#that will definitely not make him feel unsafe or uncomfortable at all whatsoever

[topazadine]

Writing Compelling Trauma in Fiction: Dos and Don'ts

Trauma is, quite frankly, a load-bearing weight in the fiction space. We've all done it: thrown in the saddest, most miserable little factoid about our meow-meows so that they feel not just real, but compelling and sympathetic. It helps readers empathize with them and spices up a story.

Very well-done trauma can also be cathartic for readers, especially if the character prevails despite what has happened to them.

The problem is that poorly written trauma can feel exploitative, cheap, and melodramatic. It turns people off, especially those who have been through a similar experience. Now it feels as if someone is using our pain to sell things or get attention, and it is often obvious when someone has not been through that experience, which can make readers feel uncomfortable.

So, here is my opinion on how to write more compelling trauma.

As always, I am not the ultimate authority on writing, I am not telling you exactly what to do with your writing, my opinions are just opinions, I am not perfect, I might be wrong, this might not resonate with you. Take what you like and leave the rest.

There's also not going to explicit descriptions of abuse or trauma in this post.

These are the highlights, and then we'll get more into it under the cut.

Trauma must be transformative

Flashbacks are not little movies

Triggers are not always obvious

Don't give characters every trauma ever

It's not always necessary to show the event

The earlier the trauma happens, the more it changes a character

Characters do not always tell every single person about the trauma

Characters themselves may not be explicit about discussing the trauma

And then we will go through some quick action points about trauma.

Trauma must be transformative

Trauma, by definition, changes someone; otherwise, whatever happened would just be another normal Tuesday and no one would care.

This problem is where we get the concept of "fridging." Something horrible happens to a character and they just kind of shrug it off, or it impels them to do something but doesn't actually change them as a person.

For example, a superhero finds their (typically female) lover dead and it spurs them to fight the villain, but then it just doesn't do anything else. They forget about the dead lover and said lover is never mentioned again. That's shitty writing and also kind of misogynistic.

It doesn't need to change them in bad ways, per se: Batman becomes a crime fighter because his parents died in front of him. We know that and always feel that in his story. But, there must be a change or the trauma doesn't mean anything.

Options for you (not an exhaustive list):

Developing anxiety. This may be a more globalized anxiety, such as agoraphobia, or it may be more specific. Shying away from "unsafe" situations that seem perfectly safe to other people. This is another form of anxiety. Becoming withdrawn and refusing to trust anyone. Clinging to "safe" people; becoming dependent and helpless. They may become codependent and childlike. This is common with childhood abuse, particularly childhood sexual abuse. Their emotional coping skills were stunted after the event and they never developed a healthy sense of self. Growing cold and unemotional; isolating themselves from other people. They may refuse to talk about the event and insist that they are fine. Advocating for others dealing with the same thing. Acting like an emotional "open wound:" intense, trauma vomiting all over other people, failing to self-regulate. Having extreme bursts of rage. This is more common in men, but it can also happen in women. For sexual trauma, becoming hypersexual or having no interest in sex whatsoever. They may become incredibly touch-averse, even getting antsy when someone touches their hand. Making risky decisions that lead to further traumatization. Especially true regarding child abuse; those who were molested as children are far more likely to be revictimized later in life. BTW, this is not victim-blaming: it is still the abuser's fault for hurting them. No one should take advantage of someone's vulnerability like that. Keeping everything surface level and refusing to open up to anyone about anything. They may seem "bland" and uninteresting to the outside observer because everything about them has been stuffed down. As I have mentioned elsewhere, trauma often blunts a person's personality and makes them less interesting.

Again, this isn't an exhaustive list, but it's an idea of what you might be able to work with.

Flashbacks are not little movies

Nothing irks me more than writers who decide that the best possible way to explain someone's trauma is to just go back in time and show it in exhaustive detail because that is not how trauma generally works. You don't just see the whole thing in vivid technicolor most of the time.

Why? Because trauma is ... traumatic. Your brain wants to protect you from that experience and isn't going to force you to relive it over and over again exactly as it happened.

More commonly, flashbacks are small snippets of the event. For example, you might see the person's eyes as they are staring at you, or a very brief image of the worst part of it. You'll see what your eyes were focusing on in the moment, but you're not going to see the whole thing all at once. Sometimes, a flashback is like a still image, or like a GIF. But it's not a little movie.

In other cases, a flashback is just a body sensation with no actual visual images shown. You might feel pain in the place where you were hurt, and you may not even realize it's a flashback.

This can actually make for very compelling writing when done correctly, because you can show small snapshots of the event sprinkled throughout the story so that the reader slowly develops a full understanding of what happened.

So what could you show?

The eyes of the perpetrator

Expressions on a perpetrator's face

A "diorama" of the room/location where it took place

Repeating images of a small section of the event

Physical pain: pelvic pain for assault, tender ribs, old wounds starting to hurt again

Darkness or swirls of motion

Sounds or phrases that were said during the event

The aftermath: what happened right after they were safe or rescued

Sensations: pressure, heat, cold, weightlessness, heaviness, exhaustion, pain

Triggers are not always obvious

A trigger can be anything that reminds you of trauma. Scents, sounds, words, certain brands, the tone of someone's voice, specific locations that just remind you of where it happened, anything. I am sure there are people out there who are triggered by Dolce & Gabbana handbags or certain ice cream flavors.

Sometimes, a trigger is not even obvious to the person who suffered. They may not realize why they shy away from certain experiences, like swinging on a playset or walking through an airport, because they can't remember why that's relevant to what happened.

Don't give a character every trauma ever

Going overboard with trauma is one of the best ways to get people to hate your book. It feels as if you are using trauma as a stand-in for actually developing characters people can resonate with and just using pity points to get people to care.

In fact, I would argue that you need to give characters less trauma than would be feasible for the average person. Of course, many people go through multiple types of trauma over their lifetime, to the point where if someone read a book about them, it would seem unrealistic.

But characters are not people. They are meant to populate a fictional plot. As such, less is more. Using less trauma forces you to dig deeper into those certain events and identify how your character changed.

It's not always necessary to show the event

This is especially true if you are writing about characters who have childhood trauma. Full-on cinematic flashbacks are a cheap way to get out of showing us how the trauma changed them. This is especially true if this is the only flashback in the story, or you are only flashing back to show us increasingly more disturbing examples of their trauma.

The most compelling stories I have read do not show the trauma; they show us the aftermath. We see how the character is haunted by what happened and how they can never go back to who they were before. It makes for deeper and more interesting characterization than just "oh look at this bad thing that happened."

There's also the fact that it's more intriguing to give us hints and subtle references to something. The fear of the unknown is worse than the true, explicit details, because then the reader is filling in the blanks in their own mind and imagining how bad it must have been by seeing what is before them: the traumatized character.

The earlier the trauma happens, the more it changes a character

There is a reason that any therapist will ask you about Adverse Childhood Events (ACEs): because it completely shifts who you are and affects you forever. I won't bore you with the research, but those who went through childhood trauma are more likely to have substance abuse issues, heart disease, mental health problems, social challenges, and much more. The list of things that correlate to child abuse is honestly very depressing and shocking.

This isn't to say that adult abuse isn't going to cause problems, but it won't be quite as deeply rooted and horrifying as childhood trauma. Your character will likely not go through a 180 degree shift because their personality is already well rooted. Children are still having their personality molded by their environment and are going to be more deeply scarred.

Characters do not always tell every single person about the trauma

My greatest annoyance. Characters putting it all out into the open for every single person to know about is just ... unrealistic. Even if it just happened yesterday, not everyone is going to know. Certainly if it was childhood trauma, only a few select people are going to know about it, especially in explicit detail.

For example, the vast majority of people sexually abused as children never disclose the abuse to anyone. Anyone! This makes it incredibly challenging to identify how many people were molested because so many people don't want to share.

There's a lot of shame and vulnerability that comes from disclosing abuse, and everyone, no matter who they are, wants to avoid pain. It's in our nature. There's also the fact that if it was a childhood event, the child was likely threatened with punishment if they disclosed, and that will carry on into adulthood. They will be afraid of repercussions if they share it, even if their abuser is dead or absent.

As such, you need to decide on the circle of trust. Who would your character rely on when wanting to discuss their problems? Maybe a lover, a close friend, or a parent.

