#WHY is it never I love you and ALWAYS I hate packing and THEN SHED LOVED SAM MORE THAN ANYONE ugh I blame booktok

[acourtofquestions]

“Happy July 9th to those who celebrate” also known as “go cry in a corner Samlaena stans”😅😭because I don’t know about y’all but Last Kiss💜gets me🩶every🖤dang time☠️

[auspicioustidings]

I am sure I must have yapped about this before but consider alpha Ghost who despises omegas. Roba was an omega and he used every bit of his biology against Ghost to try and break him. He just cannot be around omegas now, he hates it when any of his pack even smells like one from being out and about.

It means their pack beta Gaz gets treated like their omega to an extent. It's not like he hates it, it's nice that they want to spoil him, but he also wants to look after someone y'know? Everyone thought he'd present as an alpha when he was growing up and he still feels the instinct to protect those weaker than him. It maybe gets to him a little that he feels like an alpha, he is a beta and he gets treated like an omega.

He does not expect to present late. He certainly does not expect an omega scent match to be the thing that triggers it. You're everything he has ever wanted and he knows he will break Ghost's heart if he brings you home. So he doesn't.

You are rejected by your scent match and it hurts. You didn't realise how awful it would be, how much it would wreak havoc on your system. Alphas can reject a scent match and not be too affected but omegas? It is horrific.

Soap smells you on Gaz no matter how much he tries to hide it. His fucking scent match and Gaz is hiding them. The others were too distracted by Gaz's new alpha scent but Johnny always did have the best nose, and he is not going to let this go. He knows Ghost's feelings and he loves the man, but he will not ignore their omega to spare him from confronting his trauma.

You don't trust him when he tracks you down. Another scent match here to break your heart all over again? He's so upset at how sick you've gotten over it, gets to his knees and begs for a chance for his pack.

Only when you finally let him take you home, Ghost growls at you. One of your scent matched alphas growls at you. You want to die. You run away while Soap and him get into a shouting match.

You meet your last alpha while you are running. Price has no idea what is happening when you crash into him as he's walking the path to home. He never thought he'd have an omega. A scent match at that? It's more than he deserves he thinks. He's happy about you running into him, you're his and it feels wonderful. Only you are wildly distressed while smelling like Soap and he needs to figure out why.

He tells you to stay put because he can feel Ghost through the bond, feel his turmoil. He should never have left you, but his concern for his pack mate took priority.

The thing about meeting all your scent matches in quick succession is that it nose dives you into a heat. But they hate you. One rejected you, one brought you to another so he could growl at you, one left you when you were in distress. You are so distraught that you can't go to them because you are certain they will only be disgusted that you would ask them for help with your heat.

You find the nearest shelter. It's a crumbling shed out the back of their property. It doesn't do much to keep out the cold, there are leaks that get worse when it starts to snow through the night. You wish there would be more because you are burning.

The snow storm muffles your scent. The only reason you don't die is because Ghost braved the storm to go grab more firewood from the shed.

There he is, the alpha who hates omegas with his scent matched omega in heat, in pain and in danger. He walks away. You accept death would be a kindness now.

Except you don't die because he sends the others. You don't die because even though he cannot stand to be around you or to smell you, he gives his pack to you. He sits in the armchair all night listening as his pack bundles you into the pack bedroom and knots you through your heat while desperately trying to combat the hypothermia that was setting in.

It's months and months of angst and tension and misery as the pack tries to divide their love between their pack mate and their omega. Ghost hates himself every time he growls at you and scares you. You hate yourself for tearing this pack apart.

There doesn't seem to be a happy ending here until a pair of betas visit town. Maybe Ale and Rudy are just what this pack was missing to make it whole. Maybe they soothe all those frayed edges, act as a buffer. And maybe, just maybe, one day Ghost and you realise all at once that somewhere between you starting to growl right back at him and him starting to make an extra cup of tea for you, you fell entirely in love.

The rest of the pack can't believe it took you two idiots so long to realise it.

[heliads]

Hi! Hope I’m not too late, could I request a Derek Hale x reader where she (already knowing ab the supernatural) gets tired of Derek constantly disappearing from her life whenever he does that Derek thing until finally she’s fed up with it being the one to disappear this time idk how to end it or go from there but I was thinking of an angsty hurt/comfort with a happy ending🥺! Hope it’s enough, thank you!!

'the one who leaves ' - derek hale

masterlist

The hardest part of both being a werewolf and knowing a werewolf is, and will always be, the horrors. The attacks that never cease, the blood always shed. The second hardest part is the strain of being with someone whose life is always in jeopardy purely because of who they are. Although it doesn’t feel nearly as important as the constant threat of hunters, or the latest monster to decide that Beacon Hills should be its new domain, sometimes you swear the second part hangs even more heavily about your heart than the first. Then again, maybe that’s just because of Derek Hale.

Derek is one of the most complicated players on the supernatural chess board. You met him what feels like a lifetime ago, when one of seemingly dozens of supernatural attacks had threatened the lives of Beacon Hills citizens. Derek had saved your life. A month later, you’d saved him from some hunters. The back-and-forth of life saving went on and on until the two of you decided you were better as friends than people a little too important to each other to be acquaintances, and then the boundaries were shifted again when you started dating.

Sometimes, though, on rough nights after long fights and darker ones when you haven’t seen Derek in weeks and he doesn’t seem all that inclined to answer your texts or voicemails, you start to think that entering into a relationship with you is one of Derek’s biggest regrets. It’s not that he doesn’t care for you; Derek has assured you many times over that his feelings for you are stronger even than his loyalties to his pack, his commitment to killing the hunters responsible for the Hale House fire, yet the problem remains.

Derek is all too familiar with the struggle of having a weakness. When his ancestral home burned down with most of his family trapped inside, he learned for the first time that sometimes a mortal blow capable of destroying his life doesn’t have to threaten him specifically. When he loves someone so much that he prioritizes their safety above his own, Derek creates a weakness that hunters and other supernaturals can exploit. He would never forgive himself if you were hurt as a tool to get to him, so Derek has been doing his best to limit the fallout of any supernatural fight onto you.

However, this only seems to drive the two of you apart. Yes, by not being seen in public as often anymore, Derek lowers the possibility that a hunter would try to kidnap you as a hostage, but it also means that you see him less and less frequently. When you do finally manage to meet up, after thoroughly checking to make sure you haven’t been tailed, and only after dark in one of your houses, you’re both exhausted, wrung dry of the same life and spirit that had brought the two of you together in the first place.

It’s not the same anymore. You hate to admit it, but it’s true. Loving Derek is no longer the beautiful victory it had always been. Instead, you feel as if you’ve lost the war. Derek isn’t yours anymore. If he was, you wouldn’t have to hide what the two of you share, you wouldn’t have to constantly stare at the long list of missed calls on your phone and wonder when he’ll ever pick up, if he even wants to anymore. Derek is doing a great job at keeping you safe, but somewhere along the line, the two of you got your priorities mixed up. Now you’re alone and he’s alive, and you don’t know that you’re any happier about it than you would have been if one of you were lost to the hunters.

At this point, why try? Why even bother with the pretense of maintaining the ruse? The two of you might as well not even be together at all. It doesn’t feel like you are, certainly, when you go so long in between visits. Even when the two of you are finally face to face, Derek is harried and brief, hardly staying longer than a few hours before rushing off again, never to be seen for another few months.

It wears away at you like a river at a stone. Your sharp edges, the ones that pierced through his shell so easily at the beginning of it all, have been smoothed to nothingness. Each of your attempts to break through to Derek and coax him into staying even a little longer are brushed off with simple excuses. It’s like you don’t even exist to him anymore.

Fine. Fine. If you’re not a person to him anymore, he will not be a person to you. You pack up your things and leave Beacon Hills early one morning, only telling Scott McCall and Deaton over at the vet so they can contact you if need be. You don’t say a word about your absence to Derek. Why bother? He’s not even in town, hasn’t been for months. When he comes back– if he attempts to come back at all– he can ask one of his friends and hear the same answer that he would from you right now. There’s no point in wasting either of your time any longer.

You’re still engaged in fighting the good fight against the supernatural. Deaton is a longtime friend of yours, and he’d been hearing rumors of a peculiarity a couple of states over. He couldn’t afford to leave Beacon Hills for an extended period of time, being so important to the town as one of its last defenders, so you offered to go instead. It would be good for you, you said. The trip. Being able to clear your head.

Odds are, Deaton had been able to see through that excuse as he has many of your others all throughout your life, but he had just nodded and said that he was grateful for your help. With that, you left town. You’ve been in Beacon Hills for your entire life, excluding brief excursions in the name of school or work or family trips. Never before have you left like this, not entirely sure if you would ever come back, uncertain that the person you love most of all would be there to want you to return.

At first, the trip feels like a terror. Then you roll down the windows and let the early morning light touch your face with soft, bright fingers; then the breeze cools your face, running over your skin in loose circles; then you start to breathe at last, for the first time in what feels like years. Then you remember that you are still a person worth saving, and maybe even if Derek Hale cannot do that, you can save yourself by leaving.

The miles pass by in moments. You’re long gone by the time anyone starts waking up. Scott knew that you were leaving and told the other teenagers in his pack so they wouldn’t freak out, but he still texts you anyway. Hope you find what you’re looking for.

So do I, you message him back at a red light. Stay safe.

Thanks, he responds, then no more.

You end up in the state of your choice by the middle of the afternoon, booking a room at a hotel so you can have a home base while properly surveying the area. You don’t have a supernatural’s knack for telling when something is wrong, but the hairs on the back of your neck prickle anyway, letting you know that the currents of the wind around this city have a magical edge, a certain element that sets them aside from a normal town. Good. You could use something fantastical and uncommon.

You don’t know when you expect to hear back from Derek. Never, maybe. You had assumed that he wouldn’t try to reach out to you until he got back, which might be anywhere from a few months from now to never. Once he returned to Beacon Hills, Derek could hear from Scott as to why you weren’t there anymore. You and Derek hardly spoke at all anymore, except out of an obligation to make sure you were still alive. He probably wouldn’t care at all.

Yet not a week has gone by before you start getting frantic texts from Derek.

Y/N. You in town?

Why is your house empty?

Scott tells me you left town. Why didn’t you tell me?

Y/N. Please text back. I’m getting worried.

Three missed calls.

Please pick up, sweetheart. I’ll drive over there myself if I have to. Just tell me you’re alive.

You stare at the notifications for a long time, reveling in how they build in intensity, then tap out a message of your own at last:  I’m alive and well.

Derek immediately responds. And you didn’t tell me you were going?

The bright glow of your phone dulls your senses. Nothing feels right, but nothing feels wrong anymore. Loving Derek used to make you feel invincible. Now, you’re just tired, and wishing this exchange would end.

Didn’t think I would have to. You’ve been away for months, and you never tell me when you’re going. Why should I?

Derek doesn’t like that at all. It’s different with me, sweetheart. You know that.

You don’t bother to grace that with a response. Setting your phone on ‘do not disturb,’ you shove the device back in your pocket. It’s good that Derek is unhappy with this turn of events, you decide. For once, he should be the one panicking when he wakes up alone, when he wants to be with the person he loves only for them to disappear without a trace. Why should it be you all the time?

You carry on with your task. As it turns out, the case at hand, the utter unraveling of the supernatural presence in this town, is due to an overactive ancient curse on the town. Deaton talks you through how to shut it down, and once the job is done, you return home, proud of yourself and your accomplishments.

