#i may be overreacting about the crappy person part

[withleeknow]

endgame. (m)

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, explicit smut; unedited. minors dni. word count: 1.1k note: she was gonna be a cute fluffy piece but she got away from me and turned slutty all of a sudden lmao... anywhomst, i wrote this while half asleep so it definitely could've been better but oh well 🤷‍♀️

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

It started off innocently at first, or as innocent as can be when you’re naked together in a bathtub, with your husband’s hands roaming your body, kneading any spot he thinks would help you ease your tension. The knot on the back of your neck, your shoulders, down your arms and legs, until he paused at your thighs.

Today was a crappy day, one of the worst you've had in a while. Everything started going downhill about an hour after you showed up to work, and it kept rolling down the slope of bad-day-ness until you got home. Shitty boss, shitty coworkers, some annoying backhanded remarks from your family that you didn't appreciate at all. It was too much.

You just wanted to go home, cuddle up with your Minho, and start anew tomorrow.

The second that you opened the door, though, your husband was there, greeting you with a soft smile and an even softer kiss. Like he could sense that something was up even though you hadn't mentioned anything to him all day. You even tried to hide your sour mood from him, thinking that maybe you were overreacting, that maybe it would go away eventually.

You don't know how he knew, but there he was, trying to cheer you up without you having to ask. He'd made all of your favorite dishes, because he knows you love it when he cooks for you more than any expensive meal he could get for you. After dinner, he'd told you to just sit there and look pretty with your favorite ice cream that he bought earlier today, while he cleaned everything up. He'd gotten on the couch afterward and cuddled with you while watching your comfort show.

And now here you are, in a bath that he ran for the both of you, trying to help you wind down after a hellish day.

He's been showering you with affection and pampering you with love all evening, without even being aware of everything that transpired throughout the day. He just knew, and he just simply made it his personal mission to comfort you any way he could. The mere thought of it is enough to bring your tears to your eyes.

Slender fingers squeeze your flesh before they start drawing odd patterns into your skin. Minho tilts your head to the side so he can kiss the corner of your mouth. “Can I make it better?” he asks.

You don’t answer him with words. Instead, you place your hand on top of his and guide it toward where you need him the most. Your husband graces you with an endeared smile the second his fingers meet your core while you sigh, eager for what’s to come.

He finds your clit with ease, just rubbing it for a moment and relishing in the way your voice gets caught in your throat, until he’s satisfied with how wet you are.

You wait with bated breath as he starts circling your entrance with the tip of his middle finger. And when he finally pushes in, burying the digit to the knuckle, all you can do is moan his name with a neediness that’s only reserved for instances like this.

“Fuck…”

You throw your head back to rest on his shoulder, your lips parting in a silent prayer as your thighs try to close around his hand, to keep it there between your legs. There's no one you love as much as him, and even after all these years, sometimes you still wonder how he could possibly be yours.

It's this kind of moments that makes you want to thank all the higher powers out there that aligned the stars for you and him.

“Feel good?” he asks, dragging his lips to pepper the side of your face with soft kisses.

“So good… You’re so good to me…”

Minho thrusts the single digit into you for a while, just testing the waters, easing you into the feeling, before he adds a second finger to join the first. It earns him a beautiful whimper from you, then a clench of your velvety walls around his fingers.

Then you’re turning your body to try and face him better. You catch his mouth in a kiss, but the way he instantly takes control and deepens it makes your head spin with desire. You think he must be doing it on purpose when his digits suddenly curl inside of you, making you gasp against his lips. If there’s one thing that Minho loves more than hearing the sounds you keen out for him, it’s feeling those sounds being released into him.

You attempt to reach for his hardened length - which must be throbbing at this point - between your bodies, but he just swats your hand away. “Just let me take care of you," he scolds lightly.

You want to protest, want to say that he should feel good too, but it's not exactly easy to put up much of a fight when his fingers are still relentlessly pumping into you, caressing your walls on every stroke.

His thumb flicks your slippery clit as his other hand comes up to cup one of your tits, squeezing it in his palm until you’re arching desperately into his touch. Some water splashes over the edge of the tub and onto the marbled floor as you squirm against his body, your hips bucking wildly into his hand, trying to find that high and hoping to crash into it headfirst.

Minho can tell that you're close. He knows you too well.

“Come on,” he says softly, before pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. “My love.”

A few more swipes at your clit coupled with some more consistent thrusts into your slickened heat and you're done for. Your cunt spasms around his fingers as you cry out his name, grinding feverishly against his hand. He helps you through your orgasm, all the while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. There's my girl. You did so well for me. I love you. Just things that he tells you practically every day, but they still make you flutter with absolute fondness for him nonetheless.

Once you've calmed down, you peer up at him lazily, still leaning against his body with his arms around you. Minho just smiles, seemingly so proud of himself that he's made you feel better.

More than better, actually.

You love him, so goddamn much. If only he knew that he didn't have to do anything to salvage your day. Only his presence was enough for you. It's always been enough for you.

The thought of ever loving anyone else seems like an impossible one. He's it for you. This is your endgame, right here.

"Thank you," you say.

"You never have to thank me." He shrugs sheepishly, then kisses you again, softer and slower this time. "You're my wife. I love you. I'm always going to want to make your days better."

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.11.2023]

[natashasbanner]

However, if all you wanted to do was spread hate, fine. You can be angry, or pissed. Honestly, I get that it's horrible, and I wish it were different. Just don't tag Yatesmann, Holtzbert, Tolbert and Yatesbert if you don't truly mean that you want us to get along. That just makes you a crappy person.

I can only assume this is the same Anon as before. 

I don’t think that post was hateful, I never said anything bad about anyone’s ship. I love them all remember? And I tagged all the ships to prove it :) (But seriously I was just making a joke) 

And it is extremely rude to go into someone’s inbox and call them a crappy person. I didn’t call anyone, in any of my responses or posts, any names. I don’t even think I cursed in any of them. I did, however, present my opinion as politely as possible and when that didn’t work I made a gag post. It made the people it was intended for laugh and if people missed the joke that’s on them. Don’t call me a crappy person and kindly stay out of my inbox. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 12) - Not So Sweet Home

Summary: Jensen is fed up with his parents ignoring Y/N all day and when he gets a moment alone, blows up on them like never before. The reader sees how upset Jensen is over what’s happening and does her best to defend him while still trying to salvage a relationship with them...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 6,200ish

Warnings: language, major family angst, mention of a dead parent

A/N: Eek! If you like angst this part is for you! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

________

It was late, the kids asleep in the guest bedroom, Jensen’s siblings and their families gone home for the evening aside from his brother. He made some half ass excuse about wanting to hang out with Jensen more but you knew he could sense what you did. Jensen was getting close to popping after a whole day of politeness on his part and his parents ignoring you on theirs.

Jensen was bouncing his knee like crazy as he sipped on his beer around a gas fire pit, suddenly stopping when you shifted in your seat.

“Maybe you ought to cool it with the alcohol tonight,” said his dad. Jensen set his empty bottle down on the grass and breathed deeply through his nose. “Your legs been-”

“Y/N, would you get me another beer please?” asked Jensen. You took the opportunity to get out of there, surprised when the back door opened quickly after you, his brother closing it behind him.

“I don’t think your parents like me very much,” you said, going to the fridge and pulling out a drink. 

“I know,” he said, glancing out the dark window. “Jensen asked me to make sure you don’t come back out there.”

“He’s gonna go off on them.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m guessing,” he said with a sigh. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to go well. You guys can crash at my place if you want. We don’t have a guest room but we have an air mattress we can put in the family room.”

“You think it’ll be that bad?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Then why are we in here talking about this when we should be out there making sure he doesn’t say something he regrets in the morning.”

“You might hear things you can’t unhear,” he said. 

“Right now my concern isn’t if my feelings get hurt. He’s really upset and I need him to be okay.”

“You know that’s why the rest of us like you, don’t you? You care about him, the kids. You’re in love with him.”

“Yes I am,” you said as he nodded.

“You call me if either of you ever need anything,” he said, going back to the door. You nodded and took a deep breath, following him outside and already hearing raised voices.

“She’s half your age, Jensen,” said his mom. “She was your nanny. Sweetie you have to know what’s going on here.”

“You’re getting played,” said his father, catching you walking out with Josh.

“She is not half my age. She’s thirty fucking years old! She’s a goddamn adult and been through more shit then both of you put together! She’s not after fucking money,” snapped Jensen who was already out of his seat.

“You’re engaged to the girl after five months!” said his father. “It took you years to propose the first time around!”

“Because I was a nervous kid that was away working constantly. I didn’t want to make Dee stay if it was gonna make her unhappy. I’m not afraid of how I feel anymore because I feel the same about her as I do Dee and I’m not wasting my time so I can stick to your socially acceptable schedule,” said Jensen. “I love her and she’s gonna be part of this family whether you like it or not. Deal with it.”

“You need a prenup,” said his dad.

“No I don’t!”

“Yes you do! You’ve known the girl for not even six months!”

“She’s not up to anything!” shouted Jensen.

“Son-”

“Have you ever lost your wife? Have you ever been in the car and almost die yourself while you watch her breathe for the last time? Where she’s hurt and you can’t do a thing to fix it? Have you ever had to tell your children their mother is dead and she’s not coming back? You have no idea, no idea, what that does to you, how much it hurts and how much it hurts when you’re still so fucked up and your parents start making comments behind closed doors about you and you have to pretend you’re better when you’re really not. When you don’t even care about yourself anymore, when you pretend for everyone’s sake so they stop treating you like a child, when you don’t know how to tell your kids it’s okay because it’s not. It’s not. Until you go through that, until you know how bad it hurts, don’t assume a damn thing about her. She’s my best friend and she makes me feel like my old self again. I laugh and smile and have fun and when I get scared or feel guilty or freak out she makes me feel better. I don’t give a fuck how old she is or what her job was. She’s kind and good and she deserves better than you two. Danneel’s parents like her. Jared’s parents like her. Her old foster dad’s family likes her. Our family likes her except for you two. Get your heads out of your asses or you can not even bother letting me know you exist anymore. I’m done with things hurting the women I care about. I couldn’t stop what happened to Dee but I can sure as hell keep Y/N away from the two of you,” said Jensen. He huffed and walked off, Josh running off after him. 

“Well congratulations. You got your hooks in him deep, don’t you,” said his father. You rolled your eyes and his mother scoffed.

“You can take care of someone without treating them like a child you know. He’s an incredibly strong person. If you don’t like me fine. But don’t call him stupid or easily manipulated or imply that it’s wrong to know you love someone after only a certain amount of time. I love your son.”

“You love his money,” said his mom.

“I do just fine on my own,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “He’s staying at Josh’s house tonight. We’ll pick up the kids in the morning.”

“He’s overreacting. He’ll be fine in the morning,” said his dad. You crossed your arms and leaned your head back. “He’ll be fine.”

“You two don’t know a thing about me and you assume I want money because of my age and my former career. Don’t assume your son will be fine and get over it.”

“We’ve known him a lot longer than you have. He’ll get over it after a night’s rest.”

“You may have known him longer and I’m sure in some regards you do know him better but not the ones that matter. If you did, you would have seen how much he would have loved for the two of you to like me. I would have taken some respect and been happy because trust me, I get how this looks to everyone else. I understand you have fears and I’m not mad you have them. I’m mad you assume those are facts when all they are is a story you made up in your head you don’t want to change. He’s right, I’m not going anywhere. The difference between him and me though is that I’ll stay out here all damn night with the two of you until you get it through your heads that I’m not here to fuck him over. I love him. I don’t have family, not really. Things have always been screwed up for me pretty much until I met him and he didn’t have to say it for me to know that he was hoping he could share the two of you with me. Maybe I was hoping for that too. But right now I’ll take some goddamn respect and an apology to your son to start and we can go from there.”

“You’re gonna curse at us and expect an apology?” said his mom. “We know you took him when he was at his low and tricked him into trusting you so you could get exactly what you wanted.”

“You know what I want? What I’ve always wanted and somehow always seems to get ripped away? A family. A stupid fucking family. Being a nanny? That let me feel like part of the family. I could pretend I was like all of those people I worked for. Nice and normal and like people gave a shit. Some kindness and a family is all I’ve ever wanted. You two...you wouldn’t have survived a day in my childhood. In my adulthood with the shitty ex boyfriend and the crappy friends and I picked myself over all of them because my mom told me to stand up for myself. Even when she couldn’t be there and I wanted her to. So I stand up for myself and now I stand up for him and those three kids to anyone and I mean anyone, that hurts them. He’s my family and those kids are my family. I don’t know what you think I’m gonna do but I guarantee the only thing I will do is tell you two where to shove it and to leave him the hell alone.”

“Why would we believe anything you say? At all?” his dad asked. “It’s probably the same sad story you told him to get him on the line. I don’t buy it.”

“I have a million dollar book deal. I’ve worked rent free for a lot of rich people since I was eighteen years old. Do I sound like someone who needs his money?” you said. You put your hands on your hips and shook your head. “What is it? You want me to sign a prenup? I would but he doesn’t want one. He trusts me and for a guy that lost his wife and had to work through falling in love with another person, I respect that. He knows what he wants and he’s not wasting time. This is scary for him. It’s scary for me. But when Dee’s parents gave me open arms and kindness and their blessing, the last people I ever expected to disapprove were you two. If you’re going to stand there and keeping calling me a liar, I’m going to find your sons and I’m going take care of Jensen instead of wasting my time here.”

“We don’t disapprove of him moving on and marrying again,” said his mom as you turned to walk away.

“Could have fooled me,” you said. 

“He’s going too fast and he doesn’t know you either, not well enough to make a decision like that,” said his dad. You turned around and smiled.

“He knows my favorite color. He knows what my favorite flavor of ice cream is. He knows why I have nightmares and he knows how to make me forget them in the first place. I’m sorry we aren’t doing things on your schedule but it’s his life. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with it, whether that’s me or somebody else. For the record, he knows me just fine. Oh and if this is how you plan on speaking to him again in the morning, I’ll pick up the kids myself.”

“We’re looking out for his best interest,” said his dad.

“No, you think you’re looking at his wallet for him. See money? People think that’s important and it is but best interest? It ain’t that shit,” you said as you started to leave.

“Well what do you assume his best interest is then?” said his mom. 

“Treating him like an adult. He is smart and strong and the most emotionally healthy man I’ve ever met which considering all the fucked up shit he’s been through and felt the past year is really saying something. He’s your child but he’s not a child. He found someone he loves and all he wanted to do was share me with you. This was his worst nightmare and I couldn’t stop it. So if you’re not gonna even try with me, then I’m gonna protect him from you.”

“He doesn’t need protecting from us,” he said.

“You call him stupid and that he can’t take care of himself, that he can be fooled and that the person he thinks is his best friend really only wants him for his money. He knows none of those things are true but it’s what you said to him when you said that about me. For a man who went through what he did, it wasn’t mean. It was cruel. I’m gonna go fix what I can of your relationship with him because despite all that, I know you guys love each other and I’m not letting that get fucked up because you think whatever the hell you think about me.”

You stormed off around the house and found Josh’s truck still there but neither man in sight. You looked around and heard a sniffle, your head going up to the roof. You saw the lattice work on the side and climbed up, peeking your head up to spot the two of them sat on the roof.

“Hey,” you said quietly. Jensen wouldn’t look at you, Josh rubbing his back. 

“Careful,” he said as you climbed up and slowly walked over. You took a seat on your bottom, spotting the window behind them. “That was my room. Jensen used to sneak out this way. I was always too nervous of getting caught to try myself. You landed the bad boy of the family.”

“Oh yeah, such a bad boy,” you said. You scooted closer on your butt to him, Jensen resting his head on his knees. “Hey. Before you even think about it don’t say you’re sorry.”

“I know,” he said. He took a deep breath but looked up, looking fairly normal aside from a slightly pink nose. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Nobody was,” said Josh. “I’ll give you guys a minute. I’ll be in my car when you’re ready.”

“You should go home,” said Jensen. “Staying in a different house won’t change anything.”

“That was kinda fucked up what they said.” Jensen raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “I don’t always agree with them. If you guys want to stay, that’s your choice but I’m not going home without telling them what a mistake they’re making.”

“You don’t have to-”

“You’re my little brother and I like her. Even if I didn’t, they’re being assholes and she doesn’t deserve that. You don’t. Alright?”

Jensen nodded and Josh walked off to the lattice and climbed down while you scooted next to Jensen. 

“You thought your siblings weren’t gonna like me,” you said.

“He’s a good person. He’s never told off our parents before so...I don’t know if I’m happy about that or not.”

“He’s a good big brother,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t love you for your family though. I don’t care if your parents don’t like me. I’ll deal with it.”

“I wish you didn’t have to,” he said.

“I still like your dad so much better than mine,” you said.

“Yours is a monster to be fair.”

“Yeah, he is. Yours love you and I don’t agree with them but in their minds, they’re protecting you and I don’t have a problem with anyone trying to do that.”

“How are you so fucking kind to them after they basically said you’re with their dumbass son because of money?”

“Like you said, I know monsters. I know toxic and bad. They aren’t it. They raised you and I really, really like you. Good people can be stupid and still be good. In the morning we’ll try again.”

“What if I can’t get them to change their minds?” he said quietly. 

“Jensen,” you said, moving to squat down in front of him. You grabbed his cheeks and he stared at you. “You don’t have to pick anybody over anybody. Maybe I won’t be close with them but that’s okay. It’s so okay. We’ll respect each other or just won’t talk to each other and we’ll figure it out but we don’t have to do it all tonight.”

“I think what bothers me the most is they’ve already made up their minds about you based on your age when they don’t even realize who you are. They don’t see that this is the kind of person you are, kind and supportive and I heard you not taking their bullshit. You’re a stronger person than I am and I wish they could see that the reason I’m not freaking out over this is cause I know you’re my partner and you got my back like I got yours. I’m just having a hard time understanding why they won’t even listen to us.”

“I don’t know,” you said, eyes darting to the window when you caught some movement inside. You narrowed them and glanced down, spotting the crack between the windowsill and frame. “I’m a little cool. I’m gonna get my sweatshirt if that’s okay.”

“Careful climbing in,” he said, turning on his bottom and pushing the window up. You kissed his cheek and climbed inside, the room empty as far as you could tell. You stepped out to the hall and into his old room, getting your hoodie, his old hoodie. You pulled it on but went downstairs, catching his parents in the kitchen with Josh.

“Josh may I speak to your parents in private,” you said.

“Yeah. I’m done here. I’ll be over for brunch, okay?” he said. He walked past you and caught your arm. “Call me if you need me back.” You nodded and he kissed your temple before he went out. 

“Were you eavesdropping on us?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“We went to tell him to get off the roof. We could see him from the backyard up there,” said his mom, putting her back to you as she mixed up something in a mug. “But we heard the three of you talking and then the two of you. We didn’t mean-”

“We are all on the same side. His side. We should get along. It shouldn’t be this difficult and I don’t appreciate private conversations being listened in on. But I hope you understand that you hurt your son. I know you didn’t mean to and it’s the last thing you’d ever want to do to him. But you did. So please try to help me fix this. This isn’t easy for me to accept that you don’t like me either but you’re gonna respect me. If we can respect each other, then he’s not going to worry as much at least. Please promise that we can agree to that,” you said. His parents looked at each other and you sighed. “You have to be kidding me. What do you want me to do? Go away? I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”

“That’s not...Jensen called your father a monster up there,” he said. 

“I thought it was a sob story according to you ten minutes ago.”

“You said you don’t have parents. He said your father is alive.”

“What’s your point, Mr. Ackles,” you said. “Please enlighten me.”

“It doesn’t make much sense to tell different stories,” he said. 

