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lionheartslowstart · 8 months ago

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Baby Reindeer

Last night, I finished watching the docu-series Baby Reindeer. Wow, just wow. Let me tell you, that series is not for the faint of heart.

I am fascinated by true crime. If I wasn't an actor, I would have become a criminal psychologist. Psychology, especially that of criminals, has always been riveting to me. While that is what initially drew my attention to Baby Reindeer, I found myself getting drawn in further and further because, well, I had a stalker once, too.

I want to preface this entry by saying that Richard Gadd had it WAY worse than I ever did. For starters, my stalker was primarily an internet stalker. As far as I am aware, she never showed up physically to anywhere I was, or followed me around. Though it is entirely possible that she did and I didn't know, or that it would have gotten to that point if she had stalked me for a longer period of time. On that note, the person who cyber-stalked me only did so for about a month. I cannot even begin to understand what it must have felt like to have someone stalk you to that degree for a full year and a half. Although, based solely on my own experience of cyber-stalking, I can imagine how traumatizing it must have been. I also firmly believe my stalker would have continued, if she hadn't discovered I was trying to serve her with a court summons. Additionally, the woman who cyber-stalked me, whom I will henceforth refer to as "Anna," was a friend at one point in time. I had (mistakenly) trusted her and cared for her at one point in my life. Whereas Richard Gadd's stalker was a relative stranger, which I'm sure added to the fear he must have experienced, not really knowing of what she might be capable.

Still, despite these vast differences in our experiences, I cannot help but notice some interesting overlap.

For starters, I was always amazed, albeit irritated, by Anna's ability to only absorb one out of every five things I said. Whether it was a word, a phrase, or even a couple of sentences, it always seemed like Anna only heard (or read) a chunk of whatever I said to her, both during our friendship and after. I would send paragraphs upon paragraphs explaining what she had done wrong, or explaining why I didn't want her in my life, yet she would only respond to one or two things, and ignore anything she didn't want to hear, or couldn't twist to her own narrative. And of course, no matter how many times I told her to leave me alone, that I didn't want to hear from her, that I didn't want any contact with her, she acted like she never heard it.

Also, like "Martha," Anna would flip-flop between telling me how much she loved me and cursing me out. One moment she would beg and tell me she would do anything for me to forgive her, the next she would tell me she hoped my mom died. One moment she would tell me she would always love me now and forever, whether I believed her or not, the next she would post how she was going to off herself and it was all my fault. She spread rumors about me, tried to ruin my other relationships, and said just the most vile, horrific stuff to me, went out of her way to trigger my PTSD and give me flashbacks, all while crying about how I had ruined her life and insisting that she loved me. Etcetera, etcetera. Just perpetual whiplash. Honestly, it's hard for me to believe it was only a month, considering how much she did in that short amount of time. I have SEVEN manila envelopes bursting with screenshots and notes about everything that happened in just those four weeks.

Additionally, Anna somehow perfectly rode the line between unhinged and shockingly calculated. In Baby Reindeer, Richard Gadd paints a picture of this deranged woman who became obsessed with him and seemed incapable of logical thought or reason. And yet, she clearly had more awareness than one might think, considering she seemed to know just how to avoid getting caught. She must have known what she was doing was wrong, at least on some level, especially considering she had been arrested in the past for the same behavior. So Anna too was more slippery than I would have liked. The PI my parents had hired wasn't able to find her without my help, and even then, Anna knew what she was walking into. I think she only agreed to meet with me because she couldn't resist the idea of getting to see me in person again. I knew her obsession with me was also her weakness. But even with her strange level of self-awareness, ability to fly under the radar, and unknown ways to creep on my private social media accounts, Anna was...unbalanced. Her messages were erratic, with an almost crazed, desperation to them. Whether it was desperation to hurt me, or to attempt to "force" me to forgive her. Every message and every post rang with a frenzy that I can't quite put into words. But I can say that I saw the same frenzy in "Martha" in Baby Reindeer.

And the anxiety. Hoo boy can I relate to the anxiety. Every time my phone vibrated I got a panic attack. It got to the point where I stopped answering the phone altogether. For that month, Anna was my whole life. (Which I'm sure is exactly what she wanted.) When I wasn't reading the horrible things she said to me or about me, I was thinking about her, worrying about what she'd do or say next, wondering how long it would be before she actually showed up somewhere, wondering why I hadn't heard from her yet that day. And even when I wasn't busy doing those things, I was busy compiling evidence for court.

Speaking of court, while "Martha" had actually faced legal consequences in the past for another case of stalking, Anna, to my knowledge, has not. That said, Anna, like "Martha," does have a history of stalking. She harassed an ex for several months, much longer than she did me, and she even dragged me along on a "date" to where her ex worked so she could spy on her. (I immensely regret enabling her that night. I was young and naive and she was my friend at the time. At that point I had no idea Anna had a history of stalking her.) Because of that history, and because she had previously followed her ex on more than one occasion, I do believe that it may very well have escalated to that point if Anna had continued stalking me.

Do I think Anna would have attacked me or one of my loved ones? No. That said, "Martha" seemed harmless enough, didn't she? I think most people wouldn't see her as a threat. With Anna, many of my loved ones were concerned with the same thing. And when I would say, "I've known this woman for almost four years, I don't think she would resort to physical violence," I was always met with some variation of: "But Sophie, clearly you never really knew her if you didn't know she was capable of THIS. So how do you know she isn't capable of violence?" Which, let's be honest, is a valid point.

One thing I loved about Baby Reindeer was Richard Gadd's brutal honesty about the part he played. While, of course, "Martha's" stalking was not Richard Gadd's fault, he does admit that he was not the perfect victim, and in some cases even encouraged her, or at the very least made unwise choices. Was I the perfect victim? No. I wouldn't say that I egged Anna on by any means, but there were better choices I could have made, both during my friendship with Anna and after. So I can also relate to the experience of wondering if things could have been different. If there was maybe something I could have done to prevent the harassment? It's difficult to not blame yourself when things like this happen, even when you know on a logical level that it's not your fault. (Though, I do maintain that no matter how I ended my friendship with her, the result would have been the same.)

In the beginning, I admit, I allowed her to get in my head and make me angry enough to respond to her. Luckily, my lawyer quickly advised me to stop engaging her and to just say "Stop contacting me." But honestly, I wish I hadn't done that either. I should have just ignored her completely. If I could go back, I wouldn't have engaged with her at all. I would have just sat back and let her cyber-stalk and harass me to her heart's content, instead of responding at all. It left me feeling emotionally drained, and I do think, in some sick, twisted way, me even just repeatedly messaging "stop contacting me" was all the validation she needed to keep going. Maybe if I hadn't responded at all, she would have gotten bored. I don't know. Bottom line, there were better choices I could have made. Whether those choices would have made any real difference, I can't be sure.

Most importantly though, I relate to Richard Gadd's admitted obsession with "Martha." I mean, let's be honest here. She stalked him back in 2014, and in the ten years since, he wrote a play, and a Netflix docu-series about it. I don't say that to judge him at all. I understand. Going through something like that changes you. To reiterate, my experience was VERY different to Richard Gadd's, and I'm not at all trying to compare the severity of his case to mine. I'm just noting the similarities, the things I can relate to, the moments I sat up in my seat and went, "huh." And when Richard Gadd said "did I miss her?" I had an involuntary moment of self-reflection.

Do I miss her?

And the horrible, horrible answer is, yes. Even though it was only a month of anxiety, panic, dread, and adrenaline, that month became my new normal. The self-righteous anger particularly became addictive to me. To the point where I agreed to meet up with her so she could "explain herself," and even allowed her to message me on Tumblr once in a while. I told myself it was to keep the peace, so that she wouldn't go on a cyber-stalking rampage again. And I maintain that that was 100% true, but I'd be lying if I said it was the only reason. The sad fact is, I relished in the opportunity to get angry with her. Almost like I was getting to make up for, not just the cyber-stalking, but the hell she put me through when we were friends. (She was not a good friend, y'all.) But especially the betrayal of everything she did during that month. It fueled a fire in me I don't know I'll be able to ever put out.

A couple of months ago, I finally put the kibosh on any contact with her at all. She had the audacity to ask me to get lunch with her, to "catch up" and I knew I had to burn it all down then and there. The fact that she would think that was an acceptable thing to do, after not only everything she put me through in only four weeks, but after I repeatedly reiterated to her that our contact was not ever going to leave this website, astonished me. Then again, she was CLEARLY never good with boundaries in the first place, so I shouldn't have been too surprised. In that moment, I knew that I had to completely sever all ties. That it was not healthy for me to have any form of contact with her, to give her any sort of leeway, lest it give her a shred of hope that we could be friends, or worse, that I might accidentally let slip something personal that she could later use against me, as she is clearly wont to do.

Despite this, I still think about her. I wonder which of my social media accounts she has looked at today, despite the fact that I have her blocked on everything. (And yes, I am 100% sure that she is still looking at my accounts, though most likely not every day.) I think about the comment she left on a YouTube video I was in, but hastily deleted when she realized I was responding to the comments. I think about all the things I want to say to her, knowing they would only fall on deaf ears, and all I would be doing is giving her the satisfaction of interacting with her. Even now, as I type this, I know with certainty that she is reading it, smirking over my admission, and equally upset at the comparison drawn between her and "Martha." But despite this knowledge, the knowledge that me even writing this is giving her some sort of weird satisfaction, I must be honest. Honesty is the first step to healing and closure. And that is what I want.

Above all else, I think the thing I obsess about the most is the same reason I started to watch Baby Reindeer in the first place...Why? Why did Anna do this? What sickness makes a person capable of doing something like that to another human being? Whether it's a complete stranger, or someone you've been friends with for years. What kind of psyche results in this kind of person, who does and says these kinds of things? There is an insatiable curiosity in me, one I know I will never be able to satisfy. There are so many questions that will never be answered, so many things I want to shout at her, to metaphorically shake her and scream "Why don't you understand this?!" But at the end of the day, there would never be a point. She would never understand, never be able to leave the bubble reality that she has created for herself, and never fully take accountability for all she did without somehow finding a way to blame me for it. After all, like my boyfriend says, "Logic does not work with illogical people."

Considering how much worse Richard Gadd had it than me, do I think it will take me 10+ years to move on? Probably not. But honestly? I don't know. The depths Anna sunk to, the things she said and did, I can't fathom a time when I will no longer dwell on the anger, to suddenly want to yell at her, to tell her all the things I think and feel and to MAKE her see how absolutely unhinged she is. And I know that's exactly what she wants. She wants to make an imprint on my mind, for me to never forget her, and to be as obsessed with her as she is with me. Unfortunately, so far it seems she's gotten exactly what she wanted. Well, except for one thing, and arguably the most important thing. Me. She will never have me in her life ever again, and despite whatever vitriol she may have spewed about me, I know that's what she really wants. But even typing this, and feeling this icky form of pride, I know that's unhealthy. To think of her this way. I long for a day when I can think of her with indifference. Or better yet, when I don't think of her at all.

I hope it comes one day. In the meantime, at least there's therapy.

#stalker #stalked #cyberstalking #personal #true crime

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sewergirls · 2 years ago

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i’m happy you have someone that understands what it’s like! it really does help with the emotional weight of unlearning stuff. my face is super dry because i spend 40 hours a week getting misted with coolant that is defatting to the skin if you allow it to absorb so i have to wash myself really thoroughly, which means that even if i drink a lot of water and moisturize im still walking around looking perpetually sunburnt. it used to really bother me because people would point out my dry skin thinking i just had food on my face but my husband was the first person ever to just hold my cheeks in his hands and tell me how soft i was <3 cri

i can laugh about it tho bc in like 30 years you’ll probably see me on TV doing commercials telling people they might be entitled to financial compensation lmao.

Oh hell yeah, having someone who understands and doesn't make you feel insecure about it is a complete gamechanger. I feel like I don't even notice the state of other people's skin anymore unless it's severe (and even then, I don't know what's going on so it's not my place to give unsolicited advice they've probably already tried). I find it so easy to not care about how anyone's skin looks anymore because I no longer care how other people view mine.

I have chronically dry skin too (I have psoriasis that intermittently manifests everywhere including my face, ears, and scalp) so I know how it feels a little bit. Maybe not to that extent, but I've definitely had the whole "there's something on your fa.... oh that's just dry skin" thing happen before. Mine tends to get bad around my nostrils so people usually assume I have a cold (good day) or fungal infection (bad day) because of the redness. It used to be such a blow to me to hear that I looked sick or contagious all the time, but it's crazy how having actual support and acceptance stops that from mattering quite so much. Being in a stable, reliable relationship changed my life drastically for the better. Skin conditions are something that can be so personal.. <3

Also that's terrifying wow! I can't imagine getting defatted all day, I feel like I get exposed to some pretty wacky stuff but that's intense!

#asks

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thegodwithin · 3 years ago

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hi! im kind of new to law of assumption and old to law of attraction. law of assumption is not a hard concept but im a bit confused. i find myself reacting to the 3D too much and like i find it hard to persist? what do i do to make persisting easier? i think it’s because i don’t know much about what im getting into?? all i know is affirm and persist and etc. i hear things like time is an illusion, the 3D is an illusion, circumstances don’t matter, we are all gods of our reality. but WHERES the proof?? i can’t blindly follow people’s success stories because im not them and if we are truly the gods of our realities, doesn’t that mean someone else can manifest failure in mine? like i want to use law of assumption and i want to believe to get what I want fast and easily BUT i want to know how it works and that im not following a delusion to make myself feel better and in the end, I am just left with disappointment and failed attempts at manifesting that left me with the consequences of my actions. ive been in the community for almost 2 years and i don’t think ive ever gotten results. i am not usually agitated but it’s exhausting. i affirm and persist and nothing shows up and im worried im doing it all wrong so i ask and now I’m even affirming wrong?? I know manifestation is supposed to be easy and not feel like a chore but how can it not when everything I desire is of so much importance to me. I can even dm you, just please help me so I can actually manifest what I want. I’ve done self concept but I keep breaking. I don’t even know what affirmations to use to combat my limiting beliefs. Tbh I’m tired. I feel like if someone explained to me how this works and how to do it with no mistakes and how to keep faith in the unseen, I could actually get what I want. I keep failing and failing because I affirm and persist but I affirm wrong or I have a limiting belief that hasn’t been uncovered yet. I’m so exhausted and I just want to get what I want. I just feel like if someone told me how it works and exactly what to do, I wouldn’t be so confused and find it hard to persist.

Hey, so I just want to say that I really understand you. It’s funny how as I read your ask for the first time it really stood out to me how it was reflecting my current state at that moment so thank you for sending it. I will try my best to answer your questions but I'm still figuring this stuff out myself so I'm also just going to recommend some material that should help. I’ll put all the links at the end of the reply.

I have broken up your ask into several different topics and I’ll be addressing each one separately so please bear with me here.

This is the longest reply I've ever written so the rest is under the cut

law of assumption is not a hard concept but im a bit confused.

i think it’s because i don’t know much about what im getting into?? all i know is affirm and persist and etc.

I just feel like if someone told me how it works and exactly what to do, I wouldn’t be so confused and find it hard to persist.

The first and most important thing I want to say to you is that you should really learn from the source material, which as far as I’m concerned here is Neville Goddard. I know there are other teachers like him but he’s the main source most blogs and youtubers make their content from. And frankly a lot of posts on tumblr seem to really simplify and reduce things to the point where you get to this idea that it’s all just affirming and persisting which I really can’t agree with. That’s a conclusion one can reach after learning this stuff, processing it, experimenting with it and realizing what works best for them. But there are certainly other factors involved in the process, whether the person was aware of them or not. This also goes for youtubers and coaches in general. All these people are speaking based on their own experiences with the law. Through the lenses of their own beliefs, limitations, etc. So it’s only natural that they will sound different from each other and their message and style might not resonate with every person in the same way. Which is why you’re not supposed to just accept everything you hear or read at face value. Apply it, experiment with it and make your own conclusions.

like i want to use law of assumption and i want to believe to get what I want fast and easily BUT i want to know how it works and that im not following a delusion to make myself feel better and in the end, I am just left with disappointment and failed attempts at manifesting that left me with the consequences of my actions. ive been in the community for almost 2 years and i don’t think ive ever gotten results.

Most of us come into contact with the law from a negative situation and looking for a quick fix, and what we end up finding is a whole lot more than we ever bargained for. These teachings challenge everything we have ever known and accepted as absolute unchangeable truths in the world. And we are also dared to accept the responsibility that we were the cause of our entire lives?! It’s a lot to take in. You can’t be one foot in and one foot out. You’re trying to manifest something but you’re not seeing results. If you’re looking for results then you weren’t truly committed to living in the end and you haven’t really changed. You must notice the change within first, before the outside world can reflect that. You just give yourself what you want in your mind, and you keep doing it, day in and day out, with complete disregard for what your outer senses are telling you, until it hardens into a fact.

i find myself reacting to the 3D too much and like i find it hard to persist? what do i do to make persisting easier?

Battling with the 3d can certainly be painful and it just turns into a vicious cycle, because the more attention you pay to something, the more it gets perpetuated in your reality and in your experiences. I’ll be honest with you, sometimes I struggle with this as well. If anything, at least remember to prioritize your feelings at every given moment. If you notice that you’re feeling bad / reacting negatively to the 3d, stop and ask yourself: what do I want? or what do I want to feel?

Usually when I do that my mind automatically shows me the answer and then if I can enter the reality (within me, in my mind with my thoughts and feelings) where those things are true, suddenly that circumstance I was just reacting to doesn’t matter anymore. Because I feel fulfilled within now.

Just start allowing yourself to have what you want, no matter what. Practice putting yourself first, before anything else, before the circumstances around you, before what others might say or do. Even if the 3d looks bad right now, you deserve to feel what you want, you don’t have to keep putting yourself down because you haven’t seen an outside change yet. And the truth is that you won’t see a change if you keep watching the 3d and taking score from it. Because it can only change after you do. Because it’s a reflection of you. Allow yourself to feel that relief and satisfaction, in your imagination, everyday. Make it a habit and little by little you will have changed your mindset, entering a new reality.

Everything in your 3d world is an illusion in the sense that it’s not the truth. And this is because everything that you experience with your senses, in your 3d world is a direct reflection of you. You are everything, and you are everywhere you go and every person you meet. You can only ever experience yourself, nothing else. Nothing exists outside of you. Everything begins and ends with you.

and if we are truly the gods of our realities, doesn’t that mean someone else can manifest failure in mine?

