t want to strangle Brian. I’ve spent so much time with psychologists that I’ve started acting like one, analyzing everything and everyone’s actions. Tim laughed internally at the thought. 

“Sure. I don’t have anything else to do anyway,” He responded, and told Brian about his current predicament with his mother, leaving out the parts in which he was at the hospital - he just said that he had a chronic illness and his mom had left him at 12 when he had been in the hospital for four years. 

“Shit, dude, that really sucks. She doesn’t have any right to your life now, you know that right?” Brian said at the end of Tim’s story, after a short pause to take it all in. “I’m going to sound like a whiny white asshole with my story now,” he added. Tim shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. After all, my life doesn’t invalidate yours,” he said, and the corners of Brian’s mouth twitched up. “I guess you’re right,” he said, and started explaining how his parents wanted him to marry a rich woman high up the ladder of status in the elite community he was born into, and Tim could feel himself tensing up and his mind starting to buzz. 

Brian noticed that the man in front of him was looking a little off, and stopped midway through describing that he only had the next week or so to find his soulmate, otherwise he’d be stuck with someone he hated for the rest of his life. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked softly, and the other man (Brian only just realized that he knew this man’s life story but not his name, and mentally reprimanded himself for not introducing himself and asking his name) took a shuddering breath. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, and Brian didn’t call him out on his bullshit. “Please continue, I’m way too invested in your life now.” He smiled, and Brian laughed. 

“Alright, but first, you have to tell me your name because I’ve realized we haven’t introduced ourselves and it’s killing me,” Brian said.

“My name’s Tim Wright.”

“Brian Thomas. Nice to meet you, I guess,” Tim rolled his eyes at Brian’s antics, but Brian knew he was amused, as evidenced by Tim’s light snort. Tim told him to get on with the story, (a bit like a whining child, but in a good way, Brian thought) and he responded with, “Okay, okay, I’ll get to it then.”

“There isn’t much left,” Brian warned. When Tim nodded his understanding, he continued from where he had stopped, and when he had finished talking about his current fucked-up situation, the other man had been shocked into silence. 

“You have to be kidding me,” he finally said. “There’s no way that that shit’s real and actually happening to you.” 

Brian shook his head and sighed. “I wish I was, but nope! My parents are just assholes who are outta their minds.” 

Tim thought for a second - he had to do something, but he didn’t know what he could to be able to help. He chewed on his lip, and after a minute or so, had an idea that he thought could possibly work. 

“How about we pretend that we’re soulmates?” he asked Brian, who looked taken aback but also as if he was considering Tim’s proposition. Tim was about to backtrack and apologize, maybe say something along the lines of or we can just not do that if you don’t want to I’m sorry for bringing it up you must think I’m so creepy and weird and can we just ignore this ever happened?  

But then Brian nodded thoughtfully, and said, “Actually, I can imagine how that would work. I’d call my parents and tell them that I’ve already found my soulmate and that I want to spend more time with you, and you’d talk to them in order to convince them further if they don’t believe me. I already know I’m gay, so my soulmate is definitely a man, so your voice being a guy’s wouldn’t be a problem and when I find my actual soulmate, if they sound different to you, we could just blame it on the phone being weird through the call. We could say that we wanna spend a few weeks getting to know each other before I leave, and during that time I could find my real soulmate. If I can’t, then we can come up with scenarios in which I’d need to stay longer until I do. Yeah, actually, this is a really good idea, Tim.” 

“Uh, really? I mean, thanks,” Tim said, still reeling from Brian’s rambling. “How are we going to do this? Do you like, I don’t know, wanna call your parents and I can talk to them?”

“Yeah, sure, give me a sec,” Brian fished in his pocket for his phone and Tim internally panicked while Brian called his mother. He would have had a panic attack, but before he could truly get worked up, Brian was already talking. 

“Hey mother, guess what happened - no, you’ll never guess - I found my soulmate! And he’s a guy like I said he would be! Oh, you don’t want my soulmate to be a man? Well, unfortunately, apparently the universe doesn’t share your homophobic views - oh come on, would I lie about this? You don’t believe me? Fine, I guess I’ll have to prove it. Mother, meet Tim.”

“Hello Mrs. Thomas, it’s nice to meet you,” Tim said, and Brian couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, and he didn’t want Tim to be there for it. He hated his parents, and the thought of them hurting Tim in any way was unbearable. Wait, what? I met him like 15 minutes ago, why do I care so much about him? He was going to figure out his feelings regarding Tim, but then he saw how he was getting anxious, so he decided to intervene now and unpack his shit later. 

Grabbing the phone from Tim, he told his parents that he and Tim wanted to get to know each other by staying at the hotel for longer, and when they objected, he simply reminded them that he was his own person and as an adult, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, slowly getting more pissed off with every word that his parents said. Knowing that he would snap if he listened to more of their bullshit, he hung up after letting them know he would stay for a few more weeks in Ohio, though probably in a motel (he wasn’t rich enough to spend weeks at a five-star hotel). He looked at Tim. “Are you okay? You looked pretty freaked out there, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put that much pressure on-”

“No, no, you’re fine. I guess I just felt overwhelmed, sort of? I don’t really know why I felt so anxious, but I’ve been dealing with anxiety for, like, 16 years. I should be used to it by now,“ Tim assured Brian. "Plus, it worked, didn’t it? they weren’t happy, but they seem to have believed us, so you can stay for a few more weeks and try to find your soulmate. Actually, why are you searching in Ohio and not Alabama anyway? Aside from the obvious reason, of course.” he added. 

Brian frowned. “I don’t really know, I guess this just felt closer to my soulmate. You know how your mark is supposed to like, tingle and shit?” Tim nodded, and Brian continued. “Yeah, I guess that’s why - Ohio feels like I’m closer to finding them than in Alabama." 

"Yeah, I think I get it. It feels the same for me too, if I think about it - my mark feels weird and that’s never happened before, so I must be doing something right,” Tim said after thinking for a while, and Brian laughed.

“Hey, who knows, maybe we’ll find our soulmates in here, and maybe we’ll find them at around the same time - that would be so cool! You know, I think I rather like you, Tim. I’d like to be friends - if you wanna, of course,” Brian said, and Tim answered with an affirmative. 

“Well, you’re pretty cool yourself Brian Thomas, and I would indeed like to be friends, but I really gotta go. Emily’s probably going out of her mind, wondering where her son she found after 12 years went to,” Tim joked, and they exchanged numbers. 

“ So, I still have a week or so left, which means I’ll probably see you around the hotel and shit. Bye Tim,” Brian called as he left the bathroom, and Tim waved back before following.

  Chapter 2:

Brian walked back to his room, since he had already finished his dinner, and contemplated the last hour. He had gone from having to fight his parents for less than a week to find his soulmate to being given permission (well, sort of. Brian thought it counted if they had always encouraged him to do something until it actually got to the point in which said thing would be applicable - they couldn’t just change their minds because they were homophobic assholes) for almost a month doing whatever he wanted wherever he wanted to. 

Of course, there was also Tim. He didn’t quite understand why he liked Tim already, or why Tim had helped him, but he knew that he didn’t regret it at all. Plus, they were friends now, and he felt that they would only get closer with time. He’d arrived at his room by this point, and after entering, he decided that he wouldn’t get anything else done today. Within minutes he was in bed - no point pretending to be functional when there was nobody around to see it, and plus, he was very sleep-deprived and he should probably go to sleep to fix that. 

Since he’d been lying still with his eyes closed for over an hour, Brian believed that he was justified in going on his phone. However, once he opened his phone, he realized that he didn’t really have anything to do, and in a moment of boredom and apathy for his future, he decided to text Tim.

  savingprivatebrian [23:42]: Hey tim

  savingprivatebrian [23:42]: it’s me brian

  savingprivatebrian [23:42]: if you couldn’t tell

  He was surprised to see that Tim was online, and soon enough, he saw Tim’s typing bubble pop up.