You’re fully expecting Derek to have left town again by the time you got back. He’s been messaging you non stop, but you’ve been leaving most of those messages on ‘unread’ since they all say pretty much the same things:  why wouldn’t you tell me you were going, are you alright, come back ASAP. You message back occasionally to assure him that you’re still alive, but mainly, you think a bit of silence would do the both of you some good.

After arriving back at Beacon Hills, you stop by your house to drop off your belongings before visiting Deaton to debrief. He’s glad to hear of your success, but once both of you have ensured that the town was handled accordingly, he breaks protocol to talk about your personal life instead.

“I think you should talk to Derek Hale,” he says uneasily.

You frown at him. “What?”

Deaton glances around to make sure no customers can overhear you, then continues on. “He’s been a wreck ever since you left. He keeps stopping by the shop to demand information from me. He insisted for a long time that I give him the name of the town you were visiting so he could check on you himself, but I kept it from him because I thought you would need to focus.”

“That was the right call,” you assure him. It would, after all, have been more difficult to juggle both an errant curse and a supremely ticked off boyfriend.

Deaton chuckles good-naturedly. “That was what I had assumed. I would still recommend talking to him, though. These sorts of conflicts are best handled sooner rather than later.”

You nod your agreement, and, after talking a few minutes longer, head out towards Derek’s apartment complex. Although you’ve felt bitterly triumphant in the fact that Derek now knows what it’s like to miss somebody like you’ve been missing him, you fell in love with him for a reason, and that reason was that you liked being around him more than you did with anyone else. You still love him, even if the two of you have been on the fringe of an argument for a while now.

That’s what drives you to his building, what carries you up the interminably long elevator ride, what brings you to knock twice on his door and wait until a quiet voice from inside announces that the door is unlocked.

That’s the first sign that something is wrong. Derek never leaves the door unlocked. Some could call it an overwhelming concern for safety, or just plain paranoia, but Derek’s experienced enough tragedy in his life to go overboard in making sure that he keeps all potential avenues of risk firmly blocked off. The fact that the door is unlocked disquiets you more than you like to admit.

Slowly, carefully, you push the door open. Immediately, you’re struck by the gloomy atmosphere of the place. Derek pulled the curtains over the wide windows of his apartment, making the whole place darker and more lifeless than usual. The lights are off. You can assume that Derek can see thanks to his werewolf senses without needing the fluorescents, but for your human eyes, the whole place just seems as dark and grave as a crypt.

“Derek?” You call out hesitantly.

Silence. Then, a husky voice from the back. “Y/N? Is that you?”

You still can’t see him in the gloom, so you cross the apartment to open the blinds on the large windows, hoping to toss some light on the situation. You know the layout of the place from memory, so many visits here help to solidify your knowledge of each piece of furniture in the apartment. Still, you’re not expecting to see Derek crumpled in a chair on the corner, looking significantly the worse for wear.

You’re at his side in an instant. “Derek? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says listlessly. “Not like you knew a thing about that, though, disappearing like that.”

Your concern for him starts to fade away, replaced instead by a burning irritation. “So that’s what all of this is about? You’re so hurt that I was the one to leave that you’ve become comatose?”

Derek sits up a little, eyes flashing. “You vanished without a trace and didn’t tell me where you went. I thought you were dead, Y/N. I had to pry information out of Deaton so I even knew you were alive, and when I tried to contact you, you ignored my messages. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

You laugh, although it’s not a happy sound. “Finally, you understand. This is what I deal with every time you leave town, Derek. You never tell me where you’re going or what you’re doing. I sat here in Beacon Hills for months, wondering if you’ll ever come back. I was gone for half the time you usually are and yet it’s far too much for you to handle. How do you think I feel?”

Derek’s lips flatten. “I– I didn’t realize you took it like that. I was just trying to keep you safe. You know how the hunters watch me, and–”

You cut him off, feeling the anger coiling through your stomach. “I know that, Derek. I know that every supernatural in your life that isn’t a part of your pack wants you dead. I know that in your head, this is how you keep me safe, by constantly cutting me out of your life, but has it occurred to you that this isn’t what I want? You could have asked me if this was the way to handle it. If you had even talked to me at all, I would have told you that I don’t care about being safe. Not if it means we’re like this. Not if it means I don’t get to have you at all.”

Derek stands up slowly, until he’s hovering just a few breaths away from you. One of his hands reaches up to cradle your cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispers. “I’ve lost so many people in my life. I can’t lose you, too.”

“I know,” you murmur back. “But if you keep going on like this, if you keep pushing me away, you’ll lose me anyway.”

He flinches. “I should have asked you,” he admits. “I can’t erase the past, Y/N, but I can apologize for the present. Will you forgive me?”

“Only if you stay with me,” you answer him.

A ghost of a smile plays upon his lips. “I’ve never had a problem with that. It hurts like hell, leaving you. Always.”

“Then don’t do it anymore,” you urge him. “Stay with me, Derek. Keep me safe by staying with me.”

“I will,” Derek promises.

People in love make a lot of promises. Some are kept, some are broken. Some are forgotten about entirely. Looking at Derek in this half-darkness, though, you have a feeling that this one will be cherished for quite a long time indeed.

teen wolf tag list: @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @23victoria

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[allaboutthebooz]

Come Over

Summary: Bucky can't seem to let go

Pairing: Bucky x reader

A/n: Oh look. I've come out of my once a year slumber to grace you with my undeserving presence and I will leave you with the tasty angst. It will be a one-shot, I'm sorry. Don't hate me too much.

"Come over." The two words that light up your phone, briefly illuminating your dark bedroom at one o'clock in the morning. You had spent the past few hours tossing and turning. You just couldn't seem to shut your brain off and apparently neither could he.

He always seemed to know when you were having a hard time sleeping. He also knew exactly what you needed. A way to relax.

The only problem was that you both agreed to not keep doing this. Things weren't easy when you were together, almost toxic really.

Constant screaming matches that would always lead to tears and clothes being tossed around the apartment. To him moving agonizingly slow inside of you. Him whispering his love and apologies in your ear while you whimpered and moved to meet his thrusts just the way he liked. Accepting the affection while it lasts, knowing it would happen again.

When things finally ended with you packing your things and leaving the spare key on the counter, you swore to never allow yourself to be caught up in his game of push and pull again.

You were devastated to leave him, but knew it was the only way things would change. He made it so difficult to stay away though. One text or call and one of you would be at the other's door.

Your friends always questioned why you kept crawling back to him and no matter how much explaining you tried to do, they just wouldn't leave it alone. You would go on the dates they would arrange for you, but you always found yourself in his bed after the guys would drop you off.

You laid in bed a few more minutes trying to decide if you should ignore him or give in the slight tug behind your navel. You had just thrown your covers off of you, when your phone began to ring. Without looking at the Caller ID, you answer.

"Hello?"

"I was worried you were actually asleep for once." His rough voice making your insides melt.

You release a slight chuckle. "No I was just debating if this was a good idea."

"It's always a good idea." You could hear the smile in his voice.

You sigh. "Is it though? We're supposed to be moving on, Buck. How am I supposed to move on when you won't let me?"

"Who says I want you to move on?"

"I don't know. The gazillion fights we've had. The constant screaming at each other. The constant tears I've shed. I can keep going. We're not good for each other."

He's quiet for a moment. You can tell he's going through the memories of you two together. "That doesn't mean we're good for anyone else."

"You don't know that, James."

"Yes, I do. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were it for me. No matter what we've gone through. You're still the one I want in my arms at the end of the day."

"The only thing we're good at together, is fucking each other and you know that's not good enough."

"That doesn't mean I want you to move on. I will never stop loving you."

You heart clenches. "Maybe you should."

He pauses. "Do you want me to?"

Your breath catches in your throat. It wasn't all bad. Aside from the sex, you two were capable of laughing and being completely in love. You remember how he would hold you close when you were out with your friends. How he would come up behind you when you were cooking and just wrap himself around you. How he would take you to your favorite meadow and you would sprawl out on a blanket, while he would just look at you as if you were the only thing that mattered to him.

How he would tuck your hair behind your ears and kiss you so gently that you felt like you would float away. How he would hum his favorite songs while he got ready for work and you laid in bed watching him. His ice blue eyes, taking in every inch of you when you would sit on the couch reading.

"No I don't." You whisper.

"Then get your ass over here and let me show you just how much I love you."

Tears prick your eyes. "I don't think I should, Bucky."

"Come on, babe." He pleads gently. "I love you so much. Things can be so different this time. I can stop hurting you."

"You say this every time. How do I know that things won't be the same?"

"You have to trust me. The only way to know is for me to prove it to you." You can hear the desperation growing inside of him.

You shake your head. "I don't know, Buck."

"Then let me come to you." He begs. "Please, Y/N."

TAG LIST: @fangirlinsweden @snackles87 @jamielea81

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Here, Boy ~ X.T.

A/n: I didn’t know exactly how to end this. Hope it landed well :)

Request: “Xavier Thrope x werewolf!male reader where Xavier is crushing on a golden retriever sporty reader...” by anon

Word Count: 2,000+

MASTERLIST

Being friends with Wednesday hadn't been Xavier's first intention, but after bonding over their mutual gloominess and like for quiet and space, it really was inevitable. It had started mostly because she'd thought he was the Hyde, but when that theory was debunked and it was revealed who the real Hyde was their friendship got to form outside of that. Now they both had the habit of tucking themselves away in Xavier's shed - which had at this point become both of their space. Wednesday was allowed to chase any theory and put whatever pictures she wanted up, Xavier didn't mind. He was used to the gore and horror she was so enthralled by, having been plagued by dreams the same way Wednesday had been haunted by visions.

There were a lot of cons to being friends with Wednesday, but the biggest pro was that it came with a bonus friendship with Enid. Enid hated coming to the shed, but as Wednesday and Xavier started to hang out at lunch, during class, and in their free time, Enid started to tag along. By herself she was pleasant enough and Xavier liked having someone a little bit more positive and light in his life. She helped him out of his head, and out of shell, much more. He didn't just hang around Wednesday or his stuffy secret society friends - he branched out a lot more.

That was how he met Y/n.

Officially at least.

Nevermore was a small school, and one couldn't go far without running into at least half the student body in some passive way. Y/n and xavier had shared a class or a friend or a space several dozen times, but they'd never had much reason to talk to each other. The few times they had, left Xavier with a deep appreciation for Y/n though. Like Enid, he was a breath of fresh air to be around. His smile was contagious, and he found joy in the simplest of things. He was a sporty person, and had found his way onto every single team he could, but he wasn't obsessive about it. Sports wasn't the draw; being part of a team was. As a werewolf, he was already strong and had impressive stamina, but he also had a craving for that pack dynamic. He loved being apart of something.

Everyone pleasant loved Y/n. That was why he was friends with Enid.

Everyone unpleasant hated him. No surprise that he was being tormented by Syl then.

Syl was the kind of asshole that liked quiet, but in a way that rather than finding a peaceful moment or creating a space for herself, she tried to make everyone else calm down instead. She made any public space the worst to be in; her looks wiped off smiles and her biting comments soured sweet moments. She was a vampire who apparently came from a really old family, and it reflected in her beliefs. In the way she avoided Wednesday and Enid because of something about the "appearance of evil" even though Enid was dating Ajax, and Wednesday was openly aromantic and intensely uninterested in any kind of romantic relationship.