You are God of your own reality. There’s only you in your reality. Nothing else and no one else. So everything and everyone that shows up is under your influence. IN YOUR REALITY. You can’t really access other people’s realities or inner worlds, and likewise they can’t reach yours. Even what you perceive as things outside of you pertaining to other people’s lives and experiences are still coming in through your own lenses, of the concept you have of that person, of the expectations and beliefs you have about them. This is why you shouldn’t bother with anything but yourself. Because it’s a waste of energy. Because everything you will ever perceive will come through you first. You can’t experience anything but yourself, your beliefs and your expectations. If you believe others can influence your reality then you are living from fear and you are giving your power away.

i hear things like time is an illusion, the 3D is an illusion, circumstances don’t matter, we are all gods of our reality. but WHERES the proof??

Instead of trying to manifest things in order to “see proof”, just let things happen and watch yourself during the process. Start really paying attention to what you’re thinking and feeling on a daily basis. Notice that your thoughts and reactions come from a certain state of being. Notice how people act in ways that you expect them to, because “that’s just how they are”.No, it’s because that’s the concept you hold of them in your reality, and they treat you according to the concept you hold of yourself. By doing this you will start to realize the connection between what has shown up in your life so far, and the person you were identifying with within. And when I say identifying with, I don’t mean something like an affirmation such as “I’m confident”. Your identification and basically your self concept comes from your perspective, the way you see things, the way you react to things and the way you act, the thoughts you have and what you accept as true. Those will show you who you really are.

i can’t blindly follow people’s success stories because im not them

The thing with success stories is that as much as they can be motivational, the process and the factors are always the same. They succeeded because they managed to change their mindset, they entered a new reality (within), they changed their dwelling place (the state of being they return to the most) and their outer reality simply reflected that change. Their circumstances are irrelevant and the only thing setting them apart is the techniques they used and how long it took for them to actually shift their mindset and accept the new reality they wanted. Techniques are not really that relevant because they only serve to aid you into moving states. So at this point it’s really just about what works best for you.

i affirm and persist and nothing shows up and im worried im doing it all wrong so i ask and now I’m even affirming wrong??

There’s no such thing as affirming wrong. And please take affirming off the pedestal. It’s just a technique and you don’t need to use it if it’s troubling you. Affirmations are just thoughts you would be having if you were living in the end. So their purpose is only to help make you feel like you are living in the wish fulfilled. There’s no point in affirming all day long if you keep feeling like you’re in the same old shitty reality. Again it’s the same thing I’ve been saying before. You can’t affirm for two opposite things at the same time and get the result you want. Use affirmations as much as you like but watch yourself for the rest of the time.

The reason this isn’t a trying process is because you’re not attempting to do anything to get something. You are simply being in a different way. You are changing your mind, changing your thoughts, choosing better feelings. This is a lifestyle change. If you accept the law, your entire perception changes. Nothing is ever the same as it used to be. This can be a hard pill to swallow but at some point you gotta be honest with yourself. There is no trying. There is only doing and there is only being.

i am not usually agitated but it’s exhausting.

I’m so exhausted and I just want to get what I want

You’re exhausted because you keep going back and forth between what you want and what has shown up. You need to pick one side and stick to it. You need to dive so deep into the feeling of what you want to the point where thinking the opposite feels unnatural. I know you don’t wanna hear this but thinking you’re doing something wrong really is also getting in your way. Think about it this way: you’re in the end goal, you’re there, it’s done, you got it. Would you be thinking about ANY of this stuff if that was the case? Would you be doubting and having all these fears and looking around everyday to make sure it’s still there? We both know you wouldn’t.

You just can’t have it and wonder where it is at the same time. You have to stick to the end goal and reject anything that contradicts that.

I know manifestation is supposed to be easy and not feel like a chore but how can it not when everything I desire is of so much importance to me

People say manifesting is easy and fun because you’re just supposed to satisfy yourself within by giving yourself what you want. If it feels like a chore then you're not giving yourself what you really want. You are focusing on what you think you should be doing and you are also keeping yourself hostage to your unwanted circumstances. If your desires are so important to you then stop putting conditions on them, stop looking for excuses to deny yourself of them. Get drunk in the feeling and the knowing of their fulfilment. Let go of all the doubts and fears, turn your back on your senses telling you it’s not here yet. Be stubborn and stop taking no for an answer.

You’re coming from a place of: I have all these unwanted circumstances and I want to have xyz instead, but no matter what I do, things aren't changing.

If you had xyz by now, would you still be repeating the unwanted circumstances in your head? Would you be thinking about them? Would you be reacting to them? Would you be identifying with this version of yourself that can’t get what you want?

No! You would be living your life, doing the things you enjoy, your duties and responsibilities, resting in the knowledge that you got that desire. It’s a reality now. It’s part of your life. You’d be living from that perspective.

You're keeping the unwanted stuff in place by reaffirming them, by looking at it everyday and going “yep, still here!”, you’re still accepting it as true for you. You can’t keep your attention on something without getting more of it. You need to die to the unwanted reality. Never to be seen again.

I’ve done self concept but I keep breaking.

Self concept is not a technique that you do once a day. Self concept is who you are. It’s how you behave and what you think all the time, every day, all day. It's what you believe and accept as true for you in all aspects. I think this community has been breaking up the law into bits and pieces, as if there are all these separate factors and steps you need to take, and it’s done more damage than good because it’s actually literally all the same thing, it’s all connected. Once you change through the means of one aspect, the other aspects change automatically. Self concept, mental diet, states, it’s all connected, they all lead to the same destination, you. Neville uses these terms interchangeably, to get his point across in the best way he sees fit at that moment, but he’s always talking about the same thing. So bottomline is that if you “keep breaking”, then you’re still in the process of change, you’re going from one state to the other, from unwanted to wanted. Back and forth. You’re still falling for the illusion of the 3d world and you’re still feeling the pull of your old story. You need to take a stand and decide that enough is enough. No longer accept what you don’t want. You’re the only one making the choice here. No one is forcing you to stay in the unwanted mindset but your own habits and comfort zone.

I don’t even know what affirmations to use to combat my limiting beliefs. Tbh I’m tired. I keep failing and failing because I affirm and persist but I affirm wrong or I have a limiting belief that hasn’t been uncovered yet.

Look, there’s nothing to combat here. There’s no war going on. It’s all just you. You don’t have any blocks or limiting beliefs you need to overpower. This isn’t a good perspective to hold. You ARE the power. I fought these types of statements for a long time but I can understand it now. You need to stop focusing on limiting beliefs or blocks. Stop thinking AND believing that you have problems that are getting in your way and that you need to overcome them. By holding this perspective, you’re only going to create more problems to overcome. Remember what I’ve been saying that you’re in the end now? Are there any blocks in the end? When the wish is fulfilled? I don’t think so and neither do you! I want you to take the challenge to declare to yourself that you no longer have any limitations. It’s all gone! You’re free now! I want you to wake up everyday and before you get out of bed, you remind yourself that hey, all that stuff is gone now! Nothing to worry about anymore! How good is that?!

I feel like if someone explained to me how this works and how to do it with no mistakes and how to keep faith in the unseen, I could actually get what I want.

You keep the faith in the unseen by believing and trusting in yourself. If you accept that you can do anything, that you deserve what you want, that you are the operant power and that everything is coming FROM you, then you know all you need is yourself. Idk it truly is a leap of faith, you need to make a choice. Do you want to live by what is outside of you, or by what’s within you? If you accept the law as true, then you have no choice but to start living by what’s within you. If you’re still sitting there thinking that your world is ruled by the circumstances outside of you then you don’t believe a tiny bit in any of this stuff. You’re truly wasting your time if you hold that perspective in place.

Okay I hope this whole essay I spent hours on helps! Now let’s get you those recs!

You can read most if not all of Neville's work for free here: https://realneville.com/

These are my current favorite Neville Based Teachers:

I am Love / Feeling Twisty (he's also on apple podcasts and spotify I believe)

Here's my own personal playlist of Neville based videos on youtube

There's a LOT of good stuff on reddit tbh, here's pretty much everything I have saved from there:

(ps.: it's good to check the comments on reddit posts because there's usually discussions happening and you can find some good pointers)

EdwardArtSupplyHands Series / Quote

ALLISMIND:

Feelings are your power

How thoughts and beliefs become reality

Overthinking

Superman's way of life

Thinking positive

Living from the Law

There's no reality

You don't believe in the Law

Nothing will change your mind

(ps.: he has A LOT of content, these are just the few I looked into)

Other posts:

Change your mind

It's Real. Success Story

Decide what you want

Self concept and personality

Self concept and self love

Letting go of control

Don't rationalize it

The state of the wish fulfilled

Checkmate 3D

Planting the seeds

Don't react

Faith and Knowledge

Slacker Manifesting

Persistence assumption

Don't complicate it

All you need is reassurance

Brazen Impudence

Manifesting is easy

Practical guide

Why circumstances don't matter

Commit to your desire

Ignore the Outside

Clarifying the Law for beginners

(ps.: These aren't 100% accurate tittles, just based on the actual tittles)

#law of assumption #neville goddard #answered asks #o #tag

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withoneheadlight · 3 years ago

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ok i saw this cap of zoë kravitz in hf and she's got such a dreamy expression, she looks so deeply self-absorbed and infatuated by whatever she's imagining and those lines. and i couldn't stop picturing billy exactly like that for days so,

There’s a pretty unusual sound coming off the house when Max comes back home, that summer afternoon.

Full volume. Walls shaking. And she quietly walks to the source of the sound, holding back her breath right in front of Billy's room because, there's this second sound? Stranger and way more unsettling and Max's not sure-sure at first but then Steve Perry’s voice takes off and Billy’s follows it and then he's like, singing along and. Well. Max did know Billy liked Journey but not like, their 'stuff for pussies' but uhm, he does, apparently. Rasps his voice all the way through ‘Faithfully’. Kind of, sighs. Longingly? When it ends? But pfff, ok, big brothers are weird. Definitely weirder after being possessed and then kind of resurrected. Even if it's in a good-weird way but, whatever. So Max's just about to sneak to her room, dutifully rolling her eyes, steps muffled by the first chords of 'Edge of the blade' when―

Click. Click. Billy stops the tape. Click. Takes it out. Tap. Tap. Click. Puts on― Billy puts. On,

Heaven.

Bryan Adams’ Heaven.

And Max―

Being a younger sister is a meticulous kind of full-time, private detective job. You gotta learn how the person you’ve been watching so carefully for years and years works. Hafta develop some sort of―sense about your target. And Billy’s been—un-Billy-like? These past two months. Smiling more. Telling more jokes. Playing ‘You shook me all night long’ in a loop on their drive to school and back, not complaining at all but even joining when’s Max who can’t help but sing along so.

So. She retraces her steps. Knocks. Takes the distracted grunt she gets as a ‘Yeahyeah, c’mon in c’mon in’ and,

Creak. Creak. ‘―baby you’re all that I want’

“Billy?”

Billy’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. Radio close to his knees. Cassettes scattered everywhere. Piles and piles of breakwater surrounding Billy’s old, rusty beacon of sound. He’s reading through the song-list of one of the tapes, a smoke locked on the corner of his mouth, bouncing up and down with every little, absent suck he takes, and he looks. He looks―

Self-absorbed and even. Relaxed. Happy. Like whatever he’s thinking about right now is actually carrying his thoughts away to fucking heaven.

“Ehh”

“Uh-hu?”

‘When you’re lying here in my arms!’

“Billy are you. What―” ‘I'm findin' it hard to believe. We're in heaven’ “What are you doing?”

But there’s this orbit around the sun and then there’s whatever one Billy's been spinning along with the last couple of months so he completely ignores her question. Shakes the tape on his left hand. Picks another one from the pile on his right. Asks her.

“Is Billy Ocean too much? ‘Cause I think it’s too much. But it kind of fits into what I'm trying to say so” he says, shrugs, looking up at Max and waiting for the answer of what she realizes was not really a question. Not at all. So she does her little sister job and just, nods “Right. That’s good. I think it’ll slide just nicely into Bruce Springsteen and―”

“Billy” Max insists, waiting for the charm of the third time to work. It doesn’t. Not really. But keeps Billy's eyes on her long enough to squeeze an “A mixtape?” And, uh. That’s what gets it on. The charm “Are you making a mixtape?”

“Uh?”

And it’s like Max just shook Billy out of a daydream. Ash plopping down from his cigarette as his lips try but can’t purse and Max― she’s good. She’s stellar at this detective thing. Recognizes an opening the moment she sees it, right there in front of her, frozen in the middle of shaking Billy Ocean and Bruce Springsteen in the air right before cocktailing them together. Shaken, not stirred, please. Max’s upgraded to James Bond-level just right now.

“You’re making a mixtape for someone”

“Oh-nonoMaxi―”

“But you didn’t have those tapes before. Not even in your secret stash”

“How do yo―?”

“Holy. ShIT. You’ve been listening to somebody else’s music” This is. Oh, God. This. Is. GOLD. Max gotta take a moment. Blink. Breathe. Process. Her hands move by themselves, palms spread toward Billy in a wait-a-minute kind of gesture except. Max’s gonna need way more than a minute for this “You’ve accepted a music recommendation”

“Maaaaax”

“Gosh, you’ve even listened to the tapes enough to. Make―”

“Max!”

“I just can’t believe it”

And Max was glad. Well. As glad as one can be. Bunch weeks ago. Her mom and Neil out for the day. Coming back home a little earlier than she usually does to hear those ugh. Those other noises. Happy screams. Again. After months and months of Billy being basically alone except for her and the party and Steve. And Max’s so glad, of course she is. But she’s also a little sister. And all this investigation work has a high, rightful purpose.

Make her big brother’s life a living. Hell.

“Oh my god, you must be so gone!” Max brings her hands to her mouth. Takes a deep, deep breath that’s more a poorly restrained giggle. Shoots her index at him “Is it Bon Jovi? What I’m seeing right there? Goddam, Billy are you in lo―”

Bam.

Bam. Bam!

The front door.

What a way to spoil the fun. Max doesn’t have time for this. She’s working.

“BILLY?” comes a voice from the other side “Billy are you in there?”

Steve.

Oh.

What a way to make the fun a hundred times better.

Bam.Bam.Bam!

She’s starting to move to get to the door, sinsonging “Well, I guess Steve’s gonna find out you’re so stupid in love you’re willingly listening to―” when she realizes Billy’s eyes have widened and he’s jerkingly trying to unfreeze, he’s mumbling something in around his already extinguished cigarette in the ways of “Can’t” and “Find out” and “Surprise” and “Fucking help me!” While literally trying to shove the huge mass of tapes under his bed, his tone like hurryhurryhurry!, like he would start gagging and throwing his lungs out at any given minute, so nervous he looks.

So Max doesn’t go for the door. Yet. She basks in the enjoyment.

“Oh, is it a secret romance or something?” She sighs happily, leaning against the doorframe instead. “‘Cause you look pretty worried”

Steve’s banging the door now, voice wavering a little as he asks-shouts “Billy? Billy answer me! Hey, bab―Are you ok?”

“Max, please” Billy begs. Begs. Crawling over to where a Madonna’s Like a virgin is laying with the tape looping slightly out “He really can’t find out”

“What? That you’re in lo-o-oh-oh-OH―”

Billy stops at the tone, right there on his knees. Spits his forgotten cig to the side. And in the instant it seems to take him to make up his mind they both can hear Steve shout “Ok. I know you’re in there!. I’m coming in now!!”

“Fuck! Yeah. I am. Ok?” he looks like he just realized he’s tripped. Blushes. “Making it, I mean”

BAM!

And Ohhhhhhh.

Zero-fucking-zero-fucking-seven.

“Steve,” Max gasps. Because. Hear it makes it like. Easier. To process “You. And Steve”

B A M!

“Yeah, Max, Yeah. And this is a fucking surprise and he’s gonna―”

‘I've been waitin' for so long. For somethin' to arrive. For love to come along’

Ok. Oh. Okok.

“Door!” Max hastens him.

“What?”

“You. Door. Run!” She commands, and Billy― sometimes Max can’t honestly understand how he's got the grades he's got, because Billy blinks, looks clueless “C’mon slow ass. Hurry! I’ll hide all this shit”

And Billy finally gets it. Nods. Slow. Then fast. Stumbles up. Literally runs, to get to the door.

Max still gets to hear his labored “Fuck, pretty boy. “That was really hardcore of you. That's how bad you wanted to see me?” And Steve's own breathless “Really?” Before pushing Billy's room door close with her back, and kneeling on the floor to check for stray, incriminating cassettes.

Pretty boy. Maybe Max isn't as clever as she thought she is. Or hasn’t been doing her job right, clearly.

It's when she’s making ‘It’s a kind of magic’ disappear into the rest of the pile that she lays eyes on it. The case. The J-card written almost all the way down to the B-side already. A mixture of songs Billy's heard so many times there are parts where his tapes screech, and others she'd bet her life he wouldn’t have deigned to listen to. Not ever. Definitely not because―no, for, somebody. Bowie and Cher and Cindy Lauper and Bob Seger right next to Metallica and Guns n' Roses and Meatloaf and― there. There. Almost hidden in the back of the spine. A note. A tiny, thin-lettered thing Max really, really shouldn't be reading but―

‘Thanks for driving me back.

Love. Billy’

But. That's what little sisters do too, she guesses. Intrude. Annoy. Snoop. Feel this sudden rush of relief. Of happiness. When Billy laughs softly, on the other side of the door. When Steve laughs back. Maybe a tear. Or two. But just maybe. She’s really good at this little sister thing, after all.

Hopes for stellar.

or: that post s3 where steve lets a camaro-less billy drive him around in his own car "really? again, hargrove?" almost every single day, for months, after he comes back, because "you’re gonna perpetually stick yourself to my ass at least let me do the one thing that frikin’ calms me down" which results in steve resigning himself to deejaying in the shotgun even if "jesus, what's that shit, harrington?" "my car, my rules, sweetheart" which results in billy developing a ‘songs steve harrington is in love with’ mental playlist, realizing he’s probably a little bit in love with the way he loves them and, possibly, a little much love with steve and then stealing steve's tapes one day and,

making a mixtape about it.