  Tim [23:44]: yeah 

Tim [23:44]: i saved your number

  Tim [23:44]: anyway whats up

  Brian smiled because of course Tim was awake, he totally seemed like the type of person who’s constantly tired and sleep-deprived.

  savingprivatebrian [23:44]: nothing

  savingprivatebrian [23:45]: i just couldnt sleep

  Tim [23:45]: i get that

Tim [23:46]: insomnias a bitch

  savingprivatebrian [23:46]: yep

savingprivatebrian [23:47]: so do you wanna just talk until we can sleep

  Tim [23:47]: please

He laughed at Tim’s response, and settled comfortably into his nest of pillows (perks of five-star hotels) to talk to Tim.

In the end, they both agreed to go to sleep at around 3:30 in the morning, after having texted for almost four hours. If he wasn’t so sleepy, he might’ve wondered why conversation was so easy when he was talking to Tim when he normally wouldn’t be able to even form sentences with people he knew as little as he knew Tim. Instead, though, he placed his phone on the bedside drawer, rolled over, and fell asleep within minutes, still with a little smile playing on his lips.

  Chapter 3:

  A week later, Tim’s mother left to go back to work, and Tim promised her that he’d come to visit every now and then. He was surprised to find that he was planning to keep that promise - after his mom explained her reasons, he learned that she hadn’t left because she wanted to, only because she had to. Her life had been easier without him, and that realization hurt. He had held her back her entire life, and he really couldn’t blame her for having done whatever she could to get rid of the reason she couldn’t be happy. He was over it, though. He had had more than a decade to come to terms with the fact that everyone he cared about would leave him eventually, when they realized that he would always be problematic, that he would never get better, and that he would always drag them down. Why would anyone stay with that?

Then came was Brian. Tim knew that he was falling, falling hard, but he also knew that Brian didn’t feel the same - they both wanted to find their soulmates, and even if Brian did like someone as fucked up as Tim, when he found his soulmate, he’d just leave. 

He had told Brian about his mom and how he felt, as well as why he was in a hospital for 10 years, and Brian’s only reaction was to hug him (they didn’t notice that no parts of their skin had made contact, Tim would later realize) and telling him that he’d never leave. That was a bigger deal than Brian realized, and he had broken down crying, which caused Brian to start crying too. They had spent about 2 hours talking about their problems, and Tim left Brian’s room feeling better than he had for over a month. They had only been friends for a few days at that point, but there was no denying that they had a connection - they were already so, so close (and if Tim wanted them to be even closer, well, no-one had to know). 

Jay had called, on the second day. He had asked what was going on and why the hell Tim hadn’t texted or called him - rightfully so, since they usually talked daily and it had been more than 2 days with nothing. Tim had ranted about Brian and his mom, but it had taken Jay about ten minutes into Tim’s monologue to point out that he was totally crushing on Brian, and Tim had found himself unable to argue. After talking for over an hour, Jay had hung up with a threat to Tim if he didn’t text him everything that happened. 

Tim thought back to that conversation many times over the following days - he could trust Jay to call him out on his bullshit and help him work through it, and he knew Jay could do the same. Whenever his anxiety convinced him that they simply tolerated his presence and actually hated him, Tim would text Jay (and now Brian) and Jay would not stop texting him until Tim had no doubt left about their friendship.

On his last day in the hotel, a week after he arrived and met Brian, he had breakfast with Brian to talk about what they were going to do, since this was Brian’s last day too. 

“Over here,” Brian called out as Tim walked into the restaurant in the hotel, from which they got free breakfast. 

“Hey,” Tim said when he sat down. “You wanna go get some food? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, sure. Just a second,” Brian put his stuff on the extra chair, and connected his phone to a charger. “My battery’s at 12 percent,” he explained at Tim’s questioning look.

“Alright, let’s go. What do you wanna get?” Brian asked when they entered the self-service area.

“Eggs and bacon first, so they cook, but I’ll look around anyway to see what’s there,” Tim answered while grabbing a plate.

“Why didn’t you get a fork and knife too?”

“Because I’ll drop them, Brian.” 

“Ha, weak.”

“Do you really want to try me?” 

“Geez, you’re just so scary.”

“I know.” 

They had reached the omelette station, and they waited for their orders to be cooked in comfortable silence, which was new to both of them. Shaking his head, Tim decided to ignore his lack of friends while he was so happy and had the chance to spend time with someone who not only could tolerate him, but also wanted to befriend him. 

He was brought back to reality by Brian nudging him, and snapped his eyes onto Brian in alarm, quickly realizing there was no threat, there was just his food (paranoia had become a reflex at this point, and he wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to laugh or cry because of it). 

Throughout breakfast, Tim found his eyes lingering more and more on Brian’s lips when all social and conversational norms stated that his gaze should be on his eyes or overall figure to watch his body language and hand gestures, so like everyone else who’s ever been in this situation, he decided, okay, we’re going to put these feelings of attraction in a box, now close it, and yep! Push it as far away from coherent thought as you can, right up against the childhood trauma, self-hatred, insecurity, and look! It’s the box of fear of abandonment. Now, we don’t think about these, so surely this’ll be safe here. After cataloging everything into the dark basement of his mind, buried deep under everything else and covered in the mental equivalent of cobwebs and a layer of dust over everything, he simply looked away from Brian’s mouth and focused on literally any other part of his body, like, like- his eyes! That would surely work, wouldn’t it? You can’t possibly mess eye contact up, even though you’re, well, you, Tim. Don’t fuck this up with your social incompetence.

Yeah, no. After only a few minutes of trying to draw his attention away from what Brian would taste like, he found out that eyes are just as dangerous as lips, since he found that it was easier than it should be to get lost in Brian’s warm hazel eyes. He never realized that there were rings of different colours, and with the light framing his face, he looked otherworldly, like he didn’t belong to planet Earth or at least had some kind of magic coursing through his veins, just like warmth was coursing through Tim’s as he drowned in the ocean of brown and green filling Brian’s eye sockets. Because he was drowning, drowning, drowning as he forgot to breathe, move, do anything at all in the haze that came over him.

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

#OH???? #PLEASE GO ON #you should this on ao3 or something #effie #fanfic #Slenderverse #marble hornets #mh #mh brim #dani speaks #submission

[vtscasefiles]

Case File 563-7

Trigger warnings: blood, gore, death, infant death, guns, gun violence

[Editor’s note: this is one of VT’s shorter cases. It does not have a happy outcome. You have been warned.]

Case begun: 1/12/20**

Case concluded: 1/13/20**

Case locale: [REDACTED], Nevada

Marked as Closed

From the outset, this case stunk. Even Ramona had misgivings. She practically begged me not to go. “VT, there’s something wrong here. I don’t know what, but I just have this feeling.”

“It’ll be fine.” I’d assured her. “It’s a simple shakedown. It’s just a spirit. It’s nothing too insidious.”

Famous last words.

This case came to my from a friend of a friend. It was a simple haunting, the spirit was pestering a young family. Nothing a few sprinkles of blessed water and a liberal application of smudging couldn’t fix. Worst case, I’d have to exorcise.

Still, Ramona’s words bothered me, so I packed up a few extra goodies. Salt, my saint bone necklace (It’s only a toe bone, don’t ask where I got it.) and a few rounds of my most potent ammunition. I don’t want to say what it was made out of, due to the...questionable nature of how it was sourced. Point being that they’d deal with anything short of a god.

My friend, [REDACTED AT SUBJECT’S REQUEST], met me at the bus station. My car was out of commission, due to it being a piece of shit. Though [REDACTED] was more than happy to loan me their car.

I really wish I’d listened to Ramona.

I arrived at the client’s house around noon. They were a friendly enough couple. Due to ongoing SC investigation, I’m only going to refer to them as Husband and Wife. I could get in a lot of hot water if I put their names out there and someone fucked up the investigation.

Husband was tall-ish. Only a scant few inches taller than myself. He was your typical, hipster fella. Too tight pants, a band tee with a band he listened to “before it was cool” and a scruffy little beard with an overly manicured mustache. Wife was more my speed, though. Overalls, splattered with paint and a tank top. We love a handy lady.