“You can’t even give me the benefit of the doubt that I love your son. Why the fuck would I tell you things only he knows, things so few people know about. Why would I trust you with the worst parts of my life when you don’t accept the best ones. For your information, my birth mother is dead. My adoptive mother is dead. I wish my son of a bitch father was dead. The only glimmer of a parent I have maybe, maybe was my foster father. That was until last weekend. I met some parents. I met Dee’s. I met Jared’s. I got the same message from all of them. Let us know if you ever need anything. Oh the way he looks at you. You must be pretty special. Anything at all, you give us a call. People that don’t even have an obligation to look in my direction treated me like I was their kid. So maybe he and I both got our hopes up with you two and that was on us. If you want to pick apart what I’ve said and call me a liar…” you said, putting your hands on your hips. Your shut your eyes and breathed deeply, turning around. “I don’t care if you have to pretend to respect me. Just do it for his sake and the kids sakes, alright?”

A tissue appeared over your shoulder and you took it, blowing your nose and stepping away. 

“When did your mother’s pass?” you heard behind you. You threw your head back and took a deep breath.

“When I was born and when I was sixteen,” you said, turning around and swallowing. “Why does that matter?”

“When were you adopted?” he asked.

“Why do you care?”

“Please.”

“I was eight,” you said.

“So you only had your mother for eight years then,” he said. 

“Yeah. She got sick when I was fourteen. I stayed with her boyfriend until I moved out for my first nanny job at eighteen. It was all very sad and angsty,” you said.

“Who made the first move?” 

“I’m done with this interrogation,” you said. You started to leave but he stepped in front of you. “What do you want from me?”

“I just want to know who made the first move, you or Jensen.”

“I don’t…” you trailed off. “We had a fight. I told him I didn’t want him to be my friend anymore, he was just my boss and that was it. We couldn’t hang out at night and stuff anymore.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want him to hurt me,” you said quietly. “I didn’t fit with his life. I’m not a pretty actress. I’m not smart. I’m the younger nanny and that’s all I was gonna be until I became an older nanny and that was supposed to be my life. I didn’t ask for…”

“For what?” asked his mother, carrying over her mug and setting it down on the end table.

“I didn’t ask for him to love me. But he did and I don’t know why but I trusted him not to hurt me. It’s not fairytales and roses all day every day but I like having a best friend and I never would have submitted those books to a publisher without him encouraging me and I need him to feel better. He can’t catch a break lately and I hate seeing him upset. It makes me sick to my stomach and I really, really need him to be okay so please stop doing this. Just stop. Please. I don’t care if we have to pretend the rest of our lives but please, I can’t keep seeing him take hit after hit anymore and not being able to stop it.”

You weren’t expecting the hug from his father or to bury your face in his chest for a brief moment. His mom guided you to sit on the couch, pulling a blanket around you. She handed you the mug and you saw it was hot chocolate, your eyes darting back and forth between them.

“This isn’t about to be like a lifetime movie where you murder me, right?” you said. 

“No,” said his mom as she sat next to you. “We hurt you quite deeply today, didn’t we.”

You stared at the mug, holding it in your hands. 

“You were looking forward to meeting us,” said his dad as he sat down on your other side.

“It doesn’t matter. All I care about is him.”

“I don’t think he’d be very happy with you laying down for a semblance of normalcy for him,” he said.

“Just spit out whatever the fuck you want,” you said. You gripped the mug and shut your eyes.

“I’d like you to stop swearing please,” he said. “In exchange, maybe we can have a second chance.”

“Second chance at what?” you said dryly.

“At meeting our son’s fiance.” You lifted your head and stared at him, catching a bashful look you saw in Jensen every so often. “We understand, as well as we can, he was hurt after Danneel. We can’t fix those problems like when he would scrape his knees. We knew he was in a vulnerable position and things between the two of you seemed so fast for how in pain he was. We thought of the worst of you before knowing you and that wasn’t right of us. We were trying to protect him. But like you said, we all try to do that. So if you’ll let us, give us a second chance.”

“For him, I will give you both a second chance,” you said. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this but this sort of thing isn’t going to go away just like that, for him or for me.”

“Is there anything…” said his mom as you shook your head. “We are sorry for before. Truly.”

“I know. Trust is difficult for me on a normal day. You guys kinda tore through the safety nets I thought I had with you. I need to build them up again is all.”

“That was you that said that, people have safety nets,” she said. You raised and eyebrow and she sighed. “Jensen, months back, he told us his therapist told him that, put things in perspective.”

“I guess couple’s are kinda each other’s therapists,” you said. “Sometimes they just need to vent to each other too.”

“Before you said...has he ever been to one?” asked his dad.

“Last weekend was...intense. I went to one as a child and he talked to him for a little while, helped him put things in perspective,” you said.

“Intense? Did you fight?” she asked.

“He and JJ got stung by a scorpion. It was a little serious. We went out the next night and I made a comment and he took it a different way and he got upset thinking I thought of myself as being less in his eyes than Dee was. I know it’s not true, it’s just different. He’s been having a really great week aside from today.”

You took a sip of the hot chocolate and went back for more, drinking half the mug down. 

“We screwed up,” said his dad with a sigh, sitting back against the couch. 

“Yeah but he’ll forgive you,” you said. “This is really good Mrs. Ackles.”

“Thank you sweetie and call me Donna. I made it for Jensen. He’s always liked it when he was living here and having a bad day.”

“Why do you think he’ll forgive us?” asked his dad as Donna got up.

“Because he’s Jensen. He’s not an angry man. Angry in moments but he doesn’t hold onto anger. I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. So I know he’ll forgive you. When I’m not sure of but it won’t be forever.”

“Have you two ever fought badly?” he asked.

“We’ve had a few fights. Mostly small and when we’re both tired or hungry. We had a big one a few weeks ago when he got home but we talked about why it happened and how to make sure it doesn’t again,” you said. Donna carried over a kettle and poured more hot chocolate in your mug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Don't ask about fights Alan. It’s not our business. We should let them tell us what they want,” she said as she walked back to the kitchen.

“They probably should have had a big fight at least once to know if they can work through those things and it sounds like they have,” he said when he turned to you. “I know you’re probably love struck but marriage? That’s a lifetime of putting in the work.”

“Alan if I didn’t care about putting in the work I wouldn’t be down here right now. I know I don’t know everything I’m signing up for and no one really does but I know him and the kids and that’s worth the parts I have to work at.”

“You sound older than you look.”

“Age doesn’t always equal life experience,” you said.

“I suppose not,” he said. He stood and took a deep breath. “I do apologize for thinking the worst of you and not giving you a fair chance upfront.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m going to bring this up and check on him.”

“Can I ask one last thing?” asked his dad. You nodded and he looked over to Donna who gave him a short nod. “Josh said you really love him.”

“I do.”

“Do you think he loves you the same way?”

“I know he does,” you said.

“How are you so sure?”

“How are you so sure your wife loves you?” you said. “Goodnight Alan.”

“Goodnight,” he said, his mom catching up with you in the foyer where the stairs were. You gave her a tired smile and she nodded.

“If I told you something, would you keep it a secret from Jensen?” she asked.

“No,” you said with a smile. 

“I had to try,” she said. “We’re not like this by nature. Something happened he doesn’t know about when he was recovering that put us off to you. A woman. A young woman at his physical therapy.”

“What happened?” you asked quietly. She took a seat on a step and you sat beside her. “If someone tried to take advantage of him, you should have told me and him. He thinks you guys have gone nuts, no offense.”

“You’ll find with time you’d rather have your child safe and upset at you than the other way around,” she said. 

“What happened?”

“We moved down to the house for a few months to help Jensen. He went to physical therapy. A very good place. A family friend works there and got him in and he regained a lot of strength in his leg quickly because of it. There were nurses that often helped and he worked with a few regularly and they develop a relationship and all that. It’s good for morale and healing we were told. One of these girls was about your age and our family friend overheard her gossiping to a friend on the phone during a lunch break.”

“Gossiping about…” you said. “Jensen?”

“They saw an opportunity to manipulate him. He is smart, smarter than the both of us together, but he was going through the motions that first month. She made him smile a bit. She flirted with him. Our friend told us what she’d said and we realized, he could be hurt again. Taken advantage of for what he has, what he can offer. His sudden shift in mood this year, introducing you as a fiance, made us think we’d failed to protect him this time.”

“Why not tell him that?” you asked.

“And tell him he was being manipulated back then? He’s so adamant that it can’t happen to him but we know different.”

“I think you should tell him, Donna. It makes your reaction today seem not so…” you said, her head shaking.

“Ma,” you both heard. You looked over your shoulders, Jensen sat against the wall at the top of the landing. “Mom. Jerry told me why I got a new nurse when it happened. She was nice, or was pretending to be, I don’t know. But I didn’t like her. I never got manipulated and I was never going to.”

“How long-” you said, Jensen rubbing the back of his neck. “You heard everything.”

“Yup,” he said, popping his p, his dad coming over to the bottom of the stairs and staring up. “I don’t want to talk to either of you right now. Y/N, I’d like to go to bed, please.”

“Accept their apology Jensen. You can hash out the rest of this in the morning but accept that they know they were in the wrong,” you said. 

“Why should I?” he asked, cocking his head.

“We both got hurt out of their love for you. They are not monsters and I know the difference,” you said. “You know too.”

“Will you two ever look at me the same again,” said Jensen, staring at the landing. 

“Honey it was a fight. It’ll be alright,” said his mom, his head shaking.

“Ever since I woke up in the hospital, you two look at me like I’m a kid. Like I’m weak and defenseless. But I’m not. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been and this whole day could have been avoided if you treated me like your adult son, not the kid who fell off his bike and cries over a cut. I needed you two to take over, I did, I honestly did after the accident. I couldn’t take care of myself let alone the kids. But you haven’t stopped thinking I can take care of me again. I can. I do. I know I’m your kid but let me be an adult again. Trust me. Please.”

“Come here,” you said, holding out your hand. He slid down the steps and you stood up and aside, letting him get a hug from his mom and then dad. 

“We’re sorry,” said his dad.

“I know,” said Jensen quietly. “Never do something like that again. Ever.”

“We won’t,” he said. You leaned against the wall and sipped on the hot chocolate, Jensen’s nose twitching.

“That’s my cocoa,” he said, turning his head up at you.

“I just Jerry Springer’ed ya’ll. I get the cocoa. Get your own,” you said. He smiled and you gave it right back, his parents pulling off and bringing him to his feet. 

“Come here,” said his dad as his mom dragged him off towards the kitchen with the promise of hot chocolate. You stepped down until you were about his height and took a drink, licking your lips when you finished. “How do you just let that go? You were so angry before.”

“I’ve been to therapy. I have good diffusing skills,” you said. 

“Is that a joke?”

“Not really,” you said with a smile. “You made a mistake because you love him. I’m gonna make mistakes because I love him. So when I screw up, now you owe me one, deal?”

“I know it’s getting late but would you be willing to stay up a while longer, maybe find out that favorite color?” he asked. You smiled and nodded, stepping down.

“Depends on the day,” said Jensen, stepping out with a mug of his own.

“He’s right,” you said. “You okay to stay up a bit?”

He nodded and walked back to the family room, taking your hand. 

“Better?” you whispered to him.

“Yeah. Not all the way but definitely better honey.”

It was warm when you woke up the next morning. You peeled open an eye and caught Jensen laying awake, staring at his ceiling. You kicked off the blankets and he reached an arm out, pulling you to lay on his chest.

“It’s hot in here,” you mumbled, eyes shutting again.

“There’s a box covering the vent,” he said, dancing his fingers lazily over your bare arm. “It’s almost noon.”

“Seriously?” you said into his chest, nuzzling against his soft skin.

“Yeah. Sounds like they’re out back with the kids,” he said. You nodded and felt him move his fingers all over you, soft and light, absentmindedly tracing patterns every so often.

“Still upset?” you asked, his head nodding. “They’re human. They fuck up.”

“Are you angry?”

“I was. Not anymore. I kinda like ‘em actually.”

“Why would you give them a second chance?” he asked. 

“When I got adopted I didn’t like, instantly love my mom. I was scared of her at first. I don’t know, I get that you can not like someone at first and then love them unconditionally, you know? It’s weird but your opinions can change once you get to know someone.”

“I don’t do a very good job of protecting you from things,” he said, tilting his head, moving a few hairs behind your ear. You looked up at him, his fingers playing in your hair behind you. 

“Honey you went off on your parents last night. I bet you’ve never done that to them. You were trying to protect me and you did. No one has ever protected me the way you do,” you said. “Today is a new day and I’d like to get to know my new family some more.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll follow your lead.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 13 here!

[purplesurveys]

1184

survey by xflirtykaosx

Alphabetti Spaghetti (2/3)

F o r e v e r - y o u r s - F

Do you fancy any celebrities? If so, who? KIM TAEHYUUUUUUNGGGGGGGGG

Do you watch any FBI shows? Which ones? No.

Have you ever been to a festival? Which one? I don’t think so.

Do you have a fireplace in your house? Hell no. Just the idea of having a fireplace considering where I live and the general climate we have all year makes me nauseous haha.

Do you have a hot flask? I’m not so sure what you mean but if you’re referring to tumblers like Hydro Flask that keep drinks hot/cold for a really long time then yeah, I have one.

What decade were you four in? 2000s.

Do you like the TV show Friends? I love it. I haven’t watched an episode in a while, but it’s always a go-to for me whenever I feel really really really down.

Do you like the feeling of cat fur? Sure, it’s pleasant. Same with dog fur.

Go girl, go; G

Do you have a back garden? Not really a garden but we do have a sort of backyard; basically some space behind the house. 

Do you have a gentle touch? Idk...depends on what I’m holding or touching, I guess? Like I would obviously hold an infant as gently and gingerly as possible, but I wouldn’t pay as much attention if I’m holding something ordinary like my phone.

Do you like girly programmes like Gossip Girl? LOL at girly. Who says Gossip Girl and literally any other show out there has to be for a certain audience?

Do you ever use gloves? Only when I order from Frankie’s since they provide gloves with their meals.

Do you prefer gold or silver? Silver.

Are you a greedy person? What makes you greedy? A little bit, when it comes to food hahaha. I don’t like sharing and I get angry if someone eats a portion I already called dibs on.

Have you ever seen a gypsy? No.

Hold on honey, I'm here. - H

Do you have any bad habits? What? I pick at my nails - either set - when I get tense. I also tend to get a liiiiitle bit reckless with my money, if I do choose to spend. I’m pretty self-disciplined for the most part, but I let that go as soon as I give myself the green light lol. Exhibit A would be me spending a total of nearly P7,000 just this week alone on BTS merch...

Do you know anyone called Helen? I don’t think so. My dad has a cousin named Helena, though.

Have you ever watched a documentary about Hitler? Not directly related to him, but I remember watching Night Will Fall in high school.

Do you put hm in a lot of your survey answers? Not a lot. Occasionally, though.

When was the last time you went to hospital? What was it for? May last year. Blood and urine tests.

Do you like HP (Harry Potter)? Who's your favourite character? I didn’t grow up with it, but it’s not as if I’m a passionate anti. It’s just not my cup of tea, even after trying to read the books.

Do you spell it honey or hunny? I never spell it as hunny unless I’m saying it sarcastically or playfully with friends.

Are you afraid of this Swine Flu Hype? That’s gone now, right? We’re dealing with something else entirely.

In the end we all die broken. - I

Have you ever been to Ibiza? Nopes.

Do you take ice in your soda/fizzy drinks? I don’t really have a preference as I don’t regularly consume fizzy drinks anyway, as long as it’s not lukewarm.

Who do you think is a complete idiot? Anyone supporting the government at this point is a good runner-up.

Do you often wonder what if? Sometimes. But I also find it a waste of time, so I don’t dwell on them.

Have you ever seen an Igloo? I haven’t.

Do you get ill often? No, almost never.

Do you ever imagine you were not human? What did you imagine you were? No, this has never come to mind.

Do you like sexual innuendos? If it’s not too trashy, sure.

What is your IQ? Idk, I’ve never had it checked.

Do people often call you irrational? I’ve never been called this before, at least not to my face.

Do you think the name Isis is pretty? ...Welp, not anymore.

Do you get itchy eyeballs? That never happens. Is that even possible?

Do you know what ix stands for in roman numerals? 9.

Just breathe baby, breathe. - J

Have you ever been in jail? I have a very vague memory of visiting a prison with my parents before, but I no longer remember why I was there.

Do you like JD (Jack Daniels)? Nahhhhhh. Had a tiny sip of it once, found it absolutely nasty.

Do you get jealous easily? Not anymore.

Do you tell a lot of jokes? Yeah. I like making people laugh, so I drop jokes whenever I can whether I’m in a formal or informal setting.

Do you finish school/college in June? When I was in college, my school year ended every May. Before that, the academic calendar ended every March.  

Kiss me, kill me, thrill me. - K

Do you know a girl called Karla? Yeah, one of the managers at work is a Karla but I don’t work with her. I also went to grade/high school with a girl named Karla; she was my friend for a while as well, but we grew apart over the years.

Did you watch Kenan and Kel? Nope.

Do you prefer kisses or hugs? Depends on the person, I guess. But in the context of being in a relationship, I do love being kissed.

Do you like Korn? I don’t listen to them.

Do you like watching films with Kung Fu in them? Not in particular.

Lessons learnt the hard way are the best I've ever had. - L

Do you like Lady Gaga? She’s okay. I’m not super crazy about her but I tend to like all the stuff she puts out.

When was the last time you had lemonade? Wow, it’s definitely been a while. Maybe a year or so ago? I don’t get to have it a lot; usually only when it’s offered at hotels or resorts when I go on vacation.

Do you ever lie to save your own skin? Sometimes, but I never let the lie be too big just in case it bites me back in the ass one day.

Do you think llamas are cute? Sure.

Do you use Lol a lot? Yes.

Do you think you are lucky or unlucky? Neither.

Melody in my heartstrings. - M

Do you like Mac and Cheese? Loooooove mac and cheese, especially truffle mac and cheese.

Do you ever eat at McDonald’s? What's your usual? Not very often tbh, but I do like McDonald’s. I don’t eat it frequently enough to have a usual order; I get whatever I feel like having at a given moment. And since we’re here, I’m gonna be plugging the BTS Meal, in stores 5/26! HAHAHA

Do you like Medieval games like 7elda? You mean The Legend of Zelda? I do love that franchise, but I don’t like the medieval genre as a whole; I just happened to grow up with the Zelda series and Nintendo as a whole, so I’ve taken a liking to it. 

What's on your mind right now? That it’s Monday again tomorrow. I feel like I’m starting to get burnout :/ I’ve definitely noticed I haven’t been being 100% at work lately...but it could also be because the weather is crappy hot again, which makes it a lot harder to work and keep focused.

Is money in your opinion, the root of all evil? It’s part of it.

Do you like Mr and Mrs the show? I’m not familiar with it.

Do you read murder mystery books? Which ones? No.

Do you find Mystical stuff fascinating? Not really.

Nobody loves me, what a change. - N

Do you know the name of your local shopkeeper? We don’t have those here.

Have you ever been called nerdy? I’m sure I’ve been.

Are you you truly a nice person? I hope that’s what people see and think.

Do you overuse nouns in your sentences? I like using adjectives, for one; but I don’t exactly know how you can overuse nouns hahaha.

Do you know anyone personally who is a nurse? Yes, I have several relatives who are in nursing.

Only you - it always has been. - O

Do you obey authority or deliberately disobey it? Obey for the most part.

Is there anything in your room that is an Octagon? What is it? I don’t think so.

What odor can you smell in the room you're in now? The neutral scent my aircon is blowing out.

Do you get offended easily? I think sensitive would be a more fitting word.

Have you ever been to Ohio? No.

Do you ever say Oi? Sure, but not frequently.

