#we’re gonna give him a substance use disorder

[mychemicalroadworkahead]

Yknow what I feel like if there is any higher being they’re mocking the shit out of me with that Judd Alcoholism storyline like. Just tell me to kms at this point cause I did not need to be called out like that

[phoebehalliwell]

AU Chris is Paige and Richard’s son. What would his power be? What about Chris’ relationships with his parents?

chris being paige and richard’s son would like totally explain why he’s Like That actually that would be a great au so once again i’m gonna bring up my conspiracy theory that richard was dosed with the blood of some greater being as a baby by his parents in the hopes of making some superwitch but as we all know from dr curtis williamson of astral monkey fame receiving the blood of someone more powerful than u can create some disastrous consequences, which i believe is exactly what we see with richard and his fucked up relationship to magic given richards advanced powers (namely conjuration) and also the fact that the montana family probably didn't want it to be obvious that they y'know experimented on their kid imma say richard was somehow infused with avatar blood, seeing as they were basically unknown beings until s7, so no one would really be able to id his powers. i also think that explains how we saw richard get so insanely powerful towards the end like in i dream of phoebe he was even able to manifest a teleportation power through conjuration bc as we learned, avatars draw their power from a collective, so i’m positing that having a relationship with paige especially like y'know it's physical there's an intense emotional element that we see she even lives with him so like. it's a Relationship™. yeah that whole relationship only added to his own powers as paige sorta became his collective (i don't think this takes away from paige's powers at all more like if you shine a flashlight into a mirror it bounces back that light it's not taking away any light from the flashlight it's simply using what it was given to create more if that makes sense like in the abstract we don’t need to talk the physics of how light is reflected think of this in vague terms) so uh yeah that’s what’s up i think if richard did not have avatar blood he would just be a normal telekinetic which is a power we see him display at various points at just sort of a normal level couple that with the fact that paige is also a telekinetic and i think it is very safe to say that their child would have telekinesis i think telekinesis is the brown eyes of the magical world the dominant gene in the punnett square or whatever 7th grade was a long time ago i also think they are bound to some sort of teleportation power as both paige and richard can teleport i’d love to see it me some hybrid between fading and orbing as they are the first witchlightvatar i feel like they should have something wholly unique to show for it for another active power projection is an option as it is very close to conjuration while simultaneously being a power in the warren line but i wouldn’t want to give chris the same power as wyatt tho seeing as chris is a family name from leo’s side it wouldn’t quite make sense whenever i write about a paige/richard child i always call them bennie named after richard’s father which i think still works as chris is also named after his paternal grandfather but yeah the point i was making is having bennie travel through time and like exist in like this juxtaposition with wyatt idk i feel like it’s not as fun if they have the same power set so maybe i’ll take richards conjuring and modify it to match paige’s past life and say conjuring the elements? the entire montana family line seems to have energy balls as a power so like . that could add to that theory maybe. like the evil enchantress could conjuring lightning i think the avatars also had lightning powers but i think that was purely a leo addition and an elder power and paige has no ties to an elder status so. idk. i sorta like the conjuring the elements power i do think richard is the firstborn of his generation and paige is technically sam’s firstborn so i think they both get Legacy Points there and then bennie would go on to be the first born in the montana line so i think that could justify very op power like conjuring the elements i think that they would inherit some of richard’s mania to some degree i mean as we know there is a genetic component to addiction and both paige and richard have suffered from it but i think since the foreign blood is a) diluted and b) in a host with a greater power capacity (as we know, witches get stronger with every generation and adding a charmed one into the mix is definitely an added boost) i don’t think those genes would manifest themselves in the way they did with like richards obsession with magic however i think substance abuse and also probably and anxiety disorder are very much on the table if we’re talking bennie replaces chris as the one to come from the dark future quite frankly this kid’s gonna be more that a little fucked up bc lord knows nothing stable ever happened there i also think they wouldn’t be nearly as good of a liar as chris as i think they’re gonna have ten times more impulsivity i also think they wouldn’t tip toe around the truth so much like i know chris is really anxious about like negatively impacting the future i do not think bennie would give nearly as much of a shit like the future already sucks that’s why i’m here so Sit Down bc i have some Very Bad News for y’all i think like within the first ten episodes of season six bennie would have already made it very obvious that wyatt goes full dark no stars due to something that’s about to happen i do think they would wanna keep it under wraps about their specific lineage bc like they’re here to change a whole lot of things but i think they’d still like to exist at the end of the day but i do think that phoebe would find out and the news would spread i think in the light future without an evil wyatt bennie would not end up remotely as fucked up as they also probz wouldn’t be an orphan which i imagine is really likely in their dark future i think richard would strip his magic and live as a mortal but still teach bennie what he knows about magic and potion making bc like. he’s well verse. there are also a lot of montana traditions and secret recipes i think he would want to pass down but like not for one second i think richard would regret stripping his powers i think he would be making a potion with his kid and just be like yeah i’m so glad i’m not actually magical anymore this is just like making weird soup i’m not getting weird vibes and strange jolts of magic and funny voice in my head there’s no pressure to get it right if it’ll work or not i’m just here throwing ingredients in a cauldron w my kid : ) i also think richard would get like hella into tai chi or something very focused on medicine and alternative healing styles oh richard like paige was definitely also a pothead in high school but the point is bennie would be like very well versed in meditation and what’s it called not aromatherapy but like. apothecary? herbaltherapy? plantohealing? you know that thing people are into like teas and herbs that fuckin uhh help with colds and stuff basically like the non magical properties of the world in fact i think they’d be the most knowledgeable out of anyone from gen2 on like nonmagical uses for things like there are mortal ways to solve problems that can work just fine and i think yeah bennie does know richard’s past and the issues with magic i think that that’s something that personally scares them not enough to like not practice but like enough that they don’t ever like use magic for unnecessary purposes like they will Not be telekinetically closing the manor door shut at the end of the season they will be closing the door like a normal person that type of thing. in regards to a relationship with paige i think in the trying to fix the future part of this au bennie would get really close to paige bc like again paige probably was murdered in the dark future but i don’t think bennie would be like chris like she’s just gonna die so why get close i think bennie would really utilized the time that they do have to just like. be with their mom. i think paige would definitely be freaked to like be a mom bc she’s like woah i’m not that old and like have a 22 year old call you mom like definitely ages you but like i do think paige would see a lot of herself in her kid especially as this version of bennie like grew up really without parents and like this that and the other they’d also really remind paige of the kids she saw at social services and i do think paige would be very like mom-y around her kid like i would not describe paige as a motherly woman i would never call her the mom friend but like around bennie she like goes full mom like cuts crusts off sandwiches and everything mode (piper and phoebe find it fucking hilarious)

[ellewritesathing]

So Close - S.S. XXXIII

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist    Prev. | Part 33

Word-count: 3.4k+

A/N: i would like to personally thank every person who got bored during quarantine and found my blog. i see you. i love you. thank you for reading and sticking around💕

The McCalls and the Stilinskis had always been such close parallels of one another that you’d gotten used to your families doing things together and making progress at the same time. Scott and Stiles started school at the same time, you never very far behind. Claudia died before Raf left, but it felt the same in the long run. Family dinners every Thursday, Noah teaching each of the kids to drive in the Jeep, and Mel helped you all with your homework. 

Two families, but not really. 

That’s why it was so weird that Noah was going out on a date. His first date in maybe ten years. With Lydia’s mom. 

“Oh, I should’ve gotten a haircut,” Noah mumbled as he checked himself out in the mirror. 

“Well, you know, someone your age should be happy you still have hair to cut,” Stiles said, pushing the mirror down so Noah would pay attention to him. 

“I think you look great,” Scott said. 

You took a step forward and fixed Noah’s tie for him. With a smile, you said, “Yeah, like a silver fox minus the silver.” 

“Well, thank you, children I should have had,” Noah said pointedly. 

Two families, but not really.

Stiles kept trying to pry information out of his dad so you moved out of their way as they bickered. At least that wasn’t changing anytime soon. You and Scott were still making jokes about how long it’d Noah to reach his limit and leave for his date early when you heard some yelling from the bullpen. It was so venomous that you thought your ears would bleed. 

The four of you left the privacy of Noah’s office to find Parrish and Clarke holding back some kid who was trying to make a run for the office. The kid was threatening to kill Noah.

“Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember that it was well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory,” Noah said, clearly unfazed by the death threats. “Deputies, escort the prisoner out.” 

“No, I’m not angry like I’m gonna throw a brick through your window,” Donovan said, still trying to break through the deputies’ grip. “I’m angry like I’m going to find you, like I’m going to get a knife, and like I’m going to stab you with it until you’re dead. And when you look at me and you ask why, remember right now. Because this is why.” 

His heart rate didn’t rise or drop as he threatened. It was steady the entire time; like a drum keeping time to a death march. He wasn’t bluffing; Donovan really believed that he was going to kill Noah. 

“Wow, that was awesome,” Stiles said next to you. He had his arms crossed in front of him and was wearing the least interested, most sarcastic expression in his arsenal. But his heartbeat said something else. “That was awesome, really. That was great. Wanna do one more?” 

Donovan’s heartbeat was starting to rise. 

You put a hand out to catch one of Stiles' gesturing hands to get him to stop. It's not that you were afraid of Donovan, but everything about the situation felt wrong. His hand was moving so you settled on the top of his arm. “Stiles-”

“Come on, give us another one,” Stiles went on. “Maybe like Christopher Walken this time, you know?” He finally noticed your hand and folded his hand over his chest again to hold yours. “Okay, you know what? It’s fine. You’ll have plenty of time to work on it when you’re in your tiny, little cell. You know? Just stuck there. Forever.”

Donovan faked turning around for a second before doubling back and lunging for Stiles. You pulled Stiles behind you as Scott and Noah moved in front of him and Parrish and Clark restrained Donovan. He was still yelling about how he was going to kill Noah as he was being dragged out of the station.

You hoped he’d rot. 

The three of you weren’t even five minutes out of the station when Kira called about Lydia finding a body. Stiles made an only-slightly illegal u-turn and drove you guys to the scene - Donovan’s police transport van. Your blood ran cold as the bodies were wheeled past you and you reached for Stiles’ hand. 

Noah waved you guys over to him. “Scott, you saw this kid - Donovan. He … he wasn’t like you, right?” “I don’t think so,” Scott said. 

“Unless he knows how to hide his scent,” Stiles said. 

“Well, human or otherwise, this kid might have just murdered his lawyer and mortally wounded two officers,” Noah said. Deep frown lines were already etched into his forehead, despite only being at the scene for five minutes. “We’ve got an APB out on him, but you think you can find him faster?”

“I can try,” Scott said. 

“I’ll stay in case he doubles back,” you said, with a nod in his direction. 

Something caught your eye in the rafters of the alleyway and you busied yourself trying to focus on it amidst the flashing lights and police chatter. It felt familiar, sinister. But it disappeared before you got the chance to find it. 

Stiles touched your arm lightly, drawing you back to all the noise. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you lied. “Just a bit on edge. It felt like …” 

“Like what?” Stiles asked.

You looked back up to that spot in the rafters. “Like Theo.”

---

“Tracy wasn’t just having trouble sleeping,” Lydia said for the second time. “It was a real disorder. It was night terrors.”

“Right, well, now she’s the night terror,” Stiles said. “Especially since no one can find her.”

“Okay, I know we’re all tired and miserable-” Scott paused to look at Mason, who was completely enthralled by the conversation. “Except for you.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is all just mind-blowing,” Mason said. He looked over at Kira. “You’re a Kitsune. I don’t even know what that is!”

“I’m still learning,” Kira said with a smile.

“Liam, we said you could tell him, not invite him to the inner circle,” Stiles said.

“Uh, I’m in the inner circle?” Mason asked. 

It made you laugh. Mason reminded you of a much sweeter, much more curious version of Scott when he was younger. Also much less annoying.

“No!” 

“Look, guys,” you said, putting your hands on the bus as you thought over how to phrase it. “Tracy is dangerous, no doubt, but she’s a lone wolf. Lone wolves don’t survive. We have to find her.” 

“One lone serial-killing wolf,” Malia said

“Uh, she only killed one person, you know,” Stiles said, tilting his head. “The other two were just mauled.” 

“So what do we do once we find her?” you asked. 

“I say we put her down,” Malia said, almost without hesitation. 

“No way,” you said. “Tracy isn’t in control. You guys didn’t put me down when I wasn’t in control.” 

“Uh, I tried,” Malia said. “Remember?” 

“Vividly,” you said in a low voice.

“Woah.” Mason’s sweet little voice broke through the tension. “Intense.”

Yeah, that was one way to describe it. It was intense as you butted heads with Malia and intense when Liam pulled the fire alarm so you could get Tracy out of the school. Intense when something metallic started pouring out of her mouth. 

“Now, this silvery substance at her lips ...” Deaton said quietly. “It’s not something I’ve seen before. It looks almost like mercury.”

Tracy started moving on the exam table and everyone took a step back except for you. 

“Can’t you just give her a shot of something?” Malia asked.

“She doesn’t look to be in any pain,” Deaton said.

“I meant a shot to kill her,” Malia said.

You turned your back on Tracy so you could get a good look at Malia before you started arguing. “Would you stop talking about killing her? She's not that different from you.”

“Exactly,” Malia said. “She wouldn't hesitate to kill me.”

“Regardless of intent, I generally prescribe to a code of ethics that frowns upon such measures,” Deaton said.

“Yeah, Malia, you know we’re not going to do that,” Scott said. 

“Well, how do you guys know she’s not gonna kill us?” Malia asked. 

“She makes a pretty decent point,” Stiles said hesitantly. He went on, despite your protests, “Either way, eventually I’m going to have to let my dad know she’s here.”

“Agreed,” Deaton said. “And while I may argue against euthanasia, I’m not opposed to a little …” he took a bottle off one the counters and unscrewed the lid. “Extra protection.”

You watched Deaton scatter the mountain ash and your breath hitched. This was your first time actually having to worry about the barrier; your first time being trapped by it. You tried to ignore the trapped feeling as Malia moved around to investigate and just focused on Tracy. You wiped some of the mercury off her chin. 

Deaton called you and Scott to hold Tracy down for him so he could try some more tests. He used a scalpel to slice into her arm like you’d seen him do with Derek all those months before, but nothing except Tracy’s breathing changed until the scalpel snapped.

“I think you’re gonna need a bigger blade,” Stiles said, taking a step toward the table.

Scott took a break to check his messages and you helped Deaton flip Tracy over when he found something in her neck. Scott was talking about the condition of the driver from the attack, but you were too focused on Tracy to pay attention to him. Her back seemed fine - until something started moving around her spine. 

“I think I know what she is,” Stiles said. 

“Would you care to enlighten the rest of us?” Deaton asked. “Because this doesn’t look too good.”

The others came closer as Deaton prodded the movement under Tracy’s skin. It was sickening to look at but you couldn’t look away. And then it burst open, spraying blood all over the room. It was electric. Metallic. You were too busy trying to scrub it off your face to notice what everyone was staring at on the table. And then you got sliced across the face by a tail. 

You tried to grab Tracy’s ankle as she landed on her feet, but the paralysis came too quickly. All you could do was watch her break through the mountain ash barrier and run out the door.

“How did she do that?” you asked, panic rising in your voice. Being paralyzed was horrible, too close to not being in control of your body. You hated it.

“I don’t know,” Deaton said. “It’s a barrier no supernatural creature should be able to cross.”

“Scott did it,” Stiles said.

“Once, but it nearly killed me,” Scott said. 

“We should’ve killed her!” Malia growled.

“Meanwhile, she’s probably on her way to killing someone else,” Stiles said.

“Can you guys, please, stop talking about killing people?” you asked. Your breathing was labored. You needed to move. 

The blood on your face didn’t do anything to ease your panic, but at least you weren’t the only one freaking out. Scott and Deaton were both telling Malia to focus on healing, and she was getting just as angry as you were anxious. 

The nerves faded, slightly, as you listened to Deaton explain how to focus your healing. Again, the only thing that put you at complete ease was listening to Stiles’ heartbeat - which was sky-high. It crashed in a few minutes, despite the uncomfortable position he was in, giving you a small sense of comfort. 

When Jackson was still the kanima, Derek had started training the wolves to heal from paralysis. Pain was the key. Using Stiles’ heartbeat to drown out the noise, you focused on shifting your claws, and - if that didn’t hurt enough - sank them into your side. If you remembered right, the fraction of time this shaved off the wait wasn’t even worth all the effort, but you had to do something.

Blood, sweat, and tears aside, you weren’t the first one to start moving. Malia was. First, it was the tips of her fingers and then the rest of her hand, movement slowly snaking through the rest of her body. It made you feel dangerously jealous, but it also made you fiercely protective. You wouldn’t let Malia kill Tracy.

Stiles was yelling at Malia to wait for the rest of you, and Scott was reminding her to save Tracy. You were still trying to move but that didn’t mean you couldn’t let Malia know that there would be hell to pay if she killed Tracy.

Malia ignored you as she dragged herself out of the animal clinic.

The minutes that ticked past until you could move again were dreadful. You’d finally started moving again when Theo showed up. He tried to pull you up and you slapped his hand away, telling him to get Scott so you could get Stiles.

It was still weird having the strength to lift him. Your whole body ached from the paralysis, tingling and full of static, but you could still hold up all of Stiles’ weight in your arms like it was nothing. The tear on his chest looked painful. He was struggling to stand, his face accidentally knocking into the side of yours as the two of you slumped over to the exam table. 

“How did you find us?” Scott asked. 

“‘Cause you work here,” Theo said. “I heard about Tracy. I’ve been looking for you.”

When Stiles could lean against the table on his own, you moved over to help Deaton up. “Why did you look for us?” you asked

“I want to help,” Theo said. No one said anything but you did exchange some looks. “Let me help. It doesn’t have to mean I’m a part of the pack or that you’ve accepted me or anything like that. It just means I can help catch this girl.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes but Stiles didn’t make the same efforts. Scott, on the other hand, was actually thinking it over. 

“Scott,” Theo pushed. “I can help you.” 

“Scott, you can’t seriously be considering this,” Stiles said. 

“Guys, whatever we’re doing, we need to do it now,” you said. “Tracy isn’t in control and Malia is … a wildcard, okay? We need to go.”

“She’s right,” Scott said. It sounded like he was still in pain. “We need to go. Now.”

Stiles got to the station as fast as he could, but you still felt like it wasn’t fast enough. Scott led you guys through the already ajar door to the bullpen. All the blood inside sucker-punched you. The lights were out and deputies were strewn across the office space. Scott rushed to where Clark was checking on Noah and Stiles and Theo rushed to the office where Lydia and Kira were. For a moment there was too much happening for you to think. 

Then something clicked and your legs started moving for you.

When you got to the basement, Malia was standing over Tracy’s body and you had her up against the wall in an instant, one arm digging into her neck and your other hand pinning her down. 

“It wasn’t me!” Malia wasn’t even trying to fight back. “Y/N, I didn’t kill her.” 

You pushed forward reflexively before letting go and letting out a frustrated breath. “Then what the hell happened?” 

You knelt down to check if there was anything you could do for Tracy, if there was any hope that you could save her. She was still warm, but her heart wasn’t beating and she wasn’t breathing. Mercury was on her lips.

“There were these people-” Malia sounded confused, like this was something that happened years ago instead of seconds. The others came rushing in while she was trying to think of the words. “They had masks. Um, there- there were three of them. I think there were three.” 

She thought there were three? Malia seemed too distraught to be lying, but you honestly weren’t sure anymore. 

All you were sure about was Tracy lying dead on the floor, scales on one side of her face and claws on her hands. She should have started changing back like the wolves did.

“She’s not changing back,” Deaton said, coming to the same conclusion you did. “We need to get her out of here.” 

“What- Hey, absolutely not,” Noah said as he came closer. “This is a crime scene. We wait for the coroner.” 

“I think the coroner might be very confused by this girl’s severed reptilian tail,” Deaton said.

“I don’t care.” 

“You should,” Deaton said. “Unless you’re prepared to hold a press conference announcing the presence of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills.” 

“Dad, he’s right,” Stiles said. 

“Maybe at the clinic we can figure out how to change her back,” Scott said. “Then we call the coroner?” 

“There is a line- There’s a line that we have to draw,” Noah said, shaking his head.

“Dad, you’ve already crossed it,” Stiles said. “More than once.”

Deaton tried again and between him and Stiles, something got through to Noah. He said you could take Tracy. Scott scooped her up in an instant and Stiles took your hand in his as you rushed out behind him.

You didn't want to leave Tracy again, but she was dead and Lydia was dying. Lydia would always come first. The five of you got to the hospital as soon as you could, but Lydia was already in surgery. Kira made sure that your mom knew that Lydia had been cut by Tracy’s tail, but then it was just the waiting. And Malia bringing up the men in masks again. Who may or may not have been made up.

Eventually, any chance of you being able to see Lydia passed and you all went home for the night. 

Stiles wanted to add the day’s event to his conspiracy board the instant you got back home, but you dragged him to the bathroom to clean up that cut on his chest. All you needed was for him to get a chest infection on top of all this. He took off his shirt while you dug around for the first aid kit. 

“Honestly, it’s not that bad,” Stiles said as you turned around. “Your boy Lahey’s done way worse … Hey, what are you- what’s that look for?” 

You knelt down in front of him, hand touching his stomach lightly. There was a scar nestled between two birthmarks, long and thin, only an inch or two long and jagged at the sides. The kind of scar you get when someone stabs you.  

“Oh,” Stiles said softly. “You know that’s not your fault, right?” 

“I never actually said sorry for that.” Your thumb traced the pale line. “I’m really sorry, Stiles. For all of it.” 

He gave you a sad smile and covered your hand with his. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a small kiss to it. “I know.”

“How about we get you cleaned up, huh?” you asked. 

You disinfected the wound and put a bandage over it, to which Stiles told you you were being dramatic and you told him to take it up with management. The two of you fell into your familiar routine of getting ready for bed to get some sleep in before Melissa came to get you on her way home from work. Every night you hoped she’d forget and you could just stay here. 

“Hey, you still awake?” Stiles whispered after half an hour of lying in the dark together. 

You rolled over so you were facing him, almost nose to nose, and searched for his hands under the covers. “I might be.” 

“I can’t stop thinking about what happened today,” Stiles said. He lifted his hand to the side of your face and ran it through your hair. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I know. Tracy and Malia …” You sighed and shifted around where you lay. “It’s crazy. That thing about men in masks? I don’t think she killed her but-” 

“Hey, we had demons in masks trying to kill me like a year ago,” Stiles said. “I guess crazier things have happened.” 

“I guess,” you said softly. “I have a feeling this is only the start of it though.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

Stiles moved closer and kissed your forehead. He cradled your head and you moved in closer. You fell asleep like that, tangled up and addled with too many thoughts in your head, but at least you felt safe for the first time all day.

Part 34

Tagged: @ietss​

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Four

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

September 13th, 2000

Remy looked around the campus he was on with a sigh. He really didn’t know why he was doing this. College just seemed like one of those things you did just because; it wasn’t like he was going to get a job just because he had a degree. But here he was, at his parents’ insistence.

He was sipping his coffee on a park bench, watching the leaves on the trees. He had some time before his next class, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. “Pretty, isn’t it?” a man asked from behind him.

Turning, Remy found a man with a curly mop of red hair and bright green eyes. “Yeah, I suppose,” he said, looking back at the leaves.

The man sat down next to him with a smile. “My name’s Emile,” he said.

Remy offered his hand. “Remy.”

“Nice to meet you, Remy,” Emile said. “Mind me asking why you look so down in the dumps?”

January 10th, 2019

It was Remy’s turn to stay home and look after Roman, which he figured was a fancy way of Emile telling him he couldn’t skip out on his clients again. Getting Roman into the local school system was proving to be difficult experience, and in the meantime Roman was staying home, just getting accustomed to his new house.

Emile and Remy had gotten the paternity test sent out, now they were waiting for the results. But just in case, they were also applying to be foster parents, because there were some “what if”s that left Emile insisting that they couldn’t risk Roman being taken away and sent back to wherever he had been. Remy had agreed, much to Emile’s visible relief.

