#and the house slowly becomes more like a home the longer theyre here

[nebuladreamz]

Mom come pick me up the voices are loud again (the image of the poster children of Creepypasta in. Slender's Mansion again. All as one big fuck ass family. Fucked up one with issues abroad. But also one of mutual understanding and what if I want them to heal and grow as people. Forever changed by the events or even what they are fundamentally but still being able to live in this world as who they are now with a support group of beings similar yet so distant from themselves. They can never go back or completely change who they are without damaging themselves or there's nothing else to go back to anymore, so all they can do is move forward. And kill people, that's always a bonus)

[aroace-poly-show]

follow up to my last oc rant: im gonna cover weiss and jex here since im brain rotting about them again sigh

also i tried my best with the sort of worldbuilding dont come for me if its not great this was for fun

jex’s illness specifically was inspired by this fictional disease thing i saw on pinterest and im so sad bc i didnt save it so i cant link it FUCK anyway specifically it was heavily inspired by the ink cough one. essentially jex’s body pretty much starts to slowly fail on them. throughout the life of one affected by this, they’ll slowly become weaker and weaker, getting sick much more easily (and those sicknesses tend to affect them much worse), having more and more violent coughing fits, being unable to heal very quickly/properly/more prone to infections, and blood from any injuries gets darker overtime, eventually becoming black. a lot of people often become eventually paralyzed. nearly everyone who has it has their expected lifespan cut incredibly short. those rare people that live longer spend their last days pretty much suffering. (no one really knows what causes it, theres rumors that it was a curse from an old dead god, placed upon the world in their final breath.. 👀 hehe)

stress tends to trigger jex’s cough but its not ink its like blackened blood. while they do tend to cough occasionally just in general, stressful situations will trigger a really really bad coughing fit, its worse depending how distressing it is to jex.

oh, and i forgot to mention!! weiss also has a sort of condition!! basically whenever they have an injury that draws blood, flowers will bloom from them. these flowers often help the wound to heal faster than if they weren’t there!! weiss was always fascinated by this, and (!!!possible tw: sh!!!) !!!sometimes would get hurt on purpose to draw blood and see the flowers bloom. its pretty cool having basically blood flowers that help you heal faster...until its like an internal injury then theyre an absolutely fucking pain in the ass to deal with.

so, weiss and jex were childhood best friends. they’ve been best friends foreverrr (and now romantic partners <3) since the one time jex fell out of a tree like a foot away from where weiss was messing with mechanical stuff. how fun!! jex had pretty much hopped out the window of their house after their caretaker left their room for like 2 seconds to grab their tea (which they absolutely fucking despise). before weiss can even say anything jex is just like “OOOOO WHATS THAT OMG” and just. fucking grabs the lil mechanical thing weiss was messing with.

weiss got pissed off at first bc “hey who are you why are you touching my stuff??” but then was overjoyed at the opportunity to infodump about her machines and stuff. boom now theyre besties. weiss used to help jex sneak out all the time. jex absolutely loved weiss for this, she was helping them live their childhood and god they’d do anything for her already.

weiss learned why jex had to stay inside all the time but it never really hit her until she actually witnessed one of their coughing fits. jex’s parents flipped the fuck out and weiss saw the amount of panic from them. jex had always played it off as it not being a big deal but seeing them struggle to just fucking breathe really shook weiss. the next time weiss saw them she made a promise that she’d find a way to help her, no matter what.

jex just kind of went along with that promise not thinking it was gonna be a serious thing, but weiss took that promise very seriously. she started focusing less on her interest in mechanical things and focused entirely on studying to help jex out. unfortunately…it resulted in them starting to drifting apart. jex was kept at home more especially since there wasn’t anyone to help them sneak out. eventually weiss hears about this group working towards learning more about their world, pretty much just scientists. she hears about one of their goals to help heal those illness that keep taking lives and she immediately fucking joins. goddamn shes excited!!! she can finally help her best friends!!! if only she read the fine print…sigh

so the group she joins, fucking sucks. very unethical experiments and projects but uh oh!! it seems theyre working with the shitty corrupt people that have wayyy too much power for anyone to do anything major about. so uh oh!!! no one’s coming to sue their asses!!! how sad for these (non)human lab rats :(

weiss had no idea about it at the beginning until shes offered a higher position in an important project, and she takes it bc she was told theyre working on the exact illness that jex has!! so of course shes gonna take that opportunity!! but unfortunately shes gonna be even busier, and jex wasnt happy about it. they already barely get to se weiss, and now they might not see them at all? theyre kind of hurt, and feel like shes treating them the same as their parents did. not letting them live the life they do have, just focusing on trying to extend it. it results in an argument between them, with weiss storming out. weiss didnt really get it, why would jex be upset??? shes trying to save them??? the fuck is their problem??? but she brushes it off and goes to start her new project, yay...

shes totally having a great time until she finds out just how far theyre willing to go “for research” (theyre really just pretentious fucking assholes who are basically torturing people and using “but science!!!” as an excuse). girl witnesses them recruiting fucking CHILDREN for these experiments and nopes the fuck out. and steals a child in the process. oopsies!! (she returned that kid to their parents and told them to get the fuck outta here) unfortunately!! they dont take kindly to people who know too much leaving their little group!! especially ones that also steal their lab rats!! uh oh!!

so weiss goes to see jex in the middle of the night, scares the everloving shit out of them, scares them EVEN MORE after she explains her situation, and they make up really quick and go on the run together!! how sweet!! (they make up properly later, weiss said sorry like a million times <3)

nowadays they travel around under new identities (their current names are the new identities btw i just refer to them in the past with the same name for simplicity [*cough* i didnt come up with previous names.. *cough*]). they visit bars and jex often does little perfomances and magic tricks there! if anyone's up to it, jex'll have a little spar with someone as well. they get by asking for tips for their performances. they often move from town to town, but they're fairly happy together <3 weiss is still looking around for any leads on possible solutions to jex's condition though, its how she got to know dorian. they crossed paths once and dorian was more than happy to help with her goal!! jex is here mostly to just enjoy themselves with their beloved. <3

notes:

jex fucking LOVES spicy food. doesn't matter how spicy it is, doesn't care how much they always end up coughing afterward, they will eat any kind of spicy food they'll see at any restaurant. (weiss has to beg them not to eat too much otherwise they'll be coughing for hours)

i think about them alot to "if i could ride a bike" - park bird/chevy , specifically in a modern setting. i love them dearly

i ended up writing...way more.. than i thought i had oh my god?? pls i originally did them first bc i thought they had a lot less but..jesus fucking christ man;;

[writing-in-april]

Dressed in Crimson

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Royalty AU)

Summary: Spencer is a stable boy with a passion for learning and Reader is the princess of the palace that he serves in. They’ve been in a secret relationship, the two grow restless about not being able to be out in the open.

A/N: Guys I’m so excited for this one I really really loved writing it- it’s my fourth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April and it’s also written for @omgbigfluffwriting !!! I kinda immersed myself into this quite a bit- and it’s my longest oneshot I’ve ever written 🤭The specific historical period theyre in is not specified and the world that they’re in is entirely fictional and not based on any specific point in history- if you’ve ever watched Merlin that’s kinda the vibe I was thinking of just without the magic lol (please still ignore that the gif does not have an accurate clothing choice from Spencer I just wanted a good shot of his hair that I thought of while writing this) i feel like it’s becoming so obvious how much I love historical fiction lol 😂 I’d like to hear from you guys also so if you want to drop me an ask here! It can be about anything 🥰 hope y’all enjoy!!!

Warnings: 18+, Reader has a horrible Father, subtle hints about sexism, Classism, Period typical clothing, Reader and Spencer fight for a little bit, Smut, Dom Spencer, Fingering, Handjob, Unprotected Sex, Day dreaming about fucking in public, Spencer’s possessive as hell, Ignoring the potential consequences of a creampie

Main Masterlist Word count: 4.7k

My day started out like any other with my corset made of whalebone being cinched tightly around my figure with my chemise underneath of course. Every time the ends of the laces were pulled taught on my body I thought of the days where I could get away with not having this wretched piece of clothing cutting off my breath. Those days had been so long ago, when I was just a small child, almost so long ago that I had to strain my memory to recall it. It wasn’t even until I was done clutching my mother’s skirts before I started to be forced into the confines of the worst invention in history. I would have rather muck in the mud in pants like the men, unless there was a reason for me to actually want to wear a dress.

Today, I had chosen a crimson colored gown, one of my only favorites. The front of the bodice was adorned with embroidery, one embroidered with a glistening gold thread. The sleeves were long and ever so slightly off my shoulders, ending just at my wrist. It had been perfectly handcrafted just for me, a seamstress being hired to slave away at each detail with precision. If it had been up to my father the seamstress would have been paid little to nothing for this masterpiece, but you had your own coins stashed away from your allowance to give extra to anyone that gave you goods and services.

The dress was my favorite almost solely because of someone else’s appreciation for the lush fabric, no one needed to know about that though. I did like to look nice on certain occasions, but only special ones. There was no special occasion scheduled for me to have a reason for wearing it, well none that the greater majority of the court would know about.

Only my maid Emily knew what my excursion would be today, why I dressed up so nicely. There was no feasible way for me to hide my dalliances from her, especially the one I was about to go to as it required some higher levels of stealth to be able to evade my father’s guards.

His name was Spencer, one of my father’s stable boys. I loved him more than anything, definitely more than any potential match that was arranged for me.

I gifted him whatever I could without raising suspicion, though I often hid my purchases if someone asked by excusing them as more frivolous in nature, such as a new dress. Spencer had no real need for pretty things as he’d said before, except from myself- those were his past words not mine. And, he did express to me how much he loved the dress I was wearing right now, which was tied to how we had first met.

When I first met him I had been looking for a fabric in the market stalls. I hadn’t really wanted to, I was content with all the dresses that I owned right now, they had no ornament on them, just how I preferred. However, my father demanded I get something fancier for some sort of frivolous ball that was coming up that undoubtedly had no reason to take place besides bleeding everyone else dry.

I brushed hands with him for the first time as I was looking for the material I wanted, something just fancy enough to appease my father. The stall filled with fabrics bordered one that had stacks of books, I would have much preferred to be looking at that one. My hand had gotten close to the edge while I was inspecting a fabric and it had bumped into a man who was looking at one of the books.

When I had looked up to see who had brushed my hand I was met with frantic eyes filled with apology. His stuttered apology had covered my attempt to assure him that it was fine, it had taken me grabbing both of his hands to steady him for him to listen to my reassurance.

When he had introduced himself to me after I asked it flowed into a long conversation. I could have talked to him forever, I would be content to never talk to anyone else. For a stable boy he was exceptionally smart, which I learned was from his mother who had made sure he was educated even in poverty, specifically through having him read anything she could get her hands on. From then on our blossoming friendship had flourished, and had eventually developed into more.

I slung a shawl over my shoulders made out of a fabric of similar color to my gown and also grabbed a purse filled with coins with a smile due to my reminiscing . It wasn’t cold enough for one of my velvet cloaks just yet and most of the walk down to where Spencer was housed was indoors.

The walk from my rooms in the main part of the castle to the stables on the lower floor towards the East end was longer than I would have wanted. Truthfully, I wished I would not have to live in a castle at all, I’d rather live in the small house that Spencer lived. It was just past the castle grounds at the edge of the surrounding village adjacent to the stables so he did not have to walk far for work in the mornings.

My feet tiptoed down the corridors carefully, I was lucky that I had figured out to be somewhat light on my feet otherwise I’d be caught swiftly for sure. I passed by the rooms of most of the lords and ladies staying at court, I always wondered why some chose to stay here, it was positively suffocating here. The door I used to go outside was through the kitchen, that had a myriad of breakable things strewn about that I had to stealthily avoid. Luckily, I knocked nothing over that would have woken up the cooks who slept just a room over. Turning the handle of the door had to be a slow process so no one would hear the creak of the knob while it was turned, but I did successfully make it out with no disturbance.

Beginning the stretch of my journey that was outdoors was perhaps the most risky. Guards were stationed around the perimeter of the castle in greater numbers compared to the ones indoors which were only stationed by important rooms. I weaved my way through, in some aspects it was even more confusing than the inside of the castle. Hiding behind each of the pillars was the most effective way to avoid them, the construction of them making a series of small blind spots. I had just snuck behind one of the last ones when one of the guards nearest to me moved forward a little. I stopped breathing immediately, holding it tight in my chest while I plastered myself as close as I could to the back of the pillar. My nails dug into the stone of the pillar in fear, if I was ever to be found sneaking out at night or worse in the presence of Spencer, I would either never leave my rooms again or be whisked away into marriage even earlier than planned.

When the guard did not move to investigate further I let go of the breath I was holding, still making sure to let go of it slowly so he could not hear me. Moving swiftly forward after I had taken a breath was a bit of a challenge, my knees had gone weak with fear. I pushed myself to take each step even with the weakness in my knees, there was no way I could linger any longer.

Finally I was no longer walking on stone, I was walking on the muddy earth now. It was nice to feel the ground under my feet instead of the harsh stone, it told me that I was now only a handful of strides away from Spencer’s home.

The leaves littering the ground mixing with mud crunched under my feet even as I tip toed carefully. The guards may be in the distance now, but I didn’t feel keen on testing how good their hearing may potentially be.

Passing the stables was the last marker for my journey, then I would be able to see his home too. As I passed the sleeping horses by anticipation began to replace the fear inside me. It had been a while since I had been able to come see him, making me yearn for his touch even more.

His home came into view, even in the dead of night I could make it out if I squinted my eyes hard. My pace picked up exponentially when I landed my eyes on his humble abode. It was a quaint home, fallen into disrepair as he could not afford to fix it on the meager salary that my father paid him. The purse of gold that I had brought with me was exactly for that, the repairs. He would most likely protest the gift just like any other thing I had tried to gift him. From my experience the most effective way to get him to accept anything was to leave it there with no conversation about it. I think it made him feel less guilty even though in my opinion he was owed the money in the first place, no one should have to live in squalor when they did their job every day without question or complaint.

When I finally was at the entrance of his home I entered through the door swiftly, too impatient to wait or knock. Stress melted from my shoulders when I caught sight of him, hunched over one of the books I had given him, candles strewn around to give him enough light to read.

The candles he had lit to be able to read in the night illuminated us both with a glow. He would always compliment me whenever we found ourselves in similar lighting such as this, but in my opinion there was no rivalry. Each time the candle flickered it brightened up every highlight of him, letting me see his wild curls, brown eyes deeper than any others I had ever seen, and a body that I had no doubt was crafted to perfection illuminated in a beautiful glow.

I went to compliment him just as he always did with me, but I became mesmerized when he stood up, then moving his way closer to me.

“It is nice to see you, it feels like it’s been an eternity.” It may seem dramatic for him to say that it felt that long, but I echoed his sentiment willingly.

“It is nice to see you too, Spencer. I agree it’s been far too long.” I was sure it had been at least a full moon cycle since we had the pleasure of being alone with one another, our duties to my father keeping us separated.

It had been painful whenever I would go out for a ride on my horse, to see him hand me the reins of my mare and be unable to reach out to touch him. There had been one day, about a week ago, that I had let my hand brush against his own for a moment while he handed the reins to me. It was an innocent brush of a touch, that also had a barrier in the form of my leather gloves. To anyone else it had meant nothing, but to me and him, it meant everything.

His eyes were blown wide with desire, as I suspected mine were as well. We let ourselves take in the sight of each other for a minute longer before Spencer broke the silence with a request,

“Drop your shawl, so I may see you better.” A stable hand commanding someone of such a stature such as I would’ve seen him whipped if it was any other person before him. His boldness was not unexpected, it had taken a while for him to grow so comfortable with my company. In truth, he had been quite scared when I had first met him. It was perfectly understandable considering his employer was my father, who was not known for his kindness. And, even then after his fear had faded he still had a shy exterior for a while, it only had been lifted when we began to become extremely comfortable around each other. We were each other's only form of solace in this world, we could only escape our reality when we were together.

Instead of having malice in my voice like other nobles would I simply pulled the shawl more taught around my shoulders and teased, “Why should I?”

The expression on his face was one of the ones I loved seeing on his face the most, a sly smirk. He came closer to me, with careful steps as if he was waiting for the right moment to pounce. We were so close together when he stopped moving, but still not touching. He was playing a game with me, not touching until I obliged him. As he leaned in to speak into the shell of my ear he was careful with the way he tilted his body forward so I could only feel his breath on the small portion of my skin, “Because you like it when I look at you.”

My arms fell to my sides releasing my shawl to fall from my shoulders onto the floor at his words, as they rang true. I did want him to look at me and also, of course touch me.

“You wore your favorite dress.” He observed, still not quite touching. I didn't need to answer the statement he made with the thought in my mind ‘I wore it for you’ because I knew he had already figured that out. His observational skills were keenly honed in by his constant reading whenever he had the chance, often reading books that I had gifted to him. He even sometimes read well into the night, straining his eyes in the darkness when the candle was almost merely a wick. I had found that out the first- and sadly, only time I had the opportunity to stay overnight. Since then I had pushed him to get more rest as I knew how hard he was worked to the bone during the day, courtesy of my father.

His eyes were staring at my dress, pupils blown wide, his mind seemingly off in another world maybe thinking about all the things he wanted to do to me.

“Please, touch me.” I didn’t need to speak loud, only a soft whisper for him to hear me because of how close he already was to me. So close, yet so far.

He raised his large hands, calloused from working so hard day in and day out. My own hands were soft from the expensive creams I had been pampered with since I was just a small child. I liked his hands better, they showed the hard work he used everyday to cultivate his beautiful mind and body.

I subtly licked my lips in anticipation of his touch, wanting to feel every inch of his hand roaming my body, from the tips of his fingers to where his palm met his wrist.

His fingers then started to trace over the top of my corset, just a hair away from touching the swell of my breasts. My chest was rising and falling with each breath, each inhale pushing it slightly closer to his fingers. With each fall of my chest I felt the need to quickly let go of my breath, so I could once again inhale and be brought closer to his touch.

“Please touch me.” I repeated, breathless from forcing myself to breathe into his touch.

“I am touching you.” His fingers still did not move to touch my skin, only the crimson accented in gold. It was his turn to tease me now, I was at his mercy, ready and waiting for it.

I could beg again, though quite obviously I could not convince him with it. As he was running his fingers over the cloth for what felt like the millionth time, still not touching me, I teased him back instead of begging, “No you are touching my dress.”

A mere ghost of a touch from his fingers then floated across my skin. What should have calmed my heaving chest from my gasping breaths only served to make my breathing even heavier. The slight touch was still not enough, only making my desire for his hands to roam every inch of my body even more severe.

“Perhaps I should take your corset off, to help you breathe better.” He said, as if he read my exact thoughts.

“I like your thinking.”

I was then spun around so my back was pressed into his chest. It soothes my desire for his touch some, but we both had barriers of cloth preventing me from fully feeling him. I could feel some of the warmth that was hidden underneath his shirt, which was made up of a much billowing white linen that compared to his trousers.

If my skirts were not so large I wondered if I were to push back if my behind would come in contact with his cock and whether or not his desire would be as prominent as the slickness dampening the bottom layer I was wearing. I’d have to find a way to find a pair of trousers then, sometime soon, so I could try to grind into him at a later date. There was no doubt that we’d surely find ourselves in a similar position again.

As his hands started to undo the laces of my corset with care, despite both of our desperation, a thought slipped out from his lips that I’m sure he intended to keep to himself, “I wish I could call you mine in public.”

“My father would kill you!” The taste of my voice would have been bitter in anyone’s mouth, quickly spat out in the same way I said those words. Perhaps my quick anger to his innocent thought would be insane to some, most would probably consider it a sweet thought. However, he knew from previous conversations that when those sweet thoughts were expressed that all I could feel was a heavy sadness sitting inside me, instead of desire.

Tears clouded my vision, so much so that I did not see Spencer’s arms come around me to envelop me in an embrace. I flinched a bit at first, but then melted when I realized it was him. We held each other for a while as I sobbed softly into his billowy white shirt.

He stroked my shoulder with his large hands that I loved, but the corset he had not taken off fully yet was blocking me from feeling his touch the way I wanted.

“Take it off please.” I begged softly, I wanted to feel his skin on mine, and not just his lips or his hands. I wanted to feel every inch of him.

The laces of my corset were already half undone because of his previous attempt at getting it off of me. He finished the job, pulling the corset off of my body, tossing it down to the floor. He may have loved the dress, but he was showing me through his actions that he loved what was underneath more.

Turning me around was his next step, so he could properly kiss me. The pressure was soft at first, as if he was testing the waters to see how I would feel. Feeling his soft lips on my own just made me want to pull him in further, and I did so. My fingers tangled into his curls as the kiss devolved into pure passion, we were both throwing ourselves fully into it, trying to express our feelings nonverbally.

His own hands moved to cup my breasts as he backed me into the cot he slept on every night. I did not let him push me down on the bed so he was on top of me like normal, this time I wanted to be on top for a while. When I straddled his hips the first thing I felt was his cock straining in his pants. I unbuckled them so I could wrap my hands around his cock, I wanted to feel his thick and heavy length in my hands. Precum was already dripping down his hard cock as I pumped his length with my hands. My own arousal was dampening the underneath of the skirt I still had on. Spencer confirmed it himself when he snuck his fingers underneath the fabric to play with my pleasure spots. We both groaned as his fingers entered inside me while he rubbed circles into my swollen pearl.

My skirt was bunched up in his hands, pulling up all the way to the tops of my thighs. He soon got fed up with the skirt being in the way though and maneuvered me to shuck it off of me as fast as possible. Being bare before him did not make me wither in self consciousness, it made me lean into his touch even more.

He leaned up to kiss me again while I grabbed his length and restraddled him. I was definitely wet enough to have him enter me, my separation from him making me desperate, it had been so long since we had the chance to be together like this.

