searches and seizures

Humans Are Weird - Prosthetics

So, I’ve just binged on a bunch of “Humans are Weird”/”Space Australia” posts and I’ve absolutely fallen in love with the ideas and the concepts, and I figured I’d toss my hat into the ring with something I haven’t seen much (if any) of - Humans with physical disabilities. I’m of the thought that some aliens are like starfish, and can just regrow their limbs after a period of time if lost, and other aliens will retire their crippled to more ‘homely duties’ with assistance by other aliens, or that some aliens will be rid of their crippled in search of a physically strong race.

—–

Zan’via had dealt with humans on their travels before, having even crewed on a few ships with small teams of humans on a few missions. And they could say that they were impressed: while a lot of the stories they had heard were true, there were many more things that he had not heard of but had seen that had left him thoroughly surprised and, in some cases, even somewhat scared.

They never expected to encounter anything like this.

To be fair, all the captain had asked of Zan’via to do was to go retrieve the ship’s head of security (a human that all of the crew referred to as ‘Chief’) for a pre-landing brief. And the Chief’s door was open upon reaching his berthing, so Zan’via didn’t feel the need to knock.

Finding the human with only their underclothes on wasn’t what shocked Zan’via. Seeing half of the human’s left leg on the desk across the room was.

“Christ mate, you should’ve knocked.” The human said with a breath of relief, having been caught by surprise by Zan’via.

“I apologise, Chief, I forgot that your species has reservations about being seen in a state of undress.” Zan’via responded, their eyes still fixed on the limb still resting on the desk top. The human noted this and sighed, reaching over to grab the leg and get it ready to attach onto his body.

“So, what’s up?” ‘Chief’ asked nonchalantly as he undid a few clips on the metal plate just below his knee and started lining up the connectors on the prosthetic limb with the plate.

“The captain has requested your presence on the bridge… what are you doing with your limb?”

“Just putting my leg on for the day.”

“I was not aware that your species had removable limbs…”

“Oh, we don’t. This is a replacement for the one I lost a number of years back.”

“But it looks artificial. I remember reading that humans can survive a number of injuries and heal back remarkably well.” To this, Chief laughed.

“Mate, there’s a difference between recovering from a few broken ribs and a large penetrating wound, and having your leg completely severed from just below the knee. Our bones can reform from breaks and fractures, our skin can seal back up, and some of our organs can and will grow back if we lose parts of them, but we cannot regenerate a large part of our body after an injury like that. And after decades of leaving people crippled after an accident or a defect leaves a person without an arm, or a leg, or a hand, we developed technology that allowed those people to regain their lost ability.” Chief finished clipping his leg on and rotated his ankle around to test functionality. “At first it was just to help people walk and move around, but as time went on, our prosthetic technology advanced to the point where we can replace entire organs without any loss in functionality. Hell, some of the replacement parts we’ve made can even exceed what the human body can do naturally.”

“But why?” Zan’via was still having trouble comprehending exactly why humans would want to do such a thing. Chief shook his head and stood up, beginning to put on the rest of his duty uniform.

“Because we believe that everyone should have the best quality of life, regardless of their circumstances. Just because you don’t have an arm doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to write or fly. Just because you don’t have a leg doesn’t mean you can’t run or jump or dance. Some people lose their limbs in accidents and find life afterwards hard because they can’t do things they once did beforehand. Others are born missing limbs, and never get the chance to do things ‘normal’ people can do. If we can provide a chance for them to live life like the rest of us, then why not?”

“I think I understand… somewhat.” Zan’via’s eyes then locked back onto the now-covered leg, then back up to the Chief’s face. The human could see what his companion wanted to ask next.

“Vee-Bee-Ess-Ess gone wrong, about six years ago. I slipped off a walkway on a Torian cargo vessle and my leg caught between a support beam and a storage container. Combat Medics had to sever my leg to free me. I was in hospital for a couple of months for healing and installation of the neural interface that allows me to move my leg the way I do, then another seven months in rehabilitation to learn how to walk again.” Chief then lifted his leg and rotated his ankle, then set it down and jumped and twisted around. Zan’via watched and just from observing, they could not see any major signs that the human was any different from any normal human. “Now I’m good as new, and have been kicking ass since.”

“I can see.” Zan’via backed up and let the chief pass them through the doorway as the pair made their way to the bridge. “Does it hurt?”

“The pain never really goes away, to be honest. Sometimes it feels like I’ve still got my old leg there, even when the new one isn’t attached. ‘Phantom Limb Syndrome’, they call it. But I manage, I’ve done so for six years so far.” The human then looked to Zan’via, and they could see the glint of determination in the human’s eyes. “If keeping my job and doing what I love meant that I had to have all my limbs fully replaced, then I’d do so in a heartbeat. Nothing can stop a human from a goal, nothing but death.”

Zan’via stood in place as the human continued on towards the bridge, dwelling over what the human had told them. The next chance they got, they would write it down into the ‘notes’ section of the manual in regards to humans.

Vee-Bee-Ess-Ess = VBSS = Visit, Board, Search and Seizure

cnn.com
There is an underground network preparing to hide immigrants
Faith leaders in California don't have hope President Donald Trump won't enter churches or places of worship where immigrants may seek sanctuary. So they are building safe houses and preparing rooms to hide immigrants who fear ICE will deport them.
By Kyung Lah, Alberto Moya and Mallory Simon, CNN

A hammer pounds away in the living room of a middle class home. A sanding machine smoothes the grain of the wood floor in the dining room.

But this home Pastor Ada Valiente is showing off in Los Angeles, with its refurbished floors, is no ordinary home.

“It would be three families we host here,” Valiente says.

By “host,” she means provide refuge to people who may be sought by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement, known as ICE. The families staying here would be undocumented immigrants, fearing an ICE raid and possible deportation.

The purchase of this home is part of a network formed by Los Angeles religious leaders across faiths in the wake of Donald Trump’s election. The intent is to shelter hundreds, possibly thousands of undocumented people in safe houses across Southern California.

The goal is to offer another sanctuary beyond religious buildings or schools, ones that require federal authorities to obtain warrants before entering the homes.

“That’s what we need to do as a community to keep families together,” Valiente says.

At another Los Angeles neighborhood miles away, a Jewish man shows off a sparsely decorated spare bedroom in his home. White sheets on the bed and the clean, adjacent full bathroom bear all the markers of an impending visit. The man, who asked not to be identified, pictures an undocumented woman and her children who may find refuge in his home someday.

The man says he’s never been in trouble before and has difficulty picturing that moment. But he’s well educated and understands the Fourth Amendment, which gives people the right to be secure in their homes, against unreasonable searches and seizures. He’s pictured the moment if ICE were to knock on his door.

“I definitely won’t let them in. That’s our legal right,” he says. “If they have a warrant, then they can come in. I can imagine that could be scary, but I feel the consequences of being passive in this moment is a little scary.”

It is our duty now to begin to lay the plans and determine the strategy for the winning of a lasting peace and the establishment of an American standard of living higher than ever before known. We cannot be content, no matter how high that general standard of living may be, if some fraction of our people—whether it be one-third or one-fifth or one-tenth—is ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-housed, and insecure.

This Republic had its beginning, and grew to its present strength, under the protection of certain inalienable political rights—among them the right of free speech, free press, free worship, trial by jury, freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures. They were our rights to life and liberty.

As our nation has grown in size and stature, however—as our industrial economy expanded—these political rights proved inadequate to assure us equality in the pursuit of happiness.

We have come to a clear realization of the fact that true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence. “Necessitous men are not free men.” People who are hungry and out of a job are the stuff of which dictatorships are made.

In our day these economic truths have become accepted as self-evident. We have accepted, so to speak, a second Bill of Rights under which a new basis of security and prosperity can be established for all—regardless of station, race, or creed.

Among these are:

  • The right to a useful and remunerative job in the industries or shops or farms or mines of the nation;
  • The right to earn enough to provide adequate food and clothing and recreation;
  • The right of every farmer to raise and sell his products at a return which will give him and his family a decent living;
  • The right of every businessman, large and small, to trade in an atmosphere of freedom from unfair competition and domination by monopolies at home or abroad;
  • The right of every family to a decent home;
  • The right to adequate medical care and the opportunity to achieve and enjoy good health;
  • The right to adequate protection from the economic fears of old age, sickness, accident, and unemployment;
  • The right to a good education.
  • All of these rights spell security. And after this war is won we must be prepared to move forward, in the implementation of these rights, to new goals of human happiness and well-being.

America’s own rightful place in the world depends in large part upon how fully these and similar rights have been carried into practice for all our citizens. For unless there is security here at home there cannot be lasting peace in the world.

So, you’ve been approached by a police officer, or two, and you have a little (or a lot) of bud on you.
What now?

Here are 5 things to remember as a cannabis user when dealing with the police:

1. Check your state laws. Is cannabis legalized for adult use or medicinally? Are you eligible to benefit? What are the maximum amounts of plants, dried flowers, and concentrate you can have? Make sure you know the current laws in your area. If you’re a medical patient, make sure to have an ID card with you and quick access to verification.

2. Beware baggies. Authority figures tend to look at baggies as an intent to sell. Try keeping your flowers in a prescription bottle, air tight jar or box instead.

3. Remember your rights! Unfortunately, in all states but California and Arizona, the smell of weed can be used as probable cause to search your car and personhood. However, according to the Fourth Amendment, you are protected from unreasonable search and seizure unless there is probable cause or a warrant. It’s important to let the officer know you do not consent to a search, even if they do so anyway.