But now, he and Roman were sitting in the living room, Roman reading a book while Remy worked on his laptop, making sure all his t’s were crossed and i’s were dotted. All they needed was the home inspections and interviews and they would be allowed to foster, just in case Roman wasn’t actually Emile’s.

The home phone rang and Remy sighed, getting up to answer it. “Picani residence,” he sang into the receiver.

“Remy, it’s Sarah,” the woman on the other end of the line said. “Listen, are you still applying for being foster parents?”

“Uh, yeah,” Remy said, feeling Roman’s eyes on him. “Why?”

“I may have a child who needs to be placed, and she...he says that he isn’t his dad’s biological kid. I ran the sperm donor’s name past some people, and I just got the results back from official channel’s. The donor is Emile.”

Remy was stunned. “There’s another little Picani running around?”

“Technically his last name is Gaines, but yes,” Sarah said. “Listen, he’s a bit of a special case. His parents kicked him out for being transgender. We’re trying to get him placed soon so he doesn’t have to keep sleeping in his best friend’s house, but if you guys have room, and don’t mind...I could speed up the process of getting you guys accepted and get him in your home.”

“Yeah, I say do it,” Remy said. “I’ll have to talk to Emile, of course, but I doubt he’ll say no.”

“Thank you,” Sarah breathed. “We’ve been trying to place him for three and a half months. No one wants a transgender teen and he refuses to be put back in the closet just to have a home to rest in when he’s sleeping under the roof of people who respect him.”

“We’ll respect him here,” Remy said. “Without a doubt. I’ll let Emile know ASAP, and I’ll talk to Roman about it too, because this does concern him.”

“I swear, Remy, you and Emile are godsends,” Sarah laughed. “And I don’t just mean because you give me my coffee fix.”

Remy laughed. “It’s not a problem, Sarah. Is that everything for now?”

“Yup, that’s all I wanted to say,” Sarah confirmed. “Thank you again. See you in the shop.”

“You got it,” Remy said, hanging up.

“Who was that?” Roman asked.

“My friend Sarah, who’s helping us adopt you,” Remy said. “Apparently, there’s another kid out there who could use a roof over his head, and Sarah was asking if we could help out. As long as you’re okay with it, and Emile’s okay with it, you’ll be having a brother.”

“A brother?” Roman asked, disbelief in his tone. “I’ve never had a brother before.”

Remy shrugged. “Well, this could be your chance. And from the sound of it, he’s old enough that he won’t need much looking after, so Emile’s and my attention won’t be split between you and him as much.”

“You wouldn’t...have me take care of him, right?” Roman asked, posture becoming guarded. “If he was that young and needed taking care of?”

“Not unless you volunteered it,” Remy said easily. “I don’t believe in making older kids raise their younger siblings. If you wanted to help here and there, it’d be fine. But Emile and I would never force you to do that.”

“Good,” Roman said, relaxing and returning to his book.

Remy made a mental note of that reaction. Wherever Roman had come from, it was clear he had been forced to work for someone. If not with child-rearing, then other household chores that weren’t suited for a child his age. He didn’t like the thought of what that meant. He knew Emile didn’t want him pushing Roman about his past, but Remy was worried in his own way. “Any specific reason you were worried about that?”

Roman looked up again and briefly looked like a deer caught in headlights, before he flushed. “It’s just...uh...I read a lot about stuff like that in fairy tales. And I know that sometimes my friends would have to do stuff like that too, even if they didn’t want to. That’s just kinda...how I thought siblings were, for the most part.”

Remy knew that was a lie, and no doubt Roman knew Remy’s thoughts on the matter. “Remember, Roman, Emile and I won’t be mad at you no matter if you did something wrong or not, if you tell the truth.”

Roman flinched minutely and nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “But this...this isn’t something I want to talk about, okay?”

Remy inwardly sighed. The kid had been through so much, he shouldn’t have to deal with this on his own. But, he supposed, they’d have to make sure that Roman knew he could ask for help processing whatever he needed to process, no matter how far along he was with it. “Okay. But if you ever do want, or need, to talk about it, Emile and I are here. Understand?”

Roman nodded. “Yes, sir. And...I can’t thank you enough for being here for me.”

“Believe me, Roman, when I say it’s our pleasure. Both mine and Emile’s,” Remy said with a smile.

Roman grinned briefly before switching the topic of conversation. “So this new kid. Do you know anything about him?”

“Not much,” Remy admitted. “Just that he’s transgender.”

Roman cocked his head to the side and Remy realized he had to do some explaining sooner rather than later, to avoid Roman traumatizing the new kid accidentally. “What’s transgender mean?” he asked.

“It means that someone isn’t the gender they were assigned at birth,” Remy said.

“You’re assigned a gender at birth?” Roman asked.

Remy sighed. “Well, yeah. The doctors look at your...privates, and based on that they’ll say ‘It’s a boy’ or ‘It’s a girl’ and put you in blue or pink respectively. That’s how they generally do it, anyway. But sometimes the gender you were assigned at birth isn’t the right one. And if that’s the case, then you’re considered transgender.”

Then came a question that made Remy cringe. “So...he was born a girl?”

“Not exactly,” Remy said. “He’s always been a boy, it’s just that for a while, everyone saw him as a girl. Maybe he didn’t know he was a boy. But that didn’t make him any less of a boy. Do you understand?”

Roman frowned in thought. “I...think so. Is there anything that I shouldn’t say to him?”

“Aside from the obvious of not calling him a girl, that differs from person to person,” Remy explained. “He might welcome questions about being transgender, or he might not want to talk about it. He might ask you to use different pronouns around different people, if he isn’t ‘out’ yet. You can ask what he’s comfortable with. But if he asks you to back off, you do, no questions asked, got it?”

“Got it,” Roman agreed with a nod. “Do you know when he’s coming over?”

“Not yet,” Remy said. “I still need to talk this over with Emile, and we need to officially register as foster parents, but it should be soon. And the two of you can have separate rooms. We won’t ask you to share if we don’t have to.”

Roman sagged with relief, and Remy filed that reaction away for later too. “In the meantime, I think we should prepare you for the placement test,” he said.

With a groan, Roman lolled his head back into the couch. “But I know almost everything in there!” he protested. “I might be in some remedial classes, but I know they’ll put me in the seventh grade!”

“That may be, but Emile said he wanted you to study, so you have to study. Just for an hour, okay? After that, you can keep reading fairy tales, or do whatever else you might want to do,” Remy replied.

“Fine,” Roman sighed. “But I don’t like it.”

“I don’t know many people who liked school at your age, Roman,” Remy laughed. “It’s not gonna be fun, but it’s necessary. At least until you’re sixteen.”

“Why sixteen?” Roman asked.

“That’s the legal age when you can drop out of school,” Remy explained. “If, by sixteen, you want to find a job and not do school anymore, you can try your hand at that. Although Emile and I would both encourage you to at least get a GED, which is the equivalent of a high school diploma. Those things open many doors.”

“Did you finish high school?” Roman asked, leaving the couch in favor of the kitchen, where the study materials were.

“That I did. However, I dropped out of college. I felt that they had taught me all they could teach me about business, so I went to a coffee shop, became a barista, and saved up the money I’d need to buy my own store. I was lucky in the sense that there weren’t any niche coffee shops by Main Street, yet. I was the first, and people who were looking for something new came flooding to me. And thanks to my experience as a barista, knowing what worked and what didn’t, they kept coming back for more,” Remy said. “Not a half-bad origin story, is what Emile tells me.”

Roman grinned and Remy smiled back. “You think you can study on your own or do I have to stay here and make sure you do the problems?”

“I’ll do it,” Roman said, looking at the books and sighing. “I’m not looking forward to it, though.”

Remy hummed. “Well, tell you what. If you finish all the problems in that book, and get them all right, I’ll advocate for you to Emile, and argue that you don’t need to study anymore. Of course, that means you have to continue studying if you get even one wrong.”

“I can do that!” Roman exclaimed, opening the book and immediately starting to read.

Remy smiled and left the room, grabbing his phone and sending a text to Emile: Sarah called about a possible foster kid, call me when you can

He didn’t expect an immediate reply, but he got a call just seconds later. “Emile? Don’t you have a patient?”

“This is my free hour of the day which I use to work on insurance claims. This is a welcome distraction. You said something about another kid?” Emile prompted.

“Yeah. Apparently you’re a transgender boy’s father, and the poor kid was kicked out of his home over being trans. Sarah was willing to speed up the fostering process if we take the kid in,” Remy explained.

“Well, that’s a no-brainer. We’ll take him in,” Emile said. “That is, if you and Roman are okay with it?”

“Yeah, Roman’s good with it as long as he’s not in charge of child-rearing, and I’ve never actively wanted kids, but they’re not horrible beasts who I hate. It’s nice to be able to help them,” Remy said. “And I explained what transgender means to Roman, so hopefully the new kid won’t run away screaming.”

“Let’s hope so,” Emile said. “I have to finish these insurance claims, but tell Sarah that I’m in. We’ll help this kid.”

Remy smiled as Roman came over and held the first section of his book out for inspection. “Sounds perfect,” he said.

[huntertales]

Part One: Head Games. (Taxi Driver S08E19)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader respond to a call from a terrified Kevin who claims to hear Crowley’s voice in his head. Also with the good news that he’s discovered the second trial from the tablet—rescue an innocent soul from hell. The reader has to team up with a reaper named Ajay to complete the task, meanwhile the boys get a visit from the angel Naomi. But when things go awry, Dean must find Benny and ask him for a huge favor. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 7,773.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Five months into your pregnancy and your third visit to the doctor's office still made you nervous about these kind of things. You sat in the waiting room trying to occupy your racing mind with an outdated parent magazine, reading up on some article that told you the benefits of feeding your child all organic diet. Right now your main concern wasn't about the dangers of too much processed foods high in fats and sugars. Your mind was occupied with the things Cas said to you about how your body was handling itself after you completed the first trial. It was damaged in ways that even he couldn’t heal. The angel who could heal people from illnesses and make bleeding wounds back to normal with a simple touch. You were broken beyond repair.

The first red flag you saw came a few days after completing the first trial. You and the boys took a case right after you accomplished the task, and while the boys would have been happier to see you resting up, you insisted that you were fine. You were a more tired than usual, but nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix. At least that's what you thought. It was on the way back home to the bunker when you coughed up a few droplets of blood. Sure, it scared you at first. You brushed it off as a one time thing and didn't think about it. Until it happened again. And one more time that came when you had a coughing fit that you brushed off as a cold coming on. The bloody tissue Dean found in the trash can told a very different story.

It was hard to tell where the effects of the trials stopped and the symptoms of the pregnancy were making day to day life difficult. You were starting to feel even more changes to your body from things getting bigger and frequent trips to the bathroom. You heard of a thing called "pregnancy brain" that was hitting you harder than you expected. Not to mention the heartburn that made picking food to eat even harder with your fussy attitude. Some things you liked, and a simple whiff of another food you enjoyed last month made you sick to your stomach. When you were fixing yourself breakfast this morning you were excited to enjoy, it was quickly ruined at the sight of something red. You freaked yourself out when you realized you were having a bloody nose. Thankfully, the baby book you read told you it was a common symptom. 

While you had been trying to keep your worried thoughts to yourself, it seemed Dean picked up on the energy that was overwhelming you. He balanced a magazine on his knee and reached out his hand to intertwined his fingers with yours, giving the flesh a squeeze like he always did when you got nervous. Dean might have said he supported you with your decision, but he still wasn’t completely a hundred percent on board with you completing the trials in your conditions. It was his protective nature over you.He understood your motivations that drove you. Still, the things that Cas said made him scared as well. Not only for your health, but the baby's as well. You'd been complaining about some strange pain that came and went over the past week. Add it on to the list of symptoms he should worry about.

The both of you heard your name called by one of the nurses, breaking your concentration away from the same paragraph you'd been trying to read for the past few minutes. You and Dean made your way into the exam room to complete the same routine you were used to by now; check your blood pressure measure your bump and weight yourself to see how many pounds you put on this month. You handed over a simple of your urine as the usual routine of checking to make sure things were okay, this visit Dr. Miller needed a bit more from you to make sure the baby was in good health. While the both of you went over a list of symptoms you'd been having and what you were eating, you gave her your arm so she could draw a vile of blood from you.

"And what's this for again?" Dean asked what felt to be the millionth question during the visit. To say he was going to be an overbearing father was an understatement, he watched the nurse and Dr. Miller like a hawk while they worked together in doing the simplest of tasks they did dozens of times per day. You roll your eyes from how he watched everything unfold as the nurse sterilized your skin for the needle. 

"We check the urine and blood for any possible genetic disorders and if there's a chance Y/N developing preeclampsia. We want to make sure Mommy and baby are still healthy." Dr. Miller explained to the expecting father. "Next visit you'll be doing the dreaded glucose test. That's to check to make sure you're not at risk for diabetes."

You winced slightly at the prickling pain you felt when the needle was inserted into your skin, the nurse mumbled a sorry before continuing on filling the vile with some of your blood. Dr. Miller warned about how you might feel a bit more dizzier than normal. When that was done and your fluids were taken off for testing, now it was time to check the status of the baby. You had an ultrasound done a few times before to make sure everything was well with the progress and how the heartbeat was going with the baby. Dr. Miller wanted to do another one to make sure the baby was forming at a proper rate. Every time you got to see the grainy outline of the baby and hear their heartbeat, you felt the same kind of excitement. Like you were learning all over again.

Everything seemed to be going well from what the doctor told you; the baby was growing at a healthy rate, getting bigger with each passing week. You told her about the strange feelings and pain you were having over the past week and a half since getting into the fifth month. Dr. Miller said that it was a good sign. It was either trapped gas...or you were feeling the first movements of the baby, quickening as it was better known. The baby wasn’t strong enough yet to kick just yet, but they were able to do small things like yawn and suck their little thumbs. Which was the reason why you were having all those strange feelings. 

"Now, since you're far enough along and the baby seems to be cooperating with me today, I've got the news every parent bugs me. 'When can I find out the gender of the baby'?" Dr. Miller proposed a question you honestly hadn't even wondered about since you found out. You felt a little bit taken off guard with the possibility of knowing. "What do you say?"

"Oh. That honestly didn't really cross our minds." You admitted, feeling a little overwhelmed at the step in the pregnancy you hadn't thought too much about. You were so wrapped up in the trials you forgot you were getting closer at figuring the gender of the baby. If you were carrying a little boy or girl. A part of you want it kept a secret. "I mean, I don't know..."

You looked over at Dean when you realized you might be able to find out the gender of the baby today. Learning about this was much his choice as it was yours. You weren't going to pressure him into siding with your decision. Dean felt a little bit thrown on the spot from the pressure he suddenly felt. It felt a little cliche to say that he didn't care. Long as the baby remained okay though all of this, he was perfectly content with not knowing until the doctor announced it to the both of you after she delivered a healthy baby. He wasn't the father who was secretly praying for a little boy. And having a daughter wasn't going to change anything either. He was going to love and protect them the way he never was.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, giving you his honest answer. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

"I..." You let out a sigh from what your gut was telling you to do, despite how most would jump at the opportunity to know what they were carrying. "I don't want to know. Whatever they turn out to be, we'll be happy. Long as they’re healthy.”

“Interesting. Most parents want to know the gender of the baby so they can start going crazy on decorating the nursery.” Dr. Miller said. She grabbed a box of tissues and handed them over to you to clean off the sticky substance from your stomach after completing the ultrasound. “Not to mention the baby clothes they’re gonna grow out of in the blink of an eye.” 

"Oh, don't get me started on all of that. I've been looking u themes for the nursery. I'm stuck between so many different ideas and color pallets. Not to mention all the things that I've been saving." You said. You always find yourself unable to ramble on about the simplest of things when it came to getting ready for the baby. From the endless list of things you needed to get, to figuring out which room you were going to transform into the baby's room. Because for a moment you forgot about the trials and your health. It was a chance for you to focus on the future. Dean found the excitement that crossed your face whenever you talked about the baby adorable. He loved how your face lit up, how you were anticipating this new family member despite all of what you've been going through. "Of course before I know it they're gonna be here." 

“About twenty-two weeks if I'm correct. So we're almost halfway there. Either way, the baby’s looking good.” Dr. Miller reassured you once again the things you had been stressing yourself about lately. You felt yourself let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll call you about your tests results when they get back in. You shouldn't worry too much. And with that, I’ll see you three next month.”

You grabbed your second grainy ultrasound picture of the baby and went on your way with Dean to the front desk to make your next possible appointment with the doctor. You understood what Cas had said about you and how the trials were taking a toll on your body, the point of no return. But the consequences weren’t clicking in your head just yet. As you walked to the desk to make your next appointment, you looked down at the picture of your growing baby, a small smile spreading across your lips at the sight of them. If they were okay, then you saw no purpose of stopping. After all, the reason why you were doing the trials was for them. To give them a better future you never had. And to give the boys a taste of the normal life they always wanted.

+ + +

The name Dean Winchester struck fear in the hearts of many; he made a reputation for himself over the decade as someone who hunted down monsters and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Seek revenge on those who wronged him. He spent a year in purgatory fighting and slaughtering his way into freedom. You could see that it messed him up psychologically pretty badly, it took him a while to adjust himself back to civilized life. And while he wasn't the type of person who liked to show his emotions, preferring to put up a wall ...the man you saw right now was the complete opposite of those things.

You felt another involuntary giggle escape your mouth when you felt Dean’s breath tickled the sensitive part of your stomach while he talked to the baby. You sat upright on the bed with your shirt bunched up to your waist and Dean lying down so he was at level with your bump. You’d been feeling all sorts of strange feelings and pains the past week, while you were presuming it was just another symptom of the pregnancy, you learned that it was the very first movements of the baby. Flutters and quickening as Dr. Miller called it. You were starting to distinguish the different movements that possibly meant your baby was fussing around. And Dean was trying to somehow feel any sort of activity when you complained.

“Hey, kid. How you hanging in there?” Dean made it a habit of talking to your baby bump every chance he could get, despite telling him that it was going to be a while until they could hear him. He didn’t care. Dean took every opportunity to just let himself be near his child. It was strange at how different he turned into whenever the both of you talked about the baby. He got softer. And happy. It was the complete opposite of him that you saw on a daily basis. “You good? ‘Cause Mommy keeps telling me and your Uncle Sammy you’re not making her feel so happy.“ 

"Well, how would you feel if your body was growing and you had heartburn almost all the time? Not to mention the gas. And the stretch marks." You complained of the many symptoms you had been dealing with over the past few weeks while your index finger traced the faint line in the middle of your stomach. "Mommy just wants a break."

You knew that wasn't going to happen any time soon, and you really didn't mind the things your body was going through. You complained in the same breath that you were starting to get hungry, which lead you to the challenge of trying to figure out what you wanted to eat. Something that your stomach and overly sensitive nose could agree on. While you shot down every option Dean gave, you felt a slight pain suddenly appear. You placed your hand down to see what it was, Dean quickly placed his on top of yours to see if he could feel anything. You rolled your eyes when he shifted his head upwards. You were starting to grow annoyed, and things only got worse when you saw the bedroom door swing open.

“Hey…what are you guys doing?” Sam walked into the sight of his brother lying with his head on your stomach, ear pressed against it as if he was trying to listen to something. You told him about how you were starting to feel possible movements from the baby and Dean was attempting to experience it for himself. “Okay, well, that's great and all. But we gotta go. Kevin just called me. He needs to see us. It sounded pretty serious."

"Did he finally translate the second trial?" You asked, hoping for any kind of progress when it came to closing the gates of hell. 

"I don't know." Sam said. "He wouldn't tell me." 

"It better be freaking important." You grumbled in annoyance from having to leave the bunker and check up on the kid. What was so important he couldn't tell you over the phone was beyond you. Right as you were about to push Dean off of you and get ready for the overnight trip, you felt yourself stop when you figured out the pain in your stomach. "Yeah...now, that was gas."

Dean already figured out what it was before you announced it, making him sit up in bed and get started on packing a bag. You smiled to yourself and pulled down your shirt, knowing there was some things you couldn't control. People say pregnancy is a beautiful thing. But nobody tells you about the downsides of creating a new human life. Four months to go until you got control of your body back. And this little bundle of joy would be in your arms.

+ + + 

The next morning you and the boys arrived at Garth's houseboat you had been to a few times before for the occasional welfare check up and when Kevin made progress on the tablet. You were hoping that was the reason why he called you here. But you weren't so sure. Kevin didn't look so good the last time you saw him. Sam said he sounded frantic and needed all of you. You let out a sigh and crossed your arms over your chest when Dean called out the prophet's name, waiting a second to hear any sort of movement to detect the kid was still alive. When he didn't answer, Dean slapped his palm against the rusting metal door to announce your arrival. All of you waited for Kevin to answer, but the boat remained silent.

Dean tried one more time to get the kid’s attention and lucky for you, the heavy metal door swung open a few seconds later to reveal Kevin. While you were happy to see that he was still alive, his mental state wasn’t doing as well from the looks of him. You winced slightly at the sight of Kevin looking like he hadn’t slept well in days. Dark circles underneath his eyes and an unshaven face, not to mention the iron skillet he had in his hand like a weapon. Before any of you could come inside, Kevin peeked his head out to check and make sure it was just the three of you before allowing you to step into his home away from home. 

“Geez.” Dean muttered underneath his breath after taking a good look at the kid. You stepped inside the boat after him, watching where you were going before you could trip. “What’s going on? What’s with the S.O.S.?”

“It’s him.” Kevin said. 

“It’s who?” Sam asked, wondering who the kid was talking about. 

"Crowley." Kevin said. The mention of the king of hell threw you through a loop, wondering what he had to do with anything. Kevin and Crowley hadn't seen one another in months, ever since you rescued him from the demon's clutches after he attempted to make Kevin read the tablet. But it seemed the prophet believed otherwise. "He's in my head."

"He's...in your head." You repeated after him, sounding not all that convinced what the prophet was saying was all that true.

“Do you know what that means?” Kevin questioned all of you when you weren’t taking the situation serious as he was. 

"Yeah, it means we need to up your anxiety meds. Kevin, you're dreaming.” Dean tried to somehow reassure the prophet all of his worries were all side effects from the months spent locked up in here without anything else to do but translate a tablet. Kevin knew the king of hell would do anything to get his hands on, which was probably why the kid was going crazy. “Look, if Crowley knew where you were, he'd do a hell of a lot more than mess with your head."

Sam looked around the place to see if there was any sign of the hunter who was supposed to be checking up on him frequently. Isolation and little human contact could mess with anyone’s mind. It seemed that Kevin had been alone for a while. "All right, where's Garth?"

"On a case or—or the dentist. I don't know." Kevin said. "I haven't heard from him."

“Okay, well, what did you want to tell us that you couldn’t say on the phone?” Dean asked. He found himself momentarily distracted by the iron skillet that Kevin was still holding, who was on edge already. Probably ready to attack anything that moved a little too fast. Since all of you were here, Dean figured the kid wouldn’t need it anymore. "Would you put the frying pan down, please?"

Kevin didn’t realize he was still holding it until the older Winchester mentioned it. He put it down on the stove he was standing next to you before getting to the reason why he wanted you here in person. "I translated the second trial from the tablet."

"You...crazy prophet, you. Nice work!" Dean complimented the prophet at hearing the news you were hoping for. You felt your lips stretch into a smile at the progress he made. 

"And if Crowley's in my head, he knows.” Kevin nearly shouted from the paranoia overcoming him once again. You rolled your eyes in annoyance from how he was getting himself worked up.

"Relax, kid. He's not in your head. And if he is, how is he gonna get you? This place is warded against demons. You're safe. I promise you. Besides, I know a little something about dicks trying to mess with your head. It's all cheap tricks.” You tried to reassure him that he was under no real danger. “Now, we know you’re under distress, but you gotta stay with us. All right? Can you tell me what the second trial is?”

"An innocent soul has to be rescued from hell and delivered unto heaven." Kevin told you the next step, which sounded like gibberish to you at first. You blinked and made a slightly confused expression, trying to figure out if what you just heard was exactly as you thought it was going to be. "'Unto.' That's how God talks."

