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#thinking of anything suicide related because it will only send me to a worse and even scarier place
meatbricks · 2 months
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this one is related to something blu (i think) asked a few weeks ago that i forgot about until just now (and also because i get anxious about messaging or sending asks to people lol).
we know what will happen if the reader dies, but what about if bruteforce or the painter died? would the other dude act / grieve kinda the same or would it be worse? i NEED some fucking angst to think about man.
OUGH.. THIS REQUEST... i've actually thought about it a lot before but man... :') (also thank you so much for requesting!! ^^ i know this probably doesn't help any but you shouldn't be anxious about sending me stuff; i love to hear from my followers & people who read my blog in general, and it makes me really happy to know that someone likes my stuff so much to send in several requests/messages/literally anything LMAO)
ANYWAYS. onto the Large Sad™
warning(s): major character death, grief, self-harm via self-neglect, suicide, mentioned canon-typical violence, suggested necrophilia, codependency, unhealthy relationships, uhhhh. unironically the most depressing thing i've ever written for this fandom
hcs are under the cut!!
if either of the guys died, the other's grieving process would be. so much fucking worse
to put this into perspective (and idk if i mentioned this anywhere else, but still), these two have essentially been in each other's orbit (so to speak) since they were really young.. like. since painter was 7 and since bruteforce had literally just been born. sure they might not have ever interacted before that night at the bar but painter had been stalking bruteforce since he began existing on this mortal plane
...so naturally we'll start with how he'd react to bruteforce dying!!
upon initially finding out that his object of obsession since 7 years old and literal only friend ever is dead, i think he'd just. break
it would take a minute, especially if he wasn't in the room when it happened, but once the realization hits him he just loses his shit
all the work he put into the relationship they had, everything they'd been through up until that point, the things he'd planned for him (and both of them, really) in the future... just. gone. gone in an instant.
i don't think he'd really be able to speak coherently at all for a while, so many thoughts are racing through his mind.. why did this happen? how did this happen? could he have stopped this? he's mad. he should be mad, and someone needs to pay. god himself needs to pay. but he can't fight god. he's going to fight god, even if it's impossible. but he doesn't know how, and he'll never know how. there has to be something he can do about this. this can't have happened. this didn't happen. but it did. what is he going to do now? who's going to take care of him now? who's going to help him?
those last thoughts hit him like a bus. he realizes that without bruteforce he's essentially homeless again, with no accomplice to help him; right back to square one.
needless to say, it'll take him months, maybe even years to get back to his status-quo.. maybe he'd just stop doing what he's been doing altogether and just never leave the house
what he'd be doing? watching the tape from PIGS over and over again, just lying in bed, staring listlessly at the screen.
as a little bonus, though, if painter was in the room with bruteforce when he died, after trying and failing to get him to wake up he'd just.. sorta.. lay next to him for a while, as close as possible, even if just to pretend that everything is fine
and if painter died? well, plain and simple, bruteforce would just.. kill himself
his initial reaction would just be.. blank. with or without painter in the room, he would just.. stare. the only difference between scenarios is him carrying painter's corpse if he's there with him, or really just kind of. lifting him off the ground and holding him
he'd give him a proper burial, even though he'd like to keep him around for a little longer; it just wouldn't feel right to keep him there any longer
he'd bury painter with all his art supplies, and might debate on putting his paintings in the grave too before ultimately deciding to keep them around because it's what painter would have wanted
his general behavior after that still involves getting out of the house as much as possible, but eventually after coming home to an empty house enough times he'll decide he's had enough
he isn't ever going to be the same after this, he can't go back to just living normally after what he's done and he can't go back to killing people either because every time he'd see someone die the only thing he'd be able to think about is painter and how much he would've loved this if he were there. and he isn't.
he hasn't been sleeping, he hasn't been doing much of anything at all, he doesn't really want to go outside but he doesn't have much of a choice because he just can't stand being in this fucking house anymore but he can't leave, that would be too difficult, and whenever he does go out people notice that something's wrong and ask what it is but he can't tell them because that'd give him away as a serial killer
the only way he can see to leave is to die, and so he does.. he takes the gun he stole from the fords' place, goes out to where he buried painter, and shoots himself there; either lying on the grave or right next to it
no matter which one of them dies, the other one inevitably dies shortly after, whether it's passively or actively; and no one would find either of them on account of their house not even really legally existing
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irresponsiblehate · 17 days
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totally random because we mainly only like and reblog each other's posts but I'm having such a hard time right now...... I feel like I'm going fucking crazy because I can't actually let my emotions out...... I'm tired of feeling sick to my stomach and not being able to eat and being tired all the time and being so god damn angry....... I'm tired of holding everything in on the inside..... I'm tired of people hitting on my boyfriends and shit..... I'm tired of the homicidal urges and thoughts being a thousand times worse now that I'm in a relationship....... the intrusive and impulsive thoughts a trillion times worse, the suicidal thoughts, urges and idealation even worse than what it was before....... my love for them is tearing me down yet I don't want to let them go because I finally have them and I truly actually love them..... I don't know how to control and fix my possessiveness and obsessiveness..... I don't think it ever will be fixed since I have BPD..... why do I have to be cursed with this putrid, horrible illness...... I just wanted you to know I really do love your blog and maybe you'd understand..... I'm sorry for the random ass rant. I hope you're well beautiful.
— ❤️‍🔥
you never have to apologize for ranting, it’s important to get these things off your chest. letting them fester in silence is so so dangerous.
but hell, so much of this i relate to so hard. BPD is really such a bitch because there can never be anything causal or neutral in it— it’s all so extreme and intense. even “good” emotions like love can feed something painful and toxic and it’s like what is the point if all i do is hurt. i’m just always so tired in ways there’s no cures to, you know?
it’s insane how our minds truly are our own worst enemies. i wish i had answers and i wish i could talk you through everything but all i can really do is say i hear you, and i feel for you. i’m sending you so much love right now and i really hope things get better for you 💙 your boyfriends are lucky to have someone who loves them so much
and thank you! i’m glad you like my blog, that’s heartwarming to hear 💙
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kpopwerewolf · 9 months
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Introduction Post
So, I figured I probably should write this
SO! I'm a neurodivergent dragon (/lh /nsrs) that has a whole mess of conditions (described at the end of the post) and has a passion for reading, writing, fanfiction, languages, conlanging, animals, random factoids I'll never have an occasion to use, and mythical creatures! (Hence the "neurodivergent dragon.")
I don't like to give out my ""real"" name (by that i mean birth name) over the internet, but you can call me Skye because I like her (Agents of SHIELD tv show).
I made a tumblr account on accident, tbh. (I think i was trying to bypass a paywall??) But it works because I've been curious about joining for a while now.
Feel free to send me random factoids (especially about language or animals!) and anything conlang-related!
If you have any mythical creatures you want to share (either from pre-existing mythology or ones you just made up), I'll gladly welcome that, too!
The userboxes below are credited to @critter-stuff(link), @inclusysboxes(link), and @plural-this-user-is(link). (Sorry about the ping! If you want me to remove it, let me know!)
Our system-specific (and rather inactive) blog is @werewolf-pack-system(link)
We also started an emoji blog (mainly for aac purposes): @wolf-pack-emojis(link)
(Also, I'm not a minor, but please treat me as one in the manner of if you wouldn't send it to a minor, don't send it to me. I'm very sensitive and have some religious beliefs that make it awkward for me to see NSFW or related material.)
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[ID: a userbox that says "This system user alter and headmate interchangeably" //end ID]
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[ID: a userbox that says "This system doesn't switch often" //end ID]
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[ID: a userbox that says "This system does not participate on Syscourse." //end ID]
(information/discussion of neurodivergencies under the cut)
(Warning! CW self-harm and suicide; eating disorder mention; brief, vague mentions of unreality; potentially other triggering material)
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Sensory processing disorder
Diagnosed when i was about to enter 4th grade.
Lots of negative auditory triggers, with crowds beings sensory misery
LOVE SPINNING LOVE SWINGING [PT: love spinning love swinging //end PT]
Rain. Just... rain. Rain on my face, my arms, just rain all the time.
If i touch a Bad Texture(tm), i must immediately rub the after-touch feeling off my hand
I like going without socks, but only on carpet. If i walk on hard surfaces, then i start feeling grit under my feet and that's just not cool.
Pain and temperature sensitive
I have many stims, mostly proprioceptive (such as rocking [my fave!]), but also have a few visual and tactile stims as well. Fewer auditory stims, but i do use music to help me calm down after i get stressed
Anxiety
Was self-diagnosed for many years; got my official diagnosis a few years ago
Mix of social anxiety and GAD
Makes it hard for me to talk/initiate in conversations
Doesn't help i'm introverted
Depression
Comorbid with the anxiety
Was a bit of a surprise honestly (though i am a bit suicidal and have self-harmed)
Not really a whole lot to go here as i'm still working to understand my depression
PTSD
Diagnosed along with the anxiety
I don't personally see it, but i also kinda do
Diagnosed due to an incident that happened in 5th grade
(Public school is terrible, btw)
Also not a whole lot to go here as i don't really understand my PTSD either
Avoidant Personality Disorder
Also dxed with the anxiety
Don't know much about it, but having it has made me curious about personality disorders in general, so i hope to learn more in the future!
Synesthesia
I'm sure you've noticed the way each disorder has been colored. That's because I'm synesthesia color matching! (Word-color approximations)
I also have pain-color (mostly red; when it's magenta or pink, it's bad; i've only had white once and i hope to never have it again)
(Later edit: I'm now experiencing pain in my jaw that is orange. It's more mild than red, but also sorta worse somehow 'cause it lingers? That's not really the right word, but it's the closest I can come to)
Emotion-color
Ticker-tape (though this has sorta faded)
Chromesthesia/sound-color -- only certain sounds, though, primarily music. Each song has it's own "color" and i tend to align my music preferences along that (for example, i pefer "dark" songs [those that have a black background color] over "bright" songs [those that tend to have a white or similarly-bright colored background])
Associator. Sometimes wish i was a projector
Fascinated by all things synesthesia
Plurality
Syscovery occured in June 2023
We have non-disordered mixed traumagenic and endogenic origins (we don't like to use traumaendo for ourselves)
There are a little over 35 of us that we're aware of, but I (Skye) am the primary one to use this site :) (The others may make their own accounts if they're interested)
Schizotypal Personality Disorder
Confident enough now to officially say I'm questioning this one
I started thinking it was a possibility when I realized that I tend to have various paranoid ideations and delusions ((tw) such as thinking that the dogs barking as I'm walking home from the park are telling Them where i am [no clue who "Them" would be]), superstitious-like beliefs, and a distinct repulsion of anything social (separate from anxiety or AvPD; just a "i don't feel like dealing with people" kinda weariness)
Schizoid Personality Disorder
Confident enough to now name this one, too.
The things which make me question it include a strong need for isolation to regain energy, periods of finding everything boring and uninteresting, general vague distrust of others, and just a very intense repulsion of human interaction.
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Eating Disorder?
I've been dealing with something that (from what i've been able to find) looks a lot like ARFID, but I don't really know if i have it
I consider it more "ARFID questioning" i guess
One of the more concerning aspects of this is that I've started to become physically nauseous by the smell of food, even stuff I like. I eat much less than I should and have in the past, and if I try to eat more, I feel sick. I've tried talking to my mom about it, but she just tells me I need to eat at more regular times and all (lately, I've been skipping breakfast and waiting until ~2 in the afternoon to eat because it feels like if I get food any sooner, I'll be sick)
Advice on dealing with disordered eating would be very welcomed
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mothicality · 7 months
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the great (sarcasm) thing about being disabled is how you have no rights and no one gives a shit about you
i live in a group home cause i can't live alone. there is one staff member in my group that i can't deal with, i just can't stand her. they don't care
each resident has two "contact people" which is the people who are responsible for writing status reports, which is a report describing the resident's behaviour, wellbeing, issues, and development, and this report is discussed at status meetings, which is attended by the contact persons, case manager (from the government), legal guardian/s, and some other people connected to the resident- resident is usually invited as well.
so this means contact people have a lot to do with the person they're assigned to. this staff member that i can barely tolerate in minimal contact is one of my contact people, and repeat requests over an entire year to have her removed have been denied
i express how much i dislike her every time i get the chance, and still, they send her to talk to me, they have her do things related to me, they refuse to respect that i want nothing to do with her
i also struggle a lot with changes, especially sudden changes. today they suddenly tell me they've made a change that makes everything worse for me, and will force me to either sometimes sacrifice one out my chances to get out of the house or i'll have to go with this staff member. apparently this is not a new decision, they just. didn't tell me until now
i hate this place. i can't fucking wait to get out of here, and they all keep asking if i'll apply to stay past the age limit, as if i'd ever so anything that involves being around her any more than i'm already forced to
they always expect more of me than i can do and they just don't fucking get that i'm losing abilities i used to have. they keep expecting me to do things i just fucking can't so anymore
all the staff i like keeps fucking leaving, anyways. as soon as i started liking someone i'd previously had conflict with, he gets a new job. not long after my favourite staff member, the only person i really feel safe with, gets a new job. and now the staff member who's been the most patient and understanding about my food difficulties just quits because he's unhappy with management's decisions.
yeah, congrats, everyone fucking else hates them too but we're forced to live here. we don't get a choice
think i'll try to demand the place i move to when i turn 18 is a private institution, cause they don't have to deal with the government's bullshit like the public places do. my first group home was private and so much fucking better, and the residents weren't fucking violent criminals (the guy who lived in the room next to mine tried to kill someone with another resident, and a kid who still lives here has spent several nights in jail after attacking staff. i only moved here because i have a "rare" diagnosis and i'm suicidal, which the private place isn't allowed to have)
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crazycookiemaniac · 2 years
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Health update
My condition has worsened to a point where I have rarely left bed in almost a month. I stopped eating, drinking water, showering and taking care of most basic necessities. Lost quite a lot of weight, have no energy for anything, and am desperately trying to distract myself with videos and articles about the most various things to try to suppress suicidal thoughts.
Got a new psychiatrist, will see him in 2 days. Am talking to my psychologist every week. I am tired of trying and don't think I'll ever be able to live a normal life, since I've been treating myself for years and have only gotten worse.
Please don't send me supportive messages, nor "I can relate/I know how you feel" messages. Words not only don't reach me anymore, they make me feel bad. And there is nothing comforting about knowing someone else knows how it's like to feel miserable. You will find no comfort in sharing experiences with me because I have no energy to talk to anyone, and also can't tell you to keep fighting when I myself don't think it's worth it. Not to mention that when you "relate" to someone you automatically level their feelings to your own, which can be worse or not as bad as they actually are to them. Each person has a unique way of dealing with their own problems, and that greatly impacts on the gravity of the situation.
I've written other longer and more detailed texts as to why I don't think it's even worth it treating myself anymore, but I decided against sharing them for many reasons. I guess the major one is, how I feel and how I interpret my situation will be invalidated for the sole reason that I am mentally ill, and so, "unable to speak for myself". That's how the majority of people think anyway.
But if you want to help, definitely don't pray for me, send good vibes my way or hopes things will get better soon. Like I said, words don't reach me and I don't want support. I honestly wish people would stop. I'm writing this for the sole purpose of keeping people informed, since there are a few of you who are worried and messaged me.
Please understand that I am in no condition to respond to any DMs at this time. I also cannot answer comments. You might find me tweeting about Magna at some point and maybe responding to someone about him, but that's it. My energy is very limited.
If you want to do something, the only thing I ask is that you be respectful of my wishes. I won't disable the comments section in case anyone has any questions so I can try to answer if I get another spurt of energy.
Quick note to people who I still owe commissions to: if at all possible I would like to ask you to please give me some more time to contact you. My course of action greatly depends on how efficient my new treatment will be, so I need some more time. But at any moment you wish to contact me, especially if you decide you want a refund, I will do everything that's in my power to respond to you as quickly as possible. As always, I greatly appreciate your support, patience and help.
Thanks for reading
One more thing... I'm sorry if what I wrote is aggressive or rude. Of course I know no one means any harm in trying to cheer me up. But it doesn't work, it hurts me and if I don't say it then no one will understand.
I may delete this later.
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neuroticboyfriend · 1 year
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ty for the “we don’t have to consider the dui ppl evil monsters forever.” This you can skip I think now if you don’t want a story of why your post is gonna change my life a little bit.
I have a owi from a boss getting drunk as hell with me and I very much went along with the evening for like idk stupid professional relations reasons I guess, and ended up in a ditch etc. I unfortunately received another dui after I was drinking at home in my backyard two years later sorta mid-meltdown, and after an exchange with an equally intoxicated neighbor was chased about 120 ft to my car which I drove to some neighbors (rural area) about 2 min away l, but literally got pulled over by the cops along that stretch as they kinda park-camp there.
My life was ruined. I was not well in jail for 90 days after the second one, as was denied anti-psychotics, sleep aids, and anti-depressants so stuck in a suicide suit and in solitary. I had worked for the state for a decade but no longer could, and I was stuck in the county that had no mental health services for me due to the limits of our CMH. I had to live with friends for two years of probation because I couldn’t drive or work without being able to drive. I did some wfh stuff during Covid (thank god wfh surge saved me tbh) but had to bike 10 miles each way or get a ride a couple times a week for drug tests, support meetings, classes etc for 2 years. I had to borrow money and pay ppl back years later for covering the costs of the drug tests and classes.
I had worked for the state for nearly a decade, graduated with a degree, had an apartment, boyfriend, the whole works: but I had no mental health access for a decade and had essential emergency services trying to toss meds at me, when I would ask to be hospitalized or finally was, and after about 7-8 years I was maladaptive as hell unable to get counseling or med management, drinking with bosses and melting down in my backyard.
I finally got mental health and other services: I have Tourette’s, autism, adhd, and ocd. And a nice helping of the cptsd but idk that one’s pretty managed. I have a bunch of broken teeth from clenching from stress and Tourette’s. The only help I got out of that county was Christian substance abuse services in classes that I had to do for probation for two years. I cannot imagine how different my life would be if I could have gotten the services the judge said I had complete access to.
I have never felt like anyone could be capable of understanding that I’m not a monster and I didn’t want to do anything bad. I understand very well why ppl are so aggressive against drunk driving as I’m in one of the worse states for it and we have some of the strongest laws for it. It’s a felony in Canada and I can’t go there anymore because of it. And it’s been idk 5 years now that I’ve never seen or heard a message like this and it is just so moving.
I’ve been holding myself back so much because I did a bad and I don’t feel like a deserve to like use social services or anything anymore like anything that could burden the state or community. I fell so far like possessions wise, asset wise, materially, professionally, in housing etc. that I need those services frankly. I don’t do things or try to interact with people, I’ve done like 5 years of shame vs regret exercises but it doesn’t matter I just don’t feel like I should get to be part of society and that no one wants me to be anymore. And I think if I saw things like this just once in awhile amongst the regular dui messaging it would be really great.
I do run a smart recovery meeting which is like science backed substance abuse program very much online nowadays but I want to do more but I’m still very in my head about it. I’m gonna try to think about this perspective from time to time. So thank you.
Anon I am telepathically giving the biggest hug ever, and if you dont want a hug then. I'm sending so much support and understanding your way. I'm so happy you found my post, especially since I've gotten a little bit of hell for it. Knowing it comforted just one person makes it worth it.
You're not a monster, and what the state did to you is not okay. It's inhumane, and you didn't deserve a single part of it. It's not even remotely fair that your right to health and safety was so grossly violated. And I'm glad you seem to be doing better than you were. I hope as time goes on, you find more of your place in this world.
I know things will never be the same, and I know how much stands in your way - even though I can't truly conceptualize it. But there will always be more people than you know who see see your humanity. Who want you in this world with us - not just tolerate it. And I think it's really wonderful you run the recovery program. You've probably changed a lot of lives, for the better. That's awesome!
And thank you for trusting your story with me. I've been struggling with some substance abuse lately, and I think getting this ask is gonna get me through another night of not. Fucking up. Sometimes people just need to feel connection, I think. So you changed my life a little bit, too.