One quick note here: it's actually pretty common for people who went through trauma together to not discuss it with one another. Neither wants to trigger their friend/relative/partner/etc by bringing it up, so there may just be an unspoken agreement not to mention it. If they do discuss it, it might be in more vague and referential terms instead of explicit exposition.

Characters themselves may not be explicit when discussing the trauma

It's just not realistic for your character to go through every exhaustive detail of any traumatic event when sharing it with someone. They may say "my dad hit me a lot," or "I saw a car crash," or "I was assaulted," etc. There will be brief sum-up statements, not a gory and intense description of it, for example:

"Something bad happened."

"He hit me."

"I was trapped."

"I was assaulted/raped."

"I fell."

"There was a car crash."

"Someone died in front of me."

"I was there when [x] happened."

"There was a robbery/break-in."

"I was kidnapped."

Or the classic:

"I don't want to talk about that."

Our minds don't want to make us relive it, so we will keep it vague to avoid triggering ourselves. For some people, they dissociated during the event and don't even have those details to share because they weren't consciously encoded.

Think of a bad thing that happened to you. If someone asks you, it's very unlikely that you're going to walk through it step by step for them. More likely, you'll summarize it. Your characters will do the same.

Action points for writing trauma:

Consider when the trauma happened to decide on the impact.

Pick one or two types of trauma (death of a parent, sexual assault, being mugged, getting into a car accident, watching someone die, etc) and then stick with that only.

Identify what a character would have been had they not been traumatized, and then shift that personality based on the kind of trauma.

Decide whether it's necessary to show the abuse.

Focus on sensory details rather than explicit narration when doing. any form of flashback: sights, sounds, smells, textures, how hot or cold it was, pressure, etc.

Sprinkle flashbacks throughout in snippets as they become relevant based on a trigger.

Don't trauma dump the entire experience of past trauma on the reader in one go because the character wouldn't do that themselves.

Remember that people may dissociate during a traumatic event and their own descriptions might be vague and dreamlike.

Look at the scene yourself and consider what might become a trigger. A certain perfume? Cigarette smoke? A birdsong?

Decide who would be told based on relationships with the character. Again, the checkout clerk isn't going to get the details. Maybe a therapist, a partner, a close friend.

People who were traumatized together may avoid any discussion of it.

Characters will typically summarize the experience when talking about it to others unless they have a very, very close relationship.

[yeahyeahwhateverrr]

ok, to get to the point, i have a huge problem with men that Is causing me a daily obstacle/actually hindering my life at this point. And i guess I'll talk about that, but I'd like to make a point first before anything, that even though there is an explanation for my actions, there is no justification whatsoever, never will be. Men deserve delicacy and kindness just like everyone else, even if they may or may not be bad. But if they're bad, obviously I'm gonna be a shithead. Like bad, bad. Not normal bad, nobody is always morally correct. Even though my own triggers with normal men over small things make me not trust them easily, so i try to suppress rage and resentment towards them. And it's just healthier to tackle that and just talk about it, not to them, unless it's necessary i guess? But at least to someone not involved that sees a different perspective and is able to help, and God knows i can't afford therapy right now lol. So that's a long ways ahead. I'm doing what i can with the tools i have, but they're obviously shit and work sometimes. "I" statements and DBT therapy wasn't enough ok lol. That's on me but obviously i need some more intervention there. Bc i get unbelievably fucking mad out of nowhere, not even bc of men. Idk, but anyways -

I have a lot to work on, and I'm gonna make mistakes, so i should probably withdraw for periods of time. (even though that's proven bad for me, bc then people find me having episodes where I'm crying uncontrollably and talking incoherently about a lot of shit and i cant remember those. Then I'm fucking embarrassed, like i don't even drink when those happen, like do i get sleep deprived...? Wtf) but maybe during those times, I'll have have to take here and there to avoid, so i can still do self introspection and coach myself somehow? Or ask people how they deal with that personally, something that at least shows I'm trying to make the effort to change for the better. But men absolutely deserve to be nurtured and loved just like anyone else, and to feel security. And they shouldn't have to shut out their own emotions, and they definitely need people to be patient with them bc obviously men are taught at a young age to bottle shit up/ignore it/it's whatever, you're a boy, etc whatever fucking bullshit. I was raised the same way, but that's besides the point, really? But men really do deserve to have their inner child healed and dealt with appropriately as well. Eventually I'll have to work my way up to therapy though, and work on that one super hard and see if i can break through it. Bc it's been my strongest barrier my whole life, when i shouldn't be holding my problems against certain people against all men. They're not all aggressors or monster, they're people just like me. And when i act and do things a certain way i make myself unsafe not only to men but others as well. And i want to acknowledge that and apologize for that sincerely for anyone I've hurt. An apology will not mend or fix that hurt, but i want to at least realize the pain I've caused + as well as apologize bc i feel remorse, not bc i don't want to get caught. But bc it's not being fair to others, it's not giving people a chance, and it's just really fucking unnecessary, quite frankly. So i am sorry for that, and i don't expect to be forgiven.

Now i will talk about my examples with men, but as i said, not a justification, but merely an explanation for my behaviors. My experiences in life with men, so at least there is some understanding there.

Was with dad and his friend downtown, i was maybe 13-15 range, we used to listen to music every Saturday downtown. My dad wasn't drinking, not specifying for anonymity reasons. His friend was. My dad was standing beside him, listening to the music, his friend was behind me, uncomfortable close as i was sitting down in those fabric lawn chairs. Just excited to be with my dad, and his friend started leaning forward, and i felt something hard against my neck, and maybe he was just having a hard time keeping himself up. But wouldn't it be soft? Like idk, how do dicks work, i could definitely feel that shit on my neck, and i remember freezing up when i realized. He's just a drunk though so that has to be it, but every other of my dad's friends didn't like me. And he was the only one that actually went out of his way to talk to me.

Was with my dad outside his apt at the same age range, while he was working on his motorcycle, dude came walking from the bar, stopped by to talk to my dad, kept looking at me, and was like, "you have a really beautiful daughters, i have daughters myself." And just kept staring at me the whole time. Mf looked like Lester off of GTA 5 i shit you not, just skinnier. my dad didn't really acknowledge him, and then the dude walked off, and my dad didn't tell me to go inside or anything, it was night and summer. He drove off to test his motorcycle at the time, leaving me outside. And i was feeling weird, so i locked the door and went upstairs, looking out the window on the main street we were on, and the dude was walking across the street slowly (like the other side this time, he was lingering for a while actually.) and looked up at me and didn't pull away his eyes.

My stepdad and his SIL were drinking one night, and i came out. I was the same age, i used to get hit on a lot as a teenager. (Surprisingly, I'm not conventionally attractive, but i was really, really skinny at the time) and his SIL who was and still is with his daughter, started calling me cute and picking at me. And started joking that he wanted to take me to McDonald's so he could get me a "big Mac". i may be Autistic, but i understand fucked up social cues when i hear them. I'm not that retarded, not saying anyone is, but i wish people wouldn't undermine me. Constantly. My stepdad was coaxing it on, and he actually opened up the garage, and his SIL was trying to get me to come outside with him, very insistent. It didn't feel like a joke anymore. He had his keys ready and everything and wanted "to just take me for a ride." (Same man that put a gun to my stepdads daughters head btw threatening to kill him and her) i was like NO. And kept saying it over and over, my stomach was definitely churning that night. Something felt wrong, i don't think he wouldve raped me, i don't think he's that vile, but i felt really aggressive bc my boundaries weren't being respected. If you don't listen to me, sorry but idgaf about your feelings at that point. Maybe I'm looking too much into these experiences

First ex (cheated on me, admitted to it later bc i wouldn't give him what he wanted) i was 14 and didn't care about sex. And it was my first relationship. When we eventually got back together like 2 years later ish, he wouldn't even talk to me, acknowledge me, brushed me off and would actually push me off of him. Completely cold. I cried and said i was gonna go home, and he said what are you gonna do? Walk all the way home to your dad and tell him where you were? So i stayed and i don't really want to talk about it, not traumatizing. Can't say it was, not going to insinuate or say anything there. He wasn't a bad guy, just high sex drive. Did he make me cry a lot that night and got actually vocally shitty at me for crying? Yes lol

Being flirted with at gas stations when my dad used to send me down to them, with money so he could get 2 liters and maybe some candy lol. That's definitely a lot less malicious, not so bad. Having a man whisper to you in your ear some nasty shit when you're literally at the register is a different story though. I was 16 lol. At least when i told him he backed tf off. He was like oh shit nvm. So a respectful gentleman for that at least, definitely not traumatizing, just a funny story now.

