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bumblingbabooshka · 1 year

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What if you met someone who was so similar to you in so many ways but the divergence was too great to bridge the gap? What if you didn't speak to your mother for ten years and then met a man who had her eyes, her sure and steady hands, the same reverence to his tone when he spoke about logic and every so often your brain stumbled and replaced the word with 'honor'?

What if you recognized yourself in other ways? You both dropped out of Starfleet, didn't you? You both laid awake at one point, hearts pounding, wishing with everything that you weren't born the way you were - then everything would be better, then everything would be alright. Then you could be in love, then your father would love you. What if you were both sent away - to a monastery, to a temple, to become upstanding members of your societies. Your mother giving you a firm hug, squeezing you too tightly as you tried to squirm away (with a desperation that spoke to more than simple adolescent embarrassment, a shame that had already hardened into hatred) and his father leaving without a word or parting touch, the banished don't need to be bid farewell. Something took hold in him. Nothing did for you. (failure) It might have, but you ran away. You're always running B'Elanna. Afraid you might learn something? (failure) Afraid you might be wrong? You can't be human - what if you can't even be Klingon? What if the very thing you've hated and rejected all your life doesn't even want you? What if you stop and look back and see that nothing's chasing you - that you're not even worth it? B'Elanna hears that Tuvok's program was messed with, pranked by Tom and Harry. She feels bad (but there's something else isn't there? A vicious satisfaction. You're watching the worm be put into the sandwich with a keen eye, aren't you?) but doesn't say much. Later, she goes into a holodeck to fetch Tuvok for something necessary and notices that he's fixing his temple program. "You don't need to do that, you know." Tuvok doesn't respond, raising his eyebrow. B'Elanna looks away from him, at the half-edited program. She commits the lines of code to memory, her heart pounding. She feels irritated for some reason. She laughs very lightly. "I mean...we're thousands of lightyears away from Vulcan." Whoever you're praying to can't hear you. (B'Elanna crying herself to sleep: When I wake up please give me a smooth forehead, when I wake up please bring daddy back home, when I wake up please make me human - please.) (B'Elanna watching her mother out of the corner of her eye, hating her every movement, every breath, every line of prayer she shouts out - never for a moment doubting. Never for a moment wavering.) How stupid can you be? "Thank you, Lieutenant Torres." Tuvok says and B'Elanna can swear she hears him lean on her rank more than he needs to - can swear she sees his gaze flit up to her cranial ridges. It's a clear dismissal, not an acknowledgement of what she said. She turns. "Do you only perform rituals under pressure, Lieutenant?" B'Elanna attempting to go limp as her mother drags her up the road towards a circle of chanting Klingons. "I don't want to! Why do you always make me go with you?" Her mother's grip, unwavering. Her eyes locked on their target. They never look away like B'Elanna's do, they're never aimed downward. "Because if I didn't you'd never come."

B'Elanna turns, startled by the direct acknowledgement. She grips her PADD tighter. Tuvok stares at her and his eyes are so familiar it makes her heart race a little, blood rushing to her face. He's laughing at her. He's judging her. He's staring and he knows exactly what he sees. The only times her mother looked down were to catch B'Elanna's eye as she laid on the floor - knocked there or collapsed into a heap. You don't understand anything. How stupid can you be? "I don't believe in rituals." B'Elanna tells Tuvok. Tuvok's gaze travels - not out of necessity but to make a point. His brow raises and he purses his lips slightly. 'Hm,' his expression seems to say. 'How strange.' "What?" B'Elanna snaps. Tuvok looks at her again, eyes widening slightly as if confused by her shapened tone. Then the expression is gone and he is perfect again. "In my experience, Klingons tend-" "I guess I'm not like other Klingons." B'Elanna cuts him off. She's half human isn't she? Why doesn't anyone ever call her that? "...You're upset." "No, I'm not." B'Elanna lies, turning again. "That's all I needed from you, bye." Tuvok doesn't say anything, his customary stance, so B'Elanna walks across the room to leave but before she does she sneaks another glance at him. He's gone back to correcting the errors in his program and the look of concentration again reminds her of her mother - but also her. She's seen that face in the mirror as she tried a hundred different styles in an attempt to hide her ridges, felt it from the tension in her brow as she laughed and flippantly said she didn't know a word of Klingon: "It's just a bunch of noise to me, really." - as she tried to erase her connection to that side of herself however she could. There, across from her, Tuvok (with the same desperation) is trying to hold onto it. What is a shackle to one is a lifeline to another. She remembers when Tuvok attempted to teach her to meditate before they both quietly ended the sessions and Chakotay stopped asking about them. She remembers how Tuvok's room was so full of Vulcan things: Candles, tapestries, jewelry boxes full of little trinkets and wall ornaments etched with Vulcan script. He must have replicated it all. How long did it take him to fill his entire quarters like that? B'Elanna's room is utterly devoid of anything Klingon. The one time Tom suggested it she suggested they put up an old Hollywood poster instead. She stared at the leading lady's forehead and pointedly didn't touch her own. No, anything Klingon would suffocate her - kill her. A little taste of home was poisonous. How was Tuvok fine? How isn't he suffocating? How is this logical? "Sorry about your temple...thing." B'Elanna says. "It wasn't very...you know." "Why are you apologizing?" Tuvok asks, not pausing his work to look at her. B'Elanna shifts her weight, crossing her arms. "I don't know." "I have no feelings to hurt." Tuvok informs her. She thinks about how she would have turned out if she had stayed still in that monastery. Would she have something to hold onto? Would it be better than the freedom to float? Would she be happier? Would she be able to look straight ahead and not care about people calling her turtlehead or putting worms in her sandwich or forcing her monks to recite ferengi limericks or leaving her, always leaving her? Would she able to stand on her own and say it didn't hurt? "Right." B'Elanna says, one foot out the door. "Of course."

