#i am TIRED of living in constant fear. and i am FURIOUS at my dad for not wearing a mask.

[pepprs]

my dad might have fucking covid. about to jump off a bridge

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

This Sarah Everard case is so terrifying for women. But not only am I terrified - I am furious.

⚠️ tw for mentions of r*pe, sexual assault, violence against women, murder etc. ⚠️

She was just walking, including walking by busy roads and not dark alleyways. She was dressed in winter clothes. Even if she HAD walked down a dark alleyway or been wearing something short or “revealing”, she still wasn’t doing anything wrong - she was just walking somewhere.

Her murderer - a police officer named Wayne Couzens - plotted to murder a woman to live out his perverse fantasy. He didn’t plot to kill a specific woman - he knew he would murder a woman, any woman he thought he could abduct, any woman who would be out at night on her own. Sarah was just there.

Not only did he drive miles and hours to kill a woman, not only was he a police officer… he used his badge, police belt, handcuffs and credentials to fake arrest her to get her into his car. If a police officer tells you to go with them, we’re told to not resist, to be obedient or we will be in even more trouble. Even if she HAD done what the MET have just said women should do - “question non uniformed officers!” - it wouldn’t have helped her because he was a police officer. He had the credentials. Why would she run away and resist a police officer? And if women do resist, the police commit violence against them (like at the Clapham Common vigil for Sarah).

He handcuffed her, drove her for hours, then raped and murdered her. This fucking monster strangled her with his fucking police belt. He burnt her body and disposed of her in a pond.

A police officer did this - a fucking police officer, a MET officer, the MET we’re supposed to trust. And you want women to trust them?!!

And I don’t want to hear that “don’t judge the whole profession based on one bad apple”, because guess what? This is not the first time a police officer has harmed a woman. There is misogyny rooted deep in the MET that needs to be addressed. Wayne Couzens was literally nicknamed “The Rapist” by other police officers and had offended in the past by flashing people, and that’s just what we know of - and yet not a single person did anything. The police joked about it. Several officers gave character references supportive of Couzens during the hearings for his sentencing, and female officers told the press that they did not feel as if they could report concerning behaviour by male colleagues.

It’s thought that at LEAST 15 serving or former police officers have killed women in UK since 2009, and HUNDREDS of UK police officers have convictions for crimes, including assault. There are many cases that do not go reported, and so it’s likely the numbers on both counts are actually higher. Why are they still allowed to serve? Why is our government giving them more power and freedom to arrest whoever they please? “It’s not that many” - IT SHOULD NOT BE ANY.

If you can’t see why there’s a huge problem with our police force and why we say “fuck the police”, you’re part of the problem.

And the fear and anger we feel isn’t new - this has been a problem for literally all of our lives.

At 11, I learnt to come home before dark, and if it was dark in the winter on my way home (meaning: every night in winter), I was taught to not go down any dark lanes, and if I was walking the dark lane I had to go down if I got the bus home, I was to walk as fast as I could and to not have earphones in because i wouldn’t hear attackers. Every day from September 2009 to July 2014, coming home from secondary school, I was told to either wait for my dad or grandad to pick me up or to walk down the busiest road that ran near my house and had constant cars on it. I couldn’t take the shortcut down the public footpath on my way home from sixth form college because it was too dark and isolated - I had to go around it and through the village instead, which took more time but was vaguely safer. Since university, I’ve made a point of waiting for the hourly bus that stops just round the corner from my home and on the busiest road, even though I have to wait up to an hour for it usually, because getting the bus that comes every 15 minutes means walking up the dark quiet lane.

At age 13, I learnt not to talk to even very friendly men, even not in broad daylight, even with a female friend, when some old man approached us and started complimenting us, telling us we had “nice smiles” and “I can hook you up with someone who can help you get into acting” and “here’s £10, you go down to the garage down the road and get whatever you girls want”.

At 14, I learnt not to sit in trees in the park by the gate, not even during the day when it’s sunny, when an old man entered the park, took one look at me, and said “you’ve got a nice arse”. I couldn’t prove he had said anything, and I would see him on my way to school sometimes and panic.

At 19, I learnt that I could not trust friendly men online. Apologies to any decent men I have spoken to online - there’s a few who are nice and not weird, I’m not talking about them. I learnt this when a guy I was speaking to on my old blog - who had for weeks just been generally nice and checking in on me - started to send intimate and sexual messages that started with “*hugs you*” and became “*spanks your ass*”, “takes your clothes off”, “f*cks you hard”, just to name a few (and these were the milder ones). When I asked his age, he merely said “older” than me - “more than twice as old as you”, actually. I learnt to not talk to men online, and if I did then I had to set very clear boundaries in a way that wasn’t too obvious - not say it outright but make it clear I am “unavailable”.

I have to carry a rape alarm on my keys, just in case. I could go out to bars if I wanted to, I could have at university when all my peers were - but doing it meant risking the chance of being harmed while intoxicated or on my way home. I have to send my location to my mother if I get any Ubers, if I go out to theatres or cinemas in the evening I have to text my mum to say I’ve arrived safe. I only feel safe out at night if I’m with a man that I trust like my dad or grandad - I got very lucky at Uni because not only did one girl make sure I got home safely at 1 in the morning by calling me a cab, but one boy even stayed with me on another night until my dad arrived to pick me up, because he knew leaving me intoxicated at 2:30 in the morning was dangerous. I have even phoned my grandmother while walking home in the dark because being on the phone to someone means you’re less of a target to an attacker.

Men do not have this experience - or, if they do, it’s nowhere near the fear and worry women feel every day. Women can’t even walk somewhere without being worried of being attacked - we cannot go anywhere without asking ourselves “am I safe?”. Are we wearing the “correct” clothing, so as to not give off the wrong idea? Are we walking down the well lit roads where it’s busy? Are we aware of our surroundings, of every single person nearby? Do I have my keys in my hand, ready to defend myself if I’m attacked? Women are blamed if we are attacked - not men, but women. “She was dressed slutty” “she was passed out drunk” “she was walking down a dark lane” “she was out late”.

When doing safe guarding training at my current TA job, I came across this phrase: “always think it can and will happen”. Just as a teacher or TA should not think “none of my students will be victims of abuse”, women should not for one second believe that they are safe and “it will never happen to me” - every day we have to think of how to prevent our own assault or murder, just in case.

Every time I’m walking home in the dark, I have the fleeting wonder of “what picture(s) of me will they use if I’m attacked or go missing?”. I was not really surprised when I saw that other women said the same thing. Women wonder it so often it’s almost a joke, an absent minded thought. But it’s not a joke - it’s real life for us, every single day.

Sarah Everard is not a one off case. Sabina Nessa, a 28 year old primary school teacher, was murdered on 18th September this year, her body discovered the next day by a dog walker. So far in 2021, 110 women have been murdered in the UK by men (or men are the prime suspects). Only a handful get national attention because at this point, violence and murder against women have become normalised in this country.

I am not only heartbroken for all of these women and their families - I am scared for my own safety; I am scared for the safety of my mother, my grandmother, my aunts. I am scared for the safety of my 20 year old sister, the safety of my 17 and 14 year old cousins, for the safety of my older male cousin’s two daughters who are only 4 and 1. I am scared for the safety of every single girl and woman I have worked with, the safety of every woman I have ever spoken to.

But I am also furious and filled with rage. Women should not be scared to go out or have fun, we should not have to take such precautions or measures that still won’t completely prevent our assaults or murders. I am sick and tired of the victim blaming when a woman is murdered, of the indifference of “oh another woman”, of this being how women are expected to live their lives.

I’m tired of this problem being ignored by our government, tired of no one giving a shit about us or our safety.

[fuckingfuckityfuck]

Confirmation

Pairing : Negan x reader

Warning : angst

Plot : Negan had done a mistake by treating you like you're nothing to him.You were tired from the constant fights you had with him everyday.You finally decided to leave him and now he wants you back.