In the past, Enid and Syl had clashed a lot, because Enid hadn't wolfed out fully yet. Then Wednesday and Enid had become friends, and Syl learned very quickly to keep her distance. And then immediately moved onto Y/n.

Y/n wasn't an idiot. He knew she was being mean, but just didn't care. He knew that when she threw a ball and yelled for him to fetch, or that when she scratched behind his ear and called him a good boy, it wasn't actually a game or a show of kindness or affection. he always let it happen though, and the most he ever did was roll his eyes good naturally and laugh it off. It genuinely didn't bother him.

When Wednesday asked about  it, Enid was the only one who could come up with any explanation. "When you're high energy and good natured, and a werewolf, it just... is a pretty direct comparison," she offered half heartedly. "You already act like a dog - you're friendly and bring little presents and need a lot of affection and can get carried away with playing. They see him rolling around on that field and everyone just sees a house pet most of the time. Not like - like he's less for that. But, a lot of people scratch werewolves behind the ears and give them "treats" instead of "food" or play fetch or platonically cuddle or call us good boys or girls or even use baby voices - just like they would an actual job. I only experience it as little as I do because I go out of my way to do my hair, and my nails, and I put a lot of effort into my clothes and make up, so at a very young age I didn't want people touching me and I didn't play with everyone else." She shrugged. "Y/n doesn't have that luxury. He's just used to it."

Well that bothered Xavier. Used to it or not, he could see the shame and embarrassment Y/n felt every single time Syl made a big deal out of treating him like some common house pet. Like more of an animal than a person. And he could see the way that the more Syl got away with it, the more other people started to do it too. Not always with Y/n, and rarely with any malice, but...

It was still demeaning.

One day they were all at lunch and in the middle of their conversation, Syl called, "Come here, Boy! Come here Y/n!" She pat her thighs, bending her knees a little. Y/n froze mid laugh, his smile wiping off of his face as he cringed into his seat. A sheepish look crossed his face as he went to get up and go over to Syl.

Xavier had had enough. "Would you stop doing that?"

Syl smirked as she looked at the irritated artist, her shades lowering so her eyes could look directly into Xavier's. "What's the matter Thorpe? Claimed this one or something?"

Xavier's face twists with irritation. "I didn't claim him - what the hell is wrong with you? He's not an animal, he's a person."

"Half person," Syl shrugged. The courtyard was suddenly very tense and quiet, half shocked and the other half incredibly uncomfortable. "He's half dog, I'm not wrong."

Wednesday stood from the table, her eyes narrowed. "He's not half-anything, you small minded waste of shadow. He's part wolf and part human, and that's only because he can shift between either of his forms. That doesn't mean that when he's a wolf he loses his ability to think and feel like a human."

Syl's lips pulled back into a snarl as she went to snap something back to Wednesday, but Y/n suddenly stood to his feet to catch everyone's attention. "Guys, it's fine." He laughed off the awkwardness he felt, waving his hand through the air as if to dismiss all the negativity circling him. "I like when she scratches behind my ear, and fetch is actually super fun."

"Of course," Wednesday agreed. "But she's taking advantage of your enjoyment and is using it in a very mean way. She's twisting all the good things you'd usually allow and making them something not good." Her dagger throwing glare turned to Y/n, and then softened. Just a little. “Do you understand?”

Y/n nodded. “I’ll stop letting it slide.”

“That’s a great place to start,” Enid encouraged, and Y/n’s smile was back again. For now that would be enough.

-

The next time Syl tried to pull something, neither Wednesday nor Enid were around. Xavier knew it had been on purpose when she approached, eyes ignoring him completely as if he wasn’t even there. “There’s my favorite boy,” she cooed, reaching up to scratch behind Y/n’s ear.

Y/n leaned away. He frowned at her, not in the mood for this but not totally good at confrontation still. He had gotten a little better when Xavier had sat down and talked boundaries, agreeing that he would be more affectionate with Y/n to show him how it could be done well and not as a cruelty. Now Y/n knew the difference and he didn’t like Syl anymore. “Dont do that.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a drama queen. Come here-“

“He said stop,” Xavier piped in. Y/n looked relieved to have been backed up.

Syl slowly looked at Xavier. “God with how often you little twerps defend this weirdo you’d think he was sucking your dick or something.”

Something set ablaze inside of Xavier in a very ugly way. She thought the only reason anyone would be friends with Y/n was if they were having sex? “What is wrong with you?” He snapped. “You know why we defend Y/n? Because he’s a good person! I know that’s a really fucking foreign concept to you, because when he’s a little slow or misses little details or doesn’t click with the joke that was made or misinterprets tone or whatever - you just think he’s an idiot. That’s a bad thing to you. But it’s not bad, or especially good, it’s just a thing. That’s just how he is and the fact that in a school of freaks you decided that him being different than you was a bad thing? I don’t get it! We were killed in the last for being different, how do you not know that? How is it not ingrained in your blood? How do you not know that you’re just as bad all those people in the past? Like Crackstone.”

Syl hissed, like a mix between spitting and growling. “Jesus maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re sucking his dick.”

Xavier lashed out without thinking. He shoved her. “What we do behind closed doors is none of your business, you bitch, but just so it can sync really deep in your impossibly thick skull - no, we don’t have any kind of sexual shit. That doesn’t mean I don’t like him though! It’s almost like people have worth just by being people.” He took Y/n’s hand and gently tugged him away. Y/n followed the prompt. “Come on,” Xavier growled. “Let’s get out of here.”

They had gone down several halls and had completely lost Syl before either of them spoke. “You... like me?”

Xavier froze, finally processing all of the things he had said. In front of Y/n. Oh shit. “Uh-“ He turned to look at Y/n and something warm spread through his blood, comforting him but cooling down the raging storm from before. Y/n was smiling. “Maybe.”

Y/n stepped closer to Xavier, changing the palm-to-palm hand hold into a finger laced hold. “I think I maybe like you too. But I’m... slow, with stuff like this.”

Xavier eased, relaxing now that Syl was gone and Y/n was talking about something that he had wanted so badly for so long. “I would be okay, figuring it out. Taking as long as you need.”

Y/n nodded, then rested his head on Xavier’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”

Completely forgetting about Syl now, Xavier chuckled. His smile was shy and small but bright. “That’s more than okay.” He turned his head, leaving a kiss on the top of Y/n’s head. “Is that okay?”

Y/n closed his eyes, sighing contentedly. “That’s okay.” They fell into quiet, but this time it was comfortable and familiar. Like falling into bed after a long day. “If Syl ever tries anything again, I’m going to go to staff. I don’t want to deal with it anymore, and neither should any of my friends. Or you.”

Xavier liked that idea very much. He also very much liked being excluded from ‘friends’. “That’s a good idea. I can go with you.”

“I’d like that,” Y/n whispered. “I’d like that a lot.” The bell rang and they moved off of the wall to head to class. When they had to delegate ways, their hands lingered, fingers still holding onto each other. Then their hands fell away but they still smiled. It wouldn’t be the last time they did that, and until they could come back later they were both just fine waiting until then.

-

Male readers tag: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

[roninishere]

Strong.

Part 2 of Half of my heart!

Obanai Iguro x Female Reader

Warnings: horrible grammar? Haha

Summary: things finally were coming together.

||

‘My hands, your hands
Tied up like two ships
Drifting, weightless
Waves trying to break it
I'd do anything to save it
Why is it so hard to say it?’

‘I’m so sorry Y/N, I can’t come home yet. The only way I can come home is if I kill Muzan, and finally purify my blood.’

It was time.

Demon Slayer Corps successful took down Muzan and the rest of the upper moons with no casualties. It was a miracle.

Y/N started to get worried when a week had passed after the final battle, where was he?

He promised.

After asking Tengen and his wives to pick your up after school and watch over him, you had rushed home to pack a small bag. Just enough for a day trip.

He promised though.

Swinging the door open, nearly rushing out, a familiar black and white stripped hoari caught your eyes, bringing you to a full halt. Your eyes shot up, and you swore you thought you were gunna faint. You locked eyes with those familiar yellow and turquoise eyes; and your knees buckled. Before they gave out, you leaned your hip and body weight on the side of the door frame.

He kept his promise.

You got some overwhelmed with emotions, you started crying as you regained your posture. Was this real? Or were you dreaming?

You weren’t emotional often, but fuck you were a fool for the serpent Hashira. This is four YEARS into the making, for this very moment. Subconsciously, you closed the gap between the two of you, bringing your hands up to his face. You thought your heart was going to burst out of you chest. Your palms were embarrassing sweaty as you cupped his cheeks, letting out the softest joy of laugh ‘He’s really here…’

Obanai had always been hesitant and awkward with affection, so when he didn’t go to touch or embrace you, it didn’t bother you. Though the instant you set your hands on his face over his bandages, he dropped his luggage bag, he instantly leaned into your touch as his beautiful unique eyes were locked on yours. Your eyes were so breathtaking and beautiful as he remembered.

The unfamiliar feeling of warm and fuzziness ran through his body when you moved in close, pressing your lips on his bandages, where his lips would be, for a couple seconds before pulling back with the biggest smile he’s ever seen “Welcome home baby.”

Welcome home baby. Between those words and the fact that you were so loving towards him, even with the new scars nasty on his face, he felt he was on cloud nine.

“I’m so sorry that it took this long,” he started with that look of disappointment and shame in his eyes that unfortunately was common to you. “Even though Muzan is gone, a part of me still feels like I shouldn’t be here, that I don’t deserve this. Not with everything I’ve put you through. I feel like I’m still a disgrace.” The feelings he had about his past still very much existed for the now former Hashira, and it continues to break your heart.

He had been through so much not only the first twelve years of his life, but in general. He was a man of insecurities, self doubt, and self hate. You wanted to help change that.

“I understand baby, I promised that I’d wait a hundred years for you if that’s how long it took. As for you still have those feelings, over time they’ll go away,” your gentle words brought him to tears, and you never saw him shed a tear. “But it’ll take time, and for you to forgive yourself. It starts with you. I’ve forgiven you the moment our little boy was born,” you gently brushed your thumbs across the bandages and whispered “You were never a disgrace, and you still will never be one. You’ve saved hundreds of lives! Probably even thousands! If you’re anything, you’re a hero baby.

“You deserve to be happy again, to be with the ones that you love, to finally live your life. How you want.”

Your words gave him strength to finally touch you, he engulfed you into his arms, hugging you so tight that it was slightly difficult to breathe.

‘My heart, your heart
Sit tight like bookends
Pages between us
Written with no end
So many words we're not saying
Don't wanna wait till it's gone
You make me strong’

“Do you trust me?” Your question had him taken him by surprise but he didn’t hesitate to answer “With my life.”

Your brain went a little mushy thinking that was super cute of him to say, you blushed before picking up his luggage bag with one hand as you tugged for him to follow you into your home. You brought him to you-now your guys bedroom, set his luggage down in front of your-now his as well drawers before you closed the sliding doors.

“Wait, where’s Kaburamaru?” You couldn’t believe you almost forgot.

A soft muffled chuckle left Obanais lips at your concern “He’s in the trees in front, he wanted to give us…privacy.”

“Oh how considerate!”