#B'Elanna Torres #Tuvok #st voyager #I hope this makes sense I literally just did stream of consciousness writing to secure the vibe in my mind #What if your co-worker who you were on a ship with ostensibly for the rest of your life reminded you of #your mother - your bullies - and yourself all at once?

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the-cookie-of-doom · 4 years

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it’s sad bitch hours sorry

I just realized that someone promised again and again that something wouldn’t happen no matter what and yet that exact sequence of events fucking happened exactly 4 months later to the day, exactly as I predicted they would, and lol I should have seen the writing on the wall, but I wanted so badly to believe it was okay that I was willing to keep trying, even though I honestly should have stopped months before. This is why I can’t trust people, I’m so tired of being lied to. It was so fucked up because it followed the exact pattern and now I know the entire four months between that and the end were a total lie and that hurts so much. I thought I was past it but sometimes it just hits me how fucked up it all is, but also so bitterly funny because. 4 months. exactly 4 months later. There’s something poetic about that, I think. Hell, maybe it was even intentional lol, who the fuck knows? Not me, apparently I didn’t know anything. and as of now it’s been 6 months to the day and I guess that’s why I’m thinking of it again, like a really shitty anniversary that just makes me feel shaky and nauseous and hate myself for being so naïve. I wish I was the type of person to drown my sorrows but honestly I’m 19, I think alcohol tastes awful, and getting wasted seems like more trouble than it’s worth, anyway. At least school lets out for the summer in a month and I can properly wallow in my misery and depression. the quarantine really isn’t helping. Hopefully it’ll be over by summer; I’ve accepted that my plans for my bday just aren’t happening, which sucks bc I’ve been planning it for years (turning 20 is more important to me than 21 bc of the aforementioned not caring about alcohol, or gambling for that matter) but I’d at least be able to drive down to the beach occasionally. I did manage to get some stream-of-consciousness written for Neverland, though. I’m slowly getting the plot worked out. Funnily enough most of my progress is for the third part of the fic, where Mitch and Stiles are 35ish and adopt a teenager and their little family dynamic is just so fun to write, because they are both really good parents.

Edit: I thought I was done but nope apparently not? I think the worst part is how much they promised it would be okay. And yknow, I believed it, because I’m stupid like that. And when it all went to hell it was awful, but I could accept it as simple differences, yknow? Not everything works out and I know that. But then to find out that all those promises of it’s okay no matter what were actually, literally lies? Yeah that’s what’s really got me fucked up lol. I can put up with anything else, but I cannot stand when someone lies to me. Especially something like that. I don’t care how much the truth hurts, but don’t give me that false sense of security and let me believe everything’s okay when you know it isn't.