They welcomed me graciously, introduced me to their newborn, who shall be known as Baby. She was a cute, little thing...even I could admit that and I hate babies. They scream, puke and shit, usually at the same time. Not for me, nope. Even so, I held the kid at their insistence and the girl just...stared. I couldn’t help but pull faces until the child started to laugh.

So, maybe “hate” is a strong word.

They took me to the room where their little spirit friend was causing the most havoc. It was to be Baby’s room. A crib settled in a corner, toys strewn around for the child’s amusement. A light fixture shaped like a unicorn.

Oh, and let’s not forget the words “HELP ME” painted on the wall in bright, yellow paint. Perfect décor for an infant, right?

“So, Husband.”, I’d said, turning to face him, Baby still in my arms. “We going for an escape pre-school motif or something?” he laughed a strained laugh.

“We didn’t have this problem when we moved in.” he said, rubbing at his eyes beneath the glasses that I don’t think he actually needed. “After Baby was born everything sort of...escalated.” he shuffled his feet and frowned. “We don’t want to move. We put a lot of work into our home, VT.”

“Well.” I said, foisting Baby off into Wife’s arms. “It might be a wandering spirit...might even be a kid. They tend to gravitate towards new parents, in hopes someone can help them. I’ll come back tonight to see if we can’t contact the spirit and figure out what’s going on.”

“Tonight might be...problematic. We have a little ceremony planned for Baby.” she said, smiling and dimpling in the *cutest* way. “All the neighbors will be there!”

You see where this is going now, right? Fuck, I wish I had.

“I mean, so long as it isn’t in this house. Large gatherings might upset the spirit.” I said, softly. Baby was already dozing in her mother’s arms. “If it has to be here, I can always come afterwards.”

They agreed and [REDACTED] had me drive them home before I took the car to their motel. I was scheduled for another walkthrough around ten, tonight. That gave me time to shower, check my gear, take a nap and check my gear, again.

Then it all went to hell.

It’s no secret that most PEs are riddled with ink. I’m no different, but all of mine are on my back and upper arms. It took time to learn which portion of my skin would react to whatever was in the air. 

The dead center of my back, right on top of the upper portion of my spine, lit up like fire. Usually, it’s a small, specific spot, but it felt like there were three or four of the small, inked runes lighting up at once. 

Necromancy.

Blood magic.

Demonic presence.

Those are the big three tattoos. If one of those goes off, I know I need back up. If all three go off...run. Just run. Necromancy in of itself isn’t a strictly forbidden art in the SC, but blood magic is. Demons, on the other hand...well, they’re just like other members of the SC. Some are good, some are bad and some...some need a hot lead injection right between the eyes.

That tattoo only lit up in the presence of a demon with evil on the mind. Feeling the pain in my back, my fight or flight responses kicked in. I strapped Peace to my thigh, shouldered my bag and made for [REDACTED]’s car.

I made it to the house at 9pm, a full hour before I was due. Cars were lined up down the block, so I just parked in a vacant driveway. I could apologize later. My phone jingled it’s clarion call and I answered immediately. I always answer Ramona as quickly as I can. “VT!” she was practically in the midst of a panic attack. “I was scrying and I had to call. VT, you need to come home now. Whatever case you’re on, drop it.”

“There’s a kid in there, Ramona.” I protested, eyes on the lit up windows of Husband and Wife’s home. “I can’t walk away.”

“VT, you don’t even like kids. And honestly...all I saw was blood. I hate to say it VT, but that child is probably -- “ “I know!” I shouted, the burning in my back getting all the more intense. “I know. Look, I know I don’t like kids, but that doesn’t mean I want to let one die. If there’s anything I can do, I have to do it.”

Ramona went silent, and I waited. “...I’ll pray to the spirits for your protection, VT. Come back to me alive, okay?”

“You got it.” I responded, my finger making for the screen to terminate the call. “Bye, Ramona.”

“Wait!”, her sudden shout stilled my hand. “Give ‘em hell.” I smiled and terminated the call.

The time for subterfuge and lockpicking had passed. I emptied a box of Elinor’s “special blend” into my pocket and checked Peace’s cylinder. Everything looked ready.

I bolted for the door and hammered on it. No answer. No sound beyond the door. I kicked, just next to the deadbolt and only got a wonderful jolting sensation that sent me limping and cursing in a circle. 

I wasted no time in stepping back to the street and running, full tilt, for the nearest window and diving straight through. I felt the glass slice open my arm as I covered my head for protection. 

I rolled across the carpet as I landed and came up with Peace in hand. Nothing. No one. The house was completely empty.

All of these houses were built the same, so it was a fair guess this place had both and attic and a basement. My leg still smarted, so the thought of climbing stairs up didn’t appeal, so I resolved to check the basement.

It’s always fucking basements.

The door was easy enough to find, right beneath the stairway to the second floor. It was locked, so with some creative ingenuity, I had it open.

[Editor’s note: Creative ingenuity means VT shot the lock off.]

The instant that door swung open it felt like someone had pressed a branding iron to my back. I ignored the pain and sprinted down the stairs, slamming into a wall as I reached the bottom.

The metallic scent of blood hit me with all the force of a sledgehammer to the nose. Corpses. Corpses everywhere. All in various stages of decomposition. I recognized Husband and Wife, not by their clothes, or faces...but by their hair. Wife’s golden mane of unruly curls and Husband’s stupid little manbun. (Why don’t they just call them buns for fuck’s sake?)

Every corpse in here wore the same robes, bore the same jewelry. I recognized the design. They worshiped Death. Not Elinor’s Death, the supposedly nice lady with the kid. They worshipped violent Death. 

They worshiped murder.

I fought valiantly to keep my dinner in as I saw what they’d had on the altar in the center of the room. I lost.

I couldn’t bring myself to unwrap the bundle that had no less than thirteen or fourteen daggers sticking out of it. The amount of blood on the altar told me, if the daggers didn’t, that they’d finished their sick little ceremony.

Baby was the sacrifice.

Human sacrifice has been a thing since the dawn of time. So has child sacrifice. It’s become taboo in the SC, due to the fact that pure innocence is a force so powerful that it often rages out of control. 

Doesn’t stop a few fuckwits from using it and dying for their trouble. I felt no sympathy, in fact I’d dearly hoped their deaths were slow.

“Do you want to kill them?” a voice, so sweet in my ear, practically lulled me straight to sleep. “See them suffer? I can make that happen. I can make every sick fuck out there pay for the wrongs they do.” it was my voice I was hearing. “We can slaughter them all. Val, we can -- “ That snapped me out of my daze. “Only my mother calls me Val.” I said, squeezing Peace’s grip. “And I hate that bitch.”

I turned and saw who’d been whispering. It was a mirror image of myself, albeit a perverted one. My features were too fine, too distinct. It was like someone took my face and stretched it over my bones. It smiled in a way that if I ever say that expression on my own face, I’d lay down on some train tracks and wait.

“What? You don’t want to make them suffer? They killed an infant, and for what? Power? To summon something they shouldn’t? C’mon, VT, we both know better.” the mirror me scoffed and threw up her hands. “You do this job because you like the blood.”

“Not really.” I said, conversationally. I knew what this was, this was what they’d summoned. After killing it’s summoners it still wanted more. There was only one way to deal with something as malevolent as this. Deprive it of power. “I do this job because it pays the bills and I was born into it. Plus, I just so happen to be very good at what I do.”

“Murdering living things? Banishing non-living things?” it asked, grinning.

“No. Dealing with trash like you that only exists to hurt others.” I smiled right back. “So, I suppose you could call me a glorified garbage woman.”

That pissed it off. It’s face warped into an unholy mask of fury and it lunged. When a demon takes on a form, it’s trapped with that form’s physical ability. The demon was just as strong as I was, with none of the training. Meaning it’d be dangerous, but manageable. 

It grabbed onto me and we both tumbled to the floor. Peace skittered away from my grip as the demon slammed it’s fists into my face. I felt my nose break and my lip split beneath the melee onslaught. It seemed to notice the gun and lunged off of me to make a wild grab.