‘I'm sorry if I say I need you
But I don't care, I'm not scared of love
'Cause when I'm not with you, I'm weaker
Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?
That you make me strong’

Four years. Fours years since the two of you were this close. You lead him to the edge of the bed, your fingers running through his hair, brushing it the stains out of his face. You nudged his legs to open so you placed yourself in the middle of them, securing all space between the two of you as you bent down, kissing all his scars.

His hands flumbed with your kimono as his eyes were glued onto your face. Your kisses were so soft, lingering, and tiniest bit wet as you kissed what seemed like ever inch of his face. Untying your kimono, he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, and with a soft thud, you were half naked in front him. Unable to break away from your gaze, his hands find your waist, giving the soft skin squeezes here and there.

Your fingers found their way behind his head, slowly untying his bandages, unwrapping the rest of his face. You pecked the top of his nose saying “So handsome,” as you gently tossed the bandages behind him, continuing on with your attack with kisses.

Feeling you kissing the corner of his lips, Obanai felt like he was gunna faint from such affection. It wasn’t the first time that you kissed his scars or called him handsome, but he felt his face get hot and flustered as his hands grip your hips. Once you’ve layered so many kisses on his face, you pull back, your hands trailing down to unbutton his top.

The way your hair fell over your shoulders, surrounding you and the Serpents Hashiras, made it that more easier for him to look at your pumped lip that you currently had dragged underneath your teeth. Oh god he was always weak when you bit your lip like that, got him so turned on. Your clumsy fingers were struggling to undress him, though it’s not like you always were undressing someone. He was the last person you had been with.

You were just as breathtaking as the last time you two were intimate.

Feeling his eyes glued to your face, you nervous chuckled as you looked into his eyes for a moment before getting the last button undone. “There…” you breathed as you pushed off his top along with haori, and your expression never changed. Never once to the battle scars he had endured. Scars never once bothered you, you told him they were simply art, and behind all art, there was always a story.

Of course you had your own fair share of them, but Obanais scars didn’t scare or make you disgusted. If they made you feel anything, just a feeling of unease that he had endured so much pain at a young age.

She smiled so brightly at him saying “I’m sorry if I say that I need you Obanai.”

‘Think of how much
Love that's been wasted
People always
Trying to escape it
Move on to stop their heart breaking
But there's nothing I'm running from
You make me strong’

The both of you crash on the bed, catching your breaths after the two of you were coming down from your climaxes. You sat up on your elbow, leaning over to lay kisses back on his face with the cutest giggles. You were so happy to have him home, it was like a part of you came back. Whatever doubts you ever had, immediately disappeared with Obanai.

“Y/N?” His whisper was so soft as his hand cupped your cheek, “Hmmmm?”

Oh, the way your eyes lit up as you gave him your undivided attention, and that same bright smile of yours that made him fall in love with you when he first met you. Wow, how he’s missed this. Just when he couldn’t fall harder, he did.

“I love you so much,” your eyes turned ever to loving, finally hearing those words leave his word rather written in a letter than his crow delivered to you. “Marry me, so I can finally be the man you deserve. I promise I will make up my absence for the rest of our lives.”

Lost for words, you were cheesing as you nodded as the words came back to you “Oh baby I love you too, and of course I’ll marry you and make you the happiest man ever!”

“I already am,” he admitted gently against her lips as he combed back her hair.

oh shit this was really happening. Things finally working out for you and your son.

“Alright,” you sat up, stretching out a bit before giving him the softest and loving kiss, “come, I’m going to start a bath for us, there’s someone important you have to meet.”

Someone important you have to meet, those words echoed in his head which brought him both joy and a nerve racking feeling. Obanai was scared that his own son would reject him, tell him to stay away, cry and say he hated him.

Even though he deserved it, but his true obstacle wasn’t getting forgiveness for you, but from the spilt image of him.

‘I'm sorry if I say I need you
But I don't care, I'm not scared of love
'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker
Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?’

The more you told him that he had nothing to worry about, it leveled out his nerves. He also felt like you made him stronger, not afraid of being himself, of taking chances. A leap of faith. He brought your hand up to his face, kissing your hand through his bandages before you knocked on the door of the Uzui’s home.

‘So, baby, hold on to my heart, ooh
Need you to keep me from falling apart
I'll always hold on
'Cause you make me strong’

“You have eyes like mine! Are you my father? Momma said you were away fighting to protect us from the monsters! Are all the monsters gone?!” The former Hashiras eyes flickered to you, which you have him a cheeky smile. Well, she wasn’t wrong now was she?

Bending down to his son level, he brushed back his sons hair with such love in his eyes, “I am, and yes all the monsters are gone. I can finally be with you two.”

“Momma! Is this true?” He turned back with so much excitement as his mother nodded with a smile “It is my love!”

Before he could say anything, the little boy jumped into his fathers arm, hugging him so tightly saying how much he had been looking for this moment. To meet his father. How happy he was.

‘ I'm sorry if I say I need you
But I don't care, I'm not scared of love
'Cause when I'm not with you, I'm weaker
Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?’

Love. Obanai Iguro had never felt so much love in his entire life until he could come

home. Until he could be with his family, to be with his son who didn’t fear or hate him.

“You’re not scared?” The little boy brought his hand up, touching all of his fathers scars, especially tracing his fingers in the ones at the corner of his lips.

The little boy shook his head “No, momma said scars are like art! A story behind each one!”

If his heart hadn’t melt before, it definitely didn’t right there in that moment. There wasn’t an ounce of fear or disgust in your sons eyes. Just amazed and intrigued by them. The same exact way his sons mother looked at him. With so much love.

‘I'm sorry if I say I need you
But I don't care, I'm not scared of love
'Cause when I'm not with you, I'm weaker
Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?
That you make me strong’

“Hey,” Obanai nudged his nose against your cheek as his hand caress across your round belly. It was spring time, and you guys watched Obanais minion with Kaburamaru up on his shoulder. You couldn’t help yourself get comfortable and drift off when your husband was calling for your attention. When you turned your head, he thought your droopy sleepy eyes were so adorable “I just wanted to remind you, you two make me so happy, that because if you, you make strong.”

‘I'm sorry if I say I need you
But I don't care, I'm not scared of love
'Cause when I'm not with you, I'm weaker
Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?
That you make me strong’

Nothing made you more happy than finally being Obanai’s wife, and have a chance to have another baby, but with him along your side this time around. However, for Obanai, love and happiness surrounded for rest of his life…fulfilling those promises he made to you many years ago.

||

😭 I can’t, so much cuteness overload! Special shout-out to @unofficialmuilover for assisting me with the whole thing, song and plot and everything! I hope you all enjoyed!

[agirlwithdemonblood]

The Broken Fan - Chapter 1

Pairings: Jensen Ackles & Reader (Read as first person!)

Series Summary: Always a nobody, always invisible, will this convention change things?

Chapter Summary: Growing up was never easy for me, but finally I may have found some light in my very dark world.

Warnings: Mentions of death, parents death, mentions of abuse, homelessness, anxiety, ect

Series Masterlist here! Main masterlist here!

Do you ever feel like if you disappeared today, nobody would notice? The world wouldn't stop, your disappearance wouldn't be plastered on milk cartons or across news channels, nobody would even know or care. That was my life. Nobody knew me, or cared for me. Nobody noticed me, not really. I was a ghost, an invisible presence left alone, all alone.

My parents died when I was a baby, I was too young to remember who they were or what happened really. I know what my Aunt told me, they wanted a night to themselves, so she babysat me. Around 4 in the morning she received a phone call saying that they passed away, asleep in their beds when the fire took their lives.

I don't even remember having parents, I have photographs of us together, but their faces are unknown to me. I didn't know them, I didn't get the chance.

After the fire, I stayed with my Aunt. Things were weird there. She'd look at me with such heartbreak and disgust and I had no idea why. I was just a kid, what did I do?

But I must have done something wrong, because when I turned 6 she told me she couldn't take care of me anymore, and the next morning two kind people packed me in their car and drove me away. I never saw my Aunt again.

My first foster home was alright, I was happy for a little bit. There were a lot of kids in the house, various ages, both sexes. I didn't like the kids too much. They were loud and annoying, and hyper. They always wanted to play stupid games like hide and seek, or tag. I didn't want to play dumb games, I wanted something real. I wanted to connect, to have somebody next to me.

And eventually, I did.

Henry, my foster dad, was always there for me. He actually cared about me, noticed me, heard me. He would spend hours at night reading me fairy tales until I fell asleep, and during the day he'd teach me things like how to ride a bike or read.

I had an actual connection with him, he was the closest thing to a father I ever had, and I loved him more than anybody. I thought I finally had somebody permeant in my life, but I was wrong.

My foster mom Sandy didn't like me. She hated the fact that her husband had his attention on me, and she thought it was strange for a six year old to bond with an older man rather than the children all around me. She said it wasn't healthy.

So he was taken away from me. After many tears shed and heartbreaking hugs, I said goodbye to the only person who's ever seen me for me, and moved to a new foster home.

The new home was horrible. The parents weren't friendly, and I was the only child in their care. I was forced to follow their schedule which consisted of three boring things, every day.

Cleaning, school, homework, food, bed. No reading fairy tales, no riding my bike, no playing with toys.

I hated it there. I felt so alone, so invisible. So I left. I ran away thinking I'd be better off somewhere else. But as a 7 year old girl, I didn't get very far and as soon as I returned, things got bad.

At first, it was the belt. My foster dad would smack my arms hard, than my legs, sometimes my face if I was a bad enough kid. If I cried or continued to disobey, the belt was replaced with his palms. This happened for years, non stop torture.

I didn't stop trying to run away, every few months I'd take off, praying that nobody would find me, they'd leave me alone but everytime I was brought back and beaten worse.

Finally, the parent's gave up on me and I went to another home. But I was so angry, so filled with anxiety and rage that I drove away anybody who could possibly care for me.

By the time I was 18, I had been in 13 Foster homes. My last one wasn't too bad, but I didn't talk, I barely ate, I didn't connect. I didn't want another Henry situation. I didn't want to care about others because I knew they'd leave me.

And I was right.

On my 18th Birthday, my present was a knock at my door from my parents telling me I've aged out and I need to leave. I received a check to get me started, a bag of food, and a cell phone, than I was left alone.

The money wasn't much, definetly not enough to get an apartment so I decided to get a car instead. I ended up using all my money to buy a crappy little Honda Civic and I've called it my home ever since.

Sleeping in my car wasn't half bad, I had my own space, I didn't need to listen to anybody or share it with anybody, it was all mine.

One night I parked beside a motel that had free Wifi, and I was bored so I decided to find something to watch, I never really watched TV or movies, but tonight I wanted to.

The first show I found was something called Supernatural, and for some reason I felt a connection, like something was telling me to watch it.

God, am I happy that I did.

The show felt like home, it gave me something to look forward to, something to provide me comfort on the hardest of days. I felt connected, like I knew the characters and I was living their life.

And one of the characters, Dean.. He awoke something inside of me that I never knew was there. He made me feel like I wasn't crazy, that life was hard but I needed to keep going.

The more I watched, the more I started to feel like I belonged somewhere. The show pulled me out of the darkness slowly, convincing me that life was better if I was here to live it. It gave me hope. It allowed me to breathe again.

Today is my 25th birthday, and I was celebrating like I always did, drinking beer in my car and listening to music while mindlessly scrolling through a page for Supernatural fans.