Do you spell it OK or okay? I use both; I don’t have a preference. What I avoid is ‘K,’ though.

Are you older than the number day you were born on? Yes.

Have you ever watched the film the Omen? I haven’t.

Name one thing you always have taken for granted? The basic things, I guess, like breathing.

Have you ever had an operation? On what? Never.

Do you like things in a set order or doesn't it matter? As much as possible I do want things to be organized, yeah. I get restless if I see a very messy spreadsheet or Powerpoint, for instance.

Do you have a habit of overreacting? I was a lot more...theatrical in my reactions before haha. Not so much these days; I’ve toned down a lot.

Do you think Owls are nice? Sure.

Do you know what an Oxymoron is? Yup.

Have you ever tried Oyster? Yessssssss I love them and now you’re making me crave them :(

[sometimesiwriteangst]

Soul Mates Are Forever - 1

Summary: Emile gets odd messages, and his boyfriend and brother get concerned quickly, for good reason,

Note: Deceit is called Desmond in this fic. Yes, for once he has a normal name in a human au of partially mine!

Chapter TW: Kidnapping, stalking, u!Virgil, u!Patton.

AO3 Link

Written with @scenecipriano!

Tag List: @samuel-the-gay @alik-gl

-Present Day-

    Emile was getting fed up with the odd messages. Every time he blocked a number, they returned with a new number. They weren’t threatening, or anything that made him believe he should go to the police. Just sporadic “hi”, “why aren’t you replying”, “are you there?”

    Probably a wrong number. Or some guy who was given a fake number. At first Emile had tried telling him this, but over the last couple of weeks he’d given up. If he just kept blocking and ignoring, surely they’d get the message?

    He sighs as he turns his phone off, silencing the constant dinging that came from the unwanted messages. Emile glances in the full body mirror and runs his fingers through his pink fringe, a nervous tic he developed when he was a teenager. 

    “Emi! Your breakfast is getting cold, stop worrying and get down here!” His boyfriend calls from down in the kitchen. 

    “I’m coming, Roman!” 

    Emile looks into the mirror once more and gives his reflection a reassuring smile, ‘Everything was going to be okay.’ 

    The smell of coffee and eggs fills Emile’s nose when he steps into the kitchen, he chuckles when he sees his boyfriend swaying to the melody of a Disney song that was playing from his phone’s speaker. Emile sneaks up behind the distracted redhead and places his arms around Roman’s waist, earning a squeak from the taller man. 

    “You’re the cutest you know that?” 

    “I do! I actually hold the world title of being the cutest man alive, now you need to sit and eat. You’re not going to work on an empty stomach.” Roman replies as he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Emile’s mouth. 

    Emile chuckles as he sits down at the table, taking a sip of his coffee as he does. “What would I do without you, Ro?” 

    “Starve, considering you can’t cook.” 

    The young therapist in training rolls his eyes as he scoops a bite of eggs into his mouth. 

    “Wrong, Dee would feed me plenty.” 

    “Until the two of you get into an argument, then you’d have to rely on fast food.” Roman teases as he sits next to Emile with his own plate of food. 

    Emile sticks his tongue out and drinks more of his coffee before shoveling the rest of his eggs into his mouth. He quickly chews and wipes his mouth with a napkin before pressing a kiss to Roman’s cheek. 

    “Speaking of arguments, I’m going to have to take the bus this morning. Apparently calling him a ‘reckless’ driver was insulting.” 

    “Desmond Wickham a reckless driver? Please, going eighty through a residential is his default setting, it’s only reckless if he goes ninety!” Sarcasm drips from Roman’s mouth as he bites into a piece of buttered toast. 

    Emile snorts in amusement and shakes his head, “Of course, but I better go. I’ll text you before I go in.” 

    Roman quickly snatches his boyfriend by the waist, causing Emile to bend down slightly allowing Roman to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

    “Be careful, my precious rose, I love you.” 

    “I love you too, prince charming.” 

    Emile adores the way Roman still blushes at the nickname. They’d been dating since High School, with only a short break at college before Emile missed Roman too much and begged for a long distance relationship. And yet the man still got flustered over the nicknames Emile found for him.

    In a way, it was ridiculous, and Emile’s brother would happily say that until the cows came home. But Emile knew Desmond liked Roman really, and more than anything it was sweet. It reminded him of when they first started dating, and everything was new and experimental.

    It was hard not to adore the reminder of how Roman would blush every time they held hands, or squeak at every chaste kiss. They may have grown and become more mature about those things, but the small flusteredness over nicknames remained a soft spot.

    “How did I get so lucky?” Emile asks. 

    Roman’s blush deepens as he buries his face against Emile’s side, causing the pink haired boy to laugh. 

    “You’re such a sap, Emi! Get out of here before I decide to keep you to myself for the day.” 

    Emile chuckles and presses a kiss to Roman’s fiery red hair before stepping out of his boyfriend’s relaxed hold. 

    “I’ll be home around eight-thirty, want me to pick up some pizza for dinner?” 

    Roman waves his hand and gently shoos Emile away. 

    “I don’t mind cooking, besides I want to be better than Des at it one day, so I need the practice now go my precious rose.” 

    Emile steals another kiss before rushing to put his shoes and coat on, “I love you, prince charming!” 

    A satisfied smile comes to his face when Roman lets out a flustered squeak, he leaves with a high pitched ‘I love you too’ following him. Emile hums softly to himself as he strolls towards the bus stop, he would try calling Desmond around lunchtime and make amends. 

    “I should really think about getting my license…” 

    Emile huffs as he pulls his phone from his pocket, he turns it back on and is met with constant dings from the same random number that was texting him this morning. One message sent a chill racing down his spine. 

    ‘Pink is definitely your color ;).’ 

    That was the last message that was sent, Emile jumps when the roar of the bus’s engine snaps him out of his shock. He puts his phone back into his pocket and takes a deep breath, ‘They’re not talking about me, it’s okay I’m just overreacting.’ Emile tells himself as he counts out the right amount of money for the bus fare. 

    He flashes the bus driver a small smile as he pays the fee, the driver tips his hat and closes the door as Emile moves to sit in the back. 

    ‘It’s still going to be a good day, it's okay.’ 

    A part of Emile no longer believed that thought. 

    He tries to ignore thoughts of the text as he plugs his earphones in. There was no need for him to worry about odd texts. He’d never had strangely personal texts like that before, why would they start now? It was probably aimed at someone else, like all the other texts.

    You seriously still believe that? Come on, let’s stop kidding ourselves.

    Emile ignores his inner voice, choosing to focus on the song that was playing, it was Stronger Than You from Steven Universe. He tenses when the song is cut off with a new text notification. Emile takes a breath and opens the text, his blood ran cold. 

    ‘I can see you, that’s my favorite cardigan of yours that you’re wearing.’

    Emile looks up and scans the patrons in front of him, no one looks out of the ordinary, everyone minding their own business other than a mother who was struggling to calm her infant down. 

    ‘Who are you? Please leave me alone, my brother is a detective!’ He texts back. Emile watches anxiously as the three text bubbles appear and disappear multiple times. His mouth goes dry when the dreaded reply comes through with a chime. 

    ‘I’m your saviour, my precious bunny.’ 

    He forces himself to breathe upon seeing the message. That was creepy, yes, but it was fine, right? There was no way he could actually see him.

    ‘Is your phone background still that guy dressed as a cartoon character?’

    Emile breathes deeply and looks at his phone background. Roman had taken him to a comic con, and had cosplayed as Prince Zuko from Avatar The Last Airbender. Zuko had never been Emile’s type, but when it was Roman? Hot. Burning hot, one might say.

    He frantically texts back with ‘no, it’s the gay pride flag’. A lie, but that was fine, right? There was no way this stalker - that’s what it must be, right? - could know for sure.

    He gets the next message within a moment.

    ‘Liar.’

    His heart races as he breaks out in a cold sweat.

    ‘I’m not lying, it really is the gay pride flag!’ 

    The reply was almost instant, Emile’s hands were shaking as he read over the text multiple times. 

    ‘Funny, because to me it looks like a pretty red-head with blue eyes, with a shitty white foundation on and a crappy looking attempt at a burn scar. Prince Zuko right? From Avatar The Last Airbender? Gotta say I didn't think he was your type.’ 

    Emile scans the bus again, everything once again seems normal, no one standing out, only the mother with the infant was finally relaxed with the sleeping child resting against her chest. 

    ‘Leave me alone, if you text me again I’m going to my brother.’ 

    Once the reply is sent Emile immediately blocks the number, cutting off all contact with his apparent stalker. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, he could handle this, he didn’t need his brother’s help right now. Surely with the threat of telling his detective brother, ‘You don’t really think Dee would believe you? He’s got better things to do than worry about you.’ 

    Emile winces at his inner voice, ‘That’s not true…’ 

    “Hey, Emile! This still your usual stop or were you planning to go somewhere else today?” The bus driver calls back to him, it wasn’t odd for him to know Emile considering the bus was the young therapist’s most used choice of transportation. 

    “Sorry, Greg! I was just lost in thought!” 

    Emile quickly stuffs his phone back into his coat pocket, he walks briskly down the bus aisle, giving Greg a small wave as he steps off. He takes a deep breath and puts on his serious face. 

    “Time to get this day over,” he mumbles as he makes his way into St. Joseph’s Behavioral Health centre.

    Emile puts on a calm smile as he walks inside, the cool air from the air conditioning fanning his face. Emile was a therapist in training, or well that’s what his boss says. He’s a therapist, only the health centre wasn’t hiring new ones yet, so he landed the job of being the psychiatrist's assistant until a therapeutic job was open. 

    Emile couldn’t wait til that day came, he had so many ideas on how to help his future patients. Most of his ideas involved cartoons but others involved other methods like journal entries! He would let his patients tell their stories in a fictive kind of way, giving them a fun time with therapy and a more comfortable way to talk about their problems! 

    “Emile! Finally, thought you were going to be late, follow me.” A feminine voice beckons from across the lobby. Emile looks up and sees the familiar dark face of his boss, her brown eyes crinkling at the edges as she flashes him a smile, her ebony hair let down for once instead of being held back in a tight bun. 

    Emile nods and walks over to her, struggling to keep up with her long strides as she marches down the hall ahead of him. 

    “You seem in a chipper mood, Caroline, did Marcus finally pop the question?” 

    “Very funny, Picani, but no. I’m in a chipper mood because one of my patients agreed to let you sit in during their session! I’ll be asking your input on things they should be doing to handle their depression, I think you’ll get along with them you two act very similar.” 

    Emile blinks his green eyes in shock, he stares at her for a moment waiting for her to laugh and say ‘gotcha!’ But it never came and Emile couldn’t help the huge grin that stretched across his face. 

    “Really!?” Emile squeals. 

    Caroline chuckles as she stops in front of her office door, she turns to look at him and nods. 

    “Really, I finally get to see just how good you think you are, rookie.” 

    Emile stifles his excitement when Caroline opens the door, he takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. ‘I can do this!’ 

    He closes the door behind him once they step in, Caroline’s office was the biggest in the health centre, with a mahogany desk and black leather chairs. Sitting in the chair on the left in front of Caroline’s desk was a man a year or two younger than Emile. He had sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, not as blue as Roman’s they were a paler shade, while Roman’s looked more like sapphires. 

    The man wore glasses with a black square frame, a light dusting of freckles over his tanned face. Now, Emile wasn’t one to judge anyone on their clothes considering his outfits choices consisted of baggy sweaters and cardigans, but this guy looked like one of those commercial fathers with a standard blue polo, khakis, and a cardigan or in this man’s case, a cat hoodie tied around his shoulders. 

    Emile flashes the man a polite smile and offers him his hand, “Hello! I’m Dr. Emile Picani, do you how do?” His smile widens when the man chuckles at the reference he made. 

    “Spongebob ref, nice! I'm peachy, Dr. Picani! My name’s Patton Holter, it’s nice to meet you!” 

    The two shake hands, Emile’s left wondering where he had heard that name before. 

    Within an hour Emile had learned just about all there is to know about Patton Holter. Patton was born on January 19th, 1985 and he has a twin brother, he was adopted by his two father’s when he was five, and he has been struggling with depression since he was sixteen. His methods of dealing with his depression were taking antidepressants along with talk therapy twice a week. 

    “You could try journaling, my boyfriend has depression and keeping a journal usually helps him, only he makes up characters and uses them as a way to vent,” Emile suggests. 

    He notices a change in Patton’s blue eyes, a type of recognition and malice at the mention of Roman.

    “I’ll give that a try! My brother writes songs, he’s got anxiety problems and writing out depressing lyrics always seems to help him, but I’ll try story-telling. It might be fun!” 

    Pride swells up in Emile’s chest, ‘I’m actually helping someone!’ 

    “Well, seeing as you liked Dr. Picani’s idea we’ll give it a try, Patton. I don’t have any blank journals right now, but I should have one by the time you come in this Friday, is that okay?” Caroline asks. 

    “Of course! I can’t wait for the two of you to read what I write!” 

    Another hour passes before Patton’s session is up, Emile stands when Caroline does, offering his hand to Patton giving him a polite smile. A cold chill races down the young therapist’s spine when he notices how cold Patton’s baby blue eyes looked. His smile was sharp and dangerous instead of the playful smile he had on earlier. 

    “See ya soon, Emile,” Patton says as he tightens his grip on Emile’s hand. 

    Before Emile could reply, Patton was out the door leaving him and Caroline alone in the office. 

    “Well, you’re better than I thought, Picani. Good job!” 

    “Thanks… Do I get to sit in on the next one or?” 

    “Fraid not, kid. You can help the nurses give out medicine and get everyone situated, then after that paperwork that needs to be signed. Think ya can handle that?” 

    “Of course!” 

    Emile and Caroline bid their farewells as he closes the door to her office. Emile stops mid-stride down the hallway and turns to look back. He could have sworn he saw a wisp of grey fabric going around the corner. 

    He shakes his head and chuckles softly to himself, ‘I’m just paranoid after those texts.’ 

    He sets off to go find the nurses, which at this time of day would be in the old building. A few years ago the hospital had a donation big enough to make a new building, where they did most of the important procedures now. But the old building was still in use, and Emile hated it.

    The only way to get to it was through the back entrance of the new building, follow the path (which was in an awful state), and then unlock the side entrance of the old building. And with his recent creepy texts, he really didn’t want to be out of sight. Just in case.

    You’re being paranoid, it’s fine.

    With a deep breath he heads out the door, down the path, trying not to catch his foot on the worst of it. He’d heard of nurses breaking things on the path, and whilst they could just be rumours, he didn’t care to turn into a rumour himself.

    He rounds the bend, and pauses, hearing something behind him rustle. What if…? No, ridiculous. He turns to see a cluster of bushes and chides himself. Of course bushes would rustle. Most plants do, if there’s enough of them.

    He turns back, humming softly to himself as he approaches the side door, only to freeze at the buzz of his phone. He tries to ignore it, but it buzzes again, and he hesitantly reaches for it.

    “I swear I turned you off,” he mutters, but sure enough, it was on, and he had two texts.

    ‘Hey Bunny.’

    ‘Behind you.’

    Emile turns quickly, looking around desperately and tensing up. Plants, plants, door, car…

    “...Damn, they really got me there,” he mutters, “...I knew I was being-”

    A cloth is shoved over his mouth as he gasps, and he internally curses himself for not staying aware as he realises someone is now behind him. Emile struggles weakly, trying to tear the hand holding the cloth away from him, with no luck.

    “Just sleep now, bunny.”

    I...no…

    Emile is out before he can fight back any more.

    Desmond sat in his car with his seat lounged completely back, this was how he normally spent his breaks. Just taking naps inside his car, well he had other ways he spent his breaks but Alvin wasn’t there today. Desmond cracks his left eye open when the radio strapped to his side comes to life. 

    ‘I need any available officer to visit St. Joseph’s Health Centre. A nurse called in saying something about a patient escaping again.’ 

    Desmond quickly snatches his radio and presses the PTT switch, “I’ll go, I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

    ‘You could be in here doing your paperwork, Wickham.’ His boss cuts in. 

    “What I can’t hear you, you’re breaking up, captain!” 

    He shuts his radio off and fixes his seat, Desmond knew he was going to get hell for ignoring the captain later but oh well, it wasn’t like that was anything new. Besides, him taking this gives him the chance to apologize to Emile and let him know that he’ll be picking him up later. 

    Desmond sighs when his phone begins to ring, he accepts the call and puts on a fake cheer. “Captain! Ya know it’s dangerous to be on a cellphone while driving sir.” 

    “You’ve done it plenty of times, so I know you’re not worried about it. You can’t keep putting this paperwork off, Desmond.” 

    “Yeah, I know but the assistant I hired will handle it tomorrow. It’ll get done, now let me handle this issue, alright?” 

    The captain sighs. 

    “You and your brother got into another fight, didn’t you?” 

    “Maybe…” 

    “Alright, fine go make up with him but you bring your ass right back here afterwards, got it?” 

    Desmond rolls his eyes, “Yes sir,” he drawls as he hangs up on his boss. 

    Desmond presses his foot the gas, surging down the residential road, funny this was what led to his and Emile’s argument. ‘I really hope he’s okay…’ The last time they got a call about a patient getting loose Emile had gotten hurt. Getting smacked with a bedpan was not a fun experience for his little brother. 

It wouldn’t have been fun for the patient either if Emile had let Desmond have ‘talk’ with them, but Emile said that it would look bad on his record if he assaulted a mentally ill patient. What? He’s got a temper sue him!  

Desmond slows down when the health centre comes into view, he furrows his brows and narrows his blue and brown eyes. 

“Odd… There aren’t any nurses out looking this time around.” 

He pulls up to the curb and puts the car in park, before he even has a chance to step out, a nurse rushes over from inside the old building. Desmond blinks when her face went from fearful to utterly heartbroken. 

Tears gather in the nurse's brown eyes, “I… I’m so sorry… I-I should have gone out when I saw someone behind him. I'm so sorry!” 

“Hey calm down, alright? I’m sure we’ll find Mr. Stevenson, he never goes far.” 

The nurse lets out a sob, Desmond twitches at the sound but forces himself to calm down. 

“I-It wasn’t a patient! I-I told them… I-It was your brother, somebody took Emile and I couldn’t see their face, I am so s-sorry!” 

All the air was knocked out of Desmond, ‘Somebody took Emile…’ 

Roman paces the living room, his phone clutched tightly in his hands waiting for Emile to send him a text message or to at least call him. He checks the time, fifteen past nine, Emile was supposed to have been home almost an hour ago. 

Roman feels his stomach drop when there’s a knock at the door, he quickly walks over to it and swings it open. 

Desmond stood on the stoop with his hand raised, ready to knock again. Bi-coloured eyes meet blue, they’re both silent for several minutes before Desmond speaks up. 

“Emi’s missing.”

[brittle-bone-gabe]

The Forgotten: Chapter Four- But What If?

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Epilogue

Summary: Barry Berkman couldn’t remember much of his childhood; he knew he used to live in Derry, Maine, but that was about it, besides being taken by his “Uncle Fuches” at age 16 to move to Cleveland, Ohio. Eddie Kaspbrak moved from Derry, Maine to LA, becoming a police officer, surprisingly enough. Normally things were quiet for the most part, besides the occasional drug busts, but it’s when someone named Barry Block enters his line of sight as a possible suspect for the recent string of murders he has to push the feeling of remembrance to investigate.   Pairing: Adult Reddie  (Richie x Eddie) Or, technically, Barry x Eddie Read on Ao3: Here

After finding out that Barry was, in fact, being followed by an unknown person in an unknown car, he couldn’t take any more chances. On the way back to the hotel he was taking the back way, with many turns, took almost thirty-minutes longer, and overall was a pain in the ass. However, if that’s what Barry had to do to be kept from being followed then he’d do it over and over again. The entire time to keep from picking at his skin, he kept drumming his steering wheel, trying to focus on anything but that. Well… it seemed like he wasn’t being followed at this point, so maybe it was time to head back to the hotel; he was starting to feel exhausted anyways. With all the anxiety attacks and dissociation, of course he had the right to feel tired. He felt embarrassed about what happened in class tonight anyways, so isolating completely until the next classes sounded like the perfect plan for him. 