I took my chance. The instant it’s weight left me, I made a wild grab for it’s hair and yanked. It screeched it’s rage and continued to paw for the gun as I mounted it’s shoulders and slammed it’s face into the concrete floor again and again and again. I couldn’t kill it, not with my bare hands. The more effort I wasted on the demon, the stronger it’d get. I shoved to my feet and aimed a hard kick to it’s ribs, leaning down to grab my gun. The demon was already on it’s feet, thick, black blood oozing across my distorted features. “Yes...yes...fight. Struggle. Feed me.”

“Nah.” I said, wiping my bloody, broken nose on my sleeve. “It’s garbage day, bitch.” I pointed Peace dead at the demon’s head and fired. My ears rung with Peace’s gunfire scream. The demon’s head was decimated and it’s true form started oozing out. A thick, gray mist that hung in the air and screamed. I couldn’t very well shoot that.

A demon can’t be killed. Some make physical forms for themselves, examples being incubi or succubi. Some take on forms of those they find aesthetically pleasing. Some take on the forms of their victims...but when the body dies, their true self escapes. The dingier looking the cloud, the more evil the demon.

And this bitch looked like pollution. 

I made for the stairs, determined not to let the demon try and slide it’s way into me. Possession is tricky enough to deal with, I didn’t want to cause another PE more trouble than they already had.

The second I topped the stairs I realized I’d made a mistake. Someone was already waiting.

And she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her skin was olive in coloring and flawless. Her hair hung about her like a veil made of pure shadow. Her eyes glowed an unearthly green, devoid of pupil. I barely even noticed that she was wearing a billowing robe that seemed to want to suck me in.

“Run.” I panted, trying to push past her to no avail. “Demon. Very angry demon.”

She smiled, softly and nodded “I know. Please, stand aside, VT.”

VT? She knew my name?

She brushed by me, leaving my skin like ice. I couldn’t move, speak or think. I don’t know how long I was standing there, staring into space. A horrifying screech pulled me from my hypnotic trance and sent me barreling down the stairs. The demon was trying to cling to the pipes that ran along the ceiling of the basement.

The woman was inhaling it. “Stop!” I shouted, grabbing her shoulder “It’s going to kill you!” she paid no attention, continuing her upsettingly long inhale. “Stop!” I shook her, but too late. The last of the demon had just vanished past her full, stupidly kissable lips. 

Fuck.

She coughed, swallowed and smacked her lips. “Unpleasant.” she said, rubbing her throat. “But slightly tangy.” she smiled and looked to me. “You’re covered in blood, will you be alright?”

I wiped the blood from my face and nodded. “Yeah, nothing serious. What...are you?”

The woman laughed and I felt my stomach drop. “Oh, silly, little girl...you know already, don’t you?”

That’s the first time in my life that being called a silly, little girl was a turn on. “No.” I whispered, softly. “I have no fucking idea.”

She laughed again and approached the bundle. One by one she pulled the daggers free. I take no shame in saying that I looked away. I just wanted to go home, at this point. When I was finally able to look back at the woman she held a baby in her arms. No. Not a baby. The Baby.

The bundle was still slack and bloody on the alter, but Baby was sleeping peacefully in this woman’s arms. Either I’d gone crazy or --  “Its her soul.” the woman said, conversationally. “It had been locked up in here as bait for the demon.” she caressed the infant’s cheek with a finger.

“No!” Husband’s voice sounded off like a gunshot. “No, you can’t do this to us! We command you.”

The room was packed. The robed figures were all standing atop their corpses, slowly approaching the woman still toying with the sleeping infant. Wife spoke next “She was our ticket to immortality! To godhood! You can’t stop us! We own you, now!” they weren’t paying any attention to me...and the woman wasn’t paying any attention to them.

A voice I didn’t recognize rang out “Kneel before your masters!”

That brought the woman from her trance. She didn’t look angry, only mildly annoyed. “Kneel? Own? Command?” she asked, frowning. “No one commands me, fools. I cannot be contained. I am not some dog on a leash.” she snapped her fingers and the spirits all dissipated with a clarion scream. “This is tiring.” she said, shaking her head. “It’s my granddaughters’ birthday party today, can I not get one hour’s peace?” 

“Who are you?” I asked, taking a step forward. “What are you?”

The annoyance fled her face and she smiled, sweetly. “I said you already know.”

The entire world dropped from beneath my feet. Primal fear exploded through my being as every atom of my being screamed at me to run. Run and never look back. “Death.”, I whispered, causing the woman to laugh. “Elinor’s Death.”

“I am everyone’s Death, child...but you may call me Isali.” she smiled. It was a smile only a mother could possess. “My...husband gave me that name. Isn’t it so strange. You exist for so very long by one name...and someone gives you another. One that you love with all of your being.” her eyes met mine “You know that well, don’t you...VT?”

VT. Ramona had given me that name and I’d latched onto it with all my might. “Yes.” I whispered, nodding slowly. “I do.”

“Do tell dearest Elinor I send my regards.” she said, enveloping Baby in her robes. “Oh, the corpses here have your payment for this job. You may empty their pockets, if you wish. I believe it shall more than cover your expenses.”

“Isn’t that...disrespectful?” I asked, feeling squeamish at the thought of looting corpses.

“Are you implying they are deserving of respect?” Isali asked, an elegant eyebrow raising. That was a fair point. I immediately started to rifle though the corpse’s belongings. She watched me, carefully as I did. “I must go. My granddaughters will be ever so upset if Grammy isn’t in attendance. VT, we will meet again.”

“Wait.” I said, pushing to my feet, still waring with that primal desire to bolt. “Elinor...Elinor said you have a son? How?”

She laughed, brightly and shook her head. “Love, child. Love.” she looked thoughtful for a moment then turned her back to me. “Come with me.” she took a step forward...and I followed.

The world went topsy-turvy, and my brain felt like a block of ice in my skull. When my feet stopped moving I was at Ramona’s bedside. Alone. I didn’t know how much time had passed, or if any had passed...but Death -- Isali, she knew what I wanted more than anything in the world at that moment. And gave it to me.

I pulled back the sheets to Ramona’s bed and crawled in next to her, snuggling up to her back and trembling. Even in her sleep, Ramona’s a caregiver. She rolled and threw an arm over me, squeezing me close. Come morning, she raised hell for my staining her sheets with my blood. Isali was never mentioned.

Case closed

#tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: infant death #tw: guns #tw: gun violence #VTverse #OC #writing #horror

[hotchnerfuckmeup]

Right Here

Pairing: Alvez x Reader

Word Count: 1,264

Request: yep!  Request here my darlings

Warnings: none but that I am only on season six of the show, so I’m very very rusty on my knowledge of this alleged cupcake known as Luke Alvez and that of the other characters I have yet to be introduced to.  I hope this tickles your peach nonetheless!

Summary:  Anon requested:  Hey there! Could you maybe write something where the reader is a war vet and something happens when they’re on a case to trigger a panic attack/ptsd and Luke helps them through it (because he probs has/had them too). Thank you!

A/N: Once again, I’m only halfway to season 12.  So I’m sorry if I’m wrong about anything or anyone.  Also, I’m sorry these request are coming slowly, I’m loaded with work, school, and requests, trying to juggle them all, so bear with me!

“Another bombing?” Luke asked, sitting down at the conference room table.

“Bombings.  Plural.  Three have made the Oberlin news in the past week, no casualties have been reported yet, but they’re still looking through the damage from the most recent, which was at a library last night.  There were two cars in the parking lot at the time of the explosion,” JJ said, briefing the team on the new case.

“Was the library open?” Reid asked.

“It closed about an hour before the bomb went off.  The lot surrounding it was vacated, and the cars have been identified to belong to Darcy Winters who owns the library and Shelby Mathers who works there voluntarily.”  As JJ said their names, pictures of said women popped up on the screen.

“What about witnesses?” you asked.

“None.  Like I said the lot was mostly vacated and the closest housing unit to the library is at least six miles away. People report hearing it, but that’s all we have.”

“What about the other bombing locations?” you asked, flipping through your file folder.

“All similar.  They’re in vacated areas with a low to zero body count at the time of the explosions,” JJ stated.