(the first of a whole lot, of love letters)

#harringrove #d+mb sh+t i write #but #i had fun!#writing max bc she's my fav <3<3<#and also #dumbstrucklovestruck billy? MY FAV TKVM #also #mixtaping IS an art #xharringrove

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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The Hitchhiker - Chapter 1/4

Picking up a hitchhiker isn't exactly the dumbest thing Kurt has ever done, but it's not exactly the smartest either. When he comes across Blaine Anderson caught in a sudden downpour, he can't just leave him on the corner to drown... can he? (1756 words)

Read on AO3.

“Excuse me? Sir? Do you need a ride?”

Kurt flashes as confident and honest a smile as he can to the man standing on the side of the road. But the second those words leave his mouth, he hears his father’s voice in his head yelling: “Kurt Hummel! What the hell are you doing? Picking up a hitchhiker? Are you out of your mind!?”

And Kurt has to admit, the voice is right.

There is a fifty-fifty chance that this man, standing alone in the dark by the side of the road, is a violent serial killer. His outfit alone perpetuates the stereotype - indigo jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket. He has an olive-green duffel slung over one shoulder and he's carrying a guitar case, for God’s sake! What are the odds that there’s actually a guitar in there!? If Kurt picks this man up, he has a greater chance of becoming a statistic than of that man being a musician! Kurt should drive away now without an inch of guilt, floor it without looking back.

And he probably would have deferred to his better judgment and stepped on the gas had it not been for a few things.

It's pitch dark out for a start. Only a handful of street lights line the curb, installed twenty or so feet apart, which creates long expanses of shadow in between. The road they're on is in the middle of nowhere, with trees towering on both sides of them. This doesn’t help Kurt’s argument any since it seems like just the place a killer would lie in wait for a potential victim. But, in that same vein, someone or something could be stalking him, waiting for Kurt to drive away so they can pounce on him from the trees. Then it would be up to the reach of this man's legs and his athletic ability to save him.

This leads directly to reason two: the man is a klutz. In the five minutes Kurt has been stuck at this red light, he’s seen him smack himself in the face with his own bag, drop his sunglasses (pink rimmed Wayfarers, no less), catch them, then fumble them again, and step in the same puddle twice. If this man is a serial killer, he may not be the most competent one on the planet.

Three, just as Kurt’s light turned green, it started raining. And not the light drizzle he has come to expect during his infrequent forays to San Diego, but an honest-to-God downpour. Kurt saw the man turn his face up to the sky, his shoulders slumped, wholly defeated by this new development. He put the butt of his guitar case on the toes of his shoes to keep it out of the mud, then attempted to wrap his jacket around it.

And Kurt’s heart melted.

Kurt is a musician himself. Singer more than musician but he has friends who play the guitar. His stepbrother Finn owns a Fender that he sold plasma to afford. Puck's Gibson is the only thing he has never hawked when he needed money. And Sam, in this man's position, would take off every stitch of clothing to protect his Blueridge if it came down to it. Kurt can imagine this man’s whole life wrapped up in that case, which he is now convinced does hold a guitar.

Kurt isn't a gun enthusiast by any means, but he thinks a semi-automatic should be able to withstand some weather. He may want to Google that one later on… provided he’s still alive.

And about that guitar case: it isn’t a plain, generic, black guitar case. The thing is covered in travel stickers and bling. It has a personality all its own. An easily identifiable personality. If this man is a killer, Kurt is pretty certain every human on the West Coast would know about it. He’d be nicknamed the Kitsch Case Killer or something along those lines. That case sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s no way a man carrying a guitar case decorated like an old-school Lisa Frank binder is getting away with swiping a pack of gum, not to mention murder.

To a lesser degree (Kurt tells himself so he doesn't have to admit how idiotic this idea is), this is the most a-dork-able man Kurt has ever seen. He looks more like a puppy than a predator (weak reasoning, he knows). But Kurt has instincts about people that are usually on the money. He has to give himself credit for making it this far in life. Kurt is tougher than he looks. He has taken his fair share of licks, and he’s still ticking.

Plus, he has bear repellent in the pocket of his jacket the size of a can of Aquanet. He feels he has his bases covered.

The man walks slowly towards Kurt's car, the curls piled atop his head hanging heavily down his cheeks the wetter he gets.

No, Kurt can’t leave him out here.

“Um. Thanks. Thanks a lot,” the man says, cautiously eyeing Kurt up and down as if he may be asking himself Kurt’s same string of questions in his head. “But I… ” The fact that he isn’t jumping at Kurt’s offer, that he’s glancing anxiously down the road, mulling his options even as rain pours down his back, puts Kurt at ease. The man looks like he’s trying to gauge if Kurt might have a weapon hiding somewhere on his person, contemplating if he’ll come out of this alive if he accepts this ride.

Ironic, but that proves that there are two sides to every situation.

The man looks about to step away and decline until a fork of lightning turns night into day for five seconds, a boom so loud following it shakes Kurt’s rental car.

“Sure. Okay. Why not?” He pulls open the rear door in a rush but still wary as he puts his belongings into the backseat and joins Kurt in the front. “Thank you so much. I didn’t expect it to rain this hard, or I might have stayed in my hotel room one more night.” He runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the water that sprays the headrest.

“Not a problem.” Kurt reaches behind the seat and grabs the towel he’d fished out of his luggage earlier when he’d done the same thing. But the rain was only a sprinkle then – angel spittle, his mom would have called it. “I couldn’t just drive by and leave you out here to drown.”

The man chuckles. It, much like the rest of him, is too cute for words. “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt.” Kurt extends a hand for Blaine to shake. Blaine looks at it, hesitates a second before taking it, still questioning Kurt and his intentions, Kurt assumes. Despite being stuck in the rain, Blaine’s hand is warm, comforting in a way Kurt speculates a serial killer’s hands would not. “Well, Blaine, where you headed?”

“Oh, uh… I’m trying to make my way to L.A. But you can drop me off anywhere between here and there.”

“Ooo. Actor? Producer?”

“Unemployed schlub, unfortunately. Currently riding my brother’s couch. He’s the actor. I’m the… the failure.”

Kurt pulls onto the road again and heads for the highway. “That’s a really unkind thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s what… well, it’s what my father would say.” He wrings his hands uncomfortably. “He’d also say I’m a disappointment, a waste of a Harvard education, a bum… ” He shivers. Kurt raises the temperature of the heater. Blaine glances at Kurt in embarrassment, and Kurt gets the hint that it’s not the cold that has him trembling.

“I know it’s not my place to say, but I’d stop listening to your father if I were you. It doesn’t seem like he has anything worthwhile to say.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me,” Blaine says under his breath, with an edge like a growl, the kind wild animals give when you stumble into their territory unaware. It sets the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck on end, and he starts second-guessing this decision.

Relax, Kurt. The man’s just beat down. Exhausted. You understand what that’s like.

Blaine sighs, sinking into the passenger seat and leaning his head against the window. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to be nice. It's been a long day."

“I understand. And I may not know you, but I know fathers," Kurt continues. "A father’s job is to be supportive of their children, no matter what they do in life. Succeed or fail, win or lose, they should always be in your corner. And if he’s not, screw him! Surround yourself with people who want to lift you up, not tear you down.”

Blaine winds his arms around his torso, hugging himself tight. “I---is that the way your father treats you?”

“Yup,” Kurt answers with a subconscious smile at the mention of his dad. “He supports me in everything, even the stuff he doesn’t entirely agree with. And when things don’t work out, he’s the first person there, helping me to my feet and encouraging me to try again.”

“Sounds like a great guy. You’re lucky.”

“He is," Kurt says proudly. "And I am.”

Blaine fixes his gaze to the road ahead as Kurt merges onto the highway. He chews the inside of his cheek, stares too hard at the rain-slick asphalt, not shifting focus. It's as if he can't bring himself to look at Kurt when he asks, “So, you think you’re a good judge of character?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, I do."

"How do you know?"

"Experience. I have a decent track record.”

"Surround yourself with a lot of questionable people, do you?"

"I guess you can say that," Kurt agrees with a laugh, thinking of the people who have come into his life that he has adopted as his own: Rachel, Dave, Santana, Puck, all of them rivals or bullies. Or both. But now, a cherished part of his found family.

People he hopes will miss him if SDPD finds him by the side of the road tomorrow with his throat cut.

Stop it, Kurt! Relax! You're in no danger! Everything is going to be fine!

Blaine shrugs, examining his wet hands as if he’s reading something etched on his skin. “Someday you’ll be wrong.”

“Probably." Kurt meets Blaine's eyes in the reflection of the windshield, flashes his confident smile again. "But I don’t think that day is today.”

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

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brucewayneargento-moved · 3 years ago

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To All My Fathers (Chapter 1)

Summary: Damian Wayne, a fourteen year old with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, goes onto a road trip with the four men who shaped him as a person before his bone marrow transplant.

Fic also avaliable on FF.net

Damian had definitely decided he would not wear a fanny pack.

It didn't matter that it was the most convenient and comfortable way to take a chemo pump iv from place to place. He'll much rather attract attention with a backpack connected to a pump than to regress back to the eighties in the most horrendous fashion. Sure he might pick up unwanted attention from strangers but A) He could always stare at them back; B) He was past the time to care and C) He already didn't have eyebrows so that was kind of a moot point.

The boy was currently seated at the med bed of the 666 room. (Drake had made several jokes about it, which Damian didn't mind and in fact encouraged, because with his diagnosis came a morbid sense of humor and he was also glad at least one person still treated him like a human being). He was practicing violin while he could still hold it and also enjoying the fact that he was wearing actual comfortable clothes and not a paper robe that made his autism completely and utterly fucking lose it.

Some kids from the other rooms had come to see him perform and Damian loved to have an audience. Because he had an ego, not as much and not as evil as people usually thought, but still. Most of them were children younger than ten who just needed some entertainment that wasn't a superhero.

"This was Ode To Joy by Bethoveen," Damian explained. The three children around him applauded. When they stopped he could still hear hands clapping, he looked up and his eyes met his father's.

Bruce came closer to him and the kids left after being called by a nurse. Boy and man looked at each other for a few seconds.

"Are you ready?" Bruce finally asked

Damian might have sounded insane if he said it outloud, but his father and Jon were very similar.

The blue eyes, the black hair and the fact that they both cried before or after entering a room with Damian in it, bonus points if he was being stabbed with a needle right at that moment, then you could see their eyes getting crystalized almost in slow motion.

And it's not like Damian was annoyed by their emotions as one might have thought, it was more of a...sting, (man being stabbed with a needle on a daily basis was really taking a toll on him, wasn't it?) like, something that hurt but it wasn't enough for him to do anything about it more than to grit his teeth and power through it.

Numbness was apparently a common thing among patients. But Damian thought of himself as many stuff, but common wasn't one of them

And perhaps his ego was the only thing keeping him optimistic, perhaps thinking that he was too special to die alone in a hospital room was what made him stronger against the whole GvHD thing.

Leslie had told him that he was lucky to find a donor that was relatively near, in Kansas nonetheless, home of Superman and. So now he had just to keep up with the program: L-asparaginase,dexamethasone and vincristine several times a day and wait.

Or at least that was the original plan.

"Yes." he finally answered, standing up.

When all you receive in your life is gaslighting, you don't even notice the medical gaslighting.

Maybe it was the whole "being indoctrinated since birth by an ecoterrorist death cult" thing but his ability to exercise his free will hadn't been particularly developed.

The bruises? Vigilante stuff. The fever? Probably the flu. Weight loss? Maybe he had gotten a growth spurt that just made him seem thinner…He had to throw up blood to even be admitted into a hospital.

The Wayne-Head name allowed him the finest care probably ever known to man. "Nepotism: where you can die comfortably" that was an actual thing he had said while high on sedatives. He could only imagine his mother's face upon hearing it.

When he woke up both his parents were there. Damian could immediately tell something was wrong. His father was crying and his mother was stoic.

"Oh, ok, so I'm dying" He said, grabbing their attention. Both Talia and Bruce turn to look at him. Damian tried to sit and noticed his arm was cranked to an IV. "Oh, I'm actually dying."

"Do not speak like that." His mother warned him with a threatening voice. Bruce kept quiet but still with a face wet with tears.

Next to them there was a third person. She was an older woman with gray hair and glasses. Doctor Thompkins, his father's godmother. She went over to the medbed and sat on the foot. Damian crossed his arms. She was a smart woman but had the annoying habit of treating him like a perpetual child. Probably the closest thing he had to an actual grandmother.

"Damian," she fixed her glasses and looked at the clipboard she was holding. "Your blood count is in the 200.000 white cells."

Damian's eyes slightly widened, which covertly hid how much of a gut punch he just received.

"I can't have leukemia," he simply stated. There was a slight pained sound coming from his father's mouth which made Damian look him in the eye…that's how he knew it was true.

He started to grin which turned into a giggle which turned into a laugh.

Bruce and Talia looked at him with worry.

"Denial is very common," Leslie stated, trying to remain calm and also sooth Damian up. The teen kept laughing and then stopped to talk.

He had tears in his eyes. "I mean... so much for being an eugenics frankenstein monster, I've failed at even that."

The rest of that afternoon was a blur for him. Except for the being stabbed with needles on his spine parts, that one he remembered very well. Since he had such a high tolerance for pain, the fact that he was casually hurt was news to him.

Of course Dick had been the first one to enter the room.

Damian had hoped that he wasn't but after all it made sense that he did, he was his Robin. He could imagine him punching a wall and screaming when he heard the news. That mental image didn't upset him at all, clearly.

Damian was pretending to watch TV where his oldest brother entered the scene. He had prepared what he was going to say. How he was okay and how he was too stubborn to die anyways. But all of that went to hell when Dick entered the room and immediately ran up to hug him.

All of the walls he had been building up until now feel down hard. Damian just had to press his head against Dick's shoulder for the tears to start running.

"I want a falafel."

They were in the hospital room after a particularly hard session of chemo. His brother was on a chair in front of him reading a book and not looking at him.

"You just threw up on my shoe," he reminded Damian.

"I'm here for a good time, not a long time"

Dick rolled his eyes, now accustomed to the fact that his sibling had developed a morbid sense of humor because of his condition. Right at that moment the door opened and Doctor Thompkins entered the room.

"How are we?" She asked.

"Great." Both responded almost robotically. Damian gagged.

"I wanted to talk to you, Dick, about the bone marrow transplant."

"Why not talk to me?" Damian intervened. "I'm the one whose blood isn't working."

"Because you're still a child," Dick answered as a matter of fact. And despite everything he was glad his older brother at least now had the courtesy of treating him like he had always done. "What's the prognosis, doc?"

"We're considering the umbilical cord transfusion." Leslie explained. "But you will have to ask my godson first.

"Why would he need to...wait...Selina's pregnant?!" Damian asked but then he threw up again. "That wasn't meant to signify my feelings on the matter."

Leslie continued. "But that will still take a few months and...I'm afraid we don't have that much time."

Damian pretended to gag and looked down at the bucket, all to avoid looking at Dick's face.

"But the good news is that we found a match."

Damian hadn't even had time to think about that sentence before he blurted it out, but now it was there, out in the open. For everyone to hear.

"I want to have children."

Everyone being an hyperbole since Alfred was the one who was actually there. His father had to go to patrol so the butler had the night shift to take care of Damian while at the hospital to which the boy was appreciative of. Except for this moment when he was mentally slapping himself for letting on too much. Side effects of being raised to be a killing machine.

"I...did not know that." Alfred admitted. Up to twelve seconds ago he had been standing up listing the symptoms of chemo at Damian's request since he didn't trust Leslie to do it without sugarcoating it and his father might burst into tears in an attempt to do so. Damian had been listening attentively before Alfred mentioned that it was possible that he might wind up being infertile.

The boy simply turned around to the other side of the bed and sighed as tears left his eyes.

Dear Damian

I could not be more content that you are receiving the transplant that you so much need. I wish I could accompany you on the journey to Kansas, but sadly Lady Talia needs me to look out after Bialya...I wish you nothing but a rapid recovery. I implore you to remember that you are not alone in this, to remember that there is a plethora of people that adore you with all of their souls and that you will always have their help. Even when you do not want it.

Best Wishes

Ravi.

Damian looked at Alfred who glanced at him for a nanosecond in the mirror of the car. He knew he was the most active ally he had in this game. Since he not only advocated to his father for this trip to be possible but he also was the only person to always show his compassion in spite of if he actually deserved it or not. Bruce was next to him while Richard sat next to Damian and assesed his condition.

They stayed in comfortable silence in the car with only the sound of "dad music" on the radio for background noise. Damian allowed himself to close his eyes and to feel the soothing bounce of the car against the pavement on his skin...

They stopped suddenly after a while and Damian opened his eyes, he frowned in confusion as Alfred parked the car in front of the airport.

"What are we doing here?" he asked curiously.

Alfred turned around to look at him. "Your father , Master Richard and I thought It'll be a good idea to fly in a friend of yours."

Damian's frown deepened. "A friend?"

Suddenly a tap was heard on the window. They both turned around to look at the front window. It was being slightly knocked on it by a man with a white cane and a bald head who was smiling at them.

"Ravi?" Damian rubbed his eyes and felt them watering up.

Damian knew that he could never make up to Ravi for being responsible for losing his vision. And he also knew that in spite of that the man would still love him unconditionally.

That could be proven easily by the letters that he had written to him when he found out about his diagnosis…

All his father figures were here, suddenly he felt an internal strength he hadn't felt in a while.

#tw: cancer #tw // cancer #tw cancer #damian wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #ravi #robin #batman #nightwing

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cowboyified · 3 years ago

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Below are some WIPs I’m releasing into the wild. They were all written at different times over the past two years so any mistakes/cliches you can blame on past June, I don’t know them.

Go, be free.

This first one I think is the one I’m most fond of. I had such a vision for it; bottlecaps in trees, river swimming, making out against the fridge, all that good stuff you get with weecest.

The summer Sam is seventeen they stay in one place for long enough Dean starts referring to it as ‘home’.

It’s an old farmhouse, miles from any other structure, bar an outhouse and hay shed. There’s a porch running the length of the front and back, the wooden boards pulled up from their nails, wavy with the weather. Weatherboard paint peeling, wallpaper inside torn and missing in most places.