My friends uncle hitting on me and looking me up and down heavily when i was at her house, i was definitely not 18 yet. But he also really flirts with any woman, to be fair. She was uncomfortable as fuck too. I remember when i went home with her one day in high school, her brother and uncle both picked us up, nothing said weird about me. But were saying the high school girls were jail bait and. Yeah. That's not really traumatizing, just made me feel gross.

Obviously i also have trauma with women, i was molested as a kid. But that has no relation to this. I will not explain further than that, bc I'm not mad at who did it to me, does it hurt and make things awkward? Yes. Absolutely lol. But i will never put it against them.

Now i will explain things a little more, but this should absolutely be taken with a grain of salt, and just moreso weird experiences. I do not want to incriminate anyone, i do not want to point fingers or even insinuate anything. I'm fine, im cool, the brain is just a weird thing. i used to have dreams of having sex as a kid, even though I didn't know what that was. Only explanation i can think of is accidentally being exposed to porn, but i can't say for sure bc i was really small. Someone would be on top of me, my vision would be blurry/like looking through a fishbowl lens, couldn't see the person's face, so maybe even sleep paralysis. But I'd feel someone on top of me, and then the motions of missionary. I'd have no thoughts at first, like just the vision and looking up. And then it was like a melting, like i was slowly becoming aware, and then i started to feel a spike of adrenaline and slight panic (?) (Only way i know how to explain that, and then i blacked out. I would just black out.) I remembered that when i got older, and then when i first had sex ever, it reminded me of it. I was like woah, this is familiar. But i can't quite pin my feelings on it. I talked to my sister about it, she used to have the same dreams all the time apparently. But she thinks it was spiritual warfare/spirits raping us, but she was also really whacked out of her mind on meth at the time. She's clean, at least she says she is now. Then asked, "what happened to you child?" Idk bro but we talk about something else now lol idk. Nothing happened I'm fine, repressed memories aren't real. Repressed Emotions are, however. But memories can be falsified and made up. So it was just dreams. I'm fine, I'm ok. I'm fine. Did i get night terrors apparently as a teenager? Yeah haha, but i got a few of them at my dad's. My mom never said anything. My stepmom and dad were watching a movie one night, i was asleep already in my room, and she heard me screaming and crying, just screaming NO and STOP over and over, so she came to check up on me i guess, and was thrashing about looking like i was trying to fight someone off and sobbing hysterically while my eyes were wide open. My dad said he heard nothing, so idk lol. The next morning, had no idea, she confronted me quietly, and was like, did something happen to you? Like who hurt you? Like why are we getting really quiet? 😳🥹🥹 I definitely woke myself up to sobbing quite a few times, like really heavily. Feeling pain in my chest. But that's not night terrors. I remember another dream i had as a kid, where i was sitting on the floor in front of my mom, the living room was dim, only one light on that she was sitting beside. I was in front of her sitting on the floor, in my Dora onesie. And she told me to stay out of the darkness and stay away from the ghost. (? Lol this sounds so fucking cliche or made up sorry, it's just an uncomfortable dream so it's sat with me forever) and sure as fuck a ghost comes down the hallway towards me, picks me up, starts taking me down the hallway, and started to unzip my Dora onesie, and the ghost started to rub around my nipple in a circular motion, and walked me into My parents bedroom, which it was at the time. Now it's just my mom's. And has been. The bedroom was dramatically dark in my dream lol. I had the weird sex dreams and that one literally both when i was In elementary school still. Funny how the brain works, right?

My sister i was talking about earlier actually is getting night terrors to this day apparently, and she's older than me. If that's saying anything. But she was an actual victim of molestation and rape in the same house. I didn't know about the rape until way later. She doesn't like to sit in silence or be with her thoughts or anxiety. So she usually needed something to occupy her mind. So now she's literally on sedatives and hardcore meds. I don't blame her, life has been tough on her. I love her and care about her, and i worry about her everyday. I don't think she's doing anything bad, we just been through a lot of shit together. She is my best friend.

[gay-otlc]

Transgender ally tips with S's mom: Tell a transmasc that he looks like Harry Potter

[halfway-happyyy]

a concept: There are rare moments in life when we are afforded the opportunity to pick up and vanish at a moments notice. Obviously it is much harder to do when miniscule, honey-sticky hands grab needlessly at the hem of your shirt, or when you answer to a man behind the comfort of an oak desk and towering stacks of paper. It is most definitely harder to do when there is a constant chatter of chaos floating through the confines of your mind.

So when you found out you had a whole two weeks to do what you pleased- you made the decision to embark on a one-person road trip through 'wine country' Washington. Friends had told you to be weary of rogue tumbleweeds on your drive in- and you had been hard pressed to believe them. But of course, and to your immediate amusement, an hour away from your destination and in a valley of luscious, rolling hills, a mass of sticks, twigs and dead grass rolled lackadaisically across the road in front of your car.

Settling in to your accommodations had been an easy task; you were to be spending the next week in the comfort of a lovely reconverted barn. You had no tentative plans, except to explore the cozy little town you that were about to call home for the next little while, and to drink copious amounts of wine. The locals were lovely to you in every way imaginable and were pleased to dole out delicious local food spots and bars at your behest. ("You just have to check out the restaraunt in the centex gas station- best brisket sandwhich you might ever have.") On the last full day before you were scheduled to make your departure, (a four hour drive over to Seattle was the next adventure on your list) you decided to make a day of visiting wineries. Winery number two had been stumbled upon by accident; you had taken a wrong turn down a quiet side street and was pleasantly surprised to find that, unlike the others you had passed by, this one only had one or two other people inside. Ducking in from under the beating June sun, you found yourself an empty seat at the bar and scanned the wine menu atop the counter. You were patient while your bartender talked at length about her and her wife's new venture in pig farming, to a man seated at the end of the concrete counter. Wedged in his grasp was a near-empty glass of ruby red wine. It struck you that he seemed somewhat out of place in this atmosphere; with his short, well-kept blonde hair, the utterly expensive looking watch he would clock every now and then, his height...

"Can I get you anything?" Your bartender had noiselessly made her way over to where you were, startling you from your reverie.

Peering down at the list again, you quirked your eyebrow in question. "How is the vino moscato?"

She smiled knowingly. "On a day like today? There isn't anything better on that list. Can I get you a glass?"

"Please," You smiled back.

You sat in comfortable silence as she poured you a glass of the crisp, white liquid. It felt incredibly good to be somewhere without a time constraint; to enjoy the indie music emanating from the building, to feel the late June breeze wash over your skin like warm water. You savoured the taste of the cool liquid against your tongue; reveled in the slight tingle of the bubbles as they flowed freely down your throat.

"Is that one any good?"

You turned to the man a few seats away from you, observed the sunglasses perched atop his head, the slight golden colour of his skin. You shrugged your shoulders and gestured to his empty glass of red wine. "That depends. Do you like white wines?"

He smiled and you noticed immediately how the creases next to his ocean-blue orbs deepened when he did so. "I enjoy wine in general. No real preference wins over another."

You lifted your glass in greeting. "Well then yes, I think you would enjoy this."

The bartender, who had been privy to the entire conversation grinned and reached for a fresh glass. "Another moscato coming right up."

Without warning, the stranger moved seats from the end of the bar to a few metal stools away from you. Clad in an impossibly soft looking blue t shirt and worn denim jeans, you were keenly aware of just how attractive he happened to be. He took a tentative sip from the glass in his hand, let his eyes fall shut, and smiled. "An excellent choice indeed. I'm Alex, by the way,"

You gave him your name as well, and smiled as he repeated it with an accent that you could not quite place, immediately making it more exotic sounding than it ever deserved to be. Setting his glass back against the countertop, he turned to you. "So do you frequent this winery often?"

You stifled a giggle at the line he chose to use. "No, actually. Not at all. Just passing through," You took a sip from your own glass. "Do you?"

He shook his head. "I'm based out of Seattle for the next few months. Just drove down here for the weekend under the guise of good wine and even better breakfast."

