#if you’d like me to spell it out clearer i totally can if this isn’t sufficient 🥰

[therealslimshakespeare]

hi! i’m a new reader and i’m kind of scared to ask this lol. it’s really very angsty but from my stalking i feel like maybe it’s okay? feel free to ignore if not. it’s just been weighing on me since i read sanchez (huge tallulah smith fan btw. i love that girl more than anything) and i need to know. that part where she… she says she knows “it” can happen to men too because “they can put themselves both places”… how does she know that. if she didn’t even know sa was possible and didn’t even know what condoms were before ida told her… does she know that because… hope you know what i’m saying here.

Darling hello, I’m really glad you popped in here with this. When writing I went over the wording of how she conveys what happened to her many times because, as you noted, she didn’t even have the framework or vocabulary to really express it in a common or polished way. And I felt really strongly about capturing that painful naïveté even after her assault.

So the wording of what you are asking about- glad you asked, I hoped it would be highly suggestive if not obvious. And apparently it is. Because here you are.

Short and somewhat PG answer is: she knows from personal experience.

[buckys-little-hoe]

Guys my age | Peter x Fem!Reader, Tony x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Peter x Reader, Tony x Reader

Summary: Years pass and you’re not the little girl anymore.

Warnings: Half naked woman, alcohol, sexual thoughts, grammar and spelling mistakes (I really don’t feel like reading through it again lmao)

A/N: Do I smell a possible series? Tell me if you like it and I will probably continue this. Hehehe

-

Peter Parker. The cutest best friend someone could only ever find in their wildest dreams. He helps you with your homework, he’s been there when you were lovesick, when you were hurt, he trusts you with his life. You’d do anything for him and he’d do the same. He’d get you the moon if you’d ask him. 

You’ve been close friends since Freshman Year - therefore you know his secret identity. Countless nights you spend in eachothers arms, both of you have changed in front of the other. Nothing is really a big deal to you two anymore. Now that you’re two years into college - you traveled around the world for one year after highschool - you’re legally an adult. Drinking is something you can legally do now, not that you often would. You feel like a woman. No. You are a woman. Things change. Feelings change. You often spent the weekend at the compound, sharing a room with Peter back in highschool. So spending Spring Break there isn’t really different. What Peter didn’t tell you, was that everyone is going to be home. This situation is rare. More than half of the team you’ve last seen when you were like sixteen. It will be something completely new, not only for you. “Y/N?”, your dorm roommate calls after you. “Yeah?”, you respond while packing the last things into a suitcase. She barges into your room and scans the room, looking for you. She sees you standing in front of your small closet. “Ohh. You’re leaving. Where to?”, she asks, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “I told you. I’m staying at Peter’s.”, you answer smiling. “Peter? Oh, your boyfriend!”, she says. “He’s not my boyfriend.”, you mumble now. “Whatever, he’s totally into you.”, she responds and sits down on your bed, which is a mess by the way. “He’s not.” Your cheeks start to burn and you turn around. “If you wanna believe that. Have you seen my black dress?” You're grateful that she changes the conversation. “Yeah, you brought it to the salon to get it cleaned.”, you respond, still not facing her. “You’re a literal angel, Y/N. I guess we’ll see eachother after spring break again, so have fun and wrap it before you tap it, darling.”, she says and gives you a kiss on the cheek. Before you can turn around she’s already out the door. 

“I’m bored Peter.”, you sigh looking out of the window. “We’re almost there.” You can feel how he rolls his eyes. “Why are we spending Spring Break here anyway?”, you ask him now facing him. His brown messy hair almost falling into his eyes. He needs to cut that. “I want to work on my skills again and maybe Captain can teach you something, like he promised when he saw you last.”, he replies, still focused on the road. Oh yes. That five years ago. Captain please fuck me America. Man, what a sight for sore eyes. That man could literally run you over with a car, you’d be thanking him. “So instead of relaxing, you want them to murder me?” “Basically.” He finally pulls up to the compound after passing through all those security checks. You look at the time. Almost ten p.m. You feel so tired. “Alright Parker. You bring in those bags, I’ll shower and we watch a movie while falling asleep?”, you question. Well not really, It’s more of an order. He sighs and kills you with his eyes. Before he can say anything, you run into the empty compound. Seems like they’re on a mission. “FRIDAY?”, you call. “Hello, miss Y/L/N. It’s good to see you back.”, the AI greets you. “Well, thanks. Where can I take a shower?”