“Looks like our unsub isn’t trying to actually hurt anyone,” Prentiss said.

“Have the library victims been reported missing?” you asked JJ.

“Just Shelby Mathers.  Winters has no family in the area and lives alone.  I told the detective on the scene to let me know when and if they find any human remains on the premises.”

“Alright.  Wheels up in thirty,” Prentiss told everyone, prompting the agents to walk out the room.

You looked at the pictures for bit longer, feeling the familiar twitch in the pit of your stomach.  The flames looked all too familiar, bringing back the memories of three years ago.

“Y/N,” you heard from the door, Luke’s voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you asked, oblivious to the amount of time that had passed.

“Jet’s about to take off,” he said.  You looked at your watch in shock, wondering how time got away from you like that.  It felt like you were standing there for only about a minute.

“I-I’m coming,” you stuttered, gathering your files and leftover breakfast.  Before you could make your way out the door, Luke held his arm out to you.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked with a concerned look.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, shoving passed him.

One jet ride and three hours of pulling together a profile, you, Reid, and Alvez were sitting at a round table in the middle of the police department.

“These are the only places that are as vacated as the other three crime scenes.  There’s no way of know which he’s going to hit next, but he will definitely use these buildings and areas as targets,” Reid rambled off, pointing out the marked places on the map on the table.

“We need to go to each suspected targeted location and ask if there’s been any suspicious behavior in the past week.  If there have been any recurring customers or patrons that fit the profile, then we have our guy,” Alvez said.  He dialed Prentiss and told her the updates.  

You continued to sift through the same pictures over and over again, seeing the seaside from three years ago, the smoke filling your lungs.

You started to cough, not being able to see through the thick black smoke from the explosion.  Your cadet was no where to be seen, and you felt the blood flowing down your face.

“Y/N.”  Once again, Luke’s voice brought you back to the present, jolting you out of your seat.  “Time to go,” he said, a worried look on his face.  You could feel the sweat bead at your forehead, and you knew you probably looked like a mess.

“Sorry,” you said quickly before rushing out the door leaving Luke to follow you.

“Do you have security cameras?” Reid asked the hostess at the breakfast diner.

“We don’t, it’s mainly locals and regulars that come here, so we don’t feel the need,” she replied.

“Has there been anyone new here recently?  Any new faces that you don’t recognize?” Alvez asked.

“No, not that I know of.”

You were busy looking at the people around you.  There were a couple families sitting at booths, munching on eggs, toast, and pancakes.  Two couples sat at the high top tables, sharing large platters of french toast and bacon.   There were two small groups of girls getting brunch.  

“What about men who come here alone, are there many of those?” Reid asked the hostess.

“Yes, there’s a couple.  They have tight schedules, usually.  I only see them like, twice a week.”

“So no suspicious behavior at all?” Alvez asked, beginning to sound defeated.

“Nope.  Sorry,” she finished.

“Not much further,” Luke said, turning to you and Reid.

“Maybe we should stakeout,” you suggested.  

Luke shrugged.  “It’s worth the try.”

You and Luke sat in the SUV outside the diner later that night.  It had been closed for a while, and they let the owner’s know the situation.

Your leg was restless, bouncing up and down a mile a minute.

“Y/N,” Luke said.  “Seriously, what’s up with you today?”

You kept your head turned to the window, focusing on area surrounding the diner, looking for any movement.

“I’m fine, Luke,” you told him in a stern voice.

“You’re not.  Something has been eating at you all day.”

“Give it a rest, okay?” you suddenly shouted.

“Anything?” Prentiss asked through the comms unit.

“Movement,” you said, seeing the dark figure walking too calmly away from the diner.  “He’s planted the bomb already.”  You were loading your gun and opened the door, hearing Luke call for backup.

“FBI,” you yelled at the unsub.  As soon as he heard you, he started running.  Luckily Luke was quick on his feet and started chasing after him.

“I don’t know when the bomb-” you started into your comms unit, but you weren’t able to finish your sentence as your unasked questioned seemed to be answered.  

The air was full of smoke and debris and the impact from the blast sent you flying backwards.  Your head pounded, and you were suddenly not on a vacant lot in Oberlin, Ohio. 

You were back at the seaside, surrounded by sounds of gunfire and screaming of innocent civilians.  You reached up to feel the blood pouring down your face, looking around aimlessly for your cadet, hoping she’s okay.  But she’s not.  You already know that.

“Help,” you heard your voice say.  “Please, she needs help!”

“Who, Y/N,” you heard Prentiss say. “Was there someone in the diner?”

“Cadet Humphrey, she’s drowning.  Please someone help her!”

“She’s having flashback, probably from war,” Luke said.

“She’s going to die,” you cried.

“Y/N!  Look at me!” Luke shouted, holding your face.

“We need to get-” but you weren’t on the seaside.  You were laying on a stretcher.  A doctor was tending to your wounds.  “Luke?” you asked.

“Yes, it’s me, Y/N.  I’m right here,” he said, gently rubbing your face.

“The unsub,” you said quickly remembering where you were.

“He’s caught.  We’ve got him.  Everything is going to be okay.”  

At his words, you lost it, crying out all the tears you’d held in for so long.  You must’ve been ‘gone’ for quite some time.  

“It’s gonna be alright,” Luke soothed, climbing into the back of the EMS truck with you.

But with your mind, there was no telling if it was ever going to be one hundred percent okay again.

#cm imagines #cm smut #cm writing #cm #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fan fic #luke alvez #luke alvez imagine #luke alvez smut #luke alvez writing #luke alvez fluff #luke alvez blurb #criminal minds luke #luke alvez one shot #alvez #alvez imagine #alvez smut #alvez fluff #luke alvez fan fic #luke alvez fanfic #alvez one shot #alvez fan fic #alvez fanfic #alvez x reader #luke alvez x reader

[lollercakesff]

the kid

pt 12 | AO3

They walk for almost an hour before they break through the trees, a large building standing tall before them. The sight instantly forces El back into the brush, her squeak of fear the only sound apart from the hum of the air intake system they were looking at.

“It’s okay,” Hopper whispers, turning on his heel and coming to kneel in front of her. His hands rest on her shoulders as she hyperventilates, her small frame buzzing and her eyes darting around them.

“I don’t - don’t make me go back, please, please,” she repeats and tears fill her eyes, voice cracking on a held in sob.

“You aren’t - we aren’t here for that. I need you to calm down though. Can you do that for me? Can you follow my breaths? In… Out… In… Out,” he continues even as the familiarity and the pain tears through him. Sara had been like this that first day. Sara. “In… Out…”

Fighting to keep himself together, to keep El together, he rubs his hands from shoulder to elbow, repeating the movement with the breathing commands. Time creeps slowly by until finally they seem to be able to center themselves, her panic having subsided and the tears dry on her cheeks. His memories still burn but the distraction of being here, now, helps him and he’s able to take the map of the town from his bag and spread it out against the side of a tree.

“Hawkins National Laboratory?” He mumbles to himself, glancing over at the building that stands alone surrounded by trees. In all his time spent looking for Larrabee he hadn’t thought to look in his own backyard, the solitary land having been closed off to the public since he was a kid. Run by the Department of Energy, he’d figured it was just another place on the grid, one that supplied the electricity to the town and nothing more.

But El was certain this is where she’d come from and he knew better than to doubt her. Even if she’d been lying before, her reaction upon seeing the place where she’d been held captive was pure and instinctive - you couldn’t force a kid into a panic attack. Not one like that.

“Do we have to stay?” El murmurs as he lowers the map, tucking it back in his bag and looking around them.

“No. We can head back to the truck now. I’ll come back out later and see if I can poke around a bit more. How are you feeling?” It only strikes him as odd after the words are out of his mouth, his question similar to what he’d always asked Sara after one of her attacks. He had to stop relating the two - it did neither of them any good to get caught up in the past when there were things in the present that needed their focus.

“I just want to go back to the cabin.” Nodding, he reaches out a hand to help her up off the ground and together they head back to the truck.