They’re squatting, technically. The property owned by a family saved by hunters once, friends of friends of Bobby’s, too distraught by what they’d witnessed to raise their kids on cursed land. Dean had told Sam that Dad had been told by Bobby that had been told by Pastor Jim that it was chupacabras. A whole pack of ‘em, feeding off the lambs in the back paddock, tried to take a bite out of the baby girl and Sam had said, “As if man, those things are tiny, I’ve seen pictures, you could kick one and it would limp away like a fucking chihuaha, you scared of chihuahas, huh, Dean?” But Sam still hikes his sheet up under his chin when he hears scuffling under their window between sleep.

There’s remnants of the house’s past inhabitants still scattered around the place. Sam had stood and slid two inches on the wheels of a tiny replica car that had been jammed under the couch the second day they arrived, piffed it at his brother’s head, who’d caught it, exclaimed that it was Camero, dude, treat her with some respect and had sat it on top of the fridge.

The bookshelf in the corner of their shared bedroom holds mostly dust and tattered occult books stolen from libraries from all over the country, left by hunters who have found what they’ve needed and moved on. There are a few of the worst Stephen King novels shoved haphazardly on the top shelf and Sam finds something funny in that, the irony in enjoying bad horror when the real deal lurks behind the screen door.

Dean gives him a look when Sam pulls down and cracks open a copy of The Tommyknockers, snorts, “Haven’t you read that one already?” and Sam says, tucking himself into bed, “Yeah, it fucking sucks, King was royally off his head while writing it, that’s why it’s so good.” Sam finishes three quarters of it in one sitting while listening to Dean’s quiet snores from the other side of the room.

It’s a ten minute drive to the closest town, an off the highway, invisible to the outside world, kind of one-street community. No reason to take the exit if you don’t already know it’s there, one store, one gas station, one bar in an old brick post office building, unfitting, the carpet pulled up at the corners but home to the best fries Sam has ever had in his life.

Sam follows Dean out to the courtyard, neither of them are legally old enough to drink but there’s nothing else to do but to get respectably drunk in a place like this, anyone that has lived long enough in the true country is some kind of functioning alcoholic, so Dean orders a beer and isn’t asked for ID. In a town small enough for everyone to know every intricate detail in the threads of dirty laundry, they are foreigners. No one knows where they’re from or where they’re going and Sam knows that Dean likes it that way.

It’s never been a secret that Sam prefers to feel like he has a part in everyday normalcy. Dean thrives under anonymity, gets a kick out of it because it makes him feel dangerous. He had stopped accompanying Sam to school two states ago, a silent agreement with their father when Dean had come home early and helped John cut splits into the tips of bullets instead. Like hell I’m signing up for compulsory extra curricular activities. What’s the point in making friends with people whose biggest concerns are the answers to whatever bullshit test and who fucked who last Friday?

Finding comfort in a nine-to-five kind of community is a flaw Sam’s been burdened to deal with.

It’s early afternoon, the courtyard is empty and the table they chose rocks on its legs every time Dean slides his drink over for Sam to share. It’s bitter and Sam hasn’t had enough beer in his life to know if it’s supposed to be like that or if it has just soured from the long journey it took to get from the brewery to their glass. He drinks it and doesn’t grimace because his brother is looking at him through the rays of warm country sun.

“Tastes like piss, huh,” Dean says, leaning forward out of the light so Sam can see him clearly again. He takes back the glass.

“S’not that bad,” Sam replies, rubbing the leftover condensation into his hand, doesn’t look at Dean, finds it hard these days, twists in his gut all wrong. Sam knows why.

His brother hums, “There’s gotta be something else to do around here.”

Sam thinks, Dad’s left the car, we can go wherever we want, but doesn’t say it because his brother is loyal to a disastrous fault.

That’s a recurring thought. Sam in the shotgun seat, his brother behind the wheel, driving away. Just away, to someplace else and they’d be okay because they’d have each other and all Sam ever needs is his brother, like water. But John will be back in two weeks, term starts again in a month and he needs his father to sign the enrollment forms. Two more years.

“You see the old dredge outside of town?” Sam asks, remembers passing it when they arrived, all twisted, rusting metal, the bones of it against the setting sun.

“What did I tell you about respecting your elders?”

“You told me that they all smell like porridge and are easily susceptible to sleight of hand. No, Dean, Dredge,” Sam stresses. “Big rusty old machine that pulls minerals out of water.”

“Looking to strike big, Sammy?”

“Yeah, you see, my family is poor, brother at home too dumb to get a job. Our father went to get milk and never came back,” Sam sniffs for effect. “I can’t go home empty handed again, sir.”

“Ah, a real sob story,” Dean nods in understanding, tips his head back and finishes the beer. “Let’s get out there then, sonny. We shan't let that simpleton, downright fool of a brother go hungry.” Dean jabs Sam in the ribs when he stands, hard enough for him to gasp, gets Sam’s head under his arm before he can recover. Sam claws embarrassingly at his brother’s torso, face pressed warm into the side of Dean’s waist.

“I will pray for us young Samuel, for I too, dream of riches,” his brother is exclaiming, tripping them out and onto the street. “I only ask that we share whatever bounty dredged as I saw the most exquisite pony a few miles back and I simply must have it.”

And Sam thinks - with his flushed cheek hard against Dean’s skin through the thin sweaty fabric of his shirt, heart beating too fast against his ribs in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion - you can have it all.

---

Sam’s brother’s perpetual state of being is ten miles over the speed limit; this can be applied to almost every aspect of him. Dean goes and goes and rarely stops. They’re pushing double that out of town, north of their property, into the forever stretch of flat land and Sam loses himself in it. That idea of away, of going and going and that Dean could take him because he’s an expert in the field.

The Impala blasts Born To Be Wild and Sam imagines the lyrics spreading out over the dry grass. He rolls the window down and throws his head out, trying his best to keep his eyes open against the road’s wind. The sun beats down, warmth soaking through and into his bones and Sam laughs as the cattle turn to catch a glimpse of them soaring.

Dean pulls him in, tugs at the back of his shirt, says something along the lines of, what are you, a dog? Should get you a shock collar for all the times you’re a little bitch, but Sam can’t hear him over the roaring of the open window and the look of transparent glee on Dean’s face, it’s loud and assaulting and Sam has to turn away because seeing Dean like that wobbles him dangerously from the nonchalant facade he has going on in relation to how he feels about his brother. But mostly his face hurts from smiling too wide.

Used as a warm up last year. Boyking!Sam

He thinks he’s in Louisiana, maybe. That he got here in the tray of a pickup and that he couldn’t feel the wind in his hair like maybe he should. The driver had stopped for a piss-break and Sam had snapped his neck without his hands.

He rubs them together now, tries to feel guilty but there’s nothing to feel guilty about because his hands are clean; he doesn’t have to use them anymore.

Sam thinks he’s in Louisiana because he stepped out of the truck and into a wet kind of heat. There’s a church with thick greenery growing over the roof and white wood that’s been mold-blackened by the humidity. He laughs to the darkness because it's very funny to him that he’s driven himself subconsciously to a place of grace.

He skips up the steps, two at a time, gleefully. The smell of the bayou and rotting wood has put him in a good mood. The lock snaps when he blinks, the chain unraveling and snaking into a coil at his feet. The doors open for him and maybe he did that with his mind too, or maybe they were just expecting him.

The church has been used recently, its interior better kept than the outside, bibles tucked neatly in the backs of pews, ribbons tied into plaits. The white of the moon falls in blankets through the windows, shadows of leaves moving over the floor like rippling water and the bust of Mother Mary prays for him at the altar.

Sam spreads his arms and addresses her, says to the room at large, “Shall I repent for my sins, oh Lord?” and it echoes, gives him goosebumps, a current under his skin. He has an audience here because God is omnipresent, this is a place of worship and Sam has always been good at that.

A church in Louisiana, standing before a plaster of his mother’s namesake in a church for a God he used to think could have some defying factor in a destiny that was always going to be concrete. It’s funny, blatantly. Sam puts his hands gently to Mary’s cold face, kisses her on her lips before crushing her head, spraying ceramic.

Sam stands behind the lectern, hands red with his own blood now, sticking the pages of the Good Book. He’s read it before anyway.

“Am I to be forgiven?”

Last is a casefic I had planned out in 2019. I didn’t get very far into the actual writing part of it, but I still think the setting is cool, less so the plot I had in mind.

Just outside of Bridgeport, Connecticut there’s a community built on a sandbar. A small secluded semi-island, connected to the mainland by a mile-long beachfront. A town of forty to fifty now abandoned, vandalised residences.

The police find the bodies of the boys there, bleeding out and into the sand, each other’s skin caught under their fingernails.

Sam watches as his brother pulls the sheet back from one of the corpses, laying blue on the steel morgue tray. He’s a kid, a boy, not even eighteen. Hairless, lanky, multiple stab wounds puckered around his belly and Sam thinks he does not look peaceful for someone who is meant to be at rest.

Dean is quieter than usual, his body language stiff. They’ve seen their fair share of dead kids but Sam thinks that this one might look a little too much like an adolescent version of himself. Shaggy brown hair, too long limbs, college on the horizon. Sam blankets the sheet back over the boy’s face and hears his brother exhale in what he thinks might be relief.

The coroner tells them that the other two are the same, besides the youngest one. He’d been blinded, thumbs pushed through his eyes until they popped like grapes. He asks if they want to see him too and Sam says no, thank you, we’ve got what we need.

Which is a whole lot of nothing, but they’ve only just arrived and there’s evidence that doesn’t involve corpses that needs to be checked.

“Pussied out in there huh, Sammy?” Dean says as they’re walking down the funeral home’s front steps, past the manicured roses and trimmed lawn. You see these perfect hedges? We’ll treat your dead mother with the same detailed care!

Sam pulls at his tie and scoffs because he knows he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable standing in the morgue; cases that involve kids always rub them both wrong.

#wip dump #wincest #my words

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shadowywerewolfqueen · 4 years ago

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For Suptober Day 23.

“Sam, I can’t just tell Cas how I feel! What if he doesn’t feel the same way? We are roommates and I can’t afford for Cas to leave because he doesn’t want to be around me,” Dean said, laying on his bed while talking to his brother.

“If Cas’ money is the only reason why you want him as a roommate, then maybe he should leave,” Sam replied.

“Ugh, of course that’s not the only reason why I like having Cas around! The dude might be my roommate but he’s also my best friend! I can’t risk telling Cas the truth and losing him. I don’t know what I’d do without Cas,” Dean exclaimed, annoyed that his brother would insinuate that he only liked Cas for his money.

“Woah, dude, calm down! I didn’t mean to upset you. Dean, you’ve been crushing on Cas for years and you still haven’t made a move. If you don’t, someone else will,” Sam pointed out.

Dean groaned. “You don’t think I don’t know that! Hell, Crowley, Balthazar, and Meg have all asked him out multiple times. Thankfully, he’s turned all of them down.”

“So, what happens when he finally says yes to somebody?” Sam asked.

Dean buried his face in his pillow and screamed. When he was done, he answered his brother’s question. “Get really jealous and probably give the person the stink eye anytime they are around Cas.”

Dean could practically see the bitch face he knew Sam was giving him. “Exactly, so why don’t you grow a pair and tell Cas how you feel!”

“I don’t even know what to tell him!”

“Why don’t you make a list of all the things you like about Cas. Pick out a couple and come up with a way to spend some together focused around those things. Then, maybe hint at the possibility of it being a date and see how Cas reacts,” Sam suggested.

Dean frowned. “Dude, that sounds so fucking girly!”

“Then keep pining like a lovesick teenager and don’t ask me for anymore help,” Sam said, obviously annoyed.

“Fine, don’t get your panties in a knot. I’ll try, but we both know that all this mushy crap isn’t my thing,” Dean said.

“Well, if you want Cas to be your boyfriend, then you better make it your thing. Look, I’ve gotta go, but I’ll talk to you later. Love you,” Sam said.

“Yeah, alright. Love you too and good luck on your test.”

“Thanks Dean, bye jerk.”

“Bye bitch,” Dean replied, softly. He dropped his phone on the bed and lay there, contemplating if he could just jump in a hole and let it swallow him. He finally rolled out of bed and walked over to his desk. He grabbed a pen and paper and started writing.

A few days later, Castiel walked into the apartment he shared with Dean. He headed into the kitchen and grabbed a soda from the fridge. He drank half of it before walking to his bedroom and grabbing his overflowing laundry basket. He paused by Dean’s door before deciding to see if Dean had any dirty clothes. He opened the door and walked inside. He grabbed the few clothes he saw lying on the floor and then walked to Dean’s desk to grab the shirt that was lying on top.

He picked the shirt up and something flew onto the floor. Cas went to drop the clothes into his basket before walking back into the room. He picked the piece of paper up and was surprised to see his name written on it. His curiosity was too strong to be ignored. As he read, his eyes widened with every bullet point.

My Cas List aka All My Favorite Things About My Roommate/Best Friend/Guy I’m In Love With

His hair. I love how it’s shining black, almost like a raven’s wings. Also love how no matter how hard he tries to make it lie flat, it always gives him a perpetually just got laid look.

His eyes. Holy shit, I could write an entire essay on Cas’ eyes. They are the deepest, purest, most gorgeous fucking blue I’ve ever seen. They remind me of the ocean when the sun is reflecting off the water.

His smile. I mean his real smile, where his gums show and his eyes and nose scrunch up. I love it so much because he rarely smiles that big. It’s like a freakin ray of sunshine! Although, I’ve noticed he smiles a lot like that when we hang out. Ha, suck it Crowley!

His body! Man Cas, has a killer fucking body with those broad shoulders, flat stomach, and them thighs! Oh my God, he could crush a watermelon with those things. Hell, I wish he would crush me with them. And he’s got a pretty impressive cock (what can I say, I was a peeping Tom a few times!) I wish I knew what it felt like to have it buried in my ass, man I bet he would fill me up just right!

His hands! He’s got huge ass hands and man I love to just watch him pick shit up. When he touches me with them, I get goosebumps all over. I just wished he’d touch me more often with them.

His voice. Whiskey on gravel and man the things it does to me! Man, what I would give to be in bed with Cas and have him order me around with that voice of his. Ughh, I get hard just thinking about it.

His fascination with bees. He’s so passionate and I love listening to him talk about how important they are for the environment and how they make their honey. I might not love bees, but I would listen to Cas all day because when he talks his eyes light up and he gets one of his gummy smiles.

His utter lack of understanding of pop culture references. I mean he literally gets none of my references but that just means I get to educate him. I love our movie marathon weekends because of all the time I get to spend with him!

He can’t cook worth a shit! That just means he loves my cooking all the more, especially my burgers! They make him very happy haha.

His baking skills! Dude might burn spaghetti noodles but he makes the best darn pies, cakes, and cookies I’ve ever tasted! The best thing in the world is coming home to a freshly baked apple pie made by Cas. It’s even better than Ellen’s (not that I would tell her that.)

He loves Sam as much as I do! Sammy means the world to me and to know that Cas loves him and treats him like his own brother means everything! Cas will hang out with Sam just as much as me and that earns major brownie points in my book!

He knows nothing about cars but he loves Baby! Enough said!

He loves animals. I never thought I would enjoy giving up a couple Saturday’s a month to go volunteer at the humane society but boy do I love it! I think I’ll ask Cas about adopting a pet and see what he says. I bet he’ll say yes.

His head tilts when he’s confused. It’s just so damn cute.

That damn trench coat of his. He’s the only person in the world who looks so darn sexy in a plain brown coat.

The fact that he will steal my clothes and wear them before wearing his own. God he looks sexy when he wears my stuff.

All the times we spend hanging out. Cas is always down to do anything whether it's going to the arcade, or the zoo or a football game. Hell we spent an entire day at a car museum and then at a natural history museum just so we could do what each other likes! Besides Sam, there’s no other person I would want to hang out with.

His personality! Wow, that’s a huge one but it’s true. Cas is the most caring, thoughtful, loyal, smart, funny, kind, awesome, brave, generous, etc, etc. Cas is the best friend a guy could ask for and I can’t imagine not having him in my life. He’s a freaking angel and I just wished I deserved him. I wish I had the freaking nerve to tell him how I feel because getting to spend the rest of my life with someone as amazing as Cas is better than all the free burgers and pie in the world.

I could keep going but my hand is getting tired and I’ve got work to get to or else Bobby will have my hide. Maybe, one day, I’ll actually show this to Cas but probably not. I only did this because Sam suggested it would help come up with a way to ask Cas out, but all it’s done is made me realize why I don’t deserve him in the first place.

Cas plopped down on Dean’s bed and just stared at the note, unable to believe what he just read. He sat there for nearly ten minutes trying to process his thoughts. Finally, he grabbed a piece of paper off Dean’s desk and started writing a letter of his own.

“Cas, I’m home! I figured I would make my burgers for dinner along with some homemade fries. Afterwards, we can watch that bee documentary you recorded,” Dean called as he headed to the kitchen. He smiled when he saw his friend sitting at the table, a cup of hot tea nestled between his hands. Cas had a real fondness for the stuff.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said.

Dean paused, Cas’ tone not the pleasant sound it normally was. “Uh, everything alright?”

Cas nodded and took a sip of his drink. “It is.” He sat his cup back down before reaching into his pocket and taking a piece of paper out. He unfolded it and slid it to the opposite side of the table. “Sit down, and read this please.”

Dean couldn’t help but eye his roommate as he took a seat and grabbed the paper. The blood drained from his face when he read the top line.

All My Favorite Things About My Favorite Person aka The Person I’m In Love With

Dean’s stomach was in knots as he looked at Cas. “Uh, what is this?”

“Just read it Dean,” Cas replied.

Dean sighed before looking at the paper once more.

1. His looks. I am a sucker for blonde hair and he has dark golden locks that always seem to lie perfectly even when he just runs his fingers through it. His eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. They are like a forest on a warm spring day. 2. His laugh. He doesn’t laugh overly much but when he does, he has a smile that lights up his face and his whole body shakes with joy. I could listen to his laugh from sunrise to sunset. I’ve noticed he laughs a lot around me and it always makes my heart beat faster when I hear it. 3. His body! The Greek sculptors couldn’t find a better specimen if they looked. He has the perfect face with plump lips, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Then he’s got wonderfully muscled shoulders, a wide chest, a toned stomach, and bow legs (which I find freaking adorable. I may or may not have seen his cock which is extremely impressive and I dream about wrapping my mouth around it and bringing him to orgasm.