Ever intrigued by the thought of a delicious breakfast, you were about to ask him to elaborate when his phone rang. He answered in a language that was entirely foreign to you- but the few pieces you could discern were almost certainly in Swedish. You sipped at the rest of your wine and ordered another glass as he said a last word and hung up the phone. "Brothers, hey?" He let out a breathless chuckle.

An hour and a half had passed since you had stumbled into this minimalist oasis, and when he stood up to pay his bill and bid you goodbye, you found yourself inexplicably wishing that you had more time to converse with him. "Thanks again for the wine suggestion... here's hoping I can find it again in Seattle?"

"Oh, you will." The bartender chimed in.

He threw another beam your way and stocked out of the building into the bright, inviting sunlight. It was quiet for a few moments while you mulled over where you would wander off to next, not a single drop left in your empty glass.

Just as you were about to get up and leave, Alex rounded the corner and faltered just inside the doorway of the winery. "This is going to sound crazy, and please don't feel like you need to say yes... but how would you feel about exploring this place together today?" He clocked the watch on the underside of his wrist. "I'm not due back in Seattle until 5 o'clock tomorrow night."

You glanced back at the bartender who simply giggled and shook her head, offering no insight whatsoever. "You know what- why not?" You passed over a fifty dollar bill and thanked her for her service.

It had been uncomfortable at first- this was something you had been warned about since you could talk. Do not talk to strangers, do not hang out with strangers. It had been different with this particular person though; conversation flowed freely between the pair of you, and he had not at any point, made you feel threatened or unsafe. You split the fares of the uber rides evenly between the both of you and enjoyed the ride through the scenic winding roads and hills. Alex had been born in Sweden, but was now mostly based out of New York and California and tried to get back to his homeland as often as possible, as all of his family was still there. He was an exceptionally good listener and it awed you how a few hours spent with him, felt like picking up where you left off with an old friend. Time passed slowly when you were together and when the visit to the last winery had come and gone, and the golden sun had begun to sink low over the lush, green hills, Alex accompanied you back to your barn. Your keys hung haphazardly from the crook of your pinkie finger and you cocked your head to the side, ignoring the fact that saying goodbye was the last thing you wanted to do. "You know, you mentioned something this afternoon about breakfast here..."

Alex's eyes glittered under the waning light and his lips quirked up into a small half-smile. "Yes, I've been told that there is a place just off main street here, that serves pancakes as big as my head. Would you care to join me tomorrow morning?"

Swallowing hard, you found yourself nodding your head. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

True to his word, the pancakes you ordered around nine o'clock the next morning, were as big as your head, if not more so. They were also leaking with a viscous, tart strawberry rhubarb sauce and dusted with a thin layer of confectioners sugar. Alex settled into a mug of steaming black coffee and to eat, he ordered a bowl of fried aspargus tips and nutella pancakes. When he was finished, he settled back in his chair and cocked his head to the side, his expression unreadable. "Do you suppose we'll stumble into each other again?"

The question had caught you off guard and you shifted in your seat. "Maybe..." You shrugged your shoulders. "But maybe not."

He frowned.

"Isn't it nice though? To have two people meet through complete happenstance, share a couple of lovely hours together, and go on back the way they were?" You inquired, quietly.

"Happenstance," he repeated the word over, savoured the sound of it on his tongue, a small smile tugged at his lips.

"Oh, it's lovely," He agreed after a moment. "I just can't help but feel like i'm doing myself a disservice if I don't follow up with you in some way..."

You grinned and waved the waiter down for the bill. After paying and using the restroom in preparation for your looming roadtrip, you both headed out into the bright sunlight to your parked cars. Alex stood leant against his SUV, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his denim jeans. "I am really happy that we crossed paths," He offered quietly. "Just in case that big old sky falls on our heads."

An idea, bright and hopeful swam into vision at that moment. You reached into your bag and ripped off a piece of scrap paper from the journal in there. Alex already had a pen waiting for you, as if knowing exactly what you were about to do. You scribbled The Central Saloon - Seattle onto it, and handed the pen and paper back to him with a small smile.

He repeated the name of the bar to himself, his expression confused.

"If you can meet me there, tomorrow night- say maybe eight o'clock, perhaps our paths might cross again."

Alex rubbed the pad of his thumb over your handwritten script and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans with a finite nod. "Oh, I'll be there."

You allowed one last look at the man before you, and stepped into the front seat of your car, breathless and utterly hopeful.

[selfish-thunder]

+ I've considered transitioning before, but I always let the thoughts of 'oh, what will ____ think of this?' get to me but now, my urge is growing stronger and I'm tired of looking in the mirror and seeing a girl. / So, I guess my question is, how does one fully decide to start T? And although I'm uncomfortable with how I am now, should I just wait post-graduation to begin identifying and begin transitioning, as doing so now will be denied and cause more problems than I already have?

Hi!!! Oh goodness, I feel honored you feel safe reaching out to me. I assume the other anon was from you, too, but I’ll put my reply to this one.

I hope I do good by you, and I'm sorry it's taken me a while to answer. I'll reblog this a few times in hopes you see it. 

First of all, I want you to know that I completely support and love you. And yes, will support and love you no matter what you decide for yourself. You can completely be whatever gender you ARE without any physical transitioning whatsoever, point blank. For whatever reason. Transitioning and identifying as something aren't mutually exclusive. I'm sorry you aren't in a position where you can just go ahead and do what will make you the most comfortable, and your concerns are valid. They directly affect your quality of life, so it is definitely a big decision.

So, I guess my advice is...

First of all, people may surprise you. (You can also be a little sneaky in how you come out to people, even though it's probably cheating lol. When I came out to my mother, I opened with "You told me you love me unconditionally. Is that still true", basically letting her know I was about to put that claim to the test. At the end of the day, she doesn't understand, is confused, but will stand by me.) 

And I totally understand how thinking "what will x think" can hold you back.So, I'll tell you something a friend told me once that was extremely helpful for me. Don't think of it as "coming out", but rather you inviting someone into your story. Being trans is especially difficult if you decide to transition because there is a period of time where you don't have the option of "being out" because one look, and people can guess. And that time is from starting hormones until about a year or two later, so again, your concerns are valid. Regardless, just because people might make assumptions based on appearance, that doesn't mean you have to let them into your story. You don't have to tell anyone anything if you aren't comfortable with it.

My next bit of advice would be, find an adult (I'm assuming you’re a teenager, so my apologies if you meant school as in university) or a teacher who you trust. It may not be someone you've interacted with a lot, maybe just had for one class, but if you feel like this person is reasonably open-minded and accepting, you can go ahead and let them know there's something on there. Not the full story if you don’t want, but something. 

I did that with my boss and a few of my coworkers so when going to HR, I already had support. If you decide to transition, you can then approach the school and offer a willingness to work with them, and you can show on the record that you were agreeable and reasonable (COYA, in case they're a bunch of dicks). 

There's also a ton of resources. 

For example, where I live, there's a thing called the "TransBuddy" program that is a bunch of volunteers willing to help, such as going to doctor's with you, helping with legal name changes and gender markers, schedule appointments and be an active voice explicitly to support you. Go incognito and see what's around your area. From my experience, a lot of people are willing to come to you if they're in a different town. Just please, please, please be safe. Ask for references.

If you do not feel comfortable or safe doing your own research for whatever reason, I am happy to try to help. (I’ll try to already put together something of national support and things anyway, maybe a lot of people can use it...)

As far as what to expect during your first few months...

For the first few months, expect your body to sweat a lot more (your scent will change too, and the sweatiness last a long time, tbh), you'll start to grow hair (EVERYWHERE I swear), your face will probably bloat some, and your voice will start to change a little (ie, start cracking when you talk, etc). You may find yourself happier and less anxious because you're finally starting HRT and finally getting to be the person you want, but t can effect emotion too, such as finding yourself more easily irritated or what have you. So if you notice a change in emotion reaction, just keep that in mind. And you'll grow your own Adam's apple (I don't know why people actually think they're implants?????)

After about six months, your emotions should even out. Your voice will continue to drop, most likely, and growing facial hair will be easier. Your face will also start to harden then (probably might bloat so more), becoming more masculine. After about a year, your Adam's apple will probably be prominent, facial hair common (even if it's not thick yet), and then is usually around the time people begin surgeries if that's what you want.