I then sunk down on his length slowly, it was for me to adjust to his size and to relish in the feeling of him sliding inside me. I stilled on top of him as the back of my thighs hit the top of his, he filled me with perfection. Spencer only let me be still for a little while before his hands gripped my hips and started to guide me to roll my hips. The pace I set- well Spencer was the one who set it, was slow and deep, I was languidly rolling my hips while he thrusted up into me at a similar pace.

My face twisted in pleasure as his thrusts became more powerful, still at the same pace but with more force behind them.

“Fuck- I want everyone to know that you’re mine!” It was the exact same thing he had spoken to me earlier that had sparked anger and melancholy inside me. This time it caused a spark of pleasure instead, making me think about him fucking me in front of everyone claiming me as his.

“My father would kill you.” This time when I said it it was gasped into his mouth with little to all anger disappeared from it.

My words made Spencer growl which was swallowed by a possessive kiss. He then flipped me over roughly, my back now pressed into the cot. A high pitched squeak had escaped my lips unintentionally in surprise, it was quickly changed into a moan when he entered me again. This time the pace did not start off slow as I did not need to adjust to him inside of me.

“I don’t care.” His speech was agitated as he pounded into me, holding my legs open with both hands spreading me out for him to see everything, “No matter what anyone says or does, you’re mine.”

Pleasure sparked through me at his possessive words, I grabbed desperately at the cotton sheets trying to hold onto something as my finish was fast approaching. When the cotton sheets were not enough of a stabilizer for me I lifted my hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him close.

“Come on I know you’re close, I’m close too baby.” My nails dug into his neck and back during the latter half of his sentence causing him to slightly wince. I knew he enjoyed it though because of the question that he groaned out next, “Can I cum inside you?”

Biting my lip hard was painful as I nodded my head in response to his question that had me falling over the edge. The consequences of him finishing inside me danced in the back of my head, I chose to ignore them as he did. I did not care as he filled me and I rode out my release, even if I was to somehow get pregnant because of our recklessness it did not matter. I’d gladly have his child, even if it meant I’d have to go on the run.

Instead of falling on top of me directly after finishing like I’ve heard most men do with their wives he gently removed himself from my entrance and laid down beside me on the cot. Bliss was mingling in the air between us, both unburdened by any of our problems that would become a reality as soon as I left for the night. For now we would just hold onto the bliss until it was cruelly snatched away from reality.

Spencer had a solution as always to our problems, and seemed to be thinking about the same thing I was with his next suggestion,

“Run away with me.” We were both covered in sweat that had cropped up from our activities, a contrast to the chilly air outside and in the castle. It was nice to feel warm every time I was in his arms, It was hard to resist being greedy and deciding to stay in his arms forever. It had crossed my mind more than once, but there was always something stopping me from going through with it fully. I opened my mouth to point out all the reasons why that would not be possible when he added, “And, before you say no I want to ask- what’s stopping you?”

His reasoning was sound, as it often was. My mouth opened and closed, struggling to find a reasoning before I accepted that he was right. The only potential downfall was my father’s forces searching everywhere to find me, but it would be worth it. We could also easily cross the border into nearby lands ruled by someone else that was not in alliance with him. I already felt lighter thinking about being free from the confines of the castle- and hopefully my corset. Though I would have to keep the crimson dress I wore today, even if I only wore it around him, It was his favorite and it symbolized the day that we met. He glanced over at me just as I did the same, looking right into his eyes as I spoke,“Alright.”

The light that sparked in his eyes made my heart soar, I could feel just from his gaze how ecstatic he was to spend his life with me. I didn’t need any words to know how much he loved me.

We basked for a moment in the presence of our love, Spencer broke the silence again when he started planning,“You need to go pack!”

I moved myself to sit up even though my limbs protested, wanting to sleep after our post coital bliss. A soft smile was exchanged between the two of us, “I’ll pack light, only the stuff I need.”

The purse of gold I had brought for him would no longer be used to fund his repairs, but to fund our life together. I climbed on top of him again leaning forward to capture him in a kiss that was much more chaste than the ones earlier in the night.

“I. love. you.” He whispered in between kisses making my eyes wet with tears. They weren’t born out of sadness, but of happiness that I had someone to love me as much as Spencer did.

“I love you too, I will see you soon.” I pulled myself away from his lips even though I did not want to, I then got up to leave reluctantly. Though it was easier than previous departures as I knew that it would be the last one that I would have to complete. My whole being was lighter and happier than I had ever felt before as I snuck back with a spring in my step. The only hint of what I was about to do, where I was about to go, was the mud stained at the hemline of my crimson dress.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (why wont tumblr let me tag you😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

Dom Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb @jakobsdump

[spohkh]

miracle on cornelia street [dean/castiel]

so BASICALLY sarah @adanceinasnowglobe and i were talking about what everyone would be up to post-series -- yknow, like, now that theyre all safe and healthy n everythings cool and destiel is officially together. yknow. as happened in canon -- and we were like so obviously destiel get a house, and thats kind of the basis of this verse so !! this is the foundational fic for what i HOPE will be a series of fun lil day-in-the-life drabbles, from both me and sarah!! 

ehehehe :-) enjoy!

read on AO3

The house is a quaint thing, sitting low and snug under a pair of shady oak trees in a quiet suburb just outside of downtown Lawrence. Its brickwork face is weathered—definitely in need of a good power wash—and the roof is just as worn. The bottom step to the porch slants unevenly, and the porch itself has cracks in the concrete. There are chips in the paint on the window frames, the iron porch railing is rusting, and who knows when the gutters were last given a proper cleaning.

There’s a lot of work to be done, but standing there in the small front lawn, Dean Winchester can’t say if he’s ever seen anyplace else so perfect as the house at 3767 Cornelia Street. Dean’s house—his home. His home with Cas.

“Can you believe it?” he quietly says to Miracle, who has been sitting patiently by Dean’s leg. Miracle tilts her head and wags her tail. Dean looks back up at the house. “Yeah, me neither.”

The sound of a familiar car rumbling up the road snaps Dean out of his reverie. He rubs a knuckle at his eye and clears his throat and tries to look like he hadn’t been standing in his front yard about to cry while talking to his dog, christ.

The car rolls to a stop on the curb just in front of the house. The driver’s side door opens, and Sam slowly unfolds his ridiculous limbs as he gets out. It’s always a wonder how he can fit himself into a car at all. Sam gives a dorky little wave as he ambles over to where Dean is standing.

Dean peers behind Sam, trying to see into the car. “What, no Eileen?”

“Hello to you, too. Dick,” he replies snarkily. “She’s wrapping up a work thing. She’ll come over when she’s done.”

Dean sucks his teeth in disappointment. “Ah, well. Guess you can go home then.” Sam shoves at his shoulder. Dean just laughs and pulls Sam in for a proper hello hug.

“Why are you standing out here, anyway?” Sam asks when they part.

“Can’t a man just hang out in his own front yard? Accompanied by a dashing canine companion?” He leans down to pat Miracle on the head.

“I guess…” Sam looks down at Miracle. When she tips her head up and gazes back at him, Sam snorts.

“What?”

“Miracle on Cornelia Street,” Sam says with mirth.

Dean squints at him. “What?” he repeats, now more incredulous.

“You know—like Miracle on 34th Street. But we’re on Cornelia, so.” He nods down at the dog. “Miracle on Cornelia Street.”

“Dude.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’s goofy grin and starts walking up the path to the house, Miracle trotting behind him. “Shut up and come inside already.”

Sam follows after him, pausing just inside the threshold as he spots something on the doorframe. “Oh, classy,” he says, throwing a sardonic look to where D.W. and C.W. are scratched into the wood.

“Just wait,” Dean jokes with a toothy smile, “when I got the time I’m gonna draw a little heart around it.” He was joking, but now that he said it, he kind of wanted to.

Cas looks up from the stove when they walk into the dining room. He’s wearing one of Dean’s old AC/DC tees, the logo all but worn away from being washed so many times. He’s usually in some ratty tee or other when lounging around these days. But in honor of Sam’s visit today (Cas’ words) and to seem a little more dressy short of donning his usual button-downs (Dean’s private opinion), he’s also wearing the cable-knit cardigan Sam got him as a gift last Christmas. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam leans against the counter that separates the dining and kitchen areas, craning his giraffe neck to catch a glimpse at the stove. “Hey, Cas! What’cha cooking?”

“Nothing. Dean made it. I was just watching the pot so it didn’t boil over.” He locks eyes with Dean, his intent stare very clearly communicating I did not touch the chili I added nothing I did not touch the dial I was just watching it like you asked so don’t even start.

Dean just smiles as he walks past the counter and steps into Cas’ space. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and busses Cas on the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies warmly. He’s gazing up at Dean with those summer afternoon blue eyes, standing in one of Dean’s shirts and that dorky cardigan, and Dean starts to get full of that feeling from out in the front yard again. If they were alone, Dean would probably say something recklessly sappy like I am so stupid in love with you.

As it is, Dean clears his throat and turns back to Sam, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and says, “He did the salad.”

Cas sneaks him a knowing look before, thankfully, putting his attention on Sam without commenting on Dean’s hasty redirection. “I did the salad,” Cas agrees blithely, and places the salad bowl on the counter for Sam to see, seeming pleased with himself.

Sam looks between the two of them, an amused tilt to his eyebrow that Dean implicitly distrusts. He’s definitely thinking mocking thoughts about the two of them. But he just quirks a smile and says, “It looks great.” Shrewd little diplomat.

Cas shifts to the side to see past Sam’s shoulder. Sam glances behind himself before shooting Cas a confused look.

“She’s still at work,” Dean tells Cas, guessing who he’s looking for. “Sadly.”

“What, am I not good enough?”

“Of course you are,” Cas promises earnestly, just as Dean says, “Well…”

Sam’s opening his mouth to retort, probably something absolutely scathing, when his phone chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket, a smile spreading over his face. “Speak of the devil,” he says, then tips his head with a grimace, “as it were. That was Eileen. She’ll be here soon, so I’m gonna go wash up.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall—“

“Dude, I know where it is. I did help you guys move in.”

Dean spreads his hands in assent. “Fine, christ, I swear never to be a good host to you in my home ever again. Go ahead and go take your dump now.”

“I’m not gonna—ohmygodnevermind.” He turns on his heel and huffs down the hall, Miracle trotting after him, the tags on her collar clinking together jauntily.

Dean reaches past Cas to turn the burner off, then lands his hand on Cas’ hip. “Have I told you today how cute you are in that sweater?”

“Yes.” Cas brings his hands up to cradle Dean’s face. “Four times.”

“Make it five.” Dean kisses him. He pulls Cas into a hug, pressing his face against Castiel’s shoulder. They sway into each other. After a warm moment, Dean says in a low voice, “The first family dinner in our house.”

Cas hums a soft, contented sound in agreement. “The first of many,” he responds, just as quiet. Dean squeezes him tighter. He knows they’re both thinking about Jack and Claire, their bedrooms sitting empty and waiting for whenever they can find the time to visit—and Kaia and Alex and Jody with Claire, if they can, and Charlie and her girlfriend, and Bobby, and all the other wayward extensions of their sprawling family caught out in the wind. Their house isn’t big enough to host everyone, but with Sam and Eileen up the block and the bunker just a few miles out, there’s plenty of room to put up people who come out their way. Dean has the hope that 3767 Cornelia Street becomes a common pitstop for folks—a suburban Roadhouse, a tidier (much tidier) Singer Salvage.

Dean presses a kiss against Cas’ neck, and Cas breathes a sweet little sigh that pushes all thoughts about future dinners right out the window. Fuck, this dinner could go out the window, for all he cares. He kisses a little higher up, right under Cas’ jawline, before pulling back to catch Castiel’s darkened gaze. “How ‘bout we ditch the nag and go have a private party of our own?”

“Dean, no. I worked really hard on that salad.” He sounds perfectly serious, but the playful glint in his eye gives him away. Dean snorts, mumbling oh, forgive me, Chef Cas as he leans in again.

Just as they kiss, Sam walks back in. “Hey, I think something’s wrong with your sink–- oh, sorry.”

“Huh?” Dean reluctantly pulls away as Sam clears his throat, looking sheepish. “What’s wrong with what, Sammy?”

“Uh, with your bathroom.”

“The bathroom? Oh, what, you clogged the toilet?”

“Wha— N—  I DID NOT SHIT IN YOUR BATHROOM.”

“Then how did the toilet get messed up?”

“It’s the SINK, the SINK—”

“You took a shit in the sink?”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dean…”

“What? He started it.”

“Started WHAT?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “The end of the world.”

“Oh! My god!”

“I guess technically, yeah, since god is our kid...” He turns to Cas. “Weird, weird lives we lead.”

Cas just shakes his head, clearly exasperated. Sam has given up on speaking completely and has fallen back on making a gesture like he’s one second away from grabbing Dean by the throat.

“I was there for all twelve years of it,” Sam says to Cas, “and I still can’t believe you stayed with this guy.”

“Well,” Cas muses serenely, “you’ve been here a lot longer than me.”

Sam grimaces when Dean throws him his best shit-eating grin. Nothing like his two favorite people bonding over how much of a pain he is.

The sound of the front door opening distracts them, and then a voice calls, “Knock knock! The life of the party has arrived!”

“Eileen!” Sam exclaims happily. Miracle takes off down the hall, Sam hot on her heels.

Dean chuckles at Sam’s unabashed excitement, then gives Castiel another peck on the cheek before moving away from him. “Can you put everything out on the table? I’ll go check out the bathroom sitch real quick.”

Cas catches his hand as he starts to leave, softly saying his name. When Dean looks back at him, Cas smiles and says, “I love you.”

Dean wonders if maybe three time’s the charm and he should just give in to what his body wants him to do. If a man has a right to stand around and cry messily anywhere in his own home, surely the kitchen would be the place to do it. The kitchen, after all, is the heart of any house.

But Dean doesn’t. He indulges in a little sniffle, Cas’ eyes glimmering with knowing in the soft light. Dean brings Cas’ hand to his mouth and kisses the neat gold band around his finger, and he kisses each peaked knuckle, and he turns Cas’ hand over and kisses his palm and his wrist. Then he lets go and puts his own hand against Cas’ cheek, and says his recklessly sappy thing: “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

And the glowing feeling inside him doesn’t settle, only grows brighter.

Whatever’s wrong with the sink will be just one more thing to a long list of shit to deal with. Their house needs work, no denying. But Dean knows they’ve got plenty of time.

[spamtonsbigshot]

So I’ve got a possible Vento Aureo AU that i started thinking about a lot last night and i just kinda wanna post it here to have it all in one place.

—

Gionro - Vampire (for obvious reasons)

Fugo - Werewolf cuz i love him

Abbacchio - Probably a fallen angel, similar to how he was thrown out of the police force he was thrown out of heaven

Bruno - Probably human too, just a man in the cryptid woods who fell in love with an angel

Narancia - im tempted to just say catboy cuz im out of ideas

Mista - Satyr. Hairy.

Trish - cross between demon and human, has some demon features but otherwise can pass human

Diavolo - probably a demon

—

Background: Pannacotta Fugo

one of fugo’s grandparents (grandma) are definitely a werewolf that married into a wealthy family at some point therefore making Fugo a decendant. the werewolf genes skipped his parents’ generation and of his siblings, only Fugo got the werewolf genes. Fugos grandmother is the og werewolf i bet. Which is why Panni loves her so much and feels he can confide in her cuz he keeps his werewolfness to himself otherwise. idk how it managed to avoid his parents as he was young so lets say the genes kick in around like puberty age or something, as in he cant fully transform till later. so following VA lore he goes to college n shit right? and following phf lore he gets mad at his professor waving away his grandmas recent passing as she was the only one he was close to and goes feral in a literal sense. he calms himself down before anyone can come in and be like “wtf” so when hes found back in human appearance, holding a big school book, thats what people think happened and blamed it on that. After that, Fugo runs away into the woods and later would find Bruno in his cabin in the woods. Bruno’s a social outcast who used to be a fisher but after his dads passing he moved into the more wooded areas and settled there. Became a farmer maybe cuz he has to make money somehow. Because brunos lived in the woods for a few years he's befriended many supernatural creatures that live there in part just to get buy, he even has a sign that says "supernatural friendly" or something. So With fugo having run out into the woods, Bruno finds Fugo while on a walk probably and takes Fugo in after Fugo explains he has nowhere else to go. So Fugo becomes a farmhand basically and Bruno has some werewolf acquaintances explain sorta how being a werewolf works cuz fugo's only werewolf relative he knows of is dead.

Background: Leone Abbacchio

Leone WAS a guardia angel for a man of which goes unnamed. At one point, Leone took a bribe of sorts from a demon. The bribe was to keep the demon business in the area unnoticed by Angels. Later, said same demon and Leone’s human get involved on some way, and it ends up in the death of Leone’s human. Because of Leone’s neglectfulness and possible corruptness, he is cast out from above and thrown down below to earth. Abba probably breaks a tree nearby on impact when being struck down from the literal sky. Bruno goes to investigate and finds abbacchio in what looks like a meteor crash sight of his own making, theres also probably the imprint of angel wings its like a really cinematic shot probably. So bruno takes him back to his cabin and nurses him back to health. Abba was probably someones guardian angel and took a bribe from a demon that eventually got his human killed. Bruno, being all wise with supernatural shit, feels bad for him as Abba has nowhere to go. He teaches Abbacchio how to be a human and function in society that way theyre both earning something. Though, abbacchio is still an angel by blood and being and does not require stuff like food or water and therefore doesnt take up too much valuable supplies.

Background: Narancia and Mista

Narancia probably likes to absentmindedly stroll through the woods and sometimes isnt seen for a few days as he is a cat and can hunt for himself. Nara was probably abandoned and became an ally cat at some point and was bullied for being a catboy, people called him a freak and for him to go eat out of the trash and stuff like that. Fugo found him in an alley when in town, and when he looked at the cat in the dumpster, he saw intelegent purple eyes instead of feral cat eyes and new that this malnourished, injured cat was probably supernatural in some way and took him with him to bruno's cabin, later, nara just kinda becomes a housecat thats also a helpful energetic boy And on one of nara's long day long strolls, he encounters Mista, who is a satyr therefore he's pantsless (furry goat legs) and shirtless (cuz why not) narancia kinda keeps his distance for a while and comes across Mista a few times over the course of maybe a few weeks to a month, but eventually Mista gets into trouble and uses a pan flute to use some epic firest magic to kill off some harmful spirits. After witnessing that, narancia, now catboy and not cat, jumps out of the bush he was watching from to exclaim how "totally sick!" That was. They kinda talk and become friends after a while, narancia becoming less and less afraid to approach him and talk to him. They later become really good bros and nara invites Mista over to play games but since Mista has no clue wtf those are as he's a satyr that lives shirtless in the woods, Narancia teaches him how to play and thats when mista realizes he's catching feelings :) Also as a lil hc of mine im bringing in the possum i draw narancia with called Tutti Frutti Juul Pod (aka Tutti/Tutti Frutti) and theyre Nara’s friend basically and occasionally he brings Tutti home but Tutti remains wild for the most part 👀

Background: Giorno

Giorno grew up in the city with his shitty mom and step dad. No gangster saving this time. Eventually, lets say, Giorno's parents decide they dont wanna deal with him anymore and put him in an orphanage and so giorno just kinda lives a sad life for a while. Eventually, he gets adopted by Jonathan and Erina, (his ov dad still being dio but hes dead because its my au and i said so) so Jonerina adopt Giorno and stuff starts getting a lot better for him. After vampire puberty or whatever, giorno isnt going to be killed by the sun or anything it just kinda stings his skin and he'll get burned bad if he stays exposed to the sun longer than an hour or so. So he starts taking night walks. Eventually, on a night of the full moon while giorno's out on his walks (cuz hes gotta do something it gets boring in the house at night after a while) and giorno comes across fugo like, as he's transforming into a full on wolf. Fugo's kinda embarassed by the fact giorno caught him and upon seeing giorno watch him transform, he sprints away. Giorno thought fugo and his big ol white fur coat were really pretty and doesnt chase after him, but thinks about it. A month later, the next full moon and he sees him again, transforming. Giorno just kinda ponders who this pretty stranger is and this time stays more hidded and approaches him slowly. Fugo growls at him at first, but giorno's opener is "Hello, your fur is very pretty. I'm Giorno, Giorno Giovanna" and fugo gets all flustered at being called "pretty" so he decides to approach him, carefully circlin him and gathering his scent to familiarize himself with it. He decides giorno is not a threat, and decides to shift back to his more human complexion, though his wolf ears and tail are still very present, as well as sharp claws and teeth. Fugo gets all nervous and eventually introduces himself and they kinda continue walking at night. Gionro also explains hes a vampire and prefers to thrive at night. Fugo asks to meet up another night and giorno agrees. They continue like that for a few weeks till fugo eventually gives giorno his number, that way they domt have to just walk and talk at night, and their relationship grows from there.

Its such a long Post omg 💀 but thats what i have!

[thestuckylibrary]

Group Ask 168

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Anon 1 said:

hii im looking for a certain fic where bucky age regresses. hes in college and only does it when his roommate, i think it was scott, isnt home. he hangs out with steve on a certain day every week but one day he forgets because he’s too stressed abt exams and wants to regress, so steve finds him in littlespace. thank you !!