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badnikbreaker · 1 year
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thoughts on thorn and my forces arc for ames i promise these are related —
i joke a lot about amy’s forces arc that exists solely in my head, and it DOES exist solely in my head because in canon forces amy doesn’t do a damn thing, much like the rest of the cast that isn’t the rookie, sonic, or sonic.  but my amy did have an arc in forces, and it’s arguably a lot of negative character development!
once sonic was gone, amy, knuckles and silver end up running a resistance without the hero, and it’s impossible and it’s frightening and a lot of people are dying.  knuckles steps up to be the commander, and amy’s voted vice - commander and becomes the tactician in turn.  at first, amy tries to protect everyone, but that just leads to more deaths.  it’s not long before she has to start making genuinely horrific, terrifying choices — pull forces from this town of 1000 to save this city of 5000 and lose half the town.  send soldiers on a suicide mission knowing that’s the only way to stop something worse.  amy took on this role as another expression of her love; she made the impossible calls so that she’d bear the guilt and hatred so nobody else had to, so that nobody she loved had ot.  it’s another way to protect knuckles, silver, vector — all of them.
but part of what happened, for that sacrifice to be survivable, is that amy became much more utilitarian, much less outwardly emotional, much more steady and restrained.   it’s not that their old personality was gone, just that there wasn’t an opportunity to indulge it here; what was left was a much colder, quieter hedgehog capable of making really difficult, sometimes horrible calls without so much as flinching.  most of the others, knuckles and maybe silver aside, don’t notice the change; it takes months for it to solidify.  frogs in water.  but amy, at least outwardly, seems to grow so much colder.  to do anything else makes her less effective, costs lives, forces the others to suffer.  to do anything else is selfish.
it’s all an expression of amy’s desire to protect, of amy’s love for the world and the people in it, even if it makes her outwardly less visibly loving.  but there’s a lot of guilt that goes unmentioned and un-coped with because she just doesn’t have time.  and she grieves in a real, if deeply repressed way, the person she was before she’d had to do all those horrible things and cost all those lives, and grieves that she doesn’t know that she can ever go back to being who she was then.
amy can’t be guilty or selfish or weak, because as long as she isn’t, the others can be.
anyway i think i’m a genius, but i’ve had folks accuse me of writing them like an OC before.  which also, true.  but the POINT is that during thorn’s arc in prime, it reminded me a lot of my amy’s arc in forces.  obviously there’s not a 1:1 comparison here, but there is something to the idea that amy is willing to do horrible, miserable things — draw away from friends, hurt people she loves, turn her personality into something, someone, wildly different — if she thinks that’s ‘necessary’ to protect the greater good.  and once thorn realizes what she’s done, she outright says “i couldn’t sit back and let it happen, but [after what i did]...i could never get back to who i used to be” which i think is such a neat parallel to my forces stuff and amy’s guilt and grief about ‘losing’ who she was before she had to do those horrible things.  amy is someone who can be driven to do terrible things in the name of love / protection.
like i said, it’s not a 1:1 comparison.  forces amy doesn’t lose the plot quite as much, among other things.  but it does emphasize that amy’s endless love and care and desire to protect can, in the right situations, cause her to become something very different than the amy we know — either a cold commander or a monster.
much like thorn, with some help and time, my amy returns more to her natural self post - game — she’s always going to be able to drop into ‘soldier’ mode at the drop of a hat, and her bubbliness gets toned down a bit in some contexts.  she’s always going to be better at making those hard choices.  but she’s still a deeply loving, kind person, and the parts of her that are excitable and emotional and headstrong get to show through more regularly again and, eventually, take center stage.
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aqua-soap · 3 years
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I can make it until tomorrow. It will be fine. I will have help. I will not be alone. It will be over one day because I know I can get better. Pls don’t reblog, just posting this here because I’m in a desperate metal place right now and don’t want to share these thoughts on my main blog, but I want to put them out there to feel less alone.
#don’t rb#my mind is sending me to terrifying places again and I can’t explain how scary and horrific the experience is#it’s unbelievable and indescribable#utter horror#serious#mental health#I can’t believe it’s like his sometimes I just cannot handle it and need escape but I cannot under any circumstance let myself to start#thinking of anything suicide related because it will only send me to a worse and even scarier place#and I cannot allow myself to go through that literal agonising hell and mental torture ever again#I can’t believe such mental suffering is possible in a species created by nature#it doesn’t feel like it should be possible. it doesn’t make any sense. what’s the point. it seems to cruel even for nature#which fucks with me even more because it just reinforces that something is deeply wrong with the universe and reality and hell and my own#existence#so obviously that has more bad effects#I’m articulate now but earlier today when I tried talking on the phone to a nurse I was sent into a trance and so confused and unclear#I’m assuming my mind does that to protect me or something but idk I’m not a professional#I literally have no choose but to desperately think as positive as I can because for me it’s not a choice but a matter of saving my life#it’s not fucking funny cool cute or edgy in the slightest to experience something like this and when ppl wear it like a badge I fucking#doubt they’ve ever had the mental hell that I have because if they had they wouldnt even be able to joke about it because I’m not.#it’s THAT bad.#there are no words
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yoursecretmuse · 3 years
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My Perception On No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai
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🥀 This year has brought me many joys, that have left me with melancholy victories. I have been venturing out of my usual book genres and I've found a selection of well to do books that I simply cannot live without. How I've existed this far without them, I will never know. There are many different types of literature out there and of course I only focus on English and European Literature. Not because I'm bias  in some way. But I've always found American and European culture very interesting. Despite ignoring my very own culture. It had never occurred to me, that until now, I have never heard of Asian Literature. It's like an unknown phenomenon that no one speaks of. When I think back of my studies in school, I've never even heard of my teachers mentioning Asian writers at all. It was like they didn't exist or people found Asian culture not important enough to read about. Which is odd because in Asian countries they have liberties filled with European novel and American novels. Is it safe to say that Asian people find European and American culture interesting, though we do not share the same feelings toward them. Nevertheless, I stumbled upon Osamu Dazai after reading a mutual friends post about Vincent Van Gogh. It was a silly meme that consisted of Van Gogh and Osamu talking over their depression. Which is not something to joke about but I must confess I found it humorous. Through that humor, I decided to research Osamu and the rest is history. So, here is my thoughts on the exceptional book, No Longer Human. I want to give an in-depth review without giving the book away too much (if at all). But I must warn you that spoilers may become a possibility. No Longer Human is broken into three parts, including an introduction in the beginning by Donald Keene, as well as a Prologue & Epilogue by Osamu Dazai himself. So, to make things easier to understand, I'm going to review each part individually.
The Introduction Normally, I would skip this part of the book because at times it can be very boring and bland. But after reading The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johaan Wolfgang Von Goethe, I found it important to read book introductions because they can have valuable information about the writer. In this section, Donald Keene noted how under appreciated Asian writer are in literature. For some odd reason, American & Europeans cultures specifically seem to feel like we cannot learn anything from Asian culture. Perhaps it has something to do with our history with going to battle with certain Asian countries. Yet, that did not stop countries like Japan and China from filling their liberties with American & European literature. Which upsets me. Had it not been for Van Gogh, I would have missed out on an extremely talented writer. I'm not sure who is to blame for this but I find the idea of not representing Asian writers outside of manga is shameful and sad. There is more to their culture than just that. However, as a whole our world only views Asian people in a small and certain light, that barely gives them any kind of positive recognition outside of the obvious stereotypes. In short, I really urge everyone to take time and read the introduction and share your thoughts on Keene's and my views. What do you think and why is Asian literature so lost and underrepresented? Why do Asian writers rather be on the bottom of American top writing lists, than the top of Asian writer lists? It is very interesting.
🥀
The Prologue In this section, you learn of how Ōba Yōzō (aka Dazai himself) feels alienated and very much of a misfit. He tells you how all of his life he has worn a mask to hid his true sensitive and self destructive self. He harshly criticizes himself and informs you of how he feels about the nature of "humans" and how he never felt like one, thus making him believe that he is not. I like this part of the novel because I can relate to it in so many ways. Many things he explained and said is how I felt (and still very much feel) about myself. Not only of my appearance and state of being but also without people. We both share the same reflection on our confidence or lack there of as a child. I shared his thoughts on normality being ugly and being bland and not standing out is worse than being ugly or beautiful. He even goes on to explain that death has more of a soul or an expression than him. The ugly/void he felt as a child (as well as his whole life) has manifested into a visible void, that crept from his inner darkness and it carries a bland look. Which to me speaks volumes. 🥀
The First Notebook Unable to cope with the world around him, Ōba begins to become a jokester and class clown, in order to mask away the alienation that he feels. He engages in planned fails and acts as if he has no clue as to what he does. He tells us of his environment at home. His father always being gone on business and his mother he did not mention much. He speaks of his maids/servants mistreating him, but he never reported them because he sees it as pointless. We also learn he views a "human" as someone who is happy and hopeful. Perhaps, attractive in some way and could possibly have a great deal or comfortable amount of money. Which is strange because his family were quite wealthy and well known. He speaks of how he feels his life is a shame and the life of a "human" was not cut out for him. There is much more to be said here but I do not wish to spoil everything. I still want readers to get a wow factor from this book, without knowing every details and topic. 🥀
The Second Notebook A very key factor in this part is that Ōba is caught by another student named Takeichi who suspects and confronts him on faking his fall during "gym" class. This sends Ōba into a manic behavior and he somewhat becomes obsessed with Takeichi and fears that he will expose him for being a fraud. I found this interesting given Takeichi had no intention on exposing Ōba or telling anyone about his opinions on his stunts. Certain things happens and the two become somewhat of friends and Takeichi began to mention things to Ōba that were predicting and in a way life changing for Ōba. Ōba also finds an strong interest in art, which leads him to start painting. Ōba also becomes apart of a communist group and becomes a respectable member. Though, he does not share their same views and is only there because he views them as misfits. In this section, a young man now, Ōba meets someone by the name of Horiki. Horiki is also a college student but exposes Ōba into an unfortunate and dreadful life cycles, that pleasures and destroys him further. He also tries to commit suicide with a woman named Tsuneko, who dies but he does not. This even tears him apart and causes his family to the verge of disowning him. 🥀
The Third Notebook: Part One Ōba begans to have multiple affairs with different women, from different walks of life. He becomes a heavy drinker and is expelled from college. He becomes too focus on self destruction, he was not able to create or focus on his artwork. He tries to quite smoking and drinking. But struggles terribly. He marries a young girl, who tries to encourage him to stop drinking and for awhile it works. And for a moment Ōba is happy. The two both marry and move in together. 🥀
The Third Notebook: Part Two Working as a cartoon and sober, Ōba feels somber toward marriage life. He thinks of his wife as native and innocent. But he falls into bad habits once he is visited by an old friend named Horiki, who (with Ōba) witnesses Ōba's wife being sexually assaulted by an associate friend. Ōba begins to blame himself, as well as his wife and becomes manic and fills himself with alcohol and is committed into a mental hospital. After leaving his wife for another woman. This parts ends with him being brought to a home that his brother purchased for him and given the money he needed for living and personal interest. Ōba is left feeling empty and recounts his choices and views of hisself. 🥀
Epilogue We are then given the prospective of an outsider, who wanted to meet Ōba but fails. He then meets a friend of Ōba and she gives him the three notebooks. The man is intrigued by the notebooks and decides to publish them. We are left with a reflects of Ōba's friend telling us that he was a kind and gentle soul, who made everyone laugh and smile. 🥀
My Final Thoughts I believe this is one of the greatest books that I have read. I love the rawness of this book and I adore how the events were true. I feel that Osamu Dazai was a great writer and his death is very unfortunate. I find the way he told his life very interesting and beautiful and poetic. I wish I was able to meet him and praise him for being an amazing artist and writer. But the result would probably remain the same. There is so much that we can learn from Osamu and his life. His perception on life and people is very interesting and a very rare viewpoint on life. I highly suggest that everyone checkout this novel and spread the works of Asian Literature. Thanks For Listening. -𝓒
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jj-ktae · 3 years
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Note II - Aldehydes
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Moodboard : Courtesy of the lovely Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet​​ ! Thank you for helping and hyping and just being here whenever I need it.
›  Title : Fragrances ›  Genre : Angst, Fluff, Romance, Composer!Jungkook x Perfume Maker!Reader ›  Pairing :  Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader ›  Warning : Mentions of Suicide, heavy subjects, depression (none of these are used with the idea of glamourising mental illness), strong language, smut in later chapters probably. Do not read if any of these trigger you.
›  Author’s note : This is another version of the story I wrote a few years ago for GOT7. Some of the events will be different, others will not change just like some paragraphs will be the same and others won’t. Informations, definitions and words are taken from here and here.
›  Summary : In the world of Perfume making, it is believed that everyone has their own natural fragrance. It is also believed that everyone has that one scent capable of making them feel a thousand things. You find yours in the form of a composer on the verge of breaking, right when you have to face one of the biggest challenge in your life.
Masterlist | Note I - Ionones | 
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Note II: Aldehydes
An aroma chemical that contains a functional group consisting of a carbon, a hydrogen, and an oxygen atom. Aldehydes can be derived from natural or synthetic materials. There are different types of scents associated with this chemical function but the most commonly referred to when profiling a scent as “aldehydic” is a sharp, metallic, crisp, slightly fatty impression often associated with the smell of clean textile or hot iron. One of the first “aldehydic” fragrances is the famous N°5 created by Perfumer Ernest Beaux in 1920 and launched by Gabrielle Chanel in 1921.
Your second day is worse than the first one. Jimin is all over the place, mixing essences and sniffing everything he can. You’re glad though, it makes him go silent whenever he concentrates on something, and you have time for focus. It doesn’t help because you’re still frustrated if not more, but at least you can overburden yourself in peace.
 The only light in all that shadow comes from the memory of Jungkook’s scent, precise yet unknown. You try to create something similar, but it’s everything and nothing at the same time and no matter the amount or variety of scent you use, you can’t even get close to it
His scent is a mystery.
It adds to your misery, like a voice mocking you for not being able to recognise a scent while another one forces you to crave for more. It feels like chasing a ghost.
The sound of your head against your office takes Jimin out of his momentum. “What’s happening?” He inquires. He gets up from his own working area to stand next to your powerless soul.
“When is the meeting?” You try because it is potentially the only hope for today. That powerful lady came in early to inform you about an upcoming meeting with the marketing team. The project seems big, because Jimin started to work as soon as she flew out of the laboratory. It’s been one day and he is so open about himself that you can already read his body language.
“3 p.m. I was thinking about a brainstorming. Let’s think about a concept.” He offers because this is going nowhere. You’re about to give up at any minute, and he needs you to be into it.
“What concept? I’m running in circles.” 
“Sexy? Provocateur? Romantic? Angsty? Bucolic?” 
“All of these have already been worked on so many times...I don’t think they want to go for something as...forthright. I’m quite sure they won’t be satisfied with a mere sexy perfume.” It’s what you understood - if your sudden creative freedom is anything to go by.
Jimin understands, his eyes now wide. He has no idea how to achieve that, but he still thinks you’re brilliant for thinking out of the box. He picks his notepad and starts writing everything you said, his brows furrowed.
“We want to be unique. The concept needs to be appealing to the greatest number without being too cliché. We are free to use what we want.” He notes things down and you find yourself peeking at the words, meaningful yet complex.
“So we need to mix a little bit of everything.” Jimin stops for a minute before a whine escapes his thick lips, “I’m lost, help me.”
“We can’t work this way.” You raise your head slowly, ruffling your wild locks in a nonchalant way. “We have to find a scent and put a concept over it. We can’t force the scent based on an imaginary idea.” This only works when a brand has specific goals but here you have nothing. You can’t possibly force an idea into your head. 
Jimin looks pitiful as he puts the notepad away. “It’s going to be harder than I thought.”
And just like the day started, the meeting followed. You were not expecting much of it and you were right. The marketing project came and explained you were free to do anything you wanted. Their main objective was to follow you on whatever you wanted to create, and it’s infuriating. 
How many times do you have to repeat that you can’t do it before they start to believe you?
Jimin, who was stressed before the meeting is now dejected and it almost breaks your heart because you feel responsible. You send him home earlier and decide to work on your own. Two hours later you leave the lab with Orchid oil all over your bag and the urge to cry.
There is only one way to make you feel better. You feel ashamed, like you’re addicted to something but you have to admit it.
Jeon Jungkook’s scent is the only thing worth smelling.
When you come back from work, there is no trace of him. His backpack is gone, the bed looks neat, and even the towel he probably didn’t use is dry. There’s still his smell, fresh in the air and it makes you run back outside to find the bridge where you had found him the night before.
He is not there.
You were exhausted, but you’re suddenly on fire. This situation is stressing you more than it should be when you don’t see him. It’s like you won’t ever see him again. You look around all the bridges you can find close to your place. Jungkook is nowhere to be seen.
You open the door of your apartment with a heavy heart. It’s like you lost something precious and it’s making you angry. What the hell is happening to you?
But you open the door and it hits again, like a whirlpool of long lost feelings and dried memories.
Jeon Jungkook is in your living-room, and his delectable scent pounds in the deepest zones of your brain. He is sitting on the floor by the small table, right hand dancing over bright white paper and guitar on his lap so you only see his back, but it’s the biggest relief you had in years.
He doesn’t turn around when you let your bag fall on the floor, he doesn’t move when you stop next to him. He looks absorbed, entranced. His knee is shaking to an unknown beat, mimicking his left hand which is drumming on the soft brown wood of the instrument he is holding.
“God. I thought- I’m so stupid.” You don’t want to share your worries with him, but the thought of him throwing himself off a bridge is still fresh. It stings more than it should, more than the pain you’re supposed to feel when confronted with a stranger’s despair.
“Hmm?” Jungkook doesn’t move toward you at first, but eventually his hand stops, and he glances up at your pallid features and tensed body “What’s wrong?”
“I came back home and you were not here. I thought...I thought you did something stupid.” You let your body fall on the couch. It’s like blood is circulating again into your veins, your skin going back its initial colour. 
Jungkook is puzzled, like he doesn’t understand why it would be so dramatic for you. “I went around town after I grabbed some stuff from my place.” It’s crazy but he feels sorry for you. “I’m sorry for worrying you” he trails off, scanning your face some more. He has no idea how to react to a stranger panicking over his disappearance. His own family doesn’t panic when he doesn’t show up. He is lost as to why you would be so affected by anything related to him when no one else barely does.
You snort, not mad at him. You’re high on his smell and it’s all that counts. “It’s okay.” Your eyes find his, and his tilted head looks like it’s searching for any sign of discomfort. He only stares back, with eyes way too shiny for someone as dark as him. He looks candid, like he has everything to discover and it’s a mystery how he turned out thinking about the worst.  You have no idea what he might be thinking - excepted that you’re probably out of your mind for reacting like this but he doesn’t question your intentions, for whatever reasons. You finally notice the papers and decide to move on before it gets too disturbing to deal with. “What are you doing?” you nod toward the torn pieces of paper and point a finger at the pile stacking up next to his crossed legs.
He swiftly puts it under his leg. “Nothing. Did you just come back from work?” He tries to change the subject. His voice gets higher and you instantly decipher his anxiety. He isn’t good with facing his own problems and it’s way too early to go into deep talks about lyrics and melodies. He might have agreed to a crazy proposition, but that doesn’t mean he is going to open to you. At least not now.
“I looked for you all over the place.” You admit because it’s a normal thing to do when somebody is in distress. Jungkook is dumbfounded.
“Why would you do this?” The situation in itself is already crazy enough as it is. He doesn’t mind you being friendly with him, even though he is pretty sure he doesn’t need it, but to the point of being dead worried for him?
“You were about to throw yourself off a bridge. I don’t know what kind of life you’ve been living but it’s pretty normal to freak out when something like that happens.” Your outburst shocks him. He doesn’t understand the impact of his actions over his surroundings. He has always thought he was just a detail in everyone else’s lives. 
It has always been this way. He writes in the shadow for people to shine. Him not being here shouldn’t matter to anyone. 
“It’s my business. I’m staying here because I have nothing left and it’s easier than staying in my empty apartment and facing my failures. It doesn’t mean we have to care about each other.” Jungkook doesn’t want to sound mean but he has to make it clear to you. His distress is by no mean a way to ask for anyone’s pity. He refused to add anyone into that mess, let alone a stranger.
It’s obvious, in a way. You know it’s stupid but this scent, it’s making you go wild. You can’t let it pass until you know what it is.
So you agree, taking the same tone and hoping your voice isn’t wavering. “I’m not here for you, I’m worried about another human being wanting to end his life. If it gives you the illusion that I care, I’m sorry about that.” You get up and you sound mad, something Jungkook notices as soon as you close the door a bit too violently.
No matter how mesmerising his scent is, he is apparently not that friendly. You’re not hurt by his words, because you don’t care enough personally to be affected. You’re being selfish, only thinking about your own benefit and what his scent could bring into your life. Jeon Jungkook himself doesn’t pull you in at all. He is someone you barely know anyways.
He doesn’t move from his spot in the living-room until later that night. He suddenly has too many things to write and too little time on his hands. He decides to stop when his wrist starts to hurt and his body hits the mattress of his new bedroom like a bag of sand hits the ground.
He feels at ease in the small room. Wood is covering the floor, and it is the same colour as the tiny office by the window. The view is peaceful, with buildings popping up from the floor like mushrooms and lights festooning the city in tiny dots. The bed is large and thick with soft bedding. The scent of the washing powder turns Jungkook into a nostalgic boy when he rolls into the bed, stretching his sore limbs. He feels even more stupid for feeling comfort in a seemingly empty room. 
He falls asleep right away, exactly 10 seconds after you do. You’re both too exhausted to care about each other, but you both know you’re no strangers to your own common serenity.
And just like you understand the importance of his presence for your brain to function, he notices he needs your place to exist in his creative yet tortured mind. As stupid and as hard to believe as it is.