"Rescue a soul from hell? Like actually...go to hell? Great. Like two other times wasn't good enough. Let's go for a third time. Bet it's real nice this time of year." You felt yourself starting to slightly panic at the next obstacle you were going to have to face. Not to mention, the real kicker that left you scratching your brain as to what God meant by his riddle. "How do you get a soul unto heaven? I mean, how do you even get a soul out of hell?"

"We're gonna need an expert." Dean said.

+ + + 

Where does someone go when you need intel on the ins and outs of hell? Go straight to the source. It had been a very long time since you visited a crossroad, but you remembered everything you needed to summon a demon. Sam was the one who buried the tin box and covered it up with dirt. You weren't sure if this was going to work at all if they knew who was ringing the bell to get their attention. You were pretty sure Crowley blacklisted yours and the Winchesters' names from doing business with his demons. Good thing you weren't here to sell your soul. And there was dumb enough of a schmuck to at least greet the three of you.

“Y/N and the Winchesters.” You turned around at the sound of someone's voice from behind you, making you turn around to see someone took the bait. It was a crossroads demon from the looks of it when he blinked, showing off his red eyes you saw a few times before. Like you were the least bit intimidated by him. 

“What happened to all the hot chicks?” Dean asked. 

The demon scoffed, not finding Dean's joke the least bit funny. "I'm out of here."

You felt your lips stretch into a smirk when the demon attempted to do his famous vanishing act before he was pulled into one of your plans that would most likely end up with him dead. However, thanks to the devil’s trap Sam spray painted across the street, the demon wasn’t going anywhere. “What’s the rush? The party’s just getting started.”

You and the boys changed the scenery when you got what you needed, dragging the demon into an abandoned warehouse and underneath another devil's trap to keep him in place. You handcuffed him to a chair to make sure he wouldn't do anything stupid by throwing punches to defend himself. You asked him about getting into hell, the demon thought it would be funny to respond to you in a colorful way. You responded back with your own witty way by throwing holy water in his face. He could scream and groan in pain all he wanted, there was no one to rescue him. The four of you were far away from civilization to have a private conversation. 

Holy water felt like acid to his kind. When you were still a half demon and getting worse towards the end, you felt the effects and how badly it burned against your skin. Luckily it didn't hurt the poor soul in the body the demon was in. Chances were the person along for the ride was long gone. Which meant if he kept mouthing off and giving you the answers you didn’t want to hear, you weren’t scared to give him a few scars with the knife that killed his kind. 

“I ain’t got nothing.”

“Hmm. I think you’re lying.” 

The demon thought the best response to your accusation was "bite me" in a bitter sounding tone. You shook your head in disapproval, as if telling him that was the wrong answer. You looked up at Dean, who stood behind him with his own flask of holy water ready for any cue to continue on with the punishment if the demon didn’t cooperate. 

“Well, then how about another owie?” Dean suggested.

The oldest Winchester poured a small amount over the demon's head, making him groan in pain from the continuation of the punishment as his skin burned from the effects of the holy water. No amount of it was going to make him break. "You know,” Sam tried to sweet talk the demon into talking if he wanted the torture to stop. “wouldn't it be a lot easier just to tell us how to enter hell uninvited?"

“It’s a secret.” The demon told you.

“We promise we won’t tell anyone.” You reassured him the secret would be kept close between all of you. When the demon remained silent for longer than you wanted, you let out a sigh and started to twist off the top to the flask. "This is foreplay compared to what I really want to do—” 

"No! Wait. I can't. It's forbidden. They're gonna kill me." The demon tried to somehow pull the sympathy card on all of you, as if what you were doing to do to him was a walk in the park. You didn't fall for the trick, pouring another small amount of holy water over his head to make him talk. He knew your reputation and what you were capable of. "All right, look...for a price, y'all can be smuggled across hell's border."

“By who?” You asked. 

“Rogue reapers.” The demon said, giving you all the information you needed to hear. “They got secret ways, in and out. Not just hell—the veil, heaven.”

“Rogue reapers smuggling people?” Sam repeated what he’d just hear, all of it sounded absurd. It was the truth. They worked with people and souls to get them where they wanted to go. “So, what? They’re like hell coyotes?”

You didn't know why you were so surprised at hearing there was something like this going on underneath your noses. You learned something new everyday about the supernatural. "Now kill me. Come on, man." The demon pleaded for some kind of mercy. "Better death than Crowley."

"Hmm. Good point." You said. You had a feeling the king of hell had a few tricks up his sleeve to torture the poor demons under his control. However you weren't going to let him go just yet, you were just getting started. "But first you're gonna tell us...well, everything." 

+ + +

The demon confessed and told you all what you needed to know about how a person could sneak into hell without the king figuring out. There was a reaper not too far who did business under the table for some extra favors, he was in the city posing as an off duty cab driver. He was your ticket into going to hell without the red tape restricting you from completing the next trial. The demon said he was always parked at the same street corner, waiting for those who wanted a different kind of ride.

You stepped out of the Impala when Dean parked against the sidewalk after driving into town a little after night fell. You managed to avoid a puddle from the storm that was brewing outside, another crack of thunder could be heard over the passing cars and city life. You spotted a yellow taxi cab just across the way, a man enjoying the slow night by reading up on current affairs. You and the boys made your way across the street and approached the man, breaking away his concentration from the newspaper he was reading for a business opportunity. 

 "Ajay." You called out the reaper's name, heading forward to him. "We need to talk to you for a second."

“You know my name.” He said, seeming surprised at how you got knowledge of it. 

“And what you do.” You added even more things you knew about him. Before he could get into his cab and run for the hills, you showed him good faith when you told him the reason why you were here in the first place. “We want to do business.” 

"But you are mortal—flesh and blood." Ajay said. The look on his face seemed as if being human was going to make this even harder, like you were doing this just for kicks. The demon told you others had done it before. You proposed the idea of the three of you sneaking into hell with a visitor's pass What you were asking of made the reaper scratch his head in confusion as to why you even wanted to go there in the first place. "No one wants to get into hell." 

“But could a coyote like you do it?” Sam questioned the reaper for a straight answer.

“It’s possible.” Ajay admitted. However everything comes with a price with these sorts of things, moving humans to the underworld to retrieve a soul wasn't going to come cheap. “But I have special skills. I have overhead. It will be pricey.” 

“How pricey?” Dean asked, willing to pay any amount to get where he needed to go.

“You three are resourceful.” Ajay told you his payment. “One day, you will owe me a favor." 

“You say that like you know us.” Sam said. 

“Of course. You’re Y/N Y/L/N and the Winchesters brothers." Ajay said. You furrowed your brow slightly, not remembering in your many dances with deaths of meeting him before. But it seemed all of you had a common friend. "I am the reaper who took Bobby Singer to hell." 

"Bobby in hell?" Sam scoffed at hearing the information that sounded impossible. There was no way Bobby slipped through the cracks and landed himself a ticket downstairs. "We burned his bones. Once we did that, it was over. End of story." 

"Not necessarily." Ajay said. 

"No, no, no, 'cause, see, Bobby was on the good side of things, and good guys go to the penthouse." Dean said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, his index finger pointed upwards to the night sky to prove his point. 

"Usually, mostly. Depends on who you know, what palms get greased." Ajay said. You would have never expected reapers would screw up their job to let a certain demon get his way. Which means you found out your soul that needed to be freed from hell. "If you're on the king of hell's no-fly list, no way you cruise the friendly skies."

"Crowley." Dean muttered the demon's name. The older Winchester saw it was just details at this point, the king of hell hated your guts already. What's another chance at screwing him over by sneaking yourselves in there and retrieving a soul that didn't belong to him. "Okay, let's do this. How much for three tickets down and three back?"

It would have been an ideal situation for the boys to join you on this unwanted trip to hell, but you knew the details of this meant only one person could have a round class ticket. You nodded your head for them to step off to the side for the three of you to have a private conversation. Dean gave you a confused look as to your sudden heistance. He could fight you on this all you wanted, but you were too far in to let go. There was no "We" in closing the gates of hell. The sooner they learn that, the sooner you could spring Bobby free and bring him where he deserved.

“What the hell are you thinking?” You whispered to him. 

“You heard the guy—Bobby’s in hell.” Dean told you. “We’re gonna spring him.” 

“We’ve gone over this, Dean.” You reminded him. “I have to do the trials solo.”   

“This is Bobby we’re talking about, Y/N. Now let’s face it—you have not exactly been up to full speed lately, okay? And you've got extra cargo you're carrying around. We can't risk anything going south." Dean said. You rolled your eyes in frustration at how he still doubted your skills of keeping yourself safe. "We got one shot at this. We can't miss." 

“I’m not gonna miss. I'll bring him back." You promised the boys for the safe return of the man all of you cared for deeply. You wanted the old man in heaven much as they wanted. To prove you were serious about this, you opened up your jacket to reveal the demon killing knife you carried in the waistband of your jeans. You've been to hell, you were prepared for whatever and whoever tried to come in your way from springing Bobby free. You walked forward to Ajay, booking your ticket to downstairs once more. "I'm in, just me." 

"Follow me." Ajay instructed.

"Wait." Dean stopped the reaper from taking a step and leading you to the path to hell before learning about the mechanics behind it. "How does this...work?"

"Not to fret. She'll be back in exactly twenty-four hours time." Ajay explained. "Return for her then."

You felt a little pressured at the timeframe you were given, but you didn't want to spend any more time than you had while in hell. You could see the resistance on the boys' faces at the journey you were going into alone. You reassured them that everything was going to be okay. You gave both of them a smile before you followed behind Ajay down an alley that looked sketchy enough as it was. Dean checked his watch and set a timer, counting down the hours until you were returned back safe and sound. Along with the soul of Bobby. 

You and Ajay continued to make your way through the alley and a metal fence door that lead you to a dead end. You looked around the walls to see that almost every inch of the place was covered in all sorts of graffiti. But you didn't have much time to examine before Ajay instructed you to do something that you weren't expecting to do. He told you to take his hand. You did as you were told, not without making a remark about how creepy all of this was. If you wanted to go to hell, this was how you did it. 

You weren't sure how a reaper snuck a human into hell; maybe there was a secret passage you were supposed to take. Perhaps chant a few words before you were at your destination. However that wasn't the case. You noticed the graffiti on the walls began to almost appear like it was liquify off the bricks, making you feel as if you were suddenly taking an acid trip. However you suddenly felt a blinding white light appear out of nowhere taking you off guard, bringing you and Ajay to the path of your destination. You didn't think it was going to be that easy to sneak yourself into hell, these kind of things never was.

Hell was a place you would never forget. Not even after all these years from being away from there. It was worse than your nightmares, and no amount of torture could even touch what you went through down there. You would remember if you were there. You were standing in the middle of what appeared to be a forest, too pleasant for it to be pit. You thought for a second Ajay made a wrong turn. Maybe you were in another part of the country. Looks could be deceiving to the human eye. You’d find out soon enough you weren’t on earth anymore. 

“Downstairs looks a lot different from last I remembered.” You said. “This can’t be hell.” 

“That’s because it isn’t.” Ajay said. “This is purgatory.” 

"What do you mean this is purgatory?" You questioned the reaper. You suddenly felt your heart drop into your stomach at the trouble you just landed yourself into. You remembered all the horror stories Dean told you about, what little he admitted about the time he spent here. Endless miles crawling with every flavor of monsters you hunted. You were beyond pissed off, and you made your dissatisfaction be known in your tone of voice. "This isn't what I paid for. I booked the hell tour."

“Whoa, whoa, Y/L/N, detach.” 

“The only thing I’m going to be detaching is your head from your neck.” 

"This is hell-adjacent. Been down this highway many times before. Follow the stream to where three trees meet as one. Where they meet, there are rocks. Between the rocks is a portal." Ajay explained the steps you needed to take in order to get to your destination. You felt he should have told you upfront, but you handle a little bit of walking. You asked him about the portal ad why it was so important. "A back door to hell. Trust me—it'll work.”

“Wait. So you’re not coming with me?” You asked him. 

"Don't be ridiculous. Smuggling a mortal across the border is risky enough. But gate-crashing a Y/L/N into hell seriously blows." Ajay chuckled at what you thought he was going to do for you. You gave him a dirty look at how he was leaving you high and dry, just to save the skin off his own back. "No. I'll be back in twenty-four hours, precisely. Be here."

You forced yourself to inhale a deep breath from the task you were about to do all on your own. Nobody to help you if you got ambushed by a group of monsters, no one to guide you through this endless miles of forest. You pulled out the demon knife from the waistband of your jeans, your fingers wrapped around the wooden handle to get a good grip on it. There was no point of waiting around, you began on your journey to find this portal before time ran out.

“It’s a good thing you bought that.” Ajay said. “It is not an easy place.” 

You survived four months that felt to be forty years in hell. You spent what felt like an eternity in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. You went up against every kind of monster crawling around here, chances were all of them were here...running around, lost. Trying to survive. Most of all, you killed a hellhound with your bare hands. Spending a little time tracking through purgatory seemed like it was going to be a challenge you were capable of going up against. At least, that's what you told yourself when you turned around to see Ajay was gone. 

You swallowed and looked around at the endless sight of trees all around you. It wasn't hard to feel the dread and confusion coming over you, not sure where the right place to go was. A fear that someone might be watching you from the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to kill you before you could kill them. Dean spent one year in this place and somehow survived. You could handle how many hours you needed to walk in order to find this portal and go to hell. Find Bobby and get the both of you the hell out of here. All under twenty-four hours. Yeah, this wasn’t going to be a problem. 

 + + +

The boys knew there wasn't much else they could do for the next twenty-something hours while you were completing the second trial on your own. All they could do was check up on Kevin and keep an eye on him before he could push himself into a mental breakdown. Dean wanted to be with you every step of the way, Sam's mind wandered to everything that could go wrong. The thought of you being in hell while five months pregnant and physically weaker because of the first trial made both of them nervous about the chances at things might go south. But you always defied expectations. You were going to be okay. 

"You, Kev, it's us!" Dean called out to the prophet who was around here somewhere when the boys arrived back at the boathouse with some early lunch they picked up on the way back. The both of them headed deeper inside to see that it was more quiet than usual. "Kevin!"

Sam looked around the place to see if he could find any trace of where the kid ended up. He thought Kevin might have taken a nap to help rest his troubled head while they were gone or took some time to shower. However he was in none of those spots when the door to a small storage room opened up, revealing Kevin. "I believe the closet would be the safest."

“Safe from what?” Sam slowly asked the kid. 

“Crowley. He’s in my head, guys. And if he’s in my head, he knows where I am!” Kevin shouted. Sam let out a quiet sigh from the paranoia about the king of hell tracking him down, Dean rolled his eyes and set the still warm food down on the table. “You know, we—we should move out. We’ll find another place.” 

"He's not in your head. It's okay, Kev. You need to relax." Sam tried to reassure the kid he was still safe on the houseboat. "When's the last time you ate? Have a burger or something. You'll feel better if you did." 

"Come on, don't lose it on us now, dude." Dean said. He grabbed a perfectly warm burger from the paper bag and handed it out for Kevin to grab it from his hand, the entire situation making him feel like he was trying to lure out a timid animal from hiding. It seemed to work, Kevin slowly stepped out of the closet and made his way forward. "There you go. That's it. Enjoy the burger while you still can. Y/N hates the smell of meat. She's been making us go vegetarian the past few months. Talk about torture." 

Kevin managed to give himself the courage to grab the food from the table, his stomach involentarly growling when he realized it had been a while since he had something to eat.  "Just tell me when this all ends, 'cause that's the only thing I want to hear." 

Sam understood the feeling of wanting to get out of this world and go back to the cushioned lifestyle he was used to. He kept himself quiet, focusing on his food, knowing deep down it was all just a dream. "No, like I told you before, this isn't going to end." Dean was the one who broke the news to the poor kid who wanted to hear different. "Look, man, other guys, they got it easy, you know? It's all backyard barbeques and...bowling teams, but the three of us? We got to carry a little extra weight." 

 Kevin shook his head and nibbled on his food, “I can’t take it.” 

The kid was being pushed to his breaking point of how much more he could handle this lifestyle before it pushed him over the edge. Kevin's appearance was enough to show the brothers he wasn't doing well. From translating the tablet to thinking the king of hell was messing with his head, all Kevin wanted to do was go back to his old life. He wanted his mom, he wanted to be at college studying and cramming like other people his age. He was sick and tired of being trapped on this houseboat translating the word of God with no reward for his hard work.

"Yes, you can. Hey, look at me." Dean said, getting Kevin's attention so he could have a pep talk he so desperately needed at this time. And, maybe, Dean was talking to himself as well. "Now, this whole thing sucks. I know. But you suck it up and push through because that's what we do. And when you get on board with that, the ride is a lot smoother. Now...french fry?”

Kevin grabbed the paper cup tray with the fries he was offered along with the drink, taking it all for himself. Along with something that Dean had been looking forward to on the way back here.  "I'm gonna be in my room. Let me know when there's a good day." 

If there was something Dean loved anything more in this world other than a good burger was a slice of pie. He picked up some from the fast food joint him and Sam stopped at for lunch. He'd been thinking about it for a while, considering every time he bought himself a slice you went and ate it on him, claiming the baby was making you crave it. Since you were gone and you hated the smell of any kind of meat, he decided to treat himself to both of his favorites. Only Kevin took the one thing he was really looking forward to.   

"That's my pie." Dean muttered to himself, hearing the slam shut behind Kevin.  

He had to admit he felt a little disappointed at his treat being taken away from him. But if the kid ate something and got out of this funk, Dean guessed it was worth it. He sank his teeth into the burger and continued on eating, wondering how you were doing. He looked down at his watch to see that four hours had already passed since all of you parted ways. Only twenty more to go before you were back home safe.

[Next Part]

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[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

Stamped Into Memory, Ch 5.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Campbell’s just trying to survive in the new world. He knows he can make it– it’s everyone else he’s worried about.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Slow Burn, Dubcon Kissing, Romantic Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, implied animal death, the dog lives, Antisocial Personality Disorder, ASPD, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 5835

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || CH3 || Ch 4 || AO3

The door was open when Campbell arrived home. He rushed in, adrenaline surging through him for a split second as he imagined all sorts of terrible things, but then he heard Elle's voice coming from the kitchen. Calm. Happy, even. Campbell slowed down, rounding the corner with curiosity instead of that ready-to-fight reaction.

