#to talking

tagged by @cbk1000

here's some of the Wales fic for y'all

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“Here we are: Vervain Cottage,” Katherine said as she got out.

Caroline sat and stared at it for a long moment, thinking how she’d already signed the lease papers, she might as well get out and see what she was in for. Dirt and small rocks crunched under her feet as she pushed the car door shut and stuffed her hands in her pockets against the wind.

The cottage was old, god knows when it was originally built. Built of rough stone, it looked like it planned to continue sitting there until the end of time. The roof thatching would probably need replacing periodically, but it was singularly unconcerned with things like ‘wifi’ and ‘cable.’ They certainly weren’t part of the amenities on the rental list. Wrinkling her nose as she looked at the overgrown garden in the front, she glanced at Katherine.

“I didn’t see anything in the contract that says I’m required to pull weeds. I’ll warn you now, I have a black thumb,” she said, raising her eyebrows. She started toward the front door.

Katherine frowned. “That’s your landlord’s job. I’ll mention it. The electricity is on inside; I checked when I dropped off some essentials yesterday.”

Pausing with her hand on the garden gate, Caroline looked at her, confused. “Essentials?”

For the first time, Katherine looked a little embarrassed. “Just some general groceries to keep you from starving for a few days while you settle in. You’re not lactose intolerant are you?”

“No?”

“Vegetarian?”

“No, but—”

“Oh good!” Katherine put a hand to her chest, and looked relieved. “I have no idea what I would have fed you otherwise.”

Covering up her laugh with a cough, Caroline pushed past the weeds walking up the wide flat cobblestones that led to the door. “Do you buy groceries for all your new tenants?”

“God no.” Katherine’s voice was annoyed. “Most of my property sales are sheep pastures. I hate sheep. The closest I want to come to them is a Balenciaga wool coat.” Shuddering dramatically, she gestured at the door. “Let us in, I’m freezing.”

Pulling the skeleton key from her pocket, Caroline played with it for a moment, and then set her hand on the knob. The moment felt weighty, and she had this odd feeling like she was starting a new chapter, opening this door. Then she shook her head, told herself she was being fanciful and hoping for closure she never got just from moving across the globe. Putting the key in the lock, she twisted it and shoved the slightly sticking door open. It screeched open on dry hinges, and the dimness of the room was hard to see through with the dustmotes kicked up by her feet drifting through the air.

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Rules are post the last line you wrote from a WIP!

How to tell the girl who had so recently strived to become human again that Katherine had--in her twisted way--done Caroline a favor? 

Bekah just needs some perspective and a friend lbr

[I’m just gonna preemptively say, this discusses my experience with mental illness. If at any point you feel the desire to tell me how ridiculous the things that are Hard for me are, please just keep scrolling. I know it seems ridiculous. It feels ridiculous. But it’s how my my brain has been working for a long time.]

I had my meds adjusted a couple days ago, and this morning I woke up, remembered there was food in the fridge that needed cooking, got up, unpacked the relevant box (we just moved), cooked the food, prepped the things that went with it, washed the dishes that were in the sink to make space for the pot to soak, and ate breakfast. Then I went “right, I need to take out the trash”, and went and collected all four trash cans’ contents, plus the dirty cat litter, and took it out, then came back in and re-bagged 3/4 cans (the last can didn’t have an appropriate bag.

Like. Holy cow. Let’s count the individual tasks/spoons, any of which normally have the potential to have my brain eeping over “that’s Hard”.

1. unpack box

2. cook food (this is a biggie. My brain really struggles with cooking, it usually only happens once or twice a year. Maybe three times. You get my point.)

3-4. prep side dishes

5-8. yes, each dish + utensils gets its own spoon allotment. Dishes are another Hard Thing.

7-12. take out 5 bags of trash

12-15. re-bag trash cans

Fifteen. I did fifteen Things this morning, any one of which usually has the potential to make my brain curl into a little ball and want to cry, and certainly doing 2-3 of them usually leaves me exhausted if not eeping the hell out. And I feel fine. I decided to sit down, since it was hot outside, and I had to make three trips to the trash can.

Just. Wow.

"Bad dream?"

"Bad reality."