Dean couldn’t help his thoughts as he read. “This dude sounds perfect but hell, I’ve got all of that. I mean my hair may not be gold and my eyes are just a plain green but I’ve got a pretty good body. I definitely have the damn bow legs and my dick is pretty spectacular.” He continued reading.

4. Did I mention his bow legs? I know he hates them, but I think it just adds to his overall physique. I wouldn’t mind having them wrapped around me any day!

5. His voice. When he sings, it’s like water running over rocks. It’s clear and smooth and I wish he'd sing more often!

6. His love of cars! He’s got the most awesome vintage car in the world and there’s nothing better than just going on long drives in her. I can spend hours listening to him talk about cars even if I don’t have a fucking clue what he’s talking about.

Dean tried to keep the scowl from his face as he thought, “Now wait a damn minute! Baby is the best car in the world and whoever this guy is can bite me! Maybe Cas doesn’t like Baby as much as I thought. I guess he was just pretending about enjoying our car rides together.”

7. His ridiculous amount of knowledge about all pop culture related things. I don’t think he can say more than three sentences without referencing a movie, or TV show, or band. It’s ridiculous and sometimes talking to him is like trying to learn a foreign language! But that just gives me all the more reasons to have movie marathons with him so that maybe one day, I can be as savvy as he is.

8. His obsession with cowboys! The man dresses as Clint Eastwood every year for Halloween! Need I say more?

Dean glanced at Cas, but he was looking to the side towards the kitchen window. “I want to meet this dude and show him I know more about pop culture than he ever could! I also bet my Clint Eastwood costume is better! I don’t understand why Cas is so caught up on this dude! I have all of this and I bet I do it better!”

9. His cooking! If I could only eat his burgers for the rest of my life, I’d die a happy man!

“I thought my burgers were the best, though! Cas has said multiple times how they’re practically orgasmic,” Dean said inside his head.

10. His love of sweets, especially pie! He would live on pie if he could and I love to spend all day baking sweets and watch him enjoy the fruits of my labor!

11. He’s a family man and loves his brother with everything he has! They have one of the strongest sibling bonds I’ve ever seen and I’m so happy they took me in and include me in all their adventures.

12. He knows nothing about bees but will listen to me ramble about them all day. He gets this almost dreamy look as he listens and it makes my heart melt to know that he pays attention even if it isn’t his thing.

Dean frowned as he thought, “I fucking enjoy Cas’ baking and I will listen to him all damn day talk about bees! Why is Cas so hung up on this dude when I’ll do all the same shit! What if Sam was right and Cas got tired of waiting for me, so found someone else that was a lot like me?”

13. He loves coming to the animal shelter with me! He didn’t at first but now he never says no! Maybe one day, we’ll have our very own dog or cat.

14. He has this small pudge above his waist from all the burgers and pie he eats that won’t go away no matter what! Again he hates it, but it’s the comfiest spot to rest my head on when we’re lying on the couch together.

Dean dropped his hand to his stomach and pushed against his own small pooch. Cas always used it for a pillow, but this mystery guy’s must be better. Since when did Cas go to the animal shelter with anybody but Dean? Dean thought it was their thing, but obviously he was wrong.

15. His love of all things plaid! Like I’m pretty sure his wardrobe is 90% flannel and 10% everything else! Although, me stealing about ten of his old band t-shirts didn’t help, but they smell like him so I just had to.

16. His necklace that he always wears. His brother gave it to him and he never takes it off.

Dean wrapped his fingers around the amulet hanging from his neck. Sam had given it to him for Christmas when they were kids after their dad failed to show up yet again. It meant the world to him and if he ever lost it, he would be heartbroken.

17. All the time we spend hanging out together. There’s never any telling where we’ll end up! It could be a zoo or a museum or some kind of sports game! We’ve gone bowling, golfing, and I even convinced him to go on a rollercoaster with me. He held onto me the entire time because he’s afraid of heights. Of course I went with him to a car show the following week to even it out.

“I thought hanging out with me was special,” Dean thought sadly. His shoulders dropped as he realized that maybe Cas didn’t enjoy hanging out as much as he thought. It was obvious that Cas enjoyed spending time with his crush more than Dean.

18. His personality! There isn’t enough paper in the world to write everything I love about him. He’s wicked smart and has a great sense of humor! He’s loyal and kind hearted! He will help anybody who needs a helping hand whether it’s mowing their lawn or taking them to the store because their car broke down. He’s stubborn, sure, but he’s also brave and ambitious and full of life. He’s definitely the life of every party we go to! He’s the extrovert to my introvert. He’s extremely dependable and responsible. He’s strong but also gentle! He can be a little cocky but hey, he’s earned it! He’s the best guy I’ve ever met and I would never want to live another day of my life without him. There’s not another guy on this Earth that I love like I do him and I just wish he realized how much I care for him. He can be very self doubtful about himself even though he can also be the most confident person in the world. I love him with all of my heart and I just hope when I finally tell him how I feel, he won’t turn me down.

Dean dropped the paper to the table, unable to look at it any longer. He was barely keeping the tears from falling as his heart shattered into pieces. He had everything on Cas’ list, yet Cas had chosen another person instead of him. All because Dean had been too chicken to admit his feelings. He looked up at Cas and tried to plaster a smile on his face. “I hope this guy realizes just what a gift he has waiting for him. You’re amazing Cas and anybody would be lucky to call you theirs.”

Cas smiled. “Thank you, Dean. He is a pretty awesome guy, and there’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

Dean sighed, trying to keep the bitterness from leaking into his voice. “Then why aren’t you with him? Why didn’t you show him this list instead of me? Do you want me to proofread the damn thing for you?” So, he was being a bit of an ass. He just found out the guy he was in love with didn’t like him back. How else was he supposed to respond?

Cas laughed softly. “No, I don’t want you to proofread it. As far as why I didn’t just hand it to the guy, I actually just did. He’s being a little dense right now.”

“Wait, what?” Dean exclaimed, his eyes locking with Cas’. Had Cas just said what he thought he said? Dean tried to keep his hopes in check in case he had heard wrong.

Cas stood to his feet and walked over to stand beside Dean. He reached for Dean’s hand and wrapped his fingers around Dean’s. “You are the guy in that letter.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times before squeaking out, “Me?”

“Yes, you. I saw your letter to me when I went to get your dirty clothes and figured I’d write one of my own,” Cas explained. He squeezed Dean’s fingers and smiled brightly at him.

Dean stared at Cas before reaching up and cupping his cheek in his hand. “You really mean it?” he asked as he searched Cas’ eyes for any sort of lie.

“Every word,” Cas said softly. “I love you Dean, so much it hurts.”

“I love you too, Cas! I’m sorry it took so long,” Dean said, a tear sliding down his cheek.

“That’s ok, we just have lots of time to make up for! There’s a few things on our lists that I want to make a reality ASAP,” Cas replied with a smirk.

Dean’s eyes went wide as a smile stretched his lips. “Oh fuck yes,” he cried before crashing his lips against Cas’. Cas responded immediately, sliding his hands into Dean’s hair and slotting their mouths ever tighter together. They finally had their favorite person in their arms!

#suptober20 #My writing #my OTP #Destiel

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zaph1337 · 4 years ago

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Monster Hunter Rating 30: Fatalis, the Dark Demise

The world of Monster Hunter is a dangerous one. Monsters with powers unlike any animal we know run rampant, and some of them are so powerful as to be compared to natural disasters, or maybe even gods. These “Elder Dragons” are viewed as forces of nature given body and mind, and wherever they are, they’re almost always at the top of the food chain. But it begs the question: what is the strongest Elder Dragon of them all?

Some would say that Lao-Shan Lung, the Old Mountain Dragon, holds that honor. After all, it will destroy entire mountains if they stand in its path, and every hunt with one is a race against time to prevent the monster from reaching and destroying the fortresses that separate it from the settlements it would crush beneath its feet as it wanders. But why does Lao-Shan Lung wander? Why does it never go around the obstacles in its way? Why will it never fight back against the hunters that pose a serious threat of killing it? The answer is one that no one wants to accept: Lao-Shan Lung, what may be the living incarnation of an avalanche or some other seismic force, is not wandering. It’s running for its life. Elder Dragons may be the embodiments of natural phenomena, and though we may not like it, death is just as natural as landslides and lightning. We’ve come a long way, but it’s finally time to talk about the final boss of the first Monster Hunter game: the Black Dragon, Fatalis!

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 1)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter World: Iceborne)

Appearance: If the wiki had a third render of Fatalis that I liked, I would’ve put it up there. Anyways, Fatalis looks just like an archetypal European dragon; four legs, two wings, horned head, and a long tail. It looks pretty generic, but there are a few things that help it stand out. First off, it’s huge, being 4110.6 cm (134.9 ft) long in every main series game it appears in except for MHW:I, where it’s 4137.17 cm (135.7 ft) long. That’s 30+ ft more than Diablos or Gravios, and if you wanna see how big Fatalis is compared to a person, well...here’s an image from MHW:I:

Yyyeeah, it’s big. Something else that’s interesting is the fact that Fatalis has eyes which are literally made of crystal, which is why they look shiny in the above image. They still look a lot like traditional dragon eyes, though. In fact, basically all of its design elements are things that you’d expect to find on European dragons, which makes Fatalis look rather generic. You’d think that even in the first game, the devs would be more creative with their final boss considering the other dragons in the game, but that’s just it: Fatalis stands out when compared to a lot of the other dragons in Monster Hunter because it looks just like a European dragon and not much more. This makes it feel like it’s not just a dragon, it’s the dragon. When you hear stories of dragons wreaking mass destruction, you’ll likely imagine something that looks just like Fatalis, and I believe that that’s exactly what the developers of MH intended when they made it. It’s kinda genius, in that way, and combined with the overwhelming presence Fatalis has thanks to its size, I feel like I have to give it an 8/10.

Behavior/Lore: Since I like to cover the lore of a monster in this category anyways, I thought I might as well change its name to reflect that. Anyways, people don’t know a lot about Fatalis, such as how many there are, where there ideal habitat is, their mating rituals, stuff like that. The reason why we don’t know a lot about Fatalis is that it kills literally everything it sees, which tells us a lot on its own. Fatalis doesn’t always eat what it kills; it just kills for the sake of it, and since literally everything that breathes seems to be on its sh*t list, this has led to the conclusion that Fatalis hates all livings things on the grounds that they exist.

As I alluded to in the introduction, the natural phenomenon that Fatalis likely embodies is death itself. All other monsters are terrified of it, and, as seen with Lao-Shan Lung, will go to great lengths to stay as far from it as possible. How strong do you have to be to make a monster that bulldozes mountains run for mommy? Well, let me put it this way: Fatalis obliterated Schrade Kingdom in a single night, and now uses the ruins of the castle as its den; the very sky above the kingdom’s remains is a perpetual bloody red, with a miasma of purple clouds that hover over the fallen settlement. And that’s just what we know is true; according to legend, Fatalis could scorch all the world’s lands in a matter of days, causing the end of life itself. Obviously, this can’t be proven, nor do I know if they’re talking about one Fatalis or all of them (however many there are), but when legends like that are circulating, it’s a wonder that people aren’t living in constant fear that this thing will decide to visit their settlement one day and kill everyone. Well, not so much a wonder as it is a conspiracy; the Hunter’s Guild, fearing that the fear of Fatalis’ capabilities could lead to an outbreak of panic and anarchy, has done its best to relegate Fatalis and all stories related to it to the realm of fantasy. Only hunters who the Guild believes are skilled enough to possibly repel or kill Fatalis are allowed to know that it exists, and even then, when the Guild sends them on secret missions to fight it, they almost never come back.

Though Fatalis leaves few witnesses to its attacks, there are some who provide valuable information about the dragon’s habits. After Fatalis kills a hunter, it melts said hunter and their equipment down, then applies the remains to its body to armor its hide, making it even harder to kill. Now, some say that this is an instinctual behavior, like how the monster Nerscylla wears the hides of its prey for the same purpose, but Fatalis is only known to do this to humans, which wouldn’t make sense because killing monsters would give it more material to cover itself in. This has led some to believe that Fatalis knows that hunters make armor from the remains of the monsters they kill, so it makes armor out of them to mock them in death. If this is true, then not only is Fatalis smart enough to have a concept of irony, it harbors a special kind of hatred for humans in particular, and it presumably enjoys killing them. These things make Fatalis even more terrifying and dangerous than previously thought, and put its attack on Schrade Kingdom and its occupancy of Schrade Castle in a new light.

Speaking of equipment, the few times anyone has actually killed a Fatalis and made weapons and armor from its parts, they’ve almost always regretted it. Those that wear Fatalis armor have been victims of disturbing phenomena; horrible nightmares and periods of unnatural, unwanted strength are a common occurrence, and some have reported feeling as though something is possessing them and forcing their legs to move against their will. In extreme cases, hunters who have been knocked unconscious while wearing the armor report feeling that something was controlling their bodies before they awoke. But those people are the lucky ones; hunters who wear Fatalis armor for extensive periods of time often disappear without a trace, or even die for no apparent reason.

Not even the weapons are safe. Some cause the wielders to hear phantom screams, others induce feelings of gnawing despair or paranoia, and some are even said to corrupt the wielder’s soul, turning them into a force of bloodshed and chaos as Fatalis was...or is. In Monster Hunter Generations, a cave in Pokke Village contains a giant version of a Black Blade, a Great Sword made of Fatalis parts, which can be mined for Fatalis materials. It’s been noted that the damage done to the blade by mining it will regenerate in a matter of days; when you combine that with the symptoms of using Fatalis equipment, it gives credence to the possibility that Fatalis lives on through said equipment, controlling the bodies and minds of those that slew its corporeal form. Whether this is true or not is irrelevant; the fact remains that Fatalis equipment has a deleterious effect on those that use it, and as such, it’s recommended that none should attempt to utilize anything made from Fatalis’ remains at all.

If you thought that Fatalis as a life-form was fundamentally wrong before, then I have one last bit of absurdity for you: the one time anyone ever found a Fatalis egg, the newborn that hatched from it grew to its adult form in literal hours, and presumably hated everything that breathes from birth. Other than that, we don’t know anything about its life cycle or parental habits, and the wiki doesn’t say what happened after the baby reached maturity, but we can reasonably assume that it was a bloody event.

I’ve never been more enthralled by a monster’s lore than I have been reading about Fatalis. The developers really went out of their way to impress upon players just how unnatural and evil Fatalis is, and the result is the monster to end all monsters. I think my favorite parts are the fact that the Guild covers up Fatalis’ existence to prevent society from collapsing and how even its equipment is too dangerous to be around. And even with this, there’s still so much we don’t know about Fatalis, which makes it even more intriguing. With how much I’ve been thinking about all this the past few days, I feel like I have to give this category a 10/10.

Abilities: Obviously, Fatalis is one of the strongest monsters in the series. Its body is very durable due to its habit of melting down hunters to use as armor, and even the membranes of its wings are has hard as metal. It can both fly and charge at high speeds, with the latter doing massive damage thanks to Fatalis’ raw strength. However, its most famous ability--and its deadliest--is its fire breath, which is equal in power to some other Elder Dragons. The streams of fire that escape from Fatalis’ maw are even bigger than the dragon itself, and can be so powerful that they one-shot hunters caught in them. Fatalis can also spread a cloud of reactive powder around it; igniting this powder causes a devastating explosion.

Now, conceptually, these attributes and attacks aren’t too crazy, but there’s one more thing I want to mention: In Monster Hunter 1, you fight Fatalis in 4 quests (assuming that the wiki’s quest list for the game has all of them), and in all of those quests, the goal is “damage Fatalis as much as you can to drive him away,” not “slay Fatalis.” This means that Fatalis is so much more powerful than anything else in the game, the Guild does not believe you are capable of killing it. Despite all of your accomplishments up to that point, the Guild still doesn’t think you have what it takes to kill the darn thing. Now, considering the goal doesn’t say “slay or repel” or anything like that, I was under the impression that you couldn’t kill Fatalis in the first Monster Hunter, but a video on the wiki shows that you can, so I guess the devs phrased it that way to make you feel even cooler for achieving what even the game thought was impossible. It’s a nice touch. Anyways, Fatalis’ abilities may not sound like anything special for a dragon, but the sheer power behind its attacks, as well as how much work you have to put in to damage it in any meaningful way, gets it an 8/10.

Equipment: Since most, if not all of Fatalis’ equipment is inherently evil, I’ll mention if the descriptions say exactly what they do to the user. Let’s start ourselves off with a Hunting Horn called the Black Lute:

According to its description in MHFU, “[a]nyone who hears this Horn feels faint.” Kinda counterproductive, considering the Hunting Horn’s whole gimmick is that it buffs you and your allies with magical songs. Its upgraded form, the Fatalis Menace, isn’t much better, as “its song causes listeners to turn into disheartened beasts.” So already we see the dangers involved in using this weapon, but the description is lore that doesn’t impact gameplay, so strum to your heart’s content! As for how the Lute looks, I like the use of Fatalis horns as the majority of the main body, and the little red gem is a nice touch. Next up, something a little less evil, actually! The Dual Blades called Double Dragon require both Fatalis and Lao-Shan Lung parts, which I guess makes them okay to use?

I say that these aren’t evil because their description just says “[t]he Dragon element infused in these Dual Blades hits enemies from both sides.” Though, you do have to make them by upgrading the Fatalis Sword and Shield called the Black Sword, and according to its description, “[t]he void it creates envelopes all in its path[,]” which makes me think that these are probably still unsafe to use. Though I do like how the blades are different shapes and sizes to match up with the dragons they came from. But you know me, if a monster has a weird or goofy weapon, I gotta show it off, and Fatalis isn’t exempt from this. So here’s the Light Bowgun called the Black Parasol:

I was gonna make a JFK joke, ‘cause one of the theories surrounding his assassination was that someone used a gun disguised as an umbrella to shoot him from the side, but I don’t think I can make a joke like that without being tasteless, especially since this weapon apparently has “an assassin's thirst for death.” But here’s some tasty lore for you: the Black Parasol’s upgrade in the Japan-only MH4U, the Dark Parasol, was “designed behind the scenes by the Guild for assassination purposes.” This may be a translation of the Japanese description, so “assassination” might just mean “kill,” but it makes you think about how weird it is to call hunting a monster an assassination; there’s a chance that the Black Parasol was made by the Guild specifically to kill people, and that just raises more questions. As for the Parasol’s design, it’s so out of left field that I can’t help but find it amusing. The doily-like trim combined with the swirly handle makes it impossible to take seriously, which was probably the point.