When you get up the day after, you see him by the kitchen’s table. He is sipping on orange juice that is not yours, and munching on toasts you definitely didn’t buy.
You go to the coffee machine, your head too cloudy to deal with his strong presence.
He speaks first “Want some juice?”. He is trying to make it up to you for his cold behaviour. He just isn’t used to being around you yet. He isn’t used being around anyone yet.
Also, he is the worst when he composes. He needs absolute concentration.
You sip on the hot liquid and nod his way. He hands you a glass with an unreadable face.
“Have a nice day.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He tries to be nice, because there’s nothing much to say to someone you met two days ago. Maybe his pride spoke for him yesterday, or maybe he decided to accept the hand of a stranger, because it’s less burdening than accepting his failures to his entourage. 
You drink the fresh juice fast and walk away. “Thank you.” It is too hard to be rational right now, because the smell seems even stronger now. You probably come off as rude when you don’t reciprocate his words but you don’t dwell on it; that boy isn’t going to accept any sort of compassion anyways.
You enter the bathroom and get hit by the scent of his shower gel. Not that scent either.
You get ready at the same time as you build your resolve. Motivation is the key so maybe if you believe in you and your assistant, things might work out. Jimin is already here when you arrive, his citrus smell filling you from the first floor to the lab. He is joyful, like he found something awesome.
“Boss! Have a sit, come come!” His thin hand adds a tiny pressure to your back, leading you to your office.
“What’s happening?” You barely have the time to comprehend; he is already putting a sample in front of your noise.
You freeze.
“Wh-where did you find t- t- this ?” You utter, immediately thrown off by the odour.
“I was looking through essences this morning, and I thought we could start with a base, just to see what we could make of it. It’s...”
“Winter fir and Balsam*.” You conclude. Everything in this base is satisfying but the most important detail is that you remember this base. You smelled it this morning when you entered the kitchen.
You smell the very distinct feelings of comfort, warmth and softness which invades you whenever you’re close to Jungkook.
Jimin added a little twist to it, tho. “You added Cottage Herb Garden**”. The latter grins at you, visibly proud of himself for coming up with such a smart idea. He too gives off that feeling of freshness that is found in that herb. It is serene and woody and gives off feelings of sweetness and sensuality. Cottage Herb Garden fragrances are made using Aldehydes synthetic scents. 
“I didn’t add much, but I thought it would go well because they both make great seasonal fragrances. I only put 8% though, how did you find out?” he looks shocked but not surprised, like he was half-expecting you to guess it yet still thought it would go unnoticed.
“The herb comes last. The earthy smell that lingers in your nose, it’s this one. Smell it again.” You tell him and he takes his time filling his nose. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment before opening them again.
“This is Cottage Herb Garden.” You confirm and his mouth is now wide opened. He can’t believe he is working with such a talented person. 
“So, do you think we could try? I feel like we’re using a lot of Aldehydes but at the same time it feels like a soft base note…” Jimin trails off, his fingers playing with the bottles. 
You acquiesce, mind already elsewhere. It feels like the first step to Jungkook’s identity and it is energising. You take a sharp breath, startling Jimin who laughs at you because it’s like you found life again. 
“You sound satisfied.” He offers the sample along with a genuine smile and for the first time, you smile back at him, thankful.
“You did great. I wonder why they hired me when you’re doing great on your own.” It’s true. Jimin came up with extremely complex scents and came up with a base note you would have never found on your own.
Jimin rolls his eyes and decides not to answer. If only he could have a quarter of your talent. He opens his notebook and starts writing, his eyes now shiny with glee
Base notes:  Aldehydes (Synthetic) = Winter Fir  /  Cottage Herb Garden.
You put the sample in front of you and stare at it. So that was it. You smile to yourself, in a way, it’s like you can almost smell Jungkook.
You spent the rest of your day looking for another element to add to your base and when nothing comes to your mind you feel frustrated, but it’s the best you can do for now. Jimin is exhausted and snoring in a corner of the lab, his petite body squeezed between two cabinets. You shake him to wake his sleepy body and tell him to go home when you give up for the day.
It’s been so long since the last time Jungkook felt this satisfied. He didn’t go out, too engrossed into his lyrics to care about the light of the sun peeking through the opened blinds. It’s leaking off his pen, like he can’t stop the flood of ideas and he feels like a mad scientist, crazy and ecstatic. He takes a break around dinner time and when his stomach starts creating its own music.
He takes out noodles from the food he bought the day before. Living with you meant sharing a flat, but he wanted to provide his own necessities. Participating in daily life matters is only natural, after all.
His phone rings, and the caller ID makes him sigh. He is too hungry to face what is about to come, and his spent brain is screaming for rest.
He coughs, keeping his voice steady “Yes.” His tone is disillusioned. Jungkook barely gets any call nowadays, and except from work, he only knows one person who can annoy the hell out of him so much.
“You remember me? I thought depression AND amnesia hit you at once.” He wants to hang up when he hears the throaty voice. It’s heavy with judgement but then again, when is it not?
“And you wonder why I don’t call you, Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook finishes the sentence in a sigh. Yoongi is awesome at being a nagging mother.
“You’re too busy being away I guess. Artists are such a handful.” He hears steps and after a while, Yoongi speaks again. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting in front of your flat.”
“I moved out.” Jungkook looks fine with the revelation. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hears Yoongi’s car and supposes the latter is already going back to his place. 
“It’s been two days. I’m living with a girl.” He blows hair on the steaming bowl of noodles, ignoring his friend’s deep shriek.
Yoongi doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. Jungkook leaving on an inspiration crusade is common, it’s something he does whenever he gets overwhelmed by his feelings. Never once did he actually move out to live with someone else, let alone a girl.
He doesn’t even remember when was the last time Jungkook even dated someone. “Living together as in...romantically?” he tries, suddenly wary because he expected a lot of answers, but not this one.
“I couldn’t write anymore. I’m renting a room in her apartment.” He swallows the food like he has been starving for days. There is not the slightest hint of discomfort in his voice.
Yoongi laughs after a while “You’re living with your landlord. God, Jungkook, I know you people need some sort of inspiration to exist, but to the point of living with some old lady for the sake of music...”
“She’s not old.” Jungkook has no idea why it’s the only part of the sentence he reacted to, but all of a sudden he doesn’t want anyone to make fun of the person who took him in, not when he wrote ten songs in the span of two days. Not when he feels like no one can hurt him in your quiet kitchen.
“Anyways. Lunch with me tomorrow, how does that sound? Shall I check on that woman you’re living with ? How much is she charging you ? Aren’t you being scammed?”
“I can’t.” Jungkook sighs, ignoring the numerous questions because this is so typical of Yoongi to make sure no one is messing with him. “I have to eat with my parents, don’t tell them that I moved out.”
“You have always been doing everything you wanted anyways, what would it change if he was to know?”
Because he is going to crush me down like fine dust.
It has always been the same, and no matter how successful he was at some point, his father was never satisfied. Not when music is not a certain source of income, not when reputation comes before everything else.
 “I’m hanging up.” He announces once panic overtakes him and hears his friend objects, telling him he will meet with him no matter what.
It’s not like he doesn’t want to see him. It’s just complicated. Jungkook has always been different from others. He was raised with Yoongi and they had the same nanny when they were young. The age difference rapidly made Yoongi turn into the older brother as time passed, and while he was the one introducing Jungkook to music making, he quickly stopped to take over his family’s business. He never explained to him how he drifted from music, but he is now all about business.  Their respective parents were and still are too busy to deal with education, and while Yoongi grew up like the sharks his father works with, he took after a quieter side, the one that tells him to do what he wants instead of chasing money.
Yoongi often tells him he is a fool, that he doesn’t need anything else if he can have a bright future with his father’s company. He often answers that he doesn’t want to work without a purpose, and Yoongi always tells him to stop being a hypocrite and rely on his father’s money if he was to spit on it.
It’s true, Jungkook doesn’t know struggling. He was born in a rich family with a lot of possibilities. He was able to become a lyricist after a lot of failures, and his parents never gave up on him financially. This is probably why he is so affected when he can’t write. He doesn’t know how to deal with difficulties, he who lived with all the good things of the world.
He hears the door opening and your sore body appears before him, surprised to see him home. It’s like you were expecting him to run away, again. You don’t speak when you see him, mouth full of noodles and wearing the same clothes you left him in this morning. The silence is thick, oxygen heavy with uneasiness. Jungkook blinks, slurping on the noodles before wiping his mouth hastily.
“Want some noodles?” It’s hard to catch on the words, but he moves the bowl in front of him, and you understand. 
You nod.
No matter how strong the smell of seafood is, his scent always wins over everything else. You decide to stay close because you’re slowly deciphering his smell, and you need more time to know where you’re going.
He goes to the cupboard like he has been living here for years and fills another bowl before sitting back. You’re surprised by his sudden gentleness but brush the worries off. You’re supposed to feel weirded by the fact that an unknown man is now living with you, but none of you are freaked out.
Jungkook is too happy to be productive again. You’re too drawn into your memories to stop everything.
You sit in front of him and after a couple of minutes, he speaks. It takes you out of the now soggy food.
“What’s your job?” Jungkook sounds interested, but you know he is only trying to ease the mood.
“I’m a perfume composer.” You decide not to dig further into the matter. It’s a peculiar world, something that only a few people can relate to. Most people think you mix synthetic molecules into expensive glass bottles, wrapped in glitters and hidden into luxury boxes with frills and furbelows.
And you get offended, knowing fully well that it’s exactly what you think you’re doing.
Jungkook doesn’t sound impressed, you’re not surprised by that. 
“Sounds complex.” It is. It truly is, and even more when he is entering your every pore. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it.
“It’s not.” you lie, “How about you?” His face lits subtly, and he seems shy all of a sudden. You don’t know this side of him yet, and you wonder where his emo behaviour went.
He coughs, putting the bowl down. “I’m a lyricist. I write lyrics and sometimes I compose, but I mostly write.”
 “That sounds complex.” You muse. Jungkook is a tormented artist, then. It explains why he keeps on dreaming on bridges like he is filming a music video.
“Sometimes it’s complex, sometimes it’s a matter of course. I’ve been having a blackout recently.” It’s a confession, and he doesn’t know why he is sharing such a deep problem with you, a stranger.
You forget about the food “That’s why you were surrounded by torn papers.”
He chuckles. “Exactly. I’m getting there, though.”
It feels different to deal with such an open Jungkook. He chats like you’re close, smiles sometimes, he is almost glowing.
That evening you learn that he uses a pen name to write lyrics. He doesn’t want to tell you, but you know too little about the music industry and he finally spills the beans.
JK.
It sounds like some mysterious pen name used by thriller writers but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you decide to go to bed. No matter how comfortable you both seem, you’re not ready to share the part about you being addicted to his scent. He goes to his spot near the small table in your living-room and his hand goes back to a wild dance, covering the blank paper with ink. He is inspired.
He goes to bed right when you get up the day after and wakes up late for his lunch with his parents.
It’s not like he is eager to meet with them.
_
Plants. Plants plants plants. You look through the samples with haste. You know it has something to do with nature. The base note has to be about something else.
“What are you doing?” You smell Jimin the minute he opens the door, but you don’t let yourself be interrupted. You know you sound like a stalker, but you might or might not have smelled Jungkook’s jacket this morning, and you are sure of a thing: there is only one element left to create a frank base.
You don’t know when you switched from creating a perfume to reproduce his scent, but it doesn’t matter.
“All the samples are here, right?” The organ is huge and cabinets full, but it’s not enough for you. Jimin throws his vest on one of the chairs and approaches you, stifling a yawn.
“Yes. I think that’s quite a lot, actually.” He peeks from behind your shoulder, and sees your hands going through the numerous bottles, unsatisfied.
“No. No. These are generic scents. You don’t have any rare roots names, you forgot a lot of exotic fruits and most importantly, you don’t have anything uncommon.” 
Jimin makes a face. He is not lost, he is adrift. “I’m afraid I don’t understand...”
“Tobacco abs, myrrh, resinoid, Balkans...” You talk but it sounds like a whole new language even for your assistant.
“Well, we have listed a lot of names. Most of them were used by previous composers, but we added more. I didn’t think it needed that much to be completed.” He knows about perfumes, he has a lot of knowledge, but you’re suddenly on a whole new level and can’t be reached.
You’re suddenly talking about tobacco odours and it freaks him out.
“I have a lot of these at home.” This could seriously help you. You barely use these, and most of them were sent by your father and collected on the internet. It’s the first time you can actually put them to good use because you know they could help, but you can’t bring them here.
Also, you think about how much easier it would be to just move work to an environment bathed by that scent which makes you crazy. How stimulating would it be ?
Jimin is expectant, but you don’t say more. He finally waves a worried hand in front of your face and you snap to meet his blinking eyelids.
“Let’s work from my place. This is what I often did.” Your offer makes him take a step back. He is not used to you being so devoted to this project.
“Are you sure? I don’t think the boss would object. We’ve had a few composers with weird demands before.” He doesn’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re a genius to his eyes and the mere idea of him seeing the place where you created such amazing products is electrifying. He can’t wait to know more about your ways.
“Good.” You glance around the room, “I don’t like this atmosphere.” You don’t mind if Jimin sees your place. At some point, you’re pretty much sure you could go with anything as long as you find the missing pieces of this conundrum. 
You’re aware that you’re turning into an obsessional mess, but it feels pleasant to have a goal. This goes beyond everything you experienced, it gives you a fuel you didn’t know you could have.
You take the day to gather some samples and ask Jimin to let the boss know about your change of plans. At the end of the day, he helps you carry the numerous samples home. You’re a happy mind, torn between apprehension and excitement.
You open the door and Jungkook sees two huge boxes enter the living-room. He is rubbing a towel against his wet hair but he catches your box before you can let it crash to the ground. Jimin lets his own fall with a soft thud and you’re startled when you hear a dismayed squeal, along with Jimin’s shocked face, his finger pointing at a puzzled Jungkook.
“JK?!”
-------
* Winter Fir and Balsam : This redolent mixture of refreshing natural pine mingled with a sweet, peppery, delicately refined and soft base note of balsam has a soothing and warm character. It evokes particular feelings of warmth and comfort. The mind’s eye (and nose) recalls Christmas trees and sleigh rides and happy times by a fireside or even in a small apartment among special friends or family.
** Cottage Herb Garden : Sparkling blue waters, gentle summer winds and cozy brick cottages nestled in the lush, serene English countryside characterised this green floral scent. Enticing notes of sweet, earthy, star anise, fresh basil, grassy parsley, aromatic wild flowers, fresh garden greens and a woodsy, sensual musk base note comprise this complex aroma.
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sammyxorae · 4 years
Text
Falling For You (Spencer Reid x Reader)
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Word Count: 3,901
Warnings: fluff, angst, cussing, suicidal thoughts, kissing
Author’s Note: I’m so excited to be starting another series, especially one with Spencer. I apologize for this one being so long, but I just couldn’t find a place to break it up. I’m going to try and update every couple of days!
***
“What do you think it’ll be like when we’re in love with someone when we’re older?” you asked your best friend as the two of you lay in the bunker, smoking a joint. You were only 12 at the time but at that moment, you felt as nothing in the world could bother you. You felt content and at ease with your best friend by your side.
You heard her giggle and felt her nudge you to hand the joint back over. “Well Y/N/N, I bet it’s going to feel amazing and nothing like we have felt before,” she spoke quietly, looking over at you with a look in her eyes you’ve never seen before.
“What are you thinking about Kitty? You look like you’re going to eat my face,” you laughed but before you could say anything else, you felt her lips on yours. It was a surprise for you and stopped her immediately.
She looked at you with hurt in her eyes and anger. You’ve known the things she has been through, you looked down at the bruises on her arms. She only told you about the way her Dad hurt her and you felt awful rejecting her. “I’m sorry Y/N/N…” she trailed off for a moment but then continued, “I’m so sick of being rejected though, Y/N/N, by men. And hurt by them. They’re fucking pigs.” She began to sob through her words.
You pulled her into you, hugging her and stroking her short brown hair. “I’m so sorry Cat, I wish there was something I could do. I will always be there for you.”
***
That was years ago. You were now in your late twenties and still living in the same town that you guys lived in, but one day, Cat was taken from her father who finally got sent to jail for the abuse and other charges. She was then put with an adoptive family, which seemed to be good at first and the two of you sent letters back and forth for a while. They slowly stopped, receiving and sending less and less, until one day she sent me a letter stating that she was going away for a while, that she killed her adoptive father because he was doing the same thing to her as her biological dad. That was the last letter you ever received from her. You tried to search for your friend throughout the years without any avail. Until one day you saw her on the news.
You were surprised, but not entirely, especially with what she revealed in the letters and the way she acted when you were kids. There were things that Cat did and acted as a child and teen that really threw you for a loop, but you just chalked it up to her abuse at home. Now, as a licensed professional, you knew differently. Trauma has a significant effect on the brain and a child’s psyche. Many individuals who are children do “bounce back,” what is called resiliency, but there are others who unfortunately continue to struggle and develop further mental illnesses.
You looked at the TV screened again, focusing on Cat’s face. It broke your heart, even though you heard of what she did. You felt that guy feeling that you needed to see her one last time. No one should ever really be alone, even though she is a prolific serial killer.
***
You had gone to see her and it was just about what you expected, but a little worse. She was quiet, she looked disheveled, she was more cunning, more manipulative than she used to be. The only thing that was the same was the moment she saw you, there was that look in her eye. It was the same one that she had the night she had kissed you all those years ago.
“I’ll always be there for you Kitty. You know that,” you walked over and kissed her head before you got yelled at by a guard and left.
***
When you got to your apartment, you didn’t realize how emotionally taxing that experience was for you until you felt like you were going to pass out, throw up, and didn’t even hear Walter, your German Short-Haired Pointer dog barking at you.
“Calm down buddy. I know, it’s been a rough day being a dog, huh?” you smiled patting his head.
You knew you had to get yourself in check before it totally consumed you. After you lost Cat as a teenager, you had a really difficult time with your best friend gone. You were depressed, anxious, and couldn’t handle her being gone. There had been nights where you felt as if you had lost a piece of yourself. You loved her, but not in the way that Cat seemed to feel about you.Eventually, you got into therapy yourself and one coping skill you learned to help yourself, was running.
“You want to go for a run boy?” The dog started barking like crazy, running around in circles, grabbing his toys, throwing them in the air. You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as you changed into your running clothes and shoes.
“Alright Walter, let’s go buddy!”
When you got to the park you and Walter kept at steady pace as the audiobook in your ear played. You were listening to a crime series that had captured your attention from Denmark, but translated in English. You looked around and noticed a tall, lanky, but good looking man sitting down at a bench, you nodded at him as you were about to pass him, but the next thing you know, you lost your footing, and Walter was chasing after a squirrel.
Spencer’s POV
He had been out of jail for a few days, not even, and he had to take time off. Yet, he couldn’t get out of his mind that his mother was kidnapped and that he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. And it was all because of Cat Adams. She was a main center piece for his rage.
Emily Prentiss, his boss and colleague, told him as much as she wanted to have him on the case, he was too close. She also made sure that the last 3 days he had been receiving therapy services to help him cope with everything. One thing the therapist made him realize is that he doesn’t have any friends outside of work, which he was mostly okay with, but that he also hasn’t had a conversation that wasn’t entirely work related as well.
With that said, he decided that he would go to the park and try to “free” his mind, as the therapist said. Anyone that had known Spencer, knew that “freeing” his mind was nearly impossible. The man was a genius with an IQ of 187 and could read 20,000 words per minute. Not your average man. Spencer instead did what he does best, watch people. He’s always found it comforting and relaxing. He immediately noticed a woman and her dog jogging, she had nodded her head at him, and he waved to her. He noticed quickly how pretty she was and seemed to be enjoying herself, but also on alert as she ran.
Almost as soon as he turned his head, he saw her fall straight in front of him as her dog ran off after a squirrel. He ran right over to the woman to help her.
***
Reader’s POV
“Shit!” you yelled out. “Walter get back here!” you screamed again. Reaching down to your bloodied leg and knee, and then your ankle that throbbed. When you looked up, the man that you had noticed moments prior came over to you in a hurry.
“Are you okay?” He asked with concern in his voice. You noticed how his curly, brown hair hung over his face and how his golden brown eyes had stared down at you with worry.
“Yeah…” you trailed off, wincing at your ankle when you touched it. “I just need to get my dog. So much for being loyal.”
“Well, actually, in the list of the top 10 most loyal dogs, German Short-Haired Pointers are not on that list. In fact, most believed that Golden Retrievers would be on the list but they didn’t quite make it, actually being voted at number 11. However, German Short-Haired Pointers are one of the world’s most accomplished hunting dogs.” The man continued to ramble as he looked at your ankle, touching it in different places. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be broken so you should be okay, but those gashes on your leg really should be looked at.”
You laughed through the pain saying, “What are you? Some sort of doctor.”
“Actually, I have three PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering…” he stopped himself when he noticed you were looking at him, smirking but also with a cocked-head in almost confusion.