I froze when I glanced about an article about Supernatural's newest convention, which happened to be a few hours from where I lived. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about going, people like me don't go to shows or events like this, but I needed this. I really needed it.

I checked my bank account and nearly leaped with joy when I realized I had enough for a ticket, living in my car finally payed off.

Without hesitation, I bought a ticket for the convention and for the first time, I felt excited. I felt hope beaming inside of me. I could finally be surrounded with people with similar interests, and feel normal for once. Hopefully.

The next morning, I walked into the office building I worked at, and made my boss Brad a coffee, like he always expected. Knocking on his door, I took a deep breath before entering, walking towards his marble desk and placing the coffee on the table.

He nodded before taking the cup in his hand and sipping it, like he always did. His eyes flickered up towards me when he noticed I haven't left yet.

"Do you need something?" He asked.

I swallowed hard and stepped closer to the desk, "I just wanted to ask you something if you had a moment."

He nodded for me to go on and I shook off the anxiety nearly suffocating me. Confidence, I need to have confidence.

"I was wondering if I could take a week off starting Friday evening, there's somewhere I need to go out of town."

He stared back at me, the silence was suffocating, the tension high. He shook his head and looked back down to the papers scattered across his desk.

"No, sorry that won't work."

It felt like a punch to my gut, I haven't taken one day off, I constantly worked overtime, I did everything and anything for this ass, and I can't take some time off?

I swallowed down the nerves and sat in the chair in front of his desk, noting the way he stared at me confused. "Sir, all due respect I have been working non stop for the past 7 months and I have never asked for a day off, I've never taken a sick day and I always have my work done, all I need is-"

Before I could finish my sentence, his hand was raised, eyes locked on mine. "I said no Y/N, is that all?"

I could feel tears welling in my eyes as I stood from my spot, making my way towards the door. Anger was bubbling through my system and I felt like I couldn't breath.

I turned quickly and sighed, "Actually, there's one more thing."

He scoffed and looked up towards me, awaiting my response. I swallowed hard and frowned, "I am not going to be back tomorrow, I quit."

His mouth dropped open and he stared back in shock, but I didn't stay long to hear whatever response he was going to throw at me. I rushed as fast as I could out of the building back to my car. I slammed the door as the tears rushed down my face.

What did I do? Why did I quit my job for a convention? What the hell was so special about this damn show.

I finally let go of all the feelings I was holding onto, bursting into sobs of pain and frustration. Life was harsh and unforgiving, every moment of hope was washed away.

The only thing I had left was the convention, and even than I was clearly going to be the outcast, the weird girl who looks like she's never showered or slept a day in her life.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe things would be different here, the fans seem nice enough online, why wouldn't they be in person?

And if Dean Winchester was still inside Jensen, I knew he wouldn't look at me like I was garbage, if he ever even noticed me.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 2 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[1-800-cr33py]

hi, idk if ur reqs are open so im sorry if they arent! i just stumbled upon your evan/habit with crybaby!reader hcs and i thought they were absolutely fantastic. i would LOVE to see more content of it of any kind whether it be more hcs or a oneshot of some sort. if theyre not open have a lovely day your writing is beautiful kiss kiss

idk who you are but you’re a beautiful soul and hope you have wonderful days.

Oneshot time

TW: Lowkey toxic relationship, Habit is TW himself, idk its a habit x crybaby fic yall have read my other works yall know how these are

Habit never gave much thought to human lives, they were minuscule and insignificant compared to the life of an ageless entity born of hate. The mortal body he inhabited now was nothing more than for appearances, a novelty he found some sick pleasure in.

Until you showed up.

You and Evan had…history so to say. You’d fuck when he was in between relationships and needed an out for his frustrations. You were available, bored and only a short drive east of his house. Habit knew of the tension between you two, neither you nor Evan believed your relationship would amount to anything other than what you had; not that either parties had the time. But Habit liked something about you, liked you enough to take things further so slowly you barely noticed his presence while you slept, or how often you two ran into each other in the city while you were on coffee runs for your ever obnoxious superiors. It was almost too easy in his opinion. After about a year and half of the blossoming relationship that many found..questionable, you finally finished your lease, packed what little belongings you had, and moved into Evan’s home.; something that appeased both Evan and Habit. You were meant to be with them, only them. You were meant to be taken care of, treasured and have every whim answered; no matter how questionable the means of achieving them were.

Habit is territorial as all hell, whats his is his and thats how it should be. You’re his. Simple as that. He’s generous in his eyes, he permits you to leave the house on your own and doesn’t bat an eye. You’re grown, have a job, and pay half the bills, he doesn’t care; just keep him updated. Habit knows you’ll return to his arms in the evening, wanting nothing more than to be babied. That’s how both he and Evan like you; obedient and gentle. The contrast between you two (or three, rather) is so obvious. His calloused hands roaming over your plush body gives them a power trip. They’ve earned this right, and Habit and Evan intend to keep it. The tears that well in your pretty eyes are for them and them only, so why worry that pretty little head over some sleazy victim?

Crying is something Habit is use to, hell he’ll gladly drink the tears of his victims when he can, but your tears, your tears? They’re like ambrosia to him, something so sweet and addictive that only he gets makes his head spin. You cry over something small, and Habit’s always there to kiss and lick your tears away, cooing that you should just ‘Let it out, angel’ like the sick bastard he is. You know he’s bad, but he takes care of you, gives himself up to you in way no one, man or woman, has. It’s addictive. You don’t have to beg for attention with him, just shed a tear or whimper his name in just the right way and he’s on you. It’s a cycle, an unhealthy but loving cycle that neither of you can seem to give up.

Habit, in all his centuries on this realm and the many others, has never felt this kind of infatuation with anyone; he can’t live without you and he doesn’t plan on it. Somehow, it doesn’t matter what he has to give or take, you will be with him until sin itself is purged from the world.

[uncommonincorrectquotes]

A: dude. beans. B: bean assault rifle. shoots beans. C: Mmmm....beans. How delicious, delectable, and delightful. Every night I cherish the 3 hour before bedtime I spend sucking each bean one by one through my bendy straw, trying my hardest to propel the beans down my throat in one swift slurp. The way the beans travel through the twisting straw remind me of Willy Wonka’s factory, and how it makes me wonder. Can you imagine? Imagine if Willy had a bean factory... constantly in motion, constantly producing those sweet beans, packing them into cans where they marinate in the finest of bean nectar. If only things were that way, how happier the Oompa Loompas would be to constantly be surrounded by the erotic bean aroma. Unfortunately, Willy Wonka isn’t real, and neither is that dreamy bean factory. Sometimes I can’t sleep because of that. I wake up and realize “there’s no bean factory” and I cry for the remainder of the night. I hate those dreaded nights, and I keep a can of beans at my bedside to pray to when the times get dark. It’s difficult, you know? Living in a family of those who can’t respect beans on the same level as you... which is why I devised my ode to beans, consisting of 26 arguments for the divinity of beans. They are recited as follows: C: Beans cannot die. Even the digestive system deals virtually no damage to them. Holy water is just bean water that never had beans in it. If you throw a bean up in the air, it always comes back down to you because it loves you so much. The origin of the word “bean” comes from the point in history when they were discovered by an Italian explorer, who exclaimed “look a him-a-bein so good!” The concept of the “return address” in the mailing system was not intended for returning mail. Rather, it required to use a return address so that if a person receives beans from an anonymous sender, they can at least send back a thank you note. The first prototype of a gun used beans as ammunition, but the beans possessed such a sacred conscience that they would stop midair, refusing to kill soldiers on the enemy line. Studies show that 98% of those who starved to death had not eaten beans in the past week. The effort of beans to end racism was the largest effort ever made concerning race. However, the effort was ineffective, due to the beans’ inability to speak. Can you prove God is real? No. Can you prove beans are real? Yes. C: The lack of bean flavored products is due to the divine flavor that cannot be manufactured. If someone is allergic to beans, do not trust them. Run away. Fast. Millennials use the slang word “beaned” to describe someone who has been gotten. Specifically, someone who has been gotten so bad that they can only turn to beans as their solace. Bean-head, the greatest compliment of the English language, is misunderstood by heretics as an insult. Sometimes I put a smiley face on a can of beans and leave it on my pillow so my parents think I’m sleeping when I’m actually eating beans. To become a saint under the bean church, you must use beans in place of tears, and shed beans at the sight of harrowing mistreatment of beans. Beans are the only beings to be simultaneously lawful, neutral, and chaotic. Beans are everything. For every bean you put in your mouth there is one more bean in your mouth than there was before you put the bean in your mouth. Mmm..... beans. Beans will never betray you. Unless you ask the beans to betray you, and then you can organize a plan with the beans so that they can do what you want without accidentally making you sad. Beans are soul essence. Beans are the 4th subatomic particle, and beans are constantly in their own state of matter. Beans are the holy material on which we will build our future society, and no figure from any religious group has dared to deny this fact. B: A: B: are you okay C: b e A n S

[queenmayor23]

Grand Piano III {Dean Winchester X Male Reader}

this one's a little angsty

Moments later, Dean wakes up in his back seat. He looks out the window to see dust being kicked up by the spinning wheels and rows upon rows of corn. TJ can see the confusion on Dean's face through the rearview mirror.

TJ: Shut up. We're almost there.

TJ pulls into a gravel driveway leading to a brick shed and a matching house next to it. The corn almost acted like a magical portal to the hidden property. TJ parks and shuts down the engine. He gets out, walking to the door of the house.

TJ: Hurry up if you want me to help.

Dean gets out of the car and follows the rock walkway to the porch, where TJ holds the door for him.

TJ: All the way down and hang a right.

Dean: After getting punched in the face, I don't trust you walking behind me.

TJ: That's hilarious. Either you walk in that kitchen, or I send my dogs after you, and you'll never see John or Sammy again.

Dean took the safer route and began walking. Staring at the back of his ex-boyfriend's head was the only thing that kept TJ from killing Dean right there and giving him time to process the mixed emotions.

TJ: Sit.

Dean sits at the kitchen table while TJ digs in the freezer. He pulls out some frozen peas and an ice pack, tosses the peas on the table next to Dean, and closes the freezer. TJ fixes himself a glass of whiskey and downs it like water. It was a taste he was just getting used to, even though his trash can would say differently. He fixes another glass and a separate one for Dean, walking it over to him.

TJ: Dean...

TJ struggles to find the words he wants to say. Was it "I hate you and want you dead," or "Why come back now just to ruin the sliver of happiness I just found" or maybe "I loved you, and I thought you loved me, but I guess I loved for both of us"? But the real question looming in TJ's mind was, "Why don't you love me?". But TJ didn't get to ask any of those questions before Dean spoke up, holding the peas to his cheek.

Dean: "Spirits of Vengeance", huh?

TJ: I bought the lounge a month after the mission with you and John. I was so mad.

Dean: He's your father too.

TJ: Was he? I've been alive twenty-seven years and have seen him a grand total of five times. I was ten when he introduced me to hunting. He had me chasing demons, poltergeists, and other unnatural creatures to prove myself to him.

Dean: It was your choice to start hunting.

TJ: He made me think he would love me if I eliminated all the monsters. So after graduation, I packed up and rode around the country on a hunting tour, and my mother hated me for it. She warned me of what kind of person John was, but I had to realize that he was the real monster on my own.

Dean: Dad was a hero!

TJ: He was my hero too, but I grew up Dean.