I loudly shut my door close,not wanting to hear his empty promises and reasons.

It has been days since I broke up with Negan,being tired as one of his wives.Yeah sure,sex is great and the perks are awesome but if you really love him,like really really love him,you'd not want to be one of his wives.

He treated his wives like toys.Once he's done,he's gone.He'll surely toy with your emotions,always making you feel like it's your damn fault.

He is the master manipulator and he fucking knows it.

"Open the fucking door,y/n!" Negan shouted at the other side of the door.I rolled my eyes,not even moving from my chair.

Minutes passed when I hear the lock click.He is mad as hell.His eyes are furious,burning through me like fire.

"You don't fucking listen to me,do you?You always do these damn things like a teen fucking queen." He roared loudly,each step he took was loud enough for everyone to know that he is mad.

"Well fuck you too,Negan.I sure as hell am not your fucking wife anymore.There's that and who the fuck cares if I dump you?It's not like you like me or you have feelings for me,right?So fuck you" I screamed and signalled him to not move close to me.

He shook his head and glared at me.

"You're not done with me unless i fucking say so,doll.I fucking own you,you are under my damn rule" He said.

I crossed my arms and tried to tell myself to not cry in front of him,not wanting to look weak and him taking advantage of that.

"You know what?I am so done with you,Negan.I am so tired with all of these.I can't spend another day with you or living here if that's what you're saying.I don't owe you anything.If there's anything,you owe me.You owe me everything.I fucking made you the king,the ruler of the saviors.I fucking gave you everything and after that,here I am." I screamed,hitting his chest as he tried to hold me close.

I wiped away my tears and shook my head.

"Not anymore.You can't continue treating me like this,goddamn it,I'm your fucking wife before all of this.You treat me like I'm an invisible rag just for you to use and spit on.You never look at me the same way before.Fuck you.I regret wasting my life here.You sure as hell don't fucking need me anymore so just let me go" I said,trying to calm myself before having a panic attack.

Negan just looked at me.Analyzing what I had just said.His face gave out no emotion.No sadness.No fear.

No nothing.Just staring at me like.

Then he looked down.

"This is a mistake,I-" Negan started and I laughed.

"Hell fucking yeah it is.You made sure to show me how much of a mistake I made by marrying an asshole like you" I laughed and he didn't even move.Just looking down and massaging his jaw.

A thing he does when he's stressed out.Good for him.

"You don't understand my point here,y/n.You really want to know why I did what I did?You want to know everything?Because it feels like you're telling me that you know everything when you clearly don't." He gave out a loud sigh and looked at me again.

Tears are threatening to spill from his eyes.Before,it was red with fury and anger.

But now,his eyes are red from sorrow and sadness.

"I never wanted us to be like this.I made a promise to myself to never let the same thing happen again.You know how it went with Lucille.I was a bastard sleeping around while my wife was sick." He started to cry,softly.

Tears are already streaming down my face.

"When I met you,I knew that I had to protect you.I had to keep you safe,I had to have you.So I did.You put up these walls around you so high.You lost your mother and that was the hardest part for you.I made sure to be there by your side always.I pursued you.I wanted to have you so fucking bad." Negan said as he looked at me.

He gave out a small,sad smile.

"Then I had you.You said the damn word too.You love me.You cared for me.Slowly,your walls are gone.You let me in.And then someone saw.Someone knew that you're my weakness.They blackmailed me.They wanted me out of the top.I didn't know what to do or what to choose,y/n.But I know,I should've chosen you like you've chosen me multiple damn times."He touched my cheek and I flinched away from his cold touch.He cried.

"I don't hate you,doll.I don't resent you.I don't want you to be gone.You are the only thing that keeps me going with everything that's been going on with Rick and his people.I did this to protect you.Or that's what I thought I was doing.I didn't know I was breaking you apart.Maybe I should just let you go and give you a chance to be free again." He murmured as he cried.

Can I still be with this man?Everything he said made sense now.But can I trust him enough to be with him again?

"I left you because I don't feel your love for me.You always scream at me,telling me how useless I am infront of everyone.I felt like shit,Negan.I just wanted you.You promised me that I will be your only one.You have 4 other wives.You can go on without me.I love you but I don't think this is going to work for us.Not anymore." I said while staring back at him.His eyes are pleading,telling me to stay.

Suddenly,I felt his arms around me.Holding me close to his chest,feeling his heart beat against my face.We are both crying now.

"Promise me you'll stay alive?That you'll carry on with your life and not look back?If you think that I don't love you anymore,this is me letting you go.Fuck,I love you so damn fucking much that I will let you go.I will give you what you want." He cried as he softly touch my hair.

We both cried our eyes out that night.Our last night.

I remember him touching my face,telling me how much he loves me.

I remember pulling his face and kissing him.

He kissed me back and I remember that night,we were both calling out each other's name.

I turned off the stove,pouring down the hot water on my mug.I opened my tea packet and put it in my mug.

I smiled as I felt arms around my waist.

"Good morning,sweetheart.You seem so happy today?" He asked,swaying us both side to side.

Then I heard the little footsteps around the house.We both turned around to see Hope carrying her bunny toy.

"Mom-mommy?Dadd-y-y?" Hope croaked out while rubbing her sleepy eyes.

I looked up at Negan and smiled.She looks so much like him.

"You want some cereals,baby?With fruits on it?" Negan asked Hope as he walked towards her.She nodded and put her arms out for him to carry her.

Hope giggled as Negan playfully tried to throw her up in the air.

"Ye-yes dad-dy.What about mom-mmy?" Hope asked and looked at me.They both look at me with the same face.

I laughed and rolled my eyes.

"Mommy can take care of herself,darling.You change your clothes first and we'll go out and play with Judith outside,that okay with you?" I said.

Hope pouted but signalled for Negan to put her down.She kissed him on the cheek before walking away to get dressed.

"She may look like me but she does have your attitude and sassiness.Also the pouting." Negan chuckled as he walked towards me again.

"Yeah right.I forgot,Rick came by earlier.He said he needed some help fixing the gate." I said as I put his face between my hands.

"You know I love you,right?" Negan asked while looking me in the eyes.

I smiled.

I smiled like a chesire cat.

"I do and I love you so fucking much too." I said and kissed him happily

masterlist

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Unavoidable - unforgiven series

Characters: Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, background Damian Summary: When it comes to confrontation, sometimes there ain’t no time like the present. A/N: Anyway, Tim’s a hot emotional mess and just needs like fifty hugs. This is probably a day or three after the last bit, and Damian has woken up a few times, to Tim’s none thus far. Dick does not leave Tim’s bedside at any point. His little perch is set up between Tim and Damian’s beds, but that was probably a given. I veered from comics in that Bruce didn’t have amnesia after the garbage with the Joker, just went into hiding/didn’t reappear.

Unforgiven series.

~~

When Tim woke up, he hurt. Everything hurt. His face especially.

He let his eyes crack open, just a little. Saw the floor of the cave. Medical wires. And it took him a minute, to remember what happened. The fear gas. Crane. Damian.

They were on their way to a Wayne gala. An end of the fiscal year celebration, everyone and their unborn child would be there.

But then they saw something on their way to the car. Saw Nightwing collapsed in a goddamn gutter, cover in blood. And despite his anger and hurt and confusion, he wasn’t about to leave his brother to die in a goddamn gutter.

(Not to mention, Damian had run to him almost before Tim had any time to register what, or who, he saw.)

But then after they got Dick safe in the apartment and wounds tended: mayhem. Damian shouting, freaks crashing through their window. Guns, knives. Caught off guard and fighting not only for their own lives, but for their older brother hidden in the other room.

The arrival of Jonathan Crane.

Then tied and thrown in a van. Damian cursing his head off, while Tim himself sneered and mocked in an attempt to throw their captors off guard. It didn’t work, though. Just got him a forcible mouthful of fear toxin. But better him than Damian, he supposed.