Once he got back to the hotel, Barry was standing in front of the elevator, not yet having pressed a button. He swallowed hard as he was looking at all the floor options, but couldn’t bring himself to press on for some reason. I’ll be followed, I’ll be followed, I’ll be- He snapped out of it quickly when he heard the elevator beep, indicating that someone was on their way down. Eyes wide, Barry backed off quickly, heading to the stairwell to go up to the third floor of the hotel, constantly checking over his shoulder as he did.

There wasn’t a reason he should’ve been so panicked, right? Hell, he wasn’t even this anxious when he killed Janice. Just the fact that he kept the cop alive, that there was that slim chance that he couldn’t be out there again trying to find him sent Barry crazy. He couldn’t wait to tell Fuches what was bothering him this time, just so he could get slapped and told that he was overreacting, to just calm the fuck down and it’ll all go away. Hopefully… 

He opened the door to the hotel room, all the lights were off, meaning that Fuches wasn’t in the room. Barry couldn’t think of where he could’ve run off too; he only went to the diner down the street, or once in a while he would go out personally to talk to a new contract. Whatever it was he was up to, Barry was hoping that it didn’t involve him in any way. The last job was exactly that… the last job. 

From his back pocket, Barry could feel his phone vibrating. He was hoping that it was Fuches, explaining what he was up to, but it was Sally. 

You okay?  U seem upset :( 

Barry sighed, throwing his phone on his pull out bed, which he could not be happier to see. He plopped down, hearing the springs settle from underneath him, putting his face in his hands as he let out a sigh. His heart was still pounding against his chest like he was in the middle of a gun fight, he needed to ground himself somehow. Who was Barry kidding? He didn’t have the coping skills to deal with this; he wanted to throw things, break things, release this anger somehow. 

“I’m gonna have to kill him,” Barry mumbled to himself almost as if on autopilot, like he didn’t know what he was saying. “No, don’t do that…” he smacked his closed fist hard against his head trying to get rid of those thoughts. “You had your chance, you let him live, you can’t take that back now.” 

Barry looked over to his right, seeing his laptop that was sitting with the screen half way closed. He couldn’t help himself when he grabbed it, opening his history and going back to Eddie’s Facebook profile. He couldn’t stop thinking about this; yeah, that was certainly the cop he let live, there was no doubt about that. Barry must’ve known him from Maine, even though he didn’t remember much of the place he knew him somehow. Something in Barry’s brain was trying to break free; memories, a bunch of memories were trying to escape being locked up after all these years. There was a lot Barry couldn’t exactly remember and it drove him fucking crazy, like something was trapped under his skin and he needed to rip it out. 

Eddie Kaspbrak. The name filled Barry with happiness, like he knew him from long ago. A long lost friend maybe? Barry smacked his forehead a couple of times, trying to get himself to think harder about this. Nothing was exactly coming to mind, pushing Barry into further frustrating. 

Suddenly, Barry slammed the laptop shut, putting it on the floor as he began breathing heavily. Fuck. He needed someone to talk to. Now. 

He grabbed his phone, calling Fuches, praying that he picks up. 

“Barry!” Fuches answered, sounding happy yet drunk at the same time. Must’ve been at the bar. 

“Fuches…” Barry said, trying to keep his voice from shaking more than it already was. 

“What’s the matter, son? You okay?” He asked, and Barry couldn’t tell if he really cared or was just drunk so it seemed like he cared. 

“I’m fine… I just… You know how I lived in Maine?” 

Fuches was silent for a moment, trying to understand what he was talking about. Oh. Right. “Huh?” 

“Maine. I lived in Derry and we moved the Ohio.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Barry. We lived in Ohio,” he obviously lied through his teeth. 

“No… no, I know where I grew up, Fuches. Derry, Maine. That’s… all I remember though. It’s like… a mental block. I don’t remember where I went to school, I don’t remember my parents or home life, shit, I don’t even know if I had friends.”

“Ooooh…” Fuches said, panicking before taking a quick shot. He was getting his lies tangled and needed to play along now. “Right. Derry. That place was so small I almost forgot about it.” How could he tell Barry that his father moved him and his wife to that town because it was so small and nobody could find him there? He wouldn’t. “Right. I took you to Ohio when you were sixteen, remember?” 

“I mean… yeah, but-” 

“I don’t have any answers for you, Barry. I took you out of there when your parents left.”

Barry opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Fuches had hung up on him almost immediately. Well, that left Barry with more questions than answers, and he was feeling more upset than he did before calling Fuches. Thanks. He grabbed his laptop again, typing in Derry, Maine in the Facebook search bar, hoping to find other people who may have lived there that maybe he could recognize. 

Only a small handful of people showed up in the search area, none of which Barry recognized based on faces and names. Barry was better at knowing faces than names anyways, but this wasn’t at all helpful. Well… there was one he possibly recognized. A woman with red hair named Beverly Hanscom. She was pretty, someone Barry felt like he also remembered. 

Fuck. Barry didn’t know what the fuck was going on anymore, he was in an endless loop of what if’s and it was driving him insane. 

                                                       -----

Driving up and down the dark roads only being covered by street lamps was making Eddie grumpy and antsy. How could he have lost their car so easily? It was a crappy old beat up car that would’ve been easy to spot. He had no idea who was driving it, but based on how the tall man was acting outside noticing Eddie’s car it made him suspicious. Yeah, he noticed how often this guy was looking around his mirrors in his car, getting out the moment he saw Eddie’s car and was trying to hide his face from him. All of that jumped out as suspicious, right? Or maybe the need to catch the guy who shot him and most likely Janice was getting the better of Eddie. 

Shaking his head, Eddie turned his unmarked car around, heading back to the theater. There was only car left in the parking lot, hopefully it was Gene Cousineau hanging behind. That’s who Eddie really needed to talk to right now. He put on the necklace he carried around with his police badge, he only used it when he was wearing civilian clothes but needed to do police work on the side. 

When Eddie stepped out of the car he checked his surroundings, making sure nobody was going to ambush him as he limped his way to the theater. That was the last thing he needed. He wasn’t carrying his gun and would be defenseless if anyone tried anything. 

The theater was dark when he entered, only the lights up by the main stage were on and the lights in the nearby hallway. Eddie looked around before making his way down the hallway, he didn’t see anyone yet. 

“Gene Cousineau?” He called out, hoping to get a response. There was some fumbling around on the second door on the right, so that’s where Eddie headed to. He stood in the doorway, seeing an older man he recognized from the pictures of the possible suspects back at the station. The man that Mae had swore was innocent. “Gene?” He asked again. 

“Interested in the class?” was the only thing the older man said, standing up from his chair at his desk. “First class is free then you gotta pay upfront,” he continued as he picked up the picture frame that tumbled to the floor. 

“Oh, no, I’m not… I’m Officer Kaspbrak,” he held up his necklace badge to the older man who looked at it with a confused expression. “I was hoping we could talk about Janice Moss. It won’t take long, I promise.” Gene didn’t say anything, he only gestured to the seat that was in front of his desk, both taking a seat. “Firstly, I want to apologize if I… bring up any old feelings,” Eddie started, pulling out a small notepad and pen from his front t-shirt pocket. “But I need to know what happened the night you last saw her.” Eddie noticed the picture frame that Gene was putting back on his desk was a picture of him and Janice, both in formal wear with huge smiles on their faces. Aw, that’s sweet. 

“Well… we were up at my cabin with two of my students; Sally Reed and Barry Block,” as he was talking Eddie was scribbling down notes, 

“Why were you guys up there?” 

“Well, I was bringing Janice and thought since Sally and Barry were together at the time they’d like to come join us.” 

“Okay,” Eddie pulled the folded up pictures that were sticking out of his back pocket, “I need a visual,” he started, handing the pictures over to Gene, “which one is Sally and Barry?” Yeah, the pictures had their names on the back, but Eddie needed to be sure who was who here. The first picture was of the pretty woman with blonde hair and green eyes, the other one who Eddie had expected to be Barry Block. Great. “So they’re dating?” He asked, turning the pictures over so he could see them.

“Well…” Gene shrugged a little, “off and on again. An odd chemistry between them.” 

Eddie bit his bottom lip, trying to think of anymore questions he may have had. Nothing was coming to mind at the moment, so that should be it for now. 

“Mr. Cousineau, I just want to thank you for your time and cooperation. I’ll come back if I have anymore questions, but if you have anything else for me…” he dug through his shirt pocket again, pulling out his card. “Feel free to give me a call.” 

“Wait,” Gene said as they both stood up, holding the card in his hands, “why are you opening this case up again? And why my class of all people? None of them could hurt a fly- well… besides Ryan who apparently could’ve, I suppose.”

 Eddie put a hand on his leg as it suddenly started to ache. “I think I may have discovered some connections between the case,” he started, “I feel like the same person who killed Ryan also killed Janice and…” he paused a moment, starting to feel emotional himself. “Janice was my best friend, y’know?” Eddie was doing his best to not cry in front of Gene. He was a police officer, he needed to keep his emotions in check. “I just need to make sure the right people are getting punished for the crime.” 

Gene held out his hand to Eddie, who looked at it before looking up at the shorter man.

“Thank you,” Gene said with a sad smile on his face as Eddie shook his hand. “Thank you for reopening the case. I haven’t been able to sleep at night because I just know it was never properly solved. Oh! Here!” He moved to his coat that was on the back of his office chair. He pulled out a key, dropping it in Eddie’s hand. “That’s the key to my cabin if you need it to look around.” 

“Thank you, this’ll be helpful. Have a goodnight, Mr. Cousineau.” 

“Stay safe, Officer.” 

The moment Eddie turned to leave the office tears were silently falling down his face. He waited until he was walking down the hallway to wipe them off. Keep it together, save the emotions for later, he thought to himself as he went back out to his car. 

[missmentelle]

How to Tell if You Grew Up in a Toxic Household

Most of us have a pretty solid handle on what child abuse looks like. If your parents hit you, starved you, or were sexually inappropriate toward you, it’s relatively easy to figure out that you grew up in a toxic environment. But not all toxic environments are obvious. It’s possible to grow up in a violence-free, middle-class environment, and still have experienced toxic parenting that haunts you into adulthood.  For instance: - Your parents treated you like their therapist, and burdened you with adult problems. Children are not emotionally equipped to handle situations like a parent’s suspected infidelity, family financial problems or a parent’s own experience of abuse; they haven’t developed the emotional tools to cope with these situations, and they aren’t in a position to do much more than panic. In healthy families, parents shield their children from information that they aren’t ready to handle, and they find ways to deal with their own emotional problems that don’t involve burdening their children. If one or more parent turned you into their emotional sounding board from a young age, giving you details about their sex life, emotional life, financial situation, addiction, or any other information that you weren’t prepared to handle, that was inappropriate and probably toxic. 

- You were forced to lie to cover up problems at home. Your parents expressly forbid you from talking about family problems with outsiders, or coached you on what you should say. An incarcerated family member was “travelling”, an addicted parent “just works too much”, a mentally ill parent is “totally fine”. Everything was about appearances, and any distress you might have been experiencing about your home life was pushed aside in the interest of presenting as a happy, stable family. This robs children of the opportunity to get help, or even learn how to express their pain. Even as an adult, you are probably secretive for no reason, and feel panicked at the thought of someone finding out your life isn’t perfect. 

- You were given zero privacy. Children need privacy, and that need for privacy increases every year as they get older. Toxic parents do not respect this. These parents enter without knocking, demand access to all devices, read diaries, rifle through possessions when you’re not home, and scrutinize all monetary spending. They go far above and beyond reasonable monitoring for safety reasons - they question and force you to justify everything you do. They demand to know what you meant when you texted your friend the other day, they want to know why you wasted $5 on junk food last week, they insist that you should have no problem keeping your door open at all times if you have nothing to hide. This behaviour often continues into your adult life - they demand unrestricted access to your apartment after you move out, and will accuse you of having something to hide if you refuse. 

- All gifts and favours came with strings attached. Your parents would often offer you some gift or favour - often something that you didn’t even want - and insisted that you accept it. And once you’d accepted it, they would hold it over your head forever. Your dad offers you his old car that you have nowhere to park, and is in need of costly repairs. If you try to refuse, he sulks, calls you ungrateful, and insists that you never let him do anything nice for you. But for months or years after you do take the car, anytime you displease him or refuse one of his ridiculous demands, he hits you with “I was kind enough to give you a car, and this is the thanks I get??”. Your parents do not view gifts as kind gestures or ways to show their live - they view them as tools to keep you trapped and indebted to them.

- Everything was about them. If you get sick, it’s inconvenient for them, because now they have to rearrange their schedule to take you to the doctor, and it’s stressful for them to have a sick child. If you get bullied at school, it’s embarrassing for them to have to deal with the situation. If you get into your dream college, it’s stressful for them to have to think about paying for it, even if you’re paying for it yourself. Every event in your life is framed around your parent and the impact that it will have on their life - your emotions are never considered or given centre stage. You are frequently in a position of having to comfort your parents, even when the thing they are upset about is actually happening to you. You are constantly made to feel selfish for wanting your own life to actually be about you. 

- You were called childish and immature, but actively prevented from growing up. Your parents implied that there was something wrong with you because you were single, but expressly forbid you from dating, even in your late teens and early 20s. They constantly threatened to kick you out for not following their rules, but did everything they could to prevent you from actually moving out. They called you lazy, but did not allow you to get a part-time job. They wanted you to be “mommy and daddy’s little kid” forever, even if it meant actively sabotaging you or forbidding you from reaching important milestones. They want you at home with them, but they will constantly complain about the “burden” of providing for you, and remind you that everything in the house is theirs. It’s an elaborate mind-game to keep you dependent and obedient, and it’s unbelievably toxic.  - They made decisions for you, and blamed you when those decisions ended poorly. They forced you to go to a local community college instead of going away to university, and now they ridicule you for having a “crappy” education. They forbid you from dating into your early 20s, and now they demand to know why you aren’t getting engaged at age 25 like all their friends’ kids. They chose your career path, extracurriculars and sports for you, and they demand to know why you aren’t excelling at those things. You are never allowed to make your own decisions, but you are held 100% responsible for the outcome of decisions that are made for you - your parents refuse to acknowledge any role that they might have played, and may insist that you had complete free will to make your own decisions, even when you didn’t.  - Your parents only cared about how your success makes them look, and anything less than perfection was an embarrassment. Your parents don’t care if you find your job, marriage or achievements personally fulfilling. They care only about taking credit for your success, looking better than their friends, family and neighbors, and benefiting financially from your status in life. You are never warmly or genuinely congratulated for doing well - perfection is expected, and you are punished for delivering anything less. Even if your parents publicly boast about your accomplishments, in private, they compare you to other people your age who they view as more successful, and demand to know why you can’t be more like them. They might demand that you support them financially, and imply that you owe them for all the money they spent raising you. 

- They constantly prodded at your insecurities, and made fun of you if you got upset or tried to improve yourself. Toxic parents will latch on to one or more areas that their child is insecure about - usually their appearance or weight, but sometimes their intelligence, talent, or athleticism - and constantly poke fun at them, often in public. If the child gets upset, they are told that they “have no sense of humour”, and they are blamed for getting upset, rather than the parent taking blame for saying something shitty. You are expected to laugh along when your failures are used as family entertainment - when your parent points to you and says “look at this chubby one, going back for seconds” or “the great artist of the family, couldn’t even get into art school”, you are treated like the unreasonable one for being emotionally crushed. If you try to improve on whatever area they are criticizing - by losing weight, improving your grades, etc - they treat you like you’re overreacting, and actively try to stop you. They need you to stay insecure so they always have a sore spot to poke at. 

- Your parents insisted that you trust them with your secrets, and then violated your trust. If you refused to tell your parents the details of what was going on your life, they would get upset, accusing you of hiding something or acting wounded that you didn’t trust them. If you were upset, they might even present themselves as a concerned parent and safe space, encouraging you to open up. Once you had, though, your parents would air your dirty laundry to the entire world, no matter how much you begged them not to. The details of your humiliating breakup would be shared among the entire family, your embarrassing medical issues would be openly discussed in front of others at the dinner table, and your secrets would be casually told to your friends whenever they came over. But no matter how often this happened, you weren’t allowed to stop trusting your parents - they would whip out their anger or feigned hurt, and start the process all over again.

- You were told that normal, healthy parenting was “soft” or “abnormal”, and that your parents’ toxic habits would make you stronger. Even if you noticed that your friends seemed to be treated better than you, your parents constantly drilled it into your head that their harsh parenting methods were somehow beneficial to you, and that you should be grateful for them. Your parents sneered at the idea of encouragement or unconditional love and pointed out your friends’ flaws, or insisted that those parenting methods wouldn’t work on you. If you come from an immigrant family, they might have insisted that toxic parenting was part of your culture, and that healthy parenting was an “American” thing. You might even have found yourself defending your parents when your friends expressed concern over the way they treat you.  Toxic families are different, and even one or two of these traits is enough to have a profound emotional impact on you that carries long into adulthood. Your parents aren’t automatically “good” parents just because they fed you and refrained from beating you - if you grew up in a toxic household, you have the right to be upset about that, even if other children had it “worse”. Acknowledging that your upbringing was not healthy or normal is usually the first step in breaking away from a toxic family, and deciding to get help for any long-term effects you may be experiencing. 

[themikewheelers]

So apparently it was confirmed that three new male characters will be cast for season 4. I don't want to judge just yet what they're going to contribute yet, because it's still early, but I'm now nervous lol I really hope they're like Tommy/Carol/Troy types, because holy shit there's already so many main characters. Also, why all male??? Hmmmm..

I don’t know how to say this and I swear I don’t want this to come across rude, but like, there’s literally no reason to complain about a season you haven’t seen yet, and all it does is give yourself a pessimistic attitude that’s just gonna make you and other ppl feel crappy. For starters, I genuinely just don’t know how to explain at this point that new characters are essential to advancing plotlines and in adding new locations, both of which are obviously a big part of s4! there’s literally just no way for them to write s4 without adding new characters. And in the case of these four characters, absolutely nothing has been “confirmed”, it’s 100% rumors that are just repeated by news outlet after news outlet. Maybe they are true, but there’s also a VERY good chance they’re fake just like 80% of news articles claiming to have information about s4 (and just while I’m on the topic I’ve seen that one “leak” EVERYWHERE claiming that s4 is gonna be out October 2020 and I just want to say rn that that is absolute bs so if we could maybe ignore it so ppl don’t get their hopes up and then complain later when it obviously isn’t out by then). But yeah, those 4 characters are complete rumors anyway. But even if they are true I’m sorry but there’s literally nothing wrong with adding them? NONE of them are rumored to be MAIN characters to begin with, or at least, the original source of the rumors didn’t claim they were main characters, idk what every news outlet has said after that when spreading the rumors with no backing. As for 3 of them, from the very very little we “know” about them, they seem p clearly to be high school aged guys who I’m guessing are maybe ppl Jonathan meets at his new school. Maybe antagonists, maybe friends. Maybe they’re upperclassmen bullies to Will. Or maybe they’re in Hawkins and the show is giving Steve some new ppl. But nothing about their descriptions makes them seem important so let’s not overreact to the simple possibility of them existing. It was only the fourth character that seemed like he may be important, but again, that’s bc stories and plotlines cannot advance without new characters being added and that’s smth this fandom just needs to get used to. Ppl having been complaining about this since 2016, and I’m sorry but I’ve been fed up with it since 2016. New characters are important, and I could even somewhat understand the criticism if it was main characters being added, but it’s not and the concept of criticizing a show for adding small roles to advance the plot is just ridiculous.