Elle was sitting on the floor with the dog. Not just any dog, but that dog from the night Cassandra died. The dog looked at him with intense amber eyes as Elle ruffled his fur. "Let's get you all fixed up, okay?" "Hey," Campbell said as he came into the room. He tried to keep his tone casual, more for Elle's sake than the sake of the dog, but he couldn't help but stare back. "Who's this?" "Uhm, he's a stray. He showed up in our yard." "I've seen him around town." "Yeah, you mentioned hearing a dog that night, right?" "I did." Peeking up at him, Elle frowned. Campbell had tried hard to keep his expression blank, but either that had tipped her off, or he hadn't tried hard enough; she suddenly seemed nervous. "I don't think anybody's been looking after him. His paw is hurt. I was thinking, maybe..." She looked back at the dog. "I'm sorry, I know this is your house, and I should have asked before bringing him in." Campbell shook his head and went to the fridge to get some cold water. "No, it's okay. It's just strange he showed up here." "I can take him to someone else." "You don't have to do that, really." He knew how hard things had been on her lately, and that she still didn't have many people she was close to in town. The dog was just a dog, right? It's not like they were some omen of doom or anything. "Maybe it's good for you to have a friend around." "He seems like a really good dog. He's super sweet." "What are you gonna name him?" "He doesn't have a collar, but I mean, he kinda looks like a Charlie. Don't you think?" Elle leaned against Campbell as he came over and kissed her hair. "Is that silly?" "It's whatever you want. Hi, Charlie." He bent down and offered his hand to the dog. Charlie sniffed his fingers, then gave a tailwag. Campbell scritched the dog behind the ears, glancing at the dog's paw; it was bloodied, and definitely painful, like maybe another animal got a hold of it. Or, maybe, like Charlie had gotten tangled in something sharp. Poor thing. "Do you wanna be my dog?" Elle cooed at Charlie. "Let's get that paw fixed up." "Do you need help?" "Oh, maybe. I just wanted to wash him." The dog followed them upstairs and hopped into the tub, easy as pie. Campbell brought up the dishsoap and some towels; he'd have to go find Allie at dinner and see if she knew where they could get some pet supplies. Charlie held still while Elle washed him, and Campbell helped hold him still while Elle wrapped the dog's paw. "I've always wanted a dog," Elle sighed as she cooked some rice and frozen meat scraps to feed Charlie. The dog was laying at her feet. Cute. "Did you ever have any pets growing up?" Campbell winced at the memory of Oliver. "No. Sam had a bird, but I never had any pets of my own. Dogs are cool, though." "Mm. Looks like Charlie's being a good boy." "He is. I wonder where he came from, though. Cassandra told me everyone's pets were gone. It's kind of weird he's just... here." "Yeah, it is a little weird. Maybe someone will recognize him." "Maybe." Doubtfully. Campbell had never seen the dog before they'd arrived at West Ham 2.0, and when Campbell woke in the middle of the night, Charlie had his front paws on the windowsill. He was staring out the window and into the night, his body and tail stiff. A soft, low growl issues from his throat. When Campbell got up and went to the window, there was no one outside. No one that Campbell could see. A cold feeling went up Campbell's spine, and he never quite got back to sleep. His phone pinged softly around seven, a few hours after dawn. Elle was already gone for work, and Charlie was laying across his leg, grumbling as Campbell wiggled free. Campbell read the text on his phone over and over before getting up and throwing on pants. He tripped down the stairs and went into Harry's room, prodding him awake. "You need to get dressed." "Hnngh? Why?" "They're holding a meeting at the church. Greg Dewey was arrested for Cassandra's murder." Campbell felt the world spin slightly as Harry's expression immediately fell in shame. "You knew." "Since yesterday." "How did you know? How did Allie find out?" "Because he told me. Bragged about it." Harry sunk into his blankets as Campbell began to curse. "I went and told Kelly. She told Allie and the others." "And you didn't think I deserved to know this?" "Cam, I was worried that if I told you, you'd have gone and killed him yourself. I wanted to go to someone less homicidal." It was the truth. That didn't mean Campbell wanted to hear it. "Goddamn it." "Hey." Harry slipped out of bed and lightly curled his arms around Campbell as Campbell began to pace. "Hey. I'll go with you, okay? We'll meet Elle there. It's going to be okay." They shouldn't have been that close, but Campbell held still, slowing his breathing; Harry's scent, day old Axe deodorant and coffee, sapped away all the poison pooling on Campbell's tongue. This wasn't some threat he needed to attack. This was Harry. Fucked up Harry, who loved Campbell and was struggling with his own shit. Campbell sighed and pulled away, going back to his room to get ready. A quick text to Elle confirmed that she got the news, too, and would save them a seat. By the time they got there, though, the church was packed. Elle was sitting next to Helena. She gave Campbell a helpless look; Helena was talking to her about something, but there was definitely no room left anywhere else for three people. They were lucky enough to find a spot where he and Harry could sit together. Campbell put a hand lightly on Harry's hip, directing him to the small open spot; he quickly yanked his hand back when Harry shot him a questioning glance. Right. Little shit like that could start rumors. Not that anyone was looking at them. Allie stood at the front of the church, her face shuttered and her body drawn in on itself. Once it seemed like everyone was seated, she cleared her throat. A silence fell over the church. "Hey, everyone. I just... I'll keep it brief. I just wanna give you an update on everything. Uhm, everything that's happened." She glanced around the church, shifting her weight. Nervous. "There was an arrest this morning. Greg Dewey. We're keeping him in an undisclosed location for now, until we can figure out what happened, and if there was anyone else involved." The gathered mass erupted into chatter. Allie left the church fast, before Campbell could even try to speak to her. Not taking any questions, then. It wasn't any wonder. Even on her way out, people were clamoring for more information. Gossipers. Campbell rolled his eyes and went to find Elle; she headed back to work, and they headed back home to get ready for their own shifts. Grizz, luckily, managed to convince Luke and Clark to let Campbell into the store for dog food. It's not like anyone else was using it. Like Campbell had thought, the only dog in town was their strange new roommate. At least Charlie had stopped hovering at the window in the dead of night. It made it easier to live with him, and not suspect he was some sort of inter-dimensional being sent to destroy them all. Harry, on the other hand, was a wreck that night. After they'd come home from dinner and their work shift, when Elle was in the shower, he came begging for some of Campbell's stash. "I haven't asked you for anything in a long time," Harry reasoned. "Can't I just get something for tonight?" Campbell raised an eyebrow. "Because you've been trying to get clean, or because you've been working through your private hoard?" "You know I'm not clean. But I need something after all this shit with Dewey. Something stronger. I just... I just need to sleep." "You need to get off the drugs and onto something useful." "Look, we can have an intervention tomorrow, if that's what you want to do." "Ugh." Campbell went and fished out a decent sized does of a pill that would, or should, knock Harry out for a while. "Here. Go get some sleep." "Campbell, this is one pill. I might as well just go to the fucking pharmacy myself." Resting his chin on his hand, Campbell smiled the smile of a fox that had raided the henhouse. "I think you'll find the cupboards a little bare. Look. You need to sleep? This will help you sleep." "I know how much I need, this isn't enough." "It'll have to be." "Cam--" "We need to be smart," Campbell cut in. He could see that Harry was freaking out. He was starting to go into withdrawal, like Campbell knew he would, because the supplies wouldn't last forever no matter how careful people were. "Harry, you need to be smarter than this." Harry growled. "I'm not a fucking child." "Then don't act like one. This isn't going to fix what's going on up in your head, okay? Coke, all those painkillers, alcohol. It's a band aid. You need help." Taking the pill, Harry slumped his shoulders in defeat. "It's not like this is how I imagined my life going, you know. I was gonna do things. Be somebody." "Depression is a bitch." "I'm not depressed." Harry bit his lip when Campbell stared at him. "Well, I mean... I just assumed it was my own fault." "Because that's what all our champagne and caviar parents say to sweep shit under the rug, so they don't have to deal with it. Take your pill and go to bed. We'll figure something out in the morning." Harry hummed a little sound of agreement and shuffled off downstairs. Campbell flopped back on the bed, his head full of too many thoughts. How could he not have seen it in Dewey? Why did he do it? And now, he was back to worrying about Harry, along with everything else. How was he supposed to keep Harry from crashing? Elle came in soon after, with Charlie at her heels; she seemed distracted, but weren't they all? It had been a long, strange sort of day. Campbell was brushing his teeth while Elle tidied up her side of the bathroom. "Fuck, I can't believe that little shit had it in him. Can you? I mean I, I..." He trailed off for a moment and fluttered his hands in the air. It didn't make sense. "I didn't see it coming, out of all the people Harry had at that party." "Harry's party?" "Harry said some shit about Cassandra before prom at his party, and we gave a list of the suspects to Gordie, but nothing came of it until now." "Did he ever tell you what he said?" "I don't think he even knows what he said. Drunk fucking rambling. Maybe people will finally stop whispering and giving me those fucking 'you killed Cassandra' looks." "It's not like there's any evidence tying you to it now." Now. Campbell rinsed off his toothbrush and turned, trying to read the expression on Elle's face. She was brushing her hair and didn't seem aware of any sort of offense, but Campbell knew what he'd heard. "Do you still think I'm involved?" "No, of course not." "Are you sure?" "Why would I?" Elle looked over at him. "I just meant, in case anyone got suspicious. They can't possibly pin it on you." Campbell knew there was little point in pressing the matter. If Elle didn't believe him, why would she be sleeping with him? Or even living there still? At some point, paranoia was just that. Paranoia. He was just being jumpy because of the arrest. Once things were settled, maybe they could all just move on. But how would things even be settled? He went to sleep that night, imagining all the ways he would end that little bastard, if he could. Was Allie dreaming of the same things? The next morning, they all headed out to see the new work list. Elle, morning inventory check. Campbell, morning clean-up after breakfast. Harry, evening clean-up after dinner... again. They all sighed and headed out, Elle towards the stores and Campbell to the cafeteria, while Harry headed home. Campbell was used to working with Harry. If Harry was home alone, Campbell couldn't keep an eye on him-- not that Campbell ever stopped Harry from his bad habits, but Harry had been having a rougher time. What if he did something foolish, when no one was home to stop him? But Harry was alive when they got home that night, and the night after. The only ones who seemed to have done something foolish were Allie and her cronies; when everyone was called back to the church for Dewey's trial, the first thing Campbell noticed was that Dewey had been bruised up. Oh, that wouldn't go over well at all. Who had done it? Surely not Grizz. Probably not Luke. But Clark, who sat right behind Dewey and was practically breathing down his neck? Yeah, that guy was capable. Campbell wasn't upset. He was jealous. What he wouldn't give to be able to wrap his hands around that scrawny fucking neck and-- "Sorry I'm late," Harry mumbled as he slid into the booth behind Campbell and Elle. He leaned forward to whisper to them. "What's going on?" Elle shrugged. "You haven't missed much. We're just waiting for Allie." "Are you okay?" Campbell asked, turning to look at Harry. "Yeah, just a little slow this morning." Harry looked haggard, washed out, and his hands were shaking. But before Campbell could question him, a hush fell over the room. Allie was sitting at a table at the front of the room, and a group of people were sitting off to the side-- a jury, but who selected them? Through what process? Allie hadn't said anything about what was happening or how, not to him or anyone he knew. Gordie, of course, was on the prosecution's side. Helena was sitting next to Dewey. It all seemed so contrived. Like some sort of play. Either they had enough evidence or they didn't. Pretending to be a fair, balanced court was laughable. Courts weren't even fair and balanced in the real world, with trained adults. Allie offered a sort of smile, but it wasn't comforting in any way. "A week before my sister died, uhm, I was complaining about how wild it was that we had to take care of everything. You know, everything was our decision. And she was like, really? Alexander the Great conquered the whole world when he was our age." She sniffled. "Which was kind of annoying of her." Campbell couldn't help but sneer. Of course. Had to have one last dig, right? "Well," Allie continued, "we own it all now. The good and the bad." And that much was the truth. Campbell leaned back in the pew as Gordie presented his evidence-- the bullets they pulled from Cassandra's body, and the gun they had found in Dewey's possession. The gun used the same bullets. Helena threw some bullshit at Gordie-- oh, but could they be sure it was the same gun-- but Gordie held his ground. The jury passed the bullets around among them, murmuring things Campbell couldn't hear. "Another thing," Helena said as she went to sit back down. "Dewey has bruises all over him." Dewey whined before Allie could reply. "Yeah, they fucking beat me." The crowd began to buzz, and Allie raised her voice to drown them all out. "We had a problem guarding him. It won't happen again." "You arrest him, you beat him up." "It's not relevant." Helena raised her eyebrows. The noise of the crowd increased, becoming angry; Campbell could hear some teens whispering questioning remarks. Wrong move, Allie, and Helena could tell. "It's not relevant how the people in charge of this prosecution behaved?" "It was a mistake. It has nothing to do with whether he's guilty or not." Allie's tone went steely. "Move on." Glancing around the church, Helena shrugged. "We'd like to call Harry Bingham to the stand," she called out. Harry inhaled sharply behind Campbell, but stood and headed up to the front of the room without prompting. He'd barely sat down in the empty chair provided when Helena launched into him. "According to witnesses, you said that Dewey confessed to you. Can you clarify?" "We were at the coffee shop, on break." Harry glanced at Campbell, who tipped his chin up just a little. Say it. "We were just talking, talking shit. Whatever. And he basically just came out and said it, that he killed her." Dewey jumped up from his chair. "You fucking asshole!" Helena paused as Clark and Allie began to shout at Dewey, who was eventually subdued and put back in his chair. Frowning, she turned back to Harry. "You were saying?" Harry looked down at his hands. "He had this creepy smile, like he was proud of himself. He said that someone had to show her who was boss, and that whoever did it was a hero." "Is that when he confessed?" "Basically, yeah." "Basically?" Helena asked, crossing her arms. "Yeah." "Did he actually say he'd killed her? In those exact words?" "Not those exact words, but that's what he fucking meant." "Why? Why would he tell you? Why would he confess to you?" For a long time, Harry didn't respond. He opened his mouth and closed it again, biting his lip and blinking fast. He looked guilty. There was no way around that. "He thought it'd make me happy." "Happy?" "That Cassandra was dead." "Why would he think that?" "Because we were rivals in high school. And because I was talking shit about her," Harry admitted, causing a ripple of hushed conversation to rise among the jury. Allie looked furious. "I know it was a dick move, but I was drunk and pissed off because Kelly had dumped me. I didn't mean it." Helena gestured to Harry as she stepped closer to the jury. "Let's be clear about this. Harry Bingham confessed that he made disparaging remarks about Cassandra Pressman, and that night, she was dead." Harry stood up. "Don't put this on me! Look, he told me that he got me the peace and quiet that I wanted, and that he deserved a thank you. I might be a piece of shit, but he's the killer." "Did anyone else hear this?" "No, but--" Helena cut Harry off. "So, it's your word against his. Someone with no history of violence, against someone who hated her." Shrugging, she returned to her seat next to Dewey. "Maybe you put the gun in his house. Maybe you set him up." "That's not what happened." "Maybe you're lying." "Yeah, because I look so much better right now," Harry scoffed. "I didn't want to do this, you know. I didn't want to be here. I came here because I wanted to try and do the right thing." After a few more questions, Harry was dismissed; he darted back to his seat, and when Allie allowed everyone to leave, he was one of the first people out the door. The walk home was quiet. Elle kept glancing between them, and Campbell knew she had something on her mind, but he was too tired to ask. If she couldn't be bothered to just ask, well, that was her problem. Campbell was more worried about Harry, who was shaking by the time they got home; he didn't talk for a long time, and he silently left to go to work, but he curled up next to Campbell on the sofa that night while Elle was taking Charlie for a walk. "You know I didn't do anything, right?" Campbell pursed his lips. "I know you didn't do anything to Cassandra, but it's not me you have to convince. I don't see how they could suspect anyone but Dewey, considering they have the actual goddamn gun." "If they try and pin this on me..." "I won't let them. I promise." Harry burrowed his face into one of the sofa pillows. "This is all so fucked up." He dragged himself off the sofa and slugged his way towards his room. "I'm gonna clean the kitchen and go to bed. Maybe things will be less shit in the morning." It was unlikely. Campbell kept his opinion to himself, though, and went to help. They worked in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts; Harry wandered off to take a shower once they were almost done, and Campbell stayed to sweep the floors. He'd just finished when Elle and the dog came home. Elle wiped off Charlie's paws, taking her shoes off at the door. "Getting in some stress relief?" "Yeah. Kinda worried about Helena and her bullshit interrogation." "I mean, she's a nice person. I'm sure she's just doing her job." "Really doubt her job is trying to pawn a murder off on my best friend," Campbell muttered. "The jury better not fall for that shit. Harry doesn't even like guns." Elle busied herself with Charlie, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you think they're gonna do? Once they decide who did it?" "I don't know. Lock them up, I guess. Either that, or kill them." "I'm going to take a bath," Elle said suddenly. She  came over and gave Campbell a quick kiss on the cheek. "Is it okay if Charlie's on the bed?" Campbell ruffled the fur on the dog's head. "Sure. I don't care about a little dog fur." Nodding, Elle grabbed Charlie's collar and took him upstairs with her. Campbell sighed, going back to cleaning the spots Harry had missed. Helena was the last person he expected Elle to befriend; Helena was smart, but religious, conservative, and more than a little judgmental. It seemed an odd choice. She also pointedly went after Harry. Was there something going on with Elle and Harry that he'd missed? Of course, Campbell had never told Elle about the kiss, because it had been a one time thing and Harry knew better than to try again. Was it wrong? Probably, but Campbell didn't want to cause worry over nothing, though... Did she somehow know? Was that why she seemed unconcerned about Helena's behavior? Campbell looked up from scrubbing the sink as Charlie trotted down the stairs and stopped at the back door. "Hey, boy. What's up? Didn't you just go out?" Charlie let out a long, low whine, staring at the doorknob. Campbell shrugged and went to the door. Maybe the dog had tanked up on too much water, or something. He slipped on his shoes, opened the door, and stepped out onto the porch. Charlie stood at his side, looking out into the woods. Campbell tensed as Charlie let out a growl. "Charlie? What is it?" Campbell asked. The dog bristled. Something in the air felt wrong. Cold. "Charlie? Hey, let's go back inside." But Charlie surged forward, taking off before Campbell could grab his collar. The dog charged into the woods, barking and snarling. Campbell grabbed a flashlight off the kitchen counter and went after Charlie; he wasn't going to let the dog face whatever was out there on his own. Campbell heard barking, but he didn't see Charlie anywhere in the thick trees. Fuck. He tried to follow the sound. He didn't call out Charlie's name. The dog wasn't going to mind him, and it'd just announce his presence. For some reason, that seemed like a bad, bad idea. A yelp came from up ahead, close by, and the barking stopped. Campbell jogged a few paces and swung his light around, but there was nothing. Campbell put his hand down on a large rock as he caught his breath. He yanked his hand back as he felt something hot, wet; the flashlight revealed a thick red liquid, and a lot of it. Blood. Campbell felt his stomach heave, but he didn't have time to process what was happening. He heard a twig snap up ahead, and something moved in the beam of the flashlight. Campbell bolted back towards the house, running fast enough that his lungs and legs felt like they were on fire. He didn't stop until he was inside, and had the doors and windows locked. He rubbed his hands on his pants without thinking, then cursed. He couldn't tell Elle about finding blood. She would be devastated. And besides, maybe Charlie had caught a rabbit, and it was the damn dog he'd heard moving out there in the trees. Campbell figured they could wait a couple days. If Charlie didn't show back up, then he could tell Elle about the blood. At least it'd give Charlie a chance to show back up. Upstairs, he stripped out of his clothes and shoved them a ways under his bed. He'd deal with that later. Campbell put on new clothes, sucking in slow breaths and trying to stop himself from thinking about it all too much. He went back downstairs, peering out the windows. Nothing, dog or otherwise. He sighed and turned on the hot water, squeezing soap on his hands and scrubbing the little bit of dried blood left on them. As much as he tried to forget about it, he kept replaying that yelp in his mind, and the shadow that had darted in front of the flashlight. What could it have been? A coyote? Wolf? Bear? Elle came down the stairs a few minutes later, just as Campbell had finished getting the blood off of his hands. "Where's Charlie? I can't find him anywhere." "I don't know." Campbell met her gaze. God, she was already worried. He had to give her some sort of truth. "I took him out because he was crying at the door, and he just took off into the woods." "What happened?" "It looked like he spotted a rabbit or something." "I need to go--" Campbell grabbed Elle by the shoulders as she began to reach for her jacket. "Hey, no. It's super dark out there right now, and we won't be able to see snakes or anything. I'll put some food out, see if that'll work. If not, I'll go look for him in the morning. He won't go far." Elle looked out the window and frowned. "Yeah, I guess you're right." "I'm sorry." Campbell kissed her hair. "I know how much you love Charlie. I'll see if I can get some people to come out to the woods with me and help me look." Neither of them slept well that night. Elle tossed and turned, and Campbell kept waking up at every little creak and groan of the house. Not because he was afraid-- he wasn't scared, so much as hyperaware of the reality that there could be other people or animals out there that they hadn't seen before. And if it was a person, well, no one ever hides in the woods for a good reason. Charlie wasn't back by morning. There wasn't any sign of him. Harry, Sam, and Grizz all agreed to help him look for the dog, but after a couple hours of combing the woods and calling for him, there was nothing. Campbell couldn't even find the area where there had been blood. It was like it had never even happened. The search was cut even shorter by a text buzzing all their phones. Allie, summoning the town to the church. The jury had apparently reached it's verdict already. "We could keep looking after," Sam offered. "Or even put up posters around town. Someone must know where he is." Campbell sighed. "Yeah. Thanks." Sam rested a hand on Campbell's back, and Campbell let him. It was a heavy day for them both, and Allie. Sam hadn't really offered his opinion of Dewey and the accusations against him, but then whey got to the church, Campbell could see the smallest spark of hatred in Sam's eyes. Campbell gave Sam's shoulder a little squeeze of encouragement, before they separated and went to sit with their own groups. Harry and Elle were already sitting, and he squeezed into the aisle seat next to them just as Allie began to speak. "Do you have a verdict?" she asked the jury. One of the girls nodded. "You want to...?" The girl stood, clasping her hands tightly in front of her and looking down on the ground. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Guilty. We find him guilty." A chorus of cheers went up through the church. Allie smiled, ever so briefly before she dropped the mask back down over her face. "Thank you to the jury for doing its job. Now it's up for me to decide his sentence." Allie stood. "It could take a while. Guards, will you take him back to his cell?" Clark grabbed Dewey, and they were dragging him off when Dewey began to shout. Allie held up her hand, stopping them. "Everyone, can you come back and sit? Dewey has something to say." Dewey was brought back, and he faced his audience. For a moment, he didn't say anything, but then he spat on the floor and grinned. "Cassandra was a fucking bitch. So is her sister and her black boyfriend that makes all the rules." People began to shout him down, but Dewey just yelled back louder. "So are all the women here. Fucking bitches who won't give us the time of day, who think we owe them everything? I killed Cassandra for everyone because she had it coming." Campbell began to stand. "Piece of fucking--" Harry grabbed Campbell's waist and tugged him back down, whispering. "Don't. Not like this." He glared at Dewey. "Even if the little fuckstain deserves it." Dewey must have heard, somehow, because his gaze landed directly on Harry. "On the night of prom, we were all at Harry's house, and he said he wished she was dead." "Fuck you!" Harry growled as the crowd turned to stare at them. "I told you all I said things I didn't mean. I was drunk, I barely remember what I said." Laughing, Dewey pointed at Harry. "You know what you did. Everyone there knows what you said." His grin sharpened as he turned his finger to Campbell. "And Campbell helped me plan it. He was there, he planned the whole thing." "What?" Campbell felt his blood drain from his face. He planned the whole thing. Surely no one would believe Dewey? But everyone was giving him that terrible look, that one that said I knew it. Campbell stood and this time, Harry didn't try to stop him when he began to move towards Dewey. "He's a fucking liar, and a murderer. I don't have to sit here and take this." Allie barked out an order. "Get back to your seat." Grizz stepped between him and the scumbag, his voice low. "Don't, Campbell." "Get the fuck out of my way." "Stand. Down." Campbell wanted to punch Grizz, but he kept his hands at his side, curled into fists but still. "Allie," he called out as he looked to his cousin. She knew how close they'd been. She must have known. "You know I didn't do it. I wouldn't have." "What do you want us to do?" Clark asked, suddenly behind Campbell. Allie looked Campbell up and down, her face completely blank. Empty. Campbell could read just about any face, but not this time. Her tone was just as distant. "Arrest him." Campbell gaped at Allie as the crowd erupted into jeers and hollered insults. They'd had their difference, but throwing him to the wolves? "You can't be serious." Allie just stared him down, silent as the guard grabbed him and began hauling him out of the church. He could hear Harry's voice in the crowd, protesting, and caught a brief glimpse of Elle-- pale, shocked-- before Allie's cronies dragged him out the doors. Campbell struggled at first, mostly from instinct, but then Grizz grasped his shoulder and leaned closer. "Settle down. We'll figure this out." And Campbell grit his teeth, forcing himself to relax. Grizz snapped something at Jason and Clark, who each had one of Campbell's arms; they eased their grip and stopped, giving Campbell time to get his feet under him and walk instead of being keelhauled like a traitorous sailor at sea. They headed towards a black SUV, and Jason shoved Campbell in the back between him and Grizz. Clark and Luke took the front seat. "I didn't do it," Campbell said to Grizz. "The little dickweed is setting me up." Grizz shook his head. "I know, but this is how it has to be until we can figure out what's going on. Just take it easy. Once we talk to Allie, we can get this cleared up." "She hates me, and you know it." "Yeah, but I don't. Sam doesn't. We can make a case." Campbell leaned his head back against the seat. Fuck. He took long, slow breaths as they drove to Allie's house; he didn't understand why they weren't using the cells in the police station on the outside of town, where the cop car they used for Fugitive came from, but he wouldn't ask. Best to not give them ideas. He didn't even complain when they tossed him in the upstairs bedroom, handcuffing him to the radiator. Patience, Cassandra's voice murmured in his mind. Patience. Grizz, more than anything, looked disturbed. He ran his hand through his hair and looked around the room, as if the answer would be there somewhere. "If you need anything, I'll be in the hall outside, okay?" "Yeah, whatever." The door clicked shut as Grizz left, and Campbell closed his eyes. He was innocent. There was no evidence tying him to anything. He'd had Cassandra's blood on his clothes from checking her pulse, but Elle had gotten rid of those. No one had seen him. He didn't have any guns of any sort, his prints weren't on anything. Campbell was many things, but he wasn't a murderer, and surely Allie would come to her senses and realize that. All he had to do was wait.

[strangerdarkerbetter]

What’re your favorite songs?

Ok! This is gonna be a bit long, lol. I tend to get really into a song or few for anywhere from a couple of days to a few weeks during which time I will play the song or songs obsessively (I don’t know if this is already a thing, but I call it samesonging)

So, my current songs are:

Waving Through a Window from the musical Dear Evan Hanson

Hunger - Florence and the Machine

Sky Full of Song - Florence and the Machine

First Burn - a reworking of Burn from Hamilton featuring six women who have played Eliza

Found Tonight - Lin Manuel Miranda and Ben Platt (it’s a mix of Story of Tonight from Hamilton and You Will Be Found from Dear Evan Hanson)

I have a few tattoos that incorporate song lyrics. The songs and lyrics are as follows:

Ever After - Marianas Trench

“I could be your perfect disaster, I could be your ever after” 

Porcelain - Marianas Trench*

“When your heart releases, you won’t fall to pieces”

“It’s alright to take time to find where you’ve been”

Shake It Out - Florence and the Machine

“It’s hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off”

“It’s always darkest before the dawn”

Let It Go - Frozen

“I’ll rise like the break of dawn”

“Let the storm rage on”

“It’s time to see what I can do, to test the limits and break through”

“Let it go”

Fighting for Nothing - Meg and Dia

(I changed up the lyrics a little for my tattoo. I start from where my tattoo starts which is about halfway through the song. The lines that have been striked through were not included in the tattoo. The final line in italics is my own addition which is a variation of lines from the song)

I’ve got my mouth: Its a weapon. Its a bombshell.Its a cannon. I’ve got my words.I won’t give them mercy. Mercy.But these things take time love.These things take backbone.And they’ll tell you what you want to hearCause they think its better. Better.But you better know how to point out the liars.You’ve got to weigh your wars make sureYou’re not fighting for nothing. Nothing.Are you fighting for nothing?I’ve got my words. I hope they hurt you.I hope they scar you. I hope they heal you.I hope they cut you open,Make you see you’ve been warringFor all the wrong reasons.Make you see that some things are worth bruising for.Make you see that your name is your honor code.Make you see that your hands you’re accounted for.Pick and choose where your sweat and your blood will go.Make you see your life’s not to be lived alone.Make sure you’re not fighting for nothing 

And, because I have way too many songs that I love to be able to leave it at this, the following are a selection of songs I’ve obsessed over at some point in time, all of which I still listen to in between bursts of samesonging. I’ve grouped the songs by artist and listed alphabetically by artist for convenience below the cut. 

(songs with asterisks next to them have trigger warnings listed at the end)

Anastacia featuring Ben Moody

Everything Burns

Bat for Lashes

Horse and I

Breaking Benjamin

Dance With The Devil

Cascada

Everytime We Touch

Dia Frampton

The Broken Ones

Homeless

Isabella

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-Long Blog (musical)

Brand New Day

My Eyes

Evanescence

Going Under

Good Enough

Lacrymosa

Sweet Sacrifice

Whisper

Fall Out Boy

Dance, Dance

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me

The Phoenix

Sugar, We’re Going Down

Flight Facilities

Crave You 

Florence and the Machine

(basically her whole discography, but I’ll list my favorites)

All This and Heaven Too

Delilah

Never Let Me Go

Ship To Wreck

Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

White Rabbit

Hamilton (musical)

Burn

Guns and Ships

Non-Stop

Satisfied

I Hate Kate

Embrace the Curse

Imogen Heap

Hide and Seek

Joseph 

Cloudline

Kerli

Tea Party

Korn

Coming Undone

Lily Allen

Fuck You

Lindsey Stirling

Roundtable Rival

Shatter Me (feat. Lzzy Hale)

Marianas Trench

(again, basically everything lol)

All To Myself

Astoria**

Beside You

Cross My Heart

Desperate Measures

Ever After

Fallout

Good To You

Masterpiece Theatre I, II, and III (three different songs)

No Place Like Home

Who Do You Love?