4. Be quiet!

Outside of your name and address you are not obligated to talk to the police. The more information you give the more chances you have of saying something that might incriminate yourself. According to the Fifth Amendment you have the right to remain silent. Here are some good phrases and questions to use if stopped by the police:

 “Why did you pull me over?” 

“I’m not discussing my day.”

 “Am I being detained or am I free to go?”

 “I’m going to remain silent. I want a lawyer.” 

 5. Be nice! A calm attitude can turn a potentially nerve wracking situation with the police into a quick and uneventful one.

REMEMBER. Although cannabis is federally illegal, local and state police cannot turn you over to the feds if you are possessing, cultivating or transporting within the legal parameters of your state.

Stay safe, stay educated and stay elevated.

cnn.com
There is an underground network readying homes to hide undocumented immigrants
Faith leaders in California don't have hope President Donald Trump won't enter churches or places of worship where immigrants may seek sanctuary. So they are building safe houses and preparing rooms to hide immigrants who fear ICE will deport them.
By Kyung Lah, Alberto Moya and Mallory Simon, CNN

“A hammer pounds away in the living room of a middle class home. A sanding machine smoothes the grain of the wood floor in the dining room.

But this home Pastor Ada Valiente is showing off in Los Angeles, with its refurbished floors, is no ordinary home.“It would be three families we host here,” Valiente says.By “host,” she means provide refuge to people who may be sought by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement, known as ICE. The families staying here would be undocumented immigrants, fearing an ICE raid and possible deportation.

The purchase of this home is part of a network formed by Los Angeles religious leaders across faiths in the wake of Donald Trump’s election. The intent is to shelter hundreds, possibly thousands of undocumented people in safe houses across Southern California.

Workers rush to finish flooring for homes meant to hide immigrants.The goal is to offer another sanctuary beyond religious buildings or schools, ones that require federal authorities to obtain warrants before entering the homes.“That’s what we need to do as a community to keep families together,” Valiente says.

At another Los Angeles neighborhood miles away, a Jewish man shows off a sparsely decorated spare bedroom in his home. White sheets on the bed and the clean, adjacent full bathroom bear all the markers of an impending visit. The man, who asked not to be identified, pictures an undocumented woman and her children who may find refuge in his home someday.The man says he’s never been in trouble before and has difficulty picturing that moment. But he’s well educated and understands the Fourth Amendment, which gives people the right to be secure in their homes, against unreasonable searches and seizures. He’s pictured the moment if ICE were to knock on his door.“I definitely won’t let them in. That’s our legal right,” he says. “If they have a warrant, then they can come in. I can imagine that could be scary, but I feel the consequences of being passive in this moment is a little scary.”

Read the full piece here

Theo Raeken x reader (part two)

words: 1718

request: “CAN YOU PLEASE DO A PART 2 TO THE "is that my shirt?” WITH THEO"

“Part 2 to wearing theos shirt? please”

prompt(s): nada

warnings: is jealous!theo a warning? because thats really all it is // implied smut whoops // this has a really bad ending?

[…]

That incident was a few weeks ago. After Theo had left, Scott came over in no time with Stiles at his side with a bat in his hand. If Theo had left any later, he would have had a bat-shaped indent in his cranium no doubt.

The two boys had done a full search and seizure of your house as soon as they arrived. You were lucky that minutes prior you had decided to throw the shirt– that belonged to Theo you were previously wearing –In the depths of your dirty hamper. You had changed into different clothes afterward.

It had taken almost an hour of convincing, but Scott and Stiles finally took your word for it that Theo had been pulling their strings and he had never actually gone over to your house in the first place. Even though the Stilinski boy was convinced that he erased your memory, or forced you to lie for your own well-being, he soon left with his best friend by his side.

So, for the past few weeks, you and Theo have been sneaking around– no, sneaking around was for friends with benefits. People just having sex. But your relationship wasn’t like that, because you really liked and cared for each other.

He had taken you on dates. Whether they were out of town, due to the population of supernatural beings that hate him, or in his truck eating gross junk food, or just simply inside your house watching movies, you loved them. And you loved the effort he put into each one.

Even though you had to come up with a cover up story to tell Stiles, or text Scott, it was always worth it.

It was still hard to believe that Theo Raeken, the bad boy, the popular boy, the boy that you’ve had a crush on for God knows how long, liked you back just as much.

He really made you feel happy.

And that’s why keeping your relationship was a struggle. From the pack, from your parents, from anyone.

So, along the way, you turned it into a little game for yourself. You knew how possessive and jealous Theo could get, and you used it to your own advantage.

You and Theo couldn’t hang out around school, unless it was in an empty classroom or janitors closet. But, you did see him in the hallways, mostly because your lockers were close to each other, and because he just wanted to see you. He’d be watching sometimes, just to admire.

Now, you were st your locker, and you knew he was watching. But Stiles was at your side, and you were talking to him. It didn’t take some supernatural creature to feel that Theo was angry and jealous.

He watched as you two laughed, he listened to the words shared. Stiles was flirting shamelessly (though stumbling over his words like Stiles does), and it looked like you didn’t care in the slightest.

You were thinking about Theo, though. You were thinking of the outcome of your actions later, and your smile grew as your heart sped up. He could hear it, too.

The warning bell rang, and you bid Stiles a goodbye as he walked off. You watched him at first, though your eyes wandered over to Theo, who was glaring at the boy as he turned the corner. You smirked triumphantly as you shut your locker, walking the opposite way.

Lunch rolled around, and you sat at your usual table with your friends by your side. Liam (who had decided to skip class) and Malia were across from you while Scott was in the lunch line, and Stiles and Lydia were at your left and right.

Theo was across the room, once again, watching as you spoke and laughed along with the Stilinski boy as if it meant nothing. But it truly meant everything to him that you looked so happy with Stiles at your side instead of him. He was so unbelievably jealous because of it.

Stiles touched your hand. And you knew that was where you had to dry the line, so you subtly reeled it back as he continued to tell his story of freshman year, with Scott (no surprise there).

Immediately after, someone’s footsteps became evident behind you, and soon there was a presence towering over you. Everyone looked up, anger or annoyance etched into their faces.

You turned around as well, and seeing the face of your boyfriend, your heart sped up. You smirked and raised your eyebrows, “Hey, Theo. Whatcha doing?”

“I need to talk to you,” He said, glaring at Stiles as he spoke. Only causing the boy to grip onto your wrist, leaning back into the table slowly as if it would cause you to lean back as well.

Liam moved forward, across the table and his hands held him up, “We were talking to her.”

Turning around, you shook your head. You began to whisper, “Liam, it’s fine. I think I can handle a one on one conversation.”

He whispered back, “I can hear your heartbeat, y/n. You’re just as scared of him as we are.” The young wolf wasn’t the best at the art of being able to identify which chemo sigmas were which yet. You were glad.

You shook your head with a small smile, “I’ll be fine, Liam. No worries.” You slipped out of Stiles’ grip and stood up, looking towards the chimera. You put on your best facade and crossed your arms defensively, “What do you want to talk about?”

Theo looks over at the table, then at you, “Something that requires somewhere more private.”

“Fine.”

He took your hand and dragged you out of the cafeteria, and you did your best to look unaffected by his touch. But it was Theo Raeken, and that was merely impossible.

Once you were out of sight of your friends, or anyone else, for that matter, you began to laugh. You even let out a small laugh as he dragged you off towards his locker, he pushed you up against it. “What’s up, Theo?”

He frowned, his hands wrapping around your waist, “I don’t like you with Stiles. At all.”

“It’s just Stiles.”

He kissed your jawline, mumbling, “And Stiles has a very big crush on you.” He traveled down to your neck, sucking harshly, “And he needs to know you’re not available.”

When he pulled away, a large, purple hickey was taking place from where his lips were. It wasn’t long before he attached his lips to yours, and your arms wrapped around his neck.

The kiss began to get more heated, as hot electricity sparked between the two of you. Your hands raked through his hair, before someone interrupted you.

“Hey, you two!”

You and Theo looked over, fearful that it was a member of your pack, but you out collective sighs of relief when you realized it was just Coach.

He continued, “Get off each other! You look like you’re about to have sex in the middle of the hallway. And I don’t have any rubbers!”

The two of you pushed apart, and you straightened your shirt out while clearing your throat awkwardly, your boyfriend fixed his jacket while smirking proudly.

Finstock nodded and began to walk in the direction he was originally going. He took a second peak around the corner, after he walked away, thinking the two of you would get right back to it when he left, but you didn’t.

When he actually left, you turned to Theo, “I hate you.”

Theo smiled, “No, you don’t. At least, that’s not what you were saying last night.”

You laughed, the two of you beginning to walk towards the lunch room again, “Stop making those jokes!” He smiled as well.

You recollected yourself, Theo did as well, before entering the cafeteria. He lead the way, though parting from you as he made his way to his regular table and you made your way to yours.

You slid in your seat, a hand immediately reaching up and clasping the part of your neck that your boyfriend had left a hickey on. It was a little bit of an awkward stance, but as long as you were covering it, you didn’t care.

Liam leaned forward instantly, “What did he want?”

Pulling an uninterested expression, you shrugged, “The answers for Chemistry. He forgot to do it.”

Liam could hear your heartbeat. But since the moment you walked in it had been thumping quicker than normal, so he just assumed that the situation involving you being along with Theo, scared you a great deal.

“Really? The answers for chemistry?” Stiles butted in with a raised eyebrow. “He could have asked anybody else.”