And about the “all male” thing too, I get what you mean, and trust me I’m also frustrated with how this show has so many more male mains than female, but I do think we gotta acknowledge that first off, its rlly not as bad as ppl make it out to be? 2 adults with a 1:1 ratio. 4 teens with a 2:2 ratio. And then 6 kids with a 4:2 ratio of boys to girls. Out of our mains, there’s rlly only a one character difference between male and female at this point. And it’s def complicated bc to some extent it comes down to who you want to personally interpret as a main character versus just a main cast member, but I think those 12 are rlly our core ppl even if there’s other roles that are technically credited as mains but don’t genuinely have that role (Karen, Billy, etc.). Also I didn’t count Erica in that bc I think it’s debatable whether she’s gonna be a main character going forward and we’ll have to wait to see, but she was absolutely a main character in s3. So yeah. This show absolutely has issues with diversity in so many respects, but in terms of male to female ratios, it’s rlly come so far from where it was in season 1? And while there’s always room for improvement, I do think criticisms at this point that are just “there’s not enough female characters” are kinda shallow and if u wanna talk female representation there’s a lot more meaningful stuff than just comparing numbers out of context. Also like again with this stuff it’s important to note that it is minor characters. If this was main characters I would totally agree with u that without context it seems a little crazy to be adding 4 new men and no women, but these are likely super minor roles and we don’t even know what their purpose is. And as much as ppl wanna deny it, a character’s purpose in the plot is gonna be a big factor in what gender they’re written to be, esp for minor characters.

Idk this got long and rambly and I’m just typing this out in the car sitting in my driveway for like 20 minutes even tho I thought it would take like 2 but dhskmskshsjsbs. I genuinely don’t want this to come across rude and I am just tryna express my opinion but I just don’t have a lot of patience on this topic bc ppl have been using the same complaints since 2016 and the vast majority of which I think are nonsensical. I think there’s absolutely ways that adding too many characters is a problem but I also feel v strongly that this show has done a good job balancing its characters, but more than that I feel much more strongly that adding new characters is an important part of any show and most of all, that judging any decision about s4 before watching it is just harmful to yourself and others. It’s giving yourself a negative attitude that’s gonna affect ur ability to go into the season willing to accept change and have an open mind or enjoy what happens bc ur so prepared and fixated on being critical. And it has the same effect on ppl who may not even agree with you but just from seeing the complaints and judgement from other ppl makes them feel bad about a show they love and affects their ability to enjoy it

[diabolicalworldwriter]

Tagged by @aelin-ashryver-galathynius. Thank so much I’ve honestly wanted to do one of these since finding out they were a thing! so this is an exciting moment lol.

1. what do you like to be called name-wise? My name’s Karina tho I mostly just go by Chich as a nickname among friends. call me either one! (If you have special privileges, Loser, Chbich, Trash and a few others I won’t name are also options lol)

2. when is your birthday? December 15. (so it’s coming up soon. excited to not be the same age and finally have the family privileges of a older than fifteen year old ngl)

3. where do you live? haha creep. in a pineapple under the sea. (i’m kidding, in the USA tho I’m hoping to move to another part of it with my sister in the next year or two.)

4. three things you are doing right now? you assume I can multitask. if you mean right now right now, I’m breathing, typing and watching my brother attempt to antagonize Haikubot on my Discord notifications. if you mean like projects, I have like twenty unfinished books and art pieces and a few friends and I are attempting to make a video game. so that’s pretty fun.

5. Four fandoms that have piqued your interest? welp. I post a lot about the cosmere. um. Shoot I’m really indecisive..... I like Marissa Meyer’s books a lot (and also there are such sweet people in the TLC fandom), I’ve probably liked about a thousand Miraculous Ladybug posts (they’re so cute tho...) so that one... crap. Percy Jackson. 

6. how has the pandemic been treating you? *smiles emptily but also cries in idk if this is the reason my depression got thirty times worse or not but here we are.*

7. a song you can’t stop listening to right now? does Kay’s rendition of I’ll make spearmen out of you count? for the moment, I’ve listened to Soldatino by Paola Bennet like fifty times and I still get Nico feels. My sweet gay emo child...

8. recommend a movie? hmmm. I really like the Emperor’s new groove, it’s beautifully bizarre. 

9. how old are you? 15 years old but only for less than a month and then I get to be not that lol.

10. school, university, occupation or other? Homeschooled though I’ll pretend that writing trashy stories that I’m too depressed to finish and drawing random art is a job. I also work with a teen health/suicide prevention group which is pretty good. all the members are depressed and trying to not be by making others happy cause we’re like that.

11. do you prefer heat or cold? cold. I don’t like the heat. at least I can bundle up and drink hot cocoa and soup and eventually I’ll go numb and die. :)

12. name one fact others may not know about you. depends on what others. How about If I want to suffer I can put both my legs behind my head (or, one leg behind my head and the other behind that leg’s foot) before remembering I have a somewhat effed up spine? (don’t quote me on that, who knows how long I’ll keep being able to)

13. are you shy? not unless I’m around something living. Or dead. basically if we ever meet in person expect me to be under a table or in a dark corner and I’ll only say something if I think I desperately need to or get called out.

14. preferred pronouns? she/her

15. biggest pet peeves? human beings in general I don’t like parents or siblings invading my room, I don’t like when my family leaves out all the food or milk so I end up putting it away... people who give me a schedule last minute and expect me to be good with that really pisses me off ngl and I really don’t like people putting their dirty hands or feet on me stuff I guess. idk. I usually just suck it up and deal with stuff tho cause I can’t really change it without being not a doormat.

16. what is your favorite “-dere” type? *pulls up google in a moment of dumbness cuz... what* hahaha idk??? google why did you confuse me more

17. rate your life from 1 to 10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be. hmm. don’t want to disrespect my demons... I’m really bad at rating things. mmm. let’s go with 5 with a side of breakdowns, guilt issues and overreactions. 

18. what’s your main blog? You’re looking at it.

19. list your sideblogs and what they’re used for. I’ve been on Tumblr since like late September I think. I haven’t started any other blogs yet so... “Wow! I use @diabolicalworldwriter as a multi-fandom blog, @diabolicalworldwriter for random trash and @diabolicalworldwriter for... whatever other thing I feel like.” I’ll probably get another one if I ever get a book published so I can put my author crap there and not pollute this place of my fandoms.

20. Is there something people need to know about you before become friends? other than the fact that it’s not gonna last long, they’ll regret it, I have some slightly excessive guilt issues, am awkward AF and if I ever start talking I’ll overshare? none at all my dude.

Tagging @cerenoya and @silvermagpie0 I guess? Any of my followers who want to, feel open to do so as well. have at it.

[how-to-disable-your-text-blog]

HtDYT Guide: Writing Borderline Characters

Hi all, Mod Amaranthe here with another guide. I only recently accepted that I am borderline and I don’t have some of the most notable traits of BPD, so I’m sorry if I miss something here.

What BPD is

Borderline personality disorder, also called emotionally unstable personality disorder, is…well, it’s a personality disorder, so I will describe what a personality disorder actually is. Personality disorders are inflexible patterns of thinking, feeling, and behaving that are inherent parts of the people who experience them. Like with any mental illness, personality disorders have to cause significant distress and difficulty engaging with society in order to be diagnosable.

The borderline community is fairly split (ha; I’ll tell you why that is funny later) on whether or not “emotionally unstable personality disorder” is a respectful or even accurate label, so I’m going to stick with “borderline”. Whether or not borderline people use “borderline person”, “person with borderline/BPD”, or both mostly depends on the person, and I polled some of the Facebook groups for borderlines that I’m in and found out that most borderline people say “I have BPD” and “I’m borderline” interchangeably. (I am usually a fan of identity-first language. I might do a post on why later.)

What being borderline feels like

Being borderline feels like you don’t know who you are and everything around you has the potential to change, especially for the worse, at any time. Half the time you hear a friend or family member—especially someone you care about—sound disinterested, bored, or, powers that be help you, angry, you become paralytically terrified that they are going to leave you alone forever. You spend a lot of time desperate for others’ approval, seeking validation by any means necessary, because if you don’t have proof that you deserve to live, well, you deserve to die. You may feel like there’s nothing to you that doesn’t change; you can’t pick a career or a fashion style or a favorite genre of music. You find yourself imitating fictional characters or acting entirely different based on whom you’re interacting with. You might fill what feels like a vacuum where your soul should be with impulsively spending tons of money, getting high, or overeating.

I also wrote a song about how it feels to be borderline. I’m the enemy of my own mind. Always walking on the borderline. The void in my head has me paralyzed. Behind my eyes, there’s no one inside.

I paint my face up like a mask so you think there’s a person behind it. Don’t tell me about that time I cried it off, I don’t want to be reminded. There’s nothing you can do to me I haven’t done to myself. Don’t tell me I’m on my way there; I’m already in hell.

I’ll put you on a pedestal Then smash it and laugh at your funeral. Bathe myself in high-end perfume Or seal my wallet; who knows what I’ll do.

I paint my face up like a mask so you think there’s a person behind it. Don’t tell me about that time I cried it off, I don’t want to be reminded. There’s nothing you can do to me I haven’t done to myself. Don’t tell me I’m on my way there; I’m already in hell.

I’m the enemy of my own mind. Always walking on the borderline.

I paint my face up like a mask so you think there’s a person behind it. Don’t tell me about that time I cried it off, I don’t want to be reminded. There’s nothing you can do to me I haven’t done to myself. Don’t tell me I’m on my way there; I’m already in hell.

That is a fairly extreme version of what it’s like to be borderline. Some borderline people experience this kind of instability almost all the time, some just enough to cause a significant disruption in their life. I am led to believe that it doesn’t always suck this much. My borderline traits are exacerbated all to hell by my comorbid conditions.

Common borderline traits

Here is a long list of traits a borderline character might have or behaviors they might engage in:

-Fear of abandonment -Splitting (to be explained later) -Self-hatred/feelings of worthlessness, possibly suicidal ideation -Self-harm -Unstable sense of self/being easily influenced by other people’s ideas -Fear of the future -Frequently changing appearance, hobbies, and jobs -Constant feeling of being mistreated, misunderstood, or victimized -Unstable interpersonal relationships (neediness, mistrustfulness, anxiety in interpersonal matters) -Extreme perfectionism -Unusually intense emotions, especially rage; this usually happens in response to outside stimuli, not semi-randomly like bipolar or cyclothymia (I get deeply annoyed when people call borderline “bipolar lite”) -Underreacting when you’re not overreacting -Disordered eating patterns -Using sex as a coping mechanism/to prove to themselves that they’re desirable -“Favorite person” attachments (to be explained later) -Impulsive behavior, especially when it comes to spending money or doing dangerous activities -Substance addiction -Constant need for validation, especially proof of other people’s positive feelings about them (I literally forget that people care about me if they’re not actively demonstrating it; yes, it sucks) -Dissociation when under stress -Difficulty retaining information about people and events -Lack of awareness of how their actions may affect others -Crappy executive function, especially if you have no idea what your feelings are doing and have to spend all that time you should be spending cleaning the apartment wrestling with your brain -Dermatillomania or trichotillomania as a stress response

Favorite person attachments

A favorite person, or FP, is someone a borderline person is obsessed with. Borderline people may think their FP is better than everyone else. A borderline person would walk to hell and back for their FP (well, unless they’re splitting on their FP; more on splitting in the next section). Having an FP is also sometimes called “imprinting” on someone.

Having an FP is simultaneously the best and worst feeling. It’s the best feeling because when they smile at you or say they care about you, it’s like everything is right with the world and you feel amazing. But you’re also constantly afraid of your FP abandoning you, and if your FP isn’t actively demonstrating that they care about you, you are probably wringing your hands about how they probably actually hate you. You also may be jealous of or even hate the other people that your FP interacts with.

Another downside to having an FP is that, most of the time, a borderline person will forgive their FP even if their FP is seriously hurting or abusing them. Mentally ill people are more likely than mentally healthy people to experience abuse (and not more likely to be the abusers), and the borderline tendency to forgive your FP for anything is definitely a predisposition to experiencing abuse.

A borderline character may spend a lot of time thinking about their FP and seeking their approval, and even more time worrying that their FP hates them now. The fear of abandonment will get especially strong when the character reaches out to their FP and their FP doesn’t respond right away, e.g., if the character calls their FP and the FP doesn’t pick up. A borderline character may or may not have romantic feelings for their FP. A borderline character will also be also quick to passionately defend their FP to other characters.

Many borderline people form FP attachments, but not all.

Splitting

Splitting is best described as black-and-white thinking about people. To a borderline person, most other people are either perfect or completely terrible. When a borderline person says they’re “splitting on” someone, though, that usually refers to thinking that that person is The Worst. Borderline people can split on anyone, including their favorite person and themselves. (I spend most of my time splitting on myself, thinking I am The Worst and don’t deserve to continue breathing. It’s very irritating.) Splitting on someone ordinarily happens in response to something the target of splitting does; it isn’t random. Splitting on a favorite person often happens because that person has already been on a pedestal, and when the pedestal gets shattered, a portal to hell opens under it. (Yes, borderline people can either split on their FP over practically nothing or forgive them for abuse. You read that right.)

Splitting on a person and feeling like they are The Worst is often accompanied by feelings of intense rage and hatred. If a borderline person is splitting on their favorite person, there also may be feelings of betrayal. Splitting may often include fantasize about being angry and violent; these thoughts are usually cathartic and help the borderline person calm down without actually lashing out. (Borderline people split; assholes lash out. Sometimes assholes are borderline, but not all borderline people are assholes, and BPD does not turn someone into an asshole.)

When a borderline character splits on someone, don’t write about them acting on their feelings of anger and hatred. Keep it in their head. As I said above, splitting is a borderline trait; assholery is not. If a borderline character’s splitting-related thoughts extend to violence, make sure to clarify that the character would never actually act on these thoughts. They may also feel guilty after the splitting goes away (I know I do). A character will probably only be splitting on someone for one scene; it doesn’t last long. If a character is not splitting in the “I hate you now” sense at the moment, they still are likely to categorize other people as “overall great” and “overall terrible”.

Splitting is a very common borderline trait, but not all borderline people split.

Self-harm

This isn’t exclusive to borderline people, of course, but self-harm isn’t just white high school cis girls cutting their wrists with scissors. Self-harm can take the form of cutting, of course, but here are other forms of self-harm:

-depriving oneself of food or other necessary things like medication -unsafe participation in extreme sports -scalding/burning oneself -banging or hitting body parts -ingestion of toxic substances

A borderline person may self-harm when they are splitting on themselves or otherwise suffering from feelings of self-hatred.

Unstable sense of self and relationships

This has already been touched on a little bit in the list of common borderline traits, but it’s likely to come up when writing a borderline character, so I will go into more detail.

A borderline character with unstable sense of self may have a good amount of trouble deciding what they want to do with their life. They may job-hop or have a hell of a time deciding what they want to study in college, vocational school, or whatever equivalent of tertiary school exists in your setting. A borderline character may throw themselves wholeheartedly into new studies or career paths, love it at first, and then rather suddenly find themselves disliking it. They probably also get varied results on personality tests and those aptitude tests that are meant to help people decide what career to pursue.

Another thing I mentioned earlier that a borderline character might do is change their appearance. Your borderline character may go through many different hair colors and styles and have a giant wardrobe because they rapidly cycle through fashion phases. Characters with facial hair may do many different things with it. When writing this kind of behavior, it’s good to point out that the character isn’t doing it just for the sake of trying new things, but they feel like their new look is an accurate reflection of how they’re feeling.

A borderline person may also frequently change their political stances, religious beliefs, diet, taste in music, etc. These changes may be influenced by the people they are spending time with, but not necessarily. But your borderline character may go through a lot of changes. Expect criticism of your character being inconsistent from people who don’t get it.

Unfortunately, the unstable sense of self in a borderline person can result in them being taken advantage of, because shady and manipulative people might see how a borderline person is easily influenced. (Said shady and manipulative person doesn’t have to be an FP.) A borderline character might end up spending most of their time with someone who is controlling and isolating them. What I’m saying here is that borderline people are susceptible to being abused because of our unstable senses of self. Because of that tendency, we may have unstable relationships with people who hurt us but we aren’t secure enough to permanently leave.

On a slightly less depressing note, unstable sense of self can also result in a borderline character frequently changing the crowds they hang out with because they feel like they have less in common with their former friends. This can also happen with romantic and sexual relationships and QPs, and even with the borderline character’s FP. The people a borderline character interacts with may point out this behavior or how different they seem/how frequently their likes and dislikes change.

What to avoid

When referring to borderline people, avoid saying “borderlines”. That’s kind of like saying “the gays”. Also, it’s language that people who are actively engaged in perpetuating saneism use. The safest language to use when discussing a borderline character is to say “person with BPD”, since borderline people who are okay with using identity-first language for ourselves may not like someone else referring to us as such, and few borderline people object to “person with BPD”.

Don’t write criminals with BPD if you aren’t borderline yourself. I’m writing a story about a vigilante who kills rapists and whose identity is so subsumed by her vigilante/superhero identity because she is borderline and had an extremely unstable identity to begin with. But I can do that because since I’m borderline, I have the knowledge and experience required to separate the character’s disorder from her actions.

Don’t write about “toxic borderlines” or how being borderline affects how an abusive or toxic person acts. Do personality disorders affect pretty much everything about how a person with a PD acts? Yes. Should people without the disorder in question write about that in terms of abuse? NOOOOOOOOO. (This is especially relevant to NPD—the idea of “n*rc*ss*st*c abuse” is an extremely ableist one that floats around abuse survivor circles and drives my abuse survivor cluster B ass up the wall—but BPD gets that kind of crap too.) If you write a borderline character that ends up accidentally hurting someone, you should 1) have them understand what they’ve done wrong, apologize, and not do it again and 2) get a sensitivity reader to make sure you’re doing that right.

Final notes

There’s a lot of diversity among borderline people. There’s no one right way to write a borderline character. However, there are a lot of wrong ways, and since borderline is so ridiculously stigmatized, I would be tempted to suggest that anyone who isn’t borderline and wants to write a borderline character get a sensitivity reader.

*crickets* Erm…yeah, that’s all I have.

-Mod Amaranthe

[ryesnatcher]

Windows

This is my entry to Hannah’s Classic Criminal Minds Quote Challenge! @reiding-and-writing

Pairing: Emily Prentiss X Reader

A/N: This fic has gone through so many changes which is why it’s so late, it was originally a different pairing, and it’s a lot different from my usual writing style. It’s also based off of a poem of the same name by Carol Ann Duffy, I can’t find it online to share so hmu if you want me to scan the poem or type it up!

Quote: “I wish psychopathic killers would be a little more respectful of our weekends, too.” 

Word Count: 3444

Surrounded by warm light, the sound of a tv distant in the house, hearty meals long since ate whilst their smell still lingers, red wine on your lips as you look to the flowers growing in the box outside your window. Forget-me-nots, pushing through the hard soil, their buds twisting as they search for the light. Standing behind this window you watch them grow, but after moments or years, they begin to wilt. Helpless, you push at the window, forced to watch as the petals fall and their stems crumple.

Then you wake up. Left tangled in sheets and bathed in the odd feeling of regret.

“What am I suddenly feeling remorseful for the plants I’ve killed over the years?” You ask, leaning against the counter and looking across to your friends.

“You know, forget-me-nots traditionally symbolise love. If you’re seeing them wilt maybe you’re subconsciously worried about your inability to salvage and maintain relationships.” Reid spoke first, barely missing a beat. You have to laugh at his words. Sure enough they were true, your most recent attempts at dating had been pitiful at best.