After El is safely deposited back home, Hopper heads into town to start fishing for information on the lab and the people who work there. He stops in first at the station, sidling up to Flo and trying to pry information from her. She pleads ignorance and goes on her lunch break, mumbling about his bizarre behaviour and how he never used to care about anything in this town. He tries not to take it personally.

Instead he returns to the library, parking out front and staring at the doors and the ominous figure who stands beyond them. He really didn’t want to spar again with a woman scorned - he didn’t have time and the prospect of it frustrated him. Starting up the engine again he headed towards the main drag and started working his way through the shops that could potentially have dealings with the lab.

Radioshack was last on his list and he’d tried to put it off for as long as he could. He knew Bob was working - it’d come up in half the conversations he’d had already that day - and Hopper wasn’t keen on conversing with the man whose girlfriend he almost kissed less than a week ago.

But that wasn’t El’s fault.

“Chief!” Bob greets with a wide smile, looking up from the tools and pieces of a small object scattered across his work station.

“Bob, I was hoping to catch you here.” Hopper slides off his hat and looks around the store, checking for wayward customers before getting closer and leaning against the counter. “I wanted to ask a few questions that I’d prefer don’t get out to the public. You know, police business and everything.”

Bob shakes his head and holds up his hands, laughing lightly as he does it. “Okay - you got me. I did partake in a bit of fisticuffs when we were out for Karen’s party, but I swear it was well deserved - “

Standing up straighter, Hopper furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side. “Fisticuffs? With who?” The idea of Bob throwing a punch was downright unbelievable - not just from the boy he knew from school but everything he knew about the man now. He was a marshmallow, harmless and sweet with no substance.

“Oh - so you didn’t - no, okay,” he laughs awkwardly as his cheeks flush, hands flustered in the air. “Lonnie came just after you left. Tried to get into it with Joyce. I guess I, uh, pushed him and he fell - but that’s not really what you came here for, right?”

“Nope. But I do love a good Lonnie story,” Hopper replies and shifts on his feet. He did love hearing about Joyce’s shitbag ex-husband getting his due, but rarely got to revel in it as the Chief of Police.

“I hate the guy. After everything Joyce told me about him - ugh! At least if we move to Maine she won’t ever have to deal with him again!”

It feels like a mirror is shattering within him as Hopper listens to Bob continue on about Joyce and their potential move. He tries not to show it on his face but he must fail because soon Bob is trying to roll his comments back and stuff the beast back in the box. Hopper tries too, to let the possibility settle in his stomach and reduce the choking feeling from his neck.

“Anyways, Chief, what can I help you with today? New radios for the station? Maybe a new TV for your place?” He offers with a customary tight laugh, the one Hopper remembers from high school.

“Um, I think I’m mostly just looking for information. Do you have any contacts with Hawkins National Laboratory? I figure since they’re run by the Department of Energy, maybe it’s connected with all of this technology stuff you work with. Maybe you have a contact there, or they have an account with this place?” Hopper resets his focus away from Joyce and back onto the lab, careful to word his questions without accusation or wayward suspicion.

“You mean that big place out on the edge of the town? I’ve never been inside, but a regular customer I have says he used to work there. He’s a weird guy though, doesn’t really like people that much. What do you need to know?” Bob finishes with a lilt of question in his voice.

“You gotta name for this customer? I’m doing some work on an old case, would be helpful to get the perspective of one of these guys who worked there,” Hopper says and stretches the truth, careful to leave just enough of it that it’s believable.

“Sure thing - he was in a few weeks ago. Guy by the name of Ray Carroll. Doesn’t live in town though, only comes back for meetings I guess. He’s got a real knack for batteries,” he adds and flips through a book he’s pulled from a drawer. His hand flies down page after page until he lands on something and shouts, “Ah-ha! Got it! Do you want me to write down his address for you Chief?”

“Yeah - great,” he mumbles as the man starts writing the information onto an old receipt. The bell over the door jingles as Bob hands Hopper the slip, the man’s face brightening as he looks around Hopper’s shoulder.

“Joyce! Lunch break already?” Hopper swallows back the lump in his throat before he turns around, preparing himself to face the woman who somehow has him tied up in knots. When he finally does see her, a cold part of him that he doesn’t quite understand, merely nods in her direction before slipping past her and out the door.

He’s half a block away before she catches up to him, her hand wrapping around his wrist and her small frame bursting in front of him. “You’re not even saying hello to me anymore?” She hisses, stopping his movement back towards his truck.

“I nodded!” He counters, stepping around her easily.

“Oh, come on! What changed? What is this Hop?” She riles, outpacing him until they’re both at the driver’s side of his truck, her hand slapping the door closed as he starts to pull it open.

Surprise riddles through him as she seethes, her jacket engulfing her but doing nothing to hide the way her chest rises and falls heavily with frustration. With anger. The recognition of it has him shaking his head, pulling the handle towards him slower.

“You want to talk about this now? Here? Or do you want to get in the truck where we can have a little semblance of privacy?” He asks lowly and waits until she sighs and rounds around to the passenger side. They both climb in and stew in the tense silence, their breathing audible in the enclosed space.

“What was that, the other night?” She starts, voice small and all bravado from before extinguished as she chews on her nails beside him.

“What was what? Nothing happened, Joyce,” Hopper replies lamely and rubs his hands over the steering wheel to keep from reaching out to her.

“Nothing happened. Sure. Nothing happened,” she repeats and shakes her head, eyes averted out the passenger side window. He tries not to see the way her frown spreads or the way her shoulders slump, her posture growing smaller as the words escape her.

“I thought you’d prefer that what with the move and all,” he adds weakly, not wanting to press it further but having to get it out of him. He couldn’t stuff the feelings back inside, they were bubbling up and spilling out.

“What mo - oh… Oh that. Hopper, that’s not, I mean, we’d talked about it but Bob is just - “

“You don’t have to lie to me. We don’t owe each other anything.” It strikes like a blow and he knows just how to aim it so that she recoils and shifts, for a moment disappearing into herself.

“I thought maybe, after… “ She whispers, hesitant, before sitting up straight and pushing her shoulders back and her chin forward. “If there was ever a time for us, Hopper, tell me now.”

He stays silent even though he wants to shout to the ceiling, to pull her against him and feel her skin on his. Instead he shifts in his seat until he’s facing her, lips clamped shut but a hand sliding across the seat until it brushes her leg. “It can’t be right now, but I don’t want it to be never.”

Like a fish out of water she flounders, mouth opening and closing before she slides her fingers between his. A tight squeeze and then she’s gone, slipping from the passenger seat and back out onto the street.

#el and hop #jopper #stranger things fanfiction #the kid #au

[the-vinedresser]

Hmm. Life. Literally this post is just sad so please don’t read if you don’t want to be sad. I just needed to dump emotions somewhere for my own sanity.

1. I’ve broken down the past couple days. But at least I’m getting emotions out.

2. The first night I felt like everyone was going to move on without me and be happy while I was still confused about how to be happy. Then I thought of the few times I’ve asked for help in times of need.

2a. The first one I remember was when I was alone in my room freshman year and was so stressed about turning in a paper. I walked next door and knocked and my friend hugged me, brought me to her bed and stroked my head and I knew everything was fine and I was completely overreacting.

2b. The next thought that came to mind was actually on New Years this year. I had this epiphany that in my drunk haze I was totally being comforted in the same way. My friend let me rest on him after one too many cigarettes and he also informed me that he removed throw up on me in the car. What did I do to deserve such lovely friends. I just remember being comforted because they kept saying, “It’s ok, Chung, you’re doing great. You’re fine.”

3. And then I realized the one thing those situations had in common was I made it apparent I wasn’t doing ok. I let myself be completely vulnerable, whether it was intentional or out of my control. That’s when it clicked — how are people supposed to know I need their help if I don’t tell them? I know it sounds like common sense, but I’ve been bottling up things for so long, I honestly really did forget what it’s like to open up to someone. Just without a filter and completely raw.

4. So I stopped myself from feeling bitter for expecting people to help me and somehow know what I’m going through, get my ass up, wake my mom up from her deep sleep, and cry next to her like I was a fetus back in the womb. LOL but no honestly sometimes you have to do that. It could be your mom, dad, sibling, dog, significant other, you just sometimes got to do it. It felt terrible because it didn’t feel real, but if also felt so good. Didn’t know I needed it so much.