“Yeah, well, in case you haven’t noticed, he isn’t the most likable person.” You glanced up from your lunch tray to see Theo already looking your way. You held back a smile, biting the inside of your cheeks in attempt, your eyes darting back down to the gross lunch food.

“But he could’ve!”

“Okay, it makes a little bit of sense,” The Dunbar boy defended.

“How? How does it make any sense?”

“Maybe he’s just messing with us for asking y/n for the answers in chemistry, but she’s also pretty smart, so I can see why he would as her.”

The two boys argued continuously, Liam being the one to defend Theo’s actions and Stiles being the one that not finding a lick of it believable.

You smiled, your eyes dancing across the room once again and meeting your boyfriend’s. It was no doubt he was amused as the boy’s argued in front of you, about a lie you had just created.

Knowing your pack would go after him the moment you said you were in a relationship, you urged yourself to keep it a secret. You made up lies and schemes to keep it quiet, and you were glad it worked.

I know Coach isn’t really in season 5 but we can pretend okay

Roosevelt's January 11, 1944 message to the US Congress on the State of the Union

It is our duty now to begin to lay the plans and determine the strategy for the winning of a lasting peace and the establishment of an American standard of living higher than ever before known. We cannot be content, no matter how high that general standard of living may be, if some fraction of our people—whether it be one-third or one-fifth or one-tenth—is ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-housed, and insecure.

This Republic had its beginning, and grew to its present strength, under the protection of certain inalienable political rights—among them the right of free speech, free press, free worship, trial by jury, freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures. They were our rights to life and liberty.

As our nation has grown in size and stature, however—as our industrial economy expanded—these political rights proved inadequate to assure us equality in the pursuit of happiness.

We have come to a clear realization of the fact that true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence. “Necessitous men are not free men.” People who are hungry and out of a job are the stuff of which dictatorships are made.

In our day these economic truths have become accepted as self-evident. We have accepted, so to speak, a second Bill of Rights under which a new basis of security and prosperity can be established for all—regardless of station, race, or creed.

Among these are:

The right to a useful and remunerative job in the industries or shops or farms or mines of the nation;
The right to earn enough to provide adequate food and clothing and recreation;
The right of every farmer to raise and sell his products at a return which will give him and his family a decent living;
The right of every businessman, large and small, to trade in an atmosphere of freedom from unfair competition and domination by monopolies at home or abroad;
The right of every family to a decent home;
The right to adequate medical care and the opportunity to achieve and enjoy good health;
The right to adequate protection from the economic fears of old age, sickness, accident, and unemployment;
The right to a good education.
All of these rights spell security. And after this war is won we must be prepared to move forward, in the implementation of these rights, to new goals of human happiness and well-being.

America’s own rightful place in the world depends in large part upon how fully these and similar rights have been carried into practice for all our citizens. For unless there is security here at home there cannot be lasting peace in the world.

Can US Customs and Border officials search your phone?

Recent detentions and seizures of phones and other material from travelers to the United States have sparked alarm. Below, ProPublica details what powers US Customs and Border Protection officials have over you and your devices.

A NASA scientist heading home to the US said he was detained in January at a Houston airport, where US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officers pressured him for access to his work phone and its potentially sensitive contents. Last month, CBP agents checked the identification of passengers leaving a domestic flight at New York’s John F. Kennedy Airport during a search for an immigrant with a deportation order. And in October, border agents seized phones and other work-related material from a Canadian photojournalist. They blocked him from entering the US after he refused to unlock the phones, citing his obligation to protect his sources. These and other recent incidents have revived confusion and alarm over what powers border officials actually have and, perhaps more importantly, how to know when they are overstepping their authority.

The unsettling fact is that border officials have long had broad powers — many people just don’t know about them. Border officials, for instance, have search powers that extend 100 air miles inland from any external boundary of the US. That means border agents can stop and question people at fixed checkpoints dozens of miles from US borders. They can also pull over motorists whom they suspect of a crime as part of “roving” border patrol operations.

Sowing even more uneasiness, ambiguity around the agency’s search powers — especially over electronic devices — has persisted for years as courts nationwide address legal challenges raised by travelers, privacy advocates and civil-rights groups. We dug out answers about the current state-of-play when it comes to border searches, along with links to more detailed resources (below).

Original post on the TED-Ed Blog. Click below to read further!

Keep reading

Search and Seizure (Pt 1 of 2)

A/N: In honor of getting over 100 followers. This fic is near and dear to my heart. I struggle with epilepsy. I decided to write an epileptic reader into one of my fics because it helps me process it. I hope that’s okay.

You were on your way back from your pharmacy run. You buy something innocuous as well, this time toothpaste, to disguise why you really went to the drug store–to refill your prescriptions. You head back to Brendon’s and knock on the door. He lets you in with a smile and a little kiss.

“Hey Y/n,” he says “Where’d you sneak off to?”
“Had to get toothpaste,” you reply.
“You know there was a full tube in the closet,” he says, feeling bad that you went out just to get it.
“Oh oops, I didn’t know,” you reply easily with a smile.
“Oh well, just one less thing to buy on the tour,” Brendon says happily, kissing the top of your head. You smile up at him and go to your room, closing the door behind you.

You sorted your pills into each slot of your weekly box.

Three of these in the morning and night
One of those day and night too
One of that, but only at night
Two of the others, but only in the morning


Damn, you are one heavily medicated person. Whatever it takes to stay healthy, you guess it’s worth it. You had never been on tour before, and you were so excited. It was your last couple days of packing up before you leave. You were nervous though. Your epilepsy usually flared up when you don’t get enough sleep.

Brendon doesn’t even know you have seizures. He’s obviously noticed you take medication, but you’re discreet about it and he never asks. You don’t want him to treat you differently, or have him worry about you all the time. You’re sure he would overreact. You had been with Brendon for a year now, and your epilepsy had been so well controlled, you haven’t had a seizure in almost two years. It wasn’t really important for him to know. Until now. Who knew if your epilepsy would remain under control in such a new environment. You worry the craziness of touring might mess with it.

Once you begin the tour, all of your worries fade away. Every show Brendon performs is like pure magic and it keeps you going. And the celebration sex? Mind blowing. You are so proud of Brendon. You watch him from off stage pretty much every show, usually with Zach, and unabashedly jam out. Zach stands by while he silently judges you, but you occasionally force him to join in. He’s so tough looking, but he has a soft spot for you.

It’s two weeks into the tour and you’re getting exhausted. One night, you’re less enthusiastic than usual back stage during the show. Zach nudges you with his elbow.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” you brush it off as convincingly as possible, “just tired.”

The show ends and you make your way back to the bus. You climb into the bunk after putting on some pjs and you feel Brendon join you. He wraps an arm around you. You turn over to face him and he strokes your arm.

“Hey babe,” he says, “how are you feeling? You seem like you’re draggin.”

Zach totally told on you. Damn him.

“I’m fine,” you reply cooly, “not everyone is used to touring the whole goddamn world, ya know?” You laugh.

Brendon smiles and kisses you gently. “As long as you’re okay…” Brendon trails off.

“Yes,” you reply confidently, “and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He leans in and kisses you again. His face then becomes serious.

“Get some sleep.” He starts to move from the bunk but you grab his arm. He looks back at you surprised.

“Don’t go,” you say, and he looks concerned. “I’ll get lonely,” you added with a smile, covering up your anxiety. He seemed convinced that it was the only reason you wanted him to stay. Truthfully, it was because you’re scared. What if something happened? What if you had a seizure in your sleep and choked on your vomit and you never woke up?

Brendon stripped down to his boxers, tossing his clothes out from behind the curtain of the bunk. You cuddle up next to him and fall asleep nearly instantly.

You wake up the next morning and the bed is empty. You sit up quickly, but you hear Brendon’s voice coming from the tiny kitchen talking to Dallon, and you calm down. You stretch and roll out of bed, padding into the kitchen area. Brendon is manning a pan on the stove top. His eyes light up as you enter.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Brendon greets you.

“Well hi there, sleeping beauty!” Zach joked.

“What time is it?” You ask as you lean into Brendon’s chest and he kisses you on the top of your head.

“Eleven,” Dallon replies.

Your eyes grow wide. “Gees why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I wanted you to get some extra sleep,” Brendon says, rubbing your back. You nod gratefully and step away, sliding into the booth next to Dallon. Dallon puts an arm around you.

“Want to eat? We’re making pancakes,” Dallon announced.

“Yeah, sure,” you reply happily. The door to the bus swung open and Kenny and Dan climbed up. They both sat down on the couch.

Pancakes were served up soon after. The boys start talking about the set list for their show tonight. Dallon lists off the songs on his fingers, everyone nodding as he went. As soon as he mentioned Sins there was a collective groan, especially from Brendon. You smirked.

“Oh come on guys, do it for the fans!” You coach.

“Fine,” Brendon pouts. The conversation continued.

“We could close out with Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time,” Dallon suggested.

“I kind of li–” you started, but didn’t finish.

Everyone’s attention was on you, but you said nothing. A blank stare took over your face.

“Y/n?” Brendon asked you. You don’t respond at all. The boys are unsure what to think, but worry consumes Brendon. “Y/n?” He called loudly, leaning over the table to shake your shoulder. After some delay, you speak,

“–ike when you close out victorious, though.”

You see everyone staring at you with the strangest expression. Gees, was closing with Victorious that bizarre of an idea? You realize Brendon is touching your arm. When did that happen?

“Y/n,” Brendon says, confused, “Are you okay?”