Mayday Parade

Black Cat

Jamie All Over

When I Get Home, You’re So Dead?

Meg and Dia

Black Wedding

Hug Me

Monster****

Nineteen Stars

Roses

Misterwives

Hurricane

Not Your Way

Oh Love

Out of Tune Piano

Reflections

Revolution

Riptide

My Chemical Romance

The Sharpest Lives

Teenagers

Welcome to the Black Parade

Next To Normal (musical)

I’ve Been

Make Up Your Mind/Catch Me I’m Falling***

Panic! at the Disco

The Ballad of Mona Lisa

Build God, Then We’ll Talk

Nearly Witches [Ever Since We Met...]

There’s A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought Of It Yet

Paramore

All We Know

crushcrushcrush

Emergency

Ignorance

The Proclaimers

I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)

PVRIS

Ghosts

Holy

Let Them In

Regina Spektor

Better

Samson

Relient K

Be My Escape

In Love With the 80s (Pink Tux to the Prom)

Sarah Bareilles

Eden

Fairytale

I Choose You

Let The Rain

Shiny Toy Guns

Frozen Oceans

Le Disko

Sia

Alive

Chandelier

Elastic Heart

Freeze You Out

Steven Universe (TV show)

Here Comes a Thought

It’s Over Isn’t It

Love Like You

Peace and Love on the Planet Earth

Stronger Than You

Tonight Alive

Bathwater

Reason To Sing

What Are You So Scared Of?

Train

50 Ways to Say Goodbye

The Used

The Bird and The Worm

Earthquake

I Caught Fire

Pretty Handsome Awkward

Take It Away

VersaEmerge

Lost Tree

Whisperer

A Very Potter Musical (fan musical)

Goin’ Back to Hogwarts 

Granger Danger

Not Alone

A Very Potter Sequel (fan musical)

The Coolest Girl

Harry Freakin’ Potter

Victorious (TV show)

Take a Hint

Walk the Moon

Shut Up and Dance

We The Kinds

Check Yes Juliet

Wicked (musical)

No Good Deed

Within Temptation

The Howling

What Have You Done Now?

Zedd

Clarity (feat Foxes)

Find You (ft Matthew Koma and Miriam Bryant)

Hourglass (ft LIZ)

10 Years

Through the Iris

3OH!3 feat Neon Hitch

Follow Me Down 

*Trigger warning: song is based on the singer’s experience with his own eating disorder

**Trigger warning: song deals, in part, with his time spent in a psychiatric hospital, includes a reference to a hospital. Also references: suicide, self harm, rough sex, alcohol use. Allusion to substance use. 

***Trigger Warning: song is between therapist and patient, deals with PTSD, amnesia, psychosis, death of a child

****Trigger Warning: song is about child abuse

[shepofships]

I was tagged in so many things! Thank you, @mactirian and @elvhenyoung! ♥ Answers under the cut. Not tagging anyone myself, but if you see this and want to do it — go ahead!

Five facts about a character Tagged by: @elvhenyoung. Rules: Pick one character and give us five facts about them! The facts can be anything really - from trivial to super duper important. Then tag others for them to play too!

I already answered this for my sweet autumn child Farele Lavellan, so now it's gonna be my canon Shepard, Marian!

Marian isn't that awfully bad dancer the game wants her to be. She doesn't know how to dance ~~properly~~, but she moves pretty much okay — or, at least, no worse than others.

Despite being natural brunette, Marian has light, but prominent freckles on her face, hips and shoulders. Small back, too.

Marian doesn't drink alcohol. There are exceptions, but most of the time she avoids it. Two reasons: 1) she gets drunk quickly; 2) she doesn't like both the smell and the taste.

She never dated aliens until Garrus. To be honest, her love and sex lives weren't exactly colorful.

Her dad's name is John and he looks just like default Sheploo (minus the doe-eyed look lol). The game never mentions him, but I always headcanoned he's alive during ME1 and ME2 events.

Character info Tagged by: @mactirian.

FARELE LAVELLAN

• Eyes: blue | green | brown | hazel | gray | gray-blue | other | *I’m picking both because the color of her eyes is something between these two; sort of yellowish green.

• Hair: blonde | sandy | brown | black | auburn | ginger | grey / white | multi-color | other | *with red undertones

• Body type: skinny | slender | slim | built | curvy | fit | athletic | muscular | chubby | overweight

• Skin: pale | light | fair | freckled | tan | olive | medium | dark | discolored

• Gender: male | female | trans | cis | agender | demigender | genderfluid | other | doesn’t like labels

• Sexuality: heterosexual | homosexual | bisexual | pansexual | asexual | demisexual | other | doesn’t like labels

• Species: human | undead | shapeshifter | demon | angel | witch | ghost | incubus / succubus | werewolf | alien | mutant | vampire | *She's an elf!

• Education: high school | college | university | master’s degree | Ph.D. | other

• I’ve been: in love | hurt | ill | mentally abused | bullied | physically abused | tortured | brainwashed | shot

• Positive traits: affectionate | adventurous | athletic | brave | careful | charming | confident | creative | clever | cunning | determined | forgiving | generous | honest | humorous | intelligent | loyal | modest | patient | selfless | polite | down-to-earth | diligent | romantic | moral | fun-loving | attractive | charismatic | calm

• Negative traits: aggressive | bossy | cynical | envious | shy | fearful | greedy | gullible | jealous | impatient | impulsive | cocky | reckless | insecure | irresponsible | mistrustful | paranoid | possessive | sarcastic | self conscious | selfish | swears | unstable | clumsy | rebellious | emotional | vengeful | anxious | self-sabotaging | moody | peevish | angry | pessimistic | slacker | thin skinned | overly dramatic | argumentative

• Living situation: lives alone | lives with parent(s) / guardian | lives with significant other | lives with friends | drifter | homeless | lives with children | depends on verse

• Parents/Guardian: mom | dad | adoptive | foster | grandmother | grandfather | *all of them are dead

• Sibling(s): sister | brother | only child | uncle | aunt

• Relationship: single | crushing | dating | engaged | married | separated | it’s complicated | depends on verse

• I have a(n): learning disorder | personality disorder | mental disorder | anxiety disorder | sleep disorder (RLS) | eating disorder | behavioural disorder | substance-related disorder | PTSD | mental disability | physical disability (if we’re talking about Inquisitor!Farele)

• Things I’ve done before: had alcohol | smoked | stolen (does looting counts?) | done drugs (elfroot yay!) | self-harmed (kind of, but not in the usual way) | had sex | had a threesome | had a one-night stand | gotten into a fist fight | gone to hospital | gone to jail | used a fake ID | played hooky | gone to a rave | killed someone | had someone try to kill them

10 songs shuffle Tagged by: @mactirian. Rule: We’re snooping on your playlist. Set your entire music library on shuffle and report the first 10 songs that come up. Then, tag 10 victims.

Inon Zur — Rogue Heart (Extended)

Amy Winehouse — Back to Black

The Cab — Angel With a Shotgun

Thomas Bergersen — Illusions

Placebo — Where Is My Mind?

Poets of the Fall — Carnival of Rust

Miracle of Sound — When the Wolves Cry Out

Coldplay — Cemeteries of London

The Neighbourhood — Female Robbery

Mylène Farmer — Derrière Les Fenêtres

10 songs I'm currently obsessed with Tagged by: @mactirian.

Archive — Bullets

DJ Hyper — Spoiler

Quiet Hollers — The Path

Of Monsters and Men — Dirty Paws

Of Monsters and Men — Slow Life

Florence + The Machine — Landscape

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds/Kylie Minogue — Where the Wild Roses Grow

Miracle of Sound — Upside Down

The Guild — Game On

Moby — Extreme Ways

[highyenas]

here’s my take on mania

tw: personal experiences with bipolar depression

overall, i like mania. bishops knife trick, wilson, and church are definitely some of my favourite songs they've made to date. tlotro too, the new has worn off of it but it's still a solid track, and i have emotional ties to it because of the interactions i had with not only pete, but patrick as well due to its existence (i've never cried so much in my life). so that's a pretty special track.

though, there are a few things about it that feel off or incomplete. or unnecessary.. ex: the llamas ,, please no more i can't stand them

the things i don't really like include "are you smelling that shit?", and how they chose the word "boost" for heaven's gate of all things - it sounds weird to me but i've gotten used to it, no big deal. i still can't get really into stay frosty, sadly.

some tracks feel incomplete or too repetitive, champion being the biggest contestant here. it's too generic, its meaning is too obvious, unlike most of their songs. i appreciate the idea it's conveying, though. it released at a time i was fighting with my mom and step family really badly so it helped me through that a lot, but it is still very generic and i can't really get past it.

then - young and menace. i just don't like this track. i remember listening to it as soon as it came out in awe but not in a good way. it didn't feel real. is that what i really heard? at the time of course, i grew to like it because i was just happy they were back making music. do i like it now? not really. - but if you look at the song from an artistic standpoint, as a audible presentation for manic depression, it works very well. i can appreciate the song in that light. my grandpa has bipolar disorder and i've been through at least 4 of his manic episodes - at one point he's as sweet as he can be - the next my aunt is fainting because of how terrified she is of him. the contrast between the soft verses vs the chorus (which i feel like could be shorter with more variation with each) represents it well. but do i think it should have been the leading single? of course not. so many people still have a bad taste in their mouth from it and can't look at mania well because of it. first impressions and all. i understand if they were excited (or rushed) to get something out but i feel like if they just waited until they made a song like tlotro, reviews on this album would be much more positive.

now i don't just have negative things to say about the album, but i feel like a good fan should critique what's given to them, not just take it in blindly and never question the methods, or never theorise on what could be done to improve it. but a fan should also appreciate the values it has within it too, "what makes it this album special?" "what makes this part unique?" "don't you just love how (band member) did this?" i'm sure they appreciate the feedback as well. nobody wants an audience of zombies who still say "thanks pete".

(also if you guys could not comment shit like that on sensitive or serious subjects it would be really great - people seriously commented "not bad joe" on joe's post about his mother's passing.)

track by track review  (excluding y&m and champion since i pretty much covered them)

* stay frosty royal milk tea 

this song left a bad taste in my mouth before i even heard it - im easily influenced by how people hype things and how every yeemo trinity kid was freaking out over the title really drove me away. - but the track itself isn't bad. it's very powering and has memorable, strong lyrics like "the only thing that's stopping me is me". the track feels like someone wanting to become great as they can possibly be but they are plagued with obstacles and downfalls - "the alcohol never lies", "some princes don't become kings", but they recover and keep trying. they're resisting failure. (allusion: it really reminds me of ling yao trying to seek immortality for his country in fmab, ahaha. it fits perfectly. "some princes don't become kings.") the track isn't bad at all, just not my cup of tea. i can really appreciate it.

* hold me tight or don't

i don't have much to say about this track, im not too big of a fan of latin themed music but it's a nice poppy song with lovesick lyrics that go deeper than usual pop love songs. i've grown to really enjoy it. to me it sounds like someone desperately holding onto a lost relationship and being pretty frustrated with how their significant other treats them, but they're so obsessed they don't want to leave. 

* wilson (expensive mistakes)

when i first heard this song on a live recording i fell absolutely in love, the music sounds nothing like i've ever heard before and it's truly captivating. and when i heard it live myself, oh wow. it was amazing. i've seen someone else say this, can't remember who, but they said they believed it was touching on how irrational people with manic/bipolar depression can be. once again, i have personal experience from my grandfather and i really do believe that's what they're trying to do. "i hate all my friends." this is sort of personal and i don't usually talk about mental illness, but this for me personally reminds me of how my grandpa nearly convinced my dad into touching an electrical unit that would have killed him. but when he's on his medication for his bipolar disorder, he loves my dad. i believe the same concept is used here, the narrator doesn't actually hate his friends, the disorder convinces him he does whenever it kicks in. also the secondary title (expensive mistakes). this could be referencing how people with bipolar disorder have a lot of trouble managing their money and often splurge. my grandpa went ahead and bought 2 grave sites for himself and my grandma during one of his episodes. it's not a nice thing to witness.

* church

this song immediately grabbed my intention as soon as i saw the title. i love the music and choir in this song so much, butch's (their producer) bass line is very nice and i love listening for it. also i adore the "if death is the last appointment then we're all just sitting in the waiting room" part. it's a little repetitive but not in a generic way like champion, it has a lot of other things going along in it. - i'm not religious whatsoever but i love religious imagery - it's so fascinating and it's very easy to manipulate it into something twisted. i feel like church is simply referencing how people do absolutely absurd things for their faith and the narrator is willing to do all of those things for their significant other. they are holy. a deity. - or maybe it's just about sucking dick. 

* heaven's gate

when i saw the title track for this song i was hoping we were gonna get some more cult related lyrics. unfortunately not really, but there is a couple that may be referencing it.  "out of my body, and flying above." the heaven's gate cult believed that the body was merely a vehicle your being, (i don't know if they used the word "soul") would essentially leave and enter the next stage in existence, away from earth, possibly on an aircraft, reunited with god. the other one is "go in the world and start over again and again, as many times as you can" the cult believed that god came as a human on earth to warn those of when the world would be recycled, or, restarted. once as jesus, the second as applewhite. a little farfetched, but it's something to consider. - it could also just mean you keep trying to keep your faith but you just don't make the cut for heaven, hinted at in the following lines after it. overall i really enjoyed this song, "boost", like i said, took a little getting used to but it's alright. i really love the music and the bridge is amazing. it's nice to see them incorporate other genres.

* sunshine riptide

this song immediately became my favourite when i heard the previews  - i absolutely love the reggae and i think burna boy did an excellent job. he really spices up the track. this song sounds really pleasant but it's got some of the deeper lyrics on the album in it, blatantly talking about pills, drinking and smoking. it sounds as if this song is guiding you through a manic episode but using substances to mask it - as many do. it has a heavy narcissistic feel to me, burna boy even calls himself "god" at the first part of his verse. it also touches on relationships again, possibly blaming them for the cause of all of their emotions. "you came in like a wave when i was feeling alright." give this song more credit, it deserves it. it truly is a riptide, it's so aggressive and it has so much stuff going on in it.

* bishops knife trick

here it is, my favourite. this song - i can't even explain how much i love this song. it's like a slow rock ballad with a modern twist, it's so beautiful. the bridge makes me break down into tears almost every time. - sadly i feel like this song may be referencing pete's suicide attempt - "these are the last blues we're ever gonna have" - and you probably all are aware what blues mean. ativan. also "im just a full tank away from freedom" i feel like this could be referencing a full bottle of pills to death, but that may be stretching it. on a lighter note, this is totally chicago is so two years ago part 2, just on a sadder note. it's an amazing closer to the album.

many people say mania is too jumbled and inconsistent - i do believe this was their intention since bipolar disorder is unpredictable. though, it could have a better arrangement to flow smoother, perhaps they could've made the second listing for the listening experience, and the original for the more artistic presentation of the album.

is mania my favourite album? no. is mania a bad album? no. is it their best? no. do i like it? yes.

overall, i feel like this album was a success and im very grateful for their fearless experimentation. this era has been quite an entertaining, pleasant experience so far. i give it a 7.5/10

[bloodhonnie]

I know you’re not an expert or anything but was wondering if you had an opinion on this.. I have BPD and my dad has classic NPD traits. So I’ve suffered emotional abuse due to him which has probs caused the BPD. I view him more as his own person who his own unprocessed trauma and his behaviours are not about me. My friend thinks her grandma has NPD and called it a “dangerous dangerous.” Do you think there’s a line between NPD being dangerous but also us offering some compassion?abuse is hard idk

Before I start this I wanna mention I have a BA in Psychology. I’m in no way an expert but I have taken classes and that’s what’s on my college diploma. That being said a lot of the stuff in textbooks and what’s taught in fundemental classes isn’t always accurate. I’m going to be speaking from my personal experience and I am in no way saying that things are as I say they are. Think for yourself and maybe use what I say as a tentative basis to do your own research. You can read studies for free on scihub after using Google/Google scholar to find research articles. With all that being said this is what I personally think given the context and experiences I’ve had:

Not eveyone with NPD is gonna be an abuser just like how not eveyone with BPD is someone who was abused.

Let me frame it this way. We as people with BPD know that BPD doesn’t control us and that we’re still accountable for our actions. The same goes with people who have NPD.

Before I continue to address this question (cause I don’t wanna forget)

Do not diagnose other people in an effort to explain their behavior.

Alright so NPD is severely misrepresented the same way BPD is. It’s important to engage with the words, diagnosis, etc... that we interact with daily. Let’s see what the DSM5 has to say about NPD yeah?

“In the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5), [1] NPD is defined as comprising a pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), a constant need for admiration, and a lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by the presence of at least 5 of the following 9 criteria:

A grandiose sense of self-importance

A preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love

A belief that he or she is special and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people or institutions

A need for excessive admiration

A sense of entitlement

Interpersonally exploitive behavior

A lack of empathy

Envy of others or a belief that others are envious of him or her

A demonstration of arrogant and haughty behaviors or attitudes”

Source: DSM-V via Medscape.com

(I would’ve actually gone into the dsm 5 and gotten a screenshot but my laptop is broken sorry)

NYU has a chart (that is in the dsm5) let’s take a look at that too

“ Narcissistic Personality Disorder DSM-IV Criteria

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

A. A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

A.

Significant impairments in personality functioning manifest by: 1. Impairments in self functioning (a or b):

1. Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements).

a. Identity: Excessive reference to others for self-definition and self-esteem regulation; exaggerated self-appraisal may be inflated or deflated, or vacillate between extremes; emotional regulation mirrors fluctuations in self-esteem.

2. Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love.

b. Self-direction: Goal-setting is based on gaining approval from others; personal standards are unreasonably high in order to see oneself as exceptional, or too low based on a sense of entitlement; often unaware of own motivations.

3. Believes that he or she is “special” and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high- status people (or institutions).

AND

4. Requires excessive admiration.

2. Impairments in interpersonal functioning (a or b):

a. Empathy: Impaired ability to recognize or identify with the

5. Has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations.

feelings and needs of others; excessively attuned to reactions of others, but only if perceived as relevant to self; over- or underestimate of own effect on others.

6. Is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends.

b. Intimacy: Relationships largely superficial and exist to serve self-esteem regulation; mutuality constrained by little genuine interest in others‟ experiences and predominance of a need for personal gain

7. Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others.

B.

Pathological personality traits in the following domain: 1. Antagonism, characterized by:

DSM-IV and DSM-5 Criteria for the Personality Disorders

trauma).

DSM-5 Criteria - Revised June 2011

© 2012 American Psychiatric Association. All Rights Reserved. See Terms & Conditions of Use for more information.

The essential features of a personality disorder are impairments in personality (self and interpersonal) functioning and the presence of pathological personality traits. To diagnose narcissistic personality disorder, the following criteria must be met:

a. Grandiosity: Feelings of entitlement, either overt or covert;

8. Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her.

self-centeredness; firmly holding to the belief that one is better than others; condescending toward others.

9. Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes.

b. Attention seeking: Excessive attempts to attract and be the focus of the attention of others; admiration seeking.

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder DSM-IV Criteria

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder

A. A pervasive pattern of preoccupation with orderliness, perfectionism, and mental and interpersonal control, at the expense of flexibility, openness, and efficiency, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by four (or more) of the

A.

Significant impairments in personality functioning manifest by:

DSM-IV and DSM-5 Criteria for the Personality Disorders

C.

The impairments in personality functioning and the individual‟s personality trait expression are relatively stable across time and consistent across situations.

D.

The impairments in personality functioning and the individual‟s personality trait expression are not better understood as normative for the individual‟s developmental stage or socio-cultural environment.

E.

The impairments in personality functioning and the individual‟s personality trait expression are not solely due to the direct physiological effects of a substance (e.g., a drug of abuse, medication) or a general medical condition (e.g., severe head trauma).

DSM-5 Criteria - Revised June 2011

© 2012 American Psychiatric Association. All Rights Reserved. See Terms & Conditions of Use for more information.

The essential features of a personality disorder are impairments in personality (self and interpersonal) functioning and the presence of pathological personality traits. To diagnose obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, the following criteria must be met:

1.

Impairments in self functioning (a or b):

a. Identity: Sense of self derived predominantly from work or

productivity; constricted experience and expression of”

Source: NYU.edu

Are you starting to see how more context gives people humanity? People are misrepresenting and misusing the word narssasitic. It has a clinical significance that is different from the colloquial significance. Another word that might tie it all together that is misused in the same type of way is intersectionality. Colloquially intersectionality is a term used to describe the intersections of all minority identities. In reality intersectionality is a race theory that was coined by Kimberle Crenshaw to explain the intersections of race and gender in reference to black women. Crenshaw later expanded that to include the intersections of race (excluding whiteness), gender, and queerness. Without the context of intersectionality as a race theory intersectionality is being misused and misrepresented. I hope that was a good enough example.

Before I move on let’s recap what I’ve discussed so far as to spare any confusion.

1) people with personality disorders are responsible for their actions.

2) BPD is not exclusively tied to abuse. (I can go into this in a different post if you’re interested).

3) We do not try to diagnose other people.

4) Personality disorders are often misrepresented.

5) We learned the 9 criteria for the diagnosis of NPD in the DSM-V (2018).

6) We learned context is important to understanding misused terms. (I.e what the criteria for NPD actually manifests as). (NYU chart)

7) The example of intersectionality and how it is also a colloquially misused term.

Im gonna end on two separate points.

The first point is that personality disorders are under constant scrutiny due to how similar symptoms are. There is actually talk of removing BPD in the next volume (not addendum) of the DSM. Knowing that I can mention how NPD was removed in 2013 but was later added back in.

My second point is that it’s important to educate yourself as much as you can and to not think that people are abuusive because of a mental illness. People are responsible for their own actions. If someone is abusive they’re abusive. Sometimes there are no explanations.

[howlingmoonrise]

Dear Yuletide Author

Hi! Thanks for signing up for Yuletide despite the hell year it’s been, I hope you have fun with your assignment!

I ramble a lot so everything is below the cut. Obviously you don’t have to follow any of this (though I hope you’ll respect my squicks) but hopefully this will help you out!

general things i like

so much pining. all the pining. pining everywhere plz.

continuing from above, PINING. i mean it. i prefer a thousand times over idiots in love who are having a hard time wrapping their minds around it than an already established relationship.

either gen or romantic is fine! what really does it for me is the development of the relationship, platonic or otherwise. it’s all about the growing intimacy and understanding and character dynamics and interactions and developing trust and finding kinship and growing respect for the other and subconsciously learning to lean on the other over anyone else and--

i love love love enemies-to-reluctant-allies-(to-maybe-friends?)-to-lovers and bickering pairs in general! it’s so much fun and it gives us so many opportunities for character and relationship developments okay i’m a slut for that shit

sticking to the original characterizations and the tone of canon is a definite plus!!!

“missing scenes” and “what if” canon-divergent situations are excellent, as are continuations from where canon left us depending on the fandom! more details on the sections for the respective fandoms i GUESS

casual intimacy is super fun, especially when adapted to the character dynamics. a bickering pair being casually comfortable adds a whole new depth to it, enemy dynamics makes is hilarious since the other half would have zero clue as to how to react, a pair that is already comfortable with each other that they do stuff without communicating is so intimate, mix and match however you like!

fun tropes i enjoy (a bit romance-leaning but if you’re not into that then some of these can probably be adapted): fake dating, accidentally got roped into x and shenanigans of all sorts keep happening, misunderstood confessions, groundhog day au, one or both the characters having stupid levels of denial while technically in a relationship and just not realizing it like What Do You Mean We’re Dating??, that sorta thing.

TROPE SUBVERSION ALL THE WAY!