5. But then I actually had a legit panic attack. I thought all this time I had panic attacks but nope those were not it. Losing feeling in your hands and feet, pounding headache, nausea, just losing touch of reality. But I was so exhausted and I wanted to sleep. So I slept through the nausea but kept waking up multiple times with a terrible dream that didn’t even make any sense and wanting to puke. But all I knew was that my body was not in it’s natural state and there was enough adrenaline to fight a bear. I had to keep telling myself none of this is real, it’s not real, it’s all in my head. Breathe. And then I eventually drifted into a sustainable sleep.

6. I woke up, tried to eat, watched Friends. It was really nice. Went out to sushi with the family. I was able to feel like myself again, even for just a little bit. I was starting to think that letting it out really was a huge step forward.

7. But later that night something triggered something. My brother just made a curt comment to me for being to loud and shutting the door on me and all of a sudden got really sulky and quiet. I was just like ok Megan you are being way to sensitive right now. Just go upstairs and figure your shit out. But then all of a sudden my sadness quickly turned into blinding anger. I wanted to punch something or break something. And I guess most of all, I was filled with this desire for other people to realize my anger too. So I went downstairs and brought down dishes and slammed them in the sink and stomped upstairs and slammed my door. Reminds me of seventh grade…

8. Eventually I just got louder and angrier and my mom came into my room to calm me down and I just talked about everything. Eventually I found out the reason why I was so angry was because I realized how upset I’ve been from past internship interviews with guys… basically sexually harassing me. Not looking at me or speaking to me in a way they would treat their own daughters. And I was just angry because my own brothers hate-talk strong women in movies and all these little things that made me explode. I know the only women they respect are ones that are rather and compliant and at the time, I didn’t see it as a matter of preference, I just jumped to misogyny.

9. But I just got angry because I was just angry with society for having women go through shitty things and then making them seem like they’re the crazy ones. Why do women get stuck with the depression and anxiety? Yes, partly hormonal, but there is no denying that social constructs play a role into it as well. And for that, I was just angered and saddened by the harsh reality ~*~that is life~*~ YAY

10. I calmed down more and realized that I like to over analyze things and that will lead to my downfall. Talking things out with someone really helps you filter through the crap in your head. But I also think an unanalyzed life is not worth living. Where else would I draw inspiration from?

11. I compartmentalize people when I meet them, just into two simple categories: bingo people and adventurers. And I know it’s pretty harsh, but honestly I love both sides equally. Bingo people are the people who dream about having kids and then having play dates with their friends’ kids and just living a very quaint, happy, life. Almost everyone I hang out with is in this category. And I’m secretly jealous of them. My entire family is like this. They find the simple joys in life. Versus the adventurers, who are rebellious, would travel the world alone, live on a boat for a little bit, maybe like horror movies, stuff like that. They’re just more individualistic and openminded I guess. I kind of miss hanging out with people like this. It makes me feel more inclusive. Lately I’ve been feeling pretty alone and like a freak because I don’t think the way most people do.

12. Like I watched a movie with my brothers last night and it was a horror film and I loved it. The symbolism and the underlying meanings and the composition of it was just so interesting to me, but my brothers were silent and honestly pretty psychologically scarred for a little bit and didn’t want to talk about it. They then switched to a corny adventure comedy. One of the genres I hate the most. But I know that my brothers’ reaction is the majority in just like a random pool of people so I felt like a bit of a freak for laughing at gore and people dying in unspeakable ways. It’s great.

13. But my mom and I did face masks and just talked until 3am and she slept in my bed and it was nice.

14. It’s weird though because this morning I woke up the most depressed I’ve ever been. I just felt like a crazy person because although I know there are tons of people out there who have depression and have experienced a million times worse than I do, they always know how to put on a good act in public, so I never know until they tell me. I can’t do that so I was just a zombie who refused to eat, couldn’t really talk or laugh at jokes and went up to her room to cry.

15. “Megan, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know, I’m just sad.” “Ok, get up. We’re going to the mall right now.” So we went but as you may predict, it did not end up well. I need to listen to my body more. Insane fatigue ensued, even after sleeping 8 hours. Just a ball of anxiety. Couldn’t talk or eat or drink it was terrible. Everything moves so slowly and you just look at people more and wonder how they’re feeling.

16. We got home, ate pizza, painted our nails, and watched a movie and SNL re-runs. I’m glad we were able to laugh and spend time with each other.

17. Ugh I’m so negative but I have to say the worst part about all of this is seeing anxiety and sadness spread to the people you spend time with because you can’t control how you’re feeling. That’s the worst part of it all.

18. I thought I was doing ok but my mom slept and I was alone with thoughts and all that unpleasant stuff so I messaged my friend. It helps. She told me that almost everyone has depression and anxiety at some point and productivity is the best way to manage it. This sucks and I feel bad for people who have been through this for a majority of their lives. I have zero fight in me right now but I know it’s going to come back. It’ll just take a little bit.

[thedragoon]

A vent, a rant. don’t read.

i need to vent desperately so sorry but like god i just need to know that this hateful shit exists in the universe somewhere i hate this god damn fucking holiday season i hate it I HATE IT FUCKING SHIT GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKERS PISS ON THIS FUCKING SEASON. So tired to fucking DEATH of everywhere i look seeing all these cheerful happy motherfuckers talking about plans and holidays and i go home to an EMPTY fucking HOUSE every single god damn day. i’ve been doing so well swerving out of depression lately but it feels like this holiday shit is going to strangle me to death AGAIN. and i don’t know if i can drag myself out of it again, my support system is more barebones than any other point in my life and i have nothing and no one to lean on this time... i just..ache..so fucking much. physically, because i stopped going to the gym and started eating like shit over a month ago, a huge fucking sign that i was repressing things again but of course i REPRESSED THAT I WAS REPRESSING SHIT. and my mental state is so bad because its that FUCKING time of year again and of course it wouldn’t be the holidays without my witch of a mother smashing every single horrible thing that i have ever experienced, said or done in my face. Perfect example:My temp room mate needed to go pick up something from walmart for her daughter. I told her long ago and repeated it yesterday, that i am not her ride(She has no car), or source of labor and will not be involved in any christmas shit regardless of anything else!  But shes become friends with my mom. asked her if she could borrow her truck, so my mom took her to get the thingy for her daughter. Which is fine, whatever, i just want to be left alone. But nope. See, she bought her daugher this carriage..thing that weighs like..100 pounds easy? So none of these tiny fucking women could lift it. And no one bothered to ask any other person to come help or put any foresight into it.  No, instead my mom BEATS ON MY DOOR when i was deadass asleep(and bear in mind, i havent been sleeping for shit for months now? Insomnia back, full blown, another fucking sign i ignored.). But anyway, she beats the fuck out of my door when i had barely been asleep 2 hours, and i was in the middle of a horrible fucking nightmare about running and gunning back in H-town, so i wake up disoriented and scared out of my fucking mind. I had a full blown panic attack, desperately looking around my room for a gun i no longer possess because i was absolutely certain the cops were kicking in my door and i was about to die. 5 minutes later i finally figure out where the fuck i am and what had happened. And of course im pissed off so i fly out of my room cursing up a storm My fucking SAINT of a mother gets offended that im angry at being awoken in this manner, so she proceeds to drop the following”Stop acting so filthy and ungrateful, its not like you need sleep anyway, its 4 in the afternoon(BITCH I WORK 12 HOUR NIGHT SHIFTS), your brother would be ashamed of you, the least you can do is help her give her daughter a good christmas, its not like i have a grandchild of my own to be concerned with, you let that one die, i raised you to be better than this its bad enough your going to hell just be nice for once Jordan would be ashamed of you”on and on and on... So i went out, lifted the fucking box out of the truck, pushed it into house, and went back to my room. put on some loud, sad music so no one would hear and wept my fucking heart out. I havent cried i SO GOD DAMN LONG. Because in that one 2 minute exchange, my mom managed to bring to mind 1:My poor dead baby girl, as well as reminding me that im a horrible person and failure as a father and (ex)husband 2:My dead brother(Jordan), whom i’ve already been thinking about too much because this is his favorite time of year 3:That i’m a lazy worthless human being, because work 12-15 hours a day isn’t enough, i did nothing with my potential, like i don’t beat myself up about that EVERY FUCKING DAY. 4:That i am(because belief systems get embedded in you, even if i’m no longer a christian i still FEAR) going to hell, because i’m a worthless, murderous, divorced foul mouthed deviant and the only reason she even interacts is because jordan died and im the only hope she has left 5:Bonus points:Slipping in that she “didnt raise me to be like this”When she in fact, abandoned me to the justice system when i was around 12. I survived in SPITE of what she did to me, not because of it.