Keep in mind, your doctors will start you off on low dosage, and you'll work your way up. Also please keep in mind that, though you can stop hormones at any time, so effects will not reverse, such as growing facial hair and your voice. 

Even if you stop t, those will remain how they are when you stop. Just something to keep in mind.

So yeah, it's a big decision, but I don't have to tell you that. I would look for an LGBT clinic, or at least an LGBT-friendly clinic, and get all the info from a licensed doctor before officially ruling one way or another. 

Please, please, please note: If the doctor is making you uncomfortable, feel like they aren't listening to you, or obviously tries to sway you against it because of their own personal ideals or opinions, find a different doctor. Politely thank them for their opinion, and feel free to discard it. A doctor should put your health and your mental health first, and dysphoria is a real, legit, big, and sometimes dangerous thing.

Which brings me to my last bit. 

There are lots you can do to feel more comfortable in your body other than transition or doing HRT. Binders and packers (my packer is awesome, I love it so f’ing much) help me as well as just wearing men's clothes. Having a support group helps tremendously too. Also, having a gender-neutral presentation may help too. For me personally, I shrugged off the expected feminine appearance years ago. I unintentionally got people used to seeing me without makeup, wearing big boots and flannel. Them finding out that I'm now on t caused most of them to be like, "Huh, yeah. I can see that."

So, if you only a little bit longer to go before you are able to graduate, move to a more supportive place, and politely start to break away from those who would deny you or make you feel unwelcome just because you dare to be who you are, then that could be a game plan of sorts. It was for me, at least, at work.

I mean, this is your LIFE. This is who YOU are. Be honest with yourself, yes, but there's nothing saying you can't be clever about it. Right now, it's the summer, so you can some time to play with your appearance and how you present yourself before you have to go back, if that’s something you want to do.

The most important thing is you do what is best for you, for your health, both physical and mental, and when it comes down to it, you don't have to invite anyone into your story. I can't advise you as to what decision you should make because that's yours to make. Again, though, whatever you decide, you have my complete and utter support.

And for what it's worth, to this blog, you are a man with he/him pronouns for however long you want. I have yet to meet a trans person who at any point thought their journey was going to be easy, but it definitely doesn't have to be lonely or unnecessarily hard. You are allowed to ask for what you need, to ask for help, and to tell any adult - any person - that they make you feel unsafe and you request to deal with someone else. Please be safe, make sure you map your exits, but don't be afraid to stand up for you.

If you need anything, feel free to reach out. You can DM me, too, and I promise to keep anything we talk about confidential and offer you a safe, nonjudgmental space.

[ohalemalia]

Daily Dose - Part. 7 (S.M. Imagine)

Pairing: Scott McCall x Reader

Warnings: fighting

A\N: I’m thinking no more summaries bc #spoilers. I’ve got new writings in the works. Expect a Theo imagine, a multipart Derek fic and a Malia imagine soon ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I edited this as i could if there are errors i am sorry i am a bit tired haha

Word Count: 3735

Have you ever had those stress dreams after lying in your bed at night during a bout of insomnia? The ones that make no sense whatsoever. The ones that if you tell your therapist or a psychic about it, they’ll tell you that they’re your subconscious telling you what it really wants?

It’s a good thing I don’t go to therapists or psychics, because I would not want to hear that.

So, I guess I should break it down. Basically late last night I was wide awake in bed, stressing about the fact that I was going to be officially starting school the next morning. Eventually, I managed to fall asleep. I dreamt that I was walking into school the first time, books in hand, backpack on my back and a heavy feeling in my chest. People were walking past me, but every time they did, they would stare at me. And stare. And stare. It got to a point when I was standing in the middle of the entire Beacon Hills High student body circled around me. I looked around but there was nowhere to get out and everyone was staring at me. I opened my mouth to say something, to ask why they were all doing this but no sound came out.

Then they started marching toward me. The circle started getting tighter and tighter. I spun around, trying to find a way out, trying to get them to leave me alone, telling them I was going to be late to my first period.

Then, through the crowd burst the one and only Scott McCall. He shoved people out of the way.Once he got through the crowd we made eye contact.

“Scott,” Was the only word I was able to say.

He heard me and came rushing towards me. My feet were basically hard wired to go right towards him. His hands went on my cheeks and he KISSED ME.

RIGHT ON MY MOUTH.

SCOTT MCCALL KISSED ME (in my dream) BUT HE KISSED ME.

The worst part? It felt like I was meant to kiss him my entire life. All the other (well, they weren’t a lot, let me not kid myself) but all the other kisses were just training for kissing Scott and ugh admitting that just makes me want to--

Well, I’m not sure what I want to do but it’s not good.

Besides, it was just a dream and it probably means nothing, so there’s no reason to blow it out of proportion. The thing I should really be worried about was jumping into the lion’s den that wasa new high school.

I emptied my concoction of pills and vitamins into the palm of my hand, tossed them into my mouth and downed them with some water. They were hard to swallow (much like the truth) and left a bitter taste in my mouth (also similar to the truth) but I had to take them. They didn’t completely make my lupus go away (obviously), but they helped everything feel a little bit better.

I rubbed my shoulder and tried to soothe the pain in the socket as I walked over to the closet to decide what to wear today. As the weeks went by, I can slowly started moving more and more of my things into the McCall’s house. I insisted on going home so I wouldn’t be in their way, but Melissa and Scott really wanted me around and my parents felt safer if I wasn’t alone given my current conditions. The other option was to have my Aunt Liv come live with me or to go live with her. I really didn’t want to be uprooted from the one place I was starting to feel comfortable. Aunt Liv felt the same way since she just moved to Seattle to pursue her art career. Besides, my parents just bought the house, there was no way they were selling it already.

In the middle of picking my outfit, there was a soft knock at my door.

“Come in,” I called out as I picked a purple top out of the closet and held it up in front of me.

The door opened and in popped Scott’s head, “Hey.”

My heart hammered in my chest. I knew he couldn’t possibly have known about my dream, but it still didn’t make things feel less weird, even if they weren’t real.

“Hey,” I hung the purple shirt back up and grabbed a black one.

“So,” Scott walked into my room and plopped himself down on the bed, “How are you feeling? You excited?”

“If by excited you mean going to throw up, then yes. Super excited,” I slipped the shirt off the hanger and threw the shirt on the bed next to him.

“It won’t be that bad,”  Scott assured me, “And you’ve been to school before, right?”

“Yeah,” I grabbed a pair of jeans with a frown on my face, “But this is a new one. I don’t know anyone.”

“You know me,” Scott sat up straighter, “And Stiles, Lydia, Liam, Mason, Malia, Kira.”

The mention of Kira’s name made my slightly uncomfortable, “Yeah...but what if I don’t have any of you in my classes?”

“Then I will switch every one of my classes to be with you if it makes you feel better,” Scott smiled so earnestly and I believed him. Then I thought about the dream and my stomach did a somersault. Not the good kind.

I abruptly broke away from his gaze and folded my jeans over my arm, “I didn’t mean just you, the others too.”

Speaking of the others, I needed to know something, “Like Kira. What do you think of her?”

“Kira?” Scott leaned back on the bed to think about my oddly specific mention of her, “Yeah, I mean Kira’s great.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I placed my shirt on top of the jeans, “I mean she’s really sweet and really pretty.”

Scott sat up straight on the bed, his eyes narrowed at me in confusion, “Are you...do you...are you trying to get me to set you up with Kira?”

I spun around to look at him with my eyes wide, “What?!”

“I mean, that’s totally fine! I didn’t mean to offend you. That’s totally fine! Kira’s like great, I think you two would be good toge--”

“Scott! God! No! I’m not--that wasn’t the point. I do not like Kira.”

Scott gave me a look and I started to backtrack.

“I mean, I like her and all, but not like that. She’s--” I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to collect my thoughts. When I had figured out how delicately I was going to put this, I looked up at Scott, “Did you and Kira have a thing?”

Now it was Scott’s turn to be flabbergasted, “What? No? Why would you ask that?”

I raised my eyebrows and looked down at the ground, “Well from the looks of it, I think she has a thing for you.”

Scott watched me as I crossed the room to get to the bathroom, “Kira? Are we talking about the same person?”

“Kira, cute Asian girl, a bit mousy and awkward but otherwise very much into you,” I clarified, “And you’d have to be blind to not see the way she looked at us the entire time at my party after my parents called.”