Yet even so, the bitter taste of spiced cherries and heavy oak still lingered just out of reach. And as you lean against the counter, a cup of crappy coffee in your hand, you can practically taste it again.

“Maybe it’s just irony?” Emily adds, stirring her coffee.

“Or a disturbing way to show my lack of gardening knowledge?”

“Actually, the window suggests that you may be a voyeur to relationships, gardening probably doesn’t have much to do with it.” As Reid speaks, you and Emily share a look, eyebrows raised over your cups of coffee.

“And somehow, that is more disturbing.” The three of you begin walking back to your respective desks. The coffee giving you the added incentive to begin dealing with the paperwork and cases piled on the side of your desk.

And the more you tried to focus on the case in front of you, the harder it became to think of anything other than what Reid had said. You were sure that window boxes filled with prissy flowers was a life you didn’t want. Who’d takes a job at the BAU wanting picket fences and a consistent sleep schedule? Admittedly, you did miss the intimacy those relationships brought. The safety of knowing there’d be somebody waiting for you to come home.

“You know dreams don’t mean anything right?” Emily pulls the file you’d forgotten about from your hands, closing it as she sits on the corner of your desk.

“I know. Just can’t get it from my head.” You pause as you look up to her, “I’m overreacting I know.”

“Since when did you care about this sort of thing anyway?”

“Since never. But I guess it would be nice?” Shrugging, you lean back in your chair. Cringing at your words. “Never mind, I take that back.”

She laughs softly, the light catching her hair as it falls forward on her shoulders. “Yeah, we’ve all been there, Y/N.” You’d never considered before just how odd your name sounds on her tongue, like Latin it spills out almost natural to the language, ringing with its foreign sounds and all the same, burning at your cheeks. “I’ll let you get back to work.” Standing up she hands you back the file, tapping you on the leg with it before leaving, heading towards her own desk. Your thoughts caught in a toss up of post-dream stress and watching her leave Sure that you catch a faint colour to her cheeks, your hands absently leafing through the pages of the file, knowing that sooner or later you’d have to look away.

The weekend had slowly crept up on you. Amongst piles of paperwork and cases, half-hearted nights out coupled by cancelled plans and half drowned excuses. Soon the dream felt almost forgotten, faux memories of red wine and warm nights no longer the cause of tangled sheets and excessive sweat.

But somehow. Someway, it had ended up here.

Sat across from a man with little table manner, your lips pressed to the edge of a wine glass (the contents you’d been assured was very expensive. Despite it resembling a floral vinegar) you listened to him recite the exact figure he’d earned that very month. A heavy sigh hanging on the edge of your glass.

You’d spent at least forty minutes deciding on whether to have your hair up or down, and another half hour on whether to go with the classic black dress, or a flirty red. In the end the choice hadn’t mattered.

From the moment you’d arrived it had been a constant commentary on the exhibition of his life. Reciting his annual income, repeating the various destinations he could go just for lunch. And as he (yet again) began to tell you of the fortune his job brings him, filling his sentences with contradictions. Your phone begins ringing, the sound both irate and blissful interrupting him and giving you the perfect excuse to leave.

“It’s work, I have to go.” Glancing at your screen you shove your phone into your small bag as you stand up.

“Oh come on, you’ve hardly even finished your wine.” Removing the premature napkin from his collar and tossing it to the table, he waves a hand to your glass. “I’m sure it can wait. Just finish your glass and we can -” Ignoring his words you finish the rest of the glass, pausing for a moment as you pull out a few notes to cover your half of the meal, placing them under the glass before walking away.

Even if the date had been disastrous, and even if he had reminded you of why you do this job. It was hard not to feel just that little bit irritated. The taxi there carrying you past the comforting lights of families tucked in for their evenings, tv’s playing as meals cook, and lovers hold each other in tender arms. Tonight may have been a bust, but what if it hadn’t? How were you supposed to build a life on unfinished dates and forgotten meals?

With a huff, you push open the doors to the conference room. Giving a small smile as you shrug off your coat. Cheeks flushing as its instantly followed by a reprimand of whistles, “Look at you baby girl, you on a hot date?”

Facing Morgan, you shake your head, “All I wanted was one, one night off. Am I asking too much? Am I reaching for the stars here?” With a sigh, you lean forward and pick up your file, waving it around as you speak, “Do I ruin their weekend activities? Do I crush their love lives? No. I stay in my lane, and I do it during the week.”

Emily laughs as you sit down beside her. “Yeah, I wish psychopathic killers would be a little more respectful of our weekends too.” You shoot her a look, a soft smile breaking your irritated demeanor.

The moment instantly gone as you begin. Garcia introducing you all to the case, flicking through the images. The marred reds of your dress struck in dissension to the horror filled images in front of you. The acts numb to your eyes as you listen, and soon enough you were sat by the window of the jet, your head leaning heavy in your hand as the events of the night replayed over and over.

“So, how was the date?” Turning your head you’re met with her expectant look, her dark eyes practically afire as she speaks, Emily pushing a coffee in front of you.

The smile you’d begun to reserve solely for her melting easily to your lips as you accepted it. “I’m not all too sure that he wasn’t a psychopathic killer.”

“That bad huh?”

You pout, “The entire thing was just egos on parade. Oooh look at my nice car. Feel how expensive my suit is. Do you know how much money I make a month?” You mimic his voice, your heart lifting as she laughs. Thankful that at least you had somebody to laugh with. “Honestly, it just feels enough to just give up.”

“You shouldn’t” She looks as surprised by her words as you. “You’re a catch, any guy, any person would be lucky to have the chance.”

Smiling at her words you lean towards her, nudging her with your shoulder and her giving her a grin. “I never knew Emily Prentiss had a soft side”

Rolling her eyes, she laughs all the same.

The next few days were spent too focused on the case to even think about the dream that had once again made its reappearance and for once you were grateful that cases took away the chances of sleep, replacing it with a steady flow of coffee and haunting images. And for the most part it worked just fine. It gave you a chance to focus on what you loved.

But when the case drops cold and Hotch insists you all need to look with fresh eyes. It sends you slumped over the uneven table of the hotel room. The case spread out beside cold coffee and empty take out meals. Boredom and irritation growing as you look over the same images, again and again.

Hotch was right. Too much of one thing is blinding. You needed the space and air to reevaluate. The case and profile that is, and as you squint to the profile you close the file, pushing your seat back under the table and reaching across the cramped space to toss away the cold coffee. A soft sigh leaving your lips as you step into the hall, following your footsteps along the dated carpet and giving three light knocks to 237.

If you’d taken the time to ask yourself, you wouldn’t have been able to come up with an answer as to why you’d chosen her door. She was a floor above you. You’d passed four other of your colleagues doors on the way here.

Even if subconsciously it had felt natural to arrive at her door. As soon as you’d knocked you were rocked with regret. Realising she could be asleep or busy, or unavailable. Instinctively you take a step away from her door, a moment away from turning away as the door clicks open. Emily, stood in her slacks and giving you a peculiar smile as she leans against the door.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” She glances down the hall, instinctively assuming the worst.

“Of course, everything’s fine. I just needed to get out of my room.” You admit, touching her arm in passing as she steps to the side, welcoming you into her room.

As far as it goes, her room was similar to yours. The same layout, same crappy hotel art plastered in their ikea frames, the case spread out over the small table. But hers accompanied by a drink stronger than coffee. The smell of heavy alcohol diluted in the air as you glance over her notes. Aware of her eyes following you around the small space.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Sure.” Walking over to the open window, you glance out to the lights covering the vast landscape. Cowering in the velvet skies as they switch between on and off. Night air pulling in the smell of rain on concrete, whilst the sound of a distant radio carries itself between your conversation.

Emily hands you a mug, picking up her own as she leans on the wall beside you. “You sure you’re okay?”

The cheap whiskey burns as you force it down, but not as much as her touch does. Her hand gentle and soothing, yet fire on your skin as she fights for your attention. Her cheeks as flush as yours.

“I’m fine, Emily. This case is just...draining?” She nods in agreement, sipping from her glass.

“Did you hear back from the wine creep?” She asks, the both of you laughing softly.

“Unfortunately yes. He went on a spiel about women leading men on.” As the laughter between you fades, Emily finishes her drink. Watching you in sincerity as she builds the courage to speak.

“Have you considered not...dating normal people.” She hesitated as she spoke, clearly regretting finishing her drink so soon.

“Wine creep was normal?”

“You know what I mean Y/N”

“What like from our team?” You joke,

“I mean, you’ve got to admit having somebody that understands your hectic work life, and knows how draining this job can be sounds like it’d be a good fit.”

For a second you're slightly taken aback by the sincerity that she'd taken your joke.“I never really thought of it like that.” You tilt your head as you play over the idea. “But you know, you don’t shit where you eat. If that gets messed up, so’s your friendship and work life. Plus I’m sure it’s a harassment case waiting to happen.” Emily pulls her hand from your arm, the cold night air suddenly harsh in her absence, the urge to reach back across to her almost impulsive.

“But you could make it work.”

“If it was the right person maybe. But I don’t think that risk even seems worth it.”

“But how would you know if you didn’t take that risk?”

You were at a loss for words. Not for lack of a reply or response. But from the intensity in the dark of her eyes. The way they looked to you in search of truth, almost exposing the murmur in your chest. As close as you are to Emily, it was rare for you to ever see the trust and vulnerability she showed in that second. Fidgeting hands and lost eyes.

And for a moment it stops. The world at a stand still as the radio outside pauses whilst the breeze goes silent. The space between you closing. Leaning closer and closer. And for a foolish second you believe that this it.

The moment over as Emily clears her throat, pulling away from you and leaning across to shut the window. Her perfume almost overwhelming as you hold your breath. The voice of a radio host disappearing against the window frame.

“What the hell was that?” Dry and accusing she avoids your eye. “You can’t just try that after saying it’s not worth it. Saying that I’m not worth it.”

“Emily I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Mean to what? Kiss me? You can't keep changing your mind on where you stand with me. You can't say it's not worth the risk then make a move. It doesn't work like that.” She shakes her head. Moving away from you and crossing her arms, speaking quietly this time. “I think you should leave.”

Looking back, that night seems almost dreamlike. A cold light filtered by a window miles in the distance. Inappropriate as you looked to the ligature marks fresh on the newest victim, harsh under the florescent light of the coroner's office.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You look towards Reid, his voice ringing as he looks to you in concern, suddenly realising that you’d somehow managed to look over everything he’d been saying for the past five minutes. “Sorry, uh yeah the ligature marks aren’t consistent with the other victims.” You nod.

“You know, aside from cultural values dreams aren’t a reliable source of information. Even of our own minds.So uh you shouldn’t be worried about your dream.”

Smiling softly you look across to him, “It’s not a dream I’m worried about Spence.”

Scrunching his face he followed you out of the office, pushing his hands into his pockets as he matched your pace. “What are you worried about then?”

You considered not telling him, telling him to mind his own business or passing it off as a simple worry. But he knows Emily as good as anyone. “I fucked it up with Emily. Like this was exactly what I meant when I said that it’s a bad idea. I misread the situation and now she won’t even look at me.”

Pausing, he frowns as he considers it for a moment. “Y/N, you ignored her feelings for months, I don’t think that she pictured you two together after you insulted her.”

“Emily already told you?” You shake your head as he gives a solemn nod. “I didn't insult her.”

“Perhaps not purposefully,” He begins following you out of the coroner's office. “Have you apologised?”

“Not since last night. She couldn't even look me in the eyes this morning, how am I meant to fix this?”

“Give her time.” He suggests, slowing his pace to face you. “It’ll take more than one misconstrued act for you to ruin it with her.”

Eventually the case came to an end. A happy victory for all involved. But you still lingered on the kiss that could have been. Caught up in the lull of distant radios and the dark eyes of Emily Prentiss. But since, things between you two had been on edge. Neither of you quite sure how to approach the other.

For a week you both dodged the other. Loitering at your own desks, waiting for the other to leave the kitchen before getting your own coffee, avoiding the lifts in favour of avoiding awkward conversations. Every now and then, you’d catch her looking your way, or she’d catch you doing the same. A tango of four left feet.

Staring at the bottom of your glass, your eyes glazed as you watch the same episode repeat for the third time that week. A half arsed meal stewing in the oven and wafting smells of a life that isn’t yours into every corner.

Then three knocks on your door.

Ignoring it for sake of convenience you look back to the screen, watching the commercials run before the knocks sound again. Then again.

Letting out a heavy sigh you climb off the sofa, muttering curses to yourself as you open the door. Emily stood in the dim lights, holding up a bottle of wine and a smile you’d missed.

“Hey you” Speaking quietly, barely letting your voice touch the walls. Scared she may disappear.

“We need to talk.” She insists, looking past you and into your apartment. “Can I come in?”

Nodding, you step aside closing the door behind her and following her into your kitchen. “Emily I shouldn’t have -”

The cork in the bottle pops, silencing the conversation as the spiced oak lingering with cherry and plum, stains the air around you. “I put you on the spot, Y/N. I don’t know what I expected.” She roots around in your cupboards, finding the glasses and filling them both before handing you one. “Plus you were right. One thing happened and we didn’t speak for a week. We let it get in the way of our professional lives.”

“But that was my mistake…”

“And I checked. There’s at least six different rules against it.”

“Emily, I made a mistake. But I was searching for a life that just isn’t mine. I like the unpredictability of our job. I can’t have a life that’s catching the same train every night. It's better as cancelled plans and things left unsaid. I wouldn’t know that if it wasn’t for you.” You turn the stem of your glass in your hands. “I need somebody who knows what it’s like. Who can fight for herself and still be there to soften the blow. This week without you has drove me crazy. And it’s taken me this long to realise it but I need you.”

“Do you even think we could make this work?” She asks, putting her glass down beside her.

“It’s worth the risk.”

In a dream you’re surrounded by warm light. The sound of a tv distant in the house, hearty meals that had long since been ate, whilst their smell still lingered. Red wine on your lips as you looked to the flowers growing in the box outside your window. Standing behind this window you watched flowers grow, then wilt. Helpless.

But, as you sit surrounded by warm light, the hum of the tv playing distant in the apartment, red wine on your lips, a bottle half finished but not abandoned on the table. A cat curled up in your lap, resting alongside the work you’d both promised not to bring home as you look on to Emily, leaning against the back of the sofa as she speaks in hushed tones, your eyes aching with exhaustion but the smile in your cheeks refusing to let you look away.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not Losing You (Part 3)

Summary: Dean’s not out of the woods yet and there’s more trouble on the way...

Masterlist

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x reader

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: language, life-threatening illness, implied past sexual harassment/assault

_____

“Hey,” said Sam, shaking your shoulder awake. You were back in your room and you were wide eyed, instant wetness filling them. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s okay.”

“He’s gonna-”

“No, like seriously. His numbers shot up like crazy last night and all this morning. He’s ahead of schedule even,” said Sam.

“What?”

“The second transplant worked,” said Sam with a smile. “Dr. Ross said it’s very likely he’ll pull through to the three week mark which is super important.”

“I thought…” you said.

“Me too. Last night he really started to rebound I guess. You were passed out wincing in that wheelchair this morning when they stuck you back in here but I think you’re up for a visit. Dean’s up, actually awake, if you want to pay him a visit,” said Sam.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d really love to.”

Two Weeks Later

“Your labs are very good, Dean,” said Dr. Ross outside his room. “Your counts are coming back and there’s no reaction to the transplant.”

“Yeah but about that other thing I asked about,” said Dean.

“You can’t have pie, Dean. Strict diet,” he said. You chuckled and Dean smirked at you, staring at the door to the room. “No visitors just yet.”

“Someday I’ll bust out of here, sweetheart,” he said.

“I’ll make you a pie once you’re allowed some,” you said. “How’s that sound?”

“As if I didn’t have even more of a reason to live,” he chuckled.

“Alright, love birds. Dean needs to rest and Y/N has work I believe,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, I got a date with you tonight, cutie. Seven sharp,” said Dean.

“I’ll be here,” you said.

“Y/N, I’ll walk you out,” said Dr. Ross. You waved bye to Dean before you headed to the elevators, Dr. Ross, pausing halfway there. “We’ve noticed something about Dean’s recovery that’s a little odd but maybe not.”

“What’s that?”

“He does better and heals faster when you’re here. I suspected after his numbers recovered on the breakeven night a few weeks back. It’s like the opposite of broken heart syndrome,” he said. “Your presence helps him heal from our best guess. It’s likely psychological which is helping with the physical. I know you have work but any time you can spend with him seems to be helping.”

“This is a weird question but do you have an extension plug I can borrow?”

You spent the day working on your laptop outside Dean’s room, Dean taking naps on and off, sometimes chatting with you but mostly watching you work or listening to the TV. Around five you told him you wanted to go home and change for your date, Dean laughing but you promised you’d be back quick.

“That was not the outfit I was expecting,” said Dean when you sat down in the chair two hours later and tucked your backpack underneath.

“Sweatpants are the shit,” you said, pulling your blanket out and tossing it over yourself. “Want to have a sleepover?”

“I’m so ready for a sleepover date,” he said, sitting up in bed and smirking. “Is that my shirt?”

“Maybe,” you said, snuggling into the soft chair. 

“God, you are attractive,” he said.

“I know. So hot,” you said, giggling when he stared so goofily at you. “What?”

“You look happy,” he said. “I like happy you.”

“You really have no right for making me as happy as you do,” you said.

“I know I put you through a lot this past month,” he said. “I mean a lot. But despite all that, I think you’re actually happier.”

“I care about you, Dean,” you said, staring off down the hall. “I...I might care too much.”

“Y/N. Sweetheart. Look at me please,” he said. You turned your head and rested it against the glass, Dean looking bashful but serious. “Do I look like I give a fuck about what an acceptable time period is to say I care about you?”

“Loser,” you smiled.

“Sammy told me how upset you got over me almost clocking out early,” he said.

“I care about you,” you said, staring at him. “You’re the first person in a long time that cared about me too.”

“This Liam douchebag, he’s not the only person that’s hurt you,” said Dean. 

“He’s the only one that hurt me in that kind of way,” you said.

“Where are your parents?”

“Where are yours?”

“Why do I have a feeling we’re going to have the same crappy answer?” he asked.

“I can guarantee we don’t,” you said, closing your eyes.

“Tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine,” he said.

“Disowned,” you said. 

“I punched my dad in the face when I was eighteen. He threw me out. I haven’t spoken to either one since. They don’t even know I have cancer,” said Dean.

“Your parents don’t know?” you said, sitting up and crossing your legs, Dean nodding. You put a hand on the glass and frowned, looking down. “Dean, that’s…”

“They gave up on me a long time ago. I don’t want them around if they can’t accept me for me,” said Dean.

“I understand,” you said, fixing your blanket. “I really wish I could give you a hug right now.”

“Soon I can have visitors,” said Dean. “I’m really looking forward to just laying on the couch or in bed with you.”

“Me too,” you said, resting your forehead against the glass as you stared at your lap. 

“What’s wrong?”

“How could you not tell your parents, Dean? Why didn’t Sam or Jess?” you asked.

“I swore them not to,” said Dean. “I wasn’t good enough for them when I decided to work on cars and have a manual job for a living. I was filth and had wasted years of their lives of scrimping and saving for me to go to school. I told them to give it to Sam and they did. The ironic part is my dad is a mechanic,” said Dean.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked.

“I haven’t heard from them in ten years. I died a long time ago to them,” he said.

“I suppose I’m still getting used to the no parents thing,” you said.

“When’d it happen?” he asked.

“About two years ago,” you said. “I moved here because it was nowhere near them.”

“They hurt you?” he asked. You shook your head and leaned back in your seat.