Pile on top of this that friends have made it very clear that i will be spending both christmas and new years absolutely alone because no one feels like dealing with me when im sad and...i just..

why do i bother anymore? I am fighting so hard to grow and change but for fucking what? i dont want anything out of life... don’t believe in love or fulfillment in relationships anymore, i don’t believe good sex is even a thing. i don’t have anything i want or strive towards i just work and try to make myself comfortable and game half ass workouts.. 

i just..i’m exhausted...of this life ya’ll...and i get that my life isn’t that bad but i’m a coward and not strong enough for it regardless..

maybe i should give up

for real this time

for good.

#don't read this its ugly as fuck

[the-vinedresser]

Hmm. Life. Literally this post is just sad so please don’t read if you don’t want to be sad. I just needed to dump emotions somewhere for my own sanity. 1. I’ve broken down the past couple days. But at least I’m getting emotions out. 2. The first night I felt like everyone was going to move on without me and be happy while I was still confused about how to be happy. Then I thought of the few times I’ve asked for help in times of need. 2a. The first one I remember was when I was alone in my room freshman year and was so stressed about turning in a paper. I walked next door and knocked and my friend hugged me, brought me to her bed and stroked my head and I knew everything was fine and I was completely overreacting. 2b. The next thought that came to mind was actually on New Years this year. I had this epiphany that in my drunk haze I was totally being comforted in the same way. My friend let me rest on him after one too many cigarettes and he also informed me that he removed throw up on me in the car. What did I do to deserve such lovely friends. I just remember being comforted because they kept saying, “It’s ok, Chung, you’re doing great. You’re fine.” 3. And then I realized the one thing those situations had in common was I made it apparent I wasn’t doing ok. I let myself be completely vulnerable, whether it was intentional or out of my control. That’s when it clicked — how are people supposed to know I need their help if I don’t tell them? I know it sounds like common sense, but I’ve been bottling up things for so long, I honestly really did forget what it’s like to open up to someone. Just without a filter and completely raw. 4. So I stopped myself from feeling bitter for expecting people to help me and somehow know what I’m going through, get my ass up, wake my mom up from her deep sleep, and cry next to her like I was a fetus back in the womb. LOL but no honestly sometimes you have to do that. It could be your mom, dad, sibling, dog, significant other, you just sometimes got to do it. It felt terrible because it didn’t feel real, but if also felt so good. Didn’t know I needed it so much. 5. But then I actually had a legit panic attack. I thought all this time I had panic attacks but nope those were not it. Loosing feeling in your hands and feet, pounding headache, nausea, just loosing touch of reality. But I was so exhausted and I wanted to sleep. So I slept through the nausea but kept waking up multiple times with a terrible dream that didn’t even make any sense and wanting to puke. But all I knew was that my body was not in it’s natural state and there was enough adrenaline to fight a bear. I had to keep telling myself none of this is real, it’s not real, it’s all in my head. Breathe. And then I eventually drifted into a sustainable sleep. 6. I woke up, tried to eat, watched Friends. It was really nice. Went out to sushi with the family. I was able to feel like myself again, even for just a little bit. I was starting to think that letting it out really was a huge step forward. 7. But later that night something triggered something. My brother just made a curt comment to me for being to loud and shutting the door on me and all of a sudden got really sulky and quiet. I was just like ok Megan you are being way to sensitive right now. Just go upstairs and figure your shit out. But then all of a sudden my sadness quickly turned into blinding anger. I wanted to punch something or break something. And I guess most of all, I was filled with this desire for other people to realize my anger too. So I went downstairs and brought down dishes and slammed them in the sink and stomped upstairs and slammed my door. Reminds me of seventh grade... 8. Eventually I just got louder and angrier and my mom came into my room to calm me down and I just talked about everything. Eventually I found out the reason why I was so angry was because I realized how upset I’ve been from past internship interviews with guys... basically sexually harassing me. Not looking at me or speaking to me in a way they would treat their own daughters. And I was just angry because my own brothers hate-talk strong women in movies and all these little things that made me explode. I know the only women they respect are ones that are rather and compliant and at the time, I didn’t see it as a matter of preference, I just jumped to misogyny. 9. But I just got angry because I was just angry with society for having women go through shitty things and then making them seem like they’re the crazy ones. Why do women get stuck with the depression and anxiety? Yes, partly hormonal, but there is no denying that social constructs play a role into it as well. And for that, I was just angered and saddened by the harsh reality ~*~that is life~*~ YAY 10. I calmed down more and realized that I like to over analyze things and that will lead to my downfall. Talking things out with someone really helps you filter through the crap in your head. But I also think an unanalyzed life is not worth living. Where else would I draw inspiration from? 11. I compartmentalize people when I meet them, just into two simple categories: bingo people and adventurers. And I know it’s pretty harsh, but honestly I love both sides equally. Bingo people are the people who dream about having kids and then having play dates with their friends’ kids and just living a very quaint, happy, life. Almost everyone I hang out with is in this category. And I’m secretly jealous of them. My entire family is like this. They find the simple joys in life. Versus the adventurers, who are rebellious, would travel the world alone, live on a boat for a little bit, maybe like horror movies, stuff like that. They’re just more individualistic and openminded I guess. I kind of miss hanging out with people like this. It makes me feel more inclusive. Lately I’ve been feeling pretty alone and like a freak because I don’t think the way most people do. 12. Like I watched a movie with my brothers last night and it was a horror film and I loved it. The symbolism and the underlying meanings and the composition of it was just so interesting to me, but my brothers were silent and honestly pretty psychologically scarred for a little bit and didn’t want to talk about it. They then switched to a corny adventure comedy. One of the genres I hate the most. But I know that my brothers’ reaction is the majority in just like a random pool of people so I felt like a bit of a freak for laughing at gore and people dying in unspeakable ways. It’s great. 13. But my mom and I did face masks and just talked until 3am and she slept in my bed and it was nice. 14. It’s weird though because this morning I woke up the most depressed I’ve ever been. I just felt like a crazy person because although I know there are tons of people out there who have depression and have experienced a million times worse than I do, they always know how to put on a good act in public, so I never know until they tell me. I can’t do that so I was just a zombie who refused to eat, couldn’t really talk or laugh at jokes and went up to her room to cry. 15. “Megan, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know, I’m just sad.” “Ok, get up. We’re going to the mall right now.” So we went but as you may predict, it did not end up well. I need to listen to my body more. Insane fatigue ensued, even after sleeping 8 hours. Just a ball of anxiety. Couldn’t talk or eat or drink it was terrible. Everything moves so slowly and you just look at people more and wonder how they’re feeling. 16. We got home, ate pizza, painted our nails, and watched a movie and SNL re-runs. I’m glad we were able to laugh and spend time with each other. 17. Ugh I’m so negative but I have to say the worst part about all of this is seeing anxiety and sadness spread to the people you spend time with because you can’t control how you’re feeling. That’s the worst part of it all. 18. I thought I was doing ok but my mom slept and I was alone with thoughts and all that unpleasant stuff so I messaged my friend. It helps. She told me that almost everyone has depression and anxiety at some point and productivity is the best way to manage it. This sucks and I feel bad for people who have been through this for a majority of their lives. I have zero fight in me right now but I know it’s going to come back. It’ll just take a little bit.