Now, here’s where things get a bit messy; the wiki doesn’t have very many pictures of Fatalis armor. The ones it does have are small, not the standard Fatalis armor, or don’t have an image of the male armor to go with them. So, I have to resort to using the small images of the “S” armor from MHFU. I’ve made them bigger to avoid straining anyone’s eyes, but they’re all blurry now, so I apologize if I miss any details you think are important. Here’s the Blademaster armor:

Oh, my God, they gave the women’s set a helmet! Aaaannd it’s for the armor set with low-quali renders online. Yaaaay. Okay, that aside, this does look awesome. It definitely looks like armor that would make you evil if you wore it, and the curved horns on the helmet really add to that theme, as do the spikes on the arms and legs. As for the Gunner armor:

It looks really cool, too! Seems that the wings are attached to the arms in lieu of arm guards, like the ones you see on other Gunner sets. The horns on this set are pointed up this time, presumably for reasons related to peripheral vision or something like that, which is helpful for someone using a gun. The boots on the armor look like dragon feet, and combined with the wings and other design aspects, makes this armor feel like the one that’s most likely going to let Fatalis’ soul overtake you.

Overall, the equipment does what it was made to do: look powerful, yet evil at the same time. It seems like something that fanfic authors would make use of for their worldbuilding--something like how the greatest hunter in the land went missing after killing Fatalis and making equipment from it, only for horror stories of a black knight wielding cursed armaments wiping small settlements off the map and slaughtering travelers. This is the first time that equipment lore factors into the scoring for this category, and I might have to look at the descriptions of the equipment I choose in future reviews to see if that affects my opinion on it any. For now, Fatalis’ equipment gets an 8/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: The creators of Monster Hunter wanted to make an unforgettable final boss, and they succeeded. The concept of a truly evil, apocalyptic monster in a world where most monsters are basically animals adds to its intimidation factor, and I can only imagine how kids felt when they saw Schrade Castle and the skies above it for the first time. It honestly makes me sad that I never had the original Monster Hunter as a kid, ‘cause the impression Fatalis and the fight with it would have had on me would likely have stuck with me to this day. One thing’s for sure, though: if I ever get a Monster Hunter game besides Rise, it’ll probably be Monster Hunter World and its Iceborne expansion, ‘cause aside from the Coral Islands, fighting Fatalis in a modern game would be exhilarating. 8/10.

#monster hunter #monster hunter rating #zaph1337

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blueorchidrp · 4 years ago

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LOOKING FOR NEW RP BUDDIES <3 [MXM || D/S THEMES || LITERATE]

Heya lovely people <3

(Brace yourselves, this is a long one! :D)

Recently, I've found myself in the mood to RP again after losing motivation during the beginning of the pandemic so I'm really hoping this ad will appeal to someone out there and I might find one or two new people to write with! :D

I'll go into detail about what I'm looking to RP in a second, but first of all, a little about me:

I'm female, 21+ and my time zone is GMT+1 (Central Europe). I'm an experienced writer and roleplayer of 10+ years. I exclusively write in 3rd person/past tense and would prefer for you to do the same.

English isn’t my first language but I’m pretty comfortable with it and I always try to keep mistakes to a minimum. Despite that, I hope you will excuse the occasional mistake! I would really prefer for you to have good spelling/grammar as well, but of course I’m not super pedantic about it and don’t mind typos from time to time. Nobody’s perfect, after all!

Usually I go for slower-paced RPs with longer replies since I'm not the fastest writer but recently I've really been in the mood for some faster-paced RPs and consequently, shorter replies. I usually aim for 300-1,500 words per reply but for this I would like to keep replies on the shorter side (at least on average and with no pressure from your side to conform to this, of course).

Obviously the length of the reply would still rely on what is happening in the RP - starters will naturally be longer than replies that heavily depend on how the other character will react.

I'm fine with having a short-term RP although I do enjoy plotting and also some occasional world-building (although admittedly I sometimes need a while to really pitch in with my ideas unless I'm already comfortable with my partners!) so long-term partners would be great!

I love chatting OOC, not only to discuss plot-related stuff but also to get to know who I am RPing with but it’s not mandatory and if you’d rather not that’s A-okay!

I prefer character-focused RPs, I’m not too good at writing action scenes and I tend to get bored of those rather quickly. I’d rather concentrate on my character’s feelings and his interactions with your character and focus on exploring their dynamic and thoughts.

I love conflict/tension in my RPs and I also love exploring more “philosophical” themes in them. I'm a huge fan of angst, (emotional) hurt & comfort, slow burn and similar genres but overall I do want an eventual happy ending. Occassional fluff is cute and more than fine as well, I just need some "meat" to the RP to keep me interested :D

Now, let’s go to what I’m craving the most right now:

I would very much like a RP that focuses on a (consensual) Dom/Sub relationship. I only do MxM pairings. I would prefer to play the dominant character for this.

I would prefer to involve at least some smut for this one (but we could also fade to black if preferred!) but overall I would really like to focus more on exploring the non-sexual aspects of the dynamic between our characters.

In general when it comes to smut, my characters tend to be switches who mainly top but if they do bottom they’re more along the lines of "power bottoms". In any case, they won’t just lie there and need your character to do all the work for them. (Obviously I can adjust that if you prefer to play the more dominant character)

For the D/s stuff I would ask that we discuss this more in depth in private, but in general I don't think I'm super kinky (I would rather not include too many "out there" ones) and my limits are pretty "standard" as well.

Broadly speaking my limits include: age play, bodily fluids, extreme kink/fetishes, mpreg, A/B/O, large age gaps, degradation.

Some key words of stuff I really enjoy (I'll try not to go overtly sexual):

- Devotion

- Obedience

- Praise Kink (!!)

- Collars/Leashes

- Kneeling

- Spanking

- Titles of Respect

- Terms of Endearment

- Begging

- ...

Some dynamics I enjoy (none of these are a must, of course! This is just to give you a general idea of what I might be looking for):

- the sub being a badass outside of the relationship and only being vulnerable around the dom

- the sub being physically stronger/bigger than the dom (!!!)

- the sub being rather shy/timid

- the dom being a little uncertain of what he wants in the beginning/needing to find himself as a dom

- also the dom in general also getting to be vulnerable

- the sub being super devoted/eager to please

- the sub taking care of the dom

- or: the dom taking care of the sub

- both being really in love with each other

These are the kinds of ideas I'd like to explore (Of course I'm also open to other scenarios/pairings as well, if you have something else in mind!):

Crime Boss x Right-Hand Man:

I'm really craving this one right now! I'm imaging this powerful mobster and his faithful right-hand man who is hopelessly devoted to his boss and willing to do whatever it takes to make sure his boss stays on top. I would prefer for the boss to be the dom and the right-hand man to be the sub.

Son of Crime Boss x Bodyguard:

Celebrity x Bodyguard:

For the first one I'm imagining that the son would be trying to make a name for himself and get out from under his father's thumb (and the bodyguard helping him). For the celebrity one I would imagine the celeb maybe being an actor or some sort of pop/rock star. I would prefer for the bodyguard to be the sub.

Royal x Servant, Royal x Knight:

This can be fantasy/historical (European/East Asian) or even modern. I'm imagining the servant/knight and the royal having been childhood friends and the servant/knight being raised with the knowledge that he would have to protect the royal once he grows up. I really enjoy the idea of one character swearing to serve another for the rest of his life. I would prefer for the knight/servant to be the sub and the royal to be the dom.

Elder Vampire x Fledgling Vampire:

Vampire x Human:

For the first one: Maybe the fledgling vampire was abandoned by his sire and the elder vampire finds him and decides to show him the ropes. For the second one: Maybe the human is a sort of ghoul (like from Vampire: the Masquerade) or human servant or maybe he's just someone the vampire stumbled across while out and about. I would prefer for the (elder) vampire to be the dom and the fledgling/human to be the sub here.

Best Friend x Best Friend:

I got the idea of these college-age guys that slowly discover that they like each other. Maybe they're childhood friends or maybe they've met in college. I’m happy to hear what ideas you might have for this pairing, of course, but a personal favourite of mine is to pair a more stoic (or even grumpy) leaner smart/sarcastic guy with a more jock-like/buff guy who is perpetually happy and optimistic who follows character A around and eventually endears himself to him through sheer persistence.

Soulmates:

I love exploring soulmate AUs, I’m a sucker for all variations of this trope but I’ve been thinking about an idea for a society that places each member of a bonded pair in one of two categories, and members of one category are treated as lesser in society/expected to serve their other half. For this I would definitely like to do some more world-building and really exploring the philosophy of this world as well! It would also be cool to have our character maybe fight against the expectations set by this society but I'm definitely open to other ideas as well!

Apart from that I enjoy a lot of different variations of the soulmate trope but my favourite is the classic idea that involves soulmates having a sort of mark on them that helps them identify who their partner is <3

Other:

Make a suggestion!

I don't have an pre-made OCs so I would come up with a character once we've decided on a plot but of course you can use whatever character you want! I usually don't use FC and just describe what I imagine my character to look like but if you can point me to some good FC ressources I would be willing to look for one if it's important to you! The ages of my characters depend on the plot/dynamic we're going for but they mostly tend to be around 20-45!

Fandoms: Harry Potter, Supernatural, Dragon Age, Detroit: Become Human, Vampires: the Masquerade, Marvel/Avengers, DC, Batman/Joker, Merlin (BBC), Shameless (US).

At the moment I really enjoy the pairing of Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz (they're the inspiration for the Crime Boss x Right-Hand Man idea) so if anyone is up for that pairing as well, let me know! I also really enjoy the pairing Mickey x Ian (Gallavich) from the show Shameless, if anyone is interested in that one!).

I would prefer not to RP anything involving child abuse, underage characters in sexual situations, incest and similar themes. (I’m fine with these things being part of your character’s back story and your character dealing with the after-effects of them but I don’t want to actively RP them!).

I’m also exclusively looking for MxM pairings, so please don’t contact me if you’re looking for someone to RP a MxF plot with! And please be at least 18+. I don’t feel comfortable RPing with anyone younger, even if the RP doesn’t have any smut in it.

I mostly RP on Discord these days, but I'm also open to other mediums, mainly E-mail, tumblr or GoogleDocs!

I would prefer for you to already have a plot in mind (or at least a vague idea of what you want to roleplay) before contacting me!

Thank you for reading all of this! Have a great day & stay safe and healthy!

Contact:

Discord: blueorchid [hashtag] 8092

E-mail: blueorchid.roleplay [at] gmail [dot] com

Or message me here on tumblr! :D

#mxm #mxm roleplay #oc roleplay #oc #slash #roleplay #rp

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buckysmischief · 5 years ago

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Hey, babydoll

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warning: okay this whole thing is getting Bucky & Steve high for the first time so if you’re not into reading that, you might not be into this. and if you’re under 18 please don’t read also, @stuckonjbbarnes asked for this after hearing dev & I talk for a minute lol, so this is her fault

Summary: What do you do when you have an opportunity to get Bucky and Steve high for the first time? Say ‘no’?

Masterlist

☽

Wednesday nights were special for you and Bucky. You both decided that would be the one night a week you would each have your alone time, it was nice to sit back and enjoy your own company sometimes.

Usually you stay home and catch up on Netflix, take a nice relaxing bath, and end the night getting high on the balcony. Any other day of the week Natasha, Wanda, and Tony would be out here with you, but they understood this was the one night you got to yourself. Bucky would join just to be in your company, but he never showed any interest in smoking so you never asked him if he wanted to try.

It was about 10 pm when you heard Bucky opening the door to your shared suite, he told you earlier that him, Steve, and Sam were going to the opening of some new Sports Bar in Brooklyn. “Hey, YN, I’m home. Steve’s here too.”

“Okay!” you shout, “I’m about to go out on the balcony, you both can join if you want!”

“Join you for what?” Steve asked, leaning against the bedroom door.

“Well I was gonna relax a little with the help of my friend here,” showing him the blunt you rolled earlier that day, “but I don’t think you’re into this kind of thing, you’re still welcome to keep me company.”

“You smoke marijuana?”

“Yes you old man, don’t seem so surprised.” you laugh, walking to meet Bucky on the balcony.

“It’s illegal, YN. Bucky, do you know about this?”

“Yeah, I know. Half the team smokes the stuff.” Did Steve really not know?

You took a moment to figure out your next words carefully, sitting next to both super soldiers. “You know, I’m not the type of person to push anyone to do something they don’t want to do, but I think you both would benefit from getting high.”

Bucky looked at you, eyes full of curiosity, “How so, babydoll?”

“Well, lots of reasons. For one, none of us are on duty tonight so you won’t have to worry about leaving at any moment. But the main thing, at least for me, is it reduces stress, and if you two aren’t the most stressed human beings alive then I’m not sure who is.” you give them both a wink and light the blunt. “But if neither of you want to, that’s totally fine too. Just means more for me.

You pretend not to notice the silent conversation Bucky and Steve are having, each of their eyebrows raising, the slight nods. Truth be told, they could probably read each other's minds.

While in your own little world, you failed to notice the way Bucky studied you. He watched the way you close your eyes while inhaling the smoke, and how peaceful you look when you exhale it.

“H-hey, babydoll..”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Can I try?” he gave you a sexy smirk, the one he knows he can get you to just about anything with.

“Yeah, you just put your lips in this non-lit end and breath it in, pull it into your lungs, and then exhale.” You watch as he followed each step and, as expected, Bucky was coughing for a few seconds. He grabbed your thigh with his vibranium hand and you both began laughing uncontrollably, “You asshole,” he laughs between coughs, “you didn’t say how long until you exhale.”

“My bad, honest. You kinda have to learn it for yourself.” you take the blunt back and sit back in your seat, “So, how do you feel?”

You watch him think about it, but after a few minutes of him staring at the starry night sky you realized just how high he probably was.

Steve must have noticed it too, “So we can’t get drunk, but we can get high?”

After taking another hit, you offer it to Steve, “What do ya say, Captain? Wanna relax for the first time in your life?”

To your surprise, he actually takes it. You watch him study it and remember the steps you told Bucky, who is finally aware he’s about to watch history take place. Captain America smoking weed? Unheard of. But Cap, being the astounding man he is, takes his first hit like he’s been doing it his whole life, causing Bucky to absolutely lose his shit. In retrospect, it should have been the obvious outcome.

After about ten minutes of peaceful silence, Steve starts to laugh harder than you’ve ever heard before. “Can you imagine us doing this in the 30s?” He’s laid back on the furniture at this point, letting himself fully enjoy the moment.

“Man, I would have probably, no, definitely would have had to carry your ass to the nearest hospital, this stuff would have killed you.” Bucky ends with a more serious tone, which caused you and Steve to laugh even harder.

Once everyone calms their laughter, you decide to ask the boys some questions. “Okay so when Nat and Wanda smoke with me we get on Twitter and read what people think of us, mostly things they want to know about us, and answer them out loud to each other. Y’all down?”

“YES!” yells Steve, shooting back up and sitting on the edge of his seat. So this is Steve without the weight of the world on his shoulders?

After Bucky agreed, you began scrolling.

“Alright, first one is for Steve, and I think I’m going to actually tweet your reply cause everyone deserves to know. Do you ever plan on dating or are you already spoken for?”

“Oh I don’t get anything easy? No? Fine,” Steve chuckles, “I don’t have anyone special in my life at the moment, but I’m not opposed to the idea. I just feel like whoever I end up with deserves all of me, and I can’t be that to anyone while I’m out here risking my life everyday as Captain America. And you can tweet that.”

“Awe, that’s so sweet,” Bucky sighed, “alright my turn! Ask me something, this is fun.”

“Okay you impatient baby, What’s the biggest adjustment you’ve made since moving in with the Avengers?”

He thought about it for a moment before he answered, “I guess it’s not having to go to bed at night with one eye open, wondering where the next threat was going to come from. Here I have friends, family, I have you.” putting his hand back on your leg. “We also always have food, let’s go get some.”

Steve gives him a confused look, “We didn’t even eat an hour ago?”

“Okay, and? I’m hungry again, let’s go get food.” He stood up abruptly asking, “Why the fuck haven’t we gotten food!?”

You stand up to face him and wrap your arms around him, “Because you’re not hungry, babe, you’re just high.”

“What’s the difference, I’m still hungry.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Steve then stands up and demands cheesy fries, so the three of you walk to the kitchen and find everything you need. It wasn’t how you imagined getting the pair high for the first time, but it would definitely be a night to remember.

And tell Natasha and Wanda about in the morning.

☾

Permanent tags: @sociallyeneptbarnes @valkyriesryde @buckysdumbmetalarm @rogvewitch @infj-slytherclaw @whimsicalatbest @readeity @nea90sweetie @aestheticrelated @pinknerdpanda @justabitoverobsessed @imsoft-barnes @actualdpshuri @goalexis123 @https-bucky @stuckyandsciencebros @moli1497 @agentpeggybarnesfanfics @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam @screaming-fridge @geeksareunique @rhymesmenagerie @brokenthelovely @ivoryhazlewood @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @mushyjellybeans @sebbbystaaan @rayche776 @buggy-blogs @estillion14 @perpetually-tuned-out @stuckonjbbarnes @sandyclaws @sleepingspacedragon @missmeganrachel @sunflowersandcherry @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @saturn-aka-six @my-drowning-in-time @death-unbecomes-you @miraclesoflove

#Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes fluff #mcu fanfic #reader insert #marvel #getting high for the first time #Steve Rogers #and bucky barnes

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nosferatvpussy · 4 years ago

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter VII]

Word count: 6,292

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you do too while reading it. Side note 1: I reference a few movies here and there. I would advise you skipping one or two paragraphs to avoid spoilers if you still mean to watch it. But, I'm assuming everyone reading this has seen it already. Site note 2: Anne Rice will find a way to sue me if this somehow finds its way to her (it won't, who do I think I am) Side note 3: if you haven't yet, watch every movie and read every book mentioned here. They're all great.

____________________________________________________________

I had a huge grin on my face as I left the courtroom. My client grabbed my arm and shook it, chuckling.

“You won!” she squealed.

“ We won,” I corrected. I stopped walking and faced Mirriam. Her make-up was smudged beneath her watery eyes and her lips were quivering. “I’m happy for you.”