A blur after that. Moving, being carried. Damian talking. Damian was the only constant, and Tim intended to keep it that way. Grabbed him as soon as their captors cut their ropes. Focused on him, his voice and his presence alone.

And any other presence who might try to take him from him.

Then sleep. He doesn’t remember how he fell asleep, or even where. Just remembered the bounce of movement, and Damian’s hand in his.

Now…now he’s here. Clear-headed, he thinks, and free of the toxin. In physical pain from injuries, in potentially the safest place on the planet.

But without Damian.

And the thought sends an involuntary jolt through his body as he twists his head up to look around. But there’s instantly a hand on his shoulder and he looks up to the source without a thought.

Dick.

He looks tired and ragged. There’s the start of a beard around his jaw, and dark circles under his eyes. He gives Tim a small, encouraging smile.

Tim looks away from him before he can say anything. But immediately comes across an almost worse sight.

Bruce is pacing the cave nearby, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He looks almost as tired as Dick does, but that’s nothing new. Bruce’s default state, really.

But in his arms is Damian.

Venom is immediately on Tim’s tongue, because that is not where Damian should be. Damian should be nowhere near his father, just like Dick should be nowhere near either of them. They shouldn’t be in this cave, in this house, with these people–

“Relax, Tim. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Dick whispered gently, hand still on his shoulder, thumb rubbing circles along his collarbone. “You’re safe.”

Tim didn’t look at him, kept his eyes glued to Bruce as he turned for another trail of pacing. He could see Damian’s face now, cheek smushed against Bruce’s chest. The kid was fast asleep.

(Or drugged, Tim’s darker mind supplied. Because Bruce wasn’t beneath doing so. Had drugged them all before.)

In his periphery, he saw Dick glance up too, to check on what Tim was so focused on.

“…Oh.” He mumbled. “Oh, Tim…it’s…I know that’s not what you wanted to see first thing, but it’s not…” Dick shook his head, squeezed Tim’s shoulder. “Damian woke up screaming from a nightmare about an hour ago. We didn’t want to wake you, and I didn’t want to leave you in case you woke up while we tried to help him, so…Bruce took care of him.”

Tim blinked, and watched Bruce run a careful hand up and down Damian’s spine.

“He fell back to sleep about twenty minutes or so ago.” Dick continued. “But with how jumpy he’s been since we brought you two back, Bruce was afraid laying him back down would trigger another nightmare or something, so is…just going to keep him where he is for now.”

“…Oh.” Tim repeated softly. He watched Bruce shift gently back and forth as he walked, keeping Damian at slow rock. He also saw Damian’s hand desperately curled into Bruce’s shirt, even in his unconsciousness. “…Thank you.”

“Happy to.” Dick nodded. Bruce turned again, but this time he glanced over towards the beds, registered Tim was awake. He gave Tim a small, awkward smile, but made no move to relinquish his hold on Damian. Just continued his rotations. “…How you feeling?”

Tim shrugged, and his muscles pulled uncomfortably. “Depends on how you mean, I guess.”

“Physically, for starters.”

“I hurt.” Tim glanced up at him. “And I’m sure I look like shit.”

Dick gave him a dry smile. “You remember anything?”

“Not after they gave me the fear toxin, no.” Tim admitted. “At least, not clearly.”

A moment of quiet, and Tim let his gaze drift back to father and son.

“…They didn’t get him, right?” Tim whispered. “Damian, they…didn’t hurt him?”

“No. They left him with you for the most part.” Dick explained. “And I was able to stop Crane before they gave him any toxin.”

“Good.” Tim mumbled. Another pause. Tim could feel Dick watching him, but he didn’t want to return the stare. He twisted his lips, felt his heart beating. “…Did I…”

Dick tilted his head.

“Did I say something terrible to you, in that warehouse?” Tim asked. He stared down at his hands, began picking at his nails. “I…remember seeing you, I think. And being mad about it. I…remember saying…something? And I just have a feeling it was probably not the nicest thing I’ve ever said to someone rescuing me.”

Dick hesitated a second. “…Don’t worry about it, Tim.”

“Well, that’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one.” Tim exhaled, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dick.”

“Hey, it’s fine, Tim. Really.” Dick promised. Suddenly, his hand covered Tim’s, stopping his nervous habit. Tim glanced up. “Let’s just focus on getting you better right now. Okay?”

Tim watched him for a minute. Glanced over to Bruce, still walking in circles to keep Damian asleep.

Looked back down to his hands. To the IV sticking out of one. The bandages lining up his arms. Took a deep breath, for a deeper sigh.

“Then I guess you and I should talk, huh?” Tim murmured. Dick’s hand immediately retreated, and Tim peeked up at him with a stronger gaze. “Since fixing us is the only way I’m ever going to be fully better again.”

Dick’s face was grave, the new frown on his face deepening by the second.

“We both know that. No sense beating around the bush about it.” Tim pushed.

“Tim…we don’t…” Dick sighed himself. “You need your rest. How about you go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you when Damian…”

“Dick, please.” Tim urged. “We were going to meet for coffee soon anyway.”

Dick shook his head. “You’re recovering, we don’t need to add any more stress to-”

“Would it make you feel better if I let you go get coffee first?” Tim smiled softly. “Give you that excuse to take a minute?”

Dick returned the smile, and for a brief moment, it felt just like old times.

“No, it’s…” Dick looked up, watched Bruce. Knew he was listening. Knew he was just as nervous.

Because one more wrong move, and they lose Tim – and by extension, Damian – forever. For real this time.

“Or how about I start?” Tim offered. “To clear the air – I don’t actually hate you. I know I’ve said and done some things that really make that plausible but…I don’t hate you. I’m just…disappointed.”

“You’re not mad, just disappointed?” Dick smirked. “Good to know, Dad.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “Well, I was also mad. I was furious. I am furious. And just more disappointed than I’ve ever been in my life. Heartbreakingly disappointed.” He looked towards Bruce, who had stopped moving. Still holding Damian, but now stationed a few feet away from the end of Tim’s cot. “How could you do this to us?”

“For your safety.” Bruce whispered, lifting his hand to hold the back of Damian’s head. “It was the Joker, Tim. You know how that goes. And after…after everything. After we just got Damian back, I…didn’t want to risk anyone else.”

Tim stared for a moment. “…And what, keeping Dick away from Damian when he was resurrected, letting Damian and all of us believe Dick was dead, was to protect us too?”

Bruce glanced at Dick. Dick could only shrug apologetically.

“Like I told you at the office, Tim. That was my fault too.” Bruce offered. “And, you’re right. It was a mistake on my part. But Dick had nothing to do with that decision.”

“Of course he did.” Tim pushed. “He’s his own man, he can do anything he wants, you be damned.”

“But he didn’t, and that’s my own fault. Not his.” Bruce countered. “He wanted to come back, please believe me on that. I wouldn’t let him.”

Tim raised an eyebrow.

“…I threatened to hide Damian, if he attempted to return before his mission was complete.” Bruce murmured. He lowered his eyes, and for half a second, Tim thought he might have looked ashamed. “In my mind, I was protecting both him and all of you.”

“But you weren’t.” Tim snapped. “Bruce, you had to know right away that you weren’t. Or do you forget how Damian was after you told him Dick was dead?”

Dick closed his eyes and looked away.

“No, I don’t.” Bruce admitted softly. “And Cassandra showed me how he was after you told him about me.”

“And after everything we’ve already been through. Already actually been through.” Tim was starting to work himself up now. Squeezing his hands in and out of fists. “Jason dying, you travelling through time already under the guise of being dead, and Damian so recently…what made you think it’d be totally fine to lie about Dick being gone, and then you disappearing, and leaving us absolutely alone?”

Neither man could answer that

“After the life’s Damian already had?” Tim accused sadly. “After the amount of people I’ve already lost for real?”

Nothing.

“…That’s what I’m angry about.” Tim slumped back into his pillows. “If you were confused about it.”

Damian let out a gentle snore.

