#i feel like i should tw tag that fingernails thing but idk what the tags are for that...

[sendingflowerstothemoon]

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how to talk to your dad without feeling like a failure

how to call your dad back after a missed call that you watched happen on the screen because it filled you with a pit of dread

how to stop feeling guilt over relationship with father

how to explain to your dad that pulling your fingernails out with pliers would be preferable to picking up a call from him when you know he's going to be disappointed in you

how to reconcile with the fact that your dad probably thinks you hate him because talking to him is so hard that you just don't do it

[hughiecampbelle]

72 Hours (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,409

Warning/s: hospital, hospital tw, mental health, mental health tw

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is something different lol. December of 2020 I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital :) It was scary and new, but it was definitely necessary. I don't think it should be a taboo subject. It's definitely not something my immediate family will or likes to bring up, but it's also not something to be ashamed of, y'know? Idk. I've been feeling bad again. Not like in 2020, that was- it was very bad, but still not great. It happens. Meds stop working. The heaviness sets in. I use writing to get through it, those bad feelings, so that's what I'm doing. Just know you're not alone when you're feeling bad. My inbox is always open, I am always willing to talk 💜💜💜💜💜💜

They are terrible thoughts. Horrible, repulsive, aching thoughts that feed off everything you are. They see the worst in you. When you’re done, that’s all there is left. The most repulsive parts of you. The bare, naked, scarred bones. You used to fear you were a bad person. A truly sinister, evil person. Now you don’t have to worry. Now you know. You are. Selfish, and evil, and a burden. Unlovable, unkind, undesirable. He doesn’t love you, not really, and he wouldn’t miss you. No one would. You’re sure of it. You’re so sure of it your bones ache. They long for the soil, muddy and rich. Your whole body wishes to be put to rest. To finally find peace. Being alive hurts. It hurts so bad sometimes. It takes everything out of you to roll from one side to the other. Things have taken up space in your bed. Books sleep soundly next to you, begging to be read. Notes, loose paper, begging to be written. You hope, in nestling with them, loving them even in rest, that they will save you from yourself. They will drag you out of this abyss you’ve found yourself falling in for a long time now. If there is a bottom, you haven’t found it yet. Every second of every minute you flinch, expecting your head to crack open, expecting your neck to snap on that solid ground. It never comes though. How much darker can things get? How much longer do you have before the light, the shrinking light, clouds over? You fear, when this is over, that everything will be gone. You will be gone. Forever. Your own mortality hangs in the balance. You claw at the rocky walls, your fingernails bloody, ripping apart. You scream so loud, for hours, but no one is near enough to hear you.

Is it my fault? Those are the first words from his mouth, the first thought behind those puppy dog eyes. You hold his face, his stubble scratchy in your palms. Did I do something wrong? You make sure your words are stern, but not scary, not angry. He bruises too easily, your peach. No. None of this is your fault. I just, I have to go away for a few days and figure things out. That’s all. 72 hours. Then I’ll be home. You muster a smile, the edges of your mouth heavy in their upturned state. He looks so small, so worried, shaking hands at his side. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Neither do you. It’s always been something in your life. An endgame. An option when you run out of options. You talked it over with your therapist, loved and trusted, and they too believe this could be beneficial. Your bag is packed for three days. Three days apart. Basically a weekend. You can do that, right? You can manage, he can, too. You don’t think you have any other choice. Standing there, your bag at your feet, you feel the heaviness. The weight. You want to finally collapse inward like a star, bright and burning and suicidal. He looks you over, your expression, your body, everything you are. You will understand him to understand, to get it, but you don’t need to. He already does. It wasn’t an easy decision to come to. None of this has been. But if you want the hurt to stop, if you want to stop falling, then you need to leave and get help. 