Keep reading

Chapter 1: This Is Just the Start

Read the prologue


Song- “Where Is My Mind” by Maxence Cyrin

The First Day

July 2nd, 10:54 PM

“Alright, sweetheart. I’m going to need you to strip down to your bra and underwear for me.”

I give a sideways glance to the old, ragged lady standing in front of me holding a pen and a sheet of paper with a crude sketch of the human body on it. The room I’m standing in in New Hope Wellness Facility (a.k.a.- the cheesiest and most cringe worthy name for a mental health facility on the planet) is cold and desolate; only a grey cot with a paper liner covering it and a small sink crouched under a medicine cabinet share the space with the two of us. The crude florescent light beams down, bounces off the bare walls, and assaults my pupils, forcing me to squint until the skin of my eyelids block out enough light to focus on her face. I assume that I’m in the medical room of the unit, but the last thing I would ever want is to lay back on that cot and let someone probe and examine me. I’ll attempt suicide a thousand more times before I let that happen.

“This is just protocol for all of our new patients, Katrina. We have to strip you down to make sure you’re not hiding any drugs, alcohol, or weapons in your clothes or undergarments.”

“So, what’s with the sketch, then?” Sandpaper sits in between my vocal cords and I pull my ratty sweatshirt closer to my body, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

“Once I ensure you’re not trying to smuggle anything in here, I have to circle all of the places on your body that you’ve cut or harmed. None of this is going to be held against you, sweetheart. This is all just going in your file for the psychiatrist to look at before she begins your evaluation.”

“I still don’t want to take my clothes off.”

“I know, but you have to. I will make it quick, I promise. Fighting this is only going to make it worse.”

I sigh heavily and rip my clothes off at lightning speed, wanting nothing more than to get this over with as fast as possible. The lady makes me hold my arms out to the side as if I’m being crucified and begins to rotate me slowly in a circle, making notes of all the places the emergency room nurse covered the crimson-colored craters I’ve etched into my skin.

“Can I ask how you ended up in here?” Her voice sounds faint and far away while she concentrates on making sure she marks her paper correctly. I eye her as she makes big red circles on the backs of the thighs, on the calves, shins, tops of the feet, back of the heels, front of the thighs, hipbones… Huh, she’s using a red pen. How ironic.

I clear my throat. Vertigo begins to take over me and I reach out to grab the cot for support.

“I, um, I thought I was going to kill myself,” I squeak, carefully leaving out the detail of the voices telling me to do so. “I called 911 to get myself out of danger.”

The woman stops circling both sides of the ribs mid-mark and looks up at me through her silver eyelashes.

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Excuse me?”

She gently takes my wrists in her hands and moves my arms in front of my body, careful not to dig her fingernails into my torn-up flesh. I’m sure I look reminiscent of a zombie, and to say I feel like one would be the understatement of the year.

“Everyone who ends up in here usually wants to die. You’re the first patient I’ve checked in who landed here because they chose to fight for their life, not end it.” She shrugs indifferently before placing my arms down by my sides and moving my incredibly long, black hair behind my shoulder to look at my neck.

“But I didn’t ask to end up here, you know,” I breathe.

“I know, Katrina. No one does. But, at least you’re not mandated by a court to be here. You can sign yourself out anytime you’d like.” The woman places larges circles around the left arm and both sides of the neck on the diagram.

I shift my weight between my bare feet. “Are there people here who are court mandated?”

“I’m legally not allowed to say, but you’re number three of three patients on this unit as of tonight. It shouldn’t be that difficult to weasel some information out of the other kids here.”

What in the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Alright… You don’t have any illicit or recreational drugs on you, correct?”

I tightly wrap my arms around my almost-nude body and stare at the floor. “That’s correct.”

“No alcohol of any kind?”

I fucking wish.

“No.”

“Do you hold in your possession any over-the-counter medicine that when used incorrectly could bring about a state of intoxication?”

“No.”

“And you do understand that lying about obtaining any of these substances can and will result in a search and seizure of your property by police, an arrest warrant in your name, a fine of up to $250,000, and a potential stay of up to ten years in a federal prison?”

Jesus Christ, is this woman serious?

“Yes, I understand.”

“Perfect.”

She winks at me before capping her pen and placing the diagram inside a manila folder with my name scribbled on the front of it. I throw my sweatshirt back on my body, and as I’m working my leggings up my thighs, her voice catches my attention.

“Hey, Katrina?”

“Yeah?”

“Changing all of that gauze daily might be a nuisance since there’s so much of it, but it will help speed up the healing process of those cuts. And, between you and me, aloe and some Benadryl should keep with itching at bay.”

“Where do I get Benadryl?”

“The psychiatrist will have to mark it on your prescription card for the pharmacy to fill, but if you ask her for some when you talk to her tomorrow, it shouldn’t be an issue. I don’t see why she would object to giving you a small teaspoon every day while you’re here. Her name is Dr. Lawson, but everyone around her just calls her Jennifer.”

Jennifer… Her name rolls around in my head as I snap my waistband on my stomach. Tension that I didn’t even know I had releases itself from my shoulders and I smile at the woman.

“Thank you.” The volume of my voice shrinks down to match how small I feel after standing almost naked in front of someone for so long. I never want to take my clothes off for anyone ever again.

“Just get better, okay?”

I follow the woman out of the medical room and see her swipe her employee I.D. on a keypad to disappear behind a set of industrial double doors close by. I stand there, frozen, watching her through the small rectangular window until her she turns right behind a corner and her shadow fades from view. I know I wasn’t supposed to follow her, but now what do I do?

“Katrina?”

My mom’s voice fills the air and I make a 180 degree turn to find her still leaning against the nurses’ desk in the middle of the hallway, in exactly the same spot I left her before being ushered into the exam room. After calling her in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and leaving a voicemail explaining to her that I was feeling suicidal (again, actively choosing to leave out the part about the voices), she met me in the emergency room, crying and frantic. My mom, as much as she refuses to admit it, always has had a flair for the dramatic, and no matter how much I tried to convince her that I was safest there, that they had patched me up and found me a place to go for a couple of days until I was sure I wouldn’t do something like this to myself again, she wouldn’t sit still or calm down until the doctors spoke to her directly. She spent hours sobbing over the brochures of the facility the nurse gave her and didn’t let go of my hand the entire hour and fifteen-minute drive from the hospital to the facility, much to my dismay. Now, after signing insurance forms and receiving discharge information for when I leave in a couple of days, she loiters around and hovers over me, just like she’s done for the last nineteen years of my life.

“Mom? I thought you would have been gone by now. It’s going to be after midnight when you get back.”

“Katrina, I’m not going to leave without saying goodbye.”

“It’s not ‘goodbye,’ Mom. It’s 'see you later.’ You’ll have gone more time without seeing me while I was at school this year than you will these next couple of days.”

“I know, but this is different.”

“Why? Because you can’t convince yourself that I’m going to be okay this time? News flash, Mom: I haven’t been okay in a long time.” The bitterness in my voice slices through the air and I catch a couple of nurses sitting behind the desk wince at my words. Have they been here since I showed up? Why am I just now noticing them?

“You don’t think I don’t know that?” Mom’s voice raises an octave and she lifts herself off of the desk to face me directly. “Who was the one who dragged your ass to therapy every damn week for the last ten years? Who was the one who administered your medicine to you every single day until you refused to keep taking it? Who’s the one paying for you to be here right now?”

I look down at the white slip-on Vans covering my feet and inhale sharply, working like a madman to keep the anger suddenly building up inside my chest from exploding. I don’t want to hurt my mom again. Not here. Not now.

“I think you should go now, Mom.”

“I’m not leaving here without a hug, Katrina.”

“A hug my ass,” I mutter under my breath.

“Excuse me?” Mom reaches out for my chin and shifts my head upward until I’m meeting her gaze. Her touch sends bugs crawling across my skin and I shriek at the sensation, my voice high and shrill. I violently grab Mom’s wrist and throw her hand off of my body in an attempt to rid of the insects, but even when her touch leaves me, the bugs do not. They pitter patter, pitter patter their way over me, wedge their way under my clothes and into my shoes, and I begin a dance of desperation to try and shake them off.

“Oh god, Katrina. Not this again,” Mom snaps, unamused, rubbing her sore shoulder as if I took to her joint with a baseball bat.

“Get them off of me! Get them off, GET THEM OFF!” I begin stripping myself as a short nurse with blonde hair and red scrubs rounds the corner of the nurses’ desk and assumes a fighting stance in front of me.

“Katrina? Hey, Katrina, sweetheart, can you tell me what’s wrong? What’s on you that you need to get rid of?” Her voice is gentle, soft, and as I look into her baby blue eyes framed by mascara-coated eyelashes, I know she’s not here to hurt me. My adrenaline continues to pump through my body, though, and as I kick my shoes off and do a spin, my gaze finds my mother, who is staring at me unfazed.

“The bugs! Mom touched me without my permission and now the bugs ARE BACK. DON’T TOUCH ME UNLESS I SAY IT’S OKAY, BECAUSE IF YOU DO, THE BUGS WILL COME BACK!”

“Okay Katrina, I can get you some medicine to make the bugs go away, but you’ll need to keep your clothes on for me. Do you mind going into the rec room and sitting on the couch until I come back? Janet can sit with you while you wait if you would like.”