She pulled me into a hug, knocking the breath out of me. Both my hands were occupied, carrying my briefcase and purse so, I had no choice but to stand there, unable to hug her back. Mirriam sobbed, her arms tightening about my neck ever so slightly as she thanked me. Over her shoulder, I saw Judge Llewellyn leave the courtroom, still dressed in his robes. He looked at us, the perpetual crease between his eyebrow softening. Mirriam exclaimed and released me abruptly. The squeals of happy children echoed down the hall and I turned to see Mirriam make a run for the two kids sprinting towards her.

“Congratulations, Miss L/N,” said Llewellyn. I turned my head to see him standing at my side. “You did well.”

“Can you repeat that, please? I didn’t quite catch it,” I said, grinning from ear to ear.

His lips tugged up as he glanced away. When he looked at me again his face was serious.

“Don’t try your luck,” he extended a hand toward me. “I’m looking forward to seeing you at practice in my court again.”

Any moment now my cheeks would tear from smiling so much. I let go of my purse, not caring that it almost tipped over, and shook his hand. Although his fingers were long and bony, his handshake was firm.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded and made his way to the opposite direction, presumably towards the judges’ chambers. I watched him go, his robes swaying after him and then turned the other way, taking in Mirriam on her knees, laughing at whatever her children had said. Yeah, I did well. As I picked up my purse, I felt it vibrating. I stuck a hand inside it, searching for my phone as I made my way out of the Royal Courts of Justice.

“Hi, Zoe.”

“Any news?” She asked on the other end.

“None.”

“It’s been over a week since he took you out. Shouldn’t he have called you?”

“Maybe he’s lost interest,” I countered, frowning at the twinge on my chest.

Out in the open, I lowered my head to protect myself against the drizzle as I walked.

“That’s absurd. He wouldn’t go to all the trouble of bribing someone--”

“I still regret telling you that.”

“Nevermind who he is, that was impressive.”

An outsider could hear our conversation and think we were complaining about some guy giving me the cold shoulder, not plotting against a five centuries old vampire.

“Zoe, I don’t care why he hasn’t called as long as he leaves me alone. Maybe he met someone else,” as I talked, I managed to make eye contact with a cabbie inside a passing taxi and nodded. “I saw you two days ago. I’ll call if anything changes. When do you want to meet again?”

“Let’s make it Sunday. It’ll be the fourth set of samples and I want to keep the every 2 days pattern we’ve got going on until your bite fully heals.”

The taxi stopped next to me and I juggled all my stuff in order to open the door. I glared at the cabbie, hoping that he would be moved by my anger and help me open the door. I could be Queen Elizabeth and he wouldn’t care.

“Fine,” I said as I managed to open the car door and get inside. “61 Marney Road,” I told the cabbie and he accelerated. “St Thomas Hospital again?” I asked Zoe.

“Yes. 11am. Call me if Dracula--”

“I know, I know. Bye.” I ended the call before she could keep talking.

Once I settled my belongings next to me and made myself comfortable, I leaned my head on the window, watching as London’s lights started coming to life in the nearing dusk. Getting complimented by Judge Llewellyn deserved to be celebrated. A good film accompanied by popcorn and lots of chocolate appealed to my body overridden by PMS. Add an hour in a hot bath and then I would have the perfect Friday night. How would Count Dracula spend his Friday night?

I lowered my shirt’s high collar and touched the scar on my neck. It was nothing more than small scabs now that the bruises were gone but I still wore turtlenecks to conceal the strangulation marks. I hadn’t felt the tingling sensation on it ever since my date with the Count and I wondered if it would react at all to him now that it was almost healed.

“Miss, you alright?”

I removed my hand from my neck like I had been burned.

“What?”

“Are you feeling alright? It sounded like you were out of breath,” he spoke the same way someone would if they were addressing an elderly person.

My entire face went hot and I thanked him silently for not being one those cabbies that always had the rear view mirror turned to the back seats in order to watch the passengers.

“I have, uh, asthma,” I shut my eyes as I spoke, overcome by embarrassment. “But I’m fine now.”

Had I gone mental? Rubbing my scar to test if it was still reactive to touch in the back of a taxi was just plain stupid, especially considering that I’d gotten so utterly lost in pleasure that I had been panting loud enough for the cabbie to hear me.

“Tragic, innit?”

That my bond to Count Dracula paired with PMS had made me become a dog in heat? Yes.

“Sorry, what?”

The cabbie leaned forward and a second later the whispering voices coming from the car speakers raised to an understandable volume.

“ Surrey police has no leads so far ,” was all I heard from the narrator before a song started playing.

“What happened?”

“Two students were found dead this morning in Surrey University. Bright youngins, can you imagine what they could--”

I straightened on my seat.

“Murders?”

“Makes no sense, how brutal. Police says it appears they were having a movie night--”

“How were they killed?”

The cabbie took hold of the rear view mirror and angled it at me. I smiled dryly at his frown.

“Professional curiosity,” I told him. “I’m a defense lawyer.”

That answer did nothing to soothe the crease on his large forehead.

“Police isn’t sure yet. But I heard from a pal from Surrey,” he lowered his voice, like he was confiding in me, “that the person that found ‘em threw up and so did a coppa. Looked like a scene straight from The Shining, I bet. Nasty stuff.”

I nodded, relaxing against the window again. Taking he referenced The Shining, that probably meant that there was a lot blood. Dracula wouldn’t waste a drop, I supposed. Odd horrific murders came about once in a while, sadly, and all of them committed by humans. Besides, would he really go all the way to Surrey just to murder a bunch of uni students? London was stacked with several student halls for him to pick from without the trouble of traveling across counties.

“First what happened at that company and then this… This is a bad, bad week. My gran used to say that everything comes in threes. I assure ya, miss, there’s more-”

“Which company? What are you talking about?”

“Ya haven’t heard?” he questioned, glancing at me through the mirror. “Why, miss. Two nights ago the, whaddyacallit, the big corporate cunts in charge of a company- oh, excuse my mouth, miss-”

“The board of directors?”

“Yeah, those blokes. Murdered, the whole lot of ‘em, inside a meeting room!” he started whispering again.

“Was this here in London?”

“Central London,” he nodded. “Can’t remember the name of the company, now-”

“Like the murders in Surrey? Bloody?”

“Nah, don’t think there’s been news about that. Cameras were dead, caught nothing of it. They were found by security at almost midnight after a wife of one of ‘em called looking for her husband.”

“Cause of death?” I asked and he looked at me. “Just answer the question.”

“Stab wounds to the neck, all of ‘em. Apparently some of them put up a fight because there were broken arms and fingers. Scotland Yard said that it’s prolly more than one murderer, other than that they’ve been quiet about it… They’re investigating it,” he made air quotes, “that’s code for we don’t know shite.”

He continued ranting for the rest of the trip but I wasn’t listening anymore. I doubted that Netflix would be able to salvage my mood after that conversation.

Once I paid the cabbie, I bid him a nice weekend and jumped out of the taxi. Compared to how he had barely cared about my struggle to get in the taxi, he was nice enough to wait until I got my door opened. Now that the night had come, the automatic light above my front door had turned on and I could only make out the shape of his hand waving at me from inside the car. I waved back as a thanks before going inside.

I went straight upstairs after I locked the door. With how wired I was, I forgot all about my intentions of taking a bath and took a shower instead. Considering I was humming a tune to myself after thirty minutes under a steady stream of hot water, I was making a quick recovery. I was still singing when I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel about my body. I opened the door, tendrils of steam spilling from my bathroom into my bedroom.

“Ohmygod!”

Count Dracula grinned at me, lying on the middle of my bed with both arms folded beneath his head. I pressed the towel to myself, desperately seeking more cover.

“I was starting to wonder if you would ever come out of there.”

“I wish I hadn’t!” I exclaimed. “I locked my door! How the hell did you get in?!”

“Window." He pointed one long finger at it.

Deadbolts. I’d have to get deadbolts on every single window in my house.

“Couldn’t you have texted in advance?!”

“I did. You didn’t reply.”

I stared at him, waiting for something else to come out of his mouth. Instead, his gaze slid down my body, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he inhaled sharply. I knew exactly why he was whiffing the air. Thank God my body was flushed from the hot shower, otherwise I would have gone bright red in anger.

“Ugh, leave!” I said, projecting my voice like I was in court.

I stretched an arm out, pointing at the window. The sudden movement almost caused the towel to open and I immediately took hold of it again with a little squeak. Count Dracula was up at once, circling the bed towards me. I gulped. His gaze pulled me in and for a moment my anger sizzled down.

“I’ve missed you,” he said and a shiver went down my spine.

I stepped back into the bathroom to put some distance between us.

“Too bad, go away.”

A smirk tugged the corner of his lips.

“You’ve missed me, too.”

“Absolutely did not.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

“It’s called anger.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“‘I’ll go wait downstairs,” he said before turning away from me and slipping out of my bedroom.

My knees almost gave out when he left and I rushed to sit on the edge of the bed. I held my head as I tried to concentrate and take deep breaths. Had he stayed any longer I wouldn’t put it past me to lock myself in the bathroom and remain there until morning. Not only I had to deal with him, I also could feel cramps coming. I wanted nothing more to curl up in bed with a heat compress and chocolate. Summoning my courage, I got up and went to get dressed.

As I went down the stairs, Dracula peeked his head out from the living room.

“You’re going out in your nightgown?”

I stopped for a second, frowning and then continued down.

“I’m not going out. I’m tired and uncomfortable and I’m staying home,” I forced a smile, batting my eyelashes just to annoy him. I rounded the staircase, giving my back to him and heading for the kitchen. “I do hope you haven’t wasted your money bribing someone else to grant us entrance to another museum.”

I swiped at the switch and soft lights came on over the kitchen island and at the corners of the room.

“I haven’t. There’s no problem in postponing tonight’s date.”

I turned around to see him standing on the other side of the island, staring at me.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” He smiled. “Like I said, I’ve missed you.”

I leaned down and opened the cabinet under the sink. I pushed a set of pans to the side, looking for my heat pad.

“Been busy for this past week?” I asked, my voice echoing inside the cabinet.

“Unfortunately.”

I found the heat pad and stood up, closing the cabinet door after me as I put it inside the microwave and set 5 minutes. I turned to face him, propping my hips on the kitchen counter. I pulled on my courtroom face. If Count Dracula squinting at me meant that he saw me do it, then I needed to work more on my tells.

“Reading Jules Verne or killing a board of directors?”

One of his eyes twitched before he smiled.

“Both. Although I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Not finish the book?”

“Dracula-”

“I was bored." He waved his hands on the air, dismissing my hard stare. “Please, I did the world a service! Yes, I went after them on a whim but as soon as I drank from one of them… I killed them on principle.”

“Principle? You’ve got that?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He put his hands on top of the island and leaned forward, the light above his head creating shadows on his face. “The first one I bit was a child abuser. It was in his blood so, forgive me if killing him offends you. I broke his neck because I didn’t have a stomach for him. The rest of them… were palate cleansers. Although it didn’t do much good. Incredible how many of them had raped women and beat their wives.”

We stared at each other, frozen in place.

All my anger from before vanished and I had to struggle to keep my courtroom face on. In another world, one where there was no law binding me, I would have done the same. Was this the good in him I had been searching, however twisted it was?

The microwave chimed, prompting me to blink and break eye contact.

“I hope you hid at least some of the evidence,” I said, pushing back from the kitchen counter. “I’m not sure how representing a vampire in court for murder would look on my resumé.”

“No need to worry.” He grinned.

I grabbed the heat pad from the microwave, juggling it between my hands to avoid getting burnt until I dropped it to the counter.

“What about the students in Surrey?”

“Surrey? No, I haven’t been there.”

I nodded, somewhat relieved. I turned my back on Dracula to conceal my face as I broke the façade. He wasn’t responsible for the murders on Surrey as I suspected but after killing those ‘corporate cunts’, as the cabbie had put so appropriately, he probably went somewhere else to find another palate cleanser. Somebody else was dead because of him but for the life of me I couldn’t find something inside me to care enough. He had indeed done the world a service.

I rounded the island, past the Count so I could reach the pantry. From there I took popcorn and a bar of chocolate I had hidden, from myself, behind a set of spices. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time I moved and I fought the urge to steal a glance of his face to try figure out what was on his mind.

“I’m surprised you made an appearance,” I said in the unnerving silence.

“Are you, really?”

“Yes.” Hugging the popcorn and chocolate to my chest, I moved past him, congratulating myself for not looking at him. “No, actually. I was fairly positive you would come looking for me again, much to my dismay.” I chuckled. “One would think what happened at the museum would encourage you.”

My back burnt with the weight of his gaze. I started tearing the popcorn package frantically, making as much noise as possible to distract me. It was almost working but after I put the popcorn inside the microwave and closed it, I saw his reflection on the microwave mirrored door, moving towards me.

“It’s not very nice to sneak up on people,” I said, holding my ground.

He met my eyes through the reflection.

“I’m not nice.”

He had a reflection. I blinked, turning at once to face him. He was directly behind me, less than an arm’s length.

“You can be.”

“Do you want me to be nice?”

“No. It makes it harder to hate you.”

He smiled.

“I believed that for a second, really did. Especially when I found out that you had been asking our dear friend Renfield about me.”

I gulped.

“He wasn’t very forthcoming, if that makes you feel better,” I said and he chuckled but when his face grew serious again, I wondered if he forced that laugh. “Is that why you disappeared? Because Renfield gossiped about me to you?”

“Amongst other things,” he acquiesced, stepping back and supporting his body on the island much like I had done on the counter.

By his evasive answer, there was more to it but if he didn’t want to tell me it was fine. He had his secrets and I had mine.

“What do you know, boys really do gossip as much ladies do.”

He gave me a lopsided smile, one I judged was genuine, unlike his chuckle before. The microwave beeped again and I inhaled the delicious scent of done popcorn. I retrieved the popcorn with the tips of my fingers. I placed it briefly on the counter and then offered the heating pad to Count Dracula.

“Take this for me, will you?” I said and he did. I grabbed a glass of juice for me and then the popcorn and chocolate. “Come on. We’re watching a film.”

Count Dracula followed me into the living room. As I settled myself on the sofa, he gave me the heat pad and then occupied himself with analysing my library. Library was a kind word. It would take up the entire wall behind the telly if the fireplace had not been there. I wouldn’t say it was an impressive collection to a connoisseur but it was my collection and I had love for every single book in it, even the ones I didn’t like very much. Count Dracula had his hands laced behind his back and his head tilted as he admired it. I stopped myself from turning the telly on when I heard him whispering the titles to himself.

“Oh, would you look at that ?” He stepped forward and reached for the second to last row of books closest to the ceiling. I usually had to climb on the armchair to reach that far up but all he did was extend his arm up and pluck a book from up there. He turned around, showing me the gold cover with white and red lettering between his hands. “A vampire book?”

Of course he would find that. At least I should be thankful he didn’t find Story of O or Venus in Furs. If he had and then decided to flip through the pages, I would be doomed.

“Be very careful with that,” I warned. “It’s first edition and it was a gift. It’s sort of a classic.”

“Really?” he grinned, tipping his head up to the row from where he retrieved it from. “Are all of those classics?”

“Anne Rice might say so but the rest of the world wouldn’t,” I scoffed. He looked at me. “She thinks very highly of herself.”

“We would probably get along wonderfully,” he smirked. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit to give her real inspiration.”

“She’s an old woman now and would die of excitement if you actually visited her,” I laughed. “There’s a film for this one,” I pointed at the book in his hands. There was gleam in his dark eyes. “Do you want to watch it?”

“You’ve seen it already,” he said as he placed the book on the shelf.

“Yes but I can’t deny myself the irony of watching a vampire film with a real vampire,” I said, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV. “We’ll watch this one and then you can choose the next one.”

I gazed up at him, waiting for an answer. He traced his tongue inside his lower lip, giving my body all sorts of ideas my brain was not agreeable with. My hand tightened around the remote. Count Dracula took off his blazer and threw it on the armchair beneath the window. I almost asked him if all his shirts were missing buttons because the top ones were undone like the last time I’d seen him but then he started undoing his belt. Popcorn spilled on my lap.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I exclaimed.

“Getting comfortable,” he replied with a frown, like I was ridiculous for asking. He rolled the belt around his fingers and then placed it neatly on top of the fireplace. “Like you are,” he gestured at me.

I was sunken back on the sofa between pillows and cushions, with my feet on the coffee table and popcorn all over my nightie. Technically speaking, I was indeed comfortable, especially because of the heating pad on my lower abdomen relieving menstrual cramps. I was less comfortable with Dracula undressing in front of me while my body was working against me in every way possible.

“Fine,” I said between gritted teeth. My eyes widened as he started moving towards me. “W-wait, no, no, no, you’re sitting over there.”

His smirk widened into a full grin as he sat by my side, letting out an exaggerated breath, he kicked off his shoes and stretched himself in the same position as me.

“What happened to personal space?”

“I thought we’d gone past that already,” he raised his thick eyebrows.

I clenched my jaw. His gaze fell on my neck. All he would need to do was lean to sink his teeth in me, if he wanted. His lips parted and I was reminded of their softness when he had kissed me.

“Stop it,” I all but whispered.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said, eyes fixated on my neck.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” I started picking off popcorn from my lap, hoping that would show him that he wasn’t affecting me. “Let’s just watch the film.”

I endured his stare as I clicked on the remote to bring up Netflix and started searching the catalogue for Interview with the Vampire. He decided to focus on the telly once Louis started talking to Daniel. As the film went on, he laughed with Lestat and cursed at Louis constantly for his sentiment. More than once, Count Dracula was literally at the edge of his seat. He nodded approvingly at Claudia at times and at Lestat’s flare for the dramatics, making his critiques here and there about how Anne Rice had gotten it right or wrong.

“That’s Haydn,” Dracula said, eyes glued to the screen as a corpse-like Lestat played the piano and Louis and Claudia watched in horror.

“Good ear,” I commented. “Not that I’m an expert but it took me a few google searches to find out where this piece was from.”

“Good appetite,” he countered without looking at me, raising his forefinger.

I paused the film and he turned to me with an indignant look on his face.

“You ate Haydn?”

He grimaced.

“Ate is a poor term.”

“You did!” I accused, mouth falling open. “Who else?”