“And that’s just us. I don’t…I have no idea about Cass or Jason or anyone else. Been a little preoccupied to find out, you know?” Tim squeezed his fist one more time, then threw his arm over his eyes. “But even so, I guess. They’re adults. And I know we don’t act it and pretend we’re not and all that but…” A watery inhale. “D and I – we’re just kids.”

That was enough for Dick. Still silent, he stepped forward and gathered Tim into his arms. To everyone’s surprise, Tim’s included, Tim allowed it.

“I don’t want to hate you. I don’t.” Tim whined, clutching at Dick’s elbow. “But I won’t let you lie to us again. I can’t let you do this to us again. To Damian.”

“And no one should expect you to.” Bruce finally whispered, stepping closer. “Not even us.”

“Especially not us.” Dick added. “Tim, I…I know no amount of apologies is going to fix what we’ve already done to you and Damian, but…I am so sorry. And I will be sorry for the rest of my life.”

“…But an apology isn’t what you want, is it, Tim?” Bruce asked, coming up next to Dick now. Still rocking Damian like a baby. Still acting like the father they’ve all always wanted him to be.

“I don’t know what I want.” Tim mumbled. “I want…stability. I want…to stop stressing every second of every day about where you two are, about whether you’re…you’re too close or too far away.”

A second, to squeeze Dick as hard as he could.

“I just want my dad and my brother back.” He breathed. “I just want Damian to be okay, and safe and…and…appreciated.”

Dick glanced up at the little boy in Bruce’s arms.

“I don’t want him taken for granted. I don’t want him forgotten, or ignored or lied to anymore.” Tim listed. His voice was heartbreaking and childlike. “I want him to have his family and those he loves most present, always.” A snotty sniff. “I don’t want him to have to mourn anyone anymore, not like I’ve had to, for real or not.”

“And what do you want for yourself, Tim?” Bruce asked.

Tim started shaking his head before Bruce’s question was even out. Dismissively mumbled: “I don’t matter.”

“Yes.” Bruce gently pushed Dick back, crouched to get into Tim’s line of sight and grab his wrist with the hand not supporting Damian. “You do.”

Tim ducked his head, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“You do, Tim, and I’m so sorry that Dick and I have made this situation where you feel like you don’t, or that Damian and his emotions matter more.” Bruce explained. “And I’m sorry for what we did to him, too. What we did to you both, and the whole family.”

Tim let out a deep breath, wiped absently at his eyes. “…I’m sorry I was a jerk all the times you tried to reach out.”

“Tim, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” Dick cut in. Bruce nodded in agreement.

Tim kept his gaze low, though, and let the only sound be the cave around them for a moment. “…What do we do now?”

“Now, you rest.” Bruce smiled. “You and Damian both still have injuries we need to take care of first.”

“Then we’ll take it one day at a time.” Dick promised, shifting around Bruce as the elder stood. “Or whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

He corralled Tim back into the cot, and began to rearrange his blankets, when, ever so quietly, Tim asked:

“Can I…um.” He looked down. “Can I…have Damian please?”

Bruce hesitated for just a second, then smiled and leaned down, gently depositing Damian into Tim’s waiting embrace. Tim instantly engulfed him, ducking his nose into Damian’s hair. Dick finished covering them both with a blanket, and chanced a kiss to both of their temples, lingering for just a moment on Tim’s.

And when he backed away, Tim was grinning softly up at him.

“Get some sleep, little bro.” Dick whispered, returning to his chair. Bruce waited until he sat to give Tim a smile and small wave before turning to his computer. “We’ll be right here.”

Tim nodded and closed his eyes. And he was just on the edge of unconsciousness, milliseconds away from dreamland, when he thought he felt Dick gently take hold of his hand. Felt Damian huff sleepily against his throat. Heard Bruce clacking away on his keyboard.

He fell asleep smiling.

[ccfstephaniebrown]

Because you forgot how to love me. || Tim  & Steph || Chatzy

Tim and Steph face each other in the Batcave

@redrobinxdrake

Stephanie waddled her way down to the cave as quickly as she could. Baby Drake was getting too big, and she resembled more an apple with legs then her usual self. She was livid. When Conner had told her where Tim was, she hadn't believed it. Bruce wouldn’t just lock him away. He was supposed to be in a room. He was supposed to be able to come and go as he pleased. But what Kon had described was a prison! She moved quickly Tim's Gotham U hoodie stretched wide over her belly and her black leggings doing little to keep her warm. "BRUCE," she yelled, "BRUCE!" He wasn't there. How dare he not be here when she found out what he had done. She was putting an end to this. She didn't care if she had to play the pregnant card. They were exhausting her. She moved down the cave's hall towards the prisons until she could see him. Laying in the glass case like he was a caged animal. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This is not what Bruce sold us on. I swear Tim. We would never let him lock you up like this.

Tim settled into the warmth of the scratchy wool blanket, his hands prepared to catch the smooth leather baseball. The confines of his room felt chillingly comforting in the wake of his latest sparring session with Barbara. It took every trump card for him to convince the big dog to crank down the homey comforts. He didn’t deserve cable, dressers of grandeur, or the view of the city. He deserved to be a prisoner. His mind no longer a comfortable place to hide or concoct some scheme to harm anyone else. Tim caught the baseball between his palms, a brow lifted to the voice that through his sanctum of sorrow. “You didn’t allow him to do anything. He didn’t lock me up,” he opened his eyes to take on her rounding figure. “This was my idea.”  

Stephanie looked at him, horrified. "Why would you do this," Stephanie demanded, slamming her hands against the glass. She was furious. Furious at everything. The unfairness that Tim had "died" on her after promising to never leave her alone. The fact that they hadn't found him. That it had been Talia, who had found him. "WHAT DID SHE SAY TO YOU? WHAT DID SHE SAY THAT YOU CAN'T GET OUT OF YOUR HEAD," Stephanie demand anger and frustration evident in her eyes. She was tired of this bullshit. The first thing she would do after Baby Drake was born and she got her body back, would be to hunt down Talia and chop her up till there was nothing to resurrect. She hated the woman. She hurt everyone Stephanie loved and kept hurting them. Jason was right. Some people just deserved to die.

Tim’s jaw set at the continuous pounding of the glass. His expression unchanged but the worry swirling dangerously in his pit. This amount of stress on the baby wasn’t right; she knew this but didn’t care. The underside of her palms was reddening with each wild slam against the glass. The baseball fell from his grasp, rolling beneath his cot, as Tim rose to face her. Her reflection cast in contrast to his own in the mirroring glass. “That I wasn’t worthy of being saved but that I could be.” His words were softer. “You need to calm down, Stephanie. If you keep on, you will push yourself and our child into early labor.” Tim slowly had come to the terms of this new life. With or without all the pieces.

Stephanie sobbed, how dare he talk about their child. It was a miracle every day in her book that she hadn't lost their baby with the amount of stress she had been under the last eight months. Steph chaulked it up to the fact the baby was a Bat. Thru and thru, Baby Drake was a fighter who would survive having her as a mom and their crazy family that was always in trouble but would die for each other. "And you believed her because I wasn't enough. We weren't enough to keep you anchored to this life. You don't get to scold me about the baby Tim. You've made it clear you don't want anything to do with us, and while I'm strong enough to have my heart broken by you every day. I'll be damned if I let you break her heart. Because its a girl, Tim, she needs her daddy. Every girl does, even those of us who have crappy dads like mine. We need a daddy to tell us we're beautiful when boys say we're ugly. To tell us we're worth the wait when boys try to pressure us for more. To tell us its not our fault when we're not strong enough to fight back. We need daddies, and she needs hers. But you're too busy trying to be punished to realized that. You haven't even checked on us. You haven't asked about her. I want to love you and believe in you. I want you back in any way I can have you. But you have to want to come back, and I'm beginning to think it's because you don't want us," Stephanie confessed.