Blondie motions toward an overweight nurse with bad highlights standing behind the station and I nod, jumping and leaping down the hall before entering a door directly to the right of the nurses’ desk. I struggle to find the light switch and flop onto the brown leather couch. Janet follows close behind, pulling up a chair from a round table in the opposite corner and placing it next to me. I wiggle and writhe in my spot as the bugs begin nipping at my skin, leaving sores under my gauze pads. Janet watches me suffer silently while chewing on some dead skin on her bottom lip, and I can’t believe I’m here, my shit show acting as entertainment for the employees of this god forsaken mental facility.

“Janet, just so you know, I’m not crazy,” I grumble, clawing at the bare skin I have left, the little skin that was spared from my blades and from the medical work of the emergency room nurse.

“Katrina, no one here thinks you’re crazy. If we were worried about your psyche, you wouldn’t have been placed on this floor.”

“No, I mean I know that there aren’t actually bugs on my skin, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel like there are.”

Janet scoots her chair a hair closer to me and cocks her head to the side. “Really? Do you know what causes he bugs to appear?”

I nod. “Unwarranted touch. I don’t let people touch me without my permission.” My words are blunt, harsh, and I focus on articulating each syllable to perfection in a lame attempt to take my mind off of the pain.

“And Mom didn’t listen to you?”

“She never listens to me when it comes to that stuff. She always wants a hug, always wants a kiss, always wants to hold my hand, and I get that I’m her firstborn and that she doesn’t know how to help me anymore, but I don’t know how ignoring everything I ask her to do or not to do makes any sense at all… Damn it, WHERE IS THAT MEDICINE?!”

As if on cue, Blondie rounds the corner with a handful of airtight baggies and a syringe filled with a clear, jelly-like substance.

“You’re going to shoot me up with that stuff?” I raise my eyebrows at her as she begins to unwrap all of the plastic.

“It’s just some good, old fashioned Benadryl, but it’s prepped for an IV rather than as an oral medication.”

I squirm around in my seat, unable to follow her train of thought.

“But, I don’t have an IV in.”

“Yet,” Blondie says as she holds up one of the baggies with a little shake. “I’m going to put the needle in and leave it overnight, just in case Jennifer wants any of your medicine administered intravenously tomorrow, okay? If she doesn’t, one of the day nurses will take it out first thing after your evaluation.”

“Ugh, okay. Can we just get this in my system so I can feel NORMAL AGAIN?”

“Yep, it’s all ready. I just need you to stay still for me so I put in correctly. Do you need Janet to hold your arm down?”

Janet looks at me nervously and I soften, mouthing the words “it’s okay” before scooting up to the edge of the couch cushion. She places a large hand on my forearm as Blondie pulls on some latex gloves and disinfects the inside of my elbow with an alcohol pad. I take a deep breath, secretly craving the sensation of a sharp object piercing my skin. My eyes close as I feel the tingle of the needle entering my vein, desperately trying to stop the twisted smile from creeping onto my face.

“Good, Katrina. That slid right in. Now, this Benadryl might make you feel loopy and tired, but as soon as I inject this, I’ll show you to your room and we can get your bed set up so you can sleep for the evening, okay?”

“Like that will happen,” I snort. “I’ve intentionally overdosed on hydrocodone so many times that my liver metabolizes medicine before it even absorbs in my system. You’re going to need to inject me with my body weight in Benadryl before it knocks me out.”

Damn it, Katrina, stop talking. Quit spitting out your woes to the first person that’s willing to listen. You’ll sound like a nut job, or worse, a charity case.

Blondie places the needle of the syringe into the small blue tube attached to my IV and presses down on it slowly. I watch, entranced, as the liquid transfers from the syringe and disappears under my ghastly, paper-like skin. The area where the IV is inserted begins to warm and the sensation of pins and needles consumes by body, but my brain remains alert and my eyes don’t tire. The bugs immediately begin to die and fall off of me onto the floor one by one until my feet are surrounded with exoskeletons. I exhale dramatically.

“How does that feel, Katrina?”

“Better. Normal.” I lick my lips nervously and look at Janet, then at Blondie. “Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry I panicked on you guys.”

Blondie caps the small blue tube and adheres it to my skin with clear medical tape before reaching her hands out to help me off the couch. I decline her offer and stand up on my own, careful not to step on any of the dead bugs.

“Katrina, that’s our job. It’s what were here for.” Janet smiles softly as the three of us pad out of the rec room and back into the hallway. I glance around for Mom, but no sign of her can be found anywhere. Maybe she finally got the hint and left.

Guilt washes over me now that I’m medicated and stable again. All she wanted was to say goodbye and I wouldn’t give that to her. What a piece of shit daughter I am.

“Okay, Katrina, ready to find your room?” Blondie reaches behind the nurses’ desk and grabs a lanyard heavy with metal keys. I shrug and grab my bags that have been sitting atop the surface of the desk since I arrived and follow suit behind her down the hall opposite to that of the rec room and medical room. She stops at the second door to the left and I glance around, taking note that only two of the doors down the hall have names written on the whiteboards plastered on the doorframe. The room directly next to mine has Stephanie scribbled in stark handwriting, and the room adjacent and across the hall to me has a name sprawled in cursive so swift that I have to squint to make out the name: Grayson.

God help me if there is a boy living on this floor with me for the next week. I will cut his balls off in his sleep if he dares to even get within arm’s length of me.

Blondie messes with the lock, and eventually with a huff, swings the heavy wooden door open. She flips the light switch to the left of the doorframe and I’m greeted with an underwhelming sight: two twin-sized mattresses with small wooden bedframes beds sit inches apart from each other on a white tiled floor. In front of the beds to my left is the bathroom, which consists of nothing more than a shoebox of a shower, a dingy toilet, and a single vanity with a large mirror positioned above it. Opposite of the bathroom door is a large shelf of cubbies mounted to the wall, each about two feet by two feet in size. The rest of the room is barren, the light blue walls screaming for some kind of decoration or artwork to be placed upon them. I feel my shoulders drop as I walk to place my bags on the bed closest to the door. I had hoped it would at least be better than prison. Maybe I was wrong.

“Alright, Katrina, here’s your home-sweet-home for the next five days.” Blondie’s voice startles me out of my thoughts and I pull the cuffs of my sweatshirt sleeves past my fingertips before plopping on the mattress next to my belongings.

“Just a couple of housekeeping rules for you to remember: The water temperature in all of the faucets are controlled by an outside heating source, so don’t expect your showers to be anything more than lukewarm at best–”

“I’m sorry?” I raise my eyebrows.

“We can’t have patients intentionally trying to burn themselves while they’re staying here, Katrina. It’s a safety precaution.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“It’s also a safety precaution that we go through all of the belongings you brought with before you claim them, so don’t expect to find any shoelaces in your shoes or strings in your elastic waistbands. They’ve have all been removed. We’ve also taken your shaving razors, any hot tools you would use to style your hair with, and all makeup products. Those aren’t allowed during your treatment, but you’ll get everything back before you’re discharged. We didn’t get rid of anything. We’re just holding onto it.”

Woah, wait a second.

“I’m sorry… I understand taking the shaving razors and my flat iron, but why my makeup?”

Blondie sighs and leans against the door frame, crossing one leg over the other at her ankle. “We see more people with addiction than you’d be able to fathom, Katrina. When they’re detoxing and they’re desperate for any kind of fix, they’ll smash up eye shadow palettes and eyeliner and snort it just to feel something. We can’t take any chances.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t end up in here because of drugs, for God’s sake.” My jaw is clenched so tightly that my teeth grind together as I spit the words out.

“We can’t pick and choose who the rules apply to, sweetheart.”

I shove my hands in between my thighs and dig my fingernails into my flesh, using the pain as a distraction from the anger brewing in the pit of my stomach. They went through my shit without my permission?! They’re thieves. Thieves! They could have stolen anything they wanted and I would never know.

“Okay, so, we don’t have a daily cleaning service, which means you’re expected to keep your room neat for the duration of your treatment,” she continues. “We don’t room check, but if any staff member happens to wander down the hall and find that you’re unusually messy, there will be consequences. Also, you’re more than welcome to close your door at night, since the hallway lights stay on for twenty-four hours, but don’t expect it to lock. The lock strictly works from the outside, and the only way to operate it is with a key, which we keep secured.”

I grip my inner thighs harder until I begin to feel a warm liquid soak through the fabric of my leggings. The thick, familiar, dark red liquid that I’ve become best friends with.

“Finally, we have a lax schedule that we follow every day. Breakfast is at eight thirty every morning, and a day nurse will wake you up an hour before breakfast. You’re not expected to get up at seven thirty, but you can if you’d like. Lunch is at twelve thirty in the afternoon, dinner is at seven, and lights need to be out by eleven. That’s not to say you need to be asleep, but you need to be in bed laying down by them. As long as you’re not in therapy or undergoing any kind of evaluations, you’ll have free time throughout the day to do what you’d like as long as it complies with our rules, whether that be shower, sleep, draw, journal—”

“Journal?” I snap my head up and cut Blondie off. “I didn’t know we could write here. If I did, I would have brought my diaries.” For as long as I can remember, writing has been one of the few solaces from the hurricane that constantly churns inside my brain. When I write, the entire world around me fades until my voice is the only thing that can be heard. When I write, I am strong. When I write, I am fearless.

“We have some extra notebooks at the station. I’ll make a note for a day nurse to give you one tomorrow.”

I bite my lip and look back down at the floor, my fingertips grazing over the blood spilling out from my skin and soaking my leggings.

“Alright Katrina, I think that’s everything. Get unpacked and head to bed for me, okay? I’m sure you’re exhausted from the day you’ve had.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Blondie pushes herself off of the doorframe and sits herself next to me on my bed. “I’ll be sitting with Janet all night if you need anything, okay?”