Anon 2 said:

Hi! I’m looking for a fic I read a while back where Bucky tries to retire (I think in a house Tony let them use?) and makes a life for himself in the town and slowly convinces Steve to give up the fight and retire with him. I remember the fic included Steve’s sketches as he begins drawing again. Thanks so much!

prplflwr3 said:

I’m sorry I’m not very familiar with tumblr, but I really love your blog! I’m looking for a fic that spans from pre war - I think the chapter titles are rivers, and Bucky saves Steve from drowning in Brooklyn and he can’t recognise faces until he gets the serum?? Thank you!

arxiver87 said:

I need your help, I lost a fic. It was written pre Civil War. It had POV Bucky, straight off of CA:WS going back to a Hydra base because he was programmed to. His handlers show up and give him increasingly strange orders, all of which make him more human. It becomes evident that these strange handlers are actually the avengers. In the last scene Steve shows up, and Bucky no longer thinks of him as his mission, but recognizes him as Steve. Please help, I loved this one and want to read it again.

sadritsuka12 said:

Hi I have a question hope you help me a fanfiction about Steve trying to commit suicide and his mom stop him then later Bucky stop him. And is in 1940 I think..

Anon 3 said: (/others)

Hi! I’m looking for a very specific fic and I’m going crazy trying to find it. It shows snippets of their life pre-Captain America: TFA all the way to after Winter Soldier (I think?). The last scene is of Bucky visiting Steve (wearing a black glove over his metal hand) while a pregnant Sharon is in his apartment. Sharon leaves so the two can talk. As for the pre-TFA scenes, I remember Steve being really sick and Bucky kissing him on the forehead and talking about Myrna Loy. THANK YOU

Anon 4 said:

Hi! This is going be really embarrassing but I think I got this fic from here, and I can't find it but it was about pre-serum steve and bucky pretending not to know each other then proceed to have sex at bucky's work at the repair shop pre-war? I've checked the roleplay tag but it seems like it wasn't roleplay. Please please please help me find it again. :(

Anon sent in A Different Touch by GoldBlooded (restricted, oneshot | 2,442 | E)

Anon 5 said:

Can you help me find a fic where cap wakes up normally from being frozen but Bucky never becomes the winter soldier and instead gets defrosted when he is found in the tundra. I remember Steve telling everyone not to do the fake 1940s thing and Bucky trying to make good impressions on everyone when he first wakes up.

Anon 6 said: (rape/noncon)

Hey I'm looking for a fic where Steve goes to help out at a hostage situation, where kids are being held in the bathroom. To get the kids out, the criminals rape Steve. he goes home and bucky takes care of him. I remember Steve being pretty spooked and Bucky comforting him. There may have been a bath?

Anon sent in You can have my everything* by Builder (oneshot | 9,103 | M) *non-graphic rape/noncon 

Anon 7 said: (possibly /others)

I've been trying to find this fic thru tags but I just don't have much luck: Bucky and Stever were exes, and Bucky escapes to an island cos he witnessed a crime and Steve owns the business in the island and Bucky is surprised how sexually liberal Steve is and Bucky thinks that's the crux of the problem in their relationship. Happy ending though. Thanks!

Anon 8 said:

I’m looking for a soulmates fic where each person is born with a mark in the shape of a hand. Bucky is born with one but Steve isn’t but it’s not until the end of the fic that Bucky notices a pale handprint shape on the back of Steve’s neck and touches it that he realizes they are really soul mates. I know that it’s not “I still feel for your touch/hand on my skin” and I checked the soulmates tag and couldn’t find it. Please help!

princessniitza sent in a mark, a mission, a brand, a scar by suzukiblu (complete | 4,671 | G)

mythkissed said:

this is so specific but i have no idea how to search for it, im looking for a fic that was posted a few years back & set post catws, the only scene i remember is steve read somewhere that gay men are more likely to part their hair to one side (right?) than the other so he purposely parts his hair the "straight" way and he tellsbucky to do the same (theyre not together at this point) tony is a character so i think they all lived in stark tower. thx for all your help!

Anon 9 said:

a while ago i read a fanfic where bucky and steve’s thing is buckle buckaroo instead of im with you until the end of the line do you know the name?

blueguacamole said:

Ok please please I need your help with a fic! I’ve been looking forever but basically it’s post-civil war and Steve, Sam, and Bucky are trying to hide from tony. Bucky is jealous of Steve and Sam’s friendship and tries to steal Steve’s attention away from him. This leads to them not getting along. But eventually they make up. Towards the end of the fic Tony finds out where they are and starts hunting them, Sam and Bucky go on the run, Bucky gets choked by Tony so bad he has a purple bruise and basically him and Sam are trying to get to an airport, where Steve is waiting so that they make it to wakanda. At some point Clint drives them, they get McDonald’s in a car towards the end. I’m sorry I know this is super specific but I’ve been looking for days now and I can’t find it. If anybody knows please tell me I loved this fic! ❤️

whyaretheycalledpancakes, miraishu and Anon sent in Trust Me by oatrevolution (complete | 73,303 | T)

Anon 10 said:

Hii, Thanks so much in advance if you do answer this. I'm looking for an au fic set in a society type setting ? Bucky had an arranged marriage to Steve who's family was really high up in society and he was really reluctant to marry him ? Other things i remember is that things like art and music were illegal but steve tried to pass a law to change that ? I'm sorry if thats too brief i don't remember all that much :/

[thegoodthebadthesickly]

Idk if youre taking requests or anything for the Bad Things Happening Bingo but like it would be amazing if you could do Hearthstone(MCGA) getting sick but he doesnt want to bother anyone(Blitz, Magnus, and Sam are all there, maybe theyre camping out or something???) so he hides and denies it until he pukes and passes out, so like... He cant deny it anymore??? Idk im whump trash lol.

Anonymous:

Hey uhm so I really love Hearthstone and it would mean the world to me if you'd maybe write a bit for this or just acknowledge this you amazing person! So uh... Hearthstone having a panic attack? Maybe, making it more angsty, Blitz does something that unintentionally reminds Hearth of his parents and...yknow all the shit hes gone through(POOR BABEY♡) Blitz, Magnus, and Sam being there and kinda not knowing what to do to help the poor elf boi?

Prompt- Panic Attack/Vomiting

Fandom- MCGA

Requested by Anonymous and @ironsoulfreakskeleton on Tumblr

I'm kind of breaking my own rule here, but the vomiting prompt was already filled. I still really wanted to do it though, so I hope you like it! Sorry this took so long, but I guess this pandemic is good for something!

TW: Referenced past abuse; Descriptions of vomit

@badthingshappenbingo

Stars are filled Swirls are requested

There were good days and bad days for Hearthstone. On the good days, he could see his friends, have a lunch date with Blitzen, or just hang out around his and Blitz's apartment.

On the bad days, it was harder. Everything about him was heavy and the anxiety made him feel as if his entire being was vibrating at an unnatural frequency.

After Hearth had met Blitz and Magnus, the bad days hadn't been as frequent, or as bad. There were more good days, but that just made the bad days worse. Hearth never knew when they were coming.

Hearth woke up early, not uncharacteristic of him, elves were hardwired to rise with the sun. As he lay in bed next to Blitzen, Hearth stared at the ceiling and waited as the gears in his brain started to turn. As they did, an all too familiar buzz set in, a tightness in his chest that wouldn't quite let him take a deep breath. A blanket of sadness settled over him. It was going to be a bad day.

Something in the back of Hearth's mind said that he should get up and get ready for the day. Something else argued back, why bother?  So, Hearth waited around, drifting in and out of sleep, for Blitz to wake up.

'Good morning.' Blitzen mouthed when he rolled over to see Hearth's eyes open.

Hearth just smiled, feeling like there was too much and not enough energy flowing through him.

Blitz cupped Hearth's face and smiled, using his other hand to make the sign for rise and shine before turning away and getting up himself.

Hearth knew he'd have to get up eventually, he'd promised Blitz help with a new shipment at the store. Just a few more minutes. Hearth let his eyes drift shut again. When he opened them again, it was to Blitzen putting a cool hand to his forehead.

'You okay' Blitz asked slowly, giving Hearth a chance to read his lips.

Hearth nodded. How was he supposed to explain this? It was just a-a feeling. He would be okay as long as nothing bad happened. He just needed this day to be over. Hearth got up and got dressed.

Hearth kept quiet most of the morning, just trying to get the shipment done so he and Blitzen could go home. He just wanted to go home.

He was putting a few jackets on the rack when he saw Blitzen arguing with the vendor about something. Hearth tried not to pay attention. When it came to his clothes, Blitzen was very particular. However, it did catch Hearth's attention when Blitzen gestured at him, an angry look on his face. Hearthstone had done something wrong. He'd done something wrong and now he'd pay for it.

A few agonizing minutes later, Blitz walked over and stood over Hearth for a moment. Hearth looked up and saw the same angry expression from earlier. His chest felt tight, he couldn't breath. He watched the vendors back as he left, whatever Hearth'd done must have shortened the work day.

'Lunch?' Blitz signed.

Hearth nodded, not really sure he had a choice.

They ended up at some Bistro with sandwiches in front of them that Hearth felt too nauseous to touch.

'What's wrong?' Blitz signed, noticing that Hearth hadn't touched his food. He'd felt warm this morning. Was he getting sick?

'Nothing' Hearth swallowed thickly. Odin, he just wanted this to be over already.

Blitz stuck a finger up, signalling that he'd be right back, and returned a moment later with a box for Hearth's untouched sandwich.

"You ready to go home?" Blitz asked when he was sure Hearth was looking at him.

Hearth nodded solemnly. Whatever was going on, he really must not feel well.

They packed up their lunches quickly and ducked into the alley beside the restaurant for Hearth to portal them home. Blitz grabbed Hearth's hand as they stepped through, seeing how bad he was shaking.

When they stepped back into their house, Hearth immediately wiggled out of Blitz's grasp and practically ran to their bedroom. Blitzen thought he might be getting sick, but when he walked into the room, Hearth was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to the door, shaking.

Blitz walked over and put a hand on Hearth's shoulder, causing the elf to nearly jump out of his skin.

'What's wrong?' Blitz signed, holding eye contact with Hearth.

'I did something wrong' Hearth signed with trembling hands. He couldn't breathe. Everything was too bright, too loud.

'What?'

'The man. You were yelling. Yelling about me.' Hearth sobbed, nausea making him feel like he was on a particularly turbulent boat. He was going to be sick, but he was paralyzed.

Blitzen took a moment to think, then it hit him. The vendor. The vendor had been angry because he'd thought Hearthstone was one of the shop workers and, not knowing Hearth was deaf, had thought he was ignoring him. The vendor had come to Blitz yelling about hiring better help and how Hearth couldn't even be bothered to turn around, let alone answer his questions. That was as far as he'd gotten before Blitz had started yelling. He vaguely remembered something about gesturing towards Hearth.

"Hearth, honey,-" Blitz spoke and signed at the same time, but he was cut off as Hearth stood up, looking alarmed and tired at the same time and promptly vomited on the carpet in front of him.

Odin, he'd done it again. Hearth knew he should get something to cleanup his mess and take whatever punishment he deserved. He'd managed to make two messes today. Why couldn't he do anything right? He dropped to his knees and tried to breathe through the sobs as he used the end of his scarf to mop up the vomit.

Blitz was stunned into silence. He only managed to sit and stare for a moment before coming back to his senses.

"Hearth" Blitzen said, kneeling down and moving into Hearth's eye line, gently taking the soiled scarf from around the elf's neck.

"Honey, you've done nothing wrong." Blitz said with tears in his eyes, signing as best as he could with one hand, the other still gently holding Hearth's chin. "I would never punish you, even if you did do something wrong. You don't deserve any of this. No one deserves to be punished for something they can't control."

Blitz moved his hand down to put it on Hearth's chest, feeling his heartbeat.

'What's wrong?' Blitz asked, determined to get a real answer this time.

'Not yet. Can't'  Came Hearth's reply with a shaky breath.

'Okay.'  

"Go shower. I've got this" Blitz signed and spoke at the same time.

Hearth walked away to the bathroom and Blitz got to work cleaning up the vomit and trying not to become a mess. How could he have let Hearth go all day thinking he'd done something wrong. After everything he'd been through as a kid. Blitz knew better. He knew how Hearth worked.

By the time Hearth stepped out of the bathroom, skin red from the hot water and eyes bloodshot, he felt at least a little better. He didn't feel like he was about to be sick anymore, but he still had that guilt of having messed up curled around his stomach like a boa constrictor.

Hearth got dressed quietly, feeling Blitzen's eyes on him from the door way. When he was done, he sat down on the bed, on the opposite side of where he'd thrown up. He kept his eyes downcast as he felt the bed sink beside him, signalling that it was time to talk.

"Hearth," Blitz put his hand on Hearth's arm to get his attention. Once he was looking at him, he continued. "I should have told you what was happening today." Blitz signed as he spoke.

'Not your fault. Misunderstanding.' Hearth tried for a smile, but only managed a grimace.

"You're right. It was a misunderstanding, but I could have done my part to make it clear to you what was happening." Blitz sighed made a face before continuing. "However, you could have talked to me. You can always talk to me."

'I know. Scared.'

"Scared? Of me?"

'Father. Always my fault. Had to be punished.' Hearth cried.

'Not anymore. Never again.' Blitz signed, tears streaming down his face.  Blitz stopped to wipe the tears from Hearth's face before continuing. 'I love you'  he signed slowly, ensuring Hearth got the message.

'I love you, too.' Hearth signed back.

'Tired?' Blitz asked, seeing how Hearth's eyes drooped.

Hearth simply nodded, all of his energy gone.

'Nap?' Blitz signed.

Hearth nodded again, already putting his head down on the pillow. He was asleep within minutes. Blitz, on the other hand sat up watching his elf for a while longer, looking for any signs of distress. Seeing none, Blitz lay down to sleep as well, and if he held his elf a little tighter that night, neither of them seemed to mind.

[your-anxious-nightmare]

Ghost/Supernatural Occurrence AU

So, I was binging Buzzfeed unsolved and I had this thought “what if there was a ghost but he wasn't a ghost but instead, he was actually like a ‘remnant’ of a lost kid somewhere” and this happened. Enjoy :-)

Roman, 19, gets a scholarship to a prestigious art University across the country from his home town

He moves into an old apartment block because it was cheap and close to campus.

All he has when he arrives is a blow-up mattress and a few suitcases of clothes and knick-knacks because he's a poor college student.

He’s about a week into the first semester when he stumbles home from a late night lecture and meets a person in the hall. 

He’s short, only coming up to Roman’s shoulder, and is dressed in tattered clothes that are three sizes too small. His hair is shoulder length and messy and his skin is sickly pale.

Roman asks if he’s okay but the boy walks off down the hall. 

Roman shrugs it off as sleep deprivation and flops onto his mattress and sleeps for twelve hours. 

He runs into the boy every Friday night after that. 

One night, ironically Friday the 13th, he sees the boy sitting on the stairs crying. 

“are you okay man?” 

The boy looks up, black tears streaming down his pale face and hands shaking fiercely.

“I don’t know where I am.” 

The boy vanishes and Roman screams and a neighbour pops their head out to shush him. 

was it a ghost? am I going insane?

Roman asks around at his uni about people living in the apartment block. 

No one knows anything about a boy like he described.

Until one day, he’s sitting outside the apartment block and a boy sits next to him. 

He's the same height as Roman, maybe even a bit taller, with messy red curls and thick round glasses. 

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just picking at the grass by his legs. 

“Virgil went missing ten years ago.” 

Roman looks up in shock, the boy’s eyes filled with tears as he stares out across the garden.

“we were friends. he lived next door to me and we used to play together all the time. 

“one day, we were playing in the stairs. my mum called me from our door so I turned around to answer her. when I looked back, Virgil was gone. 

“I tried to find him, we were gonna have cookies and watch a movie. I went down to the lobby and called for him on every floor. I couldn’t find him so I thought maybe he’d gone up while I was busy. 

“I never saw him again.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Patton and Roman become friends, Roman tells him about the times he thought he saw Virgil in the hall. 

Patton tells him he sometimes hears Virgil calling for help but he can never find where the voice is coming from. 

Roman starts to ask around more, talking to the staff at the apartment block and some of the residents from when Virgil was there. 

He learns that Virgil was friends with a lot of families in the building. 

one of them was a boy named Logan and his dad Darian. 

everyone in the building knew Darian was a bit on the weird side, and he wasn’t the kindest towards his son. 

Roman tracks down Logan, which is a struggle as finals approach, but he finds him living across the city and gets in contact to meet up with him. 

they meet up while Roman’s on study leave in a cafe near to Logan’s house

“i know it’s in poor taste, but i need to know about Virgil.” 

“it is okay. i understand the curiousity.” 

they talk for hours

until Logan lets slip something Roman had hoped to never hear. 

“my father had a history of... unsavoury behaviour... with minors.” 

Roman doesn’t want to ask, but Logan knows he has to tell him. 

they go to Logan’s place so they can talk privately. 

“years after Virgil disappeared, my father was arrested for an incident with a barely legal teen. it was brought to light that before i was born, he had many incurences of this but was never charged.

“he was finally put in prison nearly a month ago when I came out about the assaults he had committed on me and those that I had witnessed.

“i've always wondered if maybe he had something to do with Virgil’s disappearamce, but I could never prove it.”

“If he did, what do you think he did?” 

“He was sick, and twisted man, Roman. I would not be surprised if Virgil was locked up in the basement of the apartment block for all these years.” 

Roman leaves not long after that, having given Logan his number because they actually got on well and he doesn’t want to let this chance for friendship go. 

That night, Roman’s laying in bed, he actually has a bed now and he lives out of a dresser insetad of a suitace, when he thinks he hears crying from his living room. 

He gets up and flicks on the lights as he goes. 

the living room light flickers and refuses to turn on and when Roman actually looks around the room, Virgil stands facing the door. 

Roman goes to ask if he’s okay when he runs towards the front door and disappears through the wood. 

Roman follows him, calling out the whole time. 

The apparition runs down the stairs and Roman follows quickly, hands shaking as he realises where theyre heading. 

the basement

Virgil vanishes into the night and Roman fumbles for his phone, which he managed to grab just in case, and turns on a torch. 

the place isn’t in great shape, and there are lots of doors and hallways. 

Roman takes a breath and decides ‘fuck it’. 

he starts exploring, narrating to himself “Buzzfeed Unsolved’ style. 

he gets to the end of the hall and finds a desk with old papers on it, just drawings and random notes like shopping lists. 

as room is looking at the drawings, he notices a weird shape behind the desk. 

on a whim, he moves it out from the wall and finds a door with a lock above the handle and a slidey slot on teh ground. 

he kinda freaks out and dials Logan’s number only to hang up when he realsies it’s 2am and hes in the apartment block basement where there is very little service anyways. 

“ya know what, might as fucking well. I’ve been seeing a ghost for the last year or so, I’m already at the very bottom of the basement, what else could happen?” 

He breaks the lock with a paper weight from the desk and pulls it open. 

The first thing he notices is a bad smell, like a homeless man that hadn’t showered for a decade had eaten a rotting raccoon and got really sick all over himself and just left those bad clothes on.

the next thing he notices is the sound of ragged breaths and whimpering. 

He lifts his torch and the body of a boy about Roman’s age comes into view. 

He’s curled away from him, whimpering “no, please don’t” and wincing from the light. 

Roman point sthe light away from him, and calmly kneels at the door, his heart racing faster than ever. 

“Virgil?” he asks slowly, the boy whimpering louder as he curls up tighter around a ragged old toy bunny

“Virgil, my name is Roman. I’m not here to hurt you.” 

the boy looks up, eyes squinted from the light. 

“Oh sweetie. I’m gonn agte you help okay.” 

Roman stands and lifts his phone, successfully getting a bar of reception and dialing Patton. 

“Patton, I can’t explain but I need you to call an ambulance and tell them to park as close to the door sas possible. Can you run up to my room and get a change of clothes and my sunglasses as well? I’ll meet you outside shortly.” 

He rambles quickly, wtaching the receptuon flicker out before hanging up and stuffing the phone into the tight pocket of his sleep shirt. 

“Virgil, you’ve been down here a long time, but my friend is going to help us.”

“I need you to trust me. I’m not like the man that did this too you, I promise on my future as an artist.”

“I’m going to pick you up, it’s going to hurt, but I’m going to take you outside where there will be people that can help you. Is that okay?” 

Virgil doesn’t answer, eyes blown wide in the light and Roman takes a small squeek as a yes. 

He reaches out, apologising as Virgil flinches away and almost screams at his touch. 

he’s so light, Roman can only imagine how underweight he is.

he grasps the bunny tighter and closes his eyes as Roman brings him closer to him

With a burst of heroic energy, Roman races out of the basement, trying his hardest to keep his arms steady so he doesn’t bounce the tiny boy too much

he gets to the doors and the ambulance is outside with it’s flashing lights and several of the aparemnts residents are crowded around trying to find out what’s happening. 

“Close your eyes virgil.” 

Virgil tucks his head against Roman’s chest and he holds back a gag at the smell but pushes forward. 

he reaches the ambulance and shouts for help.

Patton catches up and follows him to the ambulance, not saying anything as he looks at his old friend in his new friends arms

Roman puts Virgil on a stretcher and Patton hands him the bag of stuff. 

the paramedics are floored but let Roman come with them as they take Virgil to the hospital. 

“Patton, call Logan, meet us there.” Roman instructs as he climbs up next to the boy, sitting on the bench and sliding his sunglasses onto Virgil’s face.

it takes only a few minutes to get to the hopital and Virgil is rushed off, Roman tells them all he knows and give the nurses the bag of clothes, telling them they can put him in something more comfortable when he’s stable. 

Roman sits in the waiting room for hours until Patton and Logan arrive and then they sit together for longer. 

when the nurses come out, they say Virgil is seriously malnourished and dehydrated. 

He also has various signs of assault and infections that were never properly dealt with. 

Roman takes it upon himself to call Virgil’s parents, he found their number in a phone book but didn’t want to bother them with his questions. 

He calls and stammers his name and tells them what happened. 

Virgil’s mother cries and says she’ll be there as soon as possible. 

The boys are allowed to go see Virgil, they awkwardly enter to find him in Roman’s clothes, curled up in a ball with various wires and things attached to him and that ragged old bunny clutched tight to his chest. 

“Virgil?” ROman says first, stepping forward and taking the seat next to Virgil’s head, hand rested on the bed next to his. 