Tim’s features were steeped in the darkness that crowded his soul. He didn’t know what he wanted more. Love or the peace in atoning in the eternal fires of his own doing. Stephanie’s words cut him in places that he didn’t know still mattered. He ached but refused to be derailed by her emotional manipulations. “I believed her because she pulled me out of the grave and I was alone. Alone in my thoughts, and I was scared. I don’t know anything for sure...nothing feels real.” He turned away from her. His hands clenched and unclenching. “Maybe she’s better off without me. Maybe both of you are.” His heart broke silently in his chest. He knew if he pulled the cord now, there was no going back. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be the man you need me to be. I’m trying to figure out who I am because I’m not her tool. I’m not Robin. I don’t know who I am, but I can’t be him. No matter how deeply I wish I could be.”

Stephanie screamed and slammed her hands again, unable to reach him to slap him. "You're Tim Fucking Drake. She fucking stole you from Bruce. Cause he found you first. Did she tell you that? Cause Babs told me. Bruce should've but we fucking chalk it up to Bruce can't admit when he's been outsmarted, and he's an asshole by trade. But Bruce had you. Was caring for you. But Talia stole you like she's stealing you from our child. You're not the coward she has made you. You're Tim Drake. You are the man who saved Conner Kent from Cadmus and then proceeded to protect him while he got on his feet. You protected fucking Superboy. You’re Tim Drake who out-witted Ra's Al Ghul when Oliver Queen caved to him. You’re Tim Drake who saved Barbara Gordon when she was possessed by an AI and figured it out like it was a computer virus. You did those things, all on your own. Not with me or Bruce or Babs or Dick or even Jason. You were the man who figured out my father was coming after me when no one else had an idea of it. You're not Robin. You haven't been for a long time. You were never her tool. You made a choice to follow me. To trust me. And DAMMIT I DESERVE BETTER THEN THIS," she screamed. "So get over your fucking self. I'm scared, Tim. All the time. We both know what a fucking train-wreck I am. I can only hold the bullshit persona of the mom who knows what she's doing for so long. I'm susceptible to postpartum depression. I need you to get your head outta your ass and help me as you promised. Because you made me believe I deserved better than to let, people, leave me like I was the street rat that everyone told me I was. And we have rules that only one of us can be broken at a time, and I'm a month away from pushing something the size of a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon. I need you cause I'm scared I'm going to die and she's going to be alone in this world, and it wakes me up in the middle of the night because you won't get better. You keep hiding away instead of getting the help you need cause I don't want to leave our baby in the world alone. "

The truth steamrolled over him. It felt as if all the air in his chest had been forced out. Tim turned on his heels, all the anger finally surfacing onto his features. Why couldn’t they all just leave him? Didn’t they get that with every new development a part of him broke? “You do deserve better, Stephanie.” His palms flattened against the glass, rooting him back to the calm he needed to get back too. “You aren’t alone. You have Barbara and Jason and Dick. Hell, you finally won over Bruce,” his eyes softened as they tangled up in hers. God, she was even more beautiful when she was fired up. “You are stronger than you think and it’s about damn time you stop hiding that in this relationship. You don’t know what I want or what I have been through. You don’t know how desperately I want to go back. Back to when I had control. I don’t. I’m not afraid of who I was or what I did. I can accept the bad, but I’m afraid of the new me. I'm afraid of hurting the only thing in the world that makes me feel right, and that’s you.”

Stephanie sobbed feeling something in her break Too tired and stressed to remain standing she down the wall and cried in frustration and hurt and fear and anger. Nothing she did was right. She couldn't save Tim. She failed to protect him. How could she possibly raise a baby on her own? "They all will leave. That's what people do in my life. They leave me. My dad left me for crime. Mom left me for drugs. Babs left me over and over again. Jason and Dick both have lives. You left me. It's the one thing I can count on. People leave. She looked up at the bats in the cave. Misery radiated from her. "I can't help you. I can't fix you, because you're not broken, and I think in all of this that's the most frustrating part. You keep thinking you need to be fixed. That we're trying to fix you. But its Kintsugi, the cracks, the damage is what makes me love you all the more."

“I never wanted to leave you, Stephanie.” Tim’s forehead leaned into the frosty glass. “Please take a breath for our little girl and for me.” He pleaded. Tim shifted slightly out of view of the camera perched in the corner. Constant surveillance had a downside. “What if I can’t love the cracks? What if they make me weak and angry all the damn time?”

"They're supposed to. I look in the mirror, and I see the girl who nearly destroyed Gotham with a gang war. Who broke Tim Drake and Barbara Gordon's heart when she faked her death. The girl who holds the title for the shortest run as Robin ever. The girl whose own mother would rather be high as a kite then holding my hand when I go to doctor's appointments. The girl who became a statistic. The street rat who came from nothing. I hear the whispers of the girl who sucked every Wayne dick to become the youngest, female VP at Wayne Enterprises. The girl who earned her cowl on her back. The girl who is going to screw her child up like she is. And I hate them. I hate everything that I have seen and done and heard. But then I look again. And I listen again. And I see the girl who picked herself up and stayed calm when her world crumbled when her big brother had to tell her the man she loved died. I see the girl who built the life that her lover wanted for their child. I hear him say I love you, and I'll always find my way back to you. And to trust him. You said we didn't morn you. Its cause I knew you weren't dead and I just had to focus on the goal and take power from it. Because you love me. Cracks and all. I'm strong and weak. I'm beautiful and fragile. I'm angry, but I can still love it. I think you've forgotten how to love your cracks because you've forgotten how to love me. But I'm patient, Tim. I'll wait. I will always wait. Because if it were the other way around, you'd wait for me."

[freefallingforfanfiction]

Super Strange Things

Chapter Five: The Body in the Quarry

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x Reader

Overall Summary: Y/N Winchester, middle child of John and Mary Winchester, arrives in Hawking’s with her family to investigate a series of disappearances and hearsay of a strange, faceless monster, along with a girl who can supposedly move things with her mind.

This Chapter: Y/N first trip to Byer’s household isn’t under what she would deem satisfactory situation. Nerves are high in the Byers house when 

Warning: Mentions of character death, the usual warped time line

Authors Note: Ok this chapter is kind of a short filter, but fear not, I am currently writing the next chapter and will post it sometime tonight or tomorrow morning to make up for it.

Tagging: @loquaciousmelanin @laurel-celestial @shortykatezey @bands-and-shietz @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @myshakespeareandarling @precious-cinnamon-roll666 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @castelo-amado @tothetardissterek @anton-shudders @madhatterweasley @desertsivan1995 @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine

If I missed anyone in the tags please direct message me, because I did lose one name!

Series Masterlist

Despite the eerie display of out of season Christmas lights hanging all over the Byers home, the flashing blue and red of the police lights seeping into the dark house was by far the most unnerving on going in in the Byer’s residence that night.  

You were standing on the outskirts of the Byer’s living room, Jonathan’s head tucked into the crook of your neck as you held him in a tight hug. You had snatched the keys to the Impala upon hearing your father’s discovery and had booked it to the Byer’s home just in time to see Jonathan embracing his frantic mother half way down the drive. The police sirens became audible only moments after as your father and Police Chief Hopper arrived to deliver the news. However, despite the noise the sirens were creating, the ringing in your ears was striving to make sure it was the most prominent. At first, you had tried popping your ears and rubbing at them, neither action worked so you just found yourself attempting to ignore the ringing as you twirled stands of Jonathans light brown locks through your fingers.  

The right side of your shoulder was completely drenched in tears. In your arms, Jonathan trembled as he cried, trying to keep his noise levels down so no one would notice. It had surprised you greatly that when he heard the news about Will that Jonathan had turned to you for comfort. For one, you had expected him to be furious with you, having all but promised that your dad would find his baby brother and bring him home. Also, Jonathan struck you as the type of person who didn’t need anyone to comfort him, or want it for that matter. Though you called him your best friend, where were sure that he didn’t need you around and only took up your friendship proposal because you wouldn’t be in town long. So to say you were startled when he turned around to look at you with warty eyes, then proceeded to launch himself at you, was an understatement.  