“I assaulted my cousin’s husband. I even got temporarily arrested if you can believe it,” you said.

“Bad girl,” he teased. You gave him a half smile but he was smiling wide. “Good for you.”

“He got handsy. I may have overreacted. I bruised his groin region apparently,” you said.

“Oh, I so love this story,” said Dean with a smirk. “Hit him where it hurts.”

“The family didn’t think it was so funny. I argued with my parents when they said I should apologize for my reaction. Then my dad made a comment about me being single and I got so angry at them. They’re supposed to protect me, not take someone else’s side when something like that happens. I walked out of their lives and aside from a random christmas card, I don’t hear anything,” you said.

“They know about Liam?” asked Dean.

“You don’t even know the full Liam story,” you said. “It’s not something I want to share in this kind of...setting.”

“The way Sammy talks about it, this guy hurt you bad, didn’t he,” said Dean.

“He and his family will pay. Sam and his old professor are making sure of that,” you said.

“Why won’t you tell me?” asked Dean. “My brother knows.”

“...He’s my lawyer. It’s embarrassing, Dean,” you said.

“You should never be embarrassed someone hurt you.”

“I know. I’m trying to learn that,” you said. You watched him throw back his covers and sit up, swinging his legs over the edge before he stepped over to the glass. “Dean. You need to rest.”

He kneeled down and rested his forehead against the glass, smiling at you when you did the same.

“Maybe someday I can know when you’re ready to tell me,” he said. “But until then...I got a surprise for you for our date, don’t I, Sammy?”

You spun around, Sam smiling as he popped up behind you, set down a food container in a chair and slid it over to you.

“A got you some of that pasta from The York you enjoyed so much. I will live vicariously through you as I suck down some of the blandest nutrient packed food on the planet,” said Dean. “Sammy, your services are no longer required.”

“I can’t wait until I can tackle you again,” said Sam, ruffling your head. “Netflix is on channel 2. Enjoy your date guys.”

“Dean,” you said, smiling as you pulled the container into your lap. “This is…”

“It’s dinner. About time we had our second date,” said Dean, chuckling as he walked across his room and to a table, grabbing a liquid drink and taking it back to bed. “Mmm. Yummy.”

“It keeps you full of vitamins,” you said.

“I want a bacon cheeseburger,” he said. “The second I’m out of here, I want to go get a bacon cheeseburger. And cherry pie.”

“We’ll have to go get some then,” you said.

“What would you like to watch first, sweetheart?”

“Good morning,” said Dean as you stirred awake in your fold out chair. You hummed and stretched, Dean smirking at you from bed. “How was the chair?”

“Pretty good actually. These one’s meant for sleeping are pretty good,” you said. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than usual,” he said as he sat up and you saw Dr. Ross start to head in. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you said, yawning as you stood. You were gone only a few minutes but it was enough time apparently for Dr. Ross to tell Dean something.

He was sat on the edge of his bed in the room, staring at the floor when you returned.

“Dean?” you asked, Dr. Ross with his back to you.

“I just…” he said, standing and going to the wall, leaning against it. He put his hands on his face and you shook your head.

“No, you were getting better…” you said, Dean suddenly leaning over to the door and pushing it open. 

“Want to visit?” he smirked, poking his head into the hall.

“Oh my God,” you said, Dr. Ross smiling when he spun around. “I will kill you, Dean.”

“After everything we just went through? Nah,” he said as you walked to the door, Dr. Ross nodding when you stepped inside. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you said.

“Remember what I said, Dean,” he said. “Five minutes and then you have treatment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dean as Dr. Ross stepped out. “We have to keep this PG. No touching allowed unfortunately.”

“S’okay. I’m happy to not have a piece of glass between us for once,” you said. “You must be doing better. I thought it’d be another week or two before you’d be allowed to have us come in.”

“I’m doing better than I was expecting. Rossy is putting me on a new treatment. Clinical trial,” he said. “I should say experimental.”

“Does Sam know?” you asked.

“He doesn’t know I said yes. If it works, I go from sixty something percent odds to ninety. Less chance of complications. I just have to not have a reaction today,” said Dean.

“Reaction?” you asked.

“There’s a chance that your body treats it as an allergic reaction. If that happens, I’m done,” he said. “But if it doesn’t-”

“When were you planning on telling me this?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“...After the treatment. People in the study that have a reaction, they have it fast, within minutes. You never would have known anything other than they needed to do a test and asked you to step out for a little bit,” he said.

“Well, thanks,” you said, rolling your eyes. He frowned and you shook your head. “Obviously it’s your choice but...if we’re gonna do this, you gotta-”

“What do you mean ‘if’, Y/N? I thought we were doing it,” he said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms in response.

“If we’re going to be a real couple, you need to share-” you said, Dean going back to his bed. “Or just walk away. Whatever.”

“Funny. I thought we were a real couple,” he said. “Maybe you’re just telling me what I want to hear.”

“Oh yeah?” you scoffed.

“Yeah. You feel sorry for me. Pity me. I don’t need your pity,” he said.

“I don’t need melodramatic immature boys,” you shot back as you turned away.

“Yeah, why don’t you run away. It’s your go to, isn’t it?” he said. You froze and cocked your head, looking over your shoulder with a glare.

“I think it’s a good idea if we spent some time apart,” you said.

“Please. I’ll be grateful for the alone time,” he said. You rolled your eyes. “You got some money now. Why don’t you see about getting your own place for a while. I don’t think we’re at the living together stage yet.”

“You say I’m the one that pities you,” you laughed. “That’s rich. Don’t worry. I won’t be there when you get back.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“You can go now,” he said.

“Yeah, I think I will,” you said. You quickly shoved your blanket in your backpack and headed down the hall, Dr. Ross raising an eyebrow. 

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Peachy.”

You closed your eyes as you stared at the roof of your car, trying to get comfortable in the backseat that night. Your phone rang and you picked it up from the floor, closing your eyes when you saw it was Dean.

“I see you survived. What do you want?” you breathed out.

“I want you to go home,” he said, his voice light and gentle.

“Don’t worry about me Dean.”

“I was moody and nervous for the treatment. I’m sorry. Go home. Sleep in bed. I’ll apologize in person tomorrow but please don’t sleep in your car. I’ll sick my buddies on you if I have to,” he said.

“I think I’m better off alone, Dean,” you said quietly. “You were right. I run away.”

“You’re scaring me. You’re supposed to be the one that gets scared, not me. Come on. Don’t mess up our thing now,” he said, trying to chuckle but you heard how forced it was. “Don’t run off on me, sweetheart.”

“I’m happy you’re feeling better,” you said, watching some rain come down and hit the windows. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’d be dead if it weren’t for you, you know.”

You sighed but stayed quiet, Dean swallowing so loudly you could hear it over the phone.

“I’m sorry for being an ass,” he said.

“Me too. You’re under a lot of stress, Dean. It’s okay,” you said.

“Please promise me you’ll go home,�� he said.

“I’m not going back to my parents,” you said.

“Not your parents. Home. The apartment. Your home,” he said.

“It’s your home. I was only crashing there. That’s all it was ever supposed to be,” you said, throwing an arm over your face.

“It’s our home. I let you walk away once, mostly because I knew I’d see you again and we could work it out. This time though...I don’t want this morning to be the last time I ever see you,” he said.

“Why? All I have is problems. You need someone that can focus on you,” you said.

“That thing your describing is called a medical professional and I got plenty of those around here. What I need is my best friend back. Nobody else visited me everyday. No else put up with me smelling like throw up and needing hugs and was there for me no matter what was going on in their life. No one else bought me a hat so I wouldn’t be embarrassed about having no hair because the truth is I am. I ask if you’re okay, you ask if I’m okay. It’s our thing, sweetheart. I want to keep doing our thing, Y/N, for as long as I can,” he said.

“You’re not gonna die, right?” you whispered.

“Well...someday. But from this? Odds are getting lower every day. Today was a win Rossy said. Besides, you owe me a bacon cheeseburger and slice of cherry pie if I recall,” he teased.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, trying to wipe off your face. “Yeah.”

“You okay to drive home?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you sniffled as you sat up. “I’ll be okay.”

“Listen. My two friends, Cas and Benny, they’ve been out of state at a training course for our shop the past few months but I know they flew in tonight. I’m gonna give ‘em a call and send ‘em over to keep you company for me, okay?” 

“Dean, you don’t-”

“I get to take care of you too. I should have told you earlier about the treatment. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t pull anything like that again and it’s good, Winchester,” you said, using your shirt to dry your face.

“Take a shower for me when you get home. It’ll help you feel better,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“The treatment you got today...how long before you know it works?” you asked.

“Depends on how fast my blood counts come back but the fact I didn’t have a reaction is really good news. A week more and then I might finally get out of these damn woods for once,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to getting out of them. Until then though, take it easy?”

“Okay,” you said. “Okay.”

“Text me when you get home. I’ll have my boys over soon,” he said.

“Alright. I will.”

“Be safe.”

“You too, Dean.”

“Hey! Chickadee, you home yet?” you heard as you were getting dressed in Dean’s bedroom after your shower an hour later.

“Would you answer to that?” you heard another voice say.

“Don’t be pissy, Cassie,” said the first voice.

“You ate my snack!” said the second.

“It was fucking free airplane food. A bag of pretzels. Go raid Dean’s pantry if I deprived you so badly.”

“It’s the principle, Benjamin.”

“It’s the principle,” mocked the other one.

You stuck your head out of the hallway, raising an eyebrow at the two men in the living room.

“Benjamin?” you asked, the slightly larger one turning his head, both of them giving you a smile.

“Benny. Castiel. Deano said he was giving you a heads up,” he said.

“If you were her would you-”

“Go eat a snack. You’re cranky,” said Benny. Cas rolled his eyes but walked into Dean’s kitchen. You wrapped Dean’s flannel around yourself and stepped into the hall, Benny giving you a smile. “You must be Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. 

“Dean said you were having a rough night.”

“...A lot going on right now,” you said. “He was worried is all. He overreacted. You guys just got home from months away. I’m sure you’d rather go to your own houses.”

Cas poked his head out of the kitchen, mouthful of pretzels and cocking his head.

“She must not know us very well,” he said after he’d chewed some.

“Dean asks us to do something, we do it,” said Benny. “Always been that way, always will be that way. So get used to our faces.”

“You got any dip?” asked Cas, grabbing another handful of food.

“I think there’s ranch in the fridge,” you said.

“It’s fine,” he said, carrying the bag into the living room, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. “Did he clean?”

“You think Deano cleaned?” laughed Benny as he sat down, glancing at you. “I think it was our new friend.”

“I’ve been staying here. It’s complicated,” you said, carefully walking out and sitting in the chair, both guys devouring the bag.

“Let’s order pizza,” said Cas, pulling out his phone.

“Wings. Oh, and fries too,” said Benny. “Oh and something with chocolate.”

You stared at them as they bickered for a moment over toppings, Cas ordering enough food to feed an army.

“Alright, it’ll be here in half an hour,” he said, stretching in his seat. “I’m gonna shower quick.”

“Remember there’s a lady in the house,” said Benny. “Pants, Cas.”

“How ever would I survive without you?” said Cas. “Y/N, I’ll keep the bathroom clean.”

“Really, it’s fine, Cas. Use whatever,” you said.

“So,” said Benny when Cas headed down the hall. “It sounds like you’ve been taking care of our boy while we were gone.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you said.

“Not the way he says it,” said Benny. “I ain’t talking about you giving him all those cells either.”

“Again, I didn’t do anything,” you said.

“Mhm,” he said. “You’re not much of a conversationalist, are ya.”

“I don’t know you and it’s ten thirty at night after a long day. I’m not particularly in the mood to talk,” you said.

“I see why Dean asked us to come over,” he said.

“Enjoy your food. Goodnight, Benny,” you said as you stood.

“You are just like him,” he said as you went past. “Dean.”

“No. I’m not. He’s normal and happy.”

“Yup, you two are just like one another I’m betting. You both got that put yourself down thing all the time going on,” he said.

“I’m not really in the mood for whatever this is so-“

“This is me saying thank you for taking care of one of my best friends while Cas and I were away. Dean doesn’t have many people left and what he’s going through, no one should do that alone,” he said.

“Like I said, I didn’t do anything,” you said.

“Alright. You gonna sit back down or what?” he asked. You settled back into your seat, Benny cocking his head. “It was the hair wasn’t it. Boy always gets ‘em with the hair.”

“Huh?”

“Dean’s hair. He’s lured in more than one woman with that mess on his head,” said Benny.

“Uh no. He was nice. He doesn’t even have hair right now, just some peach fuzz,” you said.

“It’ll come back,” said Benny, leaning back into his seat more. “You know he hasn’t had a girlfriend since he was diagnosed. Not been on a single date. Well he’s been on dates but only first ones. He stopped after that kept happening.”

“I imagine dating isn’t really on your mind when you find out news like that,” you said.

“He didn’t tell you, did he.”

“Tell me what?”

“Dean had been dating this girl for nearly a year when he found out. She dumped him the next day.”

“No. That’s horrible.”

“Dean said it was cool but we knew it wasn’t. He needed someone and he got left out on his own. We were always leery of the chick. Deano was settling for someone that put him down a lot. We were pretty surprised when he told us about his new girlfriend about a month back. He swore he’d never have one again,” said Benny.

“He never can seem to catch a break,” you said. Benny smiled and shook his head.

“I’d disagree. He’s got odds of living, he’s got someone that cares about him. He really likes you, Y/N. You gave him a bit of faith in humanity back. He was pretty low. Don’t call that nothing,” he said.

“I was pretty low too,” you said quietly, Benny nodding. “How long have you been friends with Dean?”

“First grade. I used to be a skinny little kid if you can believe it. I was new that year. No one in my class wanted to be my friend. Dean and Cas though at recess, they saw me and asked me to play since I was by myself. They were my best friends after that. Every single day after that we were together. We opened a garage together.”

“Really? I thought Dean just worked at one,” you said.

“Cas handles the more business side but us three are equal partners in it. We do pretty good too. We like it. Dean’s folks weren’t too thrilled,” said Benny.

“He said he never told them he got sick,” you said.

“He didn’t. None of us did. We wouldn’t break his trust like that,” said Benny.

“He needed someone to take care of him,” you said. 

“He’ll pull through. He always does. He was saying he’s got real good chances if he can get through the next few weeks,” he said.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, ducking your head down. You felt tears prickle your eyes. You didn’t even know why you were upset. For Dean. For you. For how his ex-girlfriend had treated him. You honestly didn’t know anything other than that you cared too much. You were going to screw something else up soon and he’d see you as being too clingy.

“Hey,” said Benny softly, suddenly kneeling down in front of your chair. “Can I hug you?”

You nodded and felt him wrap you up in a big bear hug, pulling you over to sit on the couch. He got up for a minute and returned with a box of tissues and a blanket. It was heavy, a weighted one and he tucked you into his side when he sat back down.

“Who’s been taking care of you?” he asked.

“What?” you asked, hiccuping slightly.

“Who takes care of you?” 

“I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. Other people have it way worse,” you said, sniffling again. 

“Oh, you are so wrong, chickadee. Everybody needs somebody to take care of them sometimes. Dean’s not quite up to the job right now which is why he sent us. So you cry or vent or whatever you want to feel better, okay?” he asked. 

“I don’t…” you said, hearing Cas come out of the bathroom, pausing when you both looked back at him.

“Dean said you’d be a hard one to crack,” he said, walking around to the other side of the couch and sitting down. He threw an arm over your shoulders and smiled at you. “You should have seen how bad Benny cried when Dean told us the news. Trust us, there’s no such thing as being embarrassed around us.”

“I’m glad Dean has friends like you guys,” you said, blowing your nose while Benny ran a hand up and down your back.

“You want to talk about anything?” asked Cas. You shook your head and it was quiet for a moment.

“Well let’s stick on a movie. We got some good food coming soon,” said Benny. They didn’t say much aside from occasionally asking if you needed anything. 

You only had one slice of pizza but they polished off more of the food than you thought they would. By the time they were finished it was close to midnight and you were exhausted.

“I’m going to head to bed guys,” you said as you stood up.

“Alright. Try to get some sleep. We can go see Dean tomorrow,” said Cas. 

“Goodnight,” you said, walking down to the bedroom. You flopped down on the mattress, letting out a shaky breath. After a moment you got under the covers and rolled over, spotting a call pop up on your phone.

Dad

“What?” you snapped as you grabbed the phone. “It’s midnight. What the fuck do you want?”

“Mom and I are at the airport. We’re staying at the Hilton nearby. We need to talk tomorrow,” he said.

“I haven’t spoken to you in two years,” you said.

“We heard about this Liam guy,” he said. You swallowed, expecting another disappointed talk. “Your cousin divorced George. He cheated. More than once.”

“Good for her,” you said dryly.

“We’re sorry. We know you were telling the truth now. He even admitted it.”

“I think it’s too late for that,” you said. “Please don’t call again.”

_____

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

[winterheart17]

You are so sweet

Which is a lie btw because my sister chipped in and said that she dm-ed more of my mates on instagram. And then my mother keeps blaming it on me and asking me why I'm annoyed with her. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the worry and concern but I'm old enough and it's barely even half an hour. And I just realised that my mother dictates whatever I do, micromanages my life and controls everything. So at the end of the whole fiasco, I took a cab home and just slept for 6 hours. 

And I understand that's not necessarily the most healthy of coping mechanisms but it's how I cope, I avoid or repress my feelings. My mother always asks me why I sleep so late or why I take so long to shower and my answer to her is usually the same: just a slow poke. But truly I do that as a form of escapism from life and my family (not just her). And honestly the only time I have the courage to talk about my feelings are when I'm slightly tipsy (like now when there's vodka in my coffee cup). 

And I'm just tired and I don't know whether my sentiments are justified logically. Being a rational person, it's pretty hard to draw the line between rational and irrational feelings. And I'm usually the friend to find solutions to peoples problems (helped 4 people with their stress related mental breakdowns in the past week) but I can't seem to solve my own problems. I'll usually just make a joke and change the subject when something bothers me.

_______________________________________________________________________

Hihi there, 

Okay, so first up, I’m so sorry about thefiasco that happened with your mum. It was a crappy situation to be caught inand I know exactly where you’recoming from because I was raised by a very strict mother who used tomicromanage my life (she still tries to at times). It was difficult growing upwith her at times, I admit, especially when I felt so distrusted when I hadnever done anything to make her think I was anything other than responsible. Ithink part of it also stems from the fact that we (me and you) generally don’trebel as well, so, our mothers sort of think it’s okay to carry on doing whatthey’ve done all along.

I’m not saying that it was right of her andI agree that calling so many of your friends when you were just 10 minutes latefor lunch was an overreaction – perhaps she was genuinely concerned and worriedespecially if you’re the sort of person who’s never late to a meet-up and Godknows with all that’s been flooding the news recently, that may have been hertiger mum instincts kicking into gear!

All that said and done, I do think it’ssomething you should talk to her about. Again, easier said than done –sometimes, talking may not resolve anything. But if you’ve not tried this as anoption, I’d advise picking another time and place when things have calmed downto bring the topic up. You can casually open with: “Mum, you do realise that I’m18 now and I appreciate your concern and worry, but I’d also appreciate it ifyou could trust me a little bit more and let me find my footing.” Just makesure to state really clearly that youunderstand her good intentions and that this is in no way a form of youattacking her – but that you’ve realised you’ve been nothing but responsibleand you hope she can show some good faith in you – even though relinquishing controlover her “little girl” can be hard. Don’t expect major changes right away asthese things take time – it will take small nudges and casual reminders if youcatch her micromanaging you again.