I think I’ve gotten to the point of anger in the 5 stages of grief, which is rare for me. I usually go straight to acceptance pretty quick. But I think it’s because this is the first time I’ve really been so hurt by something. I mean I’ve been hurt plenty, but this just hit differently. I feel like I lost a part of myself. And I want to hold out hope that maybe some day in the future it will be okay again, but honestly, how can it? How the FUCK could it ever be okay again after that clusterfuck? I want it to, and when I think back to a year ago I remember how good things were, and a year before that they were perfect. I don’t feel any bitterness about that. It’s like I’ve compartmentalized the last two years of my life into Before and After, and I can think about the Before without it hurting. I can clearly imagine being like that again. But then when I think about actually getting to that point again... it all falls apart. I feel like my trust is gone, and I don’t know how I could get it back after that. I think I could pretend to be fine ust like I always do, but at the back of my mind I would always be questioning everything, waiting for the other shoe to drop and everything to fall apart again, because it just kept happening, and why would next time be any different? I want there to be a next time, but at the same time, I can't decide if that would even be healthy for me at this point. Everything was such a mess by the end and I never know when to cut bait with someone, I always want to cling to the good times. When it gets to a point that I have to cut someone out of my life I can, but when I feel like there’s a glimmer of a chance at redeeming something, I’ll hold on, and that’s just. Not good. And it’s so hard to tell if I want to reconcile because of nostalgia for how it used to be, or because I think it would actually be a good idea. The one thing I do know is that I wish none of this had ever happened. It hurts and it’s awful and I can’t seem to dig my way out of the depression spiral I’ve been in ever since it happened, and so many other things just keep getting heaped onto the pile.

I miss the way I used to bed. I can feel the tangible difference in me since last October. That’s when my life went to hell and it’s just been getting worse and it feels like I’ll never be okay again. I know I will because I’m stubborn, and I always find a way to be okay, but it just hurts so much and I hate this, I hate myself and that just makes me even angrier because I was doing good. My life was great. I was happy and active and productive and I could honestly say I loved myself, and now I can’t even look at myself in the mirror half the time. I’m spinning my wheels because I know I need to do things but I just can't make myself do them, even though I know I’ll suffer from it in the future. This year I was supposed to get better. I was going to get my shit together and start the next decade of my life off on a high note and instead it’s just been one cluster fuck after another. I just want to be okay again.

#cookie speaks #this is depressing im sorry #but it's been bothering me for a while

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i4z-0892-il · 7 years

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Eggshells 5

Author: Jena @i4z-0892-il

Summary: AU Serial Killers Sam and Dean Winchester find themselves in a bind when the Reader gets caught in the cross-hairs of their plans.

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,303

Warnings: dark!fic, NSFW, 18+, Very graphic descriptions of violence, mature themes, death, mentions of death, torture abuse, language, assault

A/N: This has been one of my favorite fics to work on and I’m pretty proud to share it with you guys, so if you felt something please let me know. I literally survive off of your feedback.

Inspired by my girl @alphvjensen’s incredible story Sex and Violence

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11

If you like my work consider buying me a Coffee, or leave me some Feedback!

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The rest of the night dragged on sleeplessly, and wordlessly. Sam made good on his word to Dean and watched over you, his mind racing with fitting together pieces to an unsolvable puzzle. It wasn’t before long that the sun began to break over the horizon pouring soft streams of cream light through the busted cellar door.

“What will you tell them happened to me?” You asked knowing that Sam had to go to work soon, and knowing that you hadn’t missed a day of work since the flu outbreak last Winter. Sam lowered his eyes to the floor not wanting to lie, but not wanting to face you and the truth either.

“You turned over your resignation last night and booked a one way ticket to Rome.” He answered. You sat stone in silence attempting to compute what he’d just said to you.

“W-wha-how?” You asked incredulously, knowing the answer and fearing the confirmation.

“I broke into your apartment last night, emailed from your computer. People will think you’ve had some kind of nervous breakdown. They’ll speculate for a while, and then they’ll think you fell in love with the country- or someone, and you’ll disappear into memory.” He explained, breaking your heart with every syllable. You shook your head hopelessness welling wet in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He said unable to think of another thing to tell you the might alleviate the sting. No one would be looking for you, not for a while at least and by then it’d be far too late. You hung your head in defeat. Skip the country, disappear somewhere in Europe, somewhere beautiful; you’d talked about doing exactly that enough that It wouldn’t be a shocker if you just did it. Any plans to wait it out were completely dashed with the hope that someone would be missing you. If you were going to survive you’d have to play smart and get out fast. He left without saying another word, leaving you with the empty company of your tomb, and the fear the edged in every shadow. You’d never felt so small.