Despite not having any friends, you did possess a younger brother, so while your comforting skills were rusty, they were not completely foreign. You found yourself humming a soft tune [Let It Go by James Bay] to Jonathan as you gently swayed him back and forth in place. It seemed to be working as his cries turned into soft sniffles, and the tight grip he had on your flowing black shirt loosened slightly. You kissed his temple as he snuggled into you and you whispered “I got you,” under your breath encouragingly.

You watched under lowered lashes as Hopper and his deputies came in, searching the dark house with flashlights. You wondered momentarily why they just didn’t turn the house lights on, but you decided that was not your problem and instead looked out of the windows to see if you could spot your dad, who was supposed to be investigating the woods. Your search came up empty, however, so you simply settled for listening to the soft conversation the two deputies were having, but you found their hushed tones hard to hear over the constant ringing in your ears and could only make out the words “In the walls.” But despite the persistent ringing in your ears, you were still able to eavesdrop of the Chief’s conversation with Ms. Byers.

“Our working theory right now is that Will crashed his bike,” Hopper started, looking down at Joyce Byers, who was seated on a dining chair at her kitchen table, “he made his way over the quarry and, uh accidentally fell in.” Hopper finished quietly as he shifted nervously. “The earth must have given way.” He added, almost silently.

You found it odd that a child native to this town would get lost in the woods to the point of falling into a quarry odd, but you chose to keep silent and voice your opinion to your father later.

The small woman sitting before Hopper did not appear to be physically in the room as she started off into the distance. Hopper, noticing this called her name a few times, “Joyce? Joyce? Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Joyce’s eyes slow shifted up to meet Hopper’s. There were a few stray tears rolling down her face, but she wasn’t hysterical. “No,” she denied as she shook her head. She continued on in a shaky voice, “Whoever you found is not my boy. It’s not Will.”

“Joyce.” Hopper started, his voice tired.

Joyce shook her head once more as she argued, “No, you don't understand. I talked to him a half hour ago.”

You were now intrigued and turned you full attention to Joyce Byers.

Joyce turned quickly on her heal and walked across the room up two cabinet doors in the wall, large enough to hide a grown person. She opened them swiftly and pulled out a bundle of Christmas lights, “He was he was here, He was- He was talking with these.” Joyce brandished the Christmas lights for Hopper to see, her eyes were wide, and if you were not a Hunter, you would have believed her crazy. However, you were a Hunter, and you found yourself wondering of the ghost of Will Byers was lingering in his home with his family. But if so, why was he only contacting Joyce?

Hopper’s face was more than skeptical as he looked over at the obviously frazzled woman. “Talking? Uh-huh.”

“One blink for yes,” Joyce nodded, holding her index finger up, “Two for no.” she added an additional finger for emphasis. She then put the bundle of lights down and rushed to the couch, gesturing to the painting above it. You hadn’t noticed it before she pointed it out, but once your E/C gaze rolled over it, you had to say it had the array of Christmas lights beat in the creepy contest that seemed to be going on in this house.

“And, and, uh and then I made this so he could talk to me.” Joyce explained as you all looked up at her creation.

Upon the wall, painted in black, was the alphabet. Strings of Christmas lights ran above the letters, forming an unconventional Ouija board. You turned your head over your shoulder to gaze out of the window, hoping to catch your father’s eye. John Winchester, however, was nowhere in sight, so you simply noted your finding mentally to revisit them later.

Historically, Ouija boards were not evil, and you yourself were not afraid of them. After all, they had once been a popular game played at night by the vast majority of the American population during the Spiritualist Movement. Most stories surrounding them tended to be false, you had found out through your research on the paranormal that they gained their bad reputation when the Exorcist came out. So you weren’t sold on the idea of this board being the cause of any supernatural activity going on in the house, but you didn’t entirely dismiss it.

“Cause he was hiding from that that thing.” Joyce continued, her tone upset as she ran a hand through her short brown locks.

“The thing that came out of the wall?” Hopper asked slowly. “The thing that chased you?”

Ghost could come out of walls. And chase people.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Joyce said, her voice urgent.

A hefty sigh left Jonathan as he took his head from your shoulder to properly look at his mother, “Mom, come on, please.” You took your hand from around his waist and placed it on his back so that you could rub it comfortingly. “You've gotta stop this,” He pleaded, stepping away from you to approach his mother.

“No, maybe he's-it’s after him!” Joyce shook her heard franticly, “He's in danger.” Joyce continued, her voice growing as she did so, “We have to find him! We-”

Hopper, however, was reaching the end of his rope, he cut Joyce off, “What exactly was this thing?” he asked, the same exhaustion from before leaking into his words. “It was some kind of animal, you said?”

Joyce frowned at Hoppers words and she shook her head again, “Uh, no, it was-It was almost human, but it wasn't.” She was making wild hand gestures as she spoke, and you found yourself taking a few steps closer to her to hear better over the insistent ringing.

“It-It had these long arms and it didn't have a face.” Joyce’s face scrunched up in confusion as she spoke.

“It didn’t have a face?” you whispered under your breath then turned towards the window again, this time seeing your father watching you through the glass. Subtly, you jerked your jaw in a movement that signaled from him to come meet you. You watched as he said something to one of Hopper’s deputies before he started walking your way.

You could hear your father’s heavy boots hitting the wooden floor as he entered the Byer’s home, his intense brown eyes watching Jonathan as he walked back over to stand beside you, once again laying his head on your shoulder. You snaked your arm around his waist once more, rubbing your hand up and down his torso in what you hoped was a comforting way.

“It didn't have a face?” Hoppers brows rose high on his forehead before a sigh left his lips, “Joyce- It didn't have a face Joyce, listen to me.”

You father came to a standstill beside you, his tall figure loomed above you, so you had to cram your neck to mouth “Listen to her,” to him. John Winchester gave a brisk nod and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze turning to Hopper and Ms. Byers.

“Listen to me.” Hopper said as he led Joyce to the couch with the grotesque spirit board looming above it, “After Sarah I saw her, too. And I heard her. I didn't know what was real.” Hoppers voice was light as he spoke this time, even his eyes had grown softer as he spoke about his past loss.

“And then I figured out that it was in my mind.” Hopper continued, placing a hand of Joyce’s shoulders. “And I had to pack all that away. Otherwise, I was gonna fall down a hole that I couldn't get out of.” Hopper explained gently, and you found yourself biting your lip, your thoughts wandering to your mother.

Hopper was right, about seeing her everywhere, about hearing her even after she was gone. It had taken a little over a year before you stopped hearing your mother’s voice sing Hey Jude to you at bed time to lull you to sleep after she had passed.  

Joyce shook her head lightly having calmed down, “No, you're talking about grief. This is different.”

Hopper pressed on in his quiet voice, “I'm just saying that you-”

Cutting Hopper off, Joyce choked out, “No, I know what you're saying, Hop. I swear to you, I know what I saw.” Joyce shook her head gently and look up at him with teary eyes, “And I'm not crazy.”

“I'm not saying that you're crazy.” Hopper said gently.

“No,” Joyce denied, “You are. And I understand, but God, I-I need you to believe me.” Joyce sputtered out. “Please, please.”

“I believe you Ms. Byers,” Jonathan lifted his head to look up at you, and you couldn’t tell if he was astonished you believed his seemingly crazy rambling mother or if he was angry.

Hopper, however, gave you a pointed look that was meant for you to shut your mouth before he turned back to Ms. Byers.

“Listen I think you should go to the morgue tomorrow and see him for yourself.” Hopper said quietly, taking one of Joyce’s hands in his, “It'll give you the answers that you need. But tonight-”

“Oh, God.” Joyce covered her mouth with her hand.

Hopper continued as if Joyce has never interrupted him, “I want you to try to get some sleep, if you can.”