Relaxed, you get out of the shower, seeing the dampness all over the mirror. That’s when you realise you forgot to bring in clothes. No big deal, right? It’s just good ol’ Penis Parker. You wrap a towel around your curves. You slowly open the door just to see nothing. No Peter, no suitcase. No clothes? You moan in disbelief. This can’t be true. Your old clothes already went down the laundry chute. “FRIDAY?”, you call once again. “Yes, miss?”, the voice answers. “Where is Peter?” “It seems to me that mister Parker went to the kitchen with the luggage.” You’re going to murder him. “Well can you tell him to come?”, you ask. “Unfortunately he has his headphones in at full volume. I can not reach him.”, FRIDAY replies. “That’s fine, thanks.”, you huff, annoyed. It’s been only like ten minutes. They’re not gonna be here, right? Peter said they’ll return tomorrow. Alright. You pull the towel tighter around your body and slowly walk across the room. It’s now or never. You open the door and look outside. No sign of anybody. So you slowly walk next to the wall. You just need to reach the elevator, go into the kitchen and beat his ass. Man, you’re really nervous. You take a deep breath and walk to the elevator. The elevator opens and you slip into it. Thank god, you’re alone. You turn around to look into the mirror. Your wet hair falls on your decollete, your cheeks still a little red from the hot shower, your lips are plump from the lip masks. Wow, you look really good. What a shame that you don’t have your phone to take a selfie. You don’t even notice when the elevator stops. You do notice when the doors open. Your heart drops when you hear two voices, now becoming clearer to hear. No. No. No. You try to keep your cool. Both of them enter and you could drop dead right now. They stop their conversation when they notice you. “Uhm. Ma’am?”, Steve asks while pulling his eyebrows together. Bucky looks really confused. Of course. A half naked woman stands in their elevator. “Oh. Hey.”, you smile softly, trying to ignore your fast beating heart. “It’s me. Uhm. Y/N Y/L/N.” “Little Y/N?” “Queen’s girlfriend?” Both of them ask at the same time. “I’m not Peter’s girlfriend.”, you answer with an eye roll. “Also, I’m not little Y/N anymore. I’m a woman, Bucky.” He looks you up and down and nods. “Yeah, no. I can see that.”, he stutters. You remember how you're clothed and get shy again. You clear your throat and ignore Caps stare. “Have you guys seen Peter?”, you ask, changing the conversation. Captain awakes again and blinks. “Uh, yeah. He went upstairs.” “That little fucker.”, you whisper while pushing the button to your floor again. So the elevator stops one last time before going up again. Your eyes are glued on the floor. That’s awkward. “It was nice meeting you guys again.”, you smile, still not looking up. Instead you just exit the elevator, walking straight to your shared room, ready to beat his ass. “Was that really Y/N?”, Bucky asks Steve quietly while the doors close again. He just nods as a response, his eyes still on the closed doors. 

You yawn and turn around, just to see Peter’s already dead asleep. The movie finished a few seconds ago. Your phone buzzes and you turn around again to see a notification. With tired eyes you unlock your phone. Your roommate sent you a picture of her with a bottle of vodka. A Sigh escapes your parted lips. You’d give anything for a little bit of a party. Why not make one yourself. Excited you grab your headphones and walk out. A few minutes later you stand in the kitchen searching through the cabinets. The headphones blast your favorite music into your head. What a dreamlife, you think as you pull out something. There you go, a little bit of Tequila never hurts. You don’t waste time searching for a shot glass. Instead you drink it straight out of the bottle. Nice. You lean on the counter, humming the little song. Even swaying your hips a little bit. Peter can be such a nerd. Instead of getting your brain fucked out, you’re stuck in this golden cage with a bunch of old people. Suddenly someone pulls one headphone out. The music stops automatically. You turn to your right and stand right up when you realize who it is. “Mister Stark!”, you say with wide eyes. Your head shoots to his hand where he holds your headphone and then back to him, your two little braids flying with you. “Y/N?”, he asks confused and you nod. He then looks you up and down. There you are again, in shorts that barely cover your ass and a cropped sweater. “Yes, sir.”, you reply nervously. Of course you are. Who is standing half naked in his kitchen in the middle of the night just to down a little bit of vodka? Right, you are. “You grew up, huh.”, he says taking the bottle out of your hand. You make a pout but don’t resist. “You could say so, sir.”, you respond. “Well, compliments, princess. You look beautiful.”, he tells you and finally looks into your eyes. And the longer you look at him, the faster your heart beats. Was he always this handsome? “Thank you, sir.”, you reply shy. “Please, call me Tony.”, he sighs. “May I ask why you’re already here?”, you ask now. He raises an eyebrow. “I mean.. Peter. He, uhm. He told me you’d arrive tomorrow.”, you stutter. “Pepper broke up with me so I thought I could as well already return.”, Tony answers. “Oh. I’m sorry.”, you say. “For what?” For asking. “I’m not sure.” He looks you up and down again. “You should go back to Peter, princess.”, he whispers, still not taking his eyes off of you. You feel the heat in your cheeks and once again you ask yourself if he’s always been this gorgeous. “I don’t feel like returning.” Your answer is fully the truth. You’d rather stay here next to him. “You feel like playing with the big ones, sweetheart?”, he wants to know. His voice is hoarse. You bite your lip. And when you understand what may happen you can’t help but giggle. “You could say so, Tony.” 