Aww honey, I’m so sorry to hear thatbecause to be honest, it sounds like it has been weighing on your mind for along time now – this coping mechanism. I’ve personally never been one to shyaway from acknowledging my emotions – I love digging and sifting through thedirt and I could most probably sit and cry for a good hour if that’s what Iwanted to do to feel better about a situation!

First up, I want you to know that you areallowed to feel however it is the way you want to feel. You don’t need to feelas if your sentiments are justified logically or not – if you feel it, it iswhat it is. What is ‘wrong’ (if I could just borrow the slightest connotationthis word brings) is if you react immediately to how you feel and lash out in away that people don’t deserve. So, take the time to acknowledge and embracewhat it is you’re feeling – ask yourself, what is the worst that could happenwhen you do that? That it will hurt? That you will feel angry? That you’ll havea good cry, a good talk, a good scream – which could potentially make you feelbetter? Once you’ve come to terms with that, then only can you figure out whatyour next course of action should be and how you should handle the people whoare involved in the situation.

You probably find it really easy to helppeople with their problems because you’re very rational and you want to help “solve”things, or at least suggest solutions. It’s easier when you’re the third partylooking in with clear eyes and a clear mind. But when it comes to you, you don’teven know where to begin – everything becomes so overwhelming, you just shutdown. I don’t think you need me to tell you that it can potentially be a hugeproblem – the fact that it’s at the back of your mind is already a tell-talesign.

I’ve been reading a lot of Cheryl Strayed’sDear Sugar advice column pieces lately (they are seriously so insightful,tender, and beautiful, I swear) – but something she said now comes to mind.Sometimes, we like to say that we can’t bear to go through things or bear tosurvive situations. It’s not that we can’t – we are fully equipped to do so –but rather, we don’t want to because it’s painful. We don’t say “I hope I won’thave to endure this”. What I want to tell you now is that you have it in you –the very fact that you know exactly what it is you are repressing shows thatyou have insight to yourself.

There’s nothing wrong with trying to finddifferent ways to relax and forms of escapism can work at times, but rememberthat in the long run, if nothing comes out in the clear – you’re just going tobottle everything up until one day you explode. Perhaps you could start withasking yourself why do you joke and change the subject when something bothersyou? Is it because you’re afraid that speaking out will cause offence? Will itdisplease the people around you? If the reasons are external, I’d like to tellyou that I’ve met a number of people who have no qualms about entering adebate/discussion that would challenge their own views (if indeed it is acertain viewpoint that bothers you). Especially if they are your friends, it’seven more important that you are able to talk with them about things that youare uncomfortable with.

If it’s internal in that you just don’twant to deal with it – ask yourself why? As you’ve mentioned that you’re arational person, why not ask yourself questions so that you can find the rootcause of the issue? If it’s hard for you to just talk it out internally, I’vefound writing to be terribly therapeutic – maybe you could try your hand atthat?

All I’m saying is that you have nothing tolose by confronting your own emotions within yourself. Confronting them doesn’tmean you have to resolve the issues right here, right now with theperson/people in question. It’s acknowledging that something is the matter anddoing so will give you peace of mind.

I’m sorry this turned out to be so long andif I was just rambling throughout it all – but I hope they’ve managed to helpin a way or that you’ve managed to find some measure of comfort in them. Justknow that it takes time and it’s going to be a long and hard journey, but I’mrooting for you and you know where to find me if you ever need an ear (or pairof eyes in this case). You can do this – I really do believe you can

[ingridgovaninsights]

The Worst I’ve Ever Been- A Short Story

The worst I’ve ever been has got to be October of 2010. When I look back on it now, I feel okay. I don’t feel ashamed or angry with myself, because those times are long gone and they must have happened for a reason. Yes, back in 2010 I was most certainly embarrassed and self-pitiful. But I was young then, and I still had a lot to learn. Most of my embarrassment came from worrying what other people thought about me, and that’s a slippery slope to be on. Twenty years later, I am not cured. That’s the thing- there is no magical cure. There isn’t a doctor in the world that can hand you the prescription to make you forget all your troubles, or erase every single feeling you’ve ever felt before. If that were the case, we’d all be robots, and I think I’d rather keep myself and be a bit messed up than be not messed up in the slightest but void of any emotion.

As I was saying, I am not cured. I must repeat that for emphasis, because it’s so, so important. I am, however, managing. At some point along the way- and you may feel at the time like it’s never going to happen, but trust me, it will- you’ll start to feel slightly better. Maybe you found a job, or you discovered a new hobby. Perhaps you reconnected with an old friend, read a book that moved you, or you fell in love. Regardless of what that something is, something happens to you, and you suddenly feel a lot more grounded. That something makes you feel whole and okay again. It’s a wonderful feeling, and it gives you hope. When we talk about treatment for mental illness, we’re talking about a change not a cure… that’s the difference. That difference makes all the difference- because frankly, if you walk around looking for an outright cure, you’re going to be faced with disappointment.

These are the sorts of things I half-read off cue cards to my first year psych students, much to their dismay. I think they were looking for actual content; cold, hard facts and statistics thrown into a lengthy PowerPoint. If they wanted to hear someone’s life experience, they could meet up with a friend for coffee. They chose university for a reason- there’s only so much you can learn from telling and hearing personal stories… or that’s what they say.

Well, these were the doubts I fed myself after every class. Never did a student actually approach me and say, “Hey, Mr. Taylor, your class sucks… I wanna see more slides on the history of cognitive behavioural therapy”, but I was a master mind reader, of course. Over time, I became more experienced in ignoring my negative inner dialogue, but it was no easy feat. I had hard days just like anybody else, even after I thought I’d shot anxiety down for good (turns out there’s no such thing- and as a psych professor, I really ought to know that).

Despite being forty years old, I’d only been teaching for a year. It took me a long, long time to get to where I am now, and to even figure out that’s what I wanted. There were so many wrong turns, drop-outs, and quitting crappy jobs along the way. I’m a man with many regrets, but hey, you live and learn, right?

The new, bright-eyed students watched me from their uncomfortable seats in the lecture hall as I spewed out my usual first-day greeting. What I did was I talked too much about how I got into psychology and teaching, and then I would try to cram the syllabus into the last five minutes of class. I hadn’t yet mastered my time management skills, in contrast to many veteran professors that made the whole teaching thing look like a cake walk. Mr. Allen, who’d been teaching at this very university for over thirty years, was a favorite among psych students, and he always delivered the perfect blend of statistics, history and personal experience. And then there was me, Isaac Taylor, clumsily trying to find that balance when all I really wanted to do was blab to everyone about my life.

I could’ve sworn I saw a few students exchanging uneasy glances, so I quieted down a little, coughed and changed the slide over to the vague course description. What would we be learning about this semester? What were our learning goals? All of that general, boring stuff that didn’t really talk about what we would actually be learning. I’ve tried to talk to my superiors about reconsidering the “orientation” information, perhaps giving it some more interesting content, but my suggestions weren’t taken much into consideration being the “psych baby” that I was. The psych veterans laughed at me with their eyes, as if to say, “Mr. Taylor, you’ll come to learn that you can’t change anything around here, but good luck with that”.

To my surprise, one of the new students raised a hand with a question. I was shocked because most of them kept their mouths shut at first, at least before they decided whether or not they wanted to drop out. It was a young woman- she had to be in her early twenties- with fiery red hair tied up in a messy bun; freckles; wide-rimmed glasses. She balanced a handful of books on her lap- a few notebooks, a few textbooks. A fairly standard nerd type.

“Professor, you said that October of 2010 was the worst you’d ever been. I think it’s unfair of you to say that and then change the subject; we were all a little bit intrigued to know why, I think. Could you finish the story?”

Again, I was shocked. Caught off guard. I wasn’t expecting any questions at all, never mind such a bold one. Well, there wasn’t much time left for storytelling; it would simply have to wait. Maybe my doubts had been wrong- people did want to hear what I had to say. Or at least this strange young lady did.

The nerdy redhead tipped her head to the side slightly, waiting patiently for my answer. I noticed I was starting to sweat- something I did when I was nervous- and I tugged at the collar of my sweater, desperate for more air. The pause between her question and my answer felt like hours, but in reality it must have only been a few seconds; it’s odd how time seems thrown off when faced with anxiety.

“Well, I’m glad you found my introduction so interesting,” I began, “but unfortunately, the next chapter will have to wait until our lecture on Friday. If people are still wanting to hear it.”

I heard murmurs of approval, a few nods of the head. But the redhead looked unimpressed. She wanted my story now; well that was just too bad. I wasn’t anticipating such a reaction from anybody. Last year, students were polite when I told my story but I didn’t get many questions. I certainly wasn’t encouraged to continue talking. I think some people just wanted to learn what they came here for- textbook material- and be on their way. Others, like this redhead, wanted some more context. She was frowning at me, as if that were not the answer she wanted, but then the clock signaled it was time to leave, and I dismissed the class.

***

A couple hundred students poured out of the lecture hall, and I stayed at the front to gather my supplies, shut down my laptop, and so on. When I had my back turned, focusing on whether I should schedule my updates for a later time or just say “meh, I’ll do it when my laptop finally forces me to”, Nerdy Redhead tapped me on the shoulder. I whipped my head around to see who it was, and her green eyes met mine fiercely.

“I think you have a pretty good story to tell,” she said to me, “and I’m not sure I can wait until Friday. Can you please at least tell me a little bit, to get me through my day? I love stories.”

I narrowed my eyes. I was always skeptical of people that even showed remote interest in me- what was her motive? Perhaps she was being sarcastic; maybe I was dreadfully boring to her and her classmates were going to laugh about this over lunch later. How could I know for sure? I was also slightly offended the way she said “stories”, as if I were reading her some sort of choose-your-own adventure novel. It was a story, sure, but it was a true story and a story that ought to be taken seriously. Maybe I was just too sensitive.

“You can wait like the rest of your classmates,” I said firmly. What made her think she was so special?

She extended a hand; it looked to be quite shaky. “My name is Casey. I don’t think you understand. I think you telling your story will help a lot of people-”

“Can you please cut it out with this fake-worship-the-professor act? It is pretty insulting to me that you think you can march up here and demand a ‘story telling’... I can’t even be sure you’re serious right now.”

Why did I act this way? Why did I doubt everyone that ever believed in me, to the point of pushing them away? I didn’t want that; as soon as the words came out I regretted them, and I felt embarrassed. Casey was young and impressionable. She was a new student, eager to learn- that’s all. Why on Earth would I doubt that?

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, “I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I think it’s great you’re taking such an interest… but really, it’s easier if I just tell the story all at once on Friday. Can you wait like everyone else?”

Casey was upset; that much was obvious now. Her green eyes looked glazed over, almost as if she were on the verge of tears. She didn’t say any more; she turned quickly on her heel and speed-walked out of the classroom.

Okay, so we’d both overreacted- maybe that was normal for us. It was normal for me, anyways- I had a tendency to make everything a bigger deal than it was. Of course, I’d gotten better at that over the years, but it would always be a part of me. I think some of it had to do with the fact that I second guessed everything, automatically in my mind. I guess I couldn’t blame Casey for reacting the way she did- I had been pretty rude to her. Now she’d probably meet up with her friends and they’ll talk about what a dick I am.

I sighed, zipped up my laptop bag and headed for the door, being careful to keep a distance in case I saw Casey again. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that. God, how did I always manage to ruin everything?

***

When Friday rolled around, the hundreds of cookie-cutter students poured into the lecture hall, blurring into one big lump that stared straight at me with innocence and curiosity. This class was far more eager than any of my classes in previous years; perhaps it was just luck. But to my disappointment, when the clock hit exactly ten o'clock, Casey was nowhere to be found.

I hung around the front of the class, awkwardly delaying my start in case she decided to show up a little late. She didn’t. Well then, she mustn’t have been that excited to hear my life story. I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt and started up the PowerPoint. Lecture first, story time later. Maybe Casey would rush into the hall in a flurry, books spilling out of her arms, face flushed and out of breath, and maybe she would later tell me “I’m so sorry, Mr. Taylor, I missed the bus!”

But she didn’t. And for some odd reason that I couldn’t figure out- maybe I had some sort of psychic powers, as much as I didn’t believe in that shit- I had a really bad feeling in my gut. Of course, we had only shared one lecture together- maybe Casey was just pretending to be an Eager Beaver and she was secretly hating every moment, and so she dropped out of the class? Well, I guess she would have to drop out of the entire program, since this course isn’t exactly optional. But something told me she wasn’t feigning her curiosity that day- it was still clear in my mind, the way she teared up and fled when I upset her, and the way she seemed to lean in more when I announced to the class I would be sharing some personal details about my life.

Could I really trust my mind, though? I did have a tendency to overthink things. Maybe she was just sick. People do get sick. All of these troubling thoughts raced through my mind while I tried to teach the lesson. I must not have sounded as passionate as the week prior, because my students were quickly losing interest.

“Okay,” I said loudly, stopping the current slide, “what is going on here? It doesn’t seem that anybody is listening.”

Students were whispering, looking down at their laps, and fidgeting. It was almost like a room full of entirely different people. One girl, who I do remember from last week because she had been sitting next to Casey, raised her hand.

“Um, Mr. Taylor… we’re all a little bit distracted right now, given the news.”

News? What news? I looked around me, perplexed. I guess a lot of the school gossip went over the professor’s heads. Whatever- it didn’t really bother me; most of them were an entirely different generation, anyways, so of course they didn’t want to stand around and share intimate details with me.

“Care to share what that news might be?” I asked, feeling slightly self conscious because I appeared to be the only one in the room who didn’t know.

The girl looked at her friend beside her and they exchanged a sad look. Then, she said, “Our classmate tried to commit suicide last night. She’s in the hospital.”

I felt my heart sink in my chest, and my stomach did a backflip. I thought I might be sick. It had to be Casey, right? I tugged at the collar of my shirt; I was beginning to sweat.

“Oh… um… oh dear. Excuse me, does anybody have the name of this classmate?”

Maybe it was an inappropriate question; I wasn’t really sure. But I just had to know, and I didn’t really care if people thought I was being inappropriate or desperate. I felt absolutely sick to my stomach; this was bad. Really, really bad.

The girl, who was now crying quite visibly, couldn’t look up at me to meet my eyes. “It’s… Casey. Casey Peters, I don’t know if you know her. She’s one of my best friends.”

My fears had been correct. It was Casey. She was laying in a hospital bed somewhere, probably feeling really bad. My heart was racing, and so was my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder- could I have done something to prevent it? If only I’d been nicer…

God, I felt like absolute shit. How could I have talked to a student like that? And not to mention a student that had clearly been going through so much… all the warning signs had gone right over my head. I’m a psychology professor; I should be the expert at understanding human behaviours and thought processes. But then another thought occurred to me- perhaps she hadn’t been showing any of those signs. Perhaps she had kept it well-hidden for a reason. It hurt me to think that maybe, just maybe, she had been in pain for so long, she felt the best way to deal with it would be to conceal it, act like everything's okay, and not bother anybody anymore. What if her wanting to hear my story was like a final cry for help? How could I have missed that?

“Mr. Taylor, are you alright?” one student, a young man probably in his mid twenties, called out with concern.

My face must have looked pretty terrifying, because all the students were watching me with worried eyes. I don’t know how long I was out of it, lost in my thoughts wondering how I messed up so badly. When I finally snapped out of it, I knew I had to escape. The room was suffocating me.

“You can read the slides online,” I managed to say, gathering my things and rushing out of the lecture hall in panic.

I took a seat on a nearby bench, trying to focus on my breathing. But it was incredibly difficult to remain calm- swarms of students were bustling by, silently judging me and getting into my personal space bubble. And out of the thousands of people that attended this university, one person in this gigantic student body had the ability to shake me to my core… one person that I hardly knew possessed the capacity to make me question everything.

After a few minutes of unsuccessful mindfulness exercises, I got up and speed-walked to the Dean’s office, where the short man in his late fifties sat at his desk sipping a coffee, pretending to be very busy. I stood in the doorway, breathing heavily from all the commotion, and he looked at me with wide eyes.

“Isaac Taylor,” he said, “what can I do for you? You look… out of sorts.”

“That’s an understatement,” I said. “Look, Michael… I need you to tell me if you know anything about what’s going on with Casey Peters. I am sure you’ve heard about her… recent struggles?”

Michael sighed and looked down at his desk sadly. “Ah, yes… I can’t say I have met the young lady, but I have heard some of your fellow psych professors chatting about her. A few days prior to her attempting… suicide, the professors were discussing how well she was already doing in her classes. Her very first quizzes she was getting perfects on, easily. A bright young lady, for sure.”

When Michael said the word suicide, he had to pause before he used it… and when he said it, it seemed a struggle- like pulling teeth. Like the word was far too embarrassing, or dark, or upsetting. I guess it was one of those “loaded” words that people can’t seem to spit out, like rape, or gay or depressed. Things that people didn’t talk often enough about. Well, look what happens when you don’t.

“No, I… I mean, yes, she does seem very bright. But what I need to know is, what hospital is she staying at? Is she still there? Can I go see her? I’m very worried that I upset her, and I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Isaac, relax,” Michael said to me, which did absolutely nothing to relax me. “Casey is fine. Her suicide attempt was unsuccessful. She is being cared for.”

“Yes, but it shouldn’t have gotten to that point at all!” I yelled, beyond frustrated. I stepped forward; I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my forehead. “Listen, you need to tell me whereabouts she is so that I can pay her a visit. It’s very important to me.”

I suppose I looked pretty serious, because Michael hurriedly gave me the address, and before I knew it I was fleeing the campus on my way to see Casey. I was so anxious I don’t even recall the car ride over- just one giant blur; I may as well have been driving in the rain with broken windshield wipers. I couldn’t decide whether it was my greatest weakness or my greatest strength that I cared so fucking much.

Casey was laying in her hospital bed, pale-faced and eyes glazed over with what I imagined was great sadness. Her fiery red hair was a mess, it looked in dire need of brushing, and her shoulders were slouched. She looked exhausted. For what seemed to be the longest time, I watched her in the doorway, frozen, unable to figure out what to do or say next. How could I possibly say anything that would make her feel better? I couldn’t. I was no miracle worker, just an amateur psychology professor with apparently no ability to use that psychology knowledge in real life.

“Come in,” she said weakly.

I hated hospitals. Well, who liked them? I guess what I’m saying is, I really hated them. I almost had a fear of them- just visiting a hospital or even going to a doctor’s appointment made me sick to my stomach and lightheaded. But I had to be strong for Casey- I couldn’t be fainting now. I stepped into the room, and the robotic beep of the machines had me feeling woozy.

“I am so, so sorry,” was what I finally said to her.

“Why?” Casey asked me, looking at me with genuine curiosity.

“I’m sorry I didn’t sit down to talk with you, and I’m sorry that I got frustrated and snapped at you. I should have been more sensitive. So… I’m sorry.”

Casey shrugged. “I took a bottle of pills. I freaked out. I decided to throw them up… I felt like I was making a mistake. None of this is your fault, or anybody else’s. Please don’t feel bad.”

“It’s kind of hard not to,” I said. “Casey, I’m really worried about you. Do you have family you can talk to about what you’re going through? Friends? Someone…”

“I am fine, Mr. Taylor,” she snapped. “Seriously. I… think this was my wake-up call. I don’t want to die, I just want the pain to stop. So I have to figure out how to make the pain stop without dying. I’m going to get help here.”

I watched her, trying to figure out her eye movements and her facial expression, but then I stopped myself and just tried to focus on the conversation at hand. I tried to listen.

“That’s good you’re going to get help now,” I said. “I want you to know that anytime you need someone to talk to, my door is always open, okay? And I don’t know if it’ll help or not, but you can most certainly hear my story anytime you’d like.”

Casey smiled faintly. “You know how you said October of 2010 was the worst you’ve ever been? Well, last night was the worst I’d ever been. But I think that’s what it took for me to open up my eyes.”

End