Hopper patted Joyce’s knee lightly before he rose from the crouched position he had taken so Ms. Byers didn’t have to look up at his larger stature and walked over to my dad. They each shared a look before your father turned his gaze to you, “Come on Y/N/N,” your father said gently as he rustled your H/C locks affectional. “Let’s go home and give the Byer’s some time alone.

“Dad I was thinking-” you said at the same time Jonathan blurted out “Please don’t-”.

John Winchester’s brow rose as his gaze flickered between you and Jonathan, who were now gaping at each other. John coughed lightly to bring your attention back up to him, Jonathan shrank under his gaze, so you spoke up first.

“I was thinking that I could just stay the night and help out,” you said in an unsure voice.

Beside you, Jonathan quietly spoke up, “I uh- I could use the company, sir.”

Before you, you watched the gears turn in your father’s head. You knew his first instinct would be to say no. Your father was never one to let you spend the night anywhere, the only exception being your Uncle Bobby’s and even that was a rarity. This time, however, you could see his resolve waver, and not because you wanted to help a friend in need. He was utterly stumped on this case, and if it meant you spending the night at a boy’s house to crack it, he just might let it slide.

He sighed, looking between you and Ms. Byers who was seated on the couch, staring out arcos the living room, “If it’s ok with Ms. Byers you can stay this one time. But I want you at school tomorrow and no sleeping in the same room,” John Winchester said, his gaze shifting to Jonathan, who shrank under its intensity.

“Yes sir, she’ll be fine with it. And I’ll sleep on the couch,” Jonathan rushed out.

John nodded briskly, and you could still see the hesitation in his eye. “Alright,” he agreed, “Come walk me to the car Y/N and show me where you put the keys. Dean will have to drop me off at my truck tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you replied then turned to look at Jonathan, you placed your hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently, “I’ll be right back.” Jonathan gave you a curt nod before you walked off, but even then you could feel his eyes on your back.

You dropped your hand and walked side by side with your father, who placed his hand on your back as he ushered you out of the door. The other deputies had left after Hopper had exited the house and Hopper himself was sitting in his truck with his eyes closed, probably waiting for your father.

“He really took this personally, didn’t he?” you asked your father.

“He did,” you father responded, “It’s hard not to get invested when there’s a child involved.”

You nodded your head, “I think Will’s still around the house,” you informed your father. “Ms. Byers was telling us she was communicating with him via Christmas lights.”

“Christmas lights?” John asked.

“Yup,” you responded, “She said that she would ask him questions and he would respond to them by blinking the lights. So I was thinking his ghost was still in the house,” You paused as you reached the impala to search for the keys that you had tossed into the passenger side seat carelessly upon your arrival.

“Then, Ms. Byer’s started talking about this faceless creature,” you said as you rose from the care with the keys in your hand, “With long arms that was coming out of the wall.”

You placed the keys in your fathers open hand then peered up at him with your large, E/C eyes, “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

You dad shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at you, “Me either. But I’ll make some calls, see if anyone has ever heard of it. In the meantime,” your dad walked around to the trunk with you on his heels. He opened the trunk after making sure Hopper still had his eyes closed and pulled out an emf detector, which you quickly shoved inside the folds of the flannel you hand wrapped around your waist.

“I want you to search the house when they all go to bed,” John ordered, “See if you find any activity, anything strange.”

You nodded as your dad shut the trunk and walked back to the driver’s side door and opened it. He slide himself in the seat with much difficulty due to you moving the seat to reach the petals. While he was fixing it, you remembered a minor detail that had slipped your mind due to all of the action.

“Oh,” you said as your dad shut the door to the impala, “There’s this weird ringing in my ears that showed up when I drove up. It happened before, at the place where Will’s bike was found.”

Your dad shook his head and reached a hand up through the open window of the impala and brushed some of your [wavy/curly/straight], H/C locks from your face. “I’m sure it’s nothing Y/N/N. Just worry about canvasing the house now, and get some sleep.”

You pursed your lips and nodded.

“Okay daddy.”

Your father gave you a close lipped smile before he rolled the window up and turned the car on, peeling out of the driveway after Hopper, who had noticed his new found police buddy had a ride. You sighed lightly and dropped your arms from the crossed position they had taken while you were conversing with your father, and walked back into the Byer’s home.

[ilygsd]

odfidk: 140818 - 1

ok so i really want to talk to a therapist but i wont be comfortable explaining my life story if theyre white. i just want help cus im always so tired but no one helps. ive been angry, fighting my whole life but no one cares. i came as an angry anxious baby. i was furious when i was adopted. i was screaming all the time,  abandoned multiple times just to be bought by these white foreigners i didnt even understand. but no one cared. no one knew how to handle my loss and pain, and my dad’s emotionally abusive as it is, making me grow up, feeling like theres smth wrong with me. that im just an annoying angry kid by default or smth, while my sister was the perfect one. thats why i always protected her. thats why i always stood up against his accusations,  guilt tripping and anger. because my little sister was too afraid and i was already labelled as the problematic kid. but im tired. she’s fkn 15. after all the things ive done for her the least she gan do is ask me how im feeling fromt time to time. my whole family knows ive been depressed for like 2 years and the only one who cares is my mom who just survived a 7 year old long ptsd. i hear from her that my sister appreciates it but i never get anything from her. i dont feel appreciated in this family at all. im still the angry annoying sjw and nothing i say will ever be taken seriously by our dad cus hes a master of making both me, my sister and mom (probably brothers too but they fkn abandoned us a long time ago those pussies, leaving 10 year old me to fend for me and lil sis all on my own while our parents were divorcing, mom was suicidal, dad abusive and economy crashing) feel like shit. their divorce was probably my first trigger factor. it took me 2,5 years, i was 4 the first time i dared to let go of my parents. first time they could leave me out of sight without me being ”annoying and screaming” aka having a fucking panic attack. their divorce was another abandonment, another trauma and i never learnt how to get over that either.

yesterday i was crying in the bathroom for 2 hours straight bc my family doesnt love me, i get out and no one cares. i literally told my dad he wouldnt care if i died yesterday and he didnt react. he fkn closed the balcony door bc he didnt want the neighbors to hear me ”so angry and upset”. i yelled at him that when i commit suicide its going to be his fault but hes so narcissist and dumb he doesnt understand. so i threw smth and destroyed smth and tHEN he reacted. i love having to use unhealthy techniques like suicide threats and murdering threats to get a reaction. i once did that and this ex friend threatened to report me to the police for murder threat. her mom even called my boyfriends mom to warn them of me but she didnt even call my mom??? she didnt care abt the fact that next to my ”i want to kill everyone. dream of murdering my family” i also wrote ”i want to kill myself”. dont remind me of this though. im not proud of it. i know its weong to manipuqlte like this but no one teached me how to deal with my feelings and avandonemnt issues in a healthy way. and so i’ve took after my dad and turned into this controlling emtoionally abuser, all bottled up, constantly angry and sad, guilt tripping and manipulating the people im supposed to love in fear of them abandoning me. and i will always hate the world for making me suffer like this. 

i just want to rest. im tired of always fighting for something as basic as love and safety. i never got over the loss of mom and culture and people. and i lost every sense of safety i had built up during my adoptive parents divorce and older brothers leaving. and im unhappy, im always unhappy because i miss my mom and culture and people so much. i feel misplaced and lost. the only thing keeping me alive being the thought of one day going back to china. the only thing keeping me alive is the thought of being able to actually help people with my experiences and knowledge, to help other international transracial adoptees or maybe fight for chinese womens rights or smth. thats the only thing. if my life turns out like.... nothing i’ve been suffering in vain. if im never going to be happy ive been suffering for nothing. ive tried so hard in my life but nothing works. im cursed. i really am cursed but not only do people leave me im also incapable of feeling other peoples love. i cant feel other peoples love because the only love i want is my mothers. my REAL mother, my ACTUAL mother, the chinese mother society loves to shame and make me forget because you all see her as a threat to my white parents claim over me.