He drove to his flat in silence simply going through the motions of his morning routine finding himself at a loss for what to do. Sam stood in the shower watching red streak the white of the porcelain floor. Usually he could wash away his sins, or at least store them somewhere deep under lock and key, but today he couldn’t shake it. No one else was ever involved, and he didn’t trust Dean to keep you alive without him there. He stood for a moment wallowing in his own self loathing bemoaning that it simply had to be this way when the truth was that he just didn’t want to disappoint his brother. His entire life he’d looked up to Dean, he only wanted what was best for him even if it meant Sam had to sacrifice his own happiness- he owed it to him if nothing else. As he watched you in your own worthy despair it was nearly impossible not to re-evaluate where he stood. Was the life of a murderer worth the life of an innocent? How far was too far?

It didn’t matter in the end, no manner of prayer or wishing or hoping would change what had already come to pass. He didn’t think he could run away from Dean, he didn’t think he could let him kill you.

The worst part of the entire situation was the feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t paranoia, or fear. It wasn’t anxiety or regret. No, far worse, and far, far more dangerous- it was pride. He’d worked on countless cases of homicide studying the flaws in their plans and what ultimately got them caught. He knew the in’s and out’s and just how to get away with it. No matter the mess the Dean provided him with he always came up with a solution, and was always careful. One single slip up could mean the electric chair for both of them. Thank god for them both he was smart enough not to let them get caught. A chill ran down his spine turning his veins to ice the satisfaction he got from playing clean-up crew disgusted him, but he knew in his core he was just as broken and fucked up as Dean was only difference was that Sam liked to pretend he wasn’t.

You had no idea how long you’d been asleep, or even when it happened, it was dreamless, restless and no more serene than the horror you awoke to. A loud thudding and crashing followed by a strangled moan snapped you back to consciousness. Dean’s booted hit heavy on the creaky floorboards below him as he towered over a man cowering on the floor.

“Good morning Y/n, I thought you and I got off on the wrong foot yesterday so I’ve brought you a gift to keep us on the same page.” Dean said enthusiastically, with a swift kick straight to the stomach the man on the floor flipped to his back with a pained groan. Your whole body tensed knowing one single fact: whatever this was did not bode well for you. “Not a morning person? Me either, can’t do a damn thing until after I have my coffee.” He said too calm, and too cheerful. He leaned forward taking the man by the hair and dragging him to the post you’d been tied to previously, securing him far tighter than necessary but unwilling to make the same mistake twice. Then he walked over to you in your chair he knelt in front of you unlocking one of your cuffs and examining the bandaging around your wrist.

“That needs changing.” He said, yanking the first aid kit up from Sam’s chair and setting to work.

“What are you doing?” You asked, fearful of his answer.

“I’m changing your bandages, what does it look like?”

“I mean with him.” You said unamused and looking through him to the dark haired man not even 20 feet away from you.

“Oh him? It’s a surprise. And trust me it’s a good one.” He said a grin splaying on his full lips. His fingers worked deftly making quick work of the gauze padding your sore and angry wrists. When he finished he took you gently by the hands prompting you to stand, he moved you squarely in front of the man on the floor. “Stay right here- no peeking.” He said impishly before moving away from you for only the briefest of moments. When he returned he dropped his ax in your hands, a pistol sat firmly in his. “Kill him.” He instructed.

You whole body ran icy cold as your eyes widened in shock. “What?! No!” You said dropping the ax to the floor, the man on the ground searching between the two of you with a look you knew all too well. Dean shrugged and nodded his head before aiming the barrel of his gun directly at your temple.

“I thought you might say that. I also thought you might need some incentive to get you through. Kill him, or I bury a bullet in that pretty little head.” He said, the humor in his voice washing away to a tone so sinister it raised the hair on the back of your neck, and you didn’t doubt for a single moment that he’d pull the trigger. You’d gotten lucky last night but you couldn’t count on your luck to hold out, not with a gun at your head to say the least.

The fear and adrenaline spiked, your body surged with electricity and pulsed terror through your veins. You cautiously stooped to retrieve the ax from the floor your eyes never leaving the man’s face.