“But you weren’t actually asking. I’m sorry.” He offered you a hand and helped you up.
“Thank you for helping me…?” you paused, hoping he would catch your drift in wanting to know his name.
“Spencer.. Dr. Spencer Reid.” He smiled as you grabbed his arm, holding you up.
“Well thank you Doctor, but now I need to find my dog if you don’t mind.”
“What’s uhm, your name? If you don’t mind.” He stuttered.
Was he nervous?
“Y/F/N Y/L/N.” you smiled, pushing your bangs behind your ears, taking out the last earbud and putting it in your pocket.
“I can help you find your dog if you’d like and you should probably go to the ER for that. It could probably use some stitches,” he said as the two of you walked a few steps until Walter came running up to you with a dead squirrel in his mouth, wagging his tail as if he just brought you the best present in the world.
You couldn’t help but giggle, “Ew” more giggles, “Gross.” Spencer and you both laughed.
“I told you they were accomplished hunting dogs,” Spencer smirked looking at you with a look that lasted just a little bit longer than you expected. Spencer kindly bent down and grabbed Walter’s leash.
This man is incredibly handsome and I could look at him for days. Stop it Y/N, he’s just being kind and helping. Sometimes you had a hard time separating kindness from something more.
“So how about I get you a ride and make sure you get to the ER for your leg,” he asked again as you held his nice strong arms, Stop Y/N, toward the street, out of the park.
“No, no. I can’t do that, I really should get back home,” you let go of him trying to walk as you grabbed Walter’s leash, but nearly fell all over again. Spencer was quick to catch you before you fell to another impact, possibly making the wounds worse.
“What are you? A ninja or a cat with those reflexes,” you couldn’t help but laugh at his mannerisms and behaviors. He was an interesting person and you were just wanting to get to know more about him.
“No, just something I do everyday. But honestly, I’m a pretty clumsy person,” he admitted with a hidden smile.
Between a few more words, you and Spencer agreed to let him buy you an Uber to take you and Walter home. The Uber man was not particularly happy about the dog part, but you guys had bribed him with extra cash due to the situation.
The ride wasn’t long and soon you were back to your apartment, Spencer helping you out of the car and getting Walter.
“Shit. Of course, the one time I really need an elevator, I don’t have one. Guess I’ll crawl,” you groaned with irritation.
“Or, I could carry you up. Nothing weird, I’ll just give you a piggyback ride,” he shrugged as he looked at you.
At first you thought he was joking but no, this man was serious. Carrying you up three flights of stairs wasn’t too bad, but it seemed like a lot to you. You huffed out in defeat and gave in to his offer. He bent down so you could get on his back. He was careful to not touch your leg or ankle so he didn’t hurt them.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Up, up, and away!” You yelled with a hint of playfulness. He giggled and you gripped on tight. Luckily, Walter knew where the door was and he ran straight up. You only hoped that’s exactly where he went. Obviously he had a track record of not listening to you.
As Spencer carried you, there was no way that you could ignore the fresh smell of shampoo in his hair and how his toned arms and shoulders felt under yours.
“Did you just smell my hair?” Spencer laughed as he continued up the stairs.
“I absolutely did not just sniff your hair that smells like flowers,” you lied with a snort.
Just before you could say something else, you guys were at your door, with Walter waiting right in front.
“Thanks for doing one thing right today,” you sighed with a smile, patting your dog on the head. You opened the door and smiled to Spencer, “Thank you again for helping me out again, Spencer. I appreciate it. Also, you haven’t told me what you do but from what I understand you’re the combination of a cat and ninja.”
“Let’s just say I work for the government and I’m used to this stuff,” he pushed his hair back.
You noticed immediately the form sweating on his forehead and the way he licked his lips unintentionally. Get a grip Y/N.
Snapping back to what was in front of you, “Spencer, please let me thank you by ordering some food for you and get you something to drink… As long as that doesn’t seem weird.”
Spencer hesitated for a second, looking down, letting his locks of brown and curls fall in front of his face. He looked up with a gentle smile and agreed.
“I’m going to hobble my way into the bathroom and take a shower and then try to deal with the bandages and cleaning up my wounds. There’s a folder in the top drawer to the right of the refrigerator with restaurants that you can choose to order from. I’ll be done in like 15 minutes, tops. Please make yourself at home, seriously. Mi casa es su casa,” you smiled and began to hobble just down the hallway.
After 15 minutes, like you said, you got out of the shower and realized that you didn’t grab any clothes. Shit. You groaned out loud to yourself. Why wouldn’t you grab clothes before you went to take a shower when there’s a hot man standing in your living room? You grab the towel and walk out in the hallway, hoping that he doesn’t see you, but as soon as you walk out, you run straight into Spencer’s chest.
“Ope! Shit!” you jumped with startlement.
Spencer immediately covered his eyes, “I’m so sorry! I was just coming to knock on the door and check on you.”
You gained your composure and blurted out, “Quit it. You act as if you hadn’t seen a woman in a towel before.” You walked away into your bedroom, wondering where the hell that confidence and flirtatiousness came from. Sometimes you surprise yourself.
Back out in the living room, you had noticed that he had fed Walter, and you finally sat down on the couch. “Thanks for feeding Walter. How did you know where his food was?” You had it in a particular cabinet, not where you figured most would keep it.
“You’d be surprised how many individuals’ kitchens are similarly put together and organized,” he spoke with confidence.
“People are creatures of habits,” you both said at the same time and looked at each other and giggled. You felt the red on your cheeks rise up and almost the same for his. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a therapist, you recognize people’s body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice.
While you sat down, you attempted to verbally direct Spencer through your apartment to find the medical box you had of bandages and stuff to clean your wounds. Luckily, he was incredibly smart and able to understand your horrible direction. After a few curse words, tylenol, and an ice pack later, you thanked him once again for putting the bandages on you and began to talk about where to order. The two of you both agreed to get chinese, oddly enough ordering pretty similar orders.
The two of you sat on the couch, him sitting next to you, your shoulders touching lightly, as your leg up on the coffee table to keep it elevated and iced. Both of you agreed to watch some Disney movies to pass the time, talking about what you did, telling him that you’re a therapist. He seemed to be understanding when you talked about what you do, how you love helping people but that it is exhausting.
“I couldn’t agree more. Burn-out is real and people sometimes forget to take care of themselves. That’s my favorite part of my job too,” he rambled on.
For a while, the two of you fell into a pattern, eating, talking about the movies that were on, laughing about the things that each of you have experienced in life, and sometimes just enjoying each other in silence.
You learned that he found it funny that your dog’s name was Walter because his middle name was Walter. He learned that you have lived in this city your whole life. Also, that the both of you have never been out of the country. You found each other holding each other’s gaze a little bit longer than usual, like at the park, but this time more comfortably. You also learned this man was walking genius. Which had you interested in anything he did or said. Having an eidetic memory could be a curse and blessing, from what it sounded like.
***
You don’t know how much time had passed, but you realized that you had fallen asleep. It must’ve been hours later. You noticed that there was a large figure behind you and an arm around you as well. You almost freaked out until you realized that the man who had helped you yesterday had stayed the night by accident and was near you. Spencer. You thought to yourself. You turned slowly to see his face. He seemed calm and his breathing at a normal pace.
Without trying to wake him up, you looked down and saw that Walter was asleep at the other side of the couch. Oddly enough for a dog, he didn’t like mornings. You attempted to move your way into the kitchen behind you, noticing that your leg wasn’t hurting as bad as last night, but still some pain. You looked at the clock, it was 5am, and you instinctively began to make some coffee. Not trying to be creepy, but you watched Spencer as he slept, moving a little bit here and there.
You grabbed the coffee cups and miraculously made it back over to the couch without falling or spill, and almost as if the smell hit his nose, he was awake.
“Hey,” you whispered to him, handing the coffee to him.
He smiled and grunted out the word hey, taking the coffee and sipping it slowly. “Thanks, I can never turn down a cup of coffee.”
The two of you sat there in silence but Spencer was the first to talk. “I’m really sorry about staying the night. I hope that didn’t bother you.”
You put your hand on his hand, “absolutely not. Seriously. I really had an awesome time getting to know you last night and hanging out. You’re seriously hilarious and great company,” you blushed as you said it. I probably sound like a freaking idiot. Good one Y/N, you’ll probably scare a nice person away. Although you were a therapist, you had a lot of self-doubt about yourself, something you really struggled with, but sometimes there was that confidence.
“Me too. It was... normal,” he said with intention and obviously using his words carefully. “My life is not really what most would consider normal.”
“What is normal anyway?” You questioned with a smirk and partially a rhetorical question.
Before Spencer could answer, hsi phone began to ring. He grabbed it and immediately you saw fear and maybe some anger in his eyes.
“I… I-I- have to take this, sorry…” he trailed off, getting up and going down your hallway, as if he knew the place. You were concerned because that was the first time you had really seen Spencer, in the last 24 hours that you’ve known him, seem defeated almost. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop but you still couldn’t hear him.
Spencer’s POV
“Hey JJ, what’s going on? Did you guys find my Mom? I should be there..” he spoke trying to calm himself. He was still frustrated with the fact that he couldn’t be part of this. He wanted to find her. After all of what Cat Adams has put him through, she had to go and hit him where it hurts the worst. Having his Mom kidnapped.
“I know Spence, I’m sorry,” JJ stayed quiet for a moment then stated “One big thing we found out is that Cat and Lindsay, aren’t just a partnership, they were lovers. Well, for Lindsay they were or are lovers. However, we found out that Lindsay is in love with Cat, but we don’t think that’s the same for Cat.”
Every time he heard her name, he felt this anger build up more and more inside of him. One that he never really had before prison. People say prison changes a person and Spencer had always found it to be a saying people would use to rationalize their behaviors, but now, he believed it. He would never kill Cat Adams, but he sure wouldn’t feel any different if she died.
“Spence? Are you listening to me?” JJ brought him back to reality.
“Yeah, sorry. So Lindsay is in love with Cat… Cat is manipulative, she will do whatever it takes to get control and achieve her goal,” he said with that anger slowly starting to build up. He began to breathe slowly, to calm himself. He couldn’t let it get the best of him.
“They recently got into a fight, somehow, they had connection with one another in person, we’re thinking that Lindsay pretended to be someone else to get into the prison and bypass security or there’s a mole allowing this all to happen. All we know is that it caused a riff between Cat and Lindsay, making this a possible way to break the connection between the two. Unfortunately, Lindsay is still being loyal to Cat. Love can do some weird things to people.”
“So we’re nowhere closer to finding my mom?” his voice broke.
JJ stopped speaking and then he heard Emily speak, “Hey Spence, I know it’s Sunday morning, but something just happened. I need you in here this morning. We’re transferring Cat Adams back here. She’s agreeing to talk. On one condition,” she trails off, Spencer knowing where this is going.
“If she talks to me..” he spoke quietly. He rubbed his eyes and hair, “I’ll be there soon.”
***
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vtforpedro · 3 years
Text
medical update and stuff. trigger warnings in tags I’m extremely frustrated. it’s been 15 months of frustration lol so so so sick of doctors, so sick of living through this. I am tired and getting no relief you might remember, but I was given a ‘possible’ IIH diagnosis in October. we’ve been treating it like it is IIH, which means everything has always been real etc etc and the treatment is weight loss. started my ‘better eating habits’ on nov 1st. then I immediately had the thing with my chemo pill packing on a ton of excess fluid, worsening my head to the point of ER and calling my neurosurgeon, getting taken off my chemo pill, and it wasn’t until mid-december that I actually started to see any fucking weight loss cause of that my pcp told me 5lbs a month. so I’ve been right on track with that despite wishing I could lose 10 a month but that’d be starving myself so lol I’ve lost 15lbs but now something exciting is happening again!! I am retaining fluid and I have NO idea why. which means my head is now as bad as it was last summer when everything was at its worse. constant all day long, pills barely doing anything for me, vision issues, pain issues. it feels like something broke in the base of my skull/neck because I get the scariest sensations there. it’s horrible. no human being should have to live this way and I do it every single day, numerous times a day anyway I had to go to the ER last thursday A G A I N because a doctor sent me. my pupils were noticeably two different sizes. I’d noticed three days beforehand and convinced myself I was imagining it cause it wasn’t a huge difference. finally took a picture and no, def not the same size and my eye looked like it was going inward? anyway, called my pcp, they had me come in that day, he saw it from a foot and a half away, sat back, and said I need you to go to the ER, you need your brain looked at. so again, I’ve been seeing this for three days while my head has been 10/10 extreme due to pressure in it. I get there and have to wait a while but less than two hours later when they finally looked at me? gone. pupils back to normal. doctor talking down to me like I was just an anxious mess and not that another dr sent me cause he saw what I did lol and his notes were in my chart. so, wasted visit and they put a covid patient 15ft from me and intubated them, so get to remember what that sounds like forever and ever (covid patients are supposed to be separated from other ER patients). now I’m doing a 10 day quarantine while I am so severely disabled I cannot bend over to take care of my cats food/litter/etc and it’s why my mom half lives with me but she can’t right now :) getting a covid test in three hours and it’s been eight days with nothing but head issues + fluid retention so hoping it’s negative the fluid retention I had before was a side effect of my chemo pill. I don’t know why this is happening. I should be 17lbs down now and I’ve actually gained weight despite being on the same diet that lost me the 15. I’m back to 13lbs down. this makes me feel like I might be carrying 4lbs of water weight. let me break this down because yesterday a PA told me my symptoms were too ‘ambiguous’ to say if fluid retention is happening or not - fluid retention from the chemo pill was ALL felt in my stomach. it was distended and bloated like I’d eaten at a buffet every single day - head got massively worse, enough to go to the er, doc and I agreed the fluid retention causing me to fluctuate between 15lbs was making the IIH worse - not urinating often despite drinking a normal amount - got on a diuretic, seven days later the weight was gone, head was better, started losing weight this is what I’m experiencing now - fluid retention that is causing my stomach to feel very bloated and look/feel distended - head has gotten massively worse, enough to send me to the ER - should be losing weight, have actually gained weight on a low fat, low calorie diet - the only difference this time is that I am dehydrating myself (yes I know, bad, but it is literally saving my life) because I experimented one day with half my water intake and my head was miles better. still experiencing a terrible head episode once or twice a day but it’s not 10/10 constantly - and the second difference is despite not drinking enough water, I am actually urinating more often and it’s a lot more clear than it should be, the color I expect when I’m hydrating well I consider this ^^^^^ to be a good case of why I think I have fluid retention but being told my symptoms were ‘ambiguous’ and throwing me to my neurosurgeon instead is HNNNNG (esp because diuretics are known to help IIH symptoms FOR THIS EXACT REASON) I have VERY recently had my sugars checked a few times, glucose is normal. VERY recently had an abdominal CT, also normal. it’s not diabetes, it’s not something happening in my abdomen. they hear abdomen vs legs swelling and think it’s GI because doctors never fucking listen and actively put their patients in danger but o h w e l l, I guess anyway as it’s been for 15 months, I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. I go this way and experience agony, I go that way and experience agony I need extra hydration for weight loss, leukemia, being obese. I need less hydration because it worsens IIH to the point of 10/10 I want to die (which makes me heavily and actively suicidal. doctors see I take anti-depressants and assume idk I’m being dramatic but no, it’s really this fucking bad. I would rather die that moment than keep feeling what’s happening in my head) there’s like no middle ground and my body and these doctors are making it impossible to figure this shit out. my mom had to come over at 1:45 AM last night (hasn’t had to rush here since april 2020 cause that’s just how bad it is) because I lost my balance twice and was lucky I had something to catch onto or I would’ve been on the ground (neuro symptoms which could be IIH, could be chiari, could be stroke) and my speech got SUPER bad almost immediately. scared the hell out of me, I have never in my life lost balance that badly before things are going downhill and I would’ve thought losing weight they’d start improving but when has my body ever made this easy lol meeting a new neurologist on monday who works in the same building with my neurosurgeon. I’ve been avoiding them cause every single one of them told me I was just anxious despite specific physical movements causing an episode lmao but hopefully this guy is better and he has access to all of my neurosurgeon’s notes and stuff. I can’t keep dehydrating myself but at the same time I can’t let my head get so bad I make a farewell note for my mom, you know? it’s just been really bad and I don’t know how to get people to listen to me. I have a 99% diagnosis and they still don’t take me as seriously as they should. this has ruined my quality of life and they would have you believe that doctors take that seriously but they do not neurosurgeon wants me to see an ophthalmologist again cause of my vision issues and to check for specific things that relate to IIH. he wants another MRI done in early may cause it’s been a year since my last one by then (actually a month later, my last one was in april, but I’m curious if the neurologist will order one sooner) to check to see if anything has worsened so yeah living in absolute hell again and don’t know if I can just get a simple one week diuretic to get this fluid out of my body. what the FUCK else can it be when I’ve experienced this exact thing twice!! before. it happened to a much, much lesser degree the first time I got on the chemo pill. but the same shit :) hanging on by the thinnest thread guys and 15 months of feeling like I’m going to die almost every single day through that has destroyed my psyche. destroyed me as a person. I don’t know what to do anymore sorry this is all a lot of Bad™ but it’s been a lot of bad for 15 months. if I can keep going, I hope one day to be able to give an update of improvement love you all
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justauthoring · 4 years
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No Reason To (37/50)
Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”
A/N: PLEASE READ: I would like to warn that this chapter deals with some very sensitive topics, namely suicide (both attempts and actual suicide). I am not try to make light of this very serious topic, and as someone whose gone through it, I understand how it can be triggering. So please, be aware that the first good third of the chapter talks about it.
And, if you need help, please feel free to always reach out to me. Even if you just need someone to talk to.
Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!
AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.
Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.
Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader
Based off of: Teen Wolf 05x14, 05x15 & 05x16
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“I had hoped it’d skipped you.”
What did that even mean?
“Skipped me?” You question, with a shake of your head, brows furrowing as you meet your mother’s eyes. You were still shaky, there was still sweat beading across your forehead and the shake of your hands hadn’t stopped; despite the fact that your mother had picked you up and taken you home. Despite the fact that you were safe in your own bed. You couldn’t stop shaking. “What does that mean?”
“Generations,” Melissa clarifies with a faint nod, “your great grandmother was a witch.”
You, before that moment, before your mother’s words, didn’t think it was possible to be any more confused then you already are. But you’re proven wrong, all too wrong, as what she says processes in your mind. Great Grandmother. Of course you’d known you’d had one, but you’ve never been told about her. 
You barely even knew your grandmother before she passed away when you and Scott were still just babies. 
“She was a witch.” You say slowly, more of a statement then a question. And the words seem to repeat like a mantra within your head, trying to understand why your mother would tell you that, why she felt it was necessary. You guessed, in some ways, it mattered because it gave way to how you were one. Which up until this point had been a mystery, one you’d been greatly confused by at first but let slip from your mind as others became more important and pressing.
It occurs to you then just how much you’d pushed away in regards to your own powers, to your own self, for the sake of your friends. 
“My mother, your grandmother,” Melissa clarifies, gesturing to you with a short nod. “She never talked about her mother. All she ever said was that she was a nasty woman. A mean, mean woman. She hated her. And I never asked more than that because it was clear she didn’t like to talk about her, and eventually, I just learned to let it go.”
“Then, how...?”
“I did some digging.” Mom explains, “when I found out you were a witch, I started looking into my family history. Rafe’s as well. But I learned quite quickly that the lineage was never passed onto sons, which clearly describes Scott, so then I started focusing in on my side. Your great grandmother wasn’t the only witch and there were hundreds before her; her grandmother, and then her great, great grandmother and so on. It skipped a few generations along the way, but mainly, it hit every single one and stopped on my mother.
Then, obviously, it skipped me too.”
Lips pursed in thought, you nod slowly as your mother speaks, taking in her words carefully. You felt some enlightenment at learning your family history, at being able to understand where your powers came from in the beginning. It made you, though only a little, feel less like a freak having reason behind your powers. And a long line of it too.
“Before me, it only skipped one generation, and rarely at that.” 
Brows furrowing, you shake your head; “then, why--”
“I don’t know.” Your mother says simply, already knowing what you’re going to ask before you do, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know why it skipped me. Or even why it skipped my mother. Maybe it has something to do with adaptation. In all the supernatural creatures you and your brother have encountered, have you ever met another witch?”
“...No,” you sigh, shoulders falling. The bit of hope you’d felt, briefly mind you, disappears just like that; with a snap of the fingers. “Not to mention, it’s practically impossible to find anything on them either.” 
And you know all too well how hard it is. The lack of knowledge that existed in the world on witches is what lead you into Theo’s capable and waiting hands in the first place. It’s what lead you here.
“Witches just don’t seem to exist anymore, Y/N.” Your mother says quietly, her gaze soft and warm, but it isn’t hard to miss the trace of sympathy and worry in her gaze either. You don’t blame her. If you had found someone you cared about the way she’d found you, in the middle of the forest, shaking and crying, going on and on about how you were losing your mind, practically in hysterics, you’d been concerned too.
Probably more than just concerned.