--

general things i dislike

kidfics. babyfics. next gen fics. pregnancy fics, or even pregnancy discussed in the fic is a major squick of mine. the one exception i make for kidfics is for kids already existent in canon and even then it depends, but no babies or children otherwise please.

future fics/time skips in general, actually. what i enjoy is the relationship development, so huge time skips make me feel like we missed way too much

angst is... mrrmf. it really depends on how it’s done, but usually it feels like it’s angst for the sake of angst instead of giving the fic some actual meat.  as a result of this, i’d pass at least on most content with major character death, sexual abuse, self-harm, gender/sexuality angst, the like. beyond that, feel free to go ahead!

hard AUs are a bit ugh to me. by this i mean AUs that rely heavily on setting, such as high school AUs, harry potter AUs, that sort of thing. i DO however enjoy stuff like soulmate AUs and alternate canon AUs, depending on the concept and on the fandom. more details in their own sections if you enjoy writing those!

i heavily dislike things involving cheating/infidelity, sickfics, and genderbending of any kind is a bit ehhhh for me, as are concepts such as ABO. hard pass on stuff like dysphoria and deep diving into mental illnesses and disorders, too.

script-based or roleplay fic is not really my preferred format, i really enjoy prose instead of nearly all dialogue!

stuff with bigotry in general, racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc as well as discussions of it is a pass in general. it’s not a HUGE squick but i’d rather not see it if possible

discussions and thoughts on gender/sexuality. if you’re gonna make them gay/bi/etc, make them gay/bi/etc, no exploration of it added. delving into the psyche of it is a hard pass.

--

if you’re going for nsfw

kinks

moderate sadomasochism, uncommon forms of bondage (plants, stuck with strange substance or in awkward position, the shadows from p&tf as restraints, etc), choking/breathplay, xenophilia and tentacles/alien genitals (shadowplay in p&tf for example), moderate degradation, edging/desperation play, ladies topping and calling the shots, bloodplay/knifeplay, long hair dragging over skin, sharp nails/claws (charlotte la bouff, morticia), lowkey cannibalism imagery and hunger, biting, ladies stepping on body parts with their heels on

squicks

scat, vomit, praise kink, daddy/mommy or baby kink, vore, forced feminization, pet play, wound-fucking, abuse, abo, anything involving pregnancy at all

--

PRINCESS AND THE FROG

i am 100% aware this is a weird-ass pairing but gods, the possibilities. it has so much potential. there are few things i like quite as much as a villain and a good person developing a strange sort of kinship with each other >u> this doesn’t have to mean a romantic development, if it’s not your thing! as i said, for me it’s the building understanding and reluctant respect that i really love, far more than the actual romance.

ideas, ideas, ideas. i’m aware this is a rare relationship to either portray or ask for, so i’m gonna try to give some more concrete-ish ones for you to build up on if you have no clue as to how to approach this. 

we could have canonverse with charlotte dealing with the shadowman in some other, unrelated matter while the main plot is occurring, making him feel somewhat guilty about the whole marriage plot with laurence-turned-naveen. cue introspection, or even an entirely different outcome.

or a post-canon sort of hades&persephone plot (please no actual hades and persephone au though), with charlotte curious despite herself and tempted to listen to a shadow/dead/whatever!dr facilier when she’s the only one that can hear him.

in a continuation from above, OR her being dragged Beneath with him in a freak accident and then charming him into helping her back to the surface/living world (very, veeeeery reluctantly on his part, at least at the start, he might have even be thinking of tricking her but then change his mind when the time comes to do it).

i think dr facilier wouldn’t be sure how to deal with charlotte’s particular brand of personality and good humour, and it’d throw him off his rhythm a lot - that sort of thing is always super fun to write.

soulmate au in canon would work pretty well, but with this pairing? you could even do a FULL AU, keeping only basic stuff like the shadowman thing to her normal bougie self; it’s one of her charms. (and their personalities, of course). stuff like charlotte thinking that she wants one thing (her prince-slash-one-true-love, etc) while keeping getting drawn to him time and time again could work on pretty much any era or setting. vice-versa for him, thinking he wants to be rid of her but coming to realize he’d actually miss her if she were to be gone. OR, charlotte deciding she wants this sullen manipulative bastard and manipulating HIM into taking her out and hanging out with her would be hilarious.

if you wanna do nsfw, i have only one major request: charlotte calling the shots/topping. i think this arrangement would be in character for both of them (dr facilier would prob also enjoy having someone else do all the work lol) considering her go-getter attitude, but keeping in mind his manipulative personality i’d be more comfortable if she had some control over what was happening. ASIDE FROM THAT, d’you know what would be fun? a little darkness, and by that i mean consider dr facilier’s shadow joining in on the fun. shadows would also be an interesting sort of constraint. also i know i said charlotte calling the shots, but she can be constrained by the shadows while being amused by it or being used to it (implying it’s not the first time that they’ve used it in bed play and that it’s therefore negotiated), or charlotte could team up with the shadow to do it to facilier instead. charlotte using her nails and facilier being a bit of a sub/masochist would be excellent!

(actually in general it’d be really fun if there was some complicity between charlotte and facilier’s shadow in general, nsfw or otherwise. the shadow being wrapped around her little finger is an excellent concept, especially if facilier isn’t too fond of her just yet OwO)

--

THE ADDAMS FAMILY

oh boy. let me just begin by saying that this really isn’t my usual kind of pairing, by sheer virtue of them being perfectly happy and established in canon. HOWEVER, they’re goth and they’re odd and they’re kinky and they’re delightful to watch interact (i’m familiar with the movie canon featuring anjelica and raúl and a few (few!) of the comics, so idk about other dynamics) and so they’ve managed to creep their way into my blackened little heart.

THAT BEING SAID, my absolute biggest wish for this fandom would be pre-relationship. i don’t mind if canon is twisted a bit for this, considering that they presumably met and proposed on the very same day, so it’s definitely a bit hard to work with. perhaps some shenanigans with the funeral itself? or gomez has a date/fiancée already and so there’s some juggling of priorities here while he’s absolutely falling over himself in order to continue looking at that gothic vision of a woman? or an old family feud, or them just being downright useless at knowing how to deal with proper romance (on morticia’s side, i’d imagine she’d only grow more stoic and be at a loss of what to say. on gomez’s side, it’s probably his first time being speechless, or he’s not speechless but he’s flirted so much in his life that he doesn’t know what to do with these actual literal feelings, what the hell is this and how does he show he actually means it this time??), or morticia has a long string of dead fiancés black widow-style (i think she and debbie would have gotten along great if given the chance okay), or a soulmate au where they don’t realize it’s each other right away, or morticia amusedly pretends to be dating gomez before they know each other to get him out of a bind, or they’re somehow roped into someone else’s shenanigans and don’t know how to react to each other (my money is on either ophelia or cousin itt putting them in a bind), the sky is the limit!

if you’re more comfortable writing established, however, casual intimacy or smut are the best! give me a moment of respite where they are just comfortable basking in each other’s presence, or when they’re separated for a moment at an event or something and the longing is burning all the way across them until they come back together again (y’know, in the good old way of the script). for smut, morticia being a mostly stoic dom maybe? (though yes, i know she’s very much into being tied up and tortured, i can’t really see her as a normal sub unless it’s really something languid and drawn-out - she doesn’t really read as someone who spends a lot of energy doing things others will do for her). they’re both definitely into pain and bondage too; morticia conflating arousal with hunger would also be really interesting to see (think praying mantis or lady spider who is actually very invested on not taking off her partner’s head, but who dreams of it all the same. gomez is, of course, very much into it). something lowkey macabre would be amazing.

things i’d like to see for this fandom in general are:

morticia being her stoic vampiric goddess of a self

gomez being completely twitterpatted for her as usual

burning sultry glares/staring across the room

overly passionate hand-kissing

creepy/gothic atmosphere

you know, like canon. (with non-existent or minimal kid existence, though)

references to horror stuff/general creepiness like sudden lightning, casual poisonings and dealings with death, dracula references, etc, like the movies would be super fun, as campy as possible! half the greatness of the movies come from these imho

--

MONSTROUS REGIMENT

i have a confession to make: it’s been a while since i last read it, and so i fear i won’t be as helpful in giving ideas/dynamics for this fandom as i was in the others. 

i have one request - apart from what i’ve already rambled on about above - and that is for at least polly to be portrayed as female (or close enough, although not quite non-binary). to make it clearer: i usually see them both as female, even if not female-presenting (it’s funny because as i was writing this i actually kept writing about maladict as “he” so frankly it’s whatever, i definitely prefer “maladict” to “maladicta” at least in terms of names though) but chaffing to fit the roles that “female” comes along with, especially with maladict and the expectations for female vampires. i’d rather the fic not have gender or sexuality exploration, since like i said above i think it detracts from the meat of the stuff - if you want to see maladict as male, write him male with male pronouns (keeping the female vampire backstory if you’re keeping it canon, otherwise it wouldn’t really make sense). if you want to make her female, write her female with female pronouns. i’d pass on they/them pronouns though. i don’t particularly care either way outside of polly however, just don’t delve into the psyche/introspection of it please.

if you have different views on their genders and it would make you uncomfortable to write female polly or non-they/them maladict, then that’s fine with me as well! these are just my preferences, and i thought i’d elaborate on them since the fandom has many perspectives on this topic. 

with that out of the way, on to more interesting stuff!

what’s good: their interactions. oh dear loki, their interactions. they have my favourite dynamic in the whole book, and they’re weirdly comfortable with each other (especially since polly lowkey threatens maladict after kicking the other dude in the nads, in my view that moment probably got his undead little heart skipping a beat (do vampires have beating hearts on discworld? i haven’t read enough discworld to remember this)) and they understand each other the best out of the rest of the squad. maladict teasing polly and pretending to be cool before polly catches on to him is absolutely hilarious, and i absolutely love maladict trying (and failing!! horribly!!) at being smooth. also polly blackmailing people left and right is absolutely fantastic.

as you can probably guess, i’d love some canon-verse interactions. perhaps alternate scenes or what-ifs of canon events, or even extra scenes during the ongoing plot of the book. OR, post-book, once they have their own squad of little lads and have to figure out how the hell to handle that, or shenanigans where they have some sort of mission or official event elsewhere and resolutely stick together because “if i have to deal with this then so do you”. or some hilarity with maladict desperately going after every coffee grain available so he doesn’t just bury his face on polly’s neck because she smells so good but that would be an awkward conversation to have and he’d rather die (again) than admit to that. 

what else? AUs! feel free to completely tear apart the canon discworld, though i’d request polly remain her ass-kicking clever self and maladict an awkward vampire. maybe maladict has to deal with diaphanous underwired nightgowns. maybe polly has to deal with diaphanous underwired nightgowns. vampire politics? satirical awkward dracula au? maladict failing horribly at being a vampire (failing at being a female vampire or trying to pass at being a male vampire and failing at that, too)? they’re all great! 

what matters to me is their banter and the way they keep falling into pace with each other, regardless of the way they begin. a good dose of sardonical pratchett-style humour would also be welcome ;)

--

thank you so much for staying with me this far! i hope you have a grand time this yuletide, and that you enjoy your own requested fic as well!

[troubleblurose-blog]

My Dumbass 5SOS Experiance // Part Uno

I know exactly what you’re thinking. I know, because well, I am one of you. The 5SOSFam that is; I made it sound like we’re our own separate alien race. But look at the people we stan... It makes a little too much sense, doesn’t it? Not even a paragraph in, and I’m already unraveling a conspiracy theory like Shane Dawson. You know him- “You look so fucking something, in my underwear while she wearing them! There’s my poop stain, on her butt.” Yeah, that funny motherfucker. 

You’re probably thinking- ‘Oh, just another fan who really wants the same thing I do.’

I’m not gonna pretend, or lie to make my situation seem special. You’re fucking right, that is exactly who I am. We all have our bumps in the road, after all, we’re all human. Or aliens, I don’t really know anymore. It’s not only science that has gone too far at this point, I am now a contributing factor to the random things that make you question what the fuck this world is becoming.

I’m not about to level with you, or give you a sob story. It could seem that way, but every detail I write is a detail I wouldn’t ever erase. Every problem I’ve encountered, or dumb ass decision I’ve written is something that made me the well rounded person I am today. These are past events, though I am currently handling some of the debris of them. I’m still coping with illness, and things like that. When I write these events, just know, while they are awful I am used to them. That sounds bad, but I don’t know any different. They do hurt greatly at times, but that’s just building more character and strength in the end. 

-Trigger/Graphic Event Warning-

Let’s start out simple and #relatable; I struggle(d) with:

Bi-Polar Depression (Mood swings between extremely jolly, and devastatingly upset.) 

Anxiety (Having a hard time staying composed in times of little stress, or in many social situations.) 

Insomnia (Getting little to no sleep/getting no well-rested sleep at night.) 

Self-Harm (Hurting yourself in ways such as eating disorders, or various forms of mutilation.)

Suicide (Trying to end your own life.)

Those are the things this is somewhat covering, but by no means are they the point I’m trying to make. They aren’t what make up me, and they aren’t what make up this letter. 

To understand the substance of the seemingly overused words on your screen, you need to know a bit about who I am first. Otherwise this could seem like every generic fanfiction. You know what I’m talking about. Eyes are always called orbs. Every meeting involves someone spilling something on someone else. Dicks are always refferred to as members. Calum is usually an asshole with a tragic life story. Mikey is usually a bad boy; who gets a soft spot for the main girl for some unknown reason. Ashton is either super sweet in his old dad way, or a complete arrogant prick. Luke, well he always bounces between popular and nerdy often. Have I made my point?

I’m gonna get relatable again when I say, there isn’t a lot I’m good at. When I am good at something, it has no use in my daily life. I can’t divide fractions, but I can hit every note in guitar hero. I can’t socially interact, but I can make bomb-ass Turkey Bacon Cojacks. I don’t know where all the states are, but I can rap Migrane. My skills are only useful to me, basically. My point being, I was practically useless in class. When I was staying home from school on the normal, from avoiding my problems and lack of motivation, I felt so useless. Like as useless as a newspaper is to a teenager. 

We all have some activity that makes us feel important, though. To Donald Trump, it’s putting down anyone who isn’t a straight white male. To Bo Burnham, it’s making people laugh with his odd perspective and unique means of comedy. Me? It’s always been when I’m on stage. I love hearing my voice being amplified to bring together people from all walks of life. When I’m writing lyrics, I feel like every syllable can make a difference in someone’s life. There’s just something thrilling about worrying you’ll sing the wrong lyric, and doing so because you were worrying about it. 

I’m not gonna say this was always my passion; when I was younger I made a very motivational speech about wanting to be a mermaid. “I WILL be a mermaid, and I WILL live under the sea.” If you think that’s odd, I know of a kid who wanted to be a trash compactor. After I discovered I couldn’t grow a tail, and I ended up not being a fan of swimming in a casino, I wanted to preform. That’s been my dream since I can remember. I’ve always been pretty witty, like I’d have to leave my wit behind   before boarding a plane it’s so sharp. I learned I get more happiness when making others smile, than I do by making myself smile.

A stage is the one place I’m not useless, and being a musician is what I was born to do. I will look anyone in the eye and tell them I'm gonna be so famous one day, because that's exactly what I believe. I know I'm not where I want to be, so it's as simple as I'm gonna move. You need to remember that the only way you can fail is if you give up. It's pretty annoying how bad I am at that. I don't only try to achieve my goals, I try to over-achieve them. I live off my intuition, I'm definitely the ride-or-die type of person in EVERYTHING I do. Making a fool of myself? I'll record it so people can hold it against me for the rest of my life. Dissapointing my parents? Well I am going to Uni for music with no back up plan. Meet 5sos? Well... That's where this fiasco begins.

Welcome to the jungle my fellow fam.

Let’s go back to the first weekend of May 2017. Yes, I really did start this journey on a weekend in May. Yes, I really did it just so I can make that reference. Maybe I started a bit before that, but I committed to it on that first Saturday. At that time I had been in the fam for a couple of months, and  I did go through the phase when I couldn’t tell Lucifer and Ashtonio apart. I however didn’t assume Calcium was Asian, I assumed he was Hispanic. I mean have you seen the ‘Hey Everybody!’ video? That was rhetorical, of course you have. He walked dogs, he was practically Ceasar911! 

Well at this time I was still self-harming, I was still suicidal, and music is very influential to me. I tend to form bonds with songs because music tends to be my main comfort. Music has always been there when no one ever was. There's just such an intense bond for me, with listening and creating it. When I write I don't just think about lyrics, I can hear the chord progressions and melodies. Unfortunately I don't have enough experience with intstruments yet to share the finished product of my own music. 

With 5SOS however, that connection was a lot different. I  appreciate the artists always, though I never tend to feel anything more than that. I didn't feel that at all, I felt a boner. I'm kidding, I just really wanted to say that. Usually with musicians, since I am a fellow musican, I tend to idolize the ones who make music I enjoy. Yes, I know I'm stating the obvious. The thing is, after the whole initiation of binging keeks, interviews, funny moments, and the movie- I didn't once feel like they were above me in any way. Not even in a sexual dream  enduced by falling asleep to Aerosmith. No, that wasn't too specific of a scenario.

They just made me feel understood in a way no one has. Not just because I'm so proud about being a gigantic dork. We were in the same boat, we had the same oar, we wanted  to get to the same island that appearantly no one has heard of, we had the same belief that it exists, and the same thing  about not being satisfyed with any of the millions of already existing islands. That was quite the metaphor, hehe. It's chalked down to similar situations, interests, humor, personalities, and  impeccable music taste. It could also be that we are close in age, but then I'd be connected to millions of other people. That doesn't sound possible for me at the moment, but wait a couple years.

So I was chilling, laughing at Calcium crossing the border with his homie Mike, when I had the thought- What if I met them? In my mind, I thought there would be at least a year before they come to Illinois again, so I had time to save money. It became a goal for me, one I was quite sure would never happen. As we discussed, I'm an over achiever with all of my goals. So what did I do? Well it would be so easy to say I wrote each of them a letter. I can't do anything that simple, I'm far too creative for that simplicity. 

From then to now, in almost a years time, so much happened from there. I met one of my closest friends who happens to be an Aussie; all because of a 5sos meme post, and her lack of ability to use Instagram properly. My family fell apart, and I'm not keen on going into detail. Let's just say I've gotten to consider the 5SOSFam as my only real family. I love you guys, you're a wonderful group of humans with a trail mix variety of nuts. Thank you for existing, and for reading this far. 

Over the time I worked, I wrote and drafted maybe 500 different letters? As of late, I actually haven't gotten any letters finished. I made 4 bracelets, not a giant accomplishment. I'm 4/5 the way done with a poster I designed for Calcium. I made Lucas a fetus 5SOS wooden box, and a 5SOS money jar. I wrote Mikey a novel about him as a superhero, with a fan-art for it. That's kind of big actually cause I've never finished writing a longer story before. There's more things, but I don't want to get too technical with it.

I think I have to say the thing that I put most my effort in was a large journal for Ashton. That's because it's filled with art, tumblr posts, and lyrics. I'm a perfectionist when it comes to all of those things. At this point it has some holes because I've drafted the entire 100 or 200 pages over at least 8 different times. Nothing in it is original to the day I started, I made so many mistakes early 2017 for myself and that journal. I was working on the journal when I decided to attempt suicide for the second time.

It's completely crazy, but I've been through a lot with that journal. All of that started with the smallest idea. From the time I started to right now, I've changed so fucking much. I know how to handle my illness, I'm clean of self-harm, I lost a family and gained a new one, I failed at dying and learned how to live, I made an amazing friend, I got closer with my already existing amazing friend, I got a drum-kit, I somehow became a good lyricist, I found my music sound, my singing voice matured unbelievably, I got and lost pets, I got and lost relationships, I'm now in Uni, I'm more independent... I'm finally at the point where I can believe it does in fact get better.

That seems crazy given I've gone through more in 2017-2018 than I did when I came out about my depression, but maybe that's because I know how to spin it. I know how to handle life. Now everytime I'm scared to do something, I do it. Cause that is how you live, that's how you write, that's how you learn. I wouldn't recognize myself. I've gone from broken, bullied, and suicidal to seeing the beauty in my missing pieces, realizing I deserve better, and actually getting out of bed.

I think it might be because of the journal... 

Hear me out, hear me out. I'm not saying it made me who I am, there's a difference between knowing and believing. Just like the difference between reading and comprehending. The difference between seeing and feeling. When I started that I could only talk the talk. Hell, when I started I had a case of putting them on a pedestal. It was never intentional, at the time I didn't even think I was worth anything. Now I see them as equals in most ways, cause when I see them be how they are I feel like I belong somewhere. I mean, I've always strayed from the majority just because I'd rather be myself and be disliked than be liked for being someone I'm not. I never saw the appeal in fitting in other than having someone to sit with at lunch. I didn't need to belong, even though it would have been nice to feel at home somewhere.

That's what I got when I found the dorks. I don't have to play a part to feel like I belong around them. I can be me, and still feel like I fit in. Not conformity, but genuine compatibility. Before them I was made fun of for being weird. I was made fun of for having my own style, for the song references no one understood, for how much I giggle. I was made fun of for my a many ambitious, none of which being realistic. But I still do all of these things. I still sing louder than everyone else. I still air drum and head bang to songs like Careless Whisper because it's really funny in contrast. I still play games, randomly balance objects on my head, dance in public because I don't give a shit about what people think when I'm having fun. 5SOS just helped me realize that girl who I wished I wasn't for most of my life, is actually the only person I'd ever want to be. Unless I could be Will Smith as Deadpool, then I immediately trash my last statement. 

This is gonna get a bit heavy for a moment, but during that last attempt, as I was losing life I was legit thinking about them. How messed up is that? My life was so shitty my dying thoughts were about four idiots from Sydney. But that's how it was, they were my coping skill. I couldn't hold onto life for me after that, so I held on for them. Not because they'd know the difference if I was gone, let's be real, they wouldn't. If they knew of me then maybe, but I was so low on life's food chain at that point. I held onto the idea of making this epic stuff, and handing it to them. 

I'm not even done with the journal!

I had a history of putting too much of myself into things and then being let down and loosing that part of me. So I don't do it, but it became something I did without realizing it. I don't know what I thought would happen. Maybe they'd like who I was, and would want to have a conversation. Maybe I'd be thrown into the fanfic life and get to hang out. Like a beach bonfire filled with laughter, various awesome people, classic rock, teasing, and knowing me, lots of dick jokes accompanying many innuendos. Maybe I'd end up in LA, and get signed to a rock label. I know I'm saying it like it's simple, trust me, I know all too well the effort it takes.

I gained some real maturity, and became even more well rounded. Though I was always the mature one who made a few mistakes here and there. That's one of the reasons I didn't fit in, I was like a 30 year old when I was 13. I'm not gonna say it wouldn't be cool to end up being their home diggle, but now I'm living for me. I saved myself, and they influenced me to. They leant me a helping hand. It would be epic to chill, or to collab on a song. Hell, if I got an opportunity to get signed to Hi or Hey I'd take it in a heartbeat. A small part of it is because I think the dorks are cool in their own odd way, but mostly because the company itself is an awesome fit for me. It produces the same sound I'd like to make, and it sends the same message-

[ruinitpop]

Dead Men Tell No Tales/Character steroetypes

These are my thoughts, I’ll try not to ruin it.

I’m gonna take everyone back to 2003. Disney, after the lackluster success of the Haunted Mansion, has another attempt to cash in on the popularity of one of their park attractions. They gave us Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl. A feat of special effects loaded with good jokes, fun action, and a pretty decent story. This movie went on to become one of my favorites growing up and with a Rotten Tomatoes score of almost 80% it’s safe to say it was very well liked. All that being said I’m going to talk about how Disney has ruined everyone's favorite drunk rum connoisseur, Captain Jack Sparrow.

When we’re first introduced to Jack Sparrow we’re shown a man who is aloof, self confident, driven, and flying by the seat of his pants all the time. While all of that may be true about how he’s first shown to us it’s not WHO he is. I know there are some of you out there who will disagree but hear me out. One scene in particular stands out to me as an example that the aloofness and disorder is all an act. Remember the first interaction between Jack and Will Turner, in the blacksmiths shop?