He picks your shirt from the laundry, holding it against his chest. He wanders around the apartment, massive, lonely without you by his side. It smells like you, the fabric. You hadn’t changed out of it in a week, week and a half. Sweaty, you’d argue, but he likes it. It’s familiar. Roaming like a ghost, restless, trapped. Mostly you sunk into the mattress, the sheets melding into your skin until you were one singular being. The tears, silent, hidden, but not quite. Coming home from work, finding your cheeks freshly wet, your eyes red and glazed over. The thoughts unsaid, but screaming. Screaming and wailing and willing you to step over that edge. Nothing about it is easy. Nothing about it is gentle. Nothing about this you could stand for much longer. Dinner, so sweetly prepared, goes uneaten. Everything sits like rocks in the pit of your stomach. Threatening to come back up again. Mostly, you push the food around your plate, managing a smile, managing interest in the conversation. You spend all day in bed, but you are unable to sleep. The bags under your eyes look like they hurt, aching, pulsing. The hollows of your eyes seem deeper, darker, haunted. Your body is so heavy. You never knew flesh and bone could feel like concrete. Every step, every movement, it is unthinkable. You curl into yourself, hoping tomorrow will be better, hoping this will go away. It won’t. It never does. 

Roman didn’t know things were this bad. Even as he watched you wave from the check-in desk, even as he watched the doors close behind you and an escorting nurse, even as he waited for you to come back, a voice in his head told him things weren’t this bad. They were. You’ve been sick for a long time. He thought if he was home more, if he cooked dinner, real dinner, and cracked jokes and held you so tight at night, then it wouldn’t get this bad. Cyclical. Things got like this. But it always went away. It got bad, yes, but then it got better. Why wasn’t it going away? You didn’t have the words to describe it. He’d find you laying in the tub, the water cold, shivering, crying, unable to get out. It took too much energy, too much determination, none of which you had. Unchanged from the pajamas you wore for days at a time. He blamed himself. He wasn’t doing enough. He wasn’t there for you enough. If, if, if. You told him it was just your brain, your mind, getting a little lost. When it got lost, it was hard to find its way back. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t anyone or anything, just your brain. It would be like this for the rest of your life. You couldn’t bargain or bribe your way out of this. It had to be done. He saw the scars along your skin from the times before, when things were bad, very bad. He didn’t want anything like that from happening again. 

He called you as soon as he could. Roman’s voice was shaky, unsure. You were the one easing his fears, his worries. If you didn't, no one would. He didn’t ask how it was going, he wasn't sure if he should. You sensed the curiosity, telling him your new routine. You’ve been sleeping better, easier. The food is terrible. There are doctors and therapists who are going to help you, make your brain better. He breathes a sigh of relief. Not because of what you say, but how you sound. Your tone was so scary. Scared of your thoughts, scared of what you might do. You sounded lighter. You talked as long as you could. When you hung up he went to bed with your shirt, one arm reaching out to your side of the bed. Wanting you. Needing you. Knowing this is what had to happen. Everything his father had taught him, you had he retaught. This wasn’t taboo. It wasn’t evil or wrong or anything to be embarrassed of. It’s just something that is. He counts down the hours. 48. 47. 46. . .

Soon you will be home. You will have medications, different pills, pills that will work. You will be in your own bed again right next to him. You will get better. You will feel happiness again. You will laugh and smile and it will be so genuine it hurts. And when this comes back, when everything gets dark again, because it always does, he will be there like he is now, like he has been. He will be there. Because when he made a promise to you, he made it to all of you. The good parts, but the bad parts too. The scary, mean, lying parts. The parts that tell you you aren’t worth it, that you won’t be missed. He’ll spend every day proving them wrong.

[cramenjoyer]

@gaysuperhell tagged me!! adding a read more cuz its Long

Sibling status (younger, middle, older, only child...) - 

younger middle, but we don't live with the youngest so... youngest child (derogatory)

How long have you been stanning for - 

been stanning for at least a year n a half... idk beyond that. i was in weird main fandom and destiel circles for a while there

Favorite Sam era - 

evil sexy summer with ruby between s3-4, and then s4 is close behind it because he calmed down a little and i think he deserved to remain feral actually!!

Favorite spn season, but if the only criteria was Sam’s hair - 

either all of s2 or the very beginning of s14 with the beard

Favorite Sam-centric episode - 

i know what you did last summer..... hrnng.