“You’re an exception.” Pausing a moment, Melissa inhales sharply, “I know it isn’t much and it doesn’t help, but, I hope it does help explains things. Even if only a little.”
Biting your lip, you glance down to your hands, taking it all in.
Then, something occurs to you. “You said you hoped it skipped a generation. Skipped me.” You speak up, flickering your gaze back up to your mothers with a shake of your head and furrowing your brows. “You didn’t know your grandmother was a witch, you said it so yourself. You knew about me before you started digging. And I know you were just surprised as me that something like witches even existed. So... what did you hope skipped me?”
Melissa’s face falls then. It’s almost like she regrets her words, wishes you hadn’t even noticed them. But how could you not? And she looks so reluctant to speak up, to answer your question, and this feeling twists tight inside of you because you didn’t know if you could possibly take anymore bad news. You didn’t know if you could withstand something else being added to the burden that was weighing your shoulders so heavily down.
It’s clear your mother sees that too.
“I never knew my grandmother,” she clarifies, repeating what she’d said earlier. “Never met her. And I told you that my mother didn’t like to talk about her?” 
You nod, apprehensive.
“When I was searching through everything, I found this diary. It belonged to your great grandmother, Anne.”
Reaching behind her, Melissa grabs something off your desk, something you hadn’t, in your frenzy, noticed she’d even grabbed. She hands it to you simply, letting you take it from her hands which you do so slowly and hesitantly, your stomach a bundle of nerves. Your eyes linger on hers a moment longer before glancing down at the rather beat up diary, allowing your shaky hands to skim through the pages for anything of particular interest.
“I learned that some witches can handle being witches, and... some can’t.”
Lips parting in bafflement, you shake your head up at your mother; “what do you mean?”
“Anne,” she leans forward, tapping the diary, “was a powerful witch. From what I could tell when reading, a very powerful witch. The dates are practically twenty or so apart from start to finish, and as I went across, as I read each entry, Y/N she... slowly was losing control.” 
Your heart falls at that. 
“She talks about her powers spiking, growing like a hot fire in her stomach, and there’s nothing she can do to slow them. She talks about the fact that she feels like she has no control over herself any more, and that she’s so angry all the time but can’t explain why. She never slept, and when she did, she’d have these terrible nightmares. These vivid, horrifying nightmares.”
“Like me,” you whisper, feeling sick.
Melissa nods reluctantly. “She started hurting people, even though she didn’t want to. She’d just... lash out.” 
She holds silent for a long while, letting what she’s said sink in. Your eyes lower to the diary as she does, flipping through the pages once more, but skimming across a few entries here and there. And with each passage you read, your heart sinks further and further when you realize just how much you relate to them. Just how alike they are to what you’ve been experiencing.
“When I said I had hoped it’d skipped you, I only meant, I-I had hoped, upon learning all of this, that you’d just grow into your powers. That they’d grow with you and...--”
“I wouldn’t lose control.”
Face falling, Melissa lets out a sigh, “Y/N--”
“No,” you cut in, shaking your head up at your mother, your eyes watering. “No, because that’s what’s happening. It’s been happening for so long ago, and it’s too late to fix anything because I refused to talk to anyone about it other then fucking Theo. And he used me. Lied to me. If... If I had come to you first, like I should’ve, maybe...” Words trailing, you swallow thickly, slumping.
You don’t move, don’t even react, as Melissa softly sets her hand over your own, squeezing it gently. “We don’t know that,” she whispers, “there’s got to be some way to fix this.”
“You said it so yourself,” you scoff, “it didn’t skip me.”
Frowning, your mother doesn’t say anything, not sure what to say to comfort you. She raises her hand slowly, letting it fall on your cheek in the hopes it helps comfort you, even if only a little. Her thumb strokes the skin of your cheek slowly with a feathery touch, in an attempt to be reassuring.
“What happened to her? Anne.” You ask quietly, picking up your head just enough that you can glance at her through your lashes. “How did she die?”
Melissa pauses again, and you can tell what felt like it couldn’t get any worse, is about to. 
“She... She killed herself, Y/N.”
And it’s just like the weight of the entire world falls on your shoulders then.
“Her last entry,” Melissa continues after a minute, voice solemn. “She wrote that she couldn’t handle it all anymore. That she didn’t want to hurt people anymore. Especially now that she had a child, my mother... So, she killed herself in an attempt to get rid of the problem...”
“Oh, God...” You let out with a choked cry, pressing the palms of your hands against your face in distress. “What am I going to do?”
Melissa rushes forward without hesitation, wrapping her arms around you tightly and pressing you firmly against herself. Her grip is tight, and she doesn’t ease, not even for a second as you let out a sob, face pressed against the crook of her neck in distress. You just let everything go, tired of holding it all back, especially with all this new information which hadn’t helped at all and only added to your worries.
“It’s okay,” Melissa whispers, running her hand through your hair soothingly. “It’s okay, Y/N, We’ll figure it out. I promise. It’ll be okay.”
-
You see a lot of yourself in Anne.
Whilst never actually meeting her, or even knowing of her existence before this point, you feel connected to her in ways you never have to anyone before. 
Melissa leaves thinking you’d fallen asleep. But you don’t. You can’t. You haven’t properly slept in days and with all this new news, that definitely wasn’t going to change. Anytime your eyes fall shut and you try to shut your mind off too from any wandering thoughts, you’d think about everything. You’d think about Scott, you’d think about Theo, and you’d think about Stiles. You’d think about yourself, and your powers.
About how you would give anything in the world to just be human.
So, you opt for reading through the diary. Your heart warms as you read the beginning which is almost like a mirror of your own with the exceptions of a few things. Anne’s mother, so your great, great grandmother was a witch too, and a great one from what you could tell from Anne’s entries. She learns a lot from her mother, whereas you never really had anyone to learn from except the limited knowledge Derek had provided.
She’s excited by her powers at first. Anne often talks about how much she just wants to make her mother proud, that that’s the only thing she’s ever wanted in her entire life.
She’s an only child, unlike you. But she talks often of how much she wished she had a sibling, brother or sister, doesn’t matter to her. Just someone to play with and talk to you and bond with her. Her stories of wanting to have a sibling brings you back to when you and Scott were younger, when the two of you had been attached at the hip at a young age. 
Anne eventually meets a boy. She falls in love with him. Her stories of him and their relationship almost reminds you of Stiles, at least, up until the point where she reveals they got married and had a child together; your grandmother.
At this point, there’s a mixture of good and bad. She goes on about how in love she is with the boy, about how happy she is on her wedding day, the excitement she feels when she finds out she’s pregnant. But every few entries, there’s reminders of what’s going on. Of what’s happening to her that she can’t make proper sense of. Her nightmares, for one. Nightmares that sound identical to your own.
She’ll lash out suddenly. She recounts a specific memory of lashing out on her husband and by accident sending him flying across the room, breaking his leg. 
It’s almost like a slap to the face of reality.
After she has her child, her mother passes away. It seems, that’s when everything gets out of control. No longer are there at least flashes of happiness between the terror. You read as Anne slowly begins to lose her mind, begins to grow angry and irrational. She sets fires to things without meaning to. Hurting her own daughter, now much older, by accident and it having completely out of control.
Her once happy marriage becomes ruined and broken.
This goes on for years. Years. Before she finally decides to kill herself.
And as you read the last page, read what is essentially her suicide note, you’re left with a sick, cold and numb feeling. You feel... barren. Is this where your life was meant to end up? Is suicide truly just the end for you? Especially after years of torment from your own mind?
You didn’t want to live a life like that. You didn’t want to die like that.
You wanted to marry and have children. You wanted to raise your children properly, for them to have a loving father unlike you. You wanted Melissa to see her grandchildren. You wanted Scott to have a niece or a nephew or both. You wanted to grow old with whoever you married (though you did have a particular boy in mind). You wanted to die old and happy, with a life fulfilled.
You didn’t want to spend the rest of your life afraid, angry and powerless whilst being powerful.
You didn’t want to hurt the people you loved.
But you didn’t see a way out.
There was no way out.
-
Your eyes flicker upwards at the sound of knocking on your door.
You don’t even have to ask to know who it is.
Scott slowly opens the door when you let out a hum of permission, your eyes meeting his briefly which nervously poke into your room before lowering your gaze to your lap. To the pen and paper on your bed next to you. To the diary of your grandmother that rests next to it.
Scott’s silent for a moment longer, gently and quietly shutting the door behind him and resting against it. His voice is a light, quiet hum when he does speak. “We brought back Kira.”
Nodding slowly, you keep your eyes trained before you, swallowing thickly. “She’s okay?”
“Yeah, she’s okay.”
“That’s good.”
Scott nods, and he coughs faintly, and you can imagine his head spinning for an appropriate way of carrying on the conversation. You don’t know how much he knows, if Melissa had told him anything; you’re not even sure he knows anything beyond the little glimpses he’s seen in response of you. But, he’s not stupid and he’s always been pretty keen on your emotions, so, he knows something’s wrong.
“Stiles, um, Stiles wanted to talk to you. I... I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea.”
“Probably not,” you say honestly, bluntly; though the words pain you. “I think it’s best I just stay away from him for while.”
“...Why?”
He says it so bluntly you can’t help but glance over at him in surprise, blinking faintly. His gaze is wide, and he looks almost nervous, his hands anxiously tugging together as he glances down at you. He’s rocking on his feet, as if he wants to race over to you; why? You don’t know. And you can’t help but notice his eyes keep flickering to your right, where your pen, paper and the diary rests.
Shrugging, you frown; “for his own good.” Then, after a minute, you add; “it’s probably best I stay away from everyone.”
“Me included.” It’s a statement, and it sounds sourly placed.
Meeting Scott’s eyes, you sigh, “you especially.”
Scott’s shoulders fall at that and he lets out a huff. Meeting your eyes sharply, he shakes his head. “Mom told me,” he informs you, pushing off the wall to take a small step towards you. Your lips part at his words, swallowing nervously. “She told me everything.”
Scoffing, you turn your head away; “then you know why.”
“No,” Scott says simply, fast, without hesitance. “No, I don’t.”
“Scott,” you call, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, shaking your head up at him. “I’m losing control of my powers. I know it, mom knows it, you know it. Hell, everyone fucking knows it. Mom found me in the middle of the forest, stood in a crater i’d created with my own powers because I was so angry and confused it just burst out of me! And this, this,” grabbing the diary, you hold it up towards Scott, “this is only the beginning of it!”
Scott lunges forward, ripping the diary from your hand. “Just because a few things are similar doesn’t mean you’re her!”
“Yes, it does!”
Scott blinks at your outburst, the both of you breathing heavily. Somewhere along the way, you’d stood up and hadn’t even realized it. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, heavily, and Scott’s eyes are wide, panicked, afraid and hurt, a mix of it all, as he stares back at you.
And you... you’re just tired.
“You know,” you say after a minute, shaking your head with a soft sigh. Glancing at your feet, you swallow thickly. “You should’ve let me die.”
“What?”
“The instructor, when he stabbed me,” you clarify, “you should’ve let me die from the stab wound.”
Scott shakes his head, stunned at your words, eyes watering in distress as he takes a small, nervous step towards you, hand held out towards you. “Y/N--”
“Everything would just be better if I wasn’t here. Simpler.”
Scott’s hand falls limply by his side. He has no idea how to respond to that. He can’t even actually believe it’s what you’re saying, that you would actually believe something as stupid as that. Because that’s what it is; stupid.
But you’re speaking up before he can even think of what to say.
You rush towards him, gripping his wrist tightly in your own hand, and squeezing it painfully, digging your nails into the skin. The action instinctively causes his eyes to glow red, flickering, his claws growing without his permission as his eyes widen and lips part in disbelief. Still gripping tightly, harshly, you step forward pressing Scott’s hand against your throat, “kill me.”
And he’s absolutely baffled. “Wh-What?”
“Kill me,” you say again, voice dropping in distress as your eyes water and you let out a sob. You’re so far gone you don’t even realize what you’re actually asking; what that sort of question and plea would do to Scott. To ask him to kill you, his own twin, was incredibly selfish. But you feel as if you can’t think properly. “Please. Kill me before it gets bad. Before I can’t control myself anymore.” With a shaky, quivering breath, you sob out; “kill me before I hurt you...”
For a second, just a second, Scott’s too stunned to say anything. 
But then, he blinks, and what’s happening registers properly in his mind. His eyes return to normal when he takes note of his claws, his own claws, pressed against yours, his sisters, neck. And instantly, he’s pulling himself back, forcing himself to despite the pain in his wrist because of the way you’re squeezing and pinching. He uses his strength to force his arm out of your grasp, holding it tightly against his chest as you let out a cry of defeat.
Shaking his head, Scott lets out a growl of; “don’t... don’t ever ask me to do that again.”
You just sob, your head falling into your hands.
Letting his shoulders fall, his gaze soften, Scott’s careful to speak quietly this time. “You’re not her, Y/N. You could never be her.” He sighs when all you do is shake your head, refusing to look at him. “I don’t have to read a stupid diary to know you’re not. You could never be. And you could never hurt someone.”
Pulling your head back, you blink up at Scott through a watery gaze. “How do you even know?”
Because you want to. You want to know. Instead of being in this state of confusion and lost.
“Because you’re my sister. And I’ve known you my whole life,” Scott says simply, not an ounce of doubt in his gaze. “You’ve been hurt and beat down your whole life, Y/N. You know what it feels like. That’s why you never could hurt someone else.”
Sniffling, you blink up at Scott, not sure what to say.
“Were you really going to do it?” He gestures behind you, to the pen and paper, having connected the dots and made sense of what it meant.
“I don’t know,” you say honestly after a moment, choking on your words faintly. “I wanted to.”
Scott steps forward then, wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you firm against his chest, similar to how your mother had before, pressing a hand against the back of your head to hold you tighter. He lets you sob against him, staring out before him, heart heavy.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment.
“Why’re you sorry?”
“I didn’t know you were going through so much,” he whispers, “I wasn’t there for you.”
Pulling back enough to meet his eyes, you shake your head. “I didn’t tell you.”
“I should’ve known.”
Wiping at your tears, you sigh; “no, you shouldn’t have to guess. I... I should of told you. Someone. Instead of Theo. Someone who could’ve helped me.”
Scott frowns; “you’re not the only one who trusted him, Y/N.”
“I know, but...” You leave it unsaid.
Setting his hands on your shoulders, Scott lowers his head, just enough to meet your eyes directly. “Don’t ever go through something like this without telling me, okay? I’m your brother. We’re family. We work through things like this together. Always.”
Nodding, you swallow thickly. You hesitate, the words feeling like poison on the tip of your tongue, but you force them anyways. “What if we don’t?” You say after a minute, voice a faint whisper. “What if I don’t get better? What if I really do lose control? Scott... I don’t want...--”
“You won’t.” He says easily, quickly, maybe even a little too quick. Shaking his head, he emphasizes his next words. “I won’t let you. I’ll help you. I’ll promise.”
“How do--”
“I promise.” He says softly, squeezing your shoulder. “Just come with me, come back to the pack with me. We’re better when we’re together, Y/N.”
Mulling over his suggestion, you glance over your shoulder, at your bed, to the diary Scott had carelessly tossed onto your desk. Then, meeting Scott’s eyes, you lick your lips. “Just promise me two things?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t make me use my powers.”
Blinking, Scott’s lips part.
“Not unless I absolutely have to. Not unless there’s no other choice. No one else who can do it.” Swallowing thickly, you bite your lower lip. “I don’t want to use them if I don’t have to. I don’t trust myself too.”
You can’t be afraid to use them forever, Scott can’t help but think. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods, smiling gently as he prompts; “and?”
“Don’t tell anyone else either. I don’t want the pack knowing. Just keeping it between us, okay?” 
Scott’s eyes narrow faintly, puzzled, “what about Stiles--”
“Especially Stiles,” you say firmly, the words quick to spill from your lips, “no one. I just want it kept between us, okay?”
The urgency behind the tone of your voice leaves Scott wondering just what exactly had gone down between Stiles’ and you. How a relationship that had been so close and bonded, almost like his and Stiles (obviously in a different way however), could turn into something like this. You use to confide in Stiles for everything. 
But this... Hesitantly, Scott nods.
You raise a brow; “you promise?”
Swallowing thickly, Scott sighs, but nonetheless, complies. “I promise.”
-
“Y/N.”
Stiles’ blinks the second your name leaves his lips, not having meant to sound as eager as he does or feels in that minute. But he just can’t help it. The relief that floods him when he sees you walk down the stairs, only a few minutes after everyone had gathered around the table, worried that you wouldn’t come.
Worried that you’d be the one that wouldn’t come back.
Yet, there you were.
His cheeks warm when he feels everyone’s eyes fall on him, namely Scott’s, at his small outburst. He shuffles on his feet lightly, flickering his gaze to his feet before glancing back up at you. Your eyes are on him when he does, and you have a small smile, one that to anyone but him (and maybe Scott) seems realistic and genuine.
But he can see how forced it is.
As you step off the last step of the staircase, you let out a quiet hum of; “sorry i’m late.”
“It’s fine,” Scott assures, glancing around the table as everyone sends a chorus of nods your way. Scott’s eyes fall on Stiles’ last and with a nod himself, Stiles’ watches as you make your way towards the group, settling next to him but also Scott. You’re in between the two, but Stiles doesn’t miss the way you shuffle closer towards your brother.
Oddly, he doesn’t take offense to it. Because he can tell you don’t do it in a malicious way. And somehow he can tell it doesn’t have to do with anything that had happened between the two of you. You just look... more at ease next to Scott; like you’re safer. You almost look afraid, nervous mainly, and when you meet Scott’s eyes and he smiles down at you, oblivious to Stiles’ wanders gaze that lingers on the two of you, you ease gently.
Stiles also notices that you stick to Scott the entire meeting.
He wants to talk to you. Wants to apologize. With the way things are now and after having time to process everything, Stiles realizes just how unfair and wrong he’d been. That while maybe things could’ve gone better from your side of things as well, Stiles was the one who owed you an apology. And a big one at that.
But he also knows now isn’t the time. Now, they needed to get Lydia back. And even if all Stiles’ wanted to was hold you, kiss you and tell you how sorry he was profusely, he knew he’d have to wait.
He settles with the comforting fact that you are here, with the pack. And that’s enough.
Just for now.
-
“There’s four steps. We get into Eichen, we get into the Closed Unit, we get Lydia, get out.”
“And,” Scott begins, leaning on the table, “we have to do all of this while getting past orderlies, guards, electric door locks, and a Mountain Ash barrier.”
Swallowing thickly, you shuffle on your feet. Honestly, it sounds a little... impossible.
“You have a plan for all of that?” Malia questions, expecting the right answer. The hopeful answer.
“I stole this last night off an orderly,” Stiles explains, pulling a key card from his pocket and holding it up in front of all of you. However, he grimaces as he does. “But it’s useless ‘cause they reset the codes each night.”
Kira shakes her head; “so why did you take it?”
“I’m getting to that.” He explains, letting the key card snap back to where he’d clipped it to his shirt.
“The only way to get Lydia out of Eichen is to make that key card work again.”
“How are you going to do that?” Liam asks.
“We’re getting to that,” Stiles explains once more, “okay, just listen.” Flipping round his computer, your eyes flicker downwards towards the screen, trying to make sense of what you see. “I pulled all the history off the key card,” he continues, “two weeks ago, there was a brownout and the security system rebooted. During a reboot, all of the key cards revert back to a default code. So if we trigger a reboot...”
“The card goes back to fault code,” you finish, nodding your head. “It works again.”
“How are we going to cause a brownout?”
“That’s your part,” Scott explains, gesturing to Kira. “You’re going to draw power from the main line. But only enough to cause the brownout.”
“Not a blackout,” Stiles reminds, holding his hands out before him for emphasis.
Once glance at Kira and you can tell she’s apprehensive.
“Do that and you send Eichen into lockdown which would be bad. Very, very bad.”
Pursing your lips, you set a hand on Kira’s arm, sending a glare Stiles’ and Scott’s way; “no pressure.”
Shaking his head, Scott ignores your jab, pointing at a room on the map. “There’s an electrical room behind the reception counter. The main power lines goes into two breakers that run power to all of Eichen.”
“Okay,” Kira speaks, shaking her head with a shaky voice. “Slight problem. I don’t know how to do that.”
“That’s okay,” Scott reassures, “you have... you have time to practice.”
“Let’s say all this goes perfectly,” Malia speaks up, pulling everyone’s eyes on her. “How does a brownout get us into the Closed Unit of Eichen.”
Good question, you can’t help but think.
“The system takes five minutes to reboot,” Stiles begins answering, “in that five minutes all the alarms will be turned off, the key card should work.”
“Liam,” Scott calls, “you and I get Stiles and Y/N to the gate of the Closed Unit.” Lips parting at the mention of your name, your eyes instinctively flicker to Stiles in bewilderment whose already gazing back at you. “But after that, they have to go on their own. We can’t get past the Mountain Ash barrier.”