[starrybbarnes]

high flying, pt. 3 | [b.b]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x superhero!Reader

Summary: bucky has no memory of you using magic. certain teammates are catching on, but you’re standing your ground. trouble brews as you’re training yourself. 

Word Count: 1932 (more substance! i promise this one is worth it)

Author’s note: originally, this was supposed to be a 3 part thing, but i’m pretty sure there’s be 4 total. don’t worry I’ve tried to make these next two as long as possible, but also still entertaining. but, the main attraction is coming soon. as i’ve said before, i appreciate all of your feedback! :)

Warnings: more swearing, some more magic, and a cliffhanger.. maybe. I’ve sprinkled some fluff to make up for it. also if you know someone from mit, i apologize in advanced.

Part 1 Part 2

Smack smack smack went your feet across the padding... It became mundane as you kept fighting the still punching bag, and much more tiring. 

While practicing some combat moves, you started thinking about the meeting. Surely, no one was able to identify you, but you’re sure as hell Steve and Bucky might have an inclination. And rightfully so, as you partially wiped the mind of a friend. 

You thought about the moment Bucky stared you down in the conference room, his mind trying to put two and two together, but alas couldn’t make a connection. Maybe he is that clueless, you thought to yourself.

However, if Steve is able to connect the dots as to why Bucky can’t remember certain moments of certain days, then you might be into some hefty trouble. And if he were to find out you casted a spell on his best friend, you might jeopardize your job.  

But at the same time, you thought about your own safety, your privacy. You weren’t ready to take on a huge role, much less when you’re not used to your powers. It was a tug and pull, but you were committed to letting everyone know once you had the capacity to control it. 

You were deep in thought when you felt yourself levitate slightly. It was a force of habit, but you let it happen, letting your thoughts occupy you.  

As you stood, er- floated, there while pondering, you heard the gym door open and you quickly grabbed a hold of the pull up bar. Making their way towards you is Steve and Bucky, both carrying duffle bags on their side. The boys stare at you incredulously as you’re holding onto the bar.

“How’s it hanging down there?” you half joked, as Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky was suppressing a smile. 

“Very funny,” Steve said, “we were looking for you all over, figured this might be the last place to look.” 

“Well,” you started, still on the pull-up bar, “your inclinations were correct.” 

Bucky eyed you, gears churning in his head, trying to see why you doing pull-ups felt… off. 

You sensed Bucky’s confusion as he stared at you just dangling from the bar, and so you thought fast. You fell on your knees as you abruptly let go of the bar and planted onto the floor. A loud oof was heard as Steve audibly gasped at the sight.

“I’m fine!” you said nonchalantly  as Bucky scooped you up and stood in front of you. 

Bucky shook his head and began to speak, “we came by to find you—”

“You came to find her,” Steve interrupted, “I just came to support Bucky because he’s always afraid to talk to ya.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Bucky interjected, “but anyways, the team and I are headed out of the country for 5 days. Ireland, specifically. I think it’s business related. So we won’t be long.”

A slight hum escaped your mouth, nodding at the statement Bucky had said. “Look at you two, being business-y,” you joked as Bucky cracked a smile, while Steve rolled his eyes.

“Well, sweetheart, I’ll have you know I’m all business, all the time,” he added, earning a groan from you and Steve.