“Please- Miss- you don’t have to do this!” He begged you, crystal blue eyes finding you and piercing your soul. “Jimmy! My name is Jimmy! I have a daughter- Claire, and m-my wife Amelia!” He stammered, tears streamed down your face. You didn’t want to die, you hadn’t done enough, and you hadn’t lived enough. There were still so many things you had left to do. You still had so much left unaccomplished, you were going to write a best seller, and visit the Easter Island heads. You were going to swim with sharks, and eat exotic food, and have a few great love stories. Your life was so far from complete that it hadn’t even started. You wanted to see your sister get married and have kids, you still had family dinners to go to. You had friends who needed emergency drinks at a bar. You still had so much heartbreak, and joy left undeveloped in your life that choosing whether or not to end it right then and there for the sake of someone you’d never seen before in your life just didn’t make sense.

“You have 20 seconds Princess, oh and don’t even think about taking a swing at me- you’ll be dead before you hit the ground, and then you’ll both be dead. At least this way one of you walks away.” Dean interjected clicking the hammer of the pistol backwards.

You swallowed hard a lump catching in your throat making it impossible to breathe. You couldn’t take a life, could you? To save your own? He wasn’t even giving you enough time tow rap your mind around what was happening.

“No please…” You whimpered, clutching the wooden handle of the ax so tightly your knuckles tightened white. Panic set in as Jimmy’s cries echoed in the small space. You stared at him like he was a wounded animal, he’d done nothing to you, you couldn’t take his life.

“15.”

“Please, I can’t.” You whispered, your voice cracking as everything rushed around you making you dizzy, your body paralyzed frozen solid in a feeling you didn’t even have words to express. Every muscle in your body tightened as he continued to count backwards. Dread, fear, terror, anxiety, confusion, every emotion sped coursed through you at the speed of light.

“10.”

“Please! I won’t tell anyone! Just let me go home! Let me see my daughter again!” Jimmy screamed in the commotion of your mind.

“I can’t!” You croaked, the ticking of the clock was running out and you just needed him to shut up so you could think. “I can’t do it, I’m not like you! I can’t.” You pleaded but you cries fell on deaf ears.

“9.”

“Please!” He shouted casting his prayers upward to a God who wouldn’t listen. “Please don’t do this!”

“I can’t!” You shouted as tears fell from your eyes. “Just let me think!” You begged him but he wouldn’t quit begging, clouding your mind with his voice. You couldn’t see straight, he wouldn’t let you see straight. You just needed to figure out what to do. Your entire body trembled under the intense pressure.

“8.”

“No!” Jimmy screamed. “Help! Help me! Someone please help me!” He shouted, but you knew better than anyone it would be in vain. The sound of his screams shattered each and every thought you tried to form.

“7.”

“Shut up! Just let me think!” You screamed, but Jimmy wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t his pleas spilled out of his mouth like a fountain interrupting everything. The knot in your chest just grew thicker and bigger and tighter with each number counted down you were running out of time.

“6.”

You couldn’t escape. Jimmy began to sob almost uncontrollably, shouting his goodbyes to heaven.

“5.”

You wouldn’t win against a gun. He pleaded for God and his angels to look over his family.

“4.”

“Dean please!” You shouted over the howling, but he kept with his count down, his voice booming and echoing all around the small space.

“3.”

You were going to die if you didn’t decide. Your fingers wrapped around the wood of the ax, your body moving against your own will. Jimmy cried out for mercy. This was it. Time was up, you had to make a choice, you both died, or you lived to fight another day.

“2.”

A scream ripped through your throat as every emotion, every fiber in your body exploded all at once.

“1.”

The ax imbedded itself deep into the collar of Jimmy who locked eyes with you as all life was forced from his body with the river of crimson that spurt from the gaping wound at his throat. A gurgling cough, and panic set in subsiding only when his eyes rolled backwards into his skull. You backed away your fingers lingering in the air as the gravity set in on you.

Your stomach churned as you collapsed to your knees vomiting on the floor, the sight of his blood on your hands kicking you into overdrive, your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. Dean knelt beside you, taking your face in his hands. His thumb dragged tenderly over your cheek, as he caught your eyes. He had a soft smile on his face as his fingers ran lovingly through your hair.

“Hey, shh…” He hushed, his voice bringing you slowly back to Earth. “Shh, it’s alright. You can’t leave now. You’re one of us.” He said as he wrapped his arms around you holding you tightly to his shoulder like a child. “Now you know what it feels like.”

He pulled away from you with such care it was as if he were afraid you’d shatter into a million pieces if he moved too quickly. He took your chin in his fingers bringing you to meet his gaze one more time.

“Next time you try to escape I won’t be nice enough give you a chance to be forgiven.” He said coldly.

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