Cigarette lit, cologne a little too strong, Emory leaned against the side of a tree just outside the other’s house. The other’s window. They weren’t aware of his presence outside, not even a text sent from the older male was sent. He simply     showed up. And after a couple of minutes of filling his lungs with cancerous nicotine and gazing at the almost full moon, he started to toss small pebbles up at the glass. Click, click, click click.


I don’t want an apology.
I don’t need the two pointless words
“I’m sorry”, to spill out of your mouth with little to no truth in them.
I want the recognition. I want you to know how the words you said to me sometimes still keep me up at night. Or how I still spend days trapped in my own bed wondering what I did so wrong for you to leave me the way that you did, even though I know in my heart that I was too good for you. I just loved you too much to walk away first.
I want you to know that I’m absolutely terrified to give someone the power to make me happy again. You proved to me so violently that happiness can be given to me on a silver platter with a pair of innocent eyes and soft hands to hold. But those eyes can turn a sad shade of grey and a hand that is calloused and refuses to be touched within what seems like a few days.
And before I can catch my breath and figure out what the fuck is going on, why your hands turned cold or why you stopped looking at me with love, it’s suddenly a Tuesday morning where I find myself gathering every piece of me from where I once called my home.
And suddenly it’s been 7 months since I walked out your door. It’s been 4 months since we’ve spoken. It’s been 2 days since I’ve made eye contact with you.
Time is a funny thing. Some people say time heals all wounds, or makes them painfully deeper. I can’t agree with either. 7 months ago I wanted an apology. Today, I don’t need or want that. I want it to hurt for you. Even if it’s just for a day, or a moment, I want you to look at the girl you once called the love of your life, and realize everything you could’ve had, everything you should’ve said, everything you let go,
And everything you lost.
—  I was always too good for you

Okay so you know that trope in fics where after Harry comes out, Ron asks him if he ever looked at him that way? Usually his response is relief but like, what if it wasn’t? What if it went like…

Ron: What do you mean you’ve never?
Harry: Well, you’re like my brother. It would be too weird.
Ron: Not even once?
Harry: Nope.
Ron: But you’ve thought about Malfoy?
Harry: Um, recently, yeah.
Ron: I’m gonna need a 20 inch essay on what Malfoy has that i don’t.
Harry: It’s not like that! Hermione, help me out here.
Ron: Is it the hair?
Hermione: I doubt that’s it, he used to like Ginny. Maybe it’s more about posture.
Harry: *hitting his head to the desk and groaning*
Ron: I’m taller than he is Harry and he’s a bit skinny to be honest. I have more bulk, you know? Wait, where are you going? I’m a bloody catch, come back!
Hermione, snickering: There there, Ronald. I know you are.

early soobernatural is so wild. sam and dean don’t have a goddamn clue what they’re doin. no subtlety. straight up askin cops about satanic rituals, interviewing grieving widows about flickering lights and weird smells, botchin up the made-up name of the made-up company they pretend work for. sam’s like 12 years old pretending to work for a gotdang insurance agency. dean doesn’t even know how to tie a tie. don’t even get me started when they meet other hunters and they’re like ??? there are Ot HE r hunters??? we aren’t the oN l y ones on earth?? these fucking morons what teh fuck