Scott must have temporarily lost his vision that night because he definitely did not know what I was talking about, “But...we’re just friends.”

“You and me?” I turned to look at him, “Or you and her?”

I continued my walk to the bathroom. Scott got up and followed me, “I don’t know, both?”

“All I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt you to go on a date with her. Just to test it out, you know? See if there’s that spark.”

Scott chuckled, “Y/N, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I’m pretty sure Kira doesn’t like me like that.”

I smiled as I got on my tiptoes to lean close to his face, “And I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”

I had meant to quickly turn around and shut the door in his face to get the last word, but I hadn’t counted how close I would actually be in his face.  And I hadn’t counted on noticing how his eyes had reddish undertones and a slight sparkle of gol

ABORT.

ABORT.

ABORT.

The dream started playing in hyperspeed through my brain again. In a panic, I went inside the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Scott even more confused on the other side.

------

“Scott! I can’t believe you have her riding on the back of that thing!”

As we pulled up to the school on the back of Scott’s motorcycle, Lydia was heading towards us with a frown on her face. Kira, Malia and Stiles were also standing there, behind them a very cute blue jeep.

“My mom has the car,” Scott explained as I took my helmet off and handed it to him, “How else are we supposed to get here?’

“You could call me for a ride, or walk, or run for all that matters,” Lydia crossed her arms. While Lydia and Scott went back and forth about how safe or unsafe the motorcycle was, out of morbid curiosity, my eyes drifted over to Kira. Her eyes were cast down and Malia was muttering something to her, while looking over at me every couple of seconds. I frowned. I really didn’t want to cause any problems or have girls hating me over a guy. I glanced over at Scott to see if he could see what was going on too and that I wasn’t just imagining things, but he was still talking to Lydia. With a sigh, I decided it was time to break this up.

“Guys,” No one listened. “Guys!”

Lydia stopped mid sentence, her red lips still opened and looked over at me. Scott did the same, minus the red lips stick, of course.

“We got here in one piece. And I appreciate your concern but it’s totally okay,” I smiled, “Let’s just get to class.”

They reluctantly agreed to drop the subject and we headed into the monster house that was high school. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know what would happen. I just hoped I made it out in one piece.

------

So I only have classes with Kira and we’re partners for every single project for the rest of the year.

Kidding!

In all of my classes I have at least one person that I know, which is really comforting. No one gave my pity because I’m sick, which is great. And the school day is over, which is fantastic.

As I walked out of the classroom, I pulled my phone out to text Scott and ask him where I should meet him.

“Whoa, whoa, watch out!”

I looked up too late and collided with someone carrying a huge canvas. We both fell back on our asses with grunts of pain. My phone skidded across the tile floor and my elbow got banged up pretty badly. My joints were already weak but the added impact of being knocked on the floor felt like someone had just slammed my arm in a car door.

“I’m so sorry!” The other student scrambled to their feet. Someone grabbed my phone and tried to hand it to me, but all  I could focus on was the burning pain in my arm and the static ringing in my head.

“Are you okay? Are you okay?”

I was fine. I was fine. I was going to be fine. I opened my eyes and looked down at myself. There was paint all over my clothes. Great.

I started to pull myself up to my feet. I felt someone place their hand under my elbow so that they could help me up. I shooed them off, “I got it, I got it.”

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t see you,” The kid started to explain to me. I shook my head and cradled my elbow to my chest. I felt a lot worse for the kid, his painting was probably ruined at this point.

“I’m okay,” I smiled sympathetically, “I’m really sorry about your painting.”

The kid looked at his painting on the floor and frowned, “I failed the assignment anyway. Again, I’m super sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t, don’t worry. It’s fine.”

The kid picked up his canvas and scurried off, a group of students parting to let him through. I sighed, well now I really wanted to go home. My phone chimed with a message. I looked down at it.

Scotty

Hey, i have lacrosse practice after school do you mind staying?

Well, never mind. As I started to reply, I almost bumped into another person. You would think that I

would learn my lesson by now.  I looked up to see Scott grinning down at me, “Hey!”

“Hi, I was just about to--”

“What’s that all over your shirt?”

“Paint.”

“You know the paint’s supposed to go on the paper,” Scott teased, “Not your shirt.”

I rolled my eyes, “Haha, always the comedian. Some kid bumped into me so now this shirt is probably ruined.”

Scott opened his bag, “I’ve got an extra one if you want it.”

Wearing Scott’s shirt?

“Uh, that’s--”

But Scott was already pulling an extra folded up shirt out of his backpack, “My mom just washed it, so it’s totally clean.”

I took the maroon colored shirt from him, “Thanks...I’ll just go and change then.”

“Yeah, totally. Practice is on the field. If you get lost, just listen for Coach yelling at us and saying we’re disappointments to him.”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded, “Will do.”

------

 Oh this was bad. This was totally and absolutely bad. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and realised what Scott had given me.

It was his jersey.

It had Beacon Hills with a number 11 on the front but oh no, that wasn’t the icing on the cake. On the back there was the same #11 but right on top of that was “MCCALL” written in big white letters.

Was I overthinking this?

It was one thing to wear your friend’s clothing, a jacket maybe, but it was an entire different ball game entirely to wear a guy’s jersey, much less one with his name on it. It almost signified that you belonged to him or that something was more than it wasn’t. It was something you gave to your girlfriend.

I groaned out loud to myself. I really didn’t want this to be more than it needed to be. I liked having Scott around and I didn’t want to ruin this or him with, well, me.

But I had no choice. I had already thrown my shirt in the sink and soaked it with water to try to get the paint off. I had nothing else to wear at the point. With a sigh, I grabbed my backpack and headed out of the bathroom. The hallways were empty since classes were well over.

Around the corner came Kira and since I had already been bumped into twice today I was ready to move out of the way.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve gotten a lot of practice avoiding people at this point.”

“Yeah I heard from Scott,” We shared a laugh together. Kira’s smile faded away as she looked down and noticed my shirt.

“Is that?”

I looked down as if I forgot what I was wearing and covered my arms across my torso, “Uh, yeah, I just needed something to wear since I got paint all over my clothes. It’s not a big deal, really.”

But Kira’s shoulders deflated and I could tell that to her, it was a very big deal, “Yeah. Right. Totally not a big deal, it was nice of Scott to let you wear it. I can tell you guys are close.”

“Not that close,” I tried to make her feel better, “I mean, you’ve known him longer than me.”

“Not that long.”Kira gave me a tight lipped smile and jutted her thumb down the hallway, “I should go.”

She didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye before she spun around and headed down the hall. The last thing I wanted was for Kira to end up crying alone in her car because of me and a stupid jersey. I jogged to catch up to her, “Kira, wait.”

I reached up to put my hand on her shoulder. As soon as my hand made contact with her shoulder, she spun around, her eyes glowing an unnatural orange color. She growled something at me in Japanese and suddenly I was flying across the room.

I skidded across the room and hit a row of lockers with a hard thud. If I thought that getting knocked over earlier had hurt, this was excruciating. Where the hell did Kira get that inhuman strength? Why were her eyes glowing? What the hell was going on?

I opened my eyes and blinked, trying to focus on the real world again. Across the room from me was Kira, standing there but something was very, very off. Around her was an orange glowing aura that almost looked like…

Like a fox.

I tried to scramble to my feet but my body ached. Then Kira started moving towards me.

“Ki-Kira, Kira what are you--”

She growled something else at me, except it didn’t sound like her voice at all. It was distorted at a lower pitch and was plain evil. Then she started moving faster. I couldn’t scoot far enough away she was getting too close.

And she looked like she wanted to kill me.

I grabbed onto the handle of the locker and grabbed myself up to stand. I turned around with a scream and threw myself to the right, narrowly avoiding a kick from Kira. But she showed no signs of letting up.

“Kira! If this is about Scott--”

She shouted something else at me and from the sounds of it she didn’t want to listen to anything I had to say. But I couldn’t process what was going on. Why did Kira look like that? Were demonic possessions real? Why did she want me dead so bad.

Kira swung again and somehow I managed to dodge out of the way. She swiped her leg out from under me and I toppled down to the floor screaming. She jumped on top of me, her eyes burning like fire and her teeth bared at me. The fox aura thing was still around her and I couldn’t understand how my imagination could keep this image up for so long.

Unless...it wasn’t my imagination and this was very real and Kira was going to kill me.