I shake my head up and down lazily.

“And Katrina?”

I crane my neck to look at her, some of my hair falling in my eyes in the process.

“We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

I swallow and tuck my hair behind my ear before catching her name on the I.D. clipped to her sleeve. Erica. Blondie’s name is Erica.

“Thanks, Erica.”

It feels like she really means it, too.

***

Song- “Last Smoke Before the Snowstorm” by Benjamin Francis Leftwich

July 2nd, 11:42 PM

“Knock, knock.”

A deep voice fills the air behind me as I’m unpacking my clothes from my duffle bag and causes me to leap out of my skin. I turn to find the source of the noise only to be greeted with the most intimidating creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on loitering in the doorway. My eyes graze over him from his mix-matched sock-covered feet, up his old, baggy sweatpants, across the black muscle tank hanging on his torso, to his tanned face and messy hair. His jaw is clenched and his dark eyed glare gives me a once over before blinking slowly and taking a couple of steps into my room. The closer he gets to me, the smaller I become; he hovers over a foot above me and he smells like sweat and the lingering musk of men’s body wash. He’s a stunning creature, one my eyes haven’t had the pleasure of staring at before now, and I’ve never been more afraid for my safety in my entire life.

“You haven’t written your name on your whiteboard, yet,” he continues while walking to the foot of my bed, eyeing all of the piles of clothes I’ve made while trying to get organized. “A new patient comes in and creates all this ruckus while I’m supposed to be sleeping, and as I peek my head out to see who it is, I don’t even get a name. Now I have to crawl out of bed, sneak across the hall to their room when the nurses aren’t looking, and introduce myself to them in all of my sleepy glory.” Sarcasm drips from his voice as he breaks out into a boyish grin, and I roll my eyes at the sentiment, praying that my adrenaline will stop pumping long enough to get a steady grip on my clothes. Please, God, don’t let him hurt me. Don’t let me die here today. I barely escaped death this morning. I don’t want to have to do it again tonight.

“You must be Grayson,” I choke, my mouth almost too dry to speak.

“How’d you guess?”

I give him a sideways glance as he crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps expanding under his skin with the movement. “I was told earlier tonight that there are only two other patients here, and you don’t look much like a 'Stephanie’ to me. It was just a matter of simple deduction.”

Grayson chuckles and the sound makes me jump again before leaning my back up against the wall for support. “You’ve deduced correctly. I’m Grayson, in the flesh and blood.”

“Mhm. That’s nice.”

“What, you’re not going to tell me your name?”

“Can I tell you after I finish unpacking?” I’m trying to stall giving him any personal information for as long as possible.

“Sure, I’ll even help you.”

No, PLEASE don’t do that–

Grayson’s voice softens and reaches for a pile of leggings. Watching his hands curl around my belongings shoots off sirens in my brain, but I stand frozen as he spins on his heels and finds the cubby I’ve places all my other pants in. He places them down gently in the space before smoothing the pile free of any wrinkles, and as he heads back toward the bed to pick up some more, he finds me staring helplessly at him.

“Hey, love, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Love. Hey, love. The term of endearment shakes me from my trance-like state and I begin to stutter while taking unsteady steps toward him.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I'm—I’m just trying to get used to this new environment, that’s all.”

“I get it. It’s not every day a stranger walks into your place of slumber and offers to put your laundry away for you, all before they learn your name.”

“It’s… it’s something like that, yeah,” I exhale.

Grayson pivots to place another pile into a cubby before facing me again. “To be fair, this is new for me, too. I’ve never offered to help a peculiar, but unusually beautiful girl, with her laundry before I know her name.”

My ears perk up at his words. “What did you just say?”

“You’re not deaf. I know you heard me.”

The room around me begins to spin as Grayson clears my bed completely. I want to help him, I don’t want him to do my dirty work alone, but I also want to scream and run and get as far away from this boy as possible. He’s going to hurt me, I know he is. Why am I not running?!

But, wait, when did the buzzing in my head stop?

The everlasting hurricane that thrashes about inside of me brings a lot of noise with it, and no matter how hard I’ve tried, for the last nineteen years I’ve never been able to shut it off. It accompanies me wherever I go, with whatever I do, and I’ve grown so accustomed to it that I’ve become skilled at ignoring it. Most of the time it’s an annoying buzz, but it times of turmoil, it can turn into a wailing rage that is deafening beyond belief. Suddenly, though, standing in front of Grayson, a boy I’ve known for maybe five whole minutes, there’s absolutely no noise in my head. Nothing. The only sound I can pick up is that of Grayson’s breathing, slow and even, in and out.

Oh my god, did Grayson just turn the noise off?

“All done. Will you tell me your name now?” Grayson’s voice pulls me back to reality, and just as I’m about to open my mouth to answer, Erica pops her head in my doorway.

“I knew I heard multiple voices coming from this room. Grayson, get back to bed and let Katrina get settled in. She doesn’t need harassing.”

Grayson moves his gaze from Erica to me and raises his eyebrows devilishly. “Katrina, it is?”

I nod quickly, lacing my fingers together but unable to break from his stare.

“So… beautiful…” he breathes. Beautiful? He’s lying. This is some kind of sick joke. There’s no way. Me, beautiful? Yeah, right.

“Alright, enough flirting.” Erica waves Grayson toward her and he obliges. “You can bother her in the morning. Right now, sleep will do both of you some wonders. Come on.”

Erica ushers Grayson out of my room, and before reaching behind her to close my door, Grayson turns around to shoot me quick wink. Suddenly, he’s completely disappeared from view, and as I plop down on my bed and throw my face into my pillow, I wonder what in the hell just happened.  Was there some kind of energetic connection or am I going completely mad? Why didn’t I run away? Why did I feel so compelled to stay close to him?

Suddenly, in Grayson’s absence, the buzzing in my brain clicks back on.

Great.


Go to chapter 2 (coming soon)

Search and Seizure pt 2

A/N: Okay, here is the second and final installation of Search and Seizure! Let me know if you like it :)

@mrs-moose-winchester

Tw: a little blood

You wake up the next morning sore as hell. The way your muscles tense up during your seizures always does that. You roll over and see Brendon playing around on his phone.

“Hey baby,” he greets you, putting his phone down and pushing your crazy morning hair from your face.

“Hi,” you reply with a small smile.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“I’m okay. Sore,” you reply honestly.

“Do you want to have something to eat?” He asked and you nod. “The boys got you IHOP.”

Your face sinks as he mentioned the boys. Brendon knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want,” he offers, “I can let them know you’re not quite ready yet.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” You’ve had the ‘epilepsy infomercial’ conversation plenty of times back when your epilepsy was bad. You’ve gotten every question people could possibly ask so at this point, nothing really phased you.

You roll out of bed and wash your face, which was essentially caked in dried tears and snot. Cute. You came out and Brendon had heated up your breakfast. The boys were scattered about the bus. They all looked at you and smiled and said good morning. Brendon had obviously told them to play it cool. You are grateful.

“Hey y/n,” Zach says, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” you reply. Brendon slides next to you in the booth and places a hand on your thigh.

“We brought you back eggs and a cheesecake waffle,” Dallon said as you cracked open the styrofoam lid.

They knew those were your absolute favorite. You suddenly felt a little emotional.

“Thank you,” you said, and paused. “Thank you for everything guys,” you added sincerely, looking at each of them.

“Of course,” Kenny said.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you say, “I should have told you guys.”

“No, no,” Dallon shook his head, “you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yeah, Y/n,” Dan added “It’s okay.”

“We’re just glad you’re alright,” Kenny said and they all nodded in agreement.

“We weren’t sure what to do. Is there something we should do if it happens again?” Zach asked, ever focused on your safety.

“Um yeah, I’ll explain it to you guys,” you gestured for them to come over. They all sat around the table.

You give them the low down.

You explain how there are different types of seizures, not just the dramatic kind you see on tv. You point out that your “zoning out” episode from yesterday morning was actually a small seizure. You tell them about what medications you are on and how much. Zach literally takes notes.

You let them know that you have a particular feeling before you have a seizure that’s kind of hard to explain, but it feels sort of like a gagging sensation while one of your arms gets numb. It’s a good thing though, because it gives you time to lie down and get help. Some people with epilepsy has this kind of warning, others don’t. You get disoriented and uncoordinated at that point and will probably say weird and embarrassing things, sort of like being drunk.

You tell them about what is typical of your seizures: not breathing, biting your tongue or lip to the point where you bleed from your mouth, and being really scared and agitated when you are waking up. Plus, throwing up, peeing yourself and all those fun, involuntary bodily functions that embarrass you to no end are also normal.

You then tell them what isn’t normal: lasting longer than five minutes, if you fall and injure yourself, or having two seizures without coming to in between. Those are when you need to call 911. Aside from those complications, they really don’t need to call.

“So we don’t need to call 911 if none of that happens?” Zach asks.

“Yeah, if nothing is out of the ordinary, then you really don’t need them,” you reply.

Then you explain to them what they should do. Don’t put anything in your mouth, try to keep you on your side, but under no circumstances should they hold you down. They can pad your head, just like Brendon did last night or with a sweatshirt or whatever. Make sure you don’t hit anything around you, like how Dan moved the chair away from you.

“Other than that, you can time it because it’s good to know how long it is,” you say. “The first aid is all very hands off. You kind of have to let it run its course. The waking up part is the hardest thing to help with, I think.”

“How so?” Dallon asks.