You stood in front of the duo. If anyone knew awkward, it’s definitely these two centenarians. Another moment of silence overcame the gym, as three of you just stared at each other, and you crossed your arms, waiting.  

“Oh, for god’s sake Buck,” Steve sighed, “Y/N, Bucky told me he was going to miss you and he didn’t know if you felt the same way.”

You raised your eyebrows at the duo, Bucky blushing ever so slightly and Steve looking more exasperated than usual. 

“Well,” you coughed, “Let Bucky know that I will miss the team equally… but, I’ll miss him slightly more.” 

Bucky smiled at the last comment and went to hug you. Steve came in for a hug too and broke away and said they should get going, as they shouldn’t be running late. Bucky slowly let go and sheepishly waved goodbye as the duo started to head out. 

As the two walked away, you carefully shot some magic their way, a safe travel spell, and he closed the door. You saw through the windows that Steve and Bucky  looked confused at the slight lavender aura around them, how they smelled of rose and vanilla all of sudden.

Steve shoots you a look through the window, and all you do is laugh and shrug. You go towards the back of the gym, and reveal your silver staff hiding in plain sight, and begin to twirl it. It begins to glow with its purple hue, and you start practicing with it.

Maybe they’ll figure it out, it doesn’t matter. But, it is kind of fun messing with the guys. 

。。

6:45 pm, 5 days later

The compound had been eerily quiet the past five days, and you were elated that your friends were coming back in a couple of hours. Most importantly, Bucky was coming back.

You promised yourself it was now the time to make a move. You pondered for hours with your stuffed animal and your best friend, the latter being slightly more responsive.

You also let your friend Betsy know that you have completely gotten a hang of your powers, and your friend suggested that you  might be ready to fight alongside the Avengers.

You hesitated at that suggestion. You were really good, but that’s only because you kept practicing in the simulation room at the gym. Sometimes you're thrown a curveball in the real world. But you knew you’d have the support of your friends whenever you’re crime fighting. 

Betsy asked about Bucky’s flight back. It left at around 7 this morning, so you predicted they might come around the afternoon. She commented that a normal flight from Ireland usually is 8 hours long, if there are no layovers. 

That means they should’ve arrived here at around 3. The quinjet is fairly punctual, and it isn’t like the team to be taking that long. Especially with the time differences, everyone would’ve been eager to come back home to sleep off the jet lag. 

You asked FRIDAY if there was any GPS location of the quinjet the team was boarded on, but oddly enough there wasn’t any. FRIDAY reported that the last signal was sent from Queens, which meant they were almost here. Flying from the city to upstate New York took an hour, tops. 

“This isn’t looking good,” you said to your friend with concern. Both of you kept throwing off ideas as to why there was a delay, when FRIDAY notified you of an incoming message.

You opened up the hologram and there said a message that read: In trouble. Top of building. Call backup. B. 

 “Call backup?” you questioned, “but there’s no one except me and Peter. All the other other Avengers were either with Steve or they’re doing other minor missions. And I’m pretty sure other agents don’t have the clearance to do this type of stuff… right?”

That only leaves once choice, Y/N, your friend commented. You’re gonna have to brave this out with Peter.

“Peter’s a child,” you argued.

When he wants to be, your friend interjects. He can put up a fight, I’ve seen him on the news. 

You keep weighing your options, when you hear a knock on the door. 

“Uh, Y/N?” Peter asked, “did you get that text from FRIDAY? I think the guys are in trouble. Most importantly your secret boyfriend is in trouble but that’s beside the point. I want to do this, but I’m by myself and I can’t do the saving by myself, I mean I can, but I need your help.”

Peter is dressed in his suit, minus the mask, and he peeks inside more to see you talking to your friend. You look at your friend, back to Peter, to the message, back to your friend, and then back to Peter. 

You opened your closet and then opened a secret drawer. You saw your suit, and next to it, your silver staff. 

“Peter,” you sighed, “Let’s grab a small jet and get to the bottom of this. Lord knows I’ve prepared myself for this.”

。。

As the jet got closer to the main city, you and Peter tried to intercept any signal or clue to find your friends. You put the jet on autopilot, and pulled up a map of the city to see the roofs of any tall building. 

You groaned slightly, “this is hopeless, there’s no way we can pinpoint a place quickly.” 

You wondered as to how a quinjet of such size can’t be detected by just plain eyesight. Either that, or it was time to get your vision checked out. 