TJ walks back to his kitchen counter, smashing the ice pack on his knuckles.

Dean: I need you to help me find him. I don't want to drag Sam back unless I have to. At least that's what Dad would've wanted. 

TJ: Did he leave any clues as to what he was hunting or where? This wouldn't be the first time John went on a bender and forgot to tell his puppy dog.

Dean: What are you talking about?

TJ: Amherst. Clifton. Laredo. Mesa. He's always missing, then a week later, after you search the continental US, he pops up and is fine.

Dean: How do you-

TJ: Sam knows how to say thank you.

Dean: Wait, Sam? Does he know?

TJ: No. All he knows is that I'm the idiot who doesn't know how to say no to his brother.

Dean sighs in a mixture of both relief and frustration.

Dean: Dad has never been gone for this long. He's in real trouble if he's not dead by now. I can't do this alone.

TJ: Yes, you can. You don't need John to limit what you can do. He's just an anchor that slowly drowns you until you feel like there's no more hope, and by then, you're dead or mentally unstable.

Dean: Yeah. Well, I don't want to do this alone.

TJ: You still haven't told me what he was hunting?

Dean: Oh, right. Let's see. Where the hell did I put that thing?

TJ reached into his back pocket and slid out the tape recorder.

TJ: Looking for this.

Dean sees the tape recorder and nods his head.

TJ: Found it when I searched your car. I listened to it, and he sounds like he could be Winchester wasted or actually in trouble.

Dean: Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About two months ago, they found a guy's car, but he'd vanished. Completely MIA.

TJ: Kidnapping?

Dean: Yeah, well, there was another one in April, then December of '04, '03, '98, '92... ten of them over the past twenty years- All men, same five-mile stretch of road. Started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough, and then I got that voicemail a few days ago.

TJ: Wait, why weren't you with him?

Dean: I was working my own gig in New Orleans.

TJ: Aww, he let you go on a trip by yourself?

TJ mocks Dean and takes the ice pack off his fist, feeling the melted ice.

Dean: I'm twenty-six, dude. Can you stop that?

TJ: I know you're twenty-six. We're nine months apart to the day.

Dean's face scrunches up.

Dean: How did I not know that?

TJ: You never asked.

Dean has a dumbfounded look on his face.

TJ: The message had an EVP saying it "can never go home" I ran into something like that about six months ago. It came after Richie, but there wasn't a body because she was cremated for cost-saving measures. So we sent her home.

Dean: How?

TJ chuckles, looking around the room.

TJ: This house wasn't always brick, and I'm not stupid enough to build it out of straw. Jackson drove his truck right through the middle of what was a bedroom and dining room. House caved in, Richie bought Jackson a new truck, and I started laying bricks that same weekend. The baseboards, door frames, and ledges are hollowed out and filled with salt, and everything wood is primed with mountain ash.

Dean nods his head, taking in the information about the house. Then, Dean takes a breath and asks the question.

Dean: So, are you and Jackson a thing, or what's your situation?

TJ smiles, looking up.

TJ: Jackson and I are in a business relationship. He helps me out at the lounge and around here while I'm out hunting.

Dean: What does he get out of your "business relationship"?

TJ: A slightly more than minimum wage paycheck every other week and a hunting buddy.

Dean's eyes widen, and he takes the now-thawed peas from his cheek.

TJ: What? I wanted to give him more, but he wanted the money to go into the lounge. I told him I had to give him enough to get groceries, pay his bills, and get gas. He only has truck insurance because I listed his truck as a company vehicle. There was this time before when we were a thing. He proposed, and I said no. But we're still as close as we were then, just as friends.

Dean: Can I ask why you said no?

TJ: I'll give you one guess.

Dean contemplates open-mouthed. When it shuts, it shows TJ that Dean realizes the answer. 

TJ: Jack wasn't heartbroken for himself but for me. The whole town kept telling me I was insane for holding on so tight to you, but Jackson knew I needed a friend to help me, and he became that friend. He got me to stop answering your calls because he knew I would halt my world just to help. Just to hear from you when you and John get into another situation. Come on, Dean, I knew John didn't think you were calling me. You never called me by name when you called, you said my trigger word, and I turned into a mindless drone for you.

Dean: I don't have a trigger word for you. What do you mean, a trigger word?

TJ: Let's keep talking and see if it comes up. It's been almost two years since I stopped answering your calls, and now you want to check on me?

Dean: I thought what got Dad either got you too, or you took him.

TJ: So you thought I took John for what? To have tea with him, sit down and gossip about my ex-boyfriends. Oh wait, my first boyfriend didn't love me and milked me emotionally dry, then I found out he's my half-brother. After that, my second boyfriend and I broke up because I was still hooked on my first boyfriend. Yep, that casual conversation with a man I've spoken to five times in twenty-seven years.

Dean: No. I didn't mean it like that, alright. I was running out of options, and you were the first person that came to mind.

TJ: Do you hear yourself? You only think of me when you have no other choice. Is that how you truly see me? A last resort? Nobody else wanted to go on a wild goose chase with you, so you're stuck asking me for help.

Dean: Baby, I'm trying to keep you safe. To do that, I need you with me. I'll deal with Dad later, but I need you.

Chuckling came from TJ's mouth.

TJ: There it is.

Dean: What?

TJ: The word. Baby. But it's not going to work this time. Dean, you are welcome to stay for the night, but you need to leave tomorrow. I'm done.

Dean sat silently at the table, not knowing TJ's next move but also baffled at two simple words he thought he would never hear from TJ, "I'm done". TJ turned away from Dean and gathered, from his refrigerator, fresh produce and some rabbit meat to cook dinner. He cooked in silence, Dean not saying anything. TJ handed Dean a beer with his meal and filled his own glass once more. They ate in silence. After dinner, TJ washed the few dishes and escorted Dean to a guest bedroom.

TJ: Sit tight while I get you some clothes.

TJ leaves and returns with clothes and towels for Dean to shower with.

TJ: There is soap, toothbrushes and toothpaste, and hair products galore in the bathroom across the hall. Go crazy.

Dean: Thank you. And I honestly mean that.

TJ: It's just what a friend would do. If you need me, I'm upstairs, the third door on the right. And I have my own bathroom, so I'm not going to sneak up on you and stab you in the back. 

Dean chuckles. TJ goes upstairs to his room and gets ready for a shower himself.

[liver-ology]

excerpt from an unfinished ushiten fic i wrote last year

"Hawaiian shirts? Really? I hadn't pegged you as the fun pattern type." A quick pause. "Your mom pegged me as her type last night."

Wakatoshi snorts. "Dude, you should have just left it at 'your mom pegged me,' that's way funnier.

"Damn, you're right. This is why you're the comedian of the group."

"No, you're the comedian because flat affect always ruins my good jokes."

"True. Delivery doesn't matter when you're delivering shit jokes though!" Tendou sticks his tongue out at his own face in the full length mirror. Shopping for new clothes has been much less successful than they'd hoped, but he had managed to spend half of Wakatoshi's money on jewelry neither of them could wear. He folds himself onto the shelf in the corner of the dressing room to watch Wakatoshi try on various tacky button downs. Tendou doesn't get the point of buying new clothes for a party that he won't stay at for more than 20 minutes, and he says as much.

"I didn't spend 3 hours in this hellhole to come out with nothing to show for it but basketball shorts and an 8 pack of Claire's earrings. The brown one or the flamingoes?" Wakatoshi looks exceptionally annoyed at his gaudy pink reflection in the mirror.

"Brown, you look like an American in that one." Tendou reaches out and pokes a flamingo. "And we bought more than that! This is blatant 4 pack of Claire's septum rings erasure." The flimsy shelf he's sitting on definitely isn't designed to hold the weight of a 6'2" athlete, so he moves to the floor before it can collapse. "Why are we even going? You hate parties, you hate the mall, and I've never seen you wear a button down in your life." Pointing out reasons the two of them shouldn't go to a party Tendou is actually excited for seems counterproductive, but Tendou lives to antagonize.

"You have to stop calling everything erasure, that's not what that word means. And we're going because Yachi invited me. Do you wanna be the one to say no to Yachi?" Tendou doesn't know who that is. Wakatoshi sheds the flamingo shirt and tugs at the hoodie Tendou is now sitting on. Tendou gets up and grabs the brown floral shirt on his way out of the dressing room. Wakatoshi ends up paying for both shirts and drags Tendou out of the mall before he can spend more time buying useless things they don't need.

..............................................................................................................................

Wakatoshi doesn't knock and immediately sprawls himself face first on Tendou's bed. He's thankfully wearing the brown floral shirt, but the flamingo shirt is visible through the thin plastic bag he'd dumped on the floor in his beeline for the mattress. Tendou puts it on before Wakatoshi can change his mind. Inside the bag is the useless jewelry they'd bought yesterday and a pack of pomegranate gum. Tendou loves pomegranates, but he knows for a fact Wakatoshi hates them. He says they 'dry his mouth out,' whatever that means.

"Hey dude, you bought the wrong flavor gum. Can I have it?" Wakatoshi grumbles and turns his head just enough to look at Tendou. His hair is stuck to his forehead; Tendou wants to brush it away.

"No, that's the right flavor. Why are you wearing my shirt?" He scrubs a hand over his face and runs it through his short hair, dislodging the offending piece.

"Because you're my best friend and I refuse to let you to let you wear this hideodorous shirt in public? Stop buying things you don't like!" Motioning for Wakatoshi to get up, he lifts the mattress and produces a stash of makeup. The two of them sit cross-legged on the floor, facing each other.

He shoves a pot of glitter and Vaseline into Wakatoshi's hands. "Will you do my makeup?" The hope is evident in his voice. Wakatoshi looks pensively into the Vaseline jar like it's going to help him. When the Vaseline continues being an inanimate object, he sighs and dips a finger in.

"Close your eyes. I can't do it when you're staring at me like that." Tendou obliges, and Wakatoshi gently traces the planes of his cheeks with the Vaseline, tapping silver glitter over it as he goes. Wakatoshi pulls back after outlining under his browbone and down his nose as Tendou holds his breath, blindly waiting for the hands to come back with the glitter. There is a pause longer than usual and Tendou opens his eyes; Wakatoshi is suddenly much closer than he had been when he closed them. He's hesitating over something. He looks pleadingly back into the Vaseline; it still doesn't answer him. Tendou is very aware of how close together they are, and Wakatoshi seems to be too. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but feels charged. Still staring downwards, he murmurs, "I want to put some on your cupid's bow," tapping his own in demonstration. It leaves a mesmerizing spot of silver behind that Tendou wants to reach out and touch. He wouldn't have to reach far; Wakatoshi's face is still so close. Instead, he leans back and closes his eyes again.

"Yeah dude, go for it." A beat of silence, then a thumb presses under his chin. Tendou keeps his eyes shut and his breath held while Wakatoshi carefully applies the glitter. It's excruciatingly slow and over too fast. When he opens his eyes, Wakatoshi is staring at his work, one hand still on Tendou's chin. Tendou's brain shorts out, aware of every point of contact. He's used to draping himself over his teammates and he knows Wakatoshi isn't touch-shy either, but this is different.

[dark9896]

Day 4 [Zapp/ Lucky/ Femt]

Prompt: "I did love you..." "Did? What changed?"

Zapp

This really shouldn't be a surprise to Zapp, he had spent years coming home to a wrecked apartment. But there was something wrong about how his apartment looked right now, especially after how long you'd been with him.