“I’m just so confused that it’s difficult to get me to calm down. I really can’t hear anything,” You say, thinking about it for a moment. You continue on, “I also have a fight or flight reaction kind of thing, so I will try to get away or take a swing at you. I’m just really scared and it’s hard to help me through it. I don’t really remember what happens during that time, but I can remember how I felt, if that makes sense. Like, I can remember feeling scared and panicked, but I don’t remember what actually happened. ”

Everyone was listening intently, truly wanting to understand everything as best as they could. They cared about you so much. You are so lucky to have them.

“I guess the best thing is to just give me space and keep talking to me until I respond to you. Once I know who is around, then I’ll probably want to be touched and stuff. It makes me feel safer. More… grounded.”

They were all nodding.

“Being on tour and depriving myself of sleep is definitely a trigger for me, so I need to be more careful. But, I don’t want you to helicopter parent me right now. When I am actually having a seizure, I do need you to talk to me on a child-like level, but aside from that, I’m still the same person I was before last night,” you say. “I will be more forthcoming if I’m not feeling well, so you guys don’t have to constantly be checking in on me like I’m a little kid. I don’t want to be treated like I’m sick or weak. It really hurts my feelings.”

“Of course, Y/n,” Dallon responds.

“And you’ll tell us? if you’re having one of those feelings?” Zach confirms.

“Yes,” You reply confidently.

The boys all reiterate how much they love and support you. They tell you that you are so strong. You think to yourself how it doesn’t feel that way at all, but you suppose there may be some truth to it.

The next few days are actually kind of nice. Brendon checks in on you in an appropriate manner–not too often, and not too annoyingly. You feel closer than ever to him. You never realized how much you were distancing yourself from him by keeping your epilepsy a secret until the truth finally came out. It feels like now you know Brendon loves you for all that you are, no exceptions.

A week had gone by with no problems. You come up with a routine of napping during the day and it makes all the difference. You’re starting to get tired again though, after a couple late nights in a row. The boys were getting ready for a meet and greet and you decided to hang back at the bus.

“Are you sure?” Brendon asks. You nod. “And you feel okay?” he inquires.

“Yeah, I feel fine, I’m just really tired,” you say honestly. He smiles softly.

“You took your medication today, right?” He asks. You give him an annoyed smirk.

“Yes Mom,” You roll your eyes jokingly. He chuckled.

“Okay baby, I love you.” He kisses your forehead.

The boys all wave you goodbye and you curl up on the couch.

You wake suddenly. How long had you been asleep for? You feel your stomach roll over. Oh shit.

You sit up and no one’s around. Your arm becomes numb.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you whisper aloud to yourself, digging in between the couch cushions to find your phone. You try to unlock it but you end up awkwardly fumbling with it, your arm becoming harder to use. You finally get it and pull up Zach’s number. Brendon doesn’t keep his phone on him at meet and greets. You decide to lay down on the floor, so you can’t fall off the couch. Your eyes are welling up with tears.

It rings twice and then your hear Zach’s voice.

“Hey Y/n, is everything okay?”

You don’t know what to say and you let out a shaky breath onto the receiver, whimpering a bit. Zach’s tone immediately changes, speaking to you like a child and you can hear him start to move.

“Y/n,” he calls to you calmly “Can you talk to me honey?”

“I dun’t feel good,” Your high pitched voice slurs, regressing into a five year old.

“Okay Y/n,” Zach soothes as you can hear him walking briskly, “Are you on the bus?”

“I thinks oh,” you reply, becoming confused. Everything around you seemed strange. “Bren’on?” you say into the phone as your fear mounts.

“It’s Zach, Y/n,” he responds. You hear Zach hurriedly getting Brendon, We gotta go, it’s Y/n.

Bren?” you ask, already forgetting who you were on the phone with.

“It’s Zach, honey,” He reminds you, “Here’s Brendon, okay?”

“Y/n?” You hear Brendon’s sweet voice.

“Bren, I dun’t feel glood,” You repeat, slurring and starting to cry.

“I know baby, I’m coming, okay?” He replies calmly with his voice bouncing. You can tell he is running.

“Scared,” you squeak.

“I know Y/n, just keep talking to me,” He directed, “I’m right here.”

The concept of his voice coming through the phone was suddenly confusing. He wasn’t there with you… But you could hear him talking to you… How? You don’t understand.

“I don’–” You stutter becoming more upset, “What is… Wheh…” You trail off.

“Y/n, you’re okay, you’re just a little confused,” Brendon explained, “But I’m almost there, alright?” You nod, not realizing that obviously he can’t hear your visual reply. “Can you keep talking to me?”

“Bren, dun’t feel good,” you say again, the tone of your voice thinning.

“I know baby, I know, I’m coming to take care of you,” He replies.

Suddenly you are rolling over to vomit. Brendon feels completely helpless, unable to do anything.

She’s throwing up, he quickly fills Zach in on what he’s hearing.

“Roll on your side, baby, roll on your side,” He directs you, remembering that was important. “It’s alright, Y/n, it’s okay,” Brendon says, “We’re almost there, okay?”

He and Zach burst out of the venue’s exit and start down the parking lot to the bus.

“Ok,” You say tired, your voice barely recognizable.

You hear the door swing open and feel the bus shake a bit as two people enter. Brendon and Zach are then kneeling down beside you, out of breath. They are glad to see that you are, indeed, on your side. Zach puts something soft under your head and Brendon runs a hand through your hair.

“It’s okay baby, I’m right here,” You hear him say, a bit muffled. And that was the last thing you remember. You begin to seize.

“You timing?” Brendon double checks with Zach.

“Yep,” he replies.

“You’re okay, Y/n,” Brendon coos quietly, fully aware that you can’t hear him. He doesn’t care. Doing something is better than doing nothing. “Shhh, you’re doing so good baby. We’re right here.”

Brendon is still stroking your hair, keeping it away from the vomit next to you. Zach keeps one hand on your hip like last time, to keep you on your side, while he holds his phone with the timer in the other. He also speaks quiet words of reassurance to you.

Blood tinged spit starts to dribble out the side of your mouth.

“Oop–” Zach notices and he grabs a hand towel, passing it off to Brendon, who wipes the fluid away.

“Okay, baby, we got you,” Brendon says. He leaves the towel on the floor, covering your throw up. He goes back to soothing you.

Your movements begin to slow down and come to a stop.

“Good, there you go Y/n,” Brendon whispered in relief, “There you go.”

Zach stops the timer. “One thirty eight,” he announces quietly.

Short and sweet.

Zach and Brendon decided to back away from you a bit. Brendon talks to you quietly when he see your eyes begin to move around.

“Hi Y/n,” He begins, “You’re alright. It’s just Brendon and Zach here, okay? You’re on the bus.”

He makes sure to put himself in your line of vision while still giving you space. Your eyes are still wandering around, not particularly focusing on anything. You clearly don’t know what’s going on yet, but Brendon just continues to try, knowing that eventually it will come through.

You become aware of the horrible taste in your mouth. You felt the bitter twinge of vomit with a metallic finish. You scrunch your nose and open your mouth, chewing a bit. You draw your hand up to your mouth uncoordinatedly and wipe it, seeing blood smudged across your hand.

“It’s just some blood, Y/n,” Brendon stepped in sweetly, “You bit your lip a little, that’s all.” You couldn’t hear him.

You look past your hand and realize there is a figure– no, two figures– above you. You take a quick breath and draw your arms into your chest, wanting to get as far away from them as possible. A small whimper escaped from your lips. Their faces became clear, and a certain familiarity came over you. You glance around one more time, confirming that it was just them with you. You then go back to deciphering who they were. One of their mouths begins to move and you focus on it.

“It’s Brendon and Zach, Y/n,” Brendon tries.

You hear the tail end of his sentence, just your name. Everything clicked and you saw it was Brendon.

“Bren?” You ask with a small, tired voice. He smiled a bit.

“Yeah baby, it’s me,” he replied gently, “It’s me and Zach okay? We’re on the bus. You had a little seizure, but you’re okay now.”

You looked at the other figure and confirmed it was Zach, then looked beyond them and saw the bus surrounding you. You nodded slowly. You wipe your mouth again.

“I’m bleeding,” you say absentmindedly, not alarmed.

“You bit your lip a little,” Zach nodded.

You slowly propped yourself up on your elbows. Brendon and Zach both moved in and spotted you, not wanting to touch you just yet. You’re thinking hard, processing what is going on. The last thing you remember was being alone and scared. You look to Brendon again.

“Bren,” you say, realizing you are obviously not alone, “You’re here.”

“Yes I’m here Y/n,” Brendon replied with a small smile. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he added with a little smirk.

A smile tugged at your cheek. You push yourself all the way up to sitting and Brendon and Zach’s hands again hover next to you in case you became unstable. Brendon slowly sets his hand on your shoulder and slides a little closer.

“Okay?” He asked

You nod. You reach out to him with grabby hands, like a child wanting to be picked up. He smiles softly and slides closer to you. He pulls you into his lap, knowing that helped you a lot last time. You grab a handful of his t shirt and nuzzle into his chest. He smells like… like Brendon. You sigh a bit.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you.

“I love you,” you say, with your eyes closing.

“I love you too, Y/n,” he replies sweetly, stroking you arm. The sensation feels clear. Your eyes fly open.

“And you Zach!” You add, feeling bad for leaving him out. They both laugh. You’re obviously still a bit seizure drunk and you’re being very adorable.

“I know, I love you too honey,” he grins.

A small frown takes over your face as your awareness of your body returns.

“It hurts,” you furrow your brow.

“What does baby?” Brendon asks, looking down at you and cocking his head in concern.