“I didn’t kill Haydn, that would be outrageous. I would have deprived the world of Mozart and Beethoven. I just stole a few sips to understand his genius. Chopin, however, I did kill. He was a prick, and so was Mozart. Bach, too, was unbearable but I didn’t get the chance to off him,” he shrugged. “Paganini was a riot, though. I tried turning him but he was committed already to a long time friend, you could say.”

I stared at him for a long moment. I didn’t know where to start but him saying that about Paganini, very subtly, confirmed people’s suspicion at the time that the man had made a pact with the Devil to have been that good. Finding myself unable to form another coherent thought faced with that, I simply pressed play again.

The film was doing a fantastic job of keeping the Count’s attention and I started relaxing because I didn’t have to be on guard, even if he was laying by my side. That is, until we reached the scene on a theatre where Armand drinks from a woman on stage in front of unsuspecting humans. My heart had begun hammering inside my chest as soon as Louis and Claudia stepped inside the theatre because I knew what was coming.

Though I kept my eyes on the screen, I was suddenly hyper aware of how close I was to Count Dracula. An entire side of my body touched his, down to where my leg ended. Had I grown that comfortable and not noticed it? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Count Dracula swiveling his head to stare at me.

“You’re missing the film,” I told him, jamming popcorn in my mouth to keep myself busy.

“Your pulse is more interesting right now,” his words tickled my shoulder.

I snuck a glance at him. His eyes were still bottomless pools of black. The heat in his eyes was just as worrying if his eyes had been red.

“Don’t,” I warned.

The human girl was on stage now, screaming and begging for mercy. Soft, cold lips touched my shoulder and I swallowed dryly. Another kiss marked his path up. I forgot how to move, caught in the rapture of his touch. I could have at least this. Nevermind that I was being touched by the man who meant to steal my life. My chest heaved as his kisses became sloppier, less sweet. My entire body shuddered in anticipation as a kiss landed on the curve of my neck.

“I--”

A hand delved into my hair with a demanding tug and I shut up. The popcorn bag crumpled between my hands. Armand was on stage with the woman, hugging her and providing comfort before her death.

“Say it,” his lips brushed my ear.

“I won’t.”

His lips brushed my scar and I released a shaky breath. His mouth descended on my neck and a cry tore out of me upon feeling him sucking on my skin. Another hand laid on my chest, creeping slowly towards the shoulder strap of my nightie. I closed my eyes, letting myself be consumed by pleasure and forgetting every reason why we shouldn’t do this.

“Be mine,” his words were muffled as he continued his assault on my neck.

Sharp teeth grazed my skin.

This couldn’t happen, not if I wanted to live. The minute he bit me he would know about my plan. I had to summon every ounce of control on my body to resist the sensuous ripple of pleasure coursing my body. I dodged his hands and shot up to my feet. Dracula caught himself on his elbow before he fell between the cushions. His eyes were still every bit as dark as before but his mass of hair was tousled, as mine probably was.

“I think--” I took a breath. “I think you should leave.”

He sat up and I noticed that another button on his shirt had come undone, revealing more of his chest than I had seen before. I didn’t dare look any lower. I almost cried in frustration. My body demanded him despite the fact that giving myself to him meant danger.

“I want to finish watching the film,” he said, gazing up at me as he buttoned his shirt again.

“I’m sure you’ve got Netflix at your place.”

“I do but I don’t have the pleasure of your company there.”

“Dracula--”

“I’ll behave if you do,” he put his legs on the coffee table again but I didn’t fall for it. No way I was looking below his waistline. “ Promise .”

Would I make it if I ran upstairs to my room? But what use would it be if he could simply climb through my window? I wasn’t ten years old anymore to run away from my fears, hoping they would disappear if I didn’t acknowledge them. Then again, Dracula wasn’t the monster under my bed. He was more likely to be the one on top of it. Jesus, focus! Mind over matter, come on. Up until that point he was being good company. If he was toying with my self control or not, I wasn’t sure. Besides, I couldn’t push the man away any time he made me nervous. I needed to lead him on until Zoe and I found a breach.

“I’ll hold you to that promise. You stay there,” I pointed a finger at him. “I’ll sit over there.”

Grabbing the remote and the bar of chocolate, I tiptoed my way between the remains of my popcorn and curled myself up on the armchair. I started unpacking the chocolate, doing my best to keep my eyes on the telly. Louis and Claudia were now below the theatre, in Armand’s chambers.

Feeling the Count’s gaze on me, I said, “Are you watching the bloody film or not? Because I think I would rather watch something else now.”

After I started chomping at the chocolate bar like there was no tomorrow, Dracula paid attention to the telly. I managed to breathe normally again once he seemed to be engrossed by the film and made conversation about what was going on, like we had been doing before. He celebrated Louis’ revenge by clapping at him and I laughed at the joy on his face as Lestat popped up from the backseat of Daniel’s car and bit him. I mouthed the words to Sympathy for the Devil as the credits rolled and Dracula stayed with his eyes glued to the screen.

“I must talk to this Anne Rice woman,” he muttered.

I chuckled.

“Leave her alone. She hasn’t completed the series yet and I need to know how much dumber Lestat can get in the next book.”

“He’s not dumb,” Dracula said, frowning at me.

I chuckled again. God, he’d grown attached to him.

“You haven’t read the books yet. You might loathe him as much as you did Louis if you read them.”

He groaned.

“Let’s watch another one.”

“Another vampire film?”

“Yes.”

“Narcissist,” I accused and he smiled.

After searching through the Netflix catalogue, I found a vampire film that didn’t seem so ridiculous called Byzantium. It seemed like a better alternative than Lost Boys or Fright Night. I could just imagine his outrage at Twilight so I spared him of that, too. Twenty minutes later, however, Dracula was rolling his eyes at the TV and asking for the remote. He chose Silence of the Lambs and I thanked the heavens for it. I wouldn’t be able to sit through another sexy movie with him.

“He’s a great actor,” I commented as Dr Lecter and Clarice talked through the glass prison.

“How many times have you watched it? You quoted that to me before, word for word of what he just said.”

I shrugged.

“An unhealthy amount of times,” I admitted. He looked at me. “It won four Oscars, c’mon. It’s fantastic.”

I refused to tell him the reason I loved it so much was because of Hannibal Lecter. The Oscars excuse was better. We didn’t say much after that, that’s how fascinated Dracula was. Afterwards, he chose Crimson Peak, at last, one I hadn’t seen. Resting my head on the armchair and using Dracula’s blazer as a blanket, I closed my eyes for a brief moment when Edith met Thomas.

Sleep’s warm embrace had me floating and I sighed happily. Something hard and cold pressed at my cheek, making my eyes flutter open. Dracula’s face hovered above mine. I wasn’t floating, if his arms around me and his hard chest on my cheek meant anything. My heart hurt like someone had squeezed it.

“I’m just putting you to bed,” he said in a low voice, sparing me a glance.

I was too tired to argue with him and simply rested my head on his chest again.

“You’re cold,” I complained, holding onto his blazer.

“I’m sorry.”

The harsh lights of the telly made me squint at it with drowsy eyes. Rachel Weisz was on the screen now and I frowned, trying to remember if she appeared in Crimson Peak. Had he started another movie?

“Did the sleep- huh.” I furrowed my brows and tried again, “did I the movie- no,” I sighed.

Hearing his laugh inside his chest made me smile sleepily.

“You slept little more than 2 hours,” he replied, maneuvering me out of the living room.

“You understood,” a yawn, “what I said,” I giggled and patted his chest. “Well done.”

He flashed me an amused smile before looking ahead again. I wrapped my arms around him when he started going up the stairs, afraid that I would fall. I tried listening to his heartbeat - something I enjoyed doing to people whenever I had chance - but there was no sound coming from his chest. Oddly, that was just as comforting as not hearing soft thump-thumps. But maybe that was just my sleep-addled brain.

“Tell me what happens in Croms- ah, whatever, in the film.” I frowned, mad at how stupid I sounded when I was sleepy.

He laughed again.

“A lot.”

I rolled my eyes before surrendering to my heavy eyelids and closing them.

“Be nice, tell me,” I mumbled.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be nice.”

“Right now, I do.”

He started telling me but the rumble of his voice coming from inside his chest, so close to my ear, made me drift back to sleep again. I woke up when he was laying me down on my bed. The bedside lamp made me squint. He set me in the very middle of the bed and perched next to me. I rolled on my side to face him and fluffed the pillow below my head, hiding my face from the light.

“So Edith and Thomas got married, huh?” I asked.

“You got nothing of what I just told you.”

“Not a word." I shook my head lightly.

He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen on my face and his fingers hovered over me for a moment before caressing my temple.

“You were married,” I blurted. He dropped his hand and frowned. “When you were human. Weren’t you?”

“What does it matter?” He went to get up but I grabbed his wrist.

He glared at my hand.

“It was just a question,” I told him. “Don’t be mad. We bicker all the time, already.” I raised my eyebrows at him. His gaze fell on mine, indecipherable. “We don’t have to talk about her. Forget I said it.”

For a second I thought he would storm off. Dracula looked out the window, staring into the night. I waited for him to say something, waited until sleep started creeping again. My fingers slid down his wrist, resting on the back of his hand.

“She was nothing like you.”

My eyes fluttered open. He was still staring into the dark. I had to choose my words carefully if I wanted him to keep talking.

“How was she like?”

“Fragile and fearful of… everything. Deeply religious and foolish, at times. She smiled whenever she looked at me, even when I had done horrible things. In her mind, all that I did was in the name of God. There was this one time when I came from battle and I had blood on my face and armour-" he stopped, shoulders sloping and then stiffening "-she kissed me.”

“She wasn’t that fragile, then.”

He scoffed.

“I suppose not,” he conceded.

“Did you love her?”

“More than I thought I was capable.”

I had a feeling I knew the answer to my next question but asked it anyway.

“What happened to her?”

Finally, he turned his head to look at me. For the first time I saw a semblance of real emotion in his eyes and it broke my heart.

“I happened to her.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and took a breath to ask more but he stood up, his hand grazing mine briefly. I watched as he closed the curtains and then picked up the duvet at the bottom of my bed, unfurling it on top of me. I retrieved his blazer from beneath the covers and handed it to him. When he met my eyes again, his expression was devoid of all emotion. His hand reached behind me and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. I couldn’t make out his face anymore.

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” I whispered but I wasn’t sure if he was still in the room to hear me..

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oikawa-tuwu · 4 years ago

Text

Exit, Stage Right

🎭 Chapter 16 (oikawa x reader)

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” your new understudy, Chiyo, comments when you collapse in the chair next to her. Finally, the last scene for the day was blocked, which meant that the cast would be dismissed, which meant you could go to the cafe, which meant you could finally meet Alien Boy.

Finally.

“Am I?” You say, still grinning despite your usual post-rehearsal exhaustion.

“Yeah, you haven’t glared at me once today,” Oikawa hums somewhere in your right ear, and you glance back to see that he claimed the seat behind you, and is currently leaning much too far forward for comfort, his face, a daunting mere few inches from yours. “Care to explain what has you so happy, Juliet?”

Even the slight acceleration of your heart isn’t enough to get your mood down, so you just shove his forehead back with your hand and put his stupid pretty face and stupid pretty hair and stupid pretty grin out your mind. Oikawa wails a little, but your attention has already moved on.

Alien boy.

“Good job, everyone. You’re dismissed for the day-”

Your hand is already reaching for your bag.

“Except for Y/n, Watari, and Yahaba, I want to run the scene one more time, because something in the blocking was off and I want to make sure we have it down before we move on.”

“Damn,” Yahaba mutters, apathetically, as you reach for your script again. “That sucks for you.”

“You could at least pretend like you don’t find my pain amusing,” you bite back, but you follow him back up to the rehearsal space. “Sadist.”

Yahaba shoots you a blinding smile. “Dumbass.”

“Be nice,” Watari chides, but he’s grinning too, so the scolding falls flat.

Most of the cast still wanders around the seats, talking about weekend plans or collecting their bags and scripts, but surprisingly, the third year boys have already left. It had seemed like a new tradition for Oikawa, lingering behind to bug you about going to practice lines or walking you home, but he’s nowhere to be found. Even Iwaizumi is already gone, leaving Kyoutani and his perpetually angry expression to read from the stage manager’s script.

“Alright, we’re going to go from Juliet’s line, line number…”

Fifteen grueling minutes later, the director dismisses you.

Thankfully, you’ll still get there on time if you hurry, but it doesn’t help that your friends are walking at a snail’s pace. Even Kyoutani is walking slowly, and that boy basically runs everywhere most of the time.

“Look, a flower,” Yahaba says for the eleventh time, slowing down to peer at it, and you’re about ready to sock him.

“Fuck you, I’m leaving you behind.”

“I was joking!” Yahaba laughs and you hear the other three second years pick up their pace to catch up with you. “Wait for us!”

Your last memory of Sakura Cafe was when Oikawa’s jealous ex-girlfriend poured coffee on you and stained your favorite uniform shirt, so coming here to meet Alien Boy is a strange homecoming. God knows this store has seen enough dramatics from your life for this week.

Still, you tidy your hair a little with the help of your phone’s camera and adjust your uniform skirt before you turn the corner to the coffeeshop.

For a moment, you imagine what might lie behind the walls of Sakura Cafe. You’ve seen plenty of plays at nearby schools and met quite a few of their actors afterwards, so the possibilities were endless as to who he might be. Was it someone from Karasuno? Their drama club president was handsome and incredibly nice, or maybe their vice president, with his silver hair and playful grin. Or maybe it was someone from Shiratorizawa?

You can’t help but smile a little at the thought. Oikawa would throw a hissy fit if he found out that you were friends with Ushijima Wakatoshi. (He thinks he’s aaaall that because he was in a touring production of Les Mes when he was a kid. Ugh.)

And, once again, Oikawa invades your thoughts.

That boy was like a dagger that slowly slipped between your armor and suddenly had you clutching your heart on the floor. You’d been stabbed once and the armor was a logical next step after the wound he inflicted in your first year. You had been content for the last year to hate him, to pretend like his bad pick-up lines and long eyelashes did more to infuriate than to arouse, but the lies only went so far after that night at the park. He had apologized. He had joked. He had smiled. His true smile, not the one he painted on in the morning, but one that could knock the wind out of you.

And now the bastard had you rethinking everything.

“I can’t do this,” you breathe. “I can’t, I’m in love with that dumbass and I can’t-”

Watari and Yahaba exchange an unreadable look, and then they proceed to loop their arms around yours and essentially lift you off the ground, dragging you, kicking and screaming, towards the door.

“Stop!” You screech. “Kyoutani, help!”

Kyoutani does not help.

Your friends deposit you in front of the cafe doors, Watari helpfully tucking a stray hair back into place.

“You can do this,” Yahaba says, slapping you on the back. “Go get your man.”

“Aw, that’s the most encouraging thing you’ve ever said to me!”

Yahaba grimaces. “I know, it pains me too. Now go.”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Watari grins, and turns you to the door.

“Okay,” you say, and, ignoring the nerves that settled in your belly and slowly spread to your lethargic limbs, you push open the door.

Your first thought after walking through the door is, that’s weird. The missing third years: Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki, are sitting at a table, not-so-subtly staring at you. Hanamaki winks, and then the three turn back to their drinks.

Weird.

Your second thought after walking through the door is, I am the single dumbest person on this earth.

There’s only one other space being occupied in the coffee shop, a small two-person table in the corner. Behind your usual drink order, already paid for and still piping hot, and a bouquet of the reddest roses you’ve ever seen, sits Oikawa Tooru.

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is, “What the fuck.”

“You wanted this,” Yahaba says, cheerfully, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “You’re welcome.”

“What the FUCK?” You repeat, turning towards your friends, then back to Oikawa, then to the third years, then back to Oikawa. “I… you’re alien fucker?!”

Oikawa winces as you hear the other occupants of the cafe die from laughter. “For the last time, I’m not an alien fucker, I just think that the actor who played the Squip in Be More Chill is kind of attractive!”

“O. T.,” you mutter, remembering the initials on your online friend’s profile. “Oikawa Tooru. Our shows opens the same weekend, I’m such a dumbass.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I only realized a couple days ago.”

“It doesn’t.” You turn to the rest of them. “And how long have you assholes known this?”

Hanamaki wipes a tear from his eye, pausing in his laughter long enough to get out, “A blissful week.”

Your face heats up as you realize how blatant some of your tweets had been, thinking that Alien Boy would never see them.

“Is it too late to run away?” You ask Watari.

He just grins and pushes you towards Oikawa. “Yes. Now go.”

You take a deep breath, count to three, and turn back to Alien Boy. To Oikawa.

“So,” he says with a confident grin, as soon you’ve taken a few steps in his direction. “Did I make it obvious?”

You scan the display. You noticed the drink and the roses earlier, but somehow you hadn’t seen the sign, a teal piece of cardstock propped against the wall, that read, Be the Scully to my Mulder?

“I think that is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Oikawa smirks, taking a single step forward. “I know for a fact that you like cheesy stuff, considering how many times you’ve cried at ‘I’ll Cover You’ from Rent.”

The blush on your cheeks is answer enough for him, but you still try a weak protest. “Shut up.”

Oikawa tilts his head, looking at you the same way he looked at his script before going on stage for a scene he didn’t quite have memorized yet, frantically trying to capture the lines in the last few seconds before his cue. In that moment, you realize how close you’d gotten during the exchange, with a mere few inches between his face and yours. He grins, infuriatingly. “You know, you’ve been telling me that a lot lately, why don’t you make me shut up?”

In a single, fluid motion, you grab his uniform tie and yank him to your height, meeting his lips in a kiss.

Behind you, you hear a few scattered cheers, probably from Hanamaki and Matsukawa, but you don’t care. No, your attention is focused more on feeling of Oikawa’s lips on yours, the weight his hands on your waist, the way he teeth caught your lip a little as you pulled away.

When you finally part, you’re breathless. Oikawa grins at you, that stupid happy smile that killed you the other night in the park, and has the audacity to ask, “So is that a yes?”

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(A/N: And its over!! Thanks for reading, I had a lot of fun writing this one!! The rivals to lovers trope will kill me one of these days. Also I may or may not have casted Shiratorizawa in Little Shop of Horrors. Please send an ask if interested in hearing my niche and probably controversial hot takes, I have a lot of them. Anyways, thank you all for reading/supporting Exit, Stage Right and have a great day!!!)

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