Then Peter started to sense something: it was by a building on Liberty Street. He then pulled up a hologram and started zooming in on the roof of that building. It was difficult to see, but there was a ball of light sort of floating above the roof.

You were called over by Peter to check it out, and as the jet slowly started to get closer, and you pulled out some binoculars, you can vaguely recognize some burly men all bunch up together. 

“Peter, try to land on the roof that is two buildings over from that building,” you suggested. As the jet neared the roof, you decided to turn off the engines and used your magic to safely land the jet. It was no easy feat, but it was done. 

Getting out of the jet, you and Peter went towards the roof’s ledge that got as close as possible to the building with the floating light ball.

Using your binoculars once again, you got a clearer image of who was on top. 

It was the boys. And they were surrounded by a bunch of guys dressed in black, with one scrawny dude standing by a weird contraption. 

“That doesn’t look pretty,” Peter commented through his suit. His AI was explained to you and Peter that the scrawny was an ex-Stark employee, and the machine was used to keep the Avengers captive, while also a finding way to try and blow up the compound. Karen, the AI, proclaimed that the machine had major flaws and said it wouldn’t take much to take it down. 

“Can you tell Karen that while that sounds optimistic, there are also only two of us, and bunch of bad guys,” you groaned. This definitely wasn’t in a gym simulation.

“Sure... but,” Peter started, “we do have your powers, and my strength, and my ability to distract people. Also, I think it’s your time to shine, I think we’re both ready to do this.” 

You looked over to the other roof. You vaguely saw Bucky’s arm glistening in the sunlight. He looked confused and afraid. It looked like was looking upwards in every direction, trying to find any sign of backup. Luckily for him, it isn’t that far away.

“Peter, you’re right,” you replied. “And I think I have a surefire way to save our boys.”

You took your staff out of the sheath that was on your back. It slowly started to glow, and your whole demeanor changed. Now wasn’t the time to back down, it’s time to fight. And fight hard. 

“Karen, give us a rundown of our surroundings. I have a plan that will make sure than Peter and I can kick scrawny intern ass.”

[demonfox38]

Completed - Zelda II: The Adventure of Link

Oh, my language is going to be vulgar on this one.

So, I'm a crusty millennial who likes old garbage. Most of the media I like is old enough to drink and be a member of the US congress, but probably couldn't be due to the country that produced it. Now, I'd like to think that I've got good reasons to like older media, particularly when it comes to video games. It's a bit hard for my NES to bug me for microtransactions/DLC and emanate the screams of children and man-children alike. But, as much as I like my retro junk, there's one thing I'm very, very happy about regarding modern video games. The variety of game types now-a-days is a blessing. It's rare that someone is stellar at all game types, and I sure have my weaknesses.

It took me a long time to realize that I could be good at video games, and I wholly blame the glut of 1980s platforming games on that.

Look, platforming is not a forgiving genre. Particularly, back in the day where you had characters dying in 1-3 hits before factoring in death pits. It existed then for the reason that fourteen million instakill indie horror games exist now. Instantly killing the player is a lot easier to code than, say, having to track a health bar or their new position as an enemy swats them into a different room. Sometimes, a coder's gotta do what they can to keep themselves sane.

But, from a player's perspective, this style sucks!

Getting good at a platforming game requires practicing the same levels over and over again, developing a sense of your character's inertia and limitations. Without a save state or a warp to narrow in on a particularly troublesome location, it's hard to get learning to stick. You could lose a lot of games and time trying to put it all together. And some poor little character is always suffering because of your ineptitude! Such failure feels like a fork in an electrical socket. Succeeding in these circumstances requires a great deal of emotional resilience and a contrary attitude. And you know what? That's just not something I had as a kid. In fact, one could say I had my aggression and competitive drive scolded out of me. I'm just now getting that back.

So, yeah. I had a little trouble with "Zelda II: The Adventure of Link."

"Zelda II" is part of a trifecta of NES games that get routinely shit on by retro reviewers. Like its peers "Super Mario Bros. 2" and "Castlevania II", this game is generally considered an inferior game due to an extreme change of gameplay and appearance from its predecessors. And you know what? That attitude sucks. I'd rather have a variety of different games with a cast I like than have them pigeon-holed into one genre. In "Zelda II"'s case, however? The game mechanic shift was so extreme that I can easily see the ire it raises. Hell, I felt it. I wouldn't go so far to say that it's the worst Zelda game ever, but man, does it have structural defects.