the only difference between me and all those other ”normal” adoptees (aka my little sister) is that they’re whitewashed to death by their family, probably even more emotionally abused than i was and also they’ve repressed their feelings and trauma and I AM THE VERY REASON ADOPTEES DO THAT. ME AND ADOPTEES OVERREPRESENTATION IN SUICIDE STATISTICS ARE THE REASONS BECAUSE ITS GOING TO KILL YOU. my abortion and friend-break up was the last trigger before i exploded but believe me, it would have happened sooner or later anyways. my whole life has been a trigger. however many adoptees live their whole lives without ever waking up from this pretty little perfect sunshine story their parents and society had told them. there’s a reason so many adoptees are whitewashed to death and hates your disrespectful nosy questions. its a survival technique. we know that if we want to survive a life with our background conditions, then we have to repress our feelings concerning our adoption and everything associated with it. its not conciously, ITS A DEFENSE MECHANISM. and we get so much shit for it, which is understandable because many adoptees are fucking racist asshats. but you need to fucking understand that its because they’ve learnt to hate themselves and their own people. they’re TERRIFIED of being associated with immigrants and people of color because they know their white racist parents secretely hate them and actually secretely hate them too. all they want is love, they dont know anything else. it sucks to argue with a 40 year old adoptee of color though who’s still racist and whitewashed af, thats just sad and i would love to focus more on younger adoptees and help and support them through their ”awakening”. the awakening is much like learning about sexism or racism and how its ingrained in everything and practiced by your family and friends. just 100x worse cus you realize your family isnt even your family and you’re all alone in your thoughts, feelings, experiences and eventual search.

and adoptive parents and adoption organisations need to take fucking respnsobility for once without blaming everything on our traumatic past. you’re not ready to adopt non-white kids with trauma. you’re not educated enough and you placing us in all-white countries and neighborhoods, with problematic and abusive parents will not help. and im not speaking for myself, im speaking for ALL international transracial adoptees. im tired of hearing ”but your sister”, ”but my daughter is not”, ”my son doesnt care” WELL AS I SAID THEY DONT CARE BECAUSE YOU’VE NEVER GIVEN THEM THE CHANCE OR REASON TO CARE. IVE SACRIFICED MYSELF FOR MY SISTER. IVE FOUGHT OUR PARENTS, IVE TOLD THEM I HATE THEM, IVE DONE EVERYTHING I COULD TO TEST THEM, MY MOM WAS SUFFERING FROM PTSD AND I WAS THE MOST ANNOYING PROBLEMATIC KID EVER BECAUSE 1. I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH MY PAIN AND 2. TO SEE IF THEY WOULD FINALLY HAVE ENOUGH AND LEAVE ME. I DID THAT BECAUSE I COULDNT LIVE WITH THE CONSTANT FEAR OF ONE DAY HAVING THEM GROW TIRED OF ME AND ABANDON ME. I WANTED THEM TO BECAUSE THEIR DIVORCE WAS AVANDOBMENT ENOUGH. I DID THAT BECAUSE MY KIND LITTLE QUIET SISTER WOULD NEVER HAVE THE COURAGE TO. SHE WOULD NEVER DARE TO STAND UP AGAINST OUR DAD OR QUESTION THEIR BAD PARENTING AND UNDEDUCATION WHEN IT COMES TO RACISM/ADOPTION INDUSTRY BECAUSE SHES SCARED. SHE HATES CONFLICTS AND FIGHTS BECAUSE THOSE ARE THINGS THAT TRIGGERS HER. SHE GETS TRIGGERED BY FIGHTS AND I GET TEIGGERED WHEN PEOPLE IGNORE ME BECAUSE SHES AVOIDANT AND IM ATTACKING. I WANT TO FIGHT BC THATS HOW I FEEL PPL CARE. WHEN MY DAD WALKS OUT ON ME WHEN I TRY TO FIGHT OR SAY SOMETHING THATS MY BIGGEST TRIGGER. WHEN I FIGHT WITH MT BF AND HE DOESNT ANSWER MY TEXTS OR HE SUDDENLY HUNGS UP ON ME THATS THE BIGGEST TRIGGER. MY SISTER WOULD HUNG UP BC SHE WOULD FIND SOMEONE LIKE ME SCARY BUT WE ALL GET TRIGGERED BY DIFFERENT THINGS. WHAT WE HAVE IN COMMON THOUGH IS OUR TRUSMA AND OUR ABANDOMENT ISSUES. SHES ALSO AFRAID OF BEING ABANDONED, WE ALL FUCKING ARE, MANY OF US JUST DONT KNOW IT YET BECAUSE OUR PARENTS ARENT EQUIPPED TO HANDLE KIDS WITH TRAUMA. I KNOW BECAUSE I LOVE POLITICS AND SOCIAL JUSTICE SO I EDUCATED MY OWN GOD DAMN SELF. MY SISTER LOVES NATURAL SCIENCE SO SHE DOESNT KNOW A SHIT SHE DOESNT EVEN KNOW WHAT A BISEXUAL IS AND SHES FKN 15, SHES AWESOME AT NATURAL SHIT AND THATS IT. I KNOW BECAUSE IVE ACTIVELY SOUGHT INFORMATION ABOUT IT BUT NOT EVERYONE DOES. NO ONE HELPED ME. EVERYTHING IVE LEARNT AND EVERYTHING I KNOW IS THANKS TO MY OWN GOD DAMN SELF. ADOPTIVE PARENTS DONT KNOW SHIT ABOUT RACISM OR TRAUMAS. MY MOM UNDERSTANDS BECAUSE SHES A FUCKING PSYCHOLOGIST, BUT IF I DIDNT COME UP WITH THESE THEORIES ON MY OWN SHE NEVER WOULD. SHE TELLS ME NOW AT AGE 19 THAT ADOPTING ME, SEEING ME SCREAMING FOR DEAR LIFE AS I WAS HANDED OVER FELT WRONG. SHE FELT LIE SHE WAS TAKING ME, THAT IT WAS INHUMANE. AND NOW SHE KNEW WHY. BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING WRONG AND INHUMANE. SHE WOULD NEVER HAVE COME TO THAT CONCLUSION IF I DIDNT PUSH HER WITH MY KNOWLEGE. IM THE ONE EDUCATING MY PARENTS AND ITS ONLY MY MOM LISTENING AND SINCE SHES WHITE AND NOT ADOPTED HERSELF SHES STILL ONLY ABLE TO UNDERSTAND LIKE 50% OF IT

i honestly dont get enough appreciation in this family. the only thinkers in this family is me, my mom and one of my brothers. but fuck him as i said, he abandoned us during their divorce and he’s been absent all my teenage years. we could have been close, he could have helped me bc he also suffered from depression. he gould have protected me like i proteced my little sister but he didnt. maybe it was the age gap or the fact that me and my sister are adopted while he and our other brother isnt, we’ll never know. all i know is that unlike my other brother and our dad he’s not completely unfamiliar with what racism, sexism and capitalism is. he’s not dumb and empty. he got a brain and he would be capable of understanding these things just like mom if he wanted to. but its been so many years, he’s fucking 28 and he betrayed me that bitch.

i really dont get enough appreciation. no one ever tells me they love me or appreciate my brain since im the only one analyzing shit. my mom does too but only personal and psycholgy shit never society or groups like oppression and structures and systems. im the only one doing that and im good at it. i always see patterns and i know my politics very well so i can easily see what kind of ideology people have. but i never get credit for it. im still just the lazy kid while my sister get cred for..... idk studying and working our and being didciplined. also ive been through mich more than anyone in this family. my mom and brother has also been through shit, i mean okay ALL OF them have because all people go through shit, but ive LEARNT things and they havent. they’ve repressed it or ignored it. only my mom and brother have also learnt but they never talk. my brother is avodiant like my sister. he never talks. hes quiet to himself and thinks. my mom talks but shes still a pussy