“Kira, please!”

She raised her hand high to gather enough momentum to strike me.

“Kira, don’t, please!”

As Kira went to strike me, a growl rippled through the hallway that sounded vaguely like Kira’s name. I tilted my head back to see a figure standing there. I was I could call it a man, or even human but it wasn’t. It’s face was oddly sharp at the strangest places. It’s eyebrows were low, covering it glowing red eyes. There was hair on it’s cheeks and it’s ears were pointed. I could see it’s sharp teeth as it opened its mouth to growl at Kira again.

I almost passed out right there.

Kira’s eyes softened and returned to their doe like innocence. The orange fox around her dissipated. She looked down at the me in confusion and then in absolute horror.

“Y/N?” She sounded as if she was going to cry, “Y/N, I am so sorry. I am so sorry.”

She got off of me and I scrambled as quick as I could to my feet and away from her. She looked over at the creature standing in the hallway, “Sc-Scott, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what happened, I just lost control.”

Scott?

I looked over at the creature which was now heading over to us. As it got closer I could see it’s inhuman features melting away until…

It was Scott.

He immediately went to me, “Y/N, are you okay?”

As he reached for me, I drew myself back, “Am I--am I okay? No! No I’m not okay! Wh--what? How could I be okay? What hell--is this some kind of prank?”

Kira shot an alarmed look at Scott, “She doesn’t know…”

“Know what?!” I demanded.

Scott hung his head down, a curl of his hair falling down in his face.

“Why did you--and you--” I couldn’t even begin to ask a question. How could I when I wasn’t even sure what I was dealing with?

“What’s going on, Scott? What’s going on with you?”

“I’m a werewolf, Y/N.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but what the hell was I supposed to say to that?

I shook my head with a bitter laugh, “That’s not funny, Scott.”

“It’s not a joke, Y/N,” Scott insisted.

“No! No it is, this whole--I just--” I was starting to hyperventilate. Werewolves didn’t exist. This wasn’t funny and I wasn’t laughing. In fact, I was starting cry, “I’m freaking out here! Kira just tried to kill me and I--I--”

“Y/N,” Scott grabbed my hands in his, “I’m telling you the truth. I swear, I’m telling you the truth.”

I shook my head, “Werewolves aren’t real, they aren’t, they’re just stories. Bad movies.”

“They’re not, Y/N.”

I shook my head and pulled my hands away from his, “I need to go.”

“Y/N, please,” Scott mirrored my movements as I stood up, “Please don’t go.”

I held a hand out to keep him at a distance. I couldn’t process all of this. Not right now. Not with Scott, “Just stay away from me right now, please.”

Walking away from Scott and seeing him standing there absolutely crushed gave a whole new meaning to the sad puppy vibe I was getting. Twenty four  hours ago, if you had asked me if I would leave Scott’s side I’d probably tell you no. But now?

I wasn’t sure if I was coming back.

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@pinkwinds @honeymoonavenuue If you'd like to be tagged, send me an ask! 

[dreamin-of-somewhere-else]

1997 [6]

Previous parts

Characters: Dean Winchester, twin sister!reader, Sam Winchester, characters from 4x13, OC characters.

Words: 2600

A/N: Sorry about the huge delay on this part. It’s been so long, but I finally found some willpower to finish this series. Please excuse any spelling or grammar errors, sometimes they just slip through.

Music suggestion: Ivy - Frank Ocean [You know the drill, I look for the feeling in songs, not the lyrics lol. This was just something I listened to when I wrote this, so yeah.]

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

First, Dean had called John.

”Hey Dad, it’s me, Dean. Well, I’m calling because — Well, the thing is that we think that there’s a job here, at school. A student’s dead, and yeah… it looks like it’s because of something that goes bump in the night, so… We kinda need your help.”

When your father then seemingly was unable to get back to you, you took matters into your own hands, and picked up the phone.

”Hey Dad, it’s (Y/N). We need you to get back here, and back us up. It’s a case and you have the weapons and the rest of the stuff. Remember that one time that you said that ’you always try to do your best’? Well, the least you can do is return this call.”

Your tone was harsh. Yes, it was easier to talk to your father that way over a phone line, when he wasn’t there for you to meet his angry eyes and deal with his reaction.

You put the phone down on the table inside the small motel room and stared at it. It got quiet for a moment. You stared at the phone, Dean at the wall, and Sam at both you and Dean. Then he broke the silence.

”So what did they say?”

”What?” You responded, not even beginning to try and understand what he meant. You had been deep in your thoughts.

”The girls you heard talking — what did they say?” Sam explained, sound just a teeny tiny bit annoyed. ”Oh,” you muttered under your breath before sitting up straighter in the chair you were sitting in by the table. ”That the cops don’t know what killed him. That… that the guy had been thrown around but they didn’t know by what, seemed like a force or something. And…”

”And there were no prints on the lacrosse stick he was killed with.” Dean filled in when you struggled. Finishing the sentence as you so often did for each other.

”Yeah, exactly.” You agreed, remembering. ”Screams ghost to me, right?”

Sam nodded, his bangs falling even further into his eyes. ”Yes.”

”Okay so what do we start with?” Dean began, thinking out loud.

”We could see if there was any deaths at school.” Sam offered.

”Sounds reasonable. It’s a good start, but where do we find out that kind of information?” You continued.

”There are computers at the library. I saw them when I was there the other day.” Sam informed you and Dean.

”Of course you were.” Dean quietly stated underneath his breath, and you swatted him across his upper arm.

So, that Wednesday evening was spent at the library. You three, huddled close together, trying to fit in front of the only computer free to use. Staring at the white screen giving off an almost light-bluish light. You tried searching for anything. Stuff like ’Truman High student killed’, ’student dead Truman High’,’deaths Truman High’, ’teacher dies Truman High’,’Truman High suicide.’. The list went on. You tried everything. With no luck, whatsoever. Nothing. Nada. Squat.

Dean let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, describing how you all felt precisely. This was stressful. When you were hunting with your dad everything ran pretty smoothly, but now everything seemed to go against you. You were already starting to feel guilty. Every minute that passed everyone at school could be in danger. Well, maybe not exactly right now, the chances of someone being at school right now — 7:45 pm —  were low. But the thing with Supernatural creatures — because the murderer was definitely supernatural —  was that they usually didn’t have much logic or any plan to their killing. Sometimes, a pattern. But other than that; most likely it wasn’t like they just killed someone for their money or after an argument. And in 9 out of 10 cases, they typically struck more than once.

You needed to find out what it was and for what reason — fast.

The next day you felt tense. Your senses were on edge, as if you were waiting for the suspected but unproven ghost. As if it would show up anytime. And who knows, maybe it would. You knew literally nothing about this ghost.

The day went by slowly, slower than usual. And you felt exhausted after only a couple of classes. But that was probably because you were subconsciously, basically, on high alert. It was tiring.

At lunch, while you were waiting for Jeremy, the sound of a tray being dropped onto the tabletop brought you back from absentmindedly staring at the wall. But it wasn’t Jer, instead you came face to face with Dean. A very tired looking Dean.

”Hey,” you greeted him, raising one eyebrow as he practically collapsed onto the seat. ”You don’t look too peachy.”

”I’m freaking tired, man.” He responded as he ran a hand down his face, before meeting your gaze with his green one. ”We researched late last night, remember?”

”I do. I was there.” You retorted. Then you took a bite of the apple you were currently munching on. ”So, why do I get the honors?”

”What?” Dean questioning, actually looking sincerely confused.

”Well, I thought you were too cool for me nowadays.” You explained, looking at him expectantly.

”What?” He repeated himself, taken back as his eyebrows knitted over his guilty eyes. ”No, I’m not… I mean— you’re my sister, I-I…”

”Dean.” You interrupted, putting an end to his miserable blabbering. ”I’m kidding.”

”Oh.” Dean said quietly, blushing a bit.

”You must really be tired.” You furrowed your own eyebrows. ”Not answering my sarcasm with more sarcasm? Well, not even catching my sarcasm…”

”Yeah, yeah, I know.” He muttered, as he poked around in his food.

”It’s gotta be something more than the research.” You pressed, knowingly. He was your twin after all.