In "Zelda II", Link's goal is to save an ensorcelled Zelda from eternal slumber by picking up a Triforce chunk that was pitched into a fuck-off palace way at the edge of Hyrule. (No, not the Zelda from the first game. Another Zelda. Same Link, though.) To do that, he's got to slap six gemstones into various temples across the countryside. Naturally, that includes picking up his trusty sword, leaping into battle, and then maybe straight into a death pit.

That's right. This Zelda is actually a Mario.

Further complicating the matter is a sharp switch in battle style and item accruement. While the previous Zelda game was about room management and ranged combat (or at least, as much as that was allowed), this game is all about jamming Link's dinky sword into an enemy's face and running off as fast as he can. Now, Link can learn a few tricks to help with the slash and dash, like directional stab mechanics and spells. But, as far as getting new weapons to help you? Sorry, bud. No bombs or boomerangs here. Well, except for the assholes throwing boomerangs at you, anyway. You just can't steal them.

The game encourages polishing the player's skill with Link through a level system. After acquiring XP through good ol' fashioned monster murdering, Link can cash his points out, improving his life, magic, or attack power. As the player levels him up, stats become more costly to improve. If Link gets a total game over before you use your XP, it is wiped out. Alright, fine. Fair, I guess. But, I wouldn't recommend looking at Japanese footage of this game if you don't want to give yourself a migraine. It turns out that as a part of some rebalancing, the level-up system was stacked to try and keep players from dumping all of their points into a single stat early into the game. Particularly, attack. Considering how painful and annoying enemy logic gets in this game, it's such a drag to learn that Japanese players literally could cut their way right out of that struggle. Thanks for dicking with the game design again, American publishers.

I guess we got better looking sprites and sound effects out of the deal? Hooray for wiggly Barba.

Even with leveling mechanics and a handful of heart and magic containers, this Link feels much frailer than the original Zelda's Link. Like, it's hard to believe he's supposed to be the same guy. Even at max health and defense, you could get Link wiped out with 8-32 hits (as opposed to 16-64 hits from the first game.) Exacerbating that is a life system that can yoink those health bars at any pit's whim and Link's range/health restoration being tied to a limited pool of magic. It feels like you're playing with a ceramic replica of the original character. You can make it work in a fight, sure, but you'd rather have a sword than a shard of a broken teapot.

If you don't have a bushido-level acceptance of death, you're not going to make it very far in this game. I'm not being hyperbolic. You have to accept that you are going to kill Link. You're going to watch that little fairy boy fade to black as the world flashes around him, and you're going to see that a lot. You're going to toss his bitch ass into the river to get a game over and restock your lives because fuck if you're going to wipe out inside a dungeon and have to start your bitch ass back at Zelda's temple again. That little counter on the main menu isn't how many times you have wiped out. It's how many times you've clawed your way out of the abyss with a middle finger raised.

Oh. Minor epilepsy warning on boss and Link deaths, by the way.

Having gone full bleak there for a moment, there are a few pieces of knowledge that can help slow down the cycle of life and death:

There are towns with nice ladies in red dresses and orange robes that will heal your ass for free. You should talk with them a lot.

There are classes of enemies that will drop items after they have been killed six times. Most of the time, this is a magic bottle that restores MP. Sometimes, it's a bag of experience. No monster will drop anything to heal your HP.

Also, some enemies are literal rat bastards that steal your XP. Some also give you no XP on killing them. Yeah. I know. Annoying.

The Life spell is in Saria. The downward stab is in Mido. (I realize these are very strange sentences if you're more familiar with "Ocarina of Time.") Getting these can make a night and day difference in surviving the game. So, keep that in mind.

You do get a spell that will turn you into a fairy. You can use it to game pits and sneak past lock doors. Just don't abuse it too much. It's expensive.

The dungeons have this little statue in front of them that you can whack with your sword. In most locations, it'll drop either a magic bottle or an Iron Knuckle. Game entering and exiting a dungeon as much as possible to restore yourself to full vitality.

You can get into random fights on the overworld (represented either by a little black blob or a more threatening human-sized blob.) Staying on gold roads will mean these encounters produce no enemies.

Also, you can use those random battles to override forced platforming sections. Not that I would recommend cheating in such a fashion. 😉

The game will give you a level up after you plug a gemstone into a dungeon. If you're close to leveling up anyway, turn around and grind up to the top, cash in what you've got, and then go pitch that gem.