Zapp had gotten used to a clean apartment after all this time.

Though it was hell, it still didn't take too long for Zapp to comb the city and find you. At a friend's house of all things, he knew this would be messy as hell. And it would hurt a hell of a lot worse than any other time something like this happened.

But the yelling never came, your friend had just... let Zapp in without fuss. The loudest the two of your voices got was only slightly above regular talking until...

"I did love you Zapp-"

"Did? DID!? What the hell changed?"

Zapp couldn't take the way your eyes welled up like that, he hated what you showed him even more. A text from someone he had been with before you two got together. He had gotten a woman pregnant in his carelessness.

Your ragged breath brought Zapp back to reality, "I just... I can't. I knew the kind of person you were, but... I can't deal with this, not like this."

"Yeah," Zapp rubbed the back of his neck shyly, "I get it."

.

Lucky

"I did love you-"

"Did?" You stood in the kitchen with your lover, "What changed Blitz?"

The older man sighed, not wanting to admit what was going on. He still did love you, but he needed to protect you. And being associated with him was the worst thing for you to be at the moment. Especially with a coven of blood breeds on the hunt through the city.

"Listen [Name], I can't explain it." A hand rested on your shoulder, "But know that this hurts me too. I loved you, and I want this to work. It simply won't. I'm sorry."

"You can never explain things to me!" Your emotions were boiling over, "I always have to blindly trust you! But you don't trust me! Why can't you just explain this one thing!?"

Lucky was about to break down, he knew most of this was hurt feelings. But he also knew you were right. He asked you to trust him all the time. Though this had nothing to do with how much he trusted you, it was all about protecting the one person he cared about more than life itself. He just didn't know how to do that without putting as much distance between the two of you as he could.

"I want you to be happy [Name]." He lowered his head, but kept eye contact, "And I know that I'm not the person you deserve. Please, understand that I never wanted this. I never wanted to let go, but I know this, our relationship, it isn't healthy. I'm sorry."

Lucky just stood there, watching you storm off. After you slammed the door, he finally shed a few tears.

.

Femt

It was hard to tell when your lover was joking or when he was serious. At first, you found it endearing, but even you had your limits.

"Where are you going dearie?" Femt tried moving your suitcases away from the door, "Don't tell me you have to hurry off to a meeting?"

His giggling was cut short by just how hard it was to move your luggage. Quickly turning to frustration as you moved them easily, right outside the door.

"I'm leaving." You let out a hard sigh, "I just can't... I..."

"Now don't give me that dearie." Femt tried to take the suitcases from your hands as you moved them, "Where are you going? You look like you packed everything but the kitchen sink."

Though Femt giggled, your annoyed grunt didn't escape him. He turned his attention to pulling you back into the house instead.

"What's wrong dearie? You aren't like this."

"Its over, us I mean." You broke his grip and kept moving your things to your car, "I can't stand being here much longer."

"But you love me." He tried to punctuate with a large grin but...

"I did love you Femt, but..."

"Did? What changed?"

"The joke is wearing thin." You turned, "The one where you can't take anything seriously. Everything has to be a joke, and it stopped being funny a long time ago."

Femt stopped, and while you couldn't tell what he was thinking he was frowning. Even in your rearview mirror, he just stood there frowning after you.

[frostwing213]

WARNING! DARK! Suicide, drug use,death, murder, neglect, ect.

Story under read more

She would have hated this. She would have hated a wake, in a gloomy stuffy old building. She would have hated the coffin, and the headstone with that stupid name on it.

She wanted to be cremated, put into one of those biodegradable urns, and the funeral outside.

Our parents should have done that. But they didn't even know. They would have, should have, if they had read the note.

I read the note. I read my little sister's fucking suicide note. I read her poem.

I knew the truth. I knew that she didn't take those pills becase she was addicted. She wasn't a drug addict. I talked with her every week, she told me everything. She wasn't a drug addict, like their parents were trying to say she was. The note is what made me sure. My sister had taken them for the first time, with the full intention of killing herself.

I knew. I knew. I knew that she wasn't a boy. I knew that she loved nature. I knew that she hated coming home everyday to that house. I knew. I knew. What I didn't know, was that my little sister was going to kill herself hours before I was coming back to that house with paperwork that could transfer my 16 year old sister's custody over to me.

I wanted it to be a surprise, that's why I didn't tell her. I wanted to walk through that door, smile at her and tell her to get packed, she's coming home with me. I wanted to take her home with me. I wanted to show her how hard I worked to get myself an apartment for the two of us, I wanted to show her to the room I decorated for her. I wanted to make her the meatloaf I always made for her and I when I still lived in that house. I wanted to see her smile again.

I didn't want to drive to that house and see police officers and an unused ambulance. I didn't want to jump out of my car when I saw a stretcher and race forward, pushing an officer out of my way. I didn't want to stop dead at the stretcher, staring at my little sister's cold dead body as someone asked who I was. I didn't want my parents to shout my name, and my mother ask why I'm there, that she didn’t call, oh, and what's my number? She tried calling my old one but it was disconnected.

Maybe that's becase I changed it to stay away from you, bitch.

I remember screaming at them and running inside. I remember ignoring the officer that tried to stop me. I remember stepping into her bedroom. I remember seeing the bottle on the ground. I remember looking under her desk for the loose floorboard she always told me about. Where she hid her makeup and jewelery, where she hid the phone she used to call me, where she hid candy and sweets.

Where she hid the note.

I remember looking under her desk and seeing a folded peice of paper. I remember picking it up and reading it. I remember crying and dropping it when I was done.

It was a blur after that, but mother and father must’ve found the phone, she must’ve saved my number, becase they called me.

I asked when the funeral was. My father said he hadn't set up anything, but he was worried for me. I cut him off and told him to plan a fucking funeral. Apparently they did, and they decided on this. They called me to tell me when it was, then I changed my number again.

I should have done more. I should have gotten her out earlier. I should have told her I was coming. I should have at least been more involved in the funeral, not let it be something she hated.

But I didn't. I had gotten to invested in my own grief.

Now, I sit here. I sit here as my parents stand up there by the casket. Now, I see my mother and father loom sullen, but unable to shed a tear. Now, I spot not guilt, no greif in their eyes. Now, I watch as they call her by the wrong name, force her into a box in death as they had in life.

They'd never liked her. She was always loud, and I loved her for that, but they didn't. They ignored her, let her wilt. Let her die.

It was their fault.

I stand.

I stand when my father looks to me, calls my name and tells me to say a few words for my 'brother'. Then he uses that name my sister hated.

I walk.

I walk up to the podium next to the coffin. Her coffin. My sister's coffin.

I stare.

I stare out at the crowd. I stare at my parents. Her murderers. I stare at the parents who never cared enough. I stare at them.

Finally, I speak.

I speak in a quiet whisper.

"That wasn't her name."

My parents sit up. Mother looks confused. I hiss

"That wasn't my sister's name. Her name, her name was Angela. That was the name she chose, the one I helped her pick."

My parents exchange a glance. The kids, her friends, from their seats, relax. They knew.

I wish they weren't here.

I look back to my parents. I look back to their confused and mildly angry faces.

Their fault. It was their fault.

The words echo in my head.

Their fault. Their fault.

I speak.

"She was beautiful, outspoken, amazing. She was my sister. And my best friend. She wasn't a drug addict. This was a suicide. She took those pills becase she knew they'd kill her."

I laugh.

"No, this wasn't a suicide! This was a murder!"

I point at them, the murderers.

"And you killed her! I was coming to the house with the paperwork to transfer her custody over to me! I get there and she's dead!"

My father stands.

My father stands and shouts at me to calm down.

I speak.

I speak over my father, something I never dared to do before.

"DON'T tell me to calm down. You don't get to do that. Sit down. Listen. These are things you should have known! If you had read the fucking note! You killed her! She killed herself becase of you!" I take a breath.

I breathe.

My parents glare. My parents glare at me from their seats.

I breathe.

I breathe in the air that my sister breathes no more.

I breathe in the air my parents shall no longer breathe soon.

I glance.

I glance over at the kids in the crowd. They look scared.

I wish they weren't here.

I look at them.

I look at them as I tell them

"Close your eyes."

I pull out my gun.

Good thing I had always been a good shot.

Bang

Bang

They're dead.

Screams.

I hear screams.

Not from them. They're dead. They're finally dead.

I look to my sister's cold face.

I take a breath and raise the gun.

I take a breath of the air she loved.

I take a breath for the last time.

A/N: This was fun! I should do writing prompt more often! I experimented with a different writing style too, and its... dramatic.

I take constructive criticism!

Your sibling, your parents’ least favorite child, died prematurely. They hardly noticed. They certainly didn’t shed a tear. Now, during the funeral, they forgot your siblings name - again. It’s your turn to ‘say a few words’, so you do.

[atozbodyfitness]

Is Willpower the Only Thing Standing Between You and Weight Loss, or Is It More Complicated?

Introduction

You’ve built a successful career, whether it’s in law, finance, real estate, or as a company CEO.

But despite your professional success, one area might still be a challenge: your physique.

Perhaps you’re carrying extra weight, sporting a dad bod, or struggling to find the energy and motivation to get in shape.

You’ve likely heard that weight loss is all about willpower—just eat less, move more, and you’ll shed the pounds, right?

But if it were that simple, you’d already have the body you want. The truth is, weight loss is more complicated than just summoning willpower. Let’s dive into why that’s the case and what you can do about it.

The Willpower Myth?

Willpower is often touted as the key to success in every aspect of life, from closing deals to hitting the gym. And there is truth to this but in reality, it’s not everything.

There will be some days where you will have to push through the feeling of not wanting to do the tasks tat you need to do to get you to your goals.

Everyone has to do things they don’t like to reach the mountaintop.

I don’t care who you are, this will always be the case for anything you do.

I love what I do as a profession but there were even certain aspects of my career that came up that I needed to do to advance and keep growing.

I never cared for content creation or blog editing or at the beginning of my career, sales.

But you have to learn these skills to become not just even a successful trainer, forget about that if you want to be a successful business owner.

But when it comes to weight loss, relying solely on willpower is not everything either.

It doesn’t have to be a grind every single day doing things you hate

Here’s why:

Fatigue: Your professional life demands a lot of mental energy. After a long day of making decisions and managing stress, your willpower is drained. This leaves you vulnerable to making poor food choices or skipping workouts.

Stress: High-stress levels, common in your line of work, trigger the release of cortisol—a hormone that not only increases appetite but also encourages your body to store fat, particularly around the abdomen.

Sedentary Lifestyle: Long hours at the desk or in meetings contribute to a sedentary lifestyle, which makes it even harder to burn calories and lose weight, no matter how strong your willpower might be.

In essence, willpower alone isn’t enough to overcome the complex interplay of factors that affect your body and your health.

You need a more strategic approach to weight loss and muscle gain—one that aligns with your lifestyle and professional demands.

The Real Challenges Standing in Your Way

For men in their 30s and 40s, weight loss is a multifaceted challenge.

It’s not just about what you eat or how often you work out; it’s about addressing the underlying factors that make it difficult to stick to a plan.

It’s about being consistent day in and day out and not trying to reach your goals in the hardest and fastest way possible.

Here’s what might be holding you back:

Lack of Energy: The demands of a high-powered career leave little energy for rigorous exercise routines. By the time you’re done with your workday, the idea of hitting the gym can feel overwhelming.