Shaking your head, you lean forward; “why am I going with Stiles?” You ask, baffled, pointing to Stiles who blinks back at you in response. “I don’t--”
“For extra protection.” Scott explains, nodding at you reassuringly. “Nothing should go wrong, but in case something did, Stiles will need your help to get Lydia out.”
What good would I do? It pops into your mind without hesitation, but you don’t comment on it, simply lowering your gaze and nodding your head.
“And when we’re gone,” Scott continues, “all anyone’s going to think is that there was a reboot of the security system caused by a brownout.”
Nodding to himself, Stiles turns to the rest of you; “uh, any questions?”
“How do we get into Eichen House in the first place--?” Liam.
“What’s our worst case scenario--?” Malia.
“What if I can’t do it--?” Kira.
Blinking at the sudden burst of questions, you choose to remain silent. 
“Okay,” Stiles exclaims, shaking his head. “Admittedly, a lot could go wrong.”
Wincing, Liam shakes his head; “everything could go wrong.”
“Guys, if we don’t do this, we lose Lydia. She’s going to die in there tonight. And she might take a lot of innocent people with her.”
-
Glancing down at the light bulb, and then, towards the wires, you meet Malia’s eyes who seems to have the same look upon her face as you. With that, the both of you turn to Kira who stands adjacent to you, on the other side of the table, and nod your head.
“What?” She questions, shaking her head.
“Do it,” Malia says simply, gesturing to the light bulb, “do your thing.”
“What thing?” Kira argues, “I don’t have a thing.”
“You did it before,” you remind, shrugging your shoulders. “And you had to learn how, right?”
“Actually, no,” Kira cuts in before you can continue, causing your eyes to flicker towards her in surprise. “It just happened.”
Malia sighs from your side, and you shake your head; “how’d you learn to fight with a sword?”
“That just kind of happened too.”
“So,” Malia begins, voice slow, “you’ve never worked for anything and basically you’re a cheater?”
Blinking, you turn to Malia.
“This wasn’t my idea!” Kira reminds, desperate. “How are we even getting past the front gate?”
“Good question,” you nod.
Malia eases at that, smiling; “I have a guy on the inside.”
“You have a guy on the inside?” You ask, brows furrowing. “What does that even mean?” You turn to Kira for explanation, but she simply shakes her head at you, just as puzzled.
“Stop trying to change the subject,” Malia huffs, sending you a light-hearted glare. Turning back to Kira, she nods; “do your thing.”
Letting out a heavy exhale, Kira braces herself for a moment, hesitating, before she slowly raises her hand,taking the two wire set before her and gripping them. Her eyes fall shut as you watch the light grow harsher from the light bulb, noticing almost a second too late that it’s getting a little too bright. Taking a step back, you raise your arms in front of your face in alarm, hearing the crack of the light bulb seconds after.
Once you’re sure it’s safe, you pull your arms back, some small shards of glass falling from your arm as you turn to Kira with a frown.
“It didn’t work,” she sighs, hands falling by her sides. 
It’s then you notice the look that crosses her face as she turns from you to Malia. Following her gaze, your eyes widen when you notice the rather large shard of glass in her forehead. 
She pulls it out without second thought, a light hiss of pain leaving her lips before tosses it aside, huffing; “no, it didn’t.”
-
“Can I ask you a question?”
Perking your head up, you ease when you realize Kira’s eyes are on Malia whose sat next to you. Turning to Malia in curiosity of her answer, you’re not surprised when she replies with a simple; “no.”
You’re not all that surprised though, as well, when Kira continues nonetheless. “Did your mother really try to kill you?”
Solid question.
“Did your mother try to leave you in the desert with Skinwalkers?”
Another, good question.
Kira just asks another question, following up; “are you really going to try to kill her first?”
Malia lets out a sigh, meeting your eyes briefly before pulling off her goggles and stepping off the desk she’d perched herself up on. You watch her with furrowed brows, Kira mimicking your expression as Malia comes to a stop before her at the table. “Why’d you take of your goggles?”
“Because this time you’re going to do it,” Malia explains, voice firm, confident. “And it’s going to work.” Then, she pauses, calling out for you; “Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Come here.”
You hesitate. “You can heal, I can’t.”
“Y/N.”
“Fine,” you huff, pushing yourself off of the table and stopping directly beside Malia.
She quirks a brow at you, as Kira glances over at you nervously. “Take the goggles off.”
“Malia,” you sigh, “I don’t--”
“It’s going to work,” she cuts in, nodding at you and then Kira. “Because this is the only way we’re getting Kira out of Eichen House.”
With that, you sigh, knowing she’s right. With a frown on your lips, you slowly pull off your goggles, setting them down next to you on the table. With that, you turn to Kira, sending her a small, light smile and a nod. “You got this.”
With a shaky inhale, Kira slowly grips the wires for what feels like the hundredth time. This time, you watch the light bulb closely, able to hear a small buzz as the light slowly dims. You instantly perk, hope flooding you at the sight.
“Kira,” Malia calls softly, “it’s working.”
It’s turns south then. 
Kira, excited by Malia’s words, reverses what had been happening and your eyes widen as the light suddenly shines blinding bright before shattering. This time, however, the lights in the classroom almost burst and you’re not sure if it’s the same for the rest of the school.
Turning to the both of them with wide eyes, you shuffle back on your feet; “we should go.”
“Yeah.”
-
“She took out the whole school?”
Wincing, you shake your head, “she took out the whole grid, Scott.”
Shaking her head, Kira sighs; “look, I failed every single practice try. This isn’t going to work.”
Turning to your brother and Stiles, Liam offers; “how far can we get without the brownout?”
“The front door.”
“We’re going,” Scott argues, not leaving any room for argument.
Of course, Kira (and probably you and Malia having seen it front row) think otherwise. “Scott,” she calls desperately, “we went through boxes of light bulbs.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispers, taking a step towards her. “You can do this.”
“The key card won’t work without a reboot and there’s no reboot without a brownout,” she reminds, voice pitching in panic.
Your lips part as Scott finishes crossing the distance over to her, eyes never leaving her own as he nods. “I know you can do this,” he reassures, voice soft, uplifting. Taking her hands into his own, Scott smiles lightly, before turning to the rest of you. “Anyone here think that she can’t?”
Stiles pulls back, shaking his head as Liam follows suit, calling out; “not me.”
“I was the one who put you in,” Stiles explains, sending her a thumbs up.
Turning to Kira, you follow their lead and smile at her. “You’ve got this,” you nod, voice firm. And you believe yourself probably more then the other two do, maybe more than Scott, because you know what it’s like to not have any control over your powers. And in a way, you understand what Kira is going through. “I know you can.”
There’s only one person left, and you turn to her with a quirked brow, waiting expression when she stays silent.
Meeting your eyes, Malia sighs; “what?”
“I believe in you too, Kira,” Stiles offers, his voice a light whisper.
“I’m the one who’s going to be locked in an electrical room with her!”
Everyone just stares blankly at her, waiting.
Hesitating, her voice stammering a bit, Malia turns to Kira with a huff; “you can do it.”
Waiting a moment, Kira simply shakes her head; “you guys are all crazy. We’re gonna die.”
-
Shoving your fingers through the deliberately left space, you shimmy your way through, tugging at the two ends of the zippers relentlessly. You can feel yourself growing clammy within the body bags and the need for fresh air becomes more and more pressing as the seconds pass by.
You never really thought you were claustrophobic before, and maybe you weren’t still, but being trapped inside a body bag with very little air coming in and out; well, you were sure it would cause anyone at least a little bit of panic.
The second you’re able to pull your head through the hole you’d created, the body bag sliding from around your shoulders to your hips, you inhale sharply and deeply, relief instantly flooding you. You take a moment to calm your racing heart and the panic that had settled deep within your bones because of the way you’d had to get into Eichen House in the first place. 
Turning your head to the left, you let out a breath of air when you see Scott and Liam both out of their bags as well, and then Stiles slowly pulling his way out. Briefly, you meet Scott’s gaze, nodding, before your attention is pulled towards Stiles who, upon having pulled himself out, turns to you and Scott, breathless. “Never again,” he groans, hair sticking to his forehead cause of the sweat that had built up.
You nod without hesitation. You’d, personally, never like to go through something like that again.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Scott checks the time, before nodding at Stiles as well. “Fifteen minutes. Starting now.” A quick glance at his phone tells you it’s seven-forty-five.
You move to pull the rest of the bag off of you, before loud crinkling and a thud catches your attentions. Lips parting, your eyes widen when Stiles all but flings himself off of the examination table he’d been placed on, hitting the ground with a harsh thud.
Well, that was... one way of getting out.
-
Following closely behind Stiles, you make sure to remain quiet, footsteps light as you glance over your shoulder every once in a while to make sure Scott and Liam are still close behind. Stiles knows the route better then any of you, which is why you’re all simply following him and letting him take the lead.
You just manage to catch sight of two men from around the corner before an arm is pushing you back by the chance, slamming you into the wall behind you. Covering you slightly with his body, Stiles hides you and him from the two men, Scott and Liam quickly following his lead and pressing themselves against the wall as a huff of frustration leaves your lips.
Having caught sight of the men too, Scott huffs with a whispered voice; “what are they doing there?”
“I don’t know,” Stiles shakes his head, “their rounds should’ve ended five minutes ago.”
Your attention is caught by Liam who, quietly, leans past the rest of you, eyes flickering across the two men. Your brows furrow when he tilts his head, shrugging; “I can take them.”
Scott and Stiles mimic your expression, turning to Liam in bafflement. “No one’s taking anyone.” 
Tapping Scott lightly on the arm, Stiles asks; “how much time?”
Pulling his phone from his front pocket, Scott quickly clicks his phone on, letting out a sigh when he reads the time. “Three minutes.”
“I’ll just knock them out and hide their bodies,” Liam suggest, still holding onto his idea.
“Jesus,” you mumble, pressing your hand to your forehead.
“Oh, my God,” Stiles breathes, “please stop.”
You flinch as a sudden thud echoes, and you’re not oblivious to the way all three boys practically step in front of you as a response. You let out a huff of annoyance because realistically, the only one who’d have an actual right to do that is Scott because he knows your powers are... a little out of question right now. But you don’t dwell on the matter too long as your attention is stolen from a boy, roughly around your age, before you, pressed up against the glass barrier of his room. “Did you take the doctor?”
Brows furrowed, Liam leans forward; “what?”
“Did you take the doctor?” The boy repeats. “I haven’t had my medication. I need ten milligrams by eight a.m, fifteen milligrams at one p.m., and no more than twenty at dinner.”
“We’ll get the doctor,” Scott whispers.
“Dr. Fenris.” He nods. “Dr. Fenris. They took Dr. Fenris.” He lets out a quiet sob, becoming distressed as he slams against the barrier once more. And as the second pass, his bangs get more aggressive, more rapid. Your chest tightens in fear, not having to look to know it’s probably catching the attention of the two nurses.
“I haven’t had my medication. I need to see the doctor. They took Dr. Fenris.”
“Hey,” Stiles calls, turning to you, Scott and Liam, “somebody, shut him up.”
“I need to see a doctor.” Another bang. “Dr. Fenris.”
“Shut him up!”
Leaning past Stiles, you bite your lower lip as the nurses start heading your way, getting closer by the second. “Guys,” you hiss, “they’re getting closer.”
Scott lets out a growl, trying to keep quiet, But the growl mixed with his red glowing eyes is enough to quiet the boy down, causing him to take a step back away from the barrier. He doesn’t say anything more, petrified.
Glancing around the corner along with Stiles, a breath of relief leaves your lips when you notice the men simply walk around the corner, turning off.
Meeting Stiles’ gaze, you nod. “Come on.”
-
“Where’s the card reader?”
Pausing at Stiles’ question, you turn your head back over your shoulder, baffled. “What?” You let out, no one really answering your question but it still being heard as you let your eyes drift across the gated door in front of you. True to his word, there’s no card reader, just a key hole.
“It should be here. It has to be here.” 
Turning to Stiles, Scott shakes his head; “they must have taken it out when the Dread Doctors got through.”
Lips parting and eyes practically bulging in disbelief, Stiles huffs; “are you telling me we came all the way down here just to be stopped by an ordinary key? Are you kidding me?”
Pacing on his feet, Liam takes a step back; “we don’t need a key.” Turning his head, he meets Scott’s eyes, nodding. “Not if we can break it down.”
-
“Guys, we’re running out of time.”
“And,” you add, “it’s not working.”
Out of breath, both Liam and Scott step back, “we can’t,” Scott breathes, huffing. “The Mountain Ash. It’s too much.”
You glance around in panic, trying to think of an idea, but pause, turning rigid when you notice Liam’s eyes zone in on your own. Your brows furrow in response, lips parting to ask him what, but he speaks up before you can. “What about you?” He nods, catching the attention of both Stiles and Scott as well. “Can’t you use your powers to unlock it? The Mountain Ash doesn’t effect you.”
Eyes widening, you swallow thickly. Your lips part to argue but the truth is, Liam is right. That is something you could, rather should, be able to do. But your stomach twists in fear at the prospect of all else that could happen if you tried. Last time you used your powers, you’d created a rather large crater around your entire being. Your power was enough to knock down trees and rumble the earth beneath your own feet. What would your power do to your brother, Stiles and Liam, being so close to you?
Mind you, you were stressed and panicked and all else at the time. But you were stressed down, and panicked too because what if you didn’t get to Lydia...
But what if you did do this and you hurt not just Liam, but your brother and Stiles too? What if you... killed them...
“I--”
“She can’t,” Scott cuts in, causing you to blink over at him in surprise. “It won’t work.”
You notice out of the corner of your eye, Stiles’ brows furrow in confusion and his eyes narrow. But he remains silent. Liam, however, on the other hand, just as puzzled, takes a step forward, shaking his head. “Why not? I thought--”
“It’s just not an option, Liam.” Scott says simply, voice firm, eyes flickering red for a moment before settling back to their normal colour. “It’s out of the question.”
Frowning, you glance down at your feet. Maybe you should stop being so selfish. Maybe you should stop being so afraid. This wasn’t just about you, it wasn’t at all actually. It was about Lydia. It was about getting her out before she died, getting her to safety. It was about getting her out before she killed possibly innocents around her.
Maybe, if you were less afraid, your powers wouldn’t--
“Hit me.”
Blinking, your eyes fall on Liam as he turns to Scott, nodding. “Hit me.”
“What?”
“I’ll get angry,” he explains, “then i’ll get stronger.”
Your brother turns to Stiles, baffled. But Stiles, without hesitation, nods. “Hit him,” he gestures to Liam, moving his fists in a demonstration of sorts. “Hit him.”
“I tried to take your powers,” Liam reminds, “I tried to kill you. Hit me.”
One glance at Scott and you know a part of him is trying to hold back, even if he knows it’s one of your final options.
“He also left you for dead.”
Sighing, you bite your lip. It was obvious Scott didn’t want to hit Liam, even after all he’d done. He was his beta after all. But because of you, this was the only option left.
Your eyes clench shut. Just... believe in yourself. But you couldn’t.
You couldn’t get what you had read out of your mind. Couldn’t forget Anne breaking her husbands leg, hurting her own child, murdering innocents by accident all because her powers were too much for her...
“I wanted you dead.”
In the next second, Scott’s fist is bashing into the side of Liam’s cheek. You step back in response, flinching as Liam inhales sharply, giving himself a second before turning to Scott; “do it again.”
Scott does.
Wincing, Stiles shakes his head; “it’s gotta be harder then that.”
“Do it! Do it!”
“Scott.” You call, but no one really hears you.
Letting out a growl, Scott swings at Liam once more, the boys wolfish powers starting to appear as a mixture of growls, groans and heavy breaths is all that envelops the silence.
“Yeah!” Stiles calls out, blinking.
One more hit seems to be enough, and you watch, almost in slow motion as Scott steps back, growling out; “you angry?” before Liam turns towards the three of you with yellow glowing eyes of a beta and fangs, his chest rising and falling heavily, rapidly.
All Scott’s gets for an answer is a loud, roaring growl.
“Me too,” Scott nods, setting his hands on the boys shoulders before the two of them turn back towards the door.
It only takes them a few seconds before they’re able to pull the door off the hinges and chuck it forward, it sliding across the hallway of the closed off section. The second it’s off, Scott sets his hand on your back, guiding you forward with a nod.
“Stiles, Y/N, go!”
You listen without fault, following closely behind Stiles as he leads the way, offering one more glance back at Scott and Liam. 
The next set of doors you and Stiles approach has a card reader that Stiles easily opens, shoving the door open and sending you a brief glance as he makes sure to leave it open for you. You just nod at him, urging him to rush forward with the reassurance that you’re not that far behind. 
A few more turns and your eyes widen when you turn into a room. Your eyes land on the drill next to the bed first, then on the blood that slowly leads to Lydia. Lydia with a hole in the side of her forehead. Your heart plummets to the pit of your stomach, terror flooding you at the sight of your friend so... destroyed.
“Stiles...” She mumbles, not having caught sight of you because of the way you’d halted by the door.
Stiles rushes forward instantly, crouching next to the bed and his hand raises to touch the side of her head lightly. You don’t have to see his face to know the expression on it, sure that it mimics one similar to your own. Absolute disbelief and fear.
“You can’t be here,” Lydia breathes, voice shaky. “You’re going to die if you stay. All of you.”
Stiles simply ignores her, pausing just a second of absolute bewilderment, before moving to the restraints around her wrists.
“Stiles, he’s coming.”
“Y/N,” Stiles calls, shaking his head at Lydia’s words, “help.”
It takes you a minute, meeting Lydia’s eyes as her lips part in disbelief, now noticing you. You race forward, moving to Lydia’s other wrist, you work quickly to pull off her restraints.
“Y/N,” Lydia whispers, breathless, “please...”
“Lydia,” Stiles huffs, “we’re not leaving you here.”
“You have to.”
A second later, you halt at the sound of an alarm blaring.
“He’s coming,” Lydia whimpers, “please. You have to go. Please.”
“Stiles,” you call, finally speaking up. His eyes flicker to yours slowly and setting your own over his, you nod, slowly. He only hesitates a moment longer before letting you pull him, rushing out of the room and around a wall, ducking down to hide.
The next minute, Dr. Valack is walking through the hall, and into Lydia’s room.
A few more minutes of silence pass before he speaks up. “Stay focused, Lydia,” he mumbles, voice firm, controlling. Meeting Stiles’ eyes, you inhale deeply, shaking your head with worry.
“What did you do to me?” Lydia cries, and your chest tightens, swallowing thickly.
“I’ve amplified your abilities,” Dr. Valack explains, “something that might just save the lives of your friends.”
“Theo and Hayden,” Lydia suddenly mumbles, voice raspy. Your brows furrow at the names, shaking your head. “They found it. They were looking for Noah, but they found a symbol. A circle inside of another circle, carved into a wall. The symbol of Scott’s pack.”
You remember that. But what did that matter?
“It was more than a symbol, wasn’t it?” Dr. Valack questions, “it was a promise to reunite them.”
“Yes.”
“But has Scott done it yet? Will he be coming for you?”
Pressing your back further against the wall behind you, catching out of the corner of your eye the way Stiles’ leans forward, peering through the gates to look into the room best he can. You let your head fall back, taking in everything being said, trying to make sense of it.
“Someones coming,” Lydia warns, “but it’s not Scott.”
Your eyes widen at the sight of Theo and his pack. They all but storm in, Tracy easily pulling Dr. Valack back and away from Lydia, slamming him against the wall.
“I can’t believe this is actually a medical establishment,” Theo smirks, and you feel yourself freeze at the sound of his voice. 
“Now,” Dr. Valack calls, voice raspy because of Tracy’s tight grip. “What would a pack of Chimeras want with a Banshee?”
“I don’t want a Banshee,” Theo says simply,you turning to Stiles in response as he turns to you with furrowed brows and a shake of his head in confusion. You simply shrug your shoulders back at him, just as puzzled, before focusing back in on the conversation. “I’m looking for a Hellhound.”
Parrish.
Just then, roaring echos. You don’t have to look to know it’s Parrish. Perfect timing.
“You wanted a Hellhound,” Dr. Valack calls, “I think you found one.”
The door doesn’t stop Parrish. He all but melts it, effectively creating a path through as your eyes widen and you push Stiles’ back slightly. This is really not good.
All of a sudden, a cry leaves your lips. It catches Stiles’ attention instantly but isn’t loud enough to be heard over the sound of Parrish growling, your hand instantly falling to your lips to stop yourself from being heard. It feels like your body is burning from the inside out as you slump against the wall behind you, body tensing.
“Y/N,” Stiles whispers, his voice barely audible. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”
And it takes you a second to figure it out. You know it’s not your powers because episodes don’t feel like this. This, is ten times more painful and it feels like you’re being electrocuted at different spots across your body. Your nails dig into the palms of your hands once more, biting on your lip harshly to stop yourself from crying out aloud, not wanting to catch anyone else’s but Stiles’ attention.
His hands fall on you, hands momentarily cupping your cheeks as his eyes flicker across your figure in worry, puzzled.