Link has a crouch, not a duck. You think pressing down on the D-pad will evade projectiles aimed at your face, but it does not. Crouching is only good for blocking floor-level garbage. It's best not to think of the down button as much as possible, really. Only use it to pick up crap off the ground and cheese the final boss. Otherwise, jump.

I know that I said earlier that "Zelda II" is mechanically like a Mario game, but you know what other perspective might help? Try and play Link as a Metroidvania Castlevania character. There's an attack style in games like "Castlevania: Symphony of the Night" and "Aria of Sorrow" where you walk, jump, and attack in such a way that you never stop moving forward. That's what you've got to do. Walk, jump at an enemy, bonk on forehead. (Depending on how fast you press the attack button, you may need to delay swinging your sword just a teeny bit. At least, I had a bad habit of swinging too early.) With any luck, when you hit the ground, you will be able to keep on moving. You do not want to get stuck playing "poke-the-hole" with your enemies, particularly with how turtle-y some of them can get.

So, the game's a brutal bitch, but I don't want to spend the entire time shitting on it. Let's talk about improvements.

Honestly, I like the sprite style of the side-scrolling sections better than the previous game. Everyone/thing has more room to be rendered, so they look clearer. I can't say the monster or dungeon design here is my favorite, but hey. Easy to see. Yippie. Could have used a map though. Maybe some more tile textures in the dungeons?

NO. STOP. BE NICE.

There are more people around that want to help Link out. Like, whole towns filled with helpful healing ladies and dudes that will teach you magic and the occasional sword strike. Most of their conversation makes sense (although, there's a memetastic fault in translation regarding a character being named Error instead of what I'm assuming should have been Errol.) People good. Want to help people. People help me.

Except for towns where some of the people are monsters, and one of the times they overlapped a healing lady to get text box priority, and then they killed me. Boo.

I'M SORRY. I HAD A HARD TIME.

The music variety is pleasant. Only a few tracks have escaped the game to go into use elsewhere, but there's only one that I'm really iffy on. The NA release did a fine job transposing what they could using a different sound chip, and there are striking uses of the sample channel being used in ominous situations.

But…like…I struggle to see where fighting through this game is worth it. And maybe it comes down to the final boss. Like, the penultimate one? Absolutely cool. A bitch to fight, but I can't knock how massive and intricate its sprite is. But, the final boss? I suppose it comes down to personal tastes, but I find mirror matches/rivals to be exceedingly dull. Like, good for you. You know how I fight. I do too. Come back to me when you know the weaknesses of my style and use a fresh set of skills to throw at me.

Like, it's not the worst ending in the Zelda series. (My vote for that would go to "Link's Awakening.") You do get Zelda saved. But, given that the final boss is some kind of dark clone of yourself…it begs a lot of questions. Was there any concrete plan for the forces of darkness in Hyrule, or were various monster tribes just scuffling around, being dicks without any overarching plan? Were some monsters trying to keep you out of the Great Palace for a good reason? Would there have been any threat of Ganon reviving at all if Link just…sat on his ass behind a castle for the next century or managed his anxiety in a different way? Why does the manual bother to separate Zeldas and the game does not? Oh, wait. The Japanese intro correctly distinguishes this and the American one does not. Why am I not surprised? What's the difference if you don't see the Zelda you saved from the first game, anyway?

This game is a lot of work. I had to psych myself up to play it every time, and by the end, I was rattled enough by my nerves that I literally camped in my bathroom for a few minutes just to make sure I didn't get sick on the couch. Very stressful. And I'm not sure that stress was worth it, frankly. Life's hard enough as it is right now. I literally have a stress rash on my neck from the shit I'm going through in real life. No, you did not need to know about that. But maybe you need to know that I've been having a hard time lately, and this game did nothing to alleviate me from the stresses of reality. And what's the point in checking out from reality if a fantasy world is just going to make me miserable, too?

There are better games to play in this style. Hell, there are better games on the NES in this style. You know what you should go play? "Faxanadu." It's uglier than "Zelda II", sure. An absolute idiot when it comes to basic mathematics. But it's very chill about platforming and death. And maybe I just want to chill the fuck out for a while.