Any ships you may like to mention - 

im not a shipper really but samjess is lovely

Favorite song you would/have put in a Sam playlist -

jesus christ by brand new

If you could steal one thing from Sam’s wardrobe, it would be -

carhartt jacket. ofc.

Complete the sentence: If Sam cishet, then WHY.... -

transgender lesbian?

Favorite unhinged Sam moment -

killing paris hilton, the demons in the famine episode ("wait your turn!"), and killing alastair. all are sooooo epic of him.

You must have some intense headcanons you need to talk about, tell me one Sam hc that drives you insane -

jewish convert sam or adhd sam they both make me foam at the mouth.

Tell me something about the hbo Sam that lives in your brain -

[TW DRUGS]

hbo sam buys anti-psychotics off the street and takes two pills when he can afford it with money stolen off men at bars and out of donation boxes. he just wants to be able to sleep for once, and to keep the horrible paranoia away for one night. he wears an oversized jean jacket jess bought him; he'd left it at the party on halloween, and his friend gave it back to him the day after the fire with his condolences. it still smells faintly of jess and it never stops smelling like her- he doesn't think about why that is. hbo sam's eyes are a little too golden to be entirely natural, especially in the light, and he can see in the dark better than anyone should be able to. lights flicker around him when he's angry, and they sizzle and pop when he's excited. the air trembles when he stims. he always looks exhausted, but there's a power inside him that takes people by surprise when he speaks.

Oh no, the writers forgot to give Jess a personality! Now it’s up to you. Tell me, what was Jess like -

ancient studies and religion major! she and brady were friends cuz they were in american history together and he cheated off her once sophomore year and she thought it was rude and she somehow managed to convince him to do study sessions with her. then post-thanksgiving brady introduced her to sam. she and sam were in the same comparitive religion class the next semester and they got coffee together and it went from there. she had a sleeve tattoo that she added more flowers to regularly, whenever she had the cash, and she'd fill in the black outlines with colored sharpies to match her outfit when she went to parties cuz she thought it was fun. she really liked late 1800s literature but especially little women and frankenstein. she was obsessed with greek mythology as a kid and had her gay awakening watching xena: warrior princess with her little brother (he does not know this). she wants to study religion and ancient studies because she's lowkey highkey obsessed with humanity as a concept and she loves the idea of people thousands of years ago thinking the same things and feeling the same way we do now. whenever she thinks about the handprints in caves all across the world she bursts into tears. she's a compulsive fingernail biter so she always paints her nails funky colors to stop from doing it, which doesn't ever work but she's trying. it took her years to grow out her hair this long, since her family always insisted she keep it short as a kid when she played soccer, and she loves it now that she can actually do things with it! she loves braiding sam's hair for him.her favorite flowers are daisies and her favorite color is light blue and she's the one who cut sam's college girl bangs in a dorm bathroom. she's jewish and she invites sam to her house for holidays because her family only lives an hour outside palo alto, and he's mesmerized by all of it; her favorite holiday's purim and it becomes his favorite holiday, too. her family isn't homophobic but they're the kind of democrats who keep quiet about things, and she knows they'd still love her if she came out as a lesbian, but she doesn't know if she'd be able to handle them looking at her strange. so she and sam keep it to themselves that he only uses he/him because he's used to it, and that he's as much a guy as she is.Biggest injustice Supernatural commited against Sam (be as brief or as ranty as you desire) - religious arc and spn being christian in general. i can't imagine sam being christian i just cannot do it even though it's fun to play with. sam IS an excatholic jewish convert and no one can tell me otherwise unless they have muslim hc's because @toxicsamruby got me hooked this morning.And finally, just say something about him that makes you smile ♥ - his dimples!! his BIIIIG smile with the dimples when he's so genuinely happy and carefree like in the scene with bobby where he's leaning against the impala w a beer. no i don't remember anything else about the scene i was entranced! he looked like this :D

i’m tagging @sammysstupidshirts @boykingofhells @samuelswinchester @quakersamwinchester @toxicsamruby and @samaelwinchester !!!