“These are my friends. You might recognise them.” he waves the boy’s over, both in shock of seeing the friend they lost a decade ago. 

“this is Patton, he’s teh kidnest person you’ll ever meet.” 

Patton squeeks out a small hi and sits next to Roman. 

“And this is Logan. he’s pretty cool too, a bit of a nerd but I’ve only known him for like a week so...”

“Hello Virgil.” 

they sit with him for an hour, quietly chatting and keeping him company though he never speaks. 

His parents turn up and Roman stands to greet them.

the woman is short with graying hair and a little cane, his father much the same but thinner. 

Its a teary reunion but Virgil still doesn’t speak. he flinches at the touch and nods a little but otherwise nothing. 

Patton and Logan sneak out when Roman tells them what he knows, and roman follows them shortly after, leaving teh family with his number if they need anything. 

as ROman leave sthe room, he sees the apparition of Virgil in front of him, eyes full of tears and a smile on his face. 

“you saved me.” 

he launches forward and wraps his ghost arms around Romans waist, crying loudly. 

Roman freezes, none of the nurses apear to see the boy attached to him so he awkwardly plays it off by scratching the back of his head and resting a hand on the boy’s back like he’s just standing there chilled out. 

thank you.” ghost V pulls away, wipes his tears and smiles before fading away, much more calmly than when he first disappeared. 

Roman smiles and finds the other boys and they go home. 

the next week was spent with the boys discussing what happened

they get through finals okay and they’re all chilling at Roman’s’ house when a knock sounds at the door.

Roman goes to answer it and Virgil is there with the bag of clothes and a shy look in his eyes. 

“My parents told me what happened. thank you.” 

he hands over the bag and a box of chocolates and awkwardly turns to walk away

“do you, maybe, wanna come in? we’re watching disney.” 

Roman opens the door wider to show Patton and Logan laughing together on the couch.

he decides he might as well because what else will he do, he has no friends and no idea about society anymore. 

they become good friends, relationships blossom (you decide which) and it’s beautiful and Virgil gets used to being in sunlight again and Logan’s dad gets more years in prison because they found his DNA on Virgils old clothes 

And they live happily ever after

[sulevinblade]

(Talesfromthefade) things you said when you were drunk, for the DWC?

OH MY GOD this was a little idea that got away from me in a big big way but I’m still pretty happy with it. For this and for “cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love,” from @contreparry! For @dadrunkwriting!!

Alistair/Leohta Aeducan, T for language, dumb suggestive jokes, and alcohol use, 4k+ words (awaaaay from me, I wish I had time to edit it but uh I spent the entire time writing it instead). 

On the cusp of the party’s visit to Orzammar, Alistair learns what kind of drunk Leohta can be, and shares a little lesson of his own. Light angst, serious fluff.

He finds her standing on the rocky beach, well away from the dim glow provided by the Spoiled Princess’s small windows. It takes a moment for Alistair’s eyes to adjust to the complete dark–the night watch Templar doused all the torches at the dock, as clear an indication as anything that no one else would cross Lake Calenhad tonight–but even if he’d had to follow her blind he could’ve found her by the sound.

Bloop.

Normally finding Leohta by sound means the clank or grind of armour, the grunts or barks of Leon, or even her rare laughter at something Zevran said (it was always Zevran making her laugh), but tonight the sound is completely unfamiliar. It’s still enough to guide him, though.

Bloop.

Last he’d seen her, she was swapping some of the coin they’d made selling things to the Templar quartermaster for three large bottles of deep pink liquid. It seemed a bit of a racket to Alistair, that they should collect the mages’ items as they cleared the Tower only to sell them to the Templars who would then in turn sell them back to the Mages, but surely if that wasn’t how the economy of the Circle usually worked, Wynne would’ve said something. That was Alistair’s hope, anyway, as he’d watched Leohta count the coins before they left, then again at the tavern’s bar. She’d tossed the bag back to him before collecting the bottles and heading outside, and he in turn had left it with Zevran.

Bloop.

“You have known our illustrious leader the longest among any of us. Has this always been a habit of hers?” Alistair squinted across the table, trying to determine Zevran’s game, but succeeded only in giving up his own. “You think I see this as a weakness I can exploit, but I would think even you would see that if I were going to do so, I would have done it by now and certainly would not draw attention to my plans by involving you.” His eyes only narrowed further–how does Zevran make talking down to him still seem so seductive?–but Alistair did sit back in his chair.

“I haven’t known her all that long, really, but I don’t think so. Why d'you ask?”

“My Antiva makes the finest wines in Thedas, so it is not uncommon to see those there who overindulge, but there are many types. Leohta, she is young and exploring her limits, yes, but she is also trying to drown things she does not want to feel. Her limits are low and the things she seeks to kill are very large. It is a dangerous combination.”

Alistair glanced again toward the door. Of course she hadn’t come back inside, that’d be too much to ask for, but what was he supposed to do?

“If it is too much for you, I will go after her, but she should not be alone.” Both of their chairs scraped back at the same time but Alistair was the first to stand, something that for some reason brought a sad smile to Zevran’s face. Alistair could only look at it for a moment before looking away.  "I know you do not think much of me, Alistair, and while that is entirely your loss, I do know that one thing we have in common is how much we care for her. Go see to her, my friend, before her sorrows are not all she drowns. It is probably for the best; I am not much of a swimmer myself.“

Bloop.

So now here he is, approaching carefully, pretending to be taking in the constellations while Leohta hurls rocks at the water like she’s trying to knock the waves down before they can reach the shore. The night is perfectly clear; Kinloch Hold is merely a dark space in the sky where the stars are missing, but everything else is black sky and white twinkles. He clears his throat in case she somehow hasn’t noticed since he doesn’t fancy getting one of those stones thrown at him, but she only pauses for a moment before bending to search the area around her feet for another suitable candidate. One bottle is already empty, stuffed mouth down among the pebbles and into the sand underneath them, and as Alistair finishes closing the distance Leohta gives up her search and instead tips to land on her backside, legs out in front of her and a second bottle in her hand. He knows they’re not small but her stature makes them seem even larger; it makes the sight of her lifting one to her lips almost comical but the effect is spoiled by how long it stays there. Maker’s breath, Zevran was right when he talked about drowning.

"You planning on coming up for air any time soon?”

There’s a pop as she breaks the vacuum she’s created, then a dry laugh. She still isn’t looking at him. It makes his chest hurt, how badly he wants her to turn her head. “Breathe through your nose and you can use your mouth for whatever you want.”

“You’re spending too much time with Zevran, saying things like that.” Sighing, Alistair drops down crosslegged at her side and extends a hand. “What are you even drinking? I’ve never seen anything that color in a tavern before.”

“One of the Templars told me about it. I guess–” there’s a pause and she bunches up her eyebrows, apparently trying to put the pieces back together, “I guess the mother started making it as a tribute to her daughter and now of course it’s all very sad but the owner still makes it as a specialty. Sweet mead made with roses.” She passes over the open bottle, not bothering to wipe the top, and the expression on her face, like she’s sharing a secret, distracts him so much he can’t be bothered either. She wasn’t kidding when she said it was sweet but the roses are strong too, floral and delicate. He passes the bottle back after just one mouthful.

“I’ve never had a mead like that before. It’s very… different.” Leohta seems to accept that answer, nodding before lifting the bottle to her lips again.

“There’s nothing like this in Orzammar. Not even in the palace. Not even to make it. No honey, no roses, and when there is if you said you wanted to make something like this with it, you’d be laughed out of the kitchen.” She holds the bottle in front of her contemplatively, swishing the contents back and forth gently and tilting her head in time with the motion. Alistair’d almost think it was a contented sort of gesture but then she sighs and drops her head back, hair falling over her shoulders as she lifts the bottle skyward. “Nothing like that, either. No stars, no sky. Some of the caverns are so high the ceilings are invisible, but you still know they’re up there.” Slowly, she lowers the bottle but keeps her gaze fixed upward.

“Do you miss that?” It’s not something he’s given a lot of thought to but it’s hard to imagine. Even within the walls of the Chantry there were windows. The sky was always there, or not-there maybe, when compared to a ceiling of stone. Trying to imagine life without it or everything it held–the sun, the moons, the clouds and stars and birds–was virtually impossible, but here was Leohta not just imagining the opposite but living it.

“Dunno. I still don’t understand all this. What keeps it up there?” Her hand waves up at the stars but only briefly; even sitting down she’s unsteady without both hands to support her. “With the stone, you know that even if you can’t see the ceiling, it’s still held there by the stone. Nothing floats, nothing rises or sets.” Watching her profile, he can see the way it hardens as her train of thought jumps the track. “Nothing changes.”

He shifts a little, the pebbles grinding softly underneath him as he leans to try to catch her eye. “You changed.”

This time when she looks over at him, it gives him a chill. The stone she’s been so contemplative about has found a home in her eyes, the set of her mouth. They seem cold and stiff and almost lifeless, soft evening blue turned to lapis lazuli. Still beautiful but hard. “I left, and not by choice. You wouldn’t know how much I’ve changed, Alistair. You have no idea what I was like before we met.”

“I suppose not, but I do know you’ve changed in the time I’ve known you.” He keeps his voice softer now, speaking carefully to avoid that stony shift becoming somehow permanent. He hasn’t seen her look like that since before Ostagar, and to lose all the little ways she’s softened since then would be the greatest waste. “Do you miss that? Or her, I guess. Do you miss who you were before?”

Her laugh is a single humorless sound that moves her entire body, shaking her shoulders and flexing her stomach. “What does that matter? She’s dead. Worse than dead.” There’s venom in her voice but Alistair doesn’t flinch since for once he’s certain it’s not directed at him. He watches as Leohta stands, a wobbly process that involves repeated planting of hands and feet before she can push herself vertical. There’s a powerful temptation to offer her help but the set of her jaw makes him stay his hand, even if whatever effect she might be going for is already ruined by her own unsteadiness. “Nobody mourned her, nobody misses her, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s dead. Bhelen killed her as sure as he killed Trian. The prince is dead, the princess is dead. Princess Aeducan is dead.” Her voice is raising, getting louder and more raw the longer she speaks, until finally she’s yelling out at the water. “Princess Leohta Aeducan, second born and best beloved daughter of House Aeducan, is dead!” She punctuates the last word by throwing the empty bottle into the water but it’s a bad throw, short and shallow. The bottle makes only a small splash then floats, reflecting the moonlight as it bobs its way back toward the shore.

Alistair rises, brushing at the back of his breeches, and makes his way up to stand beside her. He’s well within punching range, possibly a dangerous gamble, but if the way she’s carrying herself is any indication, it wouldn’t hurt very much right now. Plus, if she punched him, at least it’d prove she was feeling something. “I’d mourn her but like you said, I never did get to meet her. I’ve met Warden Aeducan, though, and I think she’s pretty great. Accomplished a lot, too.”

She’s bent back down and is sorting through the stones at her feet, tucking some in the bend of her other arm. Standing back up is a careful process but she’s shaking her head the entire time. “They’re not gonna think so.” Her voice is normal again but her profile is still stony.

Bloop.

Was this was he was like heading into Redcliffe? Of course, he hadn’t gotten drunk on sickly sweet mead to deal with it, but he’d had his turn as the prodigal royal-but-not-really. The main difference was he never wanted it, but she spoke so little of her life before the Grey Wardens. Was the crown of Orzammar what she’d really wanted? Not that it really mattered now. “Seems to me they had their chance to appreciate you and they blew it.”

“Oh, no. That’s the thing. Up until the end, they loved Princess Aeducan. That was the whole problem. She was too well-loved. Luckily, I’m not.” Leohta stares out at the ripples from her last throw but the fight’s going out of her. It ought to be a comfort, less risk of being punched, but instead it just hurts more. He curls his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out, swallows the words that’d tell her just how deeply loved she is and not only by him, as much as he might wish it were so.

“We could go back to Denerim without going to Orzammar.” Aaaaaaaalistair, what’re you doooooooing? He ignores the voice in the back of his head, prepared to make an argument for mounting their assault without the help of the dwarves, but Leohta shakes her head. She’s drunk and she’s still got better sense than you.

“Just because I don’t want to go back doesn’t mean we don’t have to. Being a Grey Warden isn’t supposed to be fun, hasn’t been so far, why start now?” She seems to consider the matter closed as she turns her attention back to the rocks she’s holding, sorting through them as though looking for a particular one. They start to slip away and clack into the pebbles below and with a frustrated sigh she picks one, letting the remainder drop. “This is supposed to be, though. How the fuck do you do this?” Another windup, another bloop.

“Wait. What are you trying to do?”

“Make it…” She shakes her head, the word apparently lost, and instead makes a bouncing motion with her hand.

“You’re trying to skip stones… by heaving them at the surface of the water with all your might?” And there’s the punch he was waiting for, exactly as painless as expected. It’s not even hard enough to stop him laughing.

“I saw you and Zevran do it in Redcliffe before we left and it seemed to calm you down so I thought I’d try. You made it look easy, but if you’re just gonna laugh then forg–”

Alistair intercepts her before she can start to walk away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that I never would have guessed that’s what you were trying to do. I thought you were mad at the lake or something.” She’s looking up at him, wary, so he holds his hands up in innocence. “If you still want to try, I can show you.”

“No more laughing?”

“No more laughing. Warden’s honor.” When Leohta seems satisfied with his intentions, Alistair finally looks away from her, crouching down. “The first thing you need is the right kind of rock. It needs to be pretty flat and you want a triangle shape if you can find one, but flat will do for now.”

She’s crouching as well. “I thought it would be better with a round rock, like a ball.” She’s quiet, almost chastized, and Alistair has to duck his head and cough into his fist to hide the grin it conjures.

“No, that’ll break through the water and sink. A flat rock will bounce better. Something like these.” He shows her the three he’s found, all rounder still than he’d like but they should do the trick. She holds up a couple of her own and really, they’re no better, but they’re only for learning. “Yes, those will do. Now.” Alistair drops to his knees and crooks his fingers around one of the stones. “You have to hold it like this, because the important part is that you get it to spin. That’s what makes it skip.”

Leohta’s squinting at his hand, then she tries it out herself. Her hands are smaller so she can’t quite circle it the way he does, but Alistair hopes it’ll work out. “Like this?”

“Just like that. Now, the other trick is not to throw it up but to flick it. You want it to stay flat so you have to kind of–” He turns his arm out at the elbow and flicks the rock out onto the water. Four hops, not his best work but not bad.

When he looks back at Leohta, though, she’s entranced. She watches the ripples so long he has to clear his throat to get her attention back, but this time every trace of the stone is gone from her face. She looks eager, determined, but also a little embarrassed. Surprised to have been caught, probably, but it’s a charming expression nonetheless. She turns to face the water again, weighing the rock in her hand, then moves her arm and throws.

It splashes and sinks just like all her other attempts. Leohta curses softly and starts to turn away but Alistair catches her wrist.

“Hey, no way. You’re not giving up after one attempt. C'mon. We’ve got two more rocks, so two more tries, then I guess I can let you give up.” He starts to move before she can start to argue.

“It’s not giving up, Alistair, it’s accepting the inedible. Inedibibble. Ined… remind me to compliment the tavernkeeper tomorrow. His stuff is good.” Her voice gradually gets softer, a delayed reaction to where Alistair has taken up a position just behind her. It’s extremely convenient for him: she can’t see how his face is burning up from the presumptuousness of being so close to her, but it’s also the best position to show her how to move her arm. He wraps his hand around hers and lifts her arm into position.

“From here, you have to flick your hand out. Try to imagine the rock spinning out from the inside of your thumb and taking all that energy with it. The harder you can flick it, the more it’ll bounce and the more hops you’ll–all right, that’s it, you and Zevran are officially being separated because that’s not even dirty and now you’ve made it dirty. I hope you’re happy.” The woman in front of him is struggling to contain her laughter, he can tell, and as much as he wants to keep her focus on him, it’s hard to be genuinely upset. She doesn’t laugh nearly enough and especially not around him. The fact that whatever is so funny is lost on him is a far distant concern.

Alistair waits for her to compose herself then takes a moment to compose himself in turn when she settles back into a proper posture that puts her in contact with him from shoulder to hip. She’s nearly as tall as he is when he’s on his knees like this, a fact he’s thought about many times but never quite in this situation. Leohta gives herself a little shake, tossing her hair in his face as she does. He tries to blow it out of the way but there’s just too much. All right then, one thing at a time.

“Now. Just remember, angle your hand back and then flick. That word is ruined for me now, I think. You’ve ruined flicking.” In front of him Leohta snorts and Alistair make a private vow to forbid Zevran from using that word. He wants it to be their joke even if he doesn’t understand it. “Do you think you can manage?”

“To flick? I’ve done all right for the last few years anyway.” She giggles and clears her throat. “All right. Angle my hand back,” and her hand is moving inside of his so he loosens his grip, “then forward and flick!”

Alistair peers over her shoulder and sure enough. Blip, blip. One hop, but it’s one more than she’d managed before. He puts his hands on her shoulders and squeezes. “There you go! Well done, Warden Aeducan.” She lifts one hand to pat his but he can tell she’s still looking at the ripples.

After a moment, he releases her shoulders and, feeling a little bolder by the fact that she hasn’t elbowed him away yet, reaches forward to comb his fingers through her hair. It’s a practical gesture–even as he’s speaking, her hair is getting in his mouth–but hardly exclusively practical. Her hair is thick and her scalp surprisingly warm underneath it. In front of him she’s gone very still; he thinks she might even be holding her breath but then again, so is he. He focuses on his own hands until he’s gathered her hair at the back of her neck, but then the tension in it changes and oh.

Alistair looks up and she’s right there, her head turned to look at him. Maker’s breath but she’s close, her mouth gently open and her eyes searching his face. Her breath smells like honey and roses and his hand is still in her hair, it’d be so easy and it might be perfect but she’s been drinking and that’s not right. Or might it be OK, with her looking at him like that? The motion of her lips is so mesmerizing that it takes him a moment to realize she’s speaking to him.

“Alistair.” And like that, the moment is over, or at least set aside. “Would you do that again?”

“Of course.” She could ask him to fetch the moons from the sky right now and he’d say yes, but… “Wait, do what?” He didn’t do anything other than have a whole lot of thoughts in a very short span of time.

“Touch my hair. That was nice.” She’s leaning more of her weight against him now and it’s nice but also just starting to make him concerned. Still, he already said yes, so Alistair releases her hair from where he’s holding it and threads his fingers through it again, starting at her temple, mindful of and parallel to the little braid she’s so meticulous about. As he does it, her eyes drift closed but her face is relaxed. It’s not quite a smile but he’ll take it. “Again,” she murmurs as his hand comes to rest on the back of her neck.

Alistair laughs softly but he complies with her request, stroking his fingers through her hair again. And again, and once more, until she leans forward completely and drops her head onto his shoulder. Her breath is warm on his neck as he gives her one last stroke, then stops to reach out away from her. She grumbles softly in protest but he hushes her. “I’m just getting your other bottle. It’s bought and paid for, no sense leaving it here.”

“Why, where’re we going?”

“I don’t know yet about myself but you are doing to bed. Sleeping standing up is only good for horses and probably Sten, and sleeping on your knees is good for no one. Now, come on, up you get.” He hooks the hand holding the unopened bottle of rhodomel under Leohta’s knees, his other arm coming up behind her shoulders. She grumbles again as he starts to stand and he pauses before beginning to walk.

“You’re carrying me like a princess.” The humor in her voice warms him but now he feels a little more confident about deflecting it.

“I’m a Warden carrying another Warden like a Warden. No princesses here. Well, except for the tavern but I’m certainly not trying to pick that up. I could throw you over my shoulder if you wanted, but you have to promise not to throw up on my back.”

“No promises.” She slumps against his shoulder as he starts to walk. It’s only a few steps from the beach to the door but he takes his time. Who knows what Orzammar will do to her, or what she might do to Orzammar? The answer is liable to be complicated but this, for as unexpected as it is, feels strangely simple. She might not even remember it in the morning, but it’s not a feeling Alistair’s going to forget any time soon. “Alistair.”

“I don’t have a free hand to pet you, but if you can stay awake until we get inside, maybe I’ll give you scritches once I get you upstairs.” He’s trying to figure out how he’s going to open the door when she shakes her head and answers.

“Thank you for coming out tonight. I’m sorry I’m–”

“None of that now. You have nothing to be sorry for, and if anything I should say thank you for having me.” Alistair manages to hook the latch with his pinkie then wedge his foot into the gap, kicking the door open as he maneuvers her inside. “You may not have found it so, but I think being a Warden can be a little bit fun, if you’re with the right person. Or people,” he continues, scrambling to cover for himself while trying to ease the door’s closing with his foot. Once he’s got both feet back on the ground, he looks down at the woman in his arms. Fast asleep, looking as young as he’s ever seen her and more peaceful than she has possibly the entire time he’s known her. The inn’s main room is empty, the fire doused, and he’s almost loathe to speak again and interrupt the silence, but he does.

“Or person. Just the right person.”

[abs0luteb4stard]

My spiritual war began half a lifetime ago. And I will carry it on even after I'm dead one day. Ω

Most people are raised with a religion or beliefs.

Some of them lose faith. Some become atheists. Some stay where they are in believing.

I I suppose I haven't fully stopped believing in a spiritual power/experience.

Call it the "God Gene" (VMAT2) or illogical stupidity, But I just can't purge that notion from my head.

According to the God Gene Hypothesis: "Spirituality is supposed to provide an evolutionary advantage by providing individuals with an innate sense of optimism."

I do not feel that optimism that there is a God or sentient universe out there. Or that "God has a plan".

I feel unspeakably betrayed.

When I was a young kid. I think I was very well behaved. I cared. I had a great heart. If that wasn't good enough for any god. Then they don't follow their own teachings.

When I got to middle school. I was scared. Three local schools were merged all my friends were lost in the shuffle. I thought it'll be difficult to make new friends, but I had hope.

Well, that hope wasn't lost. It was gouged out and raped from my spirit. Not just spiritually but my spirit of hope caring and goodness.

The bullying. They called me faggot, poor boy, foreigner (born here but was given a "foreign" name) on and on. They spit in my books. They knocked my books out of my hands everyday, between every class. Choked me, beat me, spit on me. There wasn't just a group, the group spread rumors and enlisted others in their attacks on me. Even my old friends from elementary school abandoned me because association with me was repugnant to their social standing. I once saw a buddy from elementary and said hello at his locker only to be ignored like I didn't exist.

Those 2 years of middle school left me completely empty. I remember I went to sleep every weeknight praying to die in my sleep. Ashamed at how that would hurt my parents if it came true. Then I would be woken up for school the next morning secretly crying because I was still alive and had to go through another day.

If there was a gun I would have gladly killed every one of those motherfuckers who were bullying me.

Especially Chas. He was the one who got the ball rolling on my destruction. How a dickhead who was seemingly proud of his failure of the 7th grade the year before I came there had such social clout with these pieces of shit I'll never understand.

High school was hell, but it slowly matured. Not without its own degrading moments where I was bullied or attacked or pushed down or spit on. But I think those who were there were preparing for their college or next step.

My grades were average. My spirit was broken already. My hope was nowhere. I was lucky to graduate probably.

I'm no longer normal. Those years of abuse at school changed me irrevocably. Everyday for 2 years. Non-stop. Physical, emotional, mental, pen tips pressed into the back of my neck till a bled. A pen cap pushed into my ear luckily it didn't hit my ear drum.

Principals, counselors, nobody did anything. Anything they did do was either a warning or giving me a punishment for retaliations.

I was punished for someone abusing me.

So I dropped out of local community college after a spotty 2 years. Continued schooling just came with anxieties and fear. I'd already had my life's share of that. I needed surgery and after I just let go of further education. Of a career of any kind.

Now I'm 33, soon to be 34. And these things that have effected me since half my life ago still affect me today. Call it C-PTSD or anxiety or trauma, social phobia, agoraphobia. It's all the same to me.

The bullies are gone but make no mistake theyre haunting me.

So where the fuck was God?

Where was his miracle for me?

Why didn't he spilt the red sea for me? I'm not as important as Moses. Where was his warning that I should build a boat like Noah?

No burning bush, no "hey Abraham, go kill your son", nothing. Not from this god or any fucking god.

Not once.

But some stupid genetic marker (VMAT2) anchors me to believe?

In the years since school I went through the divorce of my parents which was particularly hard if you knew me you'd understand.

My dad needed a 2nd open heart surgery which led to a big stroke from a clot that broke off. His arm and leg that were effected mostly came back. But his mind was effected permanently. The parts of the brain that were injured left him with memory problems. He couldn't live on his own, he'd already come back home with my mom and me before that to live with us after a hard hip replacement surgery.

Then I went through my mother's surprise lung cancer diagnosis, surgery, and so far no signs of it returning. Luckily it was found early after she had a cold and cough they wouldn't go away and got a chest x-ray.

Now my dad 4.5 years after his stroke and ongoing memory problems, he woke up yesterday the happiest man who ever lived, he had so much love and kisses and hugs to give.

But shockingly he completely forgot who I was. He thought I was a visiting neighbor. He forgot who my mom was. But he was happy to meet his son and wife for the first time again in this new place (it's the same place and the same people he'd always known before).

But I am crushed. I'm so deeply affected. He's happy and jolly enough for 3 people to meet us...

But my mom and I are very sad. It's such a shock. While he is thankfully happy and comfortable with his 'new family' that we are. I've cried more than my muted emotions have let me cry in the last 15 years.

He told me he's sorry that he missed being part of my life before now. Nothing cut my heart up quite like that. He apologizes for not knowing or recognizing me.

I've been betrayed by God all my life or at least that VMAT2 gene chemically telling my brain there's a higher power.

I'm just not important enough. No miracles to help me get out of this PTSD or my other medical issues. No reprieve from these life threatening illnesses my parents got one after the other. And now my father doesn't know who I am anymore.

Maybe god like those bullies just hate me too? If were created in his image then he's as capable of hate and torturing as we his human creations are.

After all he made a bet with the devil that Job in the bible would keep the faith in God no matter what god did to him. He gave him diseases, killed his livestock, killed his family with sickness, and burned down his house. But the dumb motherfucker still loved god.

He gave him all be house, animals and family after the ordeal, but the other wife and children didn't deserve to die for a bet. "But they went to heaven". They still had potential energy, lives to live grow old and have their own families, but "God" killed them to prove he was right in bet to the devil. That an idiot would still love him after all that.

So maybe I can't stop believing in God, or have some leftover spirituality.

But I'm not as fucking forgiving ad that dumb motherfucker Job. But I'm also not willing to just walk away from God's game. I'm more than ever cemented my hate for God. I'm giving the devil sympathy or joining his side. If there is such a thing.

I'm instead giving God - ALL MY HATE.

I've got infinite amounts of anger and hate in me. For every millisecond of my torture in school I hate those pieces of shit, at one point that was all that kept me from killing myself. I'm filled to overflowing.

Now there's nothing and no one I hate more than God. I don't care about abortion, I don't care about pollution, I don't care about animals raised in cages and mutilated.

My dad is apologizing to me for what his stroke did to make him forget me. He's apologizing to me with regret, shame and love in his eyes for something that's not his fault.

WHERE IS GOD!? hmm? His love and miracles? His bullshit?!

God. Guardian Angels? Any God or Goddess. Any religion, pagan gods, gods that we don't even know existed. Where are they? Spirits? Demons? Satan himself? Useless.

I have declared a war on God deep down in my soul. I'm not here to preach or change your religion, make you an atheist or garner views or to promote the devil.

But rest assured I am going to kill God. My determination is absolute.

Not in a social or political sense, I'm not going to become Nietzsche 2.0.

I'm going to prepare my heart and soul. My physical body, my mental attitude, my spirit, my soul. My life might go until I'm 120 years old and I'm fine with that.

But God will know fear because I will teach it to him. God has a death wish and I'm that wish come true.

You think Abu Ghraib looked terrible? What I do to God will make that seem like a Kumbaya summer camp.

I don't know what god is, what makes a deity, fucked if know if such a thing even exists. But I will torture, maim, and kill God.

These neo-pagans with their "All Gods are one God."

That's fine by me. Get the all Gods in one place so I can kill that motherfucker with a smile on my face. Even if he's holding the universe together, like Atlas holding the world. If it means the end of all things then I'm more than satisfied to end reality.

If there's a physical aspect to him on some spiritual realm or whether it's simply a psychic thought of the living mind or some genetic predisposed delusion. Maybe I've lost my mind too, maybe there's nothing left but my madness.

My wrath makes God in the old Testament look like a spoiled 3 year old child. God will get what's coming to him.

He is mine and I am his.

·

"Nor sleep, nor sanctuary, being naked, sick, the prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice shall lift up their rotten privilege and custom against my hate to Martius. Where I find him, were it at home, upon my brother's guard, even there, will I wash my fierce hand in his heart."

—AUFIDIUS; Shakespeare's "Coriolanus"

·

·

"I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee."

—Caius Martius Coriolanus; play of the same name.

[bluebuckstallion]

kinda ramble-y fic below the cut, includes a metric fuck-ton of angst, macdennis, teen au, drinking, and a Lot of implied abuse/trauma

summary: macs a rebellious 14 year old tht hates the rich, dennis is a dick that really just needs an outlet to share his feelings, theyre sad together

ok no offense but i just...really love the concept of like, teen mac & charlie crashing house parties. them sneaking out of the house together and their late night adventures quickly becoming a blur of adrenaline and laughter as they jus show up at random parties someone down the street is throwing. they show up undetected at the peak of the utter chaos that is teen rebellion, take a shitload of booze, and then ditch just as fast. they go by the train tracks after and get wasted together, drowning out the deafening reality that is their parents dont care enough to notice theyre not at home every night & that life isnt going so well. and for once they can be happy in each others company and have a taste of a childhood they deserved, even if they can only find it at the bottom of a bottle

one night mac goes off by himself, probably because charlie just hasnt been as up to going out. mac has no clue why, the only things charlie’s been sputtering about between drinks every night is his ‘son of a bitch of an uncle’ who moved back in recently. mac doesnt understand and charlie wont give him what he needs to understand it. so mac gives it no second thought. he spots this absolutely huge house in the suburbs. hes never seen something with architecture like this and hell sure as hell never understand how someone can afford so much room, or what its even used for. the yard is donned with blacked out kids he knows from his classes, and the inside of the house is filled with the melody of drunk kids slurring and laughing to party songs.

he decides this is it-this is the one place hell allow himself to go without his best friend. and hell definitely save booze for him. and he wont allow himself to feel guilty for it, he never does anything for himself anyways. he strides in with a nonchalant facade and his best ‘yes-i-definitely-belong-here’ smile from cheek to cheek, waving at classmates that never noticed him before and definitely wont now. which is the only advantage that comes from being the rat, one of the sore losers in the bullshit hierarchy that is high school popularity. nobody will notice when youre taking something right infront of them.

he makes it to the kitchen and finally pieces together who lives here-its the piece of shit he has half his classes with, the word snob as a person, someone he cant help but loathe for his gross elitism. its dennis reynolds. some kid thats really full of himself, someone who helped trademark ‘the rat’ and laughs at mac while hes down. he didnt really mind, its not like he was bullying charlie, and he was strong enough to take the half-assed insults this guy threw at him. it wasnt a big deal.

but here, now-he found dennis in the midst of his own party, alone in the kitchen, half-empty bottle of tequila in tow, and what looked like mascara trailing from his eyes. what a pussy is what he was about to say, but something stopped him. dennis looked at the other boy looming over him and flinched, covering his face instantly. mac was confused, what the hell was he doing that for? when dennis realized he was fine, he instantly tried to revert back to his cool guy defense mode. something compelled mac to crouch down next to him because, well geez, the poor kid was a mess.. and he felt like it humanized him. the urge to steal his things for a taste of a life he never had slowly died down as he said hello to the gracious party host himself. “why-are-you-here”s  were spit out instantly, because dennis didn’t remember inviting some dirty street rat to his party. mac gave a really half-assed excuse, which was all he needed to convince dennis he was supposed to be here, considering all his thoughts were mush from how out of it he was-he never had the opportunity to drink this much on account of his sister beating him to it, or his mom emptying everything after heated arguments with his dad. and although it annoyed him when she was drunk, it was better than falling asleep to the melody of fighting and the threat of an impending divorce.

but anyways, now mac is lost in his eyes and they’re both half a bottle of tequila down, and he isnt sure if hes holding his hand or just dreaming it. and oh god, his eyes are so beautiful and his lips are coated with strawberry chapstick and he wants to kiss them so bad, he wants to keep holding his hand for all of eternity but at the same time he wants to hold his face in his hands and wow he wants to kiss him so bad and to taste the strawberry chapstick and god, hes infatuated. he wants to wipe his tears away and to kiss his rosy cheeks and run his hands through his hair, so bad. and it hits him that hes too deep, what would charlie think of this? falling for the enemy? fuck. but that doesnt matter because all that matters now is the fact hes really hand in hand with someone hes fallen in love with, and all it took was talk of trauma and a bottle of tequila.

theyre no longer on the kitchen floor as theyre giggling hand in hand stumbling up the stairs, leaning on each other and shushing one another as they laugh too hard to smile right and their cheeks are flush and they arent sure if its the drinking or their company. theyre trying to be quiet as they close the door to the twins’ room and dennis tries to lock it with a shaky hand. mac watches him in utter jaw-dropping awe, feeling butterflies fill his stomach and suffocating any insecurity hed ever felt before. this was new to him. but dennis felt it even stronger. hed spent so long building up a wall, hed spent so long listening to his mothers vodka-fueled lectures about never letting yourself fall in love. barbara made him promise hed never do that to himself, it hurt too much she told him. but now he was sitting on the top bunk of his bed with what seemed to be the boy of his dreams, he didnt know he could ever feel this way or honestly feel anything at all, and he was too drunk to feel guilty for it.

hours pass and now mac is laying on his bare chest. dennis has his hands intertwined in his hair and hes taken away by how soft it is when he strokes it. macs never felt a wave of clarity envelop him so softly before. hes at peace. all the droning hum of party music is drowned out. all he can hear is the soft rhythm of their hearts and their cautious breathing, both scared that this still might not be real. macs heart flutters when he realizes dennis’ breathing gets faster as he moves his hand across his chest, and he looks up with half-slit puppy dog eyes that dennis is absolutely in love with. mac opens his mouth to speak, but changes his mind. he doesnt wanna jinx it, hes so scared he wont be able to impress cool kid dennis reynolds, and he doesnt wanna do anything to change this moment. he plays it safe. as he snuggles closer, dennis holds him and macs face is the warmest its ever been, and he buries it in the other boys chest. he doesnt know how to react to this, hes never known how to react to anything but especially nothing like this. his face is even warmer than macs and hes trying so hard to not let him know that he likes him because thats something his mom would be ashamed of. mac falls asleep on his chest, and dennis cant stop playing with his hair.

dennis wakes him up because he knows everything would be ruined if anyone found them together, especially his sister. god knows what she would do. and dennis tries to tell him he should leave, but the words choke him too much to come out when he sees macs adorable face glance up at him. and hes just too shy to say a word.

the next thing they know, dennis pulls him closer and theyre both kissing for the first time, and mac feels wrong. he wants to push him away and he knows he should feel absolutely horrible, he knows god would be disappointed in something like this and hes terrified of the consequences hell get. but he pushes the thoughts away and succumbs to the warmth that surrounds his body. dennis is holding him so gently and neither want to ever move again, and something compels them to stay together. the kiss is only broken by dennis’ nervous laughter, and a smile that he cant hide. and when the boys recollect themselves they start kissing again. they never went further than that, partially because they couldnt get it up this drunk and partially because they were too scared to ruin it, but it was still nice to fall asleep side by side, even if they didnt mean to

mac wakes up to the soft golden smile of the suns rays against the bed, and he vaguely remembers last night. panic sets in like it never has before. hes never stayed somewhere else this late before. what if charlie’s looking for him. what if whoever hes with didnt lock the door and someone saw him. and then he remembers who hes with, and hes terrified. what the hell did he do? he feels tears of shame well up because he knows hes a sinner in gods eyes and hes made the biggest mistake of his life, and oh fuck when he tried to get out from under the covers he woke dennis up. he isnt even half as shocked as mac is, hes calm. hes happy. hes never woke up so peacefully before, and hes grinning. he tries to tell mac good morning but hes rambling under his breath about how wrong this is and hes going to hell, and dennis takes that as a sign he shouldve taken his mothers advice. hes utterly crushed.

mac doesnt even apologize as he leaves, he slips on his boots and gets out as soon as he can despite the wavering tone in dennis’ protests and pleads to stay. he forgets his jacket during the rush. he leaves dennis confused and more scared of opening up than hes ever been, and he doesnt know how to deal with his feelings anymore. mac tries to forget everything. he never tells charlie. he doesnt ever want to look dennis in the eyes again. he never wants to feel that way again, because he went from feeling on top of the world to being ashamed and thinking he knows its wrong. he doesnt tell anyone.

[megagarymofooak]

Part 1: Preparing for the worst

I did a POV zombie fanfic. There will be more parts, just have been too lazy to write anything. Craig's POV:

First day of my Senior year and I haven't even seen anyone from town in a week. Visiting my extended family in other states was so tiring. I sigh, wondering who would show their face to me first. Without a doubt it's Clyde, loudly calling my name seemed to call attention of the others.

" Craig! It's been a while man! What's up with the family?"

I shrug, not really wishing to tell them my grandma died. That shit was personal. " Nothing, but being in a car so long left my ass numb..." I could still feel the sting of numbness in my posterior.

Tweek just looked at me intensely and I gave in. " Yes?"

" You forgot to text me yesterday."

"NO!" Clyde gasped " Tell me it isn't true."

Token slapped him for me and I nodded my thanks.

" I fell asleep in the car, when I woke up my phone was dead."

" You left me on read." Tweek crossed his arms, here we go...

I sigh and try to cover up my shame for not replying " I fell asleep before I could finish the text. Ruby finally had shut up for once and I was tired. I don't know what else you want from me."

I must have done a shitty job with it as usual because I can't hide anything from him. Tweek tilted his head and shrugged. " Fine, j-just don't do it again." He huffed and took my hand, leading into the school. " We'll be late if we wait any longer."

That was way easier than last time, last time he accused me of being too busy for him. Whatever makes him happy.

First day goes by fast with introductions and those little 'Get to know you better' papers. Needless to say the only thing I disliked about it was the fact Kenny kept hitting on the younger years. He never means it, he just thinks it's funny to make them confused or blush. Tweek made lunch for us today. He says he'll start making lunch for us every day from now on. I had offered to help him, but he was determined to do it himself. Saying ' I want to suprise you with things dayly.' God damn I love him. His twitching never left him, but instead only happens once in a while per conversation. He stresses about things and it gets worse, but when that happens I'm always there for him. Clyde and Token chose to sit with Stan and his guys, suprisingly the girls are constantly inviting us to their tables. Not that I care much, as long as they don't hit on us. So far Tweek's fitting in with them, his new found sass about things is entertaining to say the least.

On the ride home Tweek sits next to me. " Did you see the way Butters looks at Ken?" Clyde chipped in from the seat infront of us. Dumb ass was on his knees looking over the seat.

" No, why? Is there another gay couple in South Park now?" Craig wondered how this would fair with the fan girls at the school.

" Kenny hasn't been seen kissing ANYONE for the whole SUMMER!" Clyde exclaimed. When was he not loud? Oh yeah, never. I cross my arms and Tweek just looks at Kenny and Butters, Kenny at the back of the bus and Butters up front.

" I don't see them ever interact though." Tweek sounded confused and aprehensive.

" I bet you they fuck." Clyde grinned and that earned a swift galre from Tweek. " We don't talk about those things, it's only going to make things worse for them if we spread rumors like that."

" He's right. Clyde sit down like a normal idiot." Token pulled him down onto the seat.

"Aww! No fair! I'm allowed to have my observations too!" He whined and pouted.

Getting off the bus was harder than usual, somewhere from Stan's place to my own Kyle and Cartman started fighting, they only got more agressive towards one another through the years. Kyle even taking Judo classes so when Cartman challenges him it doesn't take much of anything to knock his ass out. Cartman lost weight over the years, him and Clyde almost weighed the same now. That fact can never be said infront of Clyde however because he starts crying about it. When Kyle kicks him out of the bus and I get off, the bus heads off without Cartman.

" Dumb ass, you never learn to stop fucking with Kyle." I kick him in the side for good measure, then head inside. Red Racer sadly ended when I was sixteen, I have since then watched the whole series twice over from first episode to the last. Today's episodes were more of a filler episode than most. I zone out while watching five or six episodes, so much so I miss dinner and have to heat it up. Mac n' Cheese with Fishsticks and grean beans. Ah how American of them. I smile to myself as I eat the meal. Looking at the clock, it's almost seven. I sigh, at least it wasn't too late. I took my phone out. Three unread text messages, at least one of those was from Tweek. I open the ones from Clyde and Stan first. Tweek's message chills me a bit.

Tweek's POV:

What. What was that? I must have been seeing things, no, no I wasn't seeing anything. That was for sure what the news story was about. The screams of terror and dismay echoed. Zombies? Looking at my phone as I packed as many useful things as possible, I look on as Craig is texting me back finally. " Why do I need to get as much as food and supplies as possible? What's with the weapon reconmendations anyway? Are we playing again?"

" NO! THIS IS REAL!" I shouted as I typed up the same message. " I swear Craig, tell your dad you guys need to meet here at my place. I texted the others to do the same. I'm not kidding, zombies are real!" I scream to myself as I'm set into panic mode. My parents saw the same thing and are trying to get ahold of other parents they know.

" What kind of Zombies though? Like The Walking Dead zombies? Spore Zombies? Fast running ones?"

"WHY WOULD I KNOW THAT YET!?" I feel like this is a lost cause. I should have just told the guys and not the parents. I text him back, fumbling over my own fingers. " I dont know thy dont look like theyr runners."

" Hold on, I'm packing things. Do you think a compound bow is okay for this? I mean, besides that I have a bat."

" Take both, please be careful." I looked out my window as some of the other boys and the parents started for my house.

I get my stuff on, a hiking backpack that I had bought for camping full of useful things and head downstairs. Kids and parents piling in, some of them being made to go upstairs. The parents mainly talking about a plan. Randy seemed to be really into the idea that was being shared, but Sharron and most of the moms hate the idea. I creep my way to the door and flag down Craig as he heads over with his parents and sister Ruby. First thing he does is hug me. There is a time and a place Tucker! I groan and hug him back for a second before leading him inside. Cartman, Kyle, Stan, Kenny, Butters, Myslef and Criag were all together. Clyde, Token, Bebe, Wendy, Jimmy, and Timmy were across the room. The parents were seperating people into groups for travel. The noise the house was under made me shudder, I take a peek out of the window. Oh god. Oh jesus, oh god. No. The zombies were slowly approaching at a steady pace from the graveyard area. I can't say anything but I do manage an "AAAAUGH!"

Craig, bless him, looks out and in a deadpan voice says. " Oh, The Walking Dead zombies. Cool."

I want to strangle him for that but instead I end up making the whole place become on edge. They start ordering us out, this was apparently the plan. We were the B Team. Token, Clyde, Bebe, Wendy, Jimmy and Timmy were the A Team. They got the keys to my family's two cars and were sent off first with supplies. Jimbo supplied everyone with at least two guns. Team B, us, we're sent to both the neighbors houses Kyle won't leave Ike, so he's sent with us. Kyle, Ike, Stan and Cartman take the left. Craig, Kenny, Butters and myself took the right side. Thanks to the fact we're not slow as a group we get into the car. Craig takes the wheel and we're out of town within a few minutes. People I didn't know well in town, they were being eaten or trying to escape the madess. I just closed my eyes and curled up. Craig wouldn't allow me to sit in the back when we piled in, so I had a close up on what was happening. " Damn it... This car only has half a tank." Craig sighed , country roads hard to see, using the headlights on this thing wasn't working. " M-My mom and dad. They Euuggh- always have both tanks filled. Token and Wendy shouldn't have problems." I get a text. Why wouldn't I? Maybe all those movies and TV shows were wrong about the immediate cut of electronics. It was Clyde, thank goodness it was him!

" How are you guys holding up? Wanna meet at that weird off road gas station and talk? Maybe switch team mates? We have Jimmy and Timmy with us, I think both teams should have one. "

" Yeah, s-sure." I look up to Craig. " Clyde wants to meet at that Shell up the road a bit."

" Good, we can talk to them like normal people. Stupid parents..."

"Wait..." I look back at the phone. " Did you ask Jimmy about this?"

"Dude, Jimmy's the one who suggested it! He thinks Timmy should stay with me and Token and he should go to your team." Clyde's words meant he was serious.

At the gas station we made sure no zombies were around, the place was evacuated and there was still food, Token split up what he found between the groups. " Enough for both A and B teams. In case you guys run in with one another." Token was so calm, I wonder how he does it. I get a huge hug from Clyde who looked to be just freshly done with crying. " I'm going to miss you and Craig so much Tweek..." His voice... He was. Talking softly. Clyde. I hug him back and nodd. " We'll miss you guys too, but they sent us in teams for reasons." Token came over with Craig." I heard it was the best way for our survival."

Jimmy headed over from where he was talking to Butters. " BBButters and I ha-have made an agreement. I will svwitch places w-with him."

" I have no problems taking over for him." Butters was arguing with Kenny. " Don't you see it's unfit for them to have two people who can die easily?"

" YOU can die easily!" Kenny groaned and grit his teeth. " Why you though. Why do you have to go."

"Because Tweek and Craig shouldn't be separated."

"We shouldn't be separated Butters! I don't know what I'd do if you died on me." There was desperation in Kenny's voice.

" Then don't die on me, and I won't on you." He smiled and Kenny hugged him.

I bet Clyde couldn't help himself, because the dummy started wiggling his eye brows at me and making weird noises.

" Stop being this way Clyde..." I sigh. " What weapon did you pack, those guns should be a last resort."

" I have a whole thing of tools with me." Token said.

Clyde pulled out a knife. " It was the closest thing."

Butters showed he had a frying pan. " These things hurt real bad."

" It's not about pain it's bout destroying the brain." Clyde chipped in.

" Aww Hamburgers..." Butters kicked the ground with a scuffing noise.

" It's a good enough weapon." I nod in approval.

Craig had his bat on hand. " You already know what I have."

" I d-don't have any weapons but the gggun." Jimmy pointed out.

"Timmeh!" Timmy showed his hands.

" What did you bring Tweek?" Clyde was curiously eyeing him.

He went to the trunk and got out his sword. " I always have it sharpened. I also have a poison dart set I made myself and the ingredents for a few different kinds of explosives. I got them f-from a chemicle website."

I may have said something weird. Did I? Why were they looking at me like I was weird. I put my stuff away.

Craig came over and pat me on the head, something he does on occasion. " That's my boyfriend. Always ready."

I smile for what seems to be the first time tonight since the incident.

Stan's POV:

I take on the role of driver as Kyle uses a local and nationwide map and marks off where we came from and where we're going. Cartman is oddly quiet as he looks out the window and Ike is in his seat playing with one of Kyle's action figures. Not too many Zombies the way we're going, a few cars were on the side of the road, maybe a few accidents here or there, but nothing we couldn't handle. Being in a rush we completely forgot about our other half of our group. Man, I hope they chose a good route or at least something. They had gotten the text that Craig was the driver of the other car and that they had food and water if they could meet. Problem was, when they left in the direction they did, there was like a huge pile up that happened behind them. Not knowing where to go next Stan just started going through small towns.

Kyle took out his phone and called his mom. No answer was an answer on it's own. He got annoyed and turned it off to save battery. " I'm glad I packed these maps.."

"What else did ya pack Kehl?" Cartman had his usual inflection to his voice, but as far as Stan could tell it wasn't like he was taunting the guy.

" I packed four note books, writing utensils, a few books, maps of all over north america, and a chainsaw from my back yard. My dad got it, and never used it. Said it was too loud or some shit. I think I can mod it to be more quiet."

" I gotta go pee!" Ike whined.

" Pull over and let him pee, I'll keep watch." Kyle took out a dagger and Stan pulled over. Ike went right by the car as Kyle instructed and they were on their way in no time. A bed and breakfast was close to where they were and Stan hoped they could sleep tonight, they would need it.

" I think Wendy went this way Stan." Kyle pointed out the street sign that had a purple W and a yellow B on it. "Wendy and Bebe."

YES! Maybe we could sleep after all. I hope Wendy has secured the Inn.

Upon arrival to the Bed and Breakfast, they found cars parked in a manner resembling a fort wall. Wendy took aim at them with a rifle. "Who are you, what do you want, and when are you LEAVING."

Stan parked the car with the lights on so when the four of them got out Wendy could see them. " It's Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Ike. We wanna know if we could crash here. And we'll leave tomorrow."

" Oh you guys! We've been here for nearly an hour setting up." Bebe let them in. " We found a few loners, oh and Shelly."

Shelly was writing something in a book.

" We have room for tonight. I think Bebe and I will stay here, close to town, for a while."

" Yeah, predicting we have about four months of food rations."

" Craig and Token have more food, but they went East." Kyle stated as he lead Ike to one of the rooms that had a cracked open door.

Cartman took the room opposite of Kyle's.

" Stan, what do you think about the groups... Do you think we'll survive?" Wendy looked exausted. The way her hair... and her eyes... It was just... Damn she was hot when she was in charge like that. I had to stop looking at her before I vomited. " I-I think my group can survive, You and Bebe look to be doing fine already. Craig might come into some trouble, but I'm most worried about Token."

" We should have taken Timmy, damn it, I know!" She groaned and face palmed. " We weren't thinking Stan, we left both Jimmy and Timmy with Token and Cyle. Token can handle himself, Clyde is okay, but Jimmy and Timmy?"

I have to calm her down. " Maybe if we meet up with them in the future, we can see if they survived. If that's the case then, you can just ask if one of them wants to join you."

Wendy sighed. " Yeah, thanks. Go turn your car's lights off now..."

I just smile sheepishly and go to get the lights turned off and park the car within the barrier.

Kyle's POV:

Taking out some paper and a pen I start to write. " I think today was possibly the worst day of my life. I can't confirm it yet, but I think my mom at least is dead. She'd never leave a call from me hanging. Besides that, I'm in a group with Cartman. Cartman. God I hate writing that name." I use white out to take out the word 'Cartman' both times. "There, that's better. No more of that name here. I have to think about Ike now. He's far too small for this sort of thing, but it's not like we have a choice. I'm going to teach him how to shoot a gun soon. He needs to know." I sigh and look at my younger brother. " I swear I'll protect you, Ike." He kissed his sleeping head goodnight and turned off the bedside light to lay down for some rest. With Wendy on alert, we should be fine. I trust her.

It was the sun that woke him up, Ike was trying to read a big book. " Kyle! How do you wead... Paernora...."

"What?" I went over, the book was a study on the paranormal. " Oh, paranormal. Like what we thought Zombies were. It's mainly just hypothetical."

Ike tilted his head.

" Big 'What ifs.'" I explain.

" Oh!" He goes back to trying to read. He's going to be smart I think to myself as I look out the window. Stan is already up and helping Bebe with the rigging of barbed wire made from electrical chords.

" Smart move girls. " I say as I head outside, things all packed and Ike in tow.

" Thanks Kyle, you know you guys can stay here if you want. " Bebe offered. "Stan was a big help this morning."

" I think we should all have our separate things. Stan come on, we need to go before it gets too late."

Cartman comes out from his room, not packed and sloppy as hell. " Go get packed asshole we're leaving."

" EH! Don't call me an Asshole! I didn't even do anything yet!"

" Yeah, that's the point. GO PACK." Why do I even loose my temper so badly with him anyway, I used to be able to handle anything he said. Now I just want... No, I want it but I can't say what. That would be admiting to myself that I've givin in. I just glare at him as he mutters to himself and goes to pack.

Clyde's POV:

OMG! It's HAPPENING! Bunny bunny bunny bunny~ I giggle to myself as Butters and Kenny keep their embrace, the others are sorting out what to do and where to go. I mean I could listen in, but I don't want to. Not knowing where we're going is basically what an adventurer strives for. And in all honesty, I have to keep this an adventure because what it really is, is killing me inside. I'm left without my Bro and Tweek. It's not fair! Token treats me like a kid too, and while that's good in some cases like an extra juice box, it SUCKS in other cases! I hear my name and tune into their channel. " Clyde and I should trade places as well. I can't leave Butters."

No. Freakin. WAY! I looked at Tweek and Craig with my signature puppy dog eyes.

" Are you sure Kenny, we could need you man. You're crafty."

"They have Timmy, if Timmy's wheelchair gets broken or stops working for some reason. I can carry him. Clyde can't."

I stop begging. What? How dare he. I can SO carry Timmy. For like a block.... And then... Nevermind, it's true they need him.

" No, you take Clyde." Tweek looked at me. " I think he's better off with you."

" Then I'm leaving you guys for Butters."

Craig frowned. " That's not even though. How will Tweek and I take care of Jimmy?"

I sigh. " It's okay. I'll stay with Token."

Token broke appart Kenny and Butters and took Butters to his car. Craig taking Kenny, who faught with him about it, back to thier car.

I take a last glance at my friends as we depart down a fork in the road. I hope Token has orange juice...

[cursed-saphire-hart]

Weird West Sad Fanfict

Author Comment: I cried so much for this, and sorry if it’s choppy and or rushed. I was typing through tears!

…

Title: World with Color Pairing: Otis x Aussie (FirstLove) Chapter: N/A Category: Sad Fict Au: Weird West Word Count: 2,998 Rating: T Summary:

Sometimes the happiest things can leave the deepest wounds when they’re gone…

Warmth, peace, and comfort.

For a long while, it seemed he lived his life without those few things being possible.

After losing his eye, he had constant nightmares about that moment, the possibilities of what could have happened kept running through his mind and his dreams. The man whose blood he spilled, he was a serial killer, known for his cruelty and sadistic methods.

Constantly he dreamt of what might have happened if he had gotten there too late…

What could have happened to his parents and pregnant sister. Each night he would either wake up screaming, or in a cold sweat.

Soon he found that hunting such terrible men, and stopping them from causing people the same pain he endured, allowed him to sleep at night.

His occupation often didn’t allow him to get close to anyone, a warm bed or decent meal, let alone warm welcomes when traveling.

It was a lonely life for awhile.

Often his days within a town consisted of being at a saloon, drinking a bottle or two of beer, just to listen to the chatter around him, as opposed to the deathly quietness of the desert.

Most didn’t pay him anyone, or went out of they’re way to avoid him. When you hunted outlaws for a living, after awhile, the smell of blood and gun powder became an obvious tell, signalling to other people that you were a bounty hunter.

So it startled him when a young man, with a bright smile, and curious eyes spoke to him so casually as if they were old friends. He could still remember the conversation word for word.

“So yer a bounty hunta? What’s that like?” he had asked taking a seat right next to the hunter. “Lonely…” Otis replied simply, the sudden question left him slightly dumbfounded.

“Ah, that’s too bad…” his smile fell for a moment before picking up again. “Want me to help with that…?”

The other choked on the beer he was drinking, throwing him into a coughing fit, “Wh-What…!?” the young man laughed, “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean it like that mate..!” he apologized, “I just meant we could talk for a bit, if I’m not botherin you.”

Otis agreed to it, it felt nice to talk to someone. “That accent… are you by chance from Australia?” he adked curiously, and the other noddee his head, “Sure am, come here from Aussie bout a year ago.” the two talked for hours, about they’re experiences, theyre travels, anything that cane to mind, just to talk and laugh, and during they’re conversation, Otis took in the others appearance slowly with each word said.

Sun kissed skin, eyes colored like the summer sky, long hair like sunshine, and a smile that shined brighter than a star, with a warm honey like voice to tie it all together. His cheerful personality, his gentle appearance and the easy going air around him, it seemed he was the hunters complete and total opposite.

But maybe, that was why he fell so in love, so hard, than and there.

Talking with him, being near him, just spending time with him, was so calming, and comforting, in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

After that, any and everytime he went through that town on a job, they met up and just talked, shared a drink, occasionally they shared a meal together too, each time, they grew closer.

It wasn’t until one night, when he was getting ready to pack up for his trip home in the morning, that he thought that this was just how it was going to be between them.

The blond had knocked on his hotel door, and before Otis could get a word out, “Can I come with you…?” he asked.

The hunter was dumbfounded yet again, he was unable to find the words to say at that moment, he just stared at the other quietly.

“I… I wanna come with you… can I…?” he asked again, a hopeful, yet nervious light in his deep blew eyes, and a soft blush dusting his cheeks. Otis felt himself swallow hard, “Why…?” he answered the question, with a question, “Because… I want to…” the gap between the two closed slowly, “I want to be close to you…”

That night, wasn’t spent alone for the first time in a long long time.

Unlike his own, Otis found that the blonds body was without a scar, while his pale skin was covered in them, but the other didn’t mind, nor did he ask about them. They just spend the night together, and in eachother’s arms.

He was so happy.

The happiest he had ever been.

The two started to live together after that, and for once, the home Otis returmed to, was comforting to come back to after a job.

Being welcomed home with open arms and a warm smile, having someone to talk to and hold, to be loved, it felt like life had returned to his soul.

They’re life wasn’t perfect in a sense, but it was to them, because they were happy.

Otis took up a second job as an undertaker’s assistance so he wouldn’t have to hunt as often. He knew it worried his partner when he went on a hunt.

Mostly he would build new coffins thanks to his strong and sturdy form, it payed well enough to put food on the table, and they lived more peacefully.

Sometimes they would go for hikes, they’re favorite spot wad on a mesas, which was covered in grass and flowers, it was beautiful. They would often have picnics there too.

They would chat during dinner about nothing special, and relax in the bath before bed.

Each night after a long day or a day of hiking, they would just lay in bed, making small talk as they relaxed in eachother’s arms.

“Your hands are so rough…” the blond said as he played with the larger man’s hands gently, “That’s because I do hard labor,” Otis chuckled placing a kiss on the others head gently. “But your such a gentle person… I still find it hard to believe your a bounty hunter…” he sighed. He said that a lot, how Otis was so kind and gentle despite the job he worked.

The hunter pulled his partner closer, wrapping his arms tenderly around the others more slender waist. “I love you…” he sighed softly, and he could hear the smile in the blonds voice, “I love you too…”

The nightmares had disappear to be left as a bad memory within the back of his mind, because with him, Otis could forget the evil in the world, and only see the light that shine over the darkness.

But light and dark go hand in hand, a shadow can only exist when there is light, and a light can only shine when there is darkness.

His happy life came crashing down once again on that fateful day all those years ago.

It had been the day he had preparing for. He had started working another job as a handyman, working longer hours to prepare for that day, and the sun was already setting by the time he headed home that day.

He was late for dinner, but he was sure his lover would forgive him.

A little black back which he kept opening, had been nestled in his hand as he walked up the trail to they’re home, an excited and giddy smile plastered on his face.

He had though of that day for months, fantasizing about it, and cherishing it.

Holding his lover close, telling him how much he loved him, telling him how wonderful he was and how happy he made him before popping the question and giving him the ring.

But that would never happen.

Never…

His happy life, was colored red, and in that moment, he couldn’t even scream.

All he could do was hold his lover tight, hoping it was all another nightmare, too shocked to even cry.

He ran his fingers through those beautiful sun golden locks, he cupped his soft face, his blue eyes were closed, and Otis prayed to god that Aussie was just sleeping so when he woke up, they could go on a hike together and chat during dinner.

A prayer that was never answered.

He couldn’t cry, he couldn’t scream, he had forgotten how.

He made the coffin, and carved the tombstone, he even help prepare the corpse.

During the wake, those who knew and loved him, cried for him, but Otis was too numb to even become choked up, he barely spoke, he just stared at his lover as he laid in that wooden box.

He looked like he was sleeping.

The coffin was never barried.

Aussie was too free of a spirit to spend eternity in the ground, and his ashes were spread at they’re favorite spot.

Still, he kept a small bottle full on a chain around his neck, he didn’t want to lose him anymore than he already had.

After that, his world had turned grey, the sun never shined, there was no beautiful spring, or warm summer, only grey. He was to numb to hurt.

He never returned to that house they shared, he could never return to it there were too many memories he had grown numb to, but he could never let anyone else live in it either, he didn’t want anyone to soil what the two had.

So in stead, he burned it down.

Each day blended into the next, as he went back to hunting, he became more brutal, more fierce when fighting, and became quick to anger.

More and more often, he brought his bounty back dead. So instead of dragging around a corpse, he started building coffins again. That was how he earned his nickname. And finding it fitting, to go with his chest of weapons, he added a scythe with a light blade, making it his main weapon of combat.

Anyone who watched him fight would call him suicidal, he was brutal, but often careless, and got hurt alot.

Not that he could feel his wounds.

Maybe he was suicidal. But his body never let him go that far.

So he pressed on, doing job after job, and drinking away the money he made from each one. Liquor does a funny thing to a mad when it’s overflowing in his blood, for some, it makes them confess the deepest of things, and causes the worst regrets.

For one man in particular, karma got him while was in one such state, and he spouted off on how he shot and killed a pretty blond boy with an Australian accent who had offered the man water when he had knocked on his door. He laughed, saying that the look on the youngman’s face was priceless when he pulled a gun on him.

It was unfortunate for the killer, that the pretty blond boy’s drunk and angry lover was only feet away from him as he spoke like what he done was something to take pride in.

He was beaten bloody right than and there. Unlike his Aussie, the hunter didnt allow that man to be given a quick death. Infact, it took him three days to finally die, and one more evil was taken out of the world.

Still, Otis saw a lot more evil in his life traveling the highway, each one numbing him more and more, and getting rid of Aussie’s killer did nothing to ease him neither.

On the rare occasion Though, when he went to a church, he would sit there, and bask in the peacefulness of the holy ground, and it would remind him of his lover, and he would wish his Aussie was with him again, but still, the tears wouldn’t come, and the hurt never set in the way it was suppost to.

Everyday he wished to god he hadn’t be late that day.

But no amount of wishing or praying could turn back the hands of time. Time had stopped for him that day, it had stopped for both of them. All he could do was move his body forward and hope time would start for him again, or maybe even stop completely.

It wasn’t until he received a wanted poster for a particularly evil son of a bitch. A man who dealt in some pretty bad stuff, his passion seeming to be the act of abducting and selling people like livestock.

Like any good hunter followed the trail his prey left behind, and soon that lead him to a small out of the way town.

And from there he started asking questions, it was hard because like always, people avoided him, and as a result he had to pin a few people to get them to anwser his questions until he got an idea where the bounty was, eventually he got information, but what he heard made his blood run cold.

The man was seen in the town, but no one recognized him, and not long ago was he seen following a young couple and they’re two daughters up to they’re farm house.

Now thing was, no one who encountered the man that day got a good felling from him, but no one bothered to warn the small family when they offered him some help.

When he heard this, Otis booked it to the farm house as fast as he could, he ran and ran and ran with hid scythe in hand, praying to whom ever was listening, that this time, he wouldn’t get there too late.

Something that came with the job, was that eventually, you develope a sensitivity to the smell of blood.

The smell of iron and copper became thick in the air, the smell of blood was fresh the moment he was in front of the house the family of four shared.

Otis prepared himself for what he might see, holding onto the hope that there was still a chance that the family was ok.

He pushed open the door, and a flash of a cruel memory was visible before his eyes for a moment.

Just like his Aussie, the mother and father were on the ground, in a pool of they’re own blood which slowly grew.

The hunter felt like he was going to throw up, unlike before, the man and woman both had deep large wounds, and he later found out they were both killed by an axe the father used while cutting wood.

Without another moment to spare, Otis quickly followed the bloody footsteps, he still had a chance to save the girls, the blood was still wet, and left a trail, they had to be close. That was what he had thought anyways.

But what he had found in it’s stead was something far different.

You can think a lot of things are a possibility, that the bad guy hadn’t found the children and that they were hiding, or that Otis was the hero that stopped him just in time to save the girls, or even that he was too late again, and they were gone.

But when you remove what’s possible, what you think is an impossible outcome is all that’s left in it’s wake.

At the door was to the room the girls shared, laid the very man that killed they’re parents, the man Otis had been after was laying on the ground, barely breathing, with an axe in his side.

And the two little girls, barel tall enough to reach his knee, were huddled in a corner, shaking and scares. They were both splattered with blood, and they’re eyes were glowing bright colors, molten gold, and haunting turquoise, and they stared at the large man unwavering as he stared back at them in total shock. Soon they’re eyes faded, the oldest eyes that were once a bright glowing yellow faded into a dark brown like tree bark, and the youngest’s bright sea colored eyes faded to a deep green as they filled with tears.

The two stood up and ran to the man, sobbing and crying loudly, some how knowing that he was a good person, unlike the man who lay dying at they’re feet.

Otis took the two children with him as his bounty was collected. And like before, the same things were put into place when they left.

He saw to it that the girls would not have any need to return to that house, and that they would always have a piece of they’re parents with them.

Rumors spread around after that to go with the ones that already surrounded they small family.

The rumors that had surrounded the small family in the past was that the mother was a gypsy witch, and the father was a dark shaman turned monster, and that they were both in hiding when they had they’re two daughters, which the town’s people dubbed, the little demons of a witch and a monster. Because of the rumors, the family barely ever went into town and lived secluded from everyone else, and that was why the outlaw had went with them, blowing the rumors off as superstitions.

Little did he know that some rumors can have grains of truths mixes in.

But well, let’s not get into much detail.

Whether the girls really were monsters or not, that wasn’t for Otis to decide.

All he knew was that the moment he saw that the two small children were ok, all the tears that had been held back finally fell when he held the two for the first time.

His world had color once more.

[themoneybuff-blog]

How to find your purpose in life: 12 powerful exercises to help you discover purpose and passion

Shares 298 Happy blogiversary! Twelve years ago today, I launched a humble little blog about personal finance this blog, Get Rich Slowly. It was meant as a way for me to share the things I was learning as I dug out of debt. It turned into so much more. For the next couple of weeks, Im on the road in the southeastern U.S., speaking to people about personal finance and meeting with readers. This morning, for instance, I spoke to the 76 people attending Camp FI in Spring Grove, Virginia. My topic? No surprise: The importance of having purpose in your life. As you can see, I am a PowerPoint genius

If youve spent any time reading my material, you know that I believe purpose is the foundation on which all plans financial and otherwise ought to be built. Purpose is a compass. It helps you set big goals, sure, but it also acts as a guide when times get tough. Your mother died? Your wife left? Your husband lost his job? If you know what your primary purpose is in life, these stressful events are much easier to deal with. For this presentation, I added a new twist. You see, a lot of folks who are interested in money tend to pick things like getting out of debt and becoming financially independent as their purpose or mission. But I think these are poor choices. Ive seen far too many folks make debt elimination a goal then fall right back into debt once theyve achieved it. And there are plenty of people who reach FI (or retire early) only to find they no longer know what to do. (Its like aiming to reach a certain weight instead of choosing to make lasting lifestyle changes that lead to weight reduction.) Instead, I think its important to recognize that your financial situation should be side effect of pursuing some greater purpose. Financial independence ought not be your aim; its merely a means to an end. When I speak about purpose (which is often), I tend to fall back to the George Kinder/Alan Lakein personal mission statement exercise. I feel like its one of the best available tools for helping people find focus. But its not the only tool. Today, to celebrate this sites twelfth birthday, I want to present twelve alternative exercises for discovering your purpose and passion. If youve tried one (or more) of these without success, try another. One of them is sure to be useful for you. Note: Ive done my best to credit sources for these exercises. (Many come from Barbara Shers excellent book Wishcraft, which is all about crafting the life you really want.) At the end of this article, Ill give you a list of recommended reading and tell you what I think is the single best book for discovering passion and purpose. Your One-Hundred Word Philosophy The first exercise is one I created myself. Its based on CrossFits world-class fitness in 100 words statement. Theres no time limit for this exercise, but it could take a while so be prepared. Your aim is to write out your life philosophy in exactly one hundred words no more and no less. This can take any form you want, from a statement of values to a list of instructions. Begin by writing down your core beliefs and values. It might also be helpful to think about books that have had a big impact on your life or powerful advice youve received in the past. Based on your experience and beliefs, what is your life philosophy? As an example, heres my own hundred-word philosophy, which Ive written as instructions to myself:

Some of those admonitions are my own invention. Some come from books like The Four Agreements and The Power of Now. Refuse to let fear guide your decision-making process, was advice from my girlfriend. Create your own luck is based on my friend Michelles advice to create your own certainty. Again: Target one hundred words exactly. Itll force you to spend time thinking and editing and being introspective. As you can see, I paid an artist friend to create a pretty letterpress poster of my 100-word philosophy, which Ive hung on the wall here at home. I look at it every day. Obviously, you dont have to go that far. Your Original Self This next exercise, which comes from Barbara Shers Wishcraft, sounds hokey at first. Turns out, however, that its a lot of fun to complete. Heres how it works. Set aside about half an hour for quiet contemplation. (Theres no writing involved in this exercise only thinking.) Let your mind wander back to your childhood. Remember what you used to do to have fun especially those times you especially treasured. When you were allowed to daydream or do whatever you wanted, what did you choose to do? Try to answer these questions: What sorts of things attracted and fascinated you when you were a kid?What sense smell, sight, hearing, taste, touch did you live through most? Or did you enjoy them all equally? What kinds of sensory experiences do you remember best?What did you love to do (or daydream about), no matter how silly or unimportant it might seem now? Did you have secret aspirations and fantasies that you never told anyone about? After thirty minutes of unstructured reverie, ask yourself a couple of questions. First, do you feel like theres a part of you that still loves the things you loved as a child? What do you miss most? Next, ask yourself what talents or abilities these childhood dreams and passions might point to in the present. What can you do today to reconnect with some of who you were as a kid? As I mentioned, I enjoyed this exercise. Although you dont have to, I wrote down what I liked as a kid: When I was a kid, I loved the outdoors. I loved to run and play outside. We lived in a small trailer house but were surrounded by acres and acres of land. We had freedom to romp across the fields, explore the nearby woods and orchards, and to browse the banks of the creeks. My favorite family vacations were those that involved camping. (Unfortunately, there werent many.) I loved looking at the insects and the plants. I liked digging in the dirt. I liked finding bones and rocks and shards of glass. I enjoyed playing games outside tag, dirt clod fights, whatever. I especially liked building forts. I liked going down to the big tree and hanging out under its branches. Yes, theres still a part of me that loves this sort of thing. I think thats one of the reasons Ive come to treasure the morning walks with the dog. Its an opportunity for me to explore the same stretch of ground over and over and over again. I truly enjoy watching how the woods and fields change a little every day. And thats probably one of the big reasons I enjoyed the RV trip. It forced me to connect to the world outside in a big way. What talents and abilities might this interest point to? Im not sure really. Who Do You Think You Are? This activity is short but effective. On a blank piece of paper, spend 5-10 minutes answering the question: Who do you think you are? How would you describe yourself to a total stranger? Be objective. What are most important characteristics that define your identity? There arent any right or wrong answers here, and theres only one rule: Dont overthink this. Put down the first and surest answers that come into your head, the ones that make you say, This is me. [This exercise also comes from Wishcraft.] Focus on Five Well explore the next exercise in greater depth next week when I write about goals. Youll find a version of this in nearly every book on productivity or positive psychology. This version is taken from Angela Duckworths Grit (which in turn borrowed it from billionaire Warren Buffett, who may have taken it from Alan Lakein). Heres how it works: Write down a list of your top twenty-five goals (or more). This might seem impossible at first, but give it a try. List all of the projects youre currently working on, both at home and at work. List all of the things you want to do but feel like theres no time. List at least twenty-five. More is beter.Next, review your list. Which goals are most appealing? Do some soul-searching it doesnt matter how and narrow the list to the five highest-priority objectives. Just five. Circle them (or copy them to another piece of paper).Lastly, look at the goals you didnt circle. These you avoid at all costs, writes Duckworth. Theyre what distract you; they eat away time and energy, taking your eyes from the goals that matter more. Harsh but true. If you need help prioritizing your goals it can be tough to sort through so many! rate each one on a scale of 1 to 10 based both on how interesting it is and how important it is. Then multiply those numbers together. For instance, if one of your goals has an interest rating of 9 (very interesting) and an importance rating of 3 (not that important), its score would be 27. Compare the scores. Higher is better. Duckworth says that she would add a fourth step to Buffetts exercise. Ask yourself: To what extent do these goals serve a common purpose? The more closely aligned your top five goals are, the better youll be able to focus on your passion (or purpose). When I write about goals next week, Ill ask you to do a different version of this exercise drawn from Sonja Lyubomirskys The How of Happiness. A Letter to the Future Heres another exercise thats common in self-help manuals. Youre going to contemplate and describe the personal legacy youd like to leave in this world. Think about how you want to be remembered by your grandchildren or great-grandchildren. (If youre childless like me, youll have to pretend.) In the form of a first-person letter, write a summary of your life, values, and accomplishments as youd like them known to your descendants. Pretend like youre near the end of your life and want to share the greatest hits version of your personal story for posterity. One common way to approach this is to pretend youre writing your own obituary. In The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen R. Covey offers the following variation: In your minds eye, see yourself going to the funeral of a loved one. Picture yourself driving to the funeral parlor or chapel, parking the car, and getting out. As you walk inside the building, you notice the flowers, the soft organ music. You see the faces of friends and family you pass along the way. You feel the shared sorrow of losing, the joy of having known, that radiates from the hearts of the people there. As you walk down to the front of the room and look inside the casket, you suddenly come face to face with yourself. This is your funeral, three years from today. All these people have come to honor you, to express feelings of love and appreciation for your life. As you take a seat and wait for the services to begin, you look at the program in your hand. There are to be four speakers. The first is from your family, immediate and also extended children, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents who have come from all over the country to attend. The second speaker is one of your friends, someone who can give a sense of what you were as a person. The third speaker is from your work or profession. And the fourth is from your church or some community organization where youve been involved in service. Now think deeply. What would you like each of these speakers to say about you and your life? What kind of husband, wife, father, or mother would you like their words to reflect? What kind of son or daughter or cousin? What kind of friend? What kind of working associate? What character would you like them to have seen in you? What contributions, what achievements would you want them to remember? Look carefully at the people around you. What difference would you like to have made in their lives? Make no mistake: This can be a powerful exercise. Tear-inducing, even. Thats okay. By thinking about how youd like people to remember you in the future, after youre gone, you can take steps to align your present self and actions with that ideal vision. 20 Things You Like to Do Heres another exercise from Barbara Shers Wishcraft. She says she borrowed it from Sid Simons Values Clarification. To begin, list twenty things you like to do. You must come up with twenty. Thats the only rule. Dont cop out and make a list of four things you like to do. Or twelve. List at least twenty. (You can write down more, if you like.) Now youre going to make a chart. Take a fresh piece of paper. Down the left side of the page, in the first column of the chart, copy your list of twenty things you like to do. (The order is completely unimportant.) Now, across the top of the page create 8-10 columns. Label them like this (you might have to write tiny): How long since you last did this activity? Free or costs money? Alone or with somebody? Planned or spontaneous? Job related? Physical risk? Fast-paced or slow-paced? Mind, body, or spiritual? Feel free to add other categories that occur to you. (At home or in the world? Spouse likes also? Enjoyed a decade ago? Whatever. Its your list.) Now go through your chart and fill it out for each of your interests. What patterns emerge? What do these patterns tell you about your self and life? To illustrate what this chart ought to look like, I did the exercise myself. It was enlightening. And it took me longer to complete than I expected. I could come up with sixteen things I like to do, but expanding the list to twenty was tough. Heres a screenshot of my list. (Because Im a nerd, I used a spreadsheet instead of a piece of paper.)

Kind of sad (and hilarious) to note that this list is in the order I thought of things. So, that means computer games came to mind as something that I like to do before sex did. Yikes! Looking at my list, it seems like I do a pretty good job of doing the things I like to do. Not perfect but good. Theres also a good balance of free activities vs. activities that cost money, and an even divide between social and alone time. But its clear that most of the things I like to do are spontaneous, not work-related, mental, and most of all slow. The only activity on my list thats truly adrenaline-inducing is riding my motorcycle. Who Do You Want to Be? This exercise is based on a conversation I had with my friend Tyler Tervooren. On a blank piece of paper, make a list of qualities and habits youd like to develop. Do you want to ride your bicycle every morning? Do you want to be more patient with your children? Do you want to be more helpful to your co-workers? Do you want to read the Bible every day? Do you want to drink less alcohol? It doesnt matter what order you write these in. Take as long as you need to make your list. When youve finished, reframe each item using the following format: I am the kind of man who [blank] where [blank] is the habit or quality youre trying to develop. (And obviously, if youre a woman please reframe each of these as I am the sort of woman who [blank].) For example, if you wrote down that youd like to get in the habit of waking 10,000 steps every day, you might reframe that as: I am the kind of woman who walks 10,000 steps every day. Or, better: I am the kind of woman who walks everywhere she can. If one of your aims is to talk less about yourself and pay more attention to others, you might write: I am the kind of man who listens first and talks second. Im genuinely interested in what others have to say. Now copy each of these sentences onto an index card one for each habit. Place these index cards by your bedside. Every morning when you wake up, train yourself to look at these cards first thing. Read through all of them to remind yourself of the habits and qualities youd like to develop. Finally, choose one to make your focus for that day. Keep it in mind as you go about your normal routine, and do your best to live up to the affirmation. Tyler says this habit helped him make real and lasting changes to his life. He built new habits to replace some of the tendencies that had been giving him trouble.

Who You Might Have Been Imagine you grew up with all of the resources financial, emotional, educational you could have possibly wanted or needed. Your interests were encouraged and fostered. You had help and encouragement in all that you did. You werent limited by time or money or location. In a perfect world, what do you think you would be doing now? What would you already have done? What kind of person would you be? Think big. Be as extravagant and far-fetched as youd like. Whats the one big dream you would have pursued if everything had gone your way? If you really would have wanted to become President, then say youd be President. If you would have become a movie star, say youd be a movie star. Dont hold back. Let your imagination fly free in whatever direction it desires. Dont pull any punches. Answer truthfully. Describe what this ideal life might look like. [This exercise also comes from Wishcraft.] The Ideal Schedule In David James Duncans The River Why, Gus, the main character, decides at a young age that in an ideal world he would fish 14-1/2 hours per day. Hes still in high school when he formulates the following plan: The Ideal 24-Hour Schedule sleep: 6 hoursfood consumption: 30 min. (between casts or while plunking, if possible)school: 0 hours!bath, stool, etc.: 15 min. (unavoidable)housework and miscellaneous chores: 30 min. (yards unnecessary; dust not unhealthy; utilitarian neatness easily accomplished)nonangling conversation: 0 hrs.transportation: 45 min. (live on good fishing river)gear maintenance/fly-tying/rod-building/log-keeping, etc.: 1 hr. 30 min.fishing time: 14-1/2 hrs. per day! Then, in true money boss fashion, Gus brainstorms ways he can pursue his purpose: Ways to Actualize Ideal Schedule finish school; no college!move alone to year-round stream (preferably coastal)avoid friendships, anglers not excepted (wastes time with gabbing)experiment with caffeine, nicotine, to eliminate excess sleepdo all driving, shopping, gear preparation, research, etc. after dark, saving daylight for fishing only Result (allowing for unforeseeable interruptions): 4,000 actual fishing hrs. per year!!! I love it. (And I intend to use this example in future talks, so be prepared.) Gus knows his purpose and by brainstorming his ideal schedule, hes able to figure out ways to put this dream into action. In Wishcraft, Barbara Sher suggests a similar exercise. Heres how it works. Grab paper and pen. Seclude yourself somewhere quiet. Close your eyes. Imagine your ideal day. Imagine a day that would be perfect if it represented your usual days not a vacation day. Just a regular, average day if your schedule were ideal. Spend a few minutes visualizing what such a day would look and feel like. Once your ideal schedule begins to become clear, write down what its like in the present tense and in detail from getting up in the morning to going to sleep at night. I might say, for instance: I wake up at 5:30 already in my gym clothes. I grab a piece of fruit, hop on my bike, and ride to the gym. I do an hour of Crossfit. I ride home, grab the dog, and take her for a walk. When we get back to the house at around 8:30, I spend four hours writing about money. And so on. As you write about your ideal day, think about the following: Whats the first thing you do when you wake up? What do you have for breakfast? Do you make it yourself or does somebody bring it to you? Do you take a long, hot bath? Or do you take a cold, bracing shower? What clothes do you wear? How do you spend your morning? How do you spend your afternoon? How do you spend your evenning? At each time of the day, are you indoors or outdoors? Quiet or active? With people or alone? As you envision your ideal schedule, focus on what, where, and who. What are you doing? What kind of work? What kind of play? Dont limit yourself. If youd like to sing or sail but dont know how, in this fantasy you do know how.Where are you? What kind of place, space, and situation? Are you on a farm in rural England? In a New York office building? On a sailboat in the South Pacific? In a fully-equipped workshop? Again, youre not on vacation. Youre imagining a normal day but an ideal day. Where are you?Who are you with? Who do you work with? Who do you live with? Who do you talk with? Who do you sleep with? Maybe its the same people you work and sleep with already. Maybe its somebody else. Let your imagination go. Dont put down only what you think is possible put down the kind of day youd like to live if you had absolute freedom, unlimited means, and all the powers and skills youve ever wished for. Note: Before (or after) you complete the ideal day exercise, you might find it useful to figure out how you actually spend your time right now. For that, I suggest performing a week-long time inventory. On the advice of Paula Pant, I tracked my time last summer and it was very enlightening. It helped me see where I was frittering away my minutes and hours. For more info and instructions on doing a time inventory, visit Laura Vanderkams website where you can grab free downloadable PDF forms and spreadsheets to help track your time in fifteen-minute increments. What Color Are You? This exercise from Wishcraft is for the more right-brained artistic folks. You analytic engineer types might not like it. (On the other hand, it might be good for you to actually complete it!) Heres how it works. Choose a color that represents you. It might be your favorite color or it might not. It ought to be a color that, at this moment, feels like you. The best way to do this is to have an array of colors in front of you. If you have a box of crayons, go get it. If not, heres a page with a bunch of colors. Youre now going to role-play that color. You are going to pretend you are that color. Youre going to think like that color, speak like that color, act like that color. Take a sheet of paper. Write: I am red or I am orange or I am carnation blue. Do not say I like blue because or I think blue is. For the rest of this exercise, you are that color. Now, in a few sentences to a few paragraphs, describe what qualities you have as that color not as yourself. For instance: I am dark blue. Im quiet and deep like the ocean. Or: I am yellow. Im bright and cheerful, intelligent and warm. There are no right answers to this exercise. If youre black, be black! I think Suzanne Vegas Small Blue Thing is a great example of what you might do with this activity. [embedded content] What color am I? Im orange, of course. The 14-Word Description This exercise comes from my friend Amy Jo. Several years ago, she did a photo project in which she took portraits of people she knew. Before each session, she asked the subject: What are the fourteen words that best describe you? For our purposes, I want you to brainstorm as many words as possible to describe who you are. You should come up with a minimum of fourteen, but its better to brainstorm more. Dont ask others to describe you. Your aim here is to describe yourself. How do you see yourself? If you come up with more than fourteen words to describe yourself, narrow the list to only the fourteen that fit you best. Lastly, for each word write a short sentence that describes why you chose it. For instance, if one of your words was athletic, your descriptive sentence might be, I enjoy playing sports and being outdoors. Here are the fourteen words I chose to describe myself six years ago. (Theyre all still accurate.) Adventurous I love to try new things.Creative I love to make new things.Curious I love to learn new things.Evolving Im a different man today than I was yesterday.Independent I make and act on my own decisions.Intelligent I am smart.Playful I like to joke and jest.Positive I look on the bright side.Resourceful I search for ways to get things done.Sociable I enjoy the company of others.Tenacious I pursue my goals with vigor.Unguarded I share myself freely, and I accept the word of others.Versatile I am good at many things.Zealous Im passionate about my friends and hobbies. Heres one of the portraits from our 14-words photo shoot. I look so serious!

When I gave Amy Jo my list, she made an interesting observation. When adults do this exercise, their words are always positive, she told me. But when kids do it, they describe themselves using both positive and negative words. Its as if theyre more aware of their shortcomings or at least more willing to admit them. Three Questions about Life Planning Last of all, heres the exercise I use most often. The father of the life-planning movement, George Kinder, is a certified financial planner and the author of The Seven Stages of Money Maturity. To identify and clarify your direction in life, Kinder suggests thinking about three hypothetical situations: Imagine that you have enough money to take care of your needs, now and in the future. How would you live your life? Would you change anything? What would you do with the money?Now imagine that you visit the doctor and she tells you that you have 5-10 years left to live. She says that you wont feel sick, but youll have no notice of the moment of your death. What would you do in the time you have left? Would you change your life? How?Finally, imagine your doctor shocks you with the news that you only have 24 hours left to live. If you only had a day remaining, what dreams would you leave unfulfilled? What would you wish you had finished? What would you wish you had done or been? What would you have missed? These questions which are based on the work of time-management guru Alan Lakein are powerful tools for figuring out what you want out of life. If you take the time to really ponder them and answer them honestly, they can help you clarify your personal values and set meaningful goals. Over the past five years, Ive shared this exercise with hundreds of people. Many who took it seriously have written to tell me it changed their lives. It changed my life too. Maybe itll change yours. Recommended Reading In this article, Ive done my best to credit sources. A couple of these exercises are my own the hundred-word exercise, for instance but most are not. Most are borrowed from books. But there are plenty of excellent books out there that can help you figure out what you want out of life even if they dont ask readers to fill out forms our meditate on whats important. Victor Frankls classic Mans Search for Meaning, for example, is a work that almost everyone refers to. Its a ground-breaking short book about how to find purpose even under the worst circumstances. But it doesnt contain any reader homework. Here then are a few of my favorite purpose-related books. You might like them too: To my mind, however, the best book on this subject is relatively new: Angela Duckworths Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. This was my favorite book of 2016. If I could make it required reading, I would. Its that good. Ive listend to the audio version nearly a dozen times (including yesterday during my 21-hour trip home from Florida). Grit is dense with information and ideas. Duckworth makes a convincing argument that passion and perseverance or, in Money Boss lingo, purpose and patience are the best predictors of success. If you can hone in on a single top-level purpose then doggedly pursue it, your life will be filled with meaning and happiness. Great stuff. I hope to publish a review of the book sometime soon. As I said at the start, your purpose is your compass. Its your mission. Its what gives your life direction and meaning. To support your purpose, however, youve got to set up a personal action plan built around a hierarchy of goals. Next week, Ill share some thoughts (and exercises) on how to set goals and structure life to pursue your purpose. How do you put your personal misson statement to use? Well talk about that in just a few days. In the meantime: Tell me about your purpose. What is it? Do you have a personal mission statement? Which of these exercises do you find effective? Are there others that are better? Shares 298 https://www.getrichslowly.org/finding-purpose/

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How to find your purpose in life: 12 powerful exercises to help you discover purpose and passion

Shares 208 Happy blogiversary! Twelve years ago today, I launched a humble little blog about personal finance this blog, Get Rich Slowly. It was meant as a way for me to share the things I was learning as I dug out of debt. It turned into so much more. For the next couple of weeks, Im on the road in the southeastern U.S., speaking to people about personal finance and meeting with readers. This morning, for instance, I spoke to the 76 people attending Camp FI in Spring Grove, Virginia. My topic? No surprise: The importance of having purpose in your life. As you can see, I am a PowerPoint genius

If youve spent any time reading my material, you know that I believe purpose is the foundation on which all plans financial and otherwise ought to be built. Purpose is a compass. It helps you set big goals, sure, but it also acts as a guide when times get tough. Your mother died? Your wife left? Your husband lost his job? If you know what your primary purpose is in life, these stressful events are much easier to deal with. For this presentation, I added a new twist. You see, a lot of folks who are interested in money tend to pick things like getting out of debt and becoming financially independent as their purpose or mission. But I think these are poor choices. Ive seen far too many folks make debt elimination a goal then fall right back into debt once theyve achieved it. And there are plenty of people who reach FI (or retire early) only to find they no longer know what to do. (Its like aiming to reach a certain weight instead of choosing to make lasting lifestyle changes that lead to weight reduction.) Instead, I think its important to recognize that your financial situation should be side effect of pursuing some greater purpose. Financial independence ought not be your aim; its merely a means to an end. When I speak about purpose (which is often), I tend to fall back to the George Kinder/Alan Lakein personal mission statement exercise. I feel like its one of the best available tools for helping people find focus. But its not the only tool. Today, to celebrate this sites twelfth birthday, I want to present twelve alternative exercises for discovering your purpose and passion. If youve tried one (or more) of these without success, try another. One of them is sure to be useful for you. Note: Ive done my best to credit sources for these exercises. (Many come from Barbara Shers excellent book Wishcraft, which is all about crafting the life you really want.) At the end of this article, Ill give you a list of recommended reading and tell you what I think is the single best book for discovering passion and purpose. Your One-Hundred Word Philosophy The first exercise is one I created myself. Its based on CrossFits world-class fitness in 100 words statement. Theres no time limit for this exercise, but it could take a while so be prepared. Your aim is to write out your life philosophy in exactly one hundred words no more and no less. This can take any form you want, from a statement of values to a list of instructions. Begin by writing down your core beliefs and values. It might also be helpful to think about books that have had a big impact on your life or powerful advice youve received in the past. Based on your experience and beliefs, what is your life philosophy? As an example, heres my own hundred-word philosophy, which Ive written as instructions to myself:

Some of those admonitions are my own invention. Some come from books like The Four Agreements and The Power of Now. Refuse to let fear guide your decision-making process, was advice from my girlfriend. Create your own luck is based on my friend Michelles advice to create your own certainty. Again: Target one hundred words exactly. Itll force you to spend time thinking and editing and being introspective. As you can see, I paid an artist friend to create a pretty letterpress poster of my 100-word philosophy, which Ive hung on the wall here at home. I look at it every day. Obviously, you dont have to go that far. Your Original Self This next exercise, which comes from Barbara Shers Wishcraft, sounds hokey at first. Turns out, however, that its a lot of fun to complete. Heres how it works. Set aside about half an hour for quiet contemplation. (Theres no writing involved in this exercise only thinking.) Let your mind wander back to your childhood. Remember what you used to do to have fun especially those times you especially treasured. When you were allowed to daydream or do whatever you wanted, what did you choose to do? Try to answer these questions: What sorts of things attracted and fascinated you when you were a kid?What sense smell, sight, hearing, taste, touch did you live through most? Or did you enjoy them all equally? What kinds of sensory experiences do you remember best?What did you love to do (or daydream about), no matter how silly or unimportant it might seem now? Did you have secret aspirations and fantasies that you never told anyone about? After thirty minutes of unstructured reverie, ask yourself a couple of questions. First, do you feel like theres a part of you that still loves the things you loved as a child? What do you miss most? Next, ask yourself what talents or abilities these childhood dreams and passions might point to in the present. What can you do today to reconnect with some of who you were as a kid? As I mentioned, I enjoyed this exercise. Although you dont have to, I wrote down what I liked as a kid: When I was a kid, I loved the outdoors. I loved to run and play outside. We lived in a small trailer house but were surrounded by acres and acres of land. We had freedom to romp across the fields, explore the nearby woods and orchards, and to browse the banks of the creeks. My favorite family vacations were those that involved camping. (Unfortunately, there werent many.) I loved looking at the insects and the plants. I liked digging in the dirt. I liked finding bones and rocks and shards of glass. I enjoyed playing games outside tag, dirt clod fights, whatever. I especially liked building forts. I liked going down to the big tree and hanging out under its branches. Yes, theres still a part of me that loves this sort of thing. I think thats one of the reasons Ive come to treasure the morning walks with the dog. Its an opportunity for me to explore the same stretch of ground over and over and over again. I truly enjoy watching how the woods and fields change a little every day. And thats probably one of the big reasons I enjoyed the RV trip. It forced me to connect to the world outside in a big way. What talents and abilities might this interest point to? Im not sure really. Who Do You Think You Are? This activity is short but effective. On a blank piece of paper, spend 5-10 minutes answering the question: Who do you think you are? How would you describe yourself to a total stranger? Be objective. What are most important characteristics that define your identity? There arent any right or wrong answers here, and theres only one rule: Dont overthink this. Put down the first and surest answers that come into your head, the ones that make you say, This is me. [This exercise also comes from Wishcraft.] Focus on Five Well explore the next exercise in greater depth next week when I write about goals. Youll find a version of this in nearly every book on productivity or positive psychology. This version is taken from Angela Duckworths Grit (which in turn borrowed it from billionaire Warren Buffett, who may have taken it from Alan Lakein). Heres how it works: Write down a list of your top twenty-five goals (or more). This might seem impossible at first, but give it a try. List all of the projects youre currently working on, both at home and at work. List all of the things you want to do but feel like theres no time. List at least twenty-five. More is beter.Next, review your list. Which goals are most appealing? Do some soul-searching it doesnt matter how and narrow the list to the five highest-priority objectives. Just five. Circle them (or copy them to another piece of paper).Lastly, look at the goals you didnt circle. These you avoid at all costs, writes Duckworth. Theyre what distract you; they eat away time and energy, taking your eyes from the goals that matter more. Harsh but true. If you need help prioritizing your goals it can be tough to sort through so many! rate each one on a scale of 1 to 10 based both on how interesting it is and how important it is. Then multiply those numbers together. For instance, if one of your goals has an interest rating of 9 (very interesting) and an importance rating of 3 (not that important), its score would be 27. Compare the scores. Higher is better. Duckworth says that she would add a fourth step to Buffetts exercise. Ask yourself: To what extent do these goals serve a common purpose? The more closely aligned your top five goals are, the better youll be able to focus on your passion (or purpose). When I write about goals next week, Ill ask you to do a different version of this exercise drawn from Sonja Lyubomirskys The How of Happiness. A Letter to the Future Heres another exercise thats common in self-help manuals. Youre going to contemplate and describe the personal legacy youd like to leave in this world. Think about how you want to be remembered by your grandchildren or great-grandchildren. (If youre childless like me, youll have to pretend.) In the form of a first-person letter, write a summary of your life, values, and accomplishments as youd like them known to your descendants. Pretend like youre near the end of your life and want to share the greatest hits version of your personal story for posterity. One common way to approach this is to pretend youre writing your own obituary. In The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen R. Covey offers the following variation: In your minds eye, see yourself going to the funeral of a loved one. Picture yourself driving to the funeral parlor or chapel, parking the car, and getting out. As you walk inside the building, you notice the flowers, the soft organ music. You see the faces of friends and family you pass along the way. You feel the shared sorrow of losing, the joy of having known, that radiates from the hearts of the people there. As you walk down to the front of the room and look inside the casket, you suddenly come face to face with yourself. This is your funeral, three years from today. All these people have come to honor you, to express feelings of love and appreciation for your life. As you take a seat and wait for the services to begin, you look at the program in your hand. There are to be four speakers. The first is from your family, immediate and also extended children, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents who have come from all over the country to attend. The second speaker is one of your friends, someone who can give a sense of what you were as a person. The third speaker is from your work or profession. And the fourth is from your church or some community organization where youve been involved in service. Now think deeply. What would you like each of these speakers to say about you and your life? What kind of husband, wife, father, or mother would you like their words to reflect? What kind of son or daughter or cousin? What kind of friend? What kind of working associate? What character would you like them to have seen in you? What contributions, what achievements would you want them to remember? Look carefully at the people around you. What difference would you like to have made in their lives? Make no mistake: This can be a powerful exercise. Tear-inducing, even. Thats okay. By thinking about how youd like people to remember you in the future, after youre gone, you can take steps to align your present self and actions with that ideal vision. 20 Things You Like to Do Heres another exercise from Barbara Shers Wishcraft. She says she borrowed it from Sid Simons Values Clarification. To begin, list twenty things you like to do. You must come up with twenty. Thats the only rule. Dont cop out and make a list of four things you like to do. Or twelve. List at least twenty. (You can write down more, if you like.) Now youre going to make a chart. Take a fresh piece of paper. Down the left side of the page, in the first column of the chart, copy your list of twenty things you like to do. (The order is completely unimportant.) Now, across the top of the page create 8-10 columns. Label them like this (you might have to write tiny): How long since you last did this activity? Free or costs money? Alone or with somebody? Planned or spontaneous? Job related? Physical risk? Fast-paced or slow-paced? Mind, body, or spiritual? Feel free to add other categories that occur to you. (At home or in the world? Spouse likes also? Enjoyed a decade ago? Whatever. Its your list.) Now go through your chart and fill it out for each of your interests. What patterns emerge? What do these patterns tell you about your self and life? To illustrate what this chart ought to look like, I did the exercise myself. It was enlightening. And it took me longer to complete than I expected. I could come up with sixteen things I like to do, but expanding the list to twenty was tough. Heres a screenshot of my list. (Because Im a nerd, I used a spreadsheet instead of a piece of paper.)

Kind of sad (and hilarious) to note that this list is in the order I thought of things. So, that means computer games came to mind as something that I like to do before sex did. Yikes! Looking at my list, it seems like I do a pretty good job of doing the things I like to do. Not perfect but good. Theres also a good balance of free activities vs. activities that cost money, and an even divide between social and alone time. But its clear that most of the things I like to do are spontaneous, not work-related, mental, and most of all slow. The only activity on my list thats truly adrenaline-inducing is riding my motorcycle. Who Do You Want to Be? This exercise is based on a conversation I had with my friend Tyler Tervooren. On a blank piece of paper, make a list of qualities and habits youd like to develop. Do you want to ride your bicycle every morning? Do you want to be more patient with your children? Do you want to be more helpful to your co-workers? Do you want to read the Bible every day? Do you want to drink less alcohol? It doesnt matter what order you write these in. Take as long as you need to make your list. When youve finished, reframe each item using the following format: I am the kind of man who [blank] where [blank] is the habit or quality youre trying to develop. (And obviously, if youre a woman please reframe each of these as I am the sort of woman who [blank].) For example, if you wrote down that youd like to get in the habit of waking 10,000 steps every day, you might reframe that as: I am the kind of woman who walks 10,000 steps every day. Or, better: I am the kind of woman who walks everywhere she can. If one of your aims is to talk less about yourself and pay more attention to others, you might write: I am the kind of man who listens first and talks second. Im genuinely interested in what others have to say. Now copy each of these sentences onto an index card one for each habit. Place these index cards by your bedside. Every morning when you wake up, train yourself to look at these cards first thing. Read through all of them to remind yourself of the habits and qualities youd like to develop. Finally, choose one to make your focus for that day. Keep it in mind as you go about your normal routine, and do your best to live up to the affirmation. Tyler says this habit helped him make real and lasting changes to his life. He built new habits to replace some of the tendencies that had been giving him trouble.

Who You Might Have Been Imagine you grew up with all of the resources financial, emotional, educational you could have possibly wanted or needed. Your interests were encouraged and fostered. You had help and encouragement in all that you did. You werent limited by time or money or location. In a perfect world, what do you think you would be doing now? What would you already have done? What kind of person would you be? Think big. Be as extravagant and far-fetched as youd like. Whats the one big dream you would have pursued if everything had gone your way? If you really would have wanted to become President, then say youd be President. If you would have become a movie star, say youd be a movie star. Dont hold back. Let your imagination fly free in whatever direction it desires. Dont pull any punches. Answer truthfully. Describe what this ideal life might look like. [This exercise also comes from Wishcraft.] The Ideal Schedule In David James Duncans The River Why, Gus, the main character, decides at a young age that in an ideal world he would fish 14-1/2 hours per day. Hes still in high school when he formulates the following plan: The Ideal 24-Hour Schedule sleep: 6 hoursfood consumption: 30 min. (between casts or while plunking, if possible)school: 0 hours!bath, stool, etc.: 15 min. (unavoidable)housework and miscellaneous chores: 30 min. (yards unnecessary; dust not unhealthy; utilitarian neatness easily accomplished)nonangling conversation: 0 hrs.transportation: 45 min. (live on good fishing river)gear maintenance/fly-tying/rod-building/log-keeping, etc.: 1 hr. 30 min.fishing time: 14-1/2 hrs. per day! Then, in true money boss fashion, Gus brainstorms ways he can pursue his purpose: Ways to Actualize Ideal Schedule finish school; no college!move alone to year-round stream (preferably coastal)avoid friendships, anglers not excepted (wastes time with gabbing)experiment with caffeine, nicotine, to eliminate excess sleepdo all driving, shopping, gear preparation, research, etc. after dark, saving daylight for fishing only Result (allowing for unforeseeable interruptions): 4,000 actual fishing hrs. per year!!! I love it. (And I intend to use this example in future talks, so be prepared.) Gus knows his purpose and by brainstorming his ideal schedule, hes able to figure out ways to put this dream into action. In Wishcraft, Barbara Sher suggests a similar exercise. Heres how it works. Grab paper and pen. Seclude yourself somewhere quiet. Close your eyes. Imagine your ideal day. Imagine a day that would be perfect if it represented your usual days not a vacation day. Just a regular, average day if your schedule were ideal. Spend a few minutes visualizing what such a day would look and feel like. Once your ideal schedule begins to become clear, write down what its like in the present tense and in detail from getting up in the morning to going to sleep at night. I might say, for instance: I wake up at 5:30 already in my gym clothes. I grab a piece of fruit, hop on my bike, and ride to the gym. I do an hour of Crossfit. I ride home, grab the dog, and take her for a walk. When we get back to the house at around 8:30, I spend four hours writing about money. And so on. As you write about your ideal day, think about the following: Whats the first thing you do when you wake up? What do you have for breakfast? Do you make it yourself or does somebody bring it to you? Do you take a long, hot bath? Or do you take a cold, bracing shower? What clothes do you wear? How do you spend your morning? How do you spend your afternoon? How do you spend your evenning? At each time of the day, are you indoors or outdoors? Quiet or active? With people or alone? As you envision your ideal schedule, focus on what, where, and who. What are you doing? What kind of work? What kind of play? Dont limit yourself. If youd like to sing or sail but dont know how, in this fantasy you do know how.Where are you? What kind of place, space, and situation? Are you on a farm in rural England? In a New York office building? On a sailboat in the South Pacific? In a fully-equipped workshop? Again, youre not on vacation. Youre imagining a normal day but an ideal day. Where are you?Who are you with? Who do you work with? Who do you live with? Who do you talk with? Who do you sleep with? Maybe its the same people you work and sleep with already. Maybe its somebody else. Let your imagination go. Dont put down only what you think is possible put down the kind of day youd like to live if you had absolute freedom, unlimited means, and all the powers and skills youve ever wished for. Note: Before (or after) you complete the ideal day exercise, you might find it useful to figure out how you actually spend your time right now. For that, I suggest performing a week-long time inventory. On the advice of Paula Pant, I tracked my time last summer and it was very enlightening. It helped me see where I was frittering away my minutes and hours. For more info and instructions on doing a time inventory, visit Laura Vanderkams website where you can grab free downloadable PDF forms and spreadsheets to help track your time in fifteen-minute increments. What Color Are You? This exercise from Wishcraft is for the more right-brained artistic folks. You analytic engineer types might not like it. (On the other hand, it might be good for you to actually complete it!) Heres how it works. Choose a color that represents you. It might be your favorite color or it might not. It ought to be a color that, at this moment, feels like you. The best way to do this is to have an array of colors in front of you. If you have a box of crayons, go get it. If not, heres a page with a bunch of colors. Youre now going to role-play that color. You are going to pretend you are that color. Youre going to think like that color, speak like that color, act like that color. Take a sheet of paper. Write: I am red or I am orange or I am carnation blue. Do not say I like blue because or I think blue is. For the rest of this exercise, you are that color. Now, in a few sentences to a few paragraphs, describe what qualities you have as that color not as yourself. For instance: I am dark blue. Im quiet and deep like the ocean. Or: I am yellow. Im bright and cheerful, intelligent and warm. There are no right answers to this exercise. If youre black, be black! I think Suzanne Vegas Small Blue Thing is a great example of what you might do with this activity. [embedded content] What color am I? Im orange, of course. The 14-Word Description This exercise comes from my friend Amy Jo. Several years ago, she did a photo project in which she took portraits of people she knew. Before each session, she asked the subject: What are the fourteen words that best describe you? For our purposes, I want you to brainstorm as many words as possible to describe who you are. You should come up with a minimum of fourteen, but its better to brainstorm more. Dont ask others to describe you. Your aim here is to describe yourself. How do you see yourself? If you come up with more than fourteen words to describe yourself, narrow the list to only the fourteen that fit you best. Lastly, for each word write a short sentence that describes why you chose it. For instance, if one of your words was athletic, your descriptive sentence might be, I enjoy playing sports and being outdoors. Here are the fourteen words I chose to describe myself six years ago. (Theyre all still accurate.) Adventurous I love to try new things.Creative I love to make new things.Curious I love to learn new things.Evolving Im a different man today than I was yesterday.Independent I make and act on my own decisions.Intelligent I am smart.Playful I like to joke and jest.Positive I look on the bright side.Resourceful I search for ways to get things done.Sociable I enjoy the company of others.Tenacious I pursue my goals with vigor.Unguarded I share myself freely, and I accept the word of others.Versatile I am good at many things.Zealous Im passionate about my friends and hobbies. Heres one of the portraits from our 14-words photo shoot. I look so serious!

When I gave Amy Jo my list, she made an interesting observation. When adults do this exercise, their words are always positive, she told me. But when kids do it, they describe themselves using both positive and negative words. Its as if theyre more aware of their shortcomings or at least more willing to admit them. Three Questions about Life Planning Last of all, heres the exercise I use most often. The father of the life-planning movement, George Kinder, is a certified financial planner and the author of The Seven Stages of Money Maturity. To identify and clarify your direction in life, Kinder suggests thinking about three hypothetical situations: Imagine that you have enough money to take care of your needs, now and in the future. How would you live your life? Would you change anything? What would you do with the money?Now imagine that you visit the doctor and she tells you that you have 5-10 years left to live. She says that you wont feel sick, but youll have no notice of the moment of your death. What would you do in the time you have left? Would you change your life? How?Finally, imagine your doctor shocks you with the news that you only have 24 hours left to live. If you only had a day remaining, what dreams would you leave unfulfilled? What would you wish you had finished? What would you wish you had done or been? What would you have missed? These questions which are based on the work of time-management guru Alan Lakein are powerful tools for figuring out what you want out of life. If you take the time to really ponder them and answer them honestly, they can help you clarify your personal values and set meaningful goals. Over the past five years, Ive shared this exercise with hundreds of people. Many who took it seriously have written to tell me it changed their lives. It changed my life too. Maybe itll change yours. Recommended Reading In this article, Ive done my best to credit sources. A couple of these exercises are my own the hundred-word exercise, for instance but most are not. Most are borrowed from books. But there are plenty of excellent books out there that can help you figure out what you want out of life even if they dont ask readers to fill out forms our meditate on whats important. Victor Frankls classic Mans Search for Meaning, for example, is a work that almost everyone refers to. Its a ground-breaking short book about how to find purpose even under the worst circumstances. But it doesnt contain any reader homework. Here then are a few of my favorite purpose-related books. You might like them too: To my mind, however, the best book on this subject is relatively new: Angela Duckworths Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. This was my favorite book of 2016. If I could make it required reading, I would. Its that good. Ive listend to the audio version nearly a dozen times (including yesterday during my 21-hour trip home from Florida). Grit is dense with information and ideas. Duckworth makes a convincing argument that passion and perseverance or, in Money Boss lingo, purpose and patience are the best predictors of success. If you can hone in on a single top-level purpose then doggedly pursue it, your life will be filled with meaning and happiness. Great stuff. I hope to publish a review of the book sometime soon. As I said at the start, your purpose is your compass. Its your mission. Its what gives your life direction and meaning. To support your purpose, however, youve got to set up a personal action plan built around a hierarchy of goals. Next week, Ill share some thoughts (and exercises) on how to set goals and structure life to pursue your purpose. How do you put your personal misson statement to use? Well talk about that in just a few days. In the meantime: Tell me about your purpose. What is it? Do you have a personal mission statement? Which of these exercises do you find effective? Are there others that are better? Shares 208 https://www.getrichslowly.org/finding-purpose/