i wish people warned me on how pretty you are

she is a fragile thing that holds the wind in her ribcage and i am whale made human, blubber on the backside, fingers like a fry-up, chubby cheeks that jiggle when i walk fast - i say, hey, can you teach me to be like you where the bones of your body are proud and not hiding shy away under layers of mistakes - except i’m scared of her so somehow i end up stuttering, “you’re so pretty you know that right” and she bites her lip and says “i wish i had your curves, though.” thank you for lying but baby everybody likes a straight road, i’m more like switchback turns on the side of a mountain, all fear and warning sign, i’m the crash below and everybody’s thinking: thank god that’s not me. thank god i am healthy. i turned quickly enough. i’m not her with her heart heaving like a freight train or how she’s scared of strangers.

she says, “people are really changing, though. they’re so much more accepting of …..” she trails off, but i know. it’s the same bullshit i’ve seen at the bottom of every tumblr post. all this love that never seems to make it past the screen. all these skinny little waifs saying “omg how pretty” while they look down at my ruined body and think: thank god that isn’t me.

I wish you could give out a warning to people when something traumatic happens to you. Or if you’re going through a period of depression. Just let people know, have them be aware without judgment. Have them treat you pretty much the same, just with an understanding and awareness that you’re not yourself right now. A kindness. Support.

I wish I could tell people so that if I acted weird or uncharacteristic that they would know that’s not how I usually am. Give me a chance to show that once I’ve healed more. But not treat me like I’m broken. Not treat me as though what happened to me defines who I am, when it’s merely shaken things up for me, even if for a little while. That I will recover from it.

I just wish I could be honest. Without the stigma.

Half Blooded - Part 4.

Title: Half Blooded - Part 4.

Summary: You’re a hunter, doing your own thing solo. But there’s something special about you. You’re half human, half demon. But you have no intentions of letting anyone know, regardless of who you meet.

ANONYMOUS ASKED: I think you could do a story of Dean falling in love for a half human half demon girl?

Words: 2700 ish.

Characters: Sam, Dean x Reader, Dean x Reader eventually.

Warnings: Couple of swearwords, injecting blood? (idk if that’s a warning).

Author Notes: This one was a request *my first request* Hope you’re out there nonny and enjoy! Shoot me some feedback too it’s very much appreciated. I will be tagging a few people, if you do not wish to be tagged, let me know and I’ll stop!

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -

The Winchesters had managed to get you back to the bunker in one piece, which was a surprise considering how Dean was driving that night. That was just over a week ago and you had pretty much been bed bound ever since. Mostly because without the Demon blood you couldn’t do very much.

‘Hey sweetheart. How do you feel?’ Dean smiled as he walked into his room, that you had now both claimed as your own.

‘You know when you’re driving and a bug hits your wind-shield?’ You begin, Dean cocks his eyebrow at you and hums, waiting for you to finish, ‘I’m the bug.’ You smile.

Dean chuckles at you. ‘I’m sorry that there isn’t much more we can do right now than painkillers and booze.’ He says sympathetically.

‘Films and a cuddle would definitely help.’ You grin up at dean through your lashes, who is already looking down at you. He kisses you gently on the forehead and jumps up from the bed.

‘You get comfy, I’ll grab us some snacks and a film and we can cuddle all night sweetheart.’ He smiles as he leaves the room.

Turns out dean was pretty tired, about half way through the second film he fell asleep, snoring peacefully next to you, but you couldn’t sleep. The only thing on your mind was how you could get this demon blood. You had an idea. A long shot but still an idea. You peel yourself from the warm grasp of Dean’s arms and scoot off the bed, giving your noisy crutches a miss you decide to hobble to the dungeon.

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