[lumiolivier]

The Good Old Days Chapter Fifteen: Say It

A/N: Hi, friends! Look, I don't have a lot of time to talk here. I have the For the Family post to take care of and a little boy coloring on my bedroom floor, so I'm just going to say this. This chapter is fluff as fuck. End of story. K, love you!

ICYMI: Chapter Fourteen: Let Me Take You Home

This wasn’t in the plans. This was supposed to be a quick stop. We would say hi to Mama and take off. I wasn’t expecting to see the Old Man until tonight at the earliest. After I brought Vanessa home. But here he was with my mother. This wasn’t in the plans. I told him she meets Mama first, then, we’d see about him. But by all means, Old Man. Take the option away from us. Thanks. What a buddy, what a pal. Really appreciated.

“Please, Frankie,” the Old Man insisted, “Sit with us.”

“How nice of you to offer,” I didn’t move, “Considering this is my house.”

“Don’t be like that,” he awed, setting my blood to a low simmer.

“Mama,” I demanded, “Blink twice if the Old Man’s holding you hostage.”

“He’s not,” Mama assured me.

Why did I doubt that? No. Because the Old Man has weaponized charm that he won’t hesitate to use. Especially on Mama. And Mama, as sharp as she is, wouldn’t know a thing, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Yep. Mama was totally under his spell. And going by the shit eating grin on his face, he knows it.

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood,” the Old Man played innocent, but I knew bullshit when I stepped in it, “And I thought I’d stop by and see one of the most beautiful women to walk the face of this earth.”

“Stop…” Mama blushed, eating this up. Oh, Old Man…I’ve seen you charm the panties off a few ladies before. I’ll be damned if mi mama ends up on that list. He knows damn well what he does to her. Pisses me off to no end, but…I hate not seeing that smile on Mama’s face. Even if it did come like…this.

“For all of us,” I grumbled, “If that’s all then, we’ll be going.”

“Hold on, Francisco,” Mama stopped me, “You told me I get to meet Vanessa tonight.”

“You already told your mom about me?” Vanessa whispered behind me.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I explained, remembering how high my oldest brother was on my shit list these days, “I did, Mama. I told you that you’d get to meet her. But I told him to wait his turn.”

“Two birds, one stone, Frankie,” the Old Man brushed me off, “It’s not that bad, is it?”

Given that I know this man has the charm of Don Juan and the libido of a rabbit fresh out of solitary, this could go horribly. Mama’s already fallen under his spell and she’s one of the strongest willed people I know. I’d hate to see what he’d do to Vanessa. But I wasn’t the only one involved here. I needed to keep the peace and my promise. Don’t you worry, kariña. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get to you, “Vanessa…”

“Yeah?” she knew. She knew I didn’t want to put her through this. And she wrapped her arm around mine. She’s a good one. I may have been through some shit, but I know a good one when I see her. She’s definitely a good one.

“Is this ok with you?” I kept my voice down, “And don’t be afraid to say no.”

“It’s ok,” Vanessa allowed with a smile on her face, “At the end of the day, family’s family. Blood or not. Besides, it’s not like we’ll be here long, right?”

“Right.” My god, I think I’m in love. The two of us sat down at the table, “Mama, this is Vanessa. Vanessa, this is my mother, Sariña. She is a saint amongst mortals and anyone who says otherwise can enjoy their eternity in hell.”

“Francisco,” Mama awed, “I’m no saint.”

“Still,” Vanessa giggled a bit, “Es un placer conocerte, señora. He escuchado mucho sobre usted.”

“Es un placer conocerte tambien, kariña,” Mama’s heart was an absolute puddle right now. I could guarantee it. Because mine wasn’t too far from it either.

“Since when do you speak Spanish?” I wondered.

“Since I was about twelve,” Vanessa looked at me strange. But she had a certain cockiness in her eyes. I like it. And here I was worried Mama wouldn’t give Vanessa a chance. I didn’t realize she’d have that ace up her sleeve. Ok. Maybe this isn’t going to be such a trainwreck. That’s comforting.

“So, Vanessa,” the Old Man chimed in, “Question. Because Frankie won’t tell me, what’s your last name?”

And I hear the sounds of derailment in the distance, “Scarlotti. Why?”

“Just curious…” The sudden expression of shock on his face and the onset sweating didn’t look like nothing. Oh, shit. Tell me the Old Man doesn’t have ties to Vanessa’s family. God…Please listen. I’m begging you. Don’t let the Old Man have ties to Vanessa’s family, “So, where are you