Dean just groaned. Simultaneously you spotted Jeremy over his shoulder. He was looking at you, but then he walked over and sat down with a couple of guys you knew were his friends. You couldn’t help but to feel slightly disappointed, but well, you were with Dean, and Dean and Jer hadn’t officially met yet — at least as far as you knew.

”It’s Amanda.”

”What?” You questioned, echoing your twin’s earlier whats, as your attention returned to Dean in a split second.

”I said, it’s Amanda.” He growled, annoyedly stabbing an innocent piece of salad on his plate.

You just burst out laughing. And immediately receive the death-glare. Which only makes you laugh harder.

”Trouble in paradise?” You teased as soon as you had collected yourself.

”Shut up.” He retorted. ”But, yes. She just nags so much. And now she wants me to meet her parents.”

”So why won’t you? You practically perfect son-in-law material.” You continued, finding this very funny.

”You know I don’t do parents.” Dean stated, distressed.

”Okay, fine.” You shook your head to yourself, forcing your smile away from your face, trying to return to a more serious mood. ”I get it.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, and you could tell that he was thinking about another subject to talk about, one that wasn’t revolving around himself. You saw the exact moment he came up with it.

”So, who’s that guy you’ve been hanging around.” He questioned, squinting his eyes, suspiciously.

”Dean.” You warned. That expression was annoying and never led to anything good.

Well, okay, that wasn’t true, Dean had helped you get rid of guys before — guys that made you feel uncomfortable or something like that. But that face wasn’t needed right now, and sometimes you just wanted to wipe it off. You didn’t intertwine or question him about who he dated, for god’s sake.

Dean just raised his eyebrows. ”I’ve seen you together. He goes to our English class.”

”I thought you only had eyes for Amanda.” You responded, sarcastically.

”I keep an eye on you.”

”So do I. On you.” You stared back at him. But he wouldn’t budge. ”Fine. His name is Jeremy. He’s a friend.”

”Friend?”

”Friend.”

Dean nodded, although he didn’t look convinced. He decided to drop it though, to your relief.

Speaking of Jeremy, your brunet, amber eyed friend sought you out during one of the breaks, wanting to talk like you always did.

”Hello, companion.” He greeted, grinning.

”Hey.” You plastered on a smile on your face. Not that you weren’t happy to see him — you were always happy to see Jeremy.

But you were tired. And stressed. Even a bit anxious. The conversation with Dean had given you a break, but you were soon back in your previous state. Always on the lookout. Basically feeling the minutes ticking away. Unsafe minutes for everyone on school campus. You felt the strain.

”What’s up?” Jeremy asked, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows. He could tell, just like that.

The guys in your life really read you like a book. Dean, Sam, and now Jeremy. Except for Dad. Honestly, John didn’t know all that much about you. You weren’t close. But that’s another story for another time.

”Nothing.” You shrugged, shaking the question off. ”Just… heading to my algebra class.”

”You sure?” Jeremy pressed. You mentally cursed.

”Yeah, yeah…” You nodded, trying to be reassuring. ”I’m good.”

Jeremy was about to say something else, but his voice was shouted down by another one of the seniors, a football player, calling on his friend.

”Hey, Mike! You should have seen the fight outside. This tiny freshman totally hammering another one. Sick.”

You raised your eyebrows at the football player as he passed you and Jer, meeting up with Mike. Then your ears caught something else. A group of kids, younger than you, laughing at something. ’Dirk the jerk.’

Your mind pieced it together. And you knew.

”Jer, I’m sorry, but I gotta go and find my brother.” You excused yourself, sincerely sorry. Could this day just be over?

”Yeah, that’s fine. Go and get him.” Jeremy nodded, understandingly.

”See you later?” You asked over your shoulder, before leaving.

”Yeah, see you.”

You didn’t find Sam that break, nor the next one. In fact, you had to wait to the end of the school day until you found him.

”Sam!” You called as you caught sight of your scrawny, brown-haired little brother in the sea of students.

He turned around, and as he caught sight of you, he knew. You could tell by his shoulders drooping. He stopped anyway, and waited as you hurried up towards him.

”Let me see.” You demanded looking at his hands. They were bruised, showing a shade of purple already. ”Did you really beat up that kid?”

Sam nodded, slightly ashamed. ”Yeah.”

”Judging what I’ve heard and your state, I guess it didn’t end well for him.” You stated, opening a door for Sam to explain.

”No, it didn’t.”

”Sam,” you began. ”This isn’t what we’re supposed to use our training for.”

Sam looked guilty. Like, you understood why he did what he did. The kid had picked on him. Hell, you were furious at this Dirk for doing so. It was just that maybe beating him up wasn’t the best solution.

Sam was quiet for a while longer, as you just looked at him. But then, he looked up and met your gaze.

”I have an idea though.”

You raised an eyebrow. ”About Dirk…?”

”No about you-know-what.” Sam spoke in a hushed tone as he briefly looked around himself.

You caught on and lowered down a bit, so that he could whisper in your ear.

”Maybe something happened before the school was built.”

You eyes widened as you realized how stupid you’ve been and how smart your baby brother was. Judging by how guilty he just had looked, you decided to drop that and instead praise him for this.

”That’s a great idea Sam.”

And it was, it paid off because you had a break through in the research. Apparently, the school’s new football field — that, as you’ve been told, just opened before you and your brothers enrolled at Truman — was built on an old gravesite. Which means lots of upset spirits.

You were dealing with a ghost, as previously suspected. Turns out that the football field the school was currently constructing, was being built on an old gravesite. Like really old — ’before the USA barely was a country’-old. The ghost was presumably the leader of a village that used to be located right next to where Truman High stood nowadays. When the school took down some trees and dug up the ground, they apparently found a ring in the ground. It was a week before you and your brothers started at the high school, but you had heard of it and walked past the glass display cases where they were currently keeping it. So, something had to be tying the ghost to the school, and your money was on that one ring.

You were in the middle of finishing up the research when your phone rang, shrill signal cutting through the silence. Green and hazel eyes immediately latched onto you, your brothers hoping it was your dad.

It was Jeremy though, calling to tell you that there just was an attack at the school. A girl he used to know apparently, so he was pretty freaked out. She made it out alive, but was at the hospital’s ICU at the moment.

After a few moments, you said goodbye to your friend and turned to your brothers who were wondering what happened.

”We really need to do this, now.”

Dean nodded once, and stood up from his chair at the small table to then walk across the room and pull out a duffle bag. Then he started packing weapons, the one shotgun loaded with shells filled with rock salts and another gun just in case. Meanwhile you rummaged through your backpack for a lighter, finding it successfully. Dean brought out a packet of salt, and you a small container of gasoline. You couldn’t count on your father, but it was a good thing he was a paranoid bastard, leaving all kinds of stuff. A second salt-shotgun would’ve been nice though, but at least you had all the stuff you needed.

Sam watched the quiet — and almost automatic — procedure with round and a bit frightened eyes. You and Dean had both done it surprisingly many times before. That didn’t mean Sam felt calm though.

”Ready?” You asked Dean, eyes finding his from across the room.

”Yeah,” he responded as he flung the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder joining you by the door.

As you began putting on your jackets — Dean his leather one, and you your denim — Sam stood up and joined you.

”Sam, what are you doing?” Dean asked, confused.

”I want to come with.”

”No, Sam,” you stated, voice gentle but serious as you looked into his hazel orbs. Sam seemed to not like the answer though. ”The thing is killing kids, Sam. We don’t want you there.”

”But you’re kids too.”

”Not for long.” Dean’s voice was calm and reassuring. ”And also, we’ve hunted before. (Y/N) and I will be okay.”

”Don’t worry Sam,” you agreed.

Sam nodded, but once again; he’s not content with the answer. He hated being babied. Treated like he was so much younger and innocent. And even more than that; he hated sitting on the sidelines. Not because he loved hunting, in fact that was another thing he hated. It was because if his older siblings — who seemed to think that they were invincible like they never even contemplated the risks — got hurt, or worse, he wouldn’t be there to do something about it. He wouldn’t be able to help.

He wanted to be mad, but couldn’t. Instead, Sam threw his arms around your upper body, hugging you tightly. He hugged Dean as well, and then you were all set to leave.

The last thing Dean did before you walked through the door was to ruffle Sam’s unruly hair.

”We’ll be right back, kiddo.”

”Promise?” Sam asked, sounding so young and innocent your heart constricted a bit.

”Yeah,” you smiled. ”Promise.”

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