“My mouth,” you reply. You wipe your mouth again and see blood on your hand. You look at it curiously. The acid from your throw up makes the cut sting.

“You bit your lip baby, that’s all,” Brendon reminds you.

“Oh. Okay,” you nod, finally understanding.

“Do you want to swish with some water?” Zach offers. You nod. He pulls a water bottle from the fridge and a cup. He unscrews the cap and hands it to you. You are still a little uncoordinated and Brendon supports the bottom of the bottle to keep it steady. You swish the water around and spit in the cup Zach holds out to you.

“Ewww,” you say innocently. You have them both laughing again. It felt good to get the burning acid off of your cut.

“Do you want to get off the floor?” Brendon asks, “Lay on the couch?”

You nod. Brendon picks you up and places you on the couch, sitting on the edge with you. He runs his thumb over you cheek and you smile, his gentle touch feeling so good.

“You did so good baby,” Brendon says.

“I’m a good little epileptic,” you say proudly with a toothy grin.

“Oh my god,” Brendon says with a chuckle, “you’re too much. Get some rest, okay?”

“Okay,” you sigh contently. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Brendon replied tenderly.

“Um, I LOVE YOU TOO!” Zach exclaimed, happy to ruin the moment. You all are laughing.

“You guys are too good to me,” You state.

“You deserve the absolute best, Y/n,” Brendon said, “Only the best.”

A/N: I hope you liked it! Believe it or not, people actually do say that I do a “good job” when I seize. It sounds weird but it’s true hahaha. I hope this wasn’t too “preachy/educational” and not fic-y enough. Please leave your thoughts too, I love your feedback. Like and reblog if you’re feelin’ it!

Warning: I think it's funny.

I’m tired from seizures and feeling sorry for myself. So I’m cheering myself up with horrid epilepsy jokes:

What’s blue and doesn’t fit?
A dead epileptic.

What do you call an epileptic in some leaves?
Rustle

What do you call an epileptic in a deck chair?
A Transformer.

What do you call an epileptic cow?
Beef jerky

How do you train for the Calgary Stampede?
Marry an Epileptic.

Playing hide and seek with an epileptic is called search and seizure

I refuse to make the salad joke. I used it in another post and I’m still proud of myself for it!

okay so i think a lot about art in star wars (obviously; mostly the propaganda because i am that kind of person) but i like to think specifically about the kind of art that would have been produced in the wake of the first Death Star and Alderaan - which unlike the second death star, is probably a lot less easily covered up - because i feel like that kind of event would have had an impact on the collective psyche of the galaxy such that it would prompt someone - hell, maybe their were Alderaani artists or musicians who were not planetside when the planet went up like that, or at the very least, Alderaanian diaspora down the line - to create some kind of art to grapple with the fact of such an occurrence.

so like, what if at some point, someone composed fictional pamphlets and instructional videos that riffed off widely broadcasted Imperial propaganda and instructional videos, titled things like: ‘What To Do When The Empire Lands In Your Backyard’ (a satirical instructional manual on the protocol to be followed when the Empire shows an interest in ‘developing’ your planet - evacuation or death), ‘The Enemy On Your Doorstep’ (a satire on an old Imperial piece of propaganda about the Rebels recruiting, this one focused on Stormtroopers and impromptu Imperial search and seizure raids), ‘Is That A Moon Or A Space Station?: Detecting Suspicious Activity In Your Star System!’ (or, the signs that the Empire might be building a weapon of mass destruction in your star system). 

and then things like songs that include snippets about recognizing air raid and curfew sirens, but are essentially anti-war songs, and the controversial single Attention Citizens which on the face of it appears to be a mish-mash of old Imperial instructions for evacuation in case of poison gas leaks or large-scale industrial accidents and chest-thumping Imperial propaganda, but opens with the lines attention citizens/we have just been warned/the rebels have landed and made contact/they must be exterminated/this is for the greater good/for peace, prosperity and the end of all war/you have two and a half minutes to evacuate - a scathing take on the destruction of Alderaan that is condemned as either ‘too exploitative’ or ‘needlessly provocative’ by wildly opposing groups of people across the galaxy.

but my personal favourite is the exhibition titled Entropy, commissioned by the the Committee For Galactic Disarmament as a memorial and was an installation of a Death Star, half melting, half bleeding over the viewer and surrounded by the hysterical screaming masses, ugly screaming humanoids and aliens and such, with elongated and melting faces and forms, sculpted in black and red clay. The only light in the room its installed in comes from lights installed inside the station itself, so everything is silhouetted by a dim red light. Once a day, at around the same time the Death Star fired on Alderaan, the lights flare until they’re a blinding, painful white, too bright to look at except through appropriate glareshades. 

THE BILL OF RIGHTS, EFFECTIVE DECEMBER 15, 1791

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Amendment II

A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.

Amendment III

No soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Amendment IV

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Amendment V

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.

Amendment VI

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the state and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the assistance of counsel for his defense.

Amendment VII

In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise reexamined in any court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.

Amendment VIII

Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Amendment IX

The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.

Amendment X

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively, or to the people.

screamingpuppies  asked:

Will the main character in TRW be LGBT?

I’ve gotten this question a few times since I announced the series, but I’ve held off on answering because the book’s been in edits for, like, EVER and it’s generally frowned upon to talk too much about a book before it’s “done” (”done” here having the meaning of “in copy edits” which, for those of you going “huh?” is the stage after big in depth content editing, where everything has basically been signed off on). I’m not sure how much detail I can go into now, though, but I’ll try to give you guys a bit more of a glimpse into just what sort of nonsense is coming your way Summer ‘18.

THESE REBEL WAVES has three POV characters (I’ve talked about them briefly before – Lu, Ben, and Vex): 

Adeluna Andreu, or Lu, is who I consider the “main character.” Which is really an unfair title now, because all three POV characters have almost equal page time. But Lu was the original lone POV character, back in this book’s first incarnation (like SNOW LIKE ASHES, this is a book I dug up from the recesses of my book graveyard and Frankensteined together). She’s a 17-yr-old cis straight girl of mixed race (though her chosen ancestry is a huge part of her storyline…I’ll let her explain next summer). 

POV No.2 is Benat Gallego, the Crown Prince of the theocratic nation of Argrid (I know, I know, princes in a theocracy? What it means though is his dad is the current king/leader of the Church, and Ben is set to inherit both titles from him). Argrid is HELLA religious. Devout to the point of daily burnings, aggressive search and seizure, and the cause of 99% of the conflict in the book (TRW kicks off on the back of a revolution for Lu’s country to get out from under Argrid’s attempts to cleanse them). Ben is a 19-yr-old cis gay man who is, no surprise, pure Argridian, and all I’ll say to squash any concern that him being the prince of the antagonistic country means he’s EVILLL is that no, he’s not evil. Don’t worry. Ben’s good people. He’s my Captive Prince wish-fulfillment character. My little gay princeling. My MOST FRUSTRATING CHARACTER TO WRITE because damn, this kid changed his motivations with every draft of this book for the first seven drafts. Drove. Me. CRAZY. But I adore him still, and (don’t tell the others) he’s my favorite. Probably because he put me through so much shit. We always love the difficult ones. 

The last POV character is Devereux Bell, or Vex, and yes, he chose that nickname himself, thankyouverymuch. He’s a pirate (or “raider”) in the same country as Lu, and dude was MADE to be an outlaw. Vex is my young Jack Sparrow-esque character. He’s a 19-yr-old straight cis man who also happens to be Argridian, which isn’t a good heritage to have, seeing as he lives on the island that recently overthrew Argrid for trying to murder everyone. 

A lot of people have asked if three POVs = a love triangle. Unlike SNOW LIKE ASHES, there are no love triangles in this book. There’s still romance, though – Ben starts the book in a *gasp* scandalous relationship with one of his guards, and there’s other various flirting and tension and so forth amongst other characters, but it’d be spoilery to talk about. 

So that’s a quick rundown on some of the goodies to come in THESE REBEL WAVES! If I haven’t made it obvious yet, I LOVE THIS BOOK SO HARD AND I AM SO EPICALLY EXCITED TO SHARE IT AND THE CHARACTERS AND THE WORLD AND EVERYTHING WITH YOUUUUUU. 

AP Government Review EXTRA: The Bill of Rights

Hi everyone! This is something that was actually requested last year, but I thought I might as well get it out there for the 2014 exams! Today, I’d like to share how I memorized the Bill of Rights (a very simplified and stressed out AP student-friendly version). 

  1. Press, Petition, Speech, Assembly, and Religion
  2. Right to bear arms and form a militia
  3. Do not have to quarter soldiers in private homes
  4. Protection from unwanted Search and Seizure. Warrants must have probable cause.
  5. No Double Jeopardy, cannot be forced to self-incriminate, and protected from abuse of court
  6. Right to a speedy and public trial by jury and a lawyer
  7. In Civil cases, trial by jury is still preserved
  8. No Cruel and Unusual Punishment. No unfairly high Bail
  9. Rights of the People
  10. Powers Reserved to the States

Good luck on the exam, and for the rest of the AP US Government and Politics’ review posts, click here!

Before you just ‘scroll pass’ really take a look this. No really! Take a look. Re-read the words. Some still don’t get it. Simply because you don’t want to. But for you, please, re-read these words. Damn near a full blown attack on Black People in amerikkka by the police force. Murder, illegal search & seizures, blatant lies, cover ups, rapes, sodomy, etc, etc…

It is happening EVERY DAY!

WHO GAVE THE ORDER???