And then, it clicks. You felt something like this before.
“Scott,” you breath, it coming out as a choked rasp. “It’s Scott...!”
A minute later of writhing and desperately trying to hold back your cries of pain, the sound of a roar, a familiar one, echoes. It’s distant from where you are and that’s how you know it’s not Parrish or Theo and his pack. 
It’s Scott.
And just like that, the pain fades.
-
Working with Theo to find Lydia was top five of the worst case scenarios. Especially because you knew (as you’re sure Stiles did as well) that what he wanted with Lydia was not her safety or to bring her home.
What he wanted with Lydia, with the Hell Hound too, was nothing good.
But, he was also the only one who could track her. And it didn’t leave you very many options, or any actually, other then following him and letting him lead. And given the fact that her trail up until this point had led into the tunnels, with multiple directions Dr. Valack could’ve taken Lydia, you’re ever more screwed then you’d been before.
One glance at Stiles and you know he’s just as put out and frustrated by the rock and a hard place the two of you have placed yourselves in.
“I thought you had her scent.”
Briefly glancing at Stiles over his shoulder, Theo shakes his head; “I lost it.”
“So,” you say bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Find it.”
You didn’t wanna be stuck down here with him one minute longer then you had to.
“What do you smell down here, Y/N?” Theo asks aloud, sending you a deadpanned expression before pressing the side of his face up against the pipes leading along the side of the tunnel again.
Turning to Stiles, you shrug; “chemicals and fecal matter.”
“I’d like to say,” Stiles pops in, “i’m pretty sure the fecal matter is you.”
“I’d definitely agree with that.”
Rolling his eyes, Theo shakes his head; “I smell it, too,” he explains, shuffling forward a little. “It’s all that I can smell. Which is why i’m trying something else. So can the two of you please shut up and let me concentrate?”
Scoffing, Stiles brushes past you, picking up the speed in his step. “I’m gonna find her.”
You just sigh.
“You know you won’t, Stiles,” Theo reminds, quick to follow after him as you trail lightly behind. “You’re going to have to trust me.”
He can’t really think--
“Trust you?” Stiles exclaims, obviously the same thoughts having crossed his mind. “The guy who murdered his own sister when he was nine?”
“Yeah, I was nine years old.”
“Like that’s an excuse,” you scoff, pulling Theo’s eyes behind him and effectively on you. Crossing your arms over your chest, you narrow your eyes at him. “You still murdered her.”
“But I was nine,” he emphasizes, “I also believed a guy in a red suit came down the chimney to deliver presents.” Shaking your head, you’re not even sure how he thinks that’s a reasonable argument. “So when three people in leather masks showed up and said that my sister wanted me to have her heart, I believed them, too.”
“So then together you gutted and killed her.” Quirking a brow, Stiles scoffs; “it’s a beautiful story.”
Theo sighs; “I watched her fall into the water and freeze to death in minutes. Do you think I had any idea what was going on?”
“I think you pushed her,” Stiles calls back, “and I think you liked it.”
There’s an echo of silence, Stiles and Theo continue to stare one another down and you hang back, unsure of what to say. You obviously agreed with Stiles, but you knew just as much as him, that the two of you wouldn’t be able to find Lydia on your own. You may be a witch (one, mind you, that had no control of her powers) but you couldn’t track scent or direction like a werewolf.
However, no one can say anything before a scream echoes. Lydia’s scream.
Turning to Stiles, you wince; “that doesn’t sound good.”
His eyes flicker from yours to Theo, sighing; “which direction was that?” 
You turn towards Theo and your brows furrow when you notice the baffled expression on his face.
“Where’s it coming from?”
“Everywhere.”
-
The minute you see Lydia and know that she’s safe, at least as much as she can be, you step back.
Especially when you see Stiles run in for her. Because you know, if anyone can save her, it’s Stiles. That, while she’s not completely safe or okay yet, Stiles will get her there. You know because he’s done it for you before. It’s that thought that lets you have a moment, lets you lose focus for a moment and be selfish because you suddenly just can’t help it any longer.
And part of you knows it’s wrong. It’s selfish, especially in a time like this, when Lydia’s life had been so dangerously hanging over the edge and still was. Maybe a few seconds too late and you could’ve lost her completely. You all could’ve lost her. 
But you’d been biting it back this entire time. Pushing it to the back of your mind and forcing yourself to focus, despite how helpless you’d truly been, not oblivious to the way Stiles had reacted each time Lydia got further and further away from the two of you. Not oblivious to the urgency and panic behind his motives and the desperation that had been so plainly clear on his face about getting to her and helping her.
You’d wanted to save her too. Of course you did. Everyone had. But there had been something just slightly different about Stiles’ reaction, and you were reminded of when you were younger, when things had been simpler, and you’d had to watch on in the sidelines as Stiles never really batted you an eye and only focused on Lydia. When you’d had to hear him go on and on about how perfect she was when he’d come over to hang with Scott.
This was, obviously, in much dire circumstances. However, you can’t help the way you falter, or the discomfort that settles deep within your stomach and the heart break as you watch him handle her with such care and worry. They share words amongst each other that you can’t hear, mainly because you don’t want to, standing off to the side, hidden from view. Just watching.
And when Stiles has her, has Lydia safe in his grasp, he’s rushing out of the door without a second thought. Without even a glance in your direction. 
You shouldn’t be jealous. You shouldn’t be hurt. Lydia was the priority here. She’d been the entire time, of course, because her life was the one in danger.
But, in that moment, everything you’d witnessed, made you doubt every second of your relationship with Stiles. Made you wonder if it meant as much to him as it so clearly had to you. Made you wonder if he was missing you as much as you were missing him right now.
It didn’t take a genius to see that he didn’t.
Your head pangs, and you wince, faltering in your step with a whimper when you realize it’s your powers.
A hand falling on your shoulder pulls you from your wandering and suffocating thoughts. You’re dazed as you turn in the direction of the person, forgetting for a moment that Theo had even been there. However, as your eyes fall on his, they narrow and you harshly rip yourself from his grasp, stepping back from him quickly.
He sighs in response, “Y/N--”
“Don’t,” you growl, “don’t say anything.”
“...I know what I just saw.”
Scoffing, you huff. Rushing towards him, you take the collar of his shirt and grip it between your hands tightly, eyes blazing. “You don’t know anything.”
He doesn’t argue. For once, using his common sense. Instead, he simply raises his hands by his side in surrender and you let go of him, turning your back towards him and rushing out of the room without another second to waste.
You can’t stand to be there, or around him, for any longer.
You start to run, in an attempt to catch up to Stiles and Lydia. But just as you move to turn a corner, confident you’ve caught up with them, you feel a force hit you directly in your chest. It sends you flying back, stumbling over your own feet as you crash against the wall behind you.
Holding your hands over your head, you push as best you can against the force.
It slows, and you hear a voice call out for you. “Y/N!”
Trying to glance past the smoke and the two figures in front of you, your eyes widen when you manage to see Scott. You notice Liam and Stiles next to him, to which you firmly avoid the latter’s gaze, a few seconds later, eyes falling on the back of what can only be Parrish, holding who you presume Lydia.
Walking forward, Parrish nods at your brother; “which way?”
He nods, lips parted in surprise, before gesturing before him. “This way.”
Liam quickly takes the lead, and Scott hangs back a minute for you. You nod gratefully as you reach him, letting him guide you forward as you both fall next to Stiles who is desperately trying to keep up with Liam as he takes multiple lefts and rights.
“There’s gate up ahead,” he explains with a brief glance back at Scott.
Your brother shakes his head in response; “what about Mason?”
“He’s on it,” is all Liam says, “trust me.”
You send an apprehensive glance both Scott and Stiles way, but none of you really have any other choice. So, you just follow him. Calling out for him when he runs a little too quick to keep up with. And just as you’re about to yell at him once again, he comes to a rigid stop in front of the gate he’d been talking about before, grabbing a hold of it and pulling it open.
Your eyes widen in surprise when it actually does open.
Panting, he smiles back; “I told you!”
-
“She’s okay?”
“Yeah,” Scott breathes, taking a seat next to you on the sidewalk. “She’s okay.”
Smiling softly, a real, genuine smile, you meet your brother’s eyes, sending a brief glance back at the clinic behind you, to the doors, and then back to Scott. “That’s good.”
And Scott’s quiet for a moment, letting the silence drift. He tries to think of what to say, tries to choose his words carefully. He wants to help. He wants to help make you feel better. Because he knows this isn’t, right now, about your powers. And it of course isn’t about Lydia, because she was okay. As okay as she could be, at least, and she’d definitely get better.
This was about Stiles. He just knows.
All he manages is a quiet; “are you okay?”
“I’m good,” you whisper, staring out ahead of yourself. Your eyes can’t help but fall on Stiles jeep that was parked in front of you, in a similar spot it had been that night Scott and him had the fight. The night everything had gone wrong. The night that you ruined your relationship. 
And it’s that thought that causes your eyes to water and your vision to blur. You know Scott’s watching you but you’re too tired to try to hide your tears, try to brush them away, so all you simply do is let out a meek, cracked whisper of; “i’m really good.” It’s so clearly a lie, even if you hadn’t been crying. Scott feels his heart break a little in pity as he watches you.
Never before has he seen you so broken.
He doesn’t have anything to say. He doesn’t know what to say to help. He’s distraught because normally you’re the one consoling him. Normally you’re the one better put together and even if it was unfair, normally he could lean on you for help and you’d be there to guide him. You may be twins but you’ve always been his guardian, even in ways he hadn’t known or noticed.
You were the one who took all of your fathers anger so Scott didn’t have to. And you never said anything for years because you didn’t want that burden to be on Scott’s shoulders. You didn’t want him feeling guilty for something he’d had no control over. 
You’d been the one to protect him from bullies when you were younger. You’d been the one to tell kids off who were picking on him for not quite fitting in. Scott could recall multiple times you’d taken the fall for something he’d done just because Scott was so scared of getting in trouble and you didn’t want that. You’d always taken the blame for him. And very often, you still did.
The hours you’d spend staying up late with him to help him understand something from school. Help him finish his homework cause he’d leave it last minute unlike you. The times you’d supported him when it felt like everyone else was against him. People may regard him as the leader of the pack, but you were the one who helped keep him steady. Who helped him keep a clear mind. Even when he’d ignored you or tried to keep you out of things (he’d done it for your safety, of course, but he can now see how wrong he’d been). 
You were always there for him. Always.
And here you were, trying to hold it all back, crying and he didn’t know what to do. That very morning you’d admitted to him that you were so scared of hurting him or anyone else you’d been ready to end your own life just so you didn’t have to. You’d broken down in front of him this morning because you were terrified of yourself, and Scott hadn’t even known about it in the first place until it’d gotten this bad. Because he just hadn’t bothered to ask.
Because, he figured, you were you, and you’d always been good at picking yourself back up again. That you’d always been good at helping yourself. The one time you’d needed him to pry and keep you steady, he’d been too focused on himself to.
The one time you’d needed him, he hadn’t been there.
And now, here you were, heart broken from his own best friend, and Scott couldn’t find anything to say to comfort you.
What a lousy brother he was.
“I love him,” you whisper, interrupting the silence and pulling Scott from his thoughts. Slowly, you turn your head towards him, meeting his eyes through a blurred vision. Your lip trembles as you speak, voice quivering, and you let out a soft sniffle as you mumble; “but I don’t think he loves me. Not anymore. Maybe... maybe he never did.”
You fall against him then, just collapsing into his arms.
He wants to say of course Stiles had. Of course Stiles still did, because he knows that he does. But, he knows, the one thing he does, is his word won’t be enough to convince you. And right now, that isn’t what you need to hear.
Scott might not know what to say to help, may not know what to do from this point on, but he can hold you now. Can just... hug you and let you let it all out. For once. It can be just about you.
And unbeknownst to the both of you, even Scott, too focused on you, a pair of eyes watch you. A pair of eyes that hadn’t meant to pry, but had simply left to give Lydia time with her mother. A pair of eyes that had come out to find you, and talk to you, because he hadn’t been able to as of yet. And he wanted to. Needed to.
But, a pair of eyes that halt when he sees you crying, and everything within him turns rigid when he realizes the reason you’re crying is because of him.
-
Part 38?
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Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 11: Established Relationship
A Christmas Miracle | @gii-heylittleangel
Rating: General Word Count: 1019 Main Tags/Warnings: fluff; holiday fic Summary: A day to be marked: when Dean Winchester finally says "I love you".
Is there a reason you're naked in my bed? | @casseythebee
Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1085 Main Tags/Warnings: kissing, nakedness, mentions of violence, blood, language Summary: the boys arrive back to the bunker after a hunt. With a bit of adrenaline still coursing through them they have a little fun, that gets a bit interrupted
Sick Day | @mrshays28-blog
Rating: General Word Count: 1093 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Husbands, Castiel Has A Cold, Dean Takes Care of Castiel, Dean Gets A Cold, Domestic Fluff Summary: Dean and Castiel spend a quiet evening together just as Castiel’s starting to recover from a cold. Dedicated to anyone who’s gotten sick because their S.O. is also sick.
Ash | @deansrightfulangerissue
Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1106 Main Tags/Warnings: Housefire, Canon Universe, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Dean's shoulders tremble as they watch the flames devour everything he and Cas have built together.
Proposal Gone... Right? | @fangirlingtodeath513
Rating: General Word Count: 1194 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Dean Winchester,Castiel (Supernatural),Marriage Proposal,Fluff,Domestic Fluff,Romance Summary: Dean's been planning this proposal for a long time, but on the day he's actually supposed to propose, nothing seems to go his way. Will he actually manage to propose without everything falling apart?
Faithfully | @cr-noble-writes​
Rating: General Word Count: 1311 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Mild Angst, Happy Ending, deaf cas, Rockstar Dean Summary: Castiel is very unhappy with the fact that Dean is working on Valentine’s Day. But maybe he can be forgiven.
You look so sexy when you’re ignoring me. | @casseythebee
Rating: General Word Count: 1415 Main Tags/Warnings: language Summary: After Castiel catches Dean flirting with a, quite frankly gorgeous, girl at a bar he tries to give him the silent treatment, for the first time.
Just The Way You Are | @gii-heylittleangel
Rating: General Word Count: 1555 Main Tags/Warnings: self esteem issues, body image issues, emotional hurt/comfort Summary: Coming back home to only silence is never good in Dean's vision; finding Cas crying, all alone, makes it even worse.
Spit-Polish and Shine | @jemariel
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1564 Main Tags/Warnings: PWP, voyeurism/exhibitionism, top!Cas, bottom!Dean, sex on the Impala Summary: You know how Dean Winchester doesn't wear shorts? Well. Sometimes he does. Unredeemed filthy porn on a car.
and let me correct it | @curioussubjects
Rating: Mature Word Count: 1584 Main Tags/Warnings: Coda, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, Feelings, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap Summary: They’re in the hallway about to part for the night when Dean makes a decision. He steps closer to Cas, slowly – careful since it’s been a while since they were last like this. Cas doesn’t back away, doesn’t add any distance between them, though he looks at Dean with curiosity, a trace of hope and a challenge in his eyes.
Not According To Plan | @peanutbutterjelly-pie
Rating: General Word Count: 1724 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Established Relationship Summary: A fire truck, a smoky kitchen and an unexpected surprise are awaiting Dean after coming back home from work.
Meeting Emma | @deansrightfulangerissue
Rating: General Word Count: 1952 Main Tags/Warnings: Mention of a Car Accident, Minor Injury to a Child, Hospital Setting, Alternate Universe, Dad!Dean Summary: Dean’s pacing the hospital corridor like some nervous expecting father. After all, that’s who he is right now. And the daughter he didn’t know he had will be here any moment.
An Angel Cake for an Ex-Angel | @cloverhighfive
Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2411 Main Tags/Warnings: domestic fluff, romantic fluff Summary: Cas is depressed and Dean is looking to make him feel better by baking him an angel food cake (he fails a few times).
Kiss and Make Up | @fangirlingtodeath513
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2546 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Dean Winchester,Castiel,Smut,Fluff and Smut,Arguing,Jealousy,Angry Sex,make-up sex,Blow Jobs,Face-Fucking,Topping from the Bottom,Power Bottom,Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester,Power Bottom Castiel (Supernatural),Bottom Castiel (Supernatural),Top Dean Winchester,Barebacking,Naked Cuddling,Post-Coital Cuddling Summary: It's the same argument they've had a million times before; Dean's too jealous, especially when Castiel is already engaged to him. This time, though, Cas isn't going to let their argument get in the way of some hot make-up sex.
Home Alone | @kitmistry
Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2740 Main Tags/Warnings: Underage, Highschool AU, Fluff and Humor Summary: ""Dean, shut up,"" Castiel cut him off, flush faced and gorgeous, and looking every bit done with Dean's complaints and every layer of clothes between them. He yanked Dean's shirt off, before lowering his head to suck and bite at the curve where neck met shoulder, and Dean's brain fizzled out. He couldn't think of much else but fingers undoing his belt, and the tan skin he uncovered when he managed to wrestle Cas out of his shirt, and then there was a hand making its way inside his underwear, Cas kissing him to breathlessness. A car door slammed closed outside the house. Or the one where Dean is stuck in a bathroom.
The Secret Boyfriend | @fangirlingtodeath513
Rating: General Word Count: 2759 Main Tags/Warnings: Marriage, Weddings, Engagement, Engaged Castiel/Dean Winchester, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Wedding Jitters, Established Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary: It all starts when Sam sends Dean and Cas separate invitations for his wedding. Then there's the fact that Mary asks if they'll mind sharing a bed. Dean's family can't still be in the dark about the fact that he and Cas are together... can they?
I've Never Wished for Anything more than You | @gii-heylittleangel
Rating: General Word Count: 3054 Main Tags/Warnings: canon temporary character death; canon divergent 12x23 Summary: Dean has lost many people before—it’s practically a normal thing in his line of work—but none of them hurt as much as Castiel’s death. Especially because Dean is sure there’s no possible way for the angel to come back again. Or so he thought.
It was just a prank | @notfunnydean
Rating: General Word Count: 3795 Main Tags/Warnings: Prank Wars, April Fools' Day, Sam writes a love letter in Cas' name, hurt!Dean, playing with someone's feelings Summary: When Sam wakes up to discover that his mattress is soaking wet and his brother laughing loudly, he decides to take vengeance. Somehow, along the way, the prank war turns a bit too serious and Dean ends up really hurt.
Deep Blue Ocean | @suckerfordeansfreckles
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4046 Main Tags/Warnings: creature AU, cecaelia Cas, tentacles, first time, bottom Dean, established relationship Summary: Dean’s been in contact with supernatural creatures and people for all his life, as far as he can remember. He’s been working as a social worker for years now, specifying on cases that involve supernatural families. But he’s never really… been with a supernatural creature. He’s never been with anyone, ever, for more than a night, really — not the relationship type, that‘s what he used to excuse it on. But then he met Cas, on a case he worked with his brother, one in a cecaelia community in California. He met Cas, a cecaelia himself, and was kind of lost right away, because Cas was friendly, helpful, articulate and kind of brilliant. He’s also… gorgeous. When Dean first saw him, he kind of lost all breath and brainpower. They’ve been together for a few months now, but in all this time, they haven’t been intimate, haven’t really dared to go beyond their heavy make-out sessions. It’s especially hard again for Dean today, to not just devour Cas. To not just beg him for more.
On Display | @saltnhalo
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4053 Main Tags/Warnings: Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Praise Kink, Team Dean Winchester's Red Ass, Toys, Exhibitionism, Camboy Dean Winchester, Panties Summary: “I’ve invited a special guest for today,” Dean tells his viewers, glancing away from the camera as the bed dips beside him. Cas is all easy confidence as he settles onto the mattress next to Dean, and they share a quick smile before Dean turns his attention back to the viewers. “This is my boyfriend. For all of you who’ve wanted to see me get fucked by something other than my varied collection of toys…” He winks teasingly and pitches his voice a little deeper—teasing, sultry. “Today’s your lucky day.”
Texas Sun | @banshee1013
Rating: Mature Word Count: 4185 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Sam Winchester Is Not Amused, Fluff, Canon Related, Honeymoon Summary: Ever since Cas and Dean tied the knot, they have been driving Sam *insane* with their inappropriately located and utterly spontaneous make-out suggestions. So when he finds them looking at filming locations for the movie ""Tombstone"" in Arizona, he suggests they take some time (and give him a break!) and road-trip it. Dean plans the route and takes the long way 'round through Texas - all the more time to spend with his angel, and show him some sights along the way.
Till Dawn | @kitmistry
Rating: Mature Word Count: 4431 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Suicide, Zombie Apocalypse AU, Fluff and Agst Summary: Before the world went to hell and the dead took over, Castiel and Dean couldn't have led more different lives. While Castiel was wasting away at an insurance company, Dean was busy chasing tornadoes around the country with his brother. They would have never met - they wouldn't have even known the other existed - if humanity hadn't crumbled like a card tower. Or the one where Dean helps Castiel escape.