There are two moments in the scene that tell me that the persona Jack reveals to the audience is actually a calculated ruse that hinges on his reputation preceding him. Toward the end of this scene we see the ruse that is “Jack Sparrow” fall away and Jack pleads with Will, “Please move!” and later, in a darker tone, “this shot is not meant for you” the thought of a man with a grand plan and the drive to do anything it takes get him there.  Jack is cunning, adaptable, and in control right when you think he isn’t.

This version of Jack Sparrow is what we were shown in 2003. I love this version. He has depth. He has a plan. He understands his enemies. But I don’t think he’s smart, he just thinks everything through. There’s more to it than that obviously but I think I’ve talked this point out enough.

This brings us to 2017. Now, I’ll be the first admit that each sequel in the Pirates franchise is, at least, slightly less enjoyable than the first. But that doesn’t mean you have to go in already thinking it is going to be bad. Disney tried their best to get us all hyped up about the latest installment, Dead Men Tell No Tales. They brought back Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley as Will and Elizabeth Turner respectively and that was a huge draw for me. It felt like it was going to a sort of “return to form” for the franchise. An opportunity to reign in the huge and rapidly growing lore that the stories draw from. Instead, Disney gave us over two hours of overacting, ultra extravagant special effects (some of which were fantastic), dick jokes, and twists that don’t make sense. The macguffin is overpowered and yet we never see what it can do. The resolution is so final that future movies won’t make sense. However, if the post-credit scene is to be believed that isn’t going to stop Disney from attempting another film in the near future.

Let’s go back to our hero, Jack! What could all of the lessons he’s learned over four movies have done to help him grow? Is he maturing? Training someone to take over?

 NOPE!

The character of Sparrow has instead been given an extra layer of aloofness, dysfunction, and dumb luck while taking out any lines/shots/facial expressions that give the character any substance. No more plans. No more ruse, he just IS a drunk and lucky idiot. That’s all there is to it.

Clearly, this movie rubbed me the wrong way. That’s not to say there aren’t good parts. I’ll even say that a few of the subplots are pretty good but not fleshed out. There are unnecessary parts and information left out. I’d say that if Disney had trimmed more fat and done a little more exposition this could have been a good movie.

Those are my thoughts. I hope I didn’t ruin it.

[captain-shitpost]

Tangled String Chapter 1

Relationship tags: UF!Fontcest, Kustard, Kedgeup, Sans/UF!Papyrus/UF!Sans

Rating: E

Tags: Underfell, Genocide Route, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Established Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder-PTSD, Amputation, Hurt/Comfort, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sexuality Before First Heat, Healthy Communication, Healthy Relationships, Smut, Fluff, Slice of Life, Ecto-Genitalia, Soul Sex, Non-Binary Frisk, Fluff, Everyone Acts Edgier Than They Really Are

Summary: Sans has given up. After his fight with the Anomaly, he knew it was only a matter of time before he dusted, and could you blame him for wanting to be with someone he knew in his last moments? But when he took a shortcut to Grillby's, something went wrong and flung him to a new world-one where it's kill, or be killed. His brother is alive but completely different, and a different version of him enjoys pissing him off. 

For some reason, they both help him get better again.With their help he may just learn to live again, as long as he lets them in. After all, that's a lot easier said than done.

Ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10654206/chapters/23576172

Sans was having an oddly good day. He got up this morning to Boss calling him a lazy fuck and kicking him out of bed, ate an admittedly dubious breakfast of bread and mustard, took a nice long nap at his sentry station, scammed a few people out of their money selling shitty hotdogs and eventually wandered over to Grillby’s. Almost 2 hours later, he was pleasantly buzzed and waiting for his brother to burst through the doors in exactly 37 minutes and drag him home when he felt a tingle near the base of his spine, followed by the sound of a large object crashing behind him and breaking wood. He whipped around and saw a previously empty bar table smashed into splinters, the monsters that were near it scrambling away to safety.

The entire bar was completely silent for probably the first time since it opened. It lasted all of 10 seconds until the crowd erupted into activity.

Everyone was scuffling, either trying to back away from the table or trying to approach it out of curiosity. With the entire guard out on duty, the patrons were getting rowdy, right up until Grillby slammed the glass he was cleaning hard on the counter, crackling in warning. Nobody was stupid enough to challenge the bartender’s authority, so once he flicked his hand everybody backed away from the rubble. He approached it, fireball ready to fly in hand, and Sans quietly followed him, right behind his billowing coattails.

He saw the way Grillby stopped and straightened out, the minute stutter of his flames giving away his surprise. He shuffled next to the taller monster to get a better look, and holy shit it was a skeleton.

A rather unusual skeleton, though Sans had little experience with his own kind. They were unusually short (he had been sure he was the only short skeleton to ever exist until now), wearing a hoodie in a rare shade of blue, and slippers. Slippers. They had a style that Sans could appreciate, even if they didn’t have common sense. And he saw all that before he noticed the stream of dust falling out of their sleeve.

Grillby was fast on his feet, bending down to pull the skeleton’s hoodie off, Sans feeling a rising sense of nausea when he saw the way their arm was slowly dusting, the decay creeping up to their elbow. Grillby frowned.

“…Whiskey,” he barked out, Red Bird jumping off their barstool and looking for the requested item. The fireball Grillby summoned changed colours from purple to green and he quickly pressed it into their chest. Sans approached the skeleton’s head, trying to see if they were awake.

He saw that their-his eyelids were closed, just like Sans expected from his lack of reaction. What he didn’t expect was his face being a mirror image of his own, except his teeth were blunt and all accounted for, and he had no scars on his face.

Shit. He knew who this was. He knew who this was and he knew why they were dusting so slowly, despite not being a boss monster. His eyes flickered to the skeleton’s ribs and he was unsettled by the deep gash running across them diagonally, visible through the tatters of his shirt, starting from his right clavicle and cutting left to the bottom of his ribs. A red liquid was pooling from it, dripping slowly down his ribs, soaking into his clothes.

He was pushed aside by Red Bird so he could put the whiskey down next to Grillby. Sans backed off to let them work and pulled out his cellphone, letting out a relieved breath when he saw the battery wasn’t dead.

“grillbz, i’m calling boss. he’s gonna want to know about this,” he announced, dialing the number and listening to the annoying beeping. Grillby barely had time to nod, frown of concentration on his face, before Boss answered.

“SANS I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU FORGOT YOUR MONEY BEFORE EATING AT GRILLBY’S AGAIN I’M GOING TO THROW YOU OUT THE WINDOW.”

Sans grimaced. Calling his brother to annoy him and consequently get nagged at was usually the highlight of his day, despite Papyrus limiting it to once a day to prevent slacking off during work hours, and this was definitely not what he wanted to talk to his bro about. “uh. didn’t, actually. there’s kinda a situation at grillby’s. can you send in one of the guards?”

He heard Boss’ huff on the other end. “NO, THEY ALL HAVE TRAINING WITH UNDYNE TODAY, I’M COVERING FOR THEM. I’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE,” he exclaimed, the sound of snow crunching loudly audible from the speaker. “WHAT IS THE SITUATION?”

Red looked around, checking to see if all the other monsters’ attentions were on the passed-out skeleton and bartender, then quietly slipped out the door. “a monster fell into grillby’s table. he’s, uh, pretty messed up,” he muttered, swallowing nervously. “fell, as in fell out of thin air. grillbz is trying to keep him alive.”

There was a pause on the other side in which Sans heard only breathing and running. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, FELL OUT OF THIN AIR? LIKE A SHORTCUT? YOU SAID ONLY YOU COULD DO THAT,” he exclaimed. Red could see a dot in the distance, approaching Snowdin from the forest, kicking up snow as it moved.

“ho boy. listen, bro,” he said, knowing it sounded more personal than Boss, “this is gonna be really weird and i promise i’ll try to explain after we’re alone, but once you get here you gotta make sure the guy stays with us, alright? at least at first.”

The dot was covering a lot of ground, and soon he could see the red scarf billowing behind it. He turned off his phone and stuck it in his pocket along with his hands. He always fidgeted with them when he was nervous, and showing your nerves was a sign of lack of control over emotions. A vulnerability.

Slowing down from his mad dash yet not breaking a sweat, Papyrus stopped in front of him. Sans let out a breath of relief he didn’t realize he was holding as the other skeleton straightened out, scapulas rolled back and chin up, looking every bit the vice-captain of the Royal Guard. Stars, his brother was cool.

He leveled his eye light at Sans, making him subconsciously straighten up. It was a purely professional look, so he responded in kind. “SHOW ME.”

Sans stepped into the bar, stepping to the side and holding the door open for Boss. His boots made an intimidating ‘click, click’ on the wooden floor, and all the monsters’ gazes, except Grillby’s, snapped to him. It was ballsy, making so much noise when you walked. It showed you were confident enough you didn’t need to hide.

They approached the passed-out skeleton, watching as Grillby tried to get him to choke down some whiskey to heal him, apparently hitting the limit of what green magic could do. He saw Boss stop for a moment, a flash of surprise showing on his face, but he snuffed it out before anyone else noticed.

“WHAT’S HIS STATUS?” Papyrus demanded.

“Dead, if you don’t fuck off and let me work,” Grillby snapped back. He was probably the only monster in Snowdin that could get away with blatant disrespect of that level, but given that he was usually cooperative with the demands of the Guard, Boss let it slide this time. There was a mutual dislike yet grudging respect between the two monsters, and Sans figured that if it had been anyone else that talked to him that way they would be eating their teeth.

With a grumble, Papyrus stepped back and turned to the bar patrons, barking out demands and questions at the shaky, half-drunk monsters to gather information. He wouldn’t be getting a lot, but Sans knew his brother would have to write a report about this later.

Grillby suddenly gestured him over, so Sans followed his non-verbal instructions, propping the skeleton up so Grillby could force liquid down his throat. The first few tries ended with the whiskey simply dripping through his thoracic opening and down his chest, but after two more rounds of healing magic the passed-out skeleton managed to reflexively convert the substance into magic. The toughest step done, Grillby’s posture relaxed a bit as he fed the skeleton more alcohol.

Sans looked around at the patrons. Papyrus was keeping them busy with interrogations, and Grillby wasn’t the nosy type, so he quickly checked the monster.

*SANS 1 HP 1 ATK 1 DEF

*1 LV 0 EXP

*He ’s given up.

Sans winced. He had a strong hunch already that, somehow, this was a Sans from an alternate universe. Even if his name wasn’t evidence enough, the horrible HP was. But what really unsettled him was this Sans’ lack of EXP-not only was it extremely rare for adults to not have a single LV, but this Sans had obviously been in a fight to the death. Never killed someone, was in a fight to the death, and looking at his flavor text…it painted an unsettling picture. He wondered what happened to him.

“His HP isn’t rising above 1, I can’t help him more than this,” Grillby huffed, putting the bottle away. He knew the fire monster’s posture meant he gave up on his counterpart, but Sans knew that his HP wouldn’t rise above that with healing magic and food. Grillby got up and dusted himself off, then went to collect the splinters of wood that used to be a table off the floor, breaking them into smaller bits and munching on them as he went to get his cleaning supplies.

Papyrus noticed the healing had stopped, so he interrupted the stuttering of the drunk fish monster in front of him and approached. He looked at Sans’ imploring gaze, then picked up the monster, acting cold but carefully cradling his neck, hand underneath his hoodie so nobody could see.

“WE’RE KEEPING HIM DETAINED IN THE SHED UNTIL HE WAKES UP, I CAN’T RISK HIM DUSTING ON THE WAY TO THE NEW HOME JAIL. WE’RE LEAVING. DON’T START SHIT WHILE I’M GONE,” he bit out at the patrons. They nodded stiffly.

Sans grinned a bit more genuinely as he followed him out the door and into the snow, taking his usual position on his brother’s left side and slightly behind him, around an arm’s length away. He carelessly waved behind him to the bartender, and with a ringing the door closed behind them.

Papyrus shifted the skeleton from a bridal carry into a more comfortable position, keeping him propped up on his hip and his skull resting on his shoulder. Sans payed careful attention to the skeleton in case he woke up and tried to attack. He felt the slightest bit of irrational jealousy that he tried to smother. His brother had never carried him in public like that.

It was always nice to see the way Papyrus relaxed once he entered their home (or shed, in this case), when he was finally out of the eye of the public. His posture was still great, but his shoulders weren’t so tense and his spine slouched into something approaching natural. He approached the bed in the corner, well-made in case Captain Undyne needed a place to crash, and set the skeleton on it. Looking over his clothes, he removed the tattered shirt, having to rip it up to get it off completely, then lowered the skeleton’s shorts slightly to check for underwear. His counterpart must have been as lazy as he was, because he wasn’t wearing any, so Papyrus let them be. His fuzzy slippers came off next and then, with a slight blush that made Sans snort and laugh, Papyrus tried removing his socks.

The right one came off easily and landed on the ground with a wet slap, but when Papyrus tugged off the other one, Sans flinched seeing it squish together, like there was no bone to fill it up. Sure enough, it was half-full of dust, and Papyrus spilled the contents on the floor with a curse after he lost his grip on it. Half the skeleton’s foot was gone, all his fingers and metatarsals were missing, as well as all the bones up to the calcaneus. Papyrus clicked his tongue in disgust and left the room, Sans moving closer to continue the examination.

The skeleton’s left foot was half-dusted, and looking carefully he noticed his right foot was missing the very tips of his top phalanges. Checking the rest of his legs and spine, he saw no wounds and was surprised by the utter lack of scars. Even with 1 HP, there were ways of getting wounds without dusting. So no EXP, no previous injuries, but still somehow in a battle to the death. Sans was finding more questions the more he looked for answers.

His right arm was fine, but the left was missing his entire forearm and the bottom part of his humerus. Sans grimaced. If his counterpart was left-handed like him, that would be a bitch to get used to. He saw the giant gash on his otherwise pristine ribs, and noted that while it still looked new and ready to open again if put under strain, it was scabbed over. His skull was in good shape, and he lifted the lids to see his eye lights flicker weakly into life, blown completely and hazy at the edges, indicating that the skeleton would be out for a while.

His brother came back into the room with a first aid kit and cleaning supplies in his hands, carefully proceeding to clean the area around the wound so he could dress it.

“So,” Papyrus said calmly, much quieter once he didn’t have to intimidate random citizens and careful not to disturb their new guest. “What really happened, Sans?”

Sans watched the way his brother’s long fingers unwound gauze, winding it around the smaller skeleton’s ribs. Where the hell should he even start? “remember when i told you about when i was a scientist?”

Papyrus frowned, securing the gauze with pins. “Of course. It was the first damn time I managed to get you to be honest about anything,” he snipped, squeezing out a washcloth to wipe the dust and red liquid off his counterpart’s bones.

“shit, you’ll never let that go, will ya bro?” Sans snickered. “one of the ideas we worked with was parallel universes. like, apart from our own, there are an infinite number of universes out there. and they’re all different. like, some will be completely different from ours, but some will be similar, just with a few changes.”

Papyrus hummed in thought, frowning at how dirty the water got once he put the cloth in. “So it could be a world like ours, but the monsters are on the surface.”

Sans grinned. Damn his bro was smart. “exactly. or it could be a world where monsters don’t even exist, or never even got trapped underground. hell, there could be one that was exactly the same as ours, except the only difference was that i sold 10 hotdogs instead of 11 today.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sans, I told you that’s illegal. You’ll lose your damn job if they catch you at best, jail time at worst, you bonehead,” Papyrus growled, trying his best to stay quiet.

“hey, it’ll be fine, no need to worry. i know a guy, so i won’t get boned,” Sans said with a smirk, letting Papyrus fume on his own. “but as I was saying, this guy here is probably from one of those other universes. did you try checking him?”

Papyrus dropped the cloth in its basin, the water a disgusting mixture of grey and red. Sans could tell the exact moment he checked, because his expression changed from its default tired annoyance into a look of surprise, the frown deepening as his sockets widened. “Wait, what the-”

“yup. he’s me from another world. i’m not sure how the fuck he got here or why, and i can’t tell yet how dangerous he is. but we should keep an eye on him until he wakes up and i can ask him a few questions. and we’ll see after that. he could cause a mess if he wakes up and has no idea where he is,” Sans explained, looking at his counterpart’s face. During his research, they found evidence of other universes, but they never figured out a way to access them. By all calculations, it was impossible to contact them, so how in the hell did this guy end up here?

Papyrus’ expression shifted into something more somber. “So he’s you? You from another world?” he asked quietly, and if it was anyone else but Sans listening they wouldn’t be able to hear the note of sadness in his voice. Sans gently took his hand, rubbing it with his thumb. He knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He could already see the way his brother was planning their next meals to accommodate the small skeleton’s needs, and the way his eye lights flickered over him he knew he was sizing him up for new clothes. For all his bravado, his brother could be such a bleeding heart sometimes.

Sans raised his brother’s hand and clacked the back of his phalanges with his teeth, more of an idea of a kiss than an actual one, but his brother smiled at it anyway. “hey. grillbz did what he could, there’s nothing else we can do for him. he’s gotta pull through on his own,” he mumbled into his brother’s long phalanges, then lowered his hand. He still didn’t let go, though. “come on, get some food and go sleep. i’ll keep an eye on him in case he wakes up.”

Papyrus scoffed. “You’ll fall asleep after five minutes, Sans, I know what you’re like in the evening. You go first, I need to clean up the floor anyways. Take time off tomorrow to keep an eye on him during the day, for once you have an almost decent excuse to skip.”

Sans chuckled, getting up to stand in front of his bro, then bending forward and giving his brother a quick clack on the teeth. “you’re the coolest, bro,” he whispered, his voice going low and full of awe the way he knew made Papyrus blush. Papyrus chuckled deeply and pulled him closer by the hips, wrapping his long arms around his body.

“Of course. After all, I am the Great and Terrible Papyrus! Everything I do is the coolest!” he said half-laughing, before going in for a second kiss, this one much longer. Sans felt his magic spark, and he opened his mouth with a smile when he felt Papyrus’ tongue lick for entrance.

He stood there for a while enjoying the languid yet skilled movements of his brother’s tongue, the way their magic sparked and ebbed at the point of contact, spreading into his bones. He felt the responding heat in his pelvis, but he knew with their unexpected guest needing attention nothing more would happen tonight. All the same, once they broke the kiss he was reluctant to move again, enjoying the way Papyrus nuzzled his skull into the side of his neck, shivering when he let out a warm, content sigh, way too much like the one his brother made in…other situations. He suddenly really regretted his counterpart’s appearance.

With an embarrassed chuckle and a blush, Sans backed up, watching the knowing smirk on his brother’s face. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

Payprus smacked him on the ass, laughing loudly at Sans’ yelp of surprise. “Go sleep, brother. I have this covered.”

Sans grumbled, rubbing his ass. His sacrum stung, and it did nothing to kill his arousal. “asshole. we’ll see who’s laughing when i spank you.”

Papyrus grinned, too cheeky to really sell the look fake innocence. “Is that a promise?”

Sans flipped him off with a laugh, then entered the living room through the door that connected it to the shed. It was a new edition, Papyrus nagging him to make it after Undyne bitched about having to walk in the snow to get to the kitchen. The things he did for his brother.

He grabbed the bag of leftover popato chisps from the fridge for his before-bedtime snack, then took a shortcut to his bed, chucking off his sweater and shoes and crawling under the covers. He knew if he ate in Papyrus’ bed he’d get crumbs all over it, and while he gave precisely zero fucks, Papyrus would have a nervous breakdown.

He listened to the sounds of his brother cleaning downstairs as he ate, calming him down until his eyelids were drooping. He didn’t know what happened to his counterpart, or what would happen next, but he knew the routine he had with his brother was going to get blown to shit. It will be such a pain keeping an eye on the guy, if he even survived.

In the very depths of his soul, he felt a pang of worry for the short skeleton. He scoffed and tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t let go. He let it carry him into an uneasy sleep.

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Memory Of The Smell of Smoke, Ch 4.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Everyone liked to pretend that Campbell had been born bad. That their fear and hatred were logical, rational, justified, because Campbell was a monster incapable of making the choice between good and evil. Because he couldn’t feel the way they did. Well, fuck that. He was gonna prove them wrong. At least, that had been the plan.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Emotional Baggage, Mental Health Issues, Child Abuse, Substance Abuse, Animal Death, Complicated Relationships, Pre-Slash, Denial of Feelings, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Implied Rape, Campbell has mild ASPD and is self aware enough to try and be better, the non-con is NOT Campbell, didn’t add an official warning because it is the aftermath only, yes it is the party becca mentioned and there will be a warning in the notes of that chapter, Campbell/Harry, Campbell/Elle.

Word Count: 4673 (chapter 4/5).

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || Ch 5 || AO3

Disclaimer: This chapter involves what happened to Becca, and discusses the aftermath of sexual assault. (The perpetrator is unknown.) It is implied, not shown, but still may be upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

Senior year didn't seem to be too wild, at first.

Knowing made things better, but they also made things worse in some ways. Campbell did agree with Cassandra that they didn't have to be evil, irredeemable  people. Unfortunately, there were few resources out there that had any  sort of positive, hopeful outlook. Campbell knew that, be he still tried  to find some anyways. The ones he did manage to find were often anonymous men talking about how awesome they were and laughing about torturing animals, abusing their family, and sharing prison stories. Some forums were a bit less intense, but Campbell never bothered engaging. He was like a jalapeno among a bunch of ghost peppers. They weren't going to improve his situation any.

"It's like any other condition," Cassandra said while Campbell helped her bake cookies for some sort of asinine fundraiser. "There's a spectrum of severity. Some people are on the end where it's not really noticeable."

Campbell  stirred a giant bowl of batter, taking out his frustration on the chocolate chip mix. "I know people can't help being what they are, exactly, but I don't know where I fall on that spectrum and it's kind of..."

"Scary?"

"Maybe. They say people like us can't get scared. Do you believe that?"

Cassandra  popped a batch in the oven and flopped onto the kitchen stool. She tilted her head, thinking. "Mm. I don't know. I suppose that for me, it's more that I get concerned, but I think that's what it's supposed to  be. Fear. But it's fainter, you know? It doesn't last long. Just enough  to make me think."

"That's why you're so good at debate, I guess."

"Probably. What about you?"

"Dunno.  I guess social anxiety is common in guys with it. I don't know if that's the same as fear, though. I just hate getting in front of a group  of people I know hate me, and try to pretend they don't, you know? I don't worry about much else."

"Handy."

"Sometimes."

Cassandra swung her feet. She leaned on the counter and rested her hand on her chin, peering at him. "What about love?"

"What about it?"

"Have you been in love?"

Campbell  stopped stirring for a moment. "I don't know. It's kind of a weird thing. I guess I do feel attracted to people, sometimes."

"Like Harry?"

"How do you figure?"

"I have eyes, and I know you."

"Whatever."  He started scooping balls of dough onto a cookie sheet. Cassandra made a  gesture for him to continue. "Yeah. Harry, but he's got Kelly now. And  there's this girl in school I kinda like. Elle. Never seems to really  hang out with anyone, kinda has a snooty vibe, but she's pretty."

Cassandra nodded. "She is. But attraction isn't love, really."

"It's not. I don't know, I guess it's... I think I love Sam. I mean, you love Allie, right?"

"I  do." She shrugged. "She's fun. Smart. I wouldn't give up my dream of going to Yale to go to her college or anything, but we take care of each  other. I want her to be safe and happy. I try not to hurt her on purpose, even if I do by accident, sometimes. I think that's love, or something like it. I loved our cat. I love my parents."

"Then sure. I've felt love. Too bad the last time I tried to get close to someone, it all got fucked up. Doesn't bode so well for the future, does  it?"

The timer dinged, and Cassandra pulled a tray of cookies  out. The kitchen filled up with the scent of butter and chocolate. She  set the tray down and popped another in. "I think... I think that a lot  of people, in general, judge a group of people by the worst among them.  And I think some symptoms are just scary, and people don't get enough  help or don't care enough to mind themselves, and it all just  snowballs."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's not like professionals  have studied every single person on the planet. They're going off  reported cases and prison records. Maybe the people you're reading about  are just the worst of us. In any case, it doesn't mean you have to be  like them."

"You're not."

"No. Not quite." Cassandra  tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm lucky. I'm a privileged white  girl, so they just assume I'm a frigid, entitled bitch. Or an angry  feminist. If I'm careful, and I try to be good, that's all I'll ever be  to them. Annoying and self righteous and stuck up."