Inconsistent Routine: Your schedule is unpredictable. Some days are jam-packed with meetings, while others might require you to travel. This inconsistency makes it difficult to establish a regular workout routine or stick to a diet.

High Stress Levels: Stress isn’t just bad for your mental health—it’s bad for your waistline. Stress-induced eating and the body’s natural reaction to store fat under stress make it hard to lose weight, no matter how much willpower you have.

Physical Inactivity: Spending long hours at a desk or in meetings means you’re not burning many calories throughout the day. Even with a strict diet, this low level of physical activity can slow down your weight loss progress.

What It Really Takes to Lose Weight and Build Muscle

Given these challenges, it’s clear that a more comprehensive approach is needed—one that goes beyond simply trying harder. Here’s what you need to do:

Personalized Fitness Plans: Generic fitness advice won’t cut it. You need a plan that’s tailored to your unique lifestyle, one that takes into account your hectic schedule and energy levels. Online fitness coaching for weight loss can provide this level of personalization, offering expert advice that fits your life.

Sustainable Routines: Establish a routine that you can stick to, even on your busiest days. This might mean shorter, high-intensity workouts that fit into your lunch break or using bodyweight exercises you can do in your office.

Stress Management: Incorporating stress-reducing activities like meditation or light exercise can help lower cortisol levels, making it easier for your body to burn fat rather than store it.

Diet Tailored to Your Needs: Forget about fad diets that require extreme willpower. You need a muscle gain program for men over 30 that includes a diet plan focused on sustainable, long-term results. This means eating in a way that supports your energy needs without causing drastic swings in hunger or cravings.

Conclusion

Weight loss isn’t a battle of wills—it’s a strategic endeavor that requires a thoughtful approach, especially for high-achieving men in their 30s and 40s.

By addressing the unique challenges, you face—like stress, fatigue, and an inconsistent routine—you can develop a plan that not only helps you lose weight but also keeps it off, builds muscle, and boosts your energy levels.

So, is willpower the only thing standing between you and weight loss? Absolutely not.

It’s time to move beyond the myth of willpower and embrace a more comprehensive strategy tailored to your life and your goals.

Your future self will thank you for investing in your health today.

If you want my free guide to show you how you can lose 50lbs and keep it off then click the title below!

It’s a free video on how you can start finally seeing the results you want. No strings attached.

I'll show you how to lose 50lbs for free

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Disclaimer: Adam is not a doctor nor a nutritionist. This is all from the experience Adam has gained through himself and through schooling. Through his videos, Adam shares his personal and educational experience that he has acquired over the past years of training individuals through fitness and nutrition. Adam would strongly recommend you see your physician before starting or completing any exercise program. You should be in good physical condition to participate in the exercises which is why consulting your physician would be recommended.

Action – Consistency – Results

[echovilled]

— the happy chemical.

→ characters: selina liu ( featuring geng nuan, ma lei and xiang lian). → genre: tw: mentions of child abuse. → word count: 963  → description: selina meets xiang lian for the first time.

The day of any performance always made Selina feel sick, not because of the event, which she thoroughly enjoyed for the festivities, but because of the moments leading up to it. The entire day would leave her feeling exposed, exhausted, and vulnerable.

The mornings always started with an ice-cold shower where her skin would be scrubbed until red and bruised. Nuan always said that these showers were beneficial. They activated something called “Endorphins,” which is called the “happy” chemical. She said she learned it when she was her age, and she said she should be able to know what all of these chemicals are by this age.

Selina thinks the word sounds too close to dolphins.

This particular moment of the day doesn't make her happy, so while she scrubs, she imagines dolphins and wonders what it would have been like to see one up close instead.

3:00 AM was always the perfect time for Nuan because it was when she was at her happiest, her most productive. The hours prior were always spent the better half of the night having her consistent meltdowns over what Selina or Stephan did. The night would play out like a movie; Nuan would find something wrong, becoming a screaming match with Stephan or another night spent without dinner for Selina. One night had gotten so bad that Stephan didn't just threaten to leave; he packed his bags and left. The remainder of the night was spent with Selina trying to talk Nuan off the ledge as she would collapse and fall into her tiny daughter's arms. She cried and whined that nobody loved her, that nobody loved her enough to stay.

”I love you.” Selina would say she didn’t need a response, and none was ever given.

But when 3:00 AM rolled around, Nuan was a different woman. She was refreshed, ready to face the day head-on. Selina would always wonder where she would get all this newfound enthusiasm. Was it the endorphins she would always talk about? She doesn’t know, but she has yet to feel them.

She could never admit that she hated getting up at 3:00 AM for these reasons. She had been too tired to fight during the showers, too tired to put up a fight when she got two to three hours of sleep at night, too tired to do anything.

Nuan loves it when she leaves the apartment and gets to school during performance days. That's when she's at her best. Selina believes it's like a troll shedding its skin to reveal an empress. When Nuan is in front of other people, everything she has been accused of hours prior melts away. She appears perfect, glowing, affectionate, and everything Nuan wants. Selina is everything Nuan wants.

She likes it when they get to school, too; everyone loves to look at her, and they love to converse. She spends so much of the weekdays trapped inside her room that she forgets how fun it is to talk to others. She likes this part because Nuan hugs her, kisses her, and tells her everything she wants to hear, and she doesn't have to do anything to deserve it. It's all for free when they're in front of a crowd.

It’s the behind-doors part that Selina hates. The troll skin comes back, and it’s vicious, scary, and hurtful. The words are slick with venom, and she wonders when she will adapt to it when it would hurt less, why it hurts so much to hear them, and why it is so confusing for her to listen to them. Nuan tells her she’s a failure, a disappointment when things don’t go her way, while the tone differs from when they’re in front of a crowd.

She desperately wishes to be in front of people again; she wants to believe that this is a facade, and she wants the Empress to come back.

But something is different about today.

While Selina and Nuan are alone, an Auntie comes in dragging their own daughter, and she sees Nuan morph back into the Empress that she wanted to see. The young girl stops crying when she sees them, and it is like a light switch turned on when they both notice each other.

“Was she wishing her own empress could come back too?” She thought as the young girl peered curiously at her. She looked away as her mother spoke.

“I’m sorry to barge in, you know how insolent they can become when they start learning about free will.” The mother joked, and Nuan laughed, a genuine laugh at that.

Who were these strange people?

“Oo, Excuse my manners. I’m Ma Lei, but everyone calls me Leila. This is my daughter, Xiang Lian.” she nudges the young girl forward with her red face still wet with tears. She sticks out her hand for a handshake. Selina takes it without thinking about the repercussions that stand behind her.

“You’re pretty,” Lian says behind the sniffles as she lets go of their handshake and digs into the little purse she had been holding. She pulls out a piece of candy, and for the first time today, Selina becomes painfully aware that she hasn’t had food since yesterday afternoon or didn’t have to do much for Lian to be kind.

She takes the piece of candy, unwraps it, and sticks it in her mouth. It’s a ginger chew, her new favorite candy.

“Thank you and you’re pretty too.” She smiles for the first time today.

This must be what endorphins feel like.

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

sarah's funeral

The family attends the funeral for the sake of their image. Ephraim stands closest to the grave, his hat in his hands. He’s playing the part of the grieving brother so perfectly.

He crumples the brim of his hat in his hands. It will be ruined by the time he gets home, but his family will just order a new one.

That’s what all of this has been for, hasn’t it?

A little money.

Sarah’s dead, and all for a little money.

The little voice creeps in just like it always does, and it makes Ephraim wonder if Sarah ever heard her own version of that little voice. Maybe that’s why she did what she–

YOU KILLED HER!

SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

SHE’S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!

I know.

He stares down at the grave, at the little white casket in the newly disturbed dirt. The casket has a viewing window, but his mother had it packed full of flowers to obscure Sarah’s face.

“We don’t need more of them seeing her,” she had said. She ordered the cheapest flowers, and most of them were half wilted by the time they had been laid into the casket.

Ephraim would know. He watched as they were placed inside, and he stood by as the lid was closed and fastened, and he watched as it was carried out to the ground. The grave itself was on hospital property. For all his family’s riches, they were laying their only daughter to rest in a pauper’s grave in an empty field. Her only company were the graves of the other patients who had remained unclaimed or unwanted.

What a fitting place.

This is your fault.

Sarah had been wanted, but not by her family. Emma Fultz stood close to Ethel, her usual sack apron exchanged for a black cotton dress and a wool capelet. Ephraim glanced at her, but she only stared past him with empty eyes, her gaze resting on the little white box. It was December. It was too cold for her thin dress, but she barely shivered as she kept her eyes locked onto the grave. Her hat was off-kilter and too large for her head. 

It was then that Ephraim realized, in horror, that the girl was staring her own future in the face. No one wanted her either, and it would only be a matter of time before she too lay in a pauper’s grave. Everything that his sister had ever done, everything that she had hoped and dreamed for, and everything that she could have been had culminated in this, a sad grave in a barren field. Ephraim shuddered. The shivering girl in the cotton dress was damned to the same fate, and he had been the one to seal it.

He hated himself for it, but it was too late now and there was no one to save her.

No one had saved Sarah, and no one would save him either.

As if you deserve to be saved.

He wanted to scream.

His father coughed behind him, and his mother nudged him slightly as if to say “hurry up.” Ephraim loved his parents, but in this moment he wanted nothing more than to scream at them, to ask them why they would do this, to ask why they made him do this.

They didn’t make you do anything.

You chose this.

You chose to hurt her.

SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

Ephraim scans the small crowd for Ethel’s face. She wraps her arm closer around the young girl at her side, and not once does she acknowledge Ephraim.

She’s shunned him, just like he knew she would.

You deserve this.

He turns his back to the grave and walks to the carriage. He never once meets his parent’s eyes, not as they settle into the carriage, not as they ride in silence, and not as they walk into the once busy mansion they called home.

Home.

It’s a sick and twisted version of one. Ephraim had realized that a long time ago, but he had always been too blinded to fully see it. This was not a home. It had never been a home.

And it certainly wasn’t one for Sarah.

His parents shed their mourning clothes and settle into their usual routines in the parlor, as if this was any other day and not the day of their daughter’s funeral. For one of the first times in his life, Ephraim truly feels disgusted by them. It’s a strange dichotomy, to love someone and yet hate what they do.

He isn’t sure what to do about this feeling.

Ephraim slips into the basement, and there he finds Sarah’s notebook. It’s full of stories, and he sinks to the floor as he begins to read them. It’s full of stories about ghosts and monsters and fairies, but also of her life. The farther he reads, the more personal the stories become. He feels awful, as if he’s violating Sarah’s life more in this way than he ever had by anything he did while she was alive, but he has to know.

He has to know if she knew that he did care for her.

And then he finds it. A single page, written when she was no more than 6 or 7. It contains nothing more than two words, and a childish drawing.

“Ephraim and Sarah”

Two figures, one a girl and one a boy. They’re in the sun, and they’re smiling.

The next page, another drawing. This one is much more developed and obviously done by a much older Sarah. Yet again, it’s two young children. They sit on the floor, and the girl is covered by a jacket nearly as large as her. The pair shares a piece of taffy, and the same inscription as before accompanies this drawing.

Ephraim has his answer.

She did know, if only for a time.

He wishes that he had given her more taffy.