Red | @gii-heylittleangel
Rating: Mature Word Count: 5509 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, gore and blood, minor characters deaths, major character injury Summary: Dean didn't even think; he ran to Cas as fast as he could, screaming his name in pure terror, grabbing a handful of Cas's uniform to pull him into his lap. Cas's eyes were wide as he stared at Dean, hands grasping uselessly at the wound by his side. His uniform was soon more red than green and Dean could feel it seeping through his combat pants. The smell soon reached Dean's nose and he couldn't do anything more than just cradle Cas's head between his hands, sobs coming out of his mouth along with something he thought was please no, not him, not him. He never actually believed in prayer until that very moment but he had to start, because all he could do was pray to any and every gods that could be out there to not take Cas away from him, because Dean wouldn't be able to survive without him; Dean couldn’t even think of living without Cas. The amount of blood and the paleness that Cas's face was turning told Dean that none of the gods were actually hearing him, but he kept on praying because there was nothing more he could do; please, God, no, not Cas, please, don't take him away from me, I love him.
Interrupted | @a-mandala-rose
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5818 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Dean/Cas, Kid Fic Summary: “Cas, babe, I’m ready,” Dean pants, “please..” but the rest of his plea is cut off by a sudden wail from the baby monitor. Jack. “Goddammit!” Dean lets out a noise that is definitely not a whimper as Cas stills his hand. “It would be wrong to dose them all with Benadryl, right?” “Dean.” “Just checking.” Dean loves his and Cas' three children with his whole heart, but he desperately needs some alone time with his husband. OR The world's most relatable fanfic ever. (If you've ever had small children, that is.)
Long Exposure | @saltnhalo
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7581 Main Tags/Warnings: Model Dean Winchester, Photographer Charlie, Dom/sub Undertones, Dom Castiel, Sub Dean, Model Castiel, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean, Photography, Photographer Castiel, Nude Modeling, Exhibitionism Summary: Nude model wanted for erotic photoshoot. All photographs will only be submitted for assessment at approval of model. Males and females welcome – must be willing to take directions. All photography will be undertaken in a safe studio, and at the pace and comfort of the model. Payment of $100 for two hours of work. Tear off a number if interested.
Ignorance Is Bliss (Usually) | @pray4jensen
Rating: Mature Word Count: 8185 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, Domestic Summary: Dean and Cas have a very public deathbed confession and officially become an item. And this would totally be thrilling—except Sam gets knocked out during the fight and misses the whole damn thing. Or the one where everybody except Sam knows and Sam thinks Dean’s sudden newfound celibacy is a witch’s curse.
Try A Little Stardust | @cuddlemonsterdean
Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 8594 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff and Angst, Hurt!Dean, Disabled!Dean, Happy Ending Summary: They soak for long enough that Dean actually falls into a light doze. It’s nice to just enjoy the water and the quiet for a while. It’s only been a handful of days, but Castiel has missed holding Dean like this and being close to him. His warmth and the beat of his heart are grounding, anchoring, and to Castiel it will always be special to know him this intimately.
A Different Kind of Filling | @gracefuldean
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9239 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Established Relationship, Vampire Hunt, Diners, Porn with Plot, Porn with Feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Possessive Castiel, Food Play Summary: After taking care of a vampire nest near Bicknell, Utah, Dean and Castiel stop for a quick bite at one of the town’s diners, known for its (in)famous pickle pie. The unusual dessert is just the beginning of an afternoon Dean won’t ever forget, in which weird fillings and not so new feelings will make him realize that he truly has got it all.
After you and me, there is us | @castielscarma
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 13091 Main Tags/Warnings: Divorced Cas/Dean, past relationship, grief/mourning, child loss, getting back together Summary: Dean is forced to deal with his feelings and emotions about everything after meeting his ex-husband while having lunch.
Circles of Gold | @pomegranatedaffodil
Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 17312 Main Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, Royalty AU, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers Summary: Seven years ago, Dean and Castiel chose each other over their families, their kingdoms, and their crowns. They have since come to terms with that decision, but the arrival of a messenger from Dean’s kingdom disturbs the peaceful life they’ve built together and forces them to make another choice, one that could have equally lasting consequences.
Fight or Flight | @ellis-park
Rating: Mature Word Count: 23186 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon universe, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort Summary: Just when Dean's started to feel good about his life — the end is not nigh, and his brother and his angel are safe in the bunker — Sam and Cas start keeping secrets from him. It's not a big deal, at least not at first. Everyone needs to play some things close to the chest. But when Dean finds out what they've been hiding, the bubble of carefree happiness he's carefully placed around his family finally bursts.
A Treason of Truths | @cr-noble-writes
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 28035 Main Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, faerie!cas, demon!dean, moc!dean, minor character deaths, major character injury, angst with a happy-ish ending, smut, bondage, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamics, top!cas, bottom!dean Summary: When the time comes for The Seelie Court to confront the Dark Realm about their attempted conquests of surrounding kingdoms, Castiel asks that Dean accompany him on a diplomatic trip to The Royal City in the center of the Dark Realm. Dean is unable to refuse his lover, especially because he knows the danger the King will be in. But Dean has a dangerous secret that could cost him both his love and his life. Will their relationship survive the discovery of a sinister plot for the Fomóraigh to take over the Otherworld?
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sambinnie · 3 years
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1. Happy Mabon! Every autumn, I forget that the darkness comes clanging down in a great rush in the mornings. One day, I am greeted by a pinking sunrise. 48 hours later, it’s so dark on my run to the river that I have to stop a passing runner and check the time, in case my disturbed sleep sent me dressing and leaving the house at 2am. This summer may not have given us those mornings where it’s so hot I can barely get out of the water, where those early hours feel like full silent days carved out just for me to sit in the light and wait for everyone else to wake up, where the only extra thing I put on to run home is my trainers — I look at my waiting winter gear, neoprene socks and gloves, head torch, two more thickening jumpers, hat, thermal mittens — but every season, every day, is beautiful.
Today we go early for celebrations, and the water is silky, and Orion hangs over us with his phallic sword dangling and Betelgeuse winking on one shoulder. The near-full moon spotlights us and I feel almost ready for the shortening days.
2. Hilary Mantel continues to be a literary god. How does she write with that clarity? How can I ever speak with her calm good sense and wit? 
3. We have two main problems at the moment, as far as I can see. a) What we’re doing (“curating” our lives; twitter spats; purity spirals; division and isolation; wanting ‘debates’ that can only be won or lost; encouraging people to buy more things; trying to buy our happiness; letting marketers tell us how we feel about the world rather than encouraging major moral lessons from throughout the ages to challenge us on our weaknesses; refusing to accept that life is suffering; asking self-care to be a plaster for everything we don’t have) and b) what we’re not doing (joining together to stand against those with more money and power; protecting the people who have even less power and voice than we do as a matter of course; learning from history; protecting nature above all else; prioritising going for walks; learning to repair things and campaigning to make things repairable; having a basic belief in human dignity for all, not just those with whom we agree; accepting that truly, we are all different and no amount of shaming or disgust will change that; working to shape our societies, culture, economies, production, food supplies and communications around improving — not just sustaining — the air, water and land, and fighting to ensure all of those new shapes protect women and children).
Individualism has morphed into something so completely self-destructive that we’ve forgotten we need nature more than anything — literally, more than anything — and we need to unionise and unite and put aside differences and work together even with people we don’t like. 
Because when there are wicked people in power, when it’s genuinely exhausting to think about all the corrupt, venal, toxic, divisive, false, and cruel things they have done since coming to power, those people love to watch everyone below pointing their fingers at one another, saying, You, You’re The Enemy, You’re The Problem, while corrupt populist leaders rub their bellies and chuckle at another promise broken, another mass death on their hands, another building site on a protected forest. Do you understand the stakes here? Do you understand that it’s actual survival? It’s not about being right any more, it’s not about besting someone in the argument. It’s about having decision makers who can not only ensure there is still food to eat and air to breathe, but that relations both within a country and between countries are built on care, and support, and compassion, and believing in human dignity. And while it sounds wishy-washy and hands-clappy it’s the schmaltzy, sentimental truth. It’s the only one, really. 
If we instead continue to believe every single day that my feelings are the most important, that my beliefs are the right ones, that I’ve got to prove those baddies there are evil and awful and wrong, then honestly, what the fuck? If we’re happy to live in a country where hostile architecture is the starting point for all public builds, where we send refugee boats away from our shores, where affiliate links are a career goal, where we haven’t stormed the Daily Mail offices with accounts of all our lovely immigrant friends and family and had a huge feast together and compared our long and tangled family trees, then come on. It’s only a race to the bottom if we all keep running. 
Because, pressingly, whatever the spark of a major global conflict — assassination, fuel shortages, hyperinflation, invasion — the kindling is almost always a populace fed pure hatred for months, for years, until they can’t even taste it anymore but are ready to spew it out again, and are ready to use another populace as the receptacle. And hatred is brewed up in silence and isolation, and in the ashes of bridges burned between disparate groups. 
And on that note, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, mainly because I don’t believe governments are generally competent enough to manage Grand Plans, but it’s annoying that technology and social trends and culture have developed in such a way that no one knocks on anyone’s door for a chat as a matter of course now, that it’s a given that a ringing phone triggers anxiety, that it’s not the norm for cups of tea with your neighbours, that we don’t know each other’s neighbourhoods, that we don’t even talk on the phone, with live words and intonation and synchronised laughter, but in text, in WhatsApp chats, in tapped out words and symbols that we know can be screen-grabbed and misinterpreted, that we know are kept, filtered and sold by the tech companies. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s just a reality that every single one of us can choose to do differently. 
Sometimes exactly the right thing comes along at the right time. All of us here watched About a Boy at the weekend, a film which is so wonkily weighted and oddly rhythmed, but a perfect depiction of everything I’m banging on about here. Hugh Grant’s character likes being alone. He’s happy that way. It suits him. It’s his choice. Then, between one thing and another, he finds himself drawn into a world of a suicidal single mother, a duck-murdering young boy, more single mothers, more tricky teens, plus exes and mothers-in-law and awkward support groups. And it turns out that actually, being with people is better. Being uncomfortable often develops you as a person. Constantly prioritising only yourself produces a waxen, pointless baby. Making shared sacrifices might just be the point of being alive. Remember that to be human is to be flawed. That no one is ever completely right, and no one is ever completely wrong. That the boring stuff makes us feel good, and the glossy stuff, if all we strive for is gloss, doesn’t. 
If you want anything practical, here are the things that have really helped me over the last few years:
Writing a letter or email regularly to my MP, to CEOs of organisations, to anyone I want to communicate my strong feelings and how I’d like things to be done better. Tweeting eats your soul. It’s a horrible myth the media pretends is important. It really, really isn’t.
Inviting people to go in front of me in queues, in traffic, getting on to buses and trains. It lowers my stress levels right down.
Learning the names of my neighbours and people I meet regularly on walks and letting them learn mine. (I definitely haven’t just decided I loathe a neighbour because they cut a bird-hatching tree down in their garden on the last day of the year it was legal to do so. It’s fine.)
Joining a few political parties, and the closest thing I have to a union
Making something, anything — everything can be done with love, and learning to not get sucked into the capitalist conceit of having to make it perfect, sellable, exhibitable is a genuine gift to yourself; making a cake or a film or a coaster and not putting it on social media, letting it be ugly or serviceless and loving it anyway. I felt extremely overwhelmed the other evening, but instead of doom-scrolling I knitted a… I don’t know, something flat and woollen, and it helped to have my hands and eyes working on directionless introspective creation. 
Trying to stop hating. Every time I want to tell a negative story in my head about someone, I attempt to turn it into something positive: how unhappy that person must be, what they must be missing out on. It’s so nauseatingly Pollyanna-ish, and of course it isn’t always successful, and of course every single day brings a hundred thousand examples of cruelty and injustice and wickedness, but the alternative only makes my life feel worse, so why would I indulge that? 
Teaching myself the names of birds, trees, flowers, clouds and constellations. I’m still at the most basic levels on all of these, but the difference one feels in the world when you can name things  — let alone use them and know their stories — is a very real sort of magic. (For that reason I hope to read this book very soon.) This episode of The Cut is also good on the wonder and power of learning the names of the weeds that grow in your nearest pavement crack. 
4. Creating anything is always a gamble, isn’t it, but writing a book you actually like for once and seeing it slowly and beautifully sink to the bottom of a river never to be seen again is ever so slightly crushing. However, it turns out even Thom Yorke feels that way, so I am comforted. 
5. I’m sure I’ve mentioned plenty of these before, but if you want some suggestions of where to find joy, here are my favourites from the last year or so:
I was given Lucy Easthope’s book, When the Dust Settles, for work recently, and I was surprised and delighted to discover the most uplifting, hopeful, human and rightfully angry book I’ve read in a long time. Do yourself a favour and preorder it. I bought this other book for my own birthday, gave it to a housemate to give to me, forgot about it, and was delighted to later unwrap He Used Thought As A Wife. Laughed a lot, cried twice. Marvellous. 
Now even the youngest housemate here can recite John Finnemore sketches and sing the songs. Has also taught them various composers, gods, logical fallacies and gothic story tropes. Also v funny. Oh, Kate Beaton! Her two books (Hark! A Vagrant and Step Aside Pops) are a bit like a comic-book version of Finnemore, but swearier and sexier and utterly unsuitable for all the housemates who have read it and been educated about the Brontes, Katherine Sui Fun Cheung, Tom Longboat, Nancy Drew, Ida B. Wells, Sacagawea, and the Borgias. 
Had to give Inside a restraining order against me for the sake of us all, but Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade is a masterpiece of writing, acting, sound design and optimism. Spy is dumb action comedy polished to perfection, and Yasujirō Ozu’s Good Morning seems like the inspiration for almost all US arthouse films since 1990, and is also beautiful, funny, thoughtful, and good. 
Taylor Swift’s Evermore, like all brilliant albums, isn’t completely perfect. But most of the songs are. And Hole’s classic Live Through This is still just ideal for turning up very, very loud after a tricky day, for the enjoyment of any neighbours who may have hacked down a bird-friendly tree on the last day of February. 
Watched both series of Liam Williams’ Ladhood when I had a week off this summer, and really relished the location, the intention, and the writing. More please. 
Miles Jupp and Justin Edwards continue to be my comforting bedtime listening in In and Out of the Kitchen. Has it ruined Nigel Slater for me? Well, a bit, but no more than any of us deserved. 
I thought this would be a book I’d mumble through the first chapter of, then let get buried in my To Read pile, never to re-open. Instead, I found Whatever Happened to Margo? laugh-out-loud funny, drily written, and full of humanity. Excellent Women has made me want to read everything written by Barbara Pym, a goal I am slowly but surely working towards. 
6. I’ve spent the last few years trying to find hazelnut trees, and finally found a copse between a car park and a play area, full of nuts the squirrels hadn’t noticed. Now I’ve found them, the spell has been cast and I see hazel trees everywhere, on walks and on pavements and running along motorway slip roads. A tray of green and brown frilled hazelnuts now dries with the laundry. They are so beautiful. 
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laufire · 3 years
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i’ve seen people compare dean to buffy (and dean/sam to buffy/dawn), and i do not have the energy to articulate how deeply fundamentaly WRONG that is. NO. he’s elena. (i do however see agree that there are dean/angel parallels.)
Oof.
I could imagine there were such comparisons, but I’m very, very glad I’ve never had encountered them personally xD.
There’s a lot to unpack alone in the Dean-Buffy comparisons that I’d feel more comfortable doing when I’ve watched more of Dean’s journey, but it goes without saying I agree with you: Buffy and Dean aren’t similar people, at all. The comparison bugs me, ngl, but, and this goes beyond parallels. I’m going to take comfort in the fact that Buffy would be disgusted by Dean xDD (and god, can you imagine how shitty Dean would be to her. Putting aside what a misogynistic creep he can be -I’m not forgetting that scene with Jess any time soon-, I can just picture the kind of shit Dean “rape joke” Winchester would say to her about her relationships with Angel or Spike and it sickens me). Not that I actually think Dean and Elena would get along either, similarities or not xDD
But boy, the Buffy-Dawn vs. Dean-Sam comparison. That one is a kick to the stomach. Even worse than the one with Wynonna and Waverly -Wynonna Earp takes clear inspiration from SPN, but it really only works on the surface level; so, if that’s how you watch the show, I could potentially understand those comparisons, fine. But Buffy and Dawn?? Are you kidding me???
Buffy cherishes Dawn, she encourages her growth and her relationships and bonds with others. She doesn’t restore to violence when Dawn says something that makes her angry. She apologizes to her and strives to make amends and acknowledges when she’s wrong. She’s forgiving and understanding and compasionate of Dawn’s mistakes. When she finds out Dawn is not human (that she’s not even her sister at all), she embraces it and never shames her for it.
If you think any of the above applies to Dean, you have completely bought into his POV, disregarded Sam’s, and have a blind spot in the narrative the size of every state they’ve been in s1 alone combined.
Now, Elena sending Damon to erase Jeremy’s memories when he becomes to difficult to control? That sounds right up Dean’s alley and, according to s9 (I think? The one where he tricks Sam into getting possessed by an angel without his knowledge. Good times I’m sure) wikia summaries, maybe even a little tame for him xD. Jeremy had to lie to Elena about what he was planning to leave town and her clutches, and that was by the time Elena’s influence was minimal. At least he seems to have a life separated from her doing what he wants.
Also, I’m never, ever going to forget something Dean said to Sam back in s4 that froze me where I stood: that threatening “If I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you”. Try to put that phrase in Buffy’s mouth, *especially* in relation to Dawn, and tell me how that sounds.
I do concede there are similarities between Dean and Angel lmfao. For one, Doylist-wise I see them fitting into the same pattern: SPN seems to have started with the idea of being about BOTH brothers, but Dean’s POV (partially for his character type, partially for Ackles presence and charisma) dominates and redirects the plot from practically the first second. Angel wasn’t initially supposed to have as much weight on BTVS, but try to stop Boreanaz xD (he has the IT factor. How I wish he was cast as Bruce Wayne in a show lmao). His scenes on the pilot awakened memories of both Angel and Chuck Bass lmfao, in terms of how disruptive and all-encompasing his presence was.
I can see some similarities beyond that, too. I’ll never deny that Angel could be a terrifying mean cold mofo, soul or no soul. Hell, some of my favourite moments in the Buffyverse are whenever Angel acts like a cold mofo (Forgiving, anybody???). And I could see very unflattering yet not entirely unfair comparisons been made, although I’d probably have a good argument for those! Like with Buffy, I see key differences that to *me* matter in terms of how I react to each character, although I’d probably could say a lot more after I finish SPN.
For now, I’ll say that one of them is that Angel has proven himself capable of relinquishing control and make amends (see s2 of ATS), something that at this point I doubt Dean has in him in any meaningful way. And also... this is more abstract but Dean is so full of this self-righteous, poisonous hate in him for anything other. It’s one of the things I find so utterly frightening about him. And I don’t see that in Angel, at all. Because Angel is the other and he never, ever forgets that (in that one way, actually, Sam is closer to him. Dean could’ve never done what Angel did with Faith, or with Darla in s2. Sam could, and has done close enough things for comparison).
I must also say that a good romance softens audience reaction to a cold mofo like nothing else lmfao, so Bangel definitely affects how I see Angel. It’s not exactly a mystery why his episode with Cassie is by far the most likeable I’ve found Dean lol (likeable as in likeable, as opposed “fascinating terrifying character” the way I’ve done in other episodes lol). Still count myself lucky she never made a reappearance, with this show’s track record xD
But anyway. Dean is his own thing. And one of the many things he can be is a meaner, scarier version of Elena Gilbert lmao -because he doesn’t have the constraints she has and can be terrifying in areas Elena couldn’t. I get the impression I’m going to have a reversed reaction to their arcs, however. In TVD, I started out loathing Elena (on Caroline’s, and later Bonnie’s, behalf. Even Jeremy’s, to a lesser extent) and only could properly appreciate what an interesting character she was after I’d let go~~ of my hate lol (in her case, because she was no longer as serious a threat to those characters I cared about).
With Dean, as of now I don’t hate him. I mean, I think he’s scary and hateful as a person, but I don’t feel the way I did for Caroline or even Bonnie about anyone around him getting hurt, by him and their vulnerability to him; for now, my interest on him as a character construct trumps that -we’ll talk again when I properly see his dynamic with Castiel lol. Even if it turns out there’s no reason to feel as protective there as with the characters in TVD, the spoilers I’ve read (and contrasted with the wikia, I always do that) about how I know he treated Jack are going to be enough to make me wish the worst for him. His treatment of full grown adults he has complicated relationships with can fit within my “fascinating and terrifying protagonist” description. Driving a kid that, looks or not, has the life experience of a toddler to a suicide attempt to them tell him “no, I’m gonna be the one who kills you” is only going to make me feel nausea, because it already does. At this point, the knowledge that Jack has the power to resurrect him but doesn’t care to only fills me with satisfaction xD
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