"Doesn't mean I've got a chance."

"Of  course you do. Evil is a choice, Campbell. So we have low empathy.  People don't need empathy to understand other people, or to be  compassionate towards them. We can still understand and choose to do  what is right. At the end of the day, all it comes down to are what  choices we make. We can decide the type of person we're going to be."

It was a nice thought, if nothing else.

He didn't really want to change everything about  himself. He kind of liked some of it, and since things went tits up with Sam, Campbell had come to appreciate and embrace even some of the messier, darker parts, too. But it was true enough. He could choose to not burn his house down, he could choose not to steal, he could choose not to kick dogs or pick on people more vulnerable than himself. Now that he had some idea of what was going on and had Cassandra there to help him, maybe it was worth it to try and follow her example a little.  He didn't care about trying to be someone he wasn't, and his peers weren't going to forget his history at all, so there was no point there.  But keeping out of legal trouble, and keeping himself from turning into  some kind of animal that beat up his loved ones? That was something he  was keen on avoiding. If he knew what his risk factors were for the  future, maybe he could just be his natural asshole self without leaving  too much destruction in his wake.

In a world of small blessings, he had other people's  drama to keep himself entertained, without having to cause any of his  own. Harry and Cassandra ran for student body president, and it was a  vicious campaign on both sides. Naturally, Cassandra won. Harry was  charming enough, but he didn't have the cutthroat attitude needed to  secure a victory. Harry still had a party after, though considering the  turnout was crap despite the fact that his parents were out of town, it  could hardly be called a party.

"Nobody wants to be here," Harry  groaned into his pillow after the last of the meager guests had left.  "I've lost it, Cam. I had it and I lost it."

Campbell chewed on a  slice of cold cheese pizza. "Pretty sure you never had it, buddy. I  think it was the alcohol and pot, there."

Harry let out a  strangled whine. He tried to hit Campbell with the pillow, but Campbell  caught it with his free hand and tugged it from Harry's grasp with ease.  "Fuck." Harry sat up and rubbed his face. "What am I supposed to do?  I'm a loser. Everyone hates me."

"I don't hate you. Kelly doesn't hate you."

"I'm still a loser."

"Don't  be boring." Campbell sighed. "Look, you've got parents who love you, a  gorgeous girlfriend, an expensive car, and you're not a leper or anything. You've got it pretty good. Why worry about popularity? It's all a bunch of bullshit, anyways."

"Because you've never felt what it's like to have tons of friends and see it all slip away because  you're not drugging them up anymore. It's humiliating."

"Nah, you're right. I definitely don't know what it's like to lose people I thought loved me."

Harry  winced at the sharpness in Campbell's tone. "Shit, man. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just... You've always seemed so above it all. I'm not like that."

"You used to be. What changed?"

"It's not worth talking about."

Campbell  gently whacked Harry with the pillow. "Tell me. C'mon, I never ask otherwise, and you never share. Is it a girl problem?"

"My dad's dying."

The  words tumbled out of Harry's mouth in a rush. Campbell wanted to say something, but Harry began to cry. Fuck. Reaching out, Campbell lightly  rested his hand on Harry's knee. Was that an acceptable level of comfort?  He didn't know, but apparently it was, because Harry leaned over and  burrowed against Campbell's side.

"I just wanted to do something  important, so he could be proud of me," Harry sobbed into Campbell's  shoulder. "He's not gonna be around to see me get to college, and I  can't even manage this one fucking little thing."

"Hey. A lot of  colleges have early decision programs. I heard Cassandra talking about  it, with Yale. If you want, I can help you look into it."

Harry blinked up at him, and goddamn those doe eyes did it every time. "Really? You'd help me?"

"Sure. You want to go to Harvard, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, if I can pull it off."

"You can pull it off. Trust me."

Campbell  managed to steer the conversation towards college, and what they planned to do after graduation. It was an easier subject for Campbell, and Harry seemed to welcome the distraction. Harvard did in fact have such a program, and he helped Harry gather together everything he needed. Maybe Harry couldn't be president of the school, but it would be  more impressive to show his dad an admissions letter from one of the  top three universities in the country.

"What are you gonna do?" Harry asked. "I know you hate this town."

"I don't know. I figured I'd run away to LA or something."

"Seriously?"

"I  saved most of the money I got off of dealing. My parents never found it, so why not? Just buy a one way ticket and figure things out when I get there."

Harry gave him a rueful smile. "If anyone here could make it there, it'd be you."

But  they both knew it was just a silly dream. Of course Harry got into Harvard; he'd gotten his letter late December, and Campbell knew he couldn't move across country from his best friend. Campbell applied to colleges in January, like most other students. He'd know his fate in six  to eight weeks. In the meantime, he balanced his attention between Harry and Elle, the girl that had caught his attention before.

Elle  Tomkins was one of those rare people who wasn't born and raised in West  Ham, transplanted there in the 7th grade when her parents moved from  New York. Too young to get that "new interesting freshman" mystique, but  too old for the other kids to forget she hadn't always been there.  Campbell had never seen her with anyone. And she was quirky, from what  he knew. She didn't seem interested in hanging out with the other  students much, and she rarely smiled. He heard from Harry, who heard  from Kelly, that Elle was a dancer. It explained some things, like her  almost fragile appearance, and the fact that he'd never seen her eat  anything. Of course, not all dancers were tiny or thin or never ate, but  she fit the stereotype.

He hadn't really considered dating  before, but now that he had some grasp on what was happening in his  head... Well, everyone else was pairing off, or flirting with some  out-of-town hottie. Hell, even Cassandra had some guy she'd gone out and  had coffee with when she went to scope out Yale. There were only five  months of high school left, and he'd spent his entire school life just  trying to survive and not get himself in trouble. Maybe it was possible  he could find someone, too. And maybe, if he was right about her, Elle  was a possibility. Even if it resulted in another friend, well, maybe  having another friend was something that could benefit them both.

But then Harry's father died, one cold morning.

"All the money in the world," Harry seethed after the funeral, "and it still can't save you from stage four prostate cancer."

Campbell passed him a bit of weed that he'd gotten from one of his suppliers. "Shit luck. Most people survive prostate cancer."

"Yeah, well the dickbag never could be convenient."

He  couldn't blame Harry for being pissed. Harry's mother was a wreck, diving into alcohol and pills herself in one of the most hypocritical displays Campbell had ever seen. She was on the verge of losing her job,  the house was going to shit despite the fact that Harry tried to clean  when he didn't have school. The only reason Campbell knew was because he  started coming over to help Harry once a week. Which was, incidentally,  how he found the cocaine.

Campbell held up the little bag of white powder as he cleaned underneath the bathroom sink. "Uh, Harry? What's this?"

"It's mine." Harry reached for it, but Campbell pulled back. "Fuck, Cam. Give it to me."

"You're snorting cocaine now? Harry, you're going to Harvard soon. You can't afford to get hooked on this shit."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"Yeah,  I get it. But I also got my ass back in line, for the most part, and I'm not going to Harvard fucking Law School. Weed is one thing, alcohol  is one thing. But this will fuck you up fast, man."

"Just give it back, okay? I just need a little bit right now."

Campbell  stepped away again, as Harry tried to snag the drugs from Campbell's hand. Before he could blink, Harry had tackled him to the ground and was  fighting for the bag. Campbell get punched across the jaw, but he barely felt it. He managed to flip Harry onto his back, pinning him down  and holding him there while he struggled.

"Looks like you finally got me where you wanted me," Harry spat. "Asshole."

Campbell shrugged. "I actually prefer being on bottom."

"What, you actually turned fucking gay or something?"

"Bi, I think. Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet. Would explain a few things, though."

Harry  stared up at him. At least he'd finally stopped wiggling. "Seriously?"  When Campbell raised an eyebrow, Harry let his head thump back against  the floor. "Huh. And I always thought you were joking."

"Were you?"

"I'm not gonna get my coke back, am I."

An evasion, but Campbell let it slide. "Nope. Not a chance in hell."

"I could get more."

"Sure,  but then I'm not helping you clean up your mother's grief-riddled trauma hoard. Then you'll end up just like Lexie, trapped in your room by a wall of Cosmopolitan magazines and yogurt containers full of cat poop."

Harry let out a huff. "Whatever, fine. Get rid of it."

Campbell  pocketed the cocaine and took it with him when he left. Of course he would get rid of it, in his own way. If he found the right buyer, he could get an easy $300 off it. He didn't sell much anymore, but it was an opportunity, and he wasn't going to pass that up. Especially since, after eight weeks of waiting, all his application letters had been rejected. No fancy school for him after graduation. Maybe he'd start a band and movie to New York City instead, or go flip burgers for some funky food truck in Boston, or buy a car with a rattling muffler and go  on a cross country road trip with Harry when he was on break. Whatever.  There was more to life than getting in debt for a slip of paper during a  shitty economy with few job prospects.

In the meantime, he could  still have a little fun. $300 was enough to get an ear piercing, and  have plenty left over. The left ear, just because it was easier to get  the damn thing in there; it wasn't any kind of statement. It was an  impulsive purchase, but it made him feel good, and he needed the  pick-me-up after all the college crap. Plus, it made his parents and  other adults give him disapproving looks. Always a bonus.

Cassandra  offered to help him apply to other schools. "You could still get into a  decent one," she said as she made a poster for the pro-immigration rally coming up in March. "There are plenty of colleges near Yale that would take you. Or maybe you'd wanna go to Massachusetts with Harry?"

"And  watch him drape all over his girlfriend every weekend? Gag me. No, I think I'm gonna run away to India and learn how to grow tea or something."

"Whatever suits your fancy. Are you coming to the rally with us? Gordie and some other friends are going."

Campbell  sprawled across the sofa, peering at her upside down. Any reason to go  past the West Ham town lines sounded like a good time. "Yeah, sure. Just  in case I need to punch some fucking neo nazis for you."

"Perfect."

As  things so often went, there were some little hiccups when it came time  for the rally. No one had told Campbell that Sam was coming with. They  all got piled into Gordie's truck, with Gordie, Becca, and Cassandra in  front, and Campbell stuffed into the back with everyone else. Thankfully, Campbell managed to grab a window seat by saying he'd throw  up like a dog otherwise. Sam was next to him, with Allie on the other side of Sam and Will at the driver side window. Less thankfully, Campbell could see Allie shooting him glares and whispering something to  Will; he couldn't hear what was said, and he didn't really care, but it  was an annoyance all the same.

"Do you have water?" Sam signed  to him. It was the first time they'd really spoken in a while, and of  course, it had to be to mother-hen him. "It's going to be warm out."

Campbell bit down his irritation long enough to reply with a curt 'yes'. Sam didn't speak to him for the rest of the car ride.

It  was a bit less claustrophobic once they got to the rally. It wasn't huge, and they managed to stake out a spot in the shade. It was still too crowded for Campbell's liking, so he stuck to the little headquarters they established, guarding the snacks and drinks while the  rest of them went out and got their protesting on. Becca came back sooner than the others, a vague pink stain on her tshirt and a smug smile on her face.

"What did you do?" Campbell asked as she flopped down and popped open a soda. "I usually only have that face when  I've tripped Clark down the stairs."

Becca laughed. "Milkshakes are even better when you yeet them at an alt-right douchebag, as it turns out."

"Damn, I'm sorry I missed that."

"I'm kinda surprised you came at all. This isn't usually your scene, is it?"

"No.  I'm more of a stay at home and binge watch Riverdale sort, but Cassandra wanted me to come with, and it's a few hours away from Stepford Central."

"For sure." Becca eyed him. He knew that look,  that wary and curious sort of squint where someone was trying to figure  him out. "Are you going to Harry's party tomorrow night? I think he  finally got desperate enough to invite me, and my mom's got an appointment with Two-Buck Chuck, so I thought I'd check it out."

Campbell  let out a small snort. "Yeah, I guess. He met some older folks when he  went up to Harvard in September, so he's inviting them and their liquor."

"Ooh, anyone cute?"

"Like, guys?"

"Anyone," Becca grinned.

"Probably. Harry likes pretty people."

That  was how they ended up going to the party together. Campbell had never really taken an interest in any of Cassandra's friends before, but he knew Becca was Sam's best friend, and she seemed like the right mix of sarcastic and broken that Campbell found relatable. Becca had never been  to a proper party before, so they stuck together at first; Harry was  off schmoozing with his new college buddies, Kelly smiling politely on  his arm, and that wasn't anything Campbell wanted to interrupt. Not until Becca vanished.

"Hey,  have you seen Becca?" Campbell wondered. "She went to get a drink about  ten, fifteen minutes ago and I haven't seen her since."

Harry glanced up from his pack of drinking buddies. "Nope, I haven't. Maybe you got ditched?"

It  was possible, Campbell reasoned. After all, he and Becca weren't exactly friends, and they hadn't made some sort of blood pact to stay together the whole night. Still, Campbell didn't know any of these people and something in his stomach didn't sit right. He prowled around  the house, looking for some sign of her, but Becca wasn't downstairs at  all and Campbell felt his suspicion deepen as he headed upstairs. When  he finally found her, she was in one of the spare bedrooms, sitting on  the bed and staring into space.

"Becca?"

She looked over at him. Her eyes were glassy, vacant. "Campbell, where..." Her speech was lightly slurred. "Where'm I?"

Fuck.  Campbell moved slowly, coming over to her and kneeling down next to her. Her hair was messy, her clothes askew. Fuck, shit. "Hey. You're at  Harry's party. What do you remember?"

"I don't... I don't feel good."

He  grabbed her a wastebin and held her hair back as she threw up. At some  point, she started to shake, and Campbell ran through the options. First, he had to check to make sure she was breathing okay, check her forehead with the back of his hand to see if she was clammy, check her pulse. She was sweaty and her pulse seemed a little slow, but maybe he could just drive her to the hospital himself.

"Do you think you can walk?" he asked. "I need to get you to a doctor."

Becca shook her head and moaned. "No, no, no. I don't wanna."

"Becca, if someone attacked you..."

"He  didn't. He didn't, I wanted to. I really wanted to, but then everything  got fuzzy and I don't... I don't even remember what he looked like."  She began to cry, hard. "I just wanna go home."

Campbell frowned.  If she had been raped, she needed to see someone. Didn't they test for  DNA and shit? But he wasn't going to further traumatize her by trying to  force her into an emergency room to get prodded at. Not when she was  still drugged. "Alright. Do you want me to take you home?"

She  nodded, leaning against him as he curled an arm around her and helped her to the stairs. Harry gave them a quizzical look as they made their way to the door, but Campbell just shook his head and Harry backed off.  It was a longer walk to Becca's home, but they made it without too many  stumbles. Becca's mother was passed out in the living room, so Campbell  just steered Becca towards the room she pointed at.

Propping her  up with pillow, Campbell tucked Becca into bed, but wasn't sure what to  do after. Someone needed to stay with her for a few hours, make sure  she didn't throw up and choke on it. "Do you want me to call Sam?"

"Don't."  Becca huddled under her blankets, looking pale and miserable. Her voice  was still weak and muffled. "Can you... can you stay for a bit?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Campbell  sat on the floor next to Becca's bed, watching videos on his phone with  the sound muted. Becca drifted in and out of sleep, and every so often  she'd cry again, but she didn't throw up and she managed to keep down  the glass of water Campbell brought her. Four hours later, and Becca  seemed to be pulling out of it; her heart rate was better when Campbell  rechecked, and her speech was clearer.

"Must not have been a big  dose," Campbell muttered. Sick fucking assholes. "I think you're going  to be alright from here, if you want me to go."

"I feel better. Thank you for helping me."

It  would have been easy to just nod and walk out, but he knew she'd just been hurt. Badly. She was probably in shock. Even if she still didn't want to go to the hospital, he had to try a little before he  just left here there. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Becca  chewed her lip. For a moment, Campbell thought she'd reconsider, but she  shook her head and forced a watery smile. "I just want to get some  sleep." The smile faltered as her eyes filled with tears again. "I don't  even know what happened."

"I'm pretty sure you got slipped GHB. That's not your fault, Becca."

She just stared down at her hands. "Can you not tell anyone about this? For now? Maybe... I need to think."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

Campbell  picked up Becca's phone, adding his number into the contact list. "When  you wake up tomorrow, if you need anything or want me to take you  somewhere, or get you something, text me. Okay?"

"Okay."

And  that was that. Campbell headed home, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn't tell Sam, and he couldn't tell Harry. Not yet, not without Becca's permission. Was it someone they knew? One of those leering frat boys Harry invited in? What if they gave  Becca HIV or something? There was nothing he could do, not without  betraying whatever thin amount of trust or friendship there was between  them. All he could do was go home and wait.

What the hell was  wrong with their town? Sam, getting a weird infection that took his  hearing. Cassandra, with her heart problem and them both having strange  brain wiring, cancer that just suddenly appeared and killed a man,  hoarding and drugs and alcohol and, and, and... It seemed like it was  just a never ending bunch of bullshit. What, was the town built on some  kind of goddamn burial ground or something? He used to find people's  petty dramas amusing, but looking back, things had always been just one  rotten thing after another.

Campbell stood outside his home,  gazing towards the door. It was past one in the morning, and he could  see the light on in the living room. Maybe he could just... not come  home at all. Shaking his head, he walked up the steps and opened the  door. His parents were there, waiting. He didn't even try to speak  first, or explain.

"Where have you been?" his mother snapped. "It's almost two!"

"Sorry. A friend of mine got sick and I had to make sure they were okay."

His father crossed his arms. "You're supposed to called. Who was this friend? Where are their parents?"

"Are you gonna ground me, or what? Because it's been a really bad night and I kinda wanna just go to bed."

"Apologize properly, and we'll think about it."

Campbell closed his eyes a moment, taking a slow breath. "I'm sorry that I didn't call. It won't happen again." You fucking creeps. "May I go upstairs now?"

"Fine. Go."

No  need to be told twice. Campbell headed to his room and took a long shower, rinsing the smell of booze and smoke off him; if his parents had  noticed, they had chosen not to bring it up. Yet. A small miracle, maybe. By the time he crawled into bed, he could barely keep his eyes open. He'd figure out what to do in the morning. It  was April. Three months until graduation. After that, the town poison  wouldn't be his worry anymore.

With luck, until then, things wouldn't get worse.

[sunrec]

... For years I’ve noticed the divergence between my straight friends and my gay friends. While one half of my social circle has disappeared into relationships, kids and suburbs, the other has struggled through isolation and anxiety, hard drugs and risky sex.

None of this fits the narrative I have been told, the one I have told myself. Like me, Jeremy did not grow up bullied by his peers or rejected by his family. He can’t remember ever being called a faggot. He was raised in a West Coast suburb by a lesbian mom. “She came out to me when I was 12,” he says. “And told me two sentences later that she knew I was gay. I barely knew at that point.”

This is a picture of me and my family when I was 9. My parents still claim that they had no idea I was gay. They’re sweet.

Jeremy and I are 34. In our lifetime, the gay community has made more progress on legal and social acceptance than any other demographic group in history. As recently as my own adolescence, gay marriage was a distant aspiration, something newspapers still put in scare quotes. Now, it’s been enshrined in law by the Supreme Court. Public support for gay marriage has climbed from 27 percent in 1996 to 61 percent in 2016. In pop culture, we’ve gone from “Cruising” to “Queer Eye” to “Moonlight.” Gay characters these days are so commonplace they’re even allowed to have flaws.

Still, even as we celebrate the scale and speed of this change, the rates of depression, loneliness and substance abuse in the gay community remain stuck in the same place they’ve been for decades. Gay people are now, depending on the study, between 2 and 10 times more likely than straight people to commit suicide. We’re twice as likely to have a major depressive episode. And just like the last epidemic we lived through, the trauma appears to be concentrated among men. In a survey of gay men who recently arrived in New York City, three-quarters suffered from anxiety or depression, abused drugs or alcohol or were having risky sex—or some combination of the three. Despite all the talk of our “chosen families,” gay men have fewer close friends than straight people or gay women. In a survey of care-providers at HIV clinics, one respondent told researchers: “It’s not a question of them not knowing how to save their lives. It’s a question of them knowing if their lives are worth saving.”

I’m not going to pretend to be objective about any of this. I’m a perpetually single gay guy who was raised in a bright blue city by PFLAG parents. I’ve never known anyone who died of AIDS, I’ve never experienced direct discrimination and I came out of the closet into a world where marriage, a picket fence and a golden retriever were not just feasible, but expected. I’ve also been in and out of therapy more times than I’ve downloaded and deleted Grindr.

“Marriage equality and the changes in legal status were an improvement for some gay men,” says Christopher Stults, a researcher at New York University who studies the differences in mental health between gay and straight men. “But for a lot of other people, it was a letdown. Like, we have this legal status, and yet there’s still something unfulfilled.”

This feeling of emptiness, it turns out, is not just an American phenomenon. In the Netherlands, where gay marriage has been legal since 2001, gay men remain three times more likely to suffer from a mood disorder than straight men, and 10 times more likely to engage in “suicidal self-harm.” In Sweden, which has had civil unions since 1995 and full marriage since 2009, men married to men have triple the suicide rate of men married to women.

All of these unbearable statistics lead to the same conclusion: It is still dangerously alienating to go through life as a man attracted to other men. The good news, though, is that epidemiologists and social scientists are closer than ever to understanding all the reasons why.

Travis Salway, a researcher with the BC Centre for Disease Control in Vancouver, has spent the last five years trying to figure out why gay men keep killing themselves.

“The defining feature of gay men used to be the loneliness of the closet,” he says. “But now you’ve got millions of gay men who have come out of the closet and they still feel the same isolation.”

We’re having lunch at a hole-in-the-wall noodle bar. It’s November, and he arrives wearing jeans, galoshes and a wedding ring.

“Gay-married, huh?” I say.

“Monogamous even,” he says. “I think they’re gonna give us the key to the city.”

Salway grew up in Celina, Ohio, a rusting factory town of maybe 10,000 people, the kind of place, he says, where marriage competed with college for the 21-year-olds. He got bullied for being gay before he even knew he was. “I was effeminate and I was in choir,” he says. “That was enough.” So he got careful. He had a girlfriend through most of high school, and tried to avoid boys—both romantically and platonically—until he could get out of there.

By the late 2000s, he was a social worker and epidemiologist and, like me, was struck by the growing distance between his straight and gay friends. He started to wonder if the story he had always heard about gay men and mental health was incomplete.

When the disparity first came to light in the ’50s and ’60s, doctors thought it was a symptom of homosexuality itself, just one of many manifestations of what was, at the time, known as “sexual inversion.” As the gay rights movement gained steam, though, homosexuality disappeared from the DSM and the explanation shifted to trauma. Gay men were being kicked out of their own families, their love lives were illegal. Of course they had alarming rates of suicide and depression. “That was the idea I had, too,” Salway says, “that gay suicide was a product of a bygone era, or it was concentrated among adolescents who didn’t see any other way out.”

And then he looked at the data. The problem wasn’t just suicide, it wasn’t just afflicting teenagers and it wasn’t just happening in areas stained by homophobia. He found that gay men everywhere, at every age, have higher rates of cardiovascular disease, cancer, incontinence, erectile dysfunction,⁠ allergies and asthma—you name it, we got it. In Canada, Salway eventually discovered, more gay men were dying from suicide than from AIDS, and had been for years. (This might be the case in the U.S. too, he says, but no one has bothered to study it.)

“We see gay men who have never been sexually or physically assaulted with similar post-traumatic stress symptoms to people who have been in combat situations or who have been raped,” says Alex Keuroghlian, a psychiatrist at the Fenway Institute’s Center for Population Research in LGBT Health.

Gay men are, as Keuroghlian puts it, “primed to expect rejection.” We’re constantly scanning social situations for ways we may not fit into them. We struggle to assert ourselves. We replay our social failures on a loop.

The weirdest thing about these symptoms, though, is that most of us don’t see them as symptoms at all. Since he looked into the data, Salway has started interviewing gay men who attempted suicide and survived.

“When you ask them why they tried to kill themselves,” he says, “most of them don’t mention anything at all about being gay.” Instead, he says, they tell him they’re having relationship problems, career problems, money problems. “They don’t feel like their sexuality is the most salient aspect of their lives. And yet, they’re an order of magnitude more likely to kill themselves.”

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