… Yeah.

wincestiel this, wincestiel that, but have you ever considered Dean using Castiel to get at Sam.

He goads him into his first kiss and uses his baby brother as a means for practice. I mean shit- Sammy can kiss, okay? He’s no virgin.

Cas is trusting, trusts no one but Dean so he lets himself be lured in. Thrusting his tongue into Sam’s small mouth under Deans heavy gaze. He gives them pointers here and there.

Sam’s neck is arched up all sexy. Moles and strain evident as its muscles move with his lips. Dean has to put his mouth on it. They’re all just fooling around, it’s nothing weird. Think of it as a little added fun.

Suddenly it’s Deans tongue in sam’s mouth as he lays it all on him and they’re horizontal on the bed. Humping at each other like dogs. Fucking each other everywhere, especially brain-wise.

They come up for air and Cas isn’t even in the room anymore. It’s just heavy panting and belt buckles clinking as they pack up their spent dicks.

It’s another motel the next time it happens, and it’s just the two of them.

forcing yourself to love the little things.

going outside and being miserable. just to have said that you went outside that day.

listening to music that makes your teeth clench.

wearing clothes that squeeze you too tight so you can look put together.

it’s a ruse. it’s a cover up. it’s a poor excuse for a life. but fuck- at least i’m trying to live it?

Leila Chatti, from “Tea”

what if, instead of texting you, i just talk here and fantasize about you reading it?

i imagine you stumbling upon this and realizing that i still love you. i mean, it’s right here! on this post! made just for you!

everything i write these days is for you.

everything thought i make has your smile in it. buried between letters and my fingers moving to tap on this keyboard. it’s to the rhythm of your heart.

bump, bump, bump.

mine is speeding up, if you are reading this of course. i can see you shocked still- swiping to our messages at the bottom of your logs, hovering over your own letters.

do you remember my face enough? can you capture it like i do yours?

god your heart is still beating in my head. i remember after our first kiss, i laid my ear against your chest and heard it for the first time.

bump, bump, bump,,,,

and it never. stopped.

come home to me

or at least

write me a letter

“You never let anyone get close enough to hurt you” you said to me right before I let you close enough and right before you hurt me.

the thing about being replaced is it’s a feeling you deny up until it sits right in front of your face.

once things are clear- and you and everyone- comes to the understanding that someone else is receiving your affection, the moments already passed.

and it sucks.

a lot.

even when she deserves it because she really is that great and lovable.

she’s just better. she laughs louder, her cheeks tinge pink with it. when she does it, she turns towards you and places both hands on your forearm with a gentle grasp. you feel taken when all of her eyes and lips angle themselves towards your being. it makes your chest puff up in a proudness that only someone so great and lovable can make you do.

I’ve never been great or lovable.

I’ve always been told im too rough. my face gets serious in all the wrong moments, and i look at you with a tentative smile instead of something wide and so open to receiving anything you can give.

i have nothing to take. im so full of sadness, so tinged with blue. there’s no more marks on this canvas worth making. the picture so ugly and wide.

she’s a painting of a cloud, always pleasant to look at whether its at high morning or at sunset. all of her at any time is digestible.

and its so unfair, isn’t it? That we have the same colors and you just show them better, you just carry it lighter.

but you deserve that love, i swear it. you were born deserving, grew up deserving. so deserving no one told you different. no one beat you down to ensure you knew you were any less deserving. no one proved it to you the way they did with me.

so when i see you replaced me, I let the moment pass. i let the laughter wash the hurt right out of me.

- Sylvia Plath

//TW//Ab*se, M*rder//

G*ps* R*se is honestly a better person than me, cause my mom would have to beg to only have those stab wounds to part earth with.

She would’ve personally been fed every drop of medicine left from that big ass pantry from my own hand. I would’ve made sure she wouldn’t feel a thing in any of her muscles expect the brain. And rest assured, she’d be parked in that wheelchair in front of loud ass cartoons until she kills herself from lunacy.

She got off too fucking easy. Mental abuse is a killer; a million times more deadly than physical abuse the way it burns on your soul for your entire life. The lights look different, you can hear them buzz louder. Footsteps aren’t just soft padded noises, they come down like thunder and they match your heartbeat. You feel suffocated, trapped, in a cycle of betraying them or yourself. You are never the victim even when you so very much are.

The PTSD is the same, I guess. You flinch at movement, have nightmares, search for a way out in every space you occupy, think of the entire conversation and rehearse it over and over before they happen, and you never feel alone.

G*ps* is luckier in a way. Her abuser messed up by letting her feel too unloved, and the guilt that bitches life was floating on sunk, hard.

ALSO DOES THIS NOT SEEM LIKE DEREK AND STILES TO YOU? IS THAT WHO I AM NOW? LIKE FROM COMFORT CHARACTER TO BECOMING HIM?

It’s like the yin to my yang.

I guess that’s why I like to read so much.

I’m alone a lot, and for the most part I don’t hate it- with my father’s Appalachian genetics I have realized that I am probably better equipped for that than most people. But I also recognize that isolation isn’t beneficial to me as a human, and sometimes I can feel it squeezing me from all sides, my social skills leaking away from the applied pressure. My lips dry out and glue themselves shut. When I’m reading a book I have another person’s voice with me for a week or so, and that can feel like a kind of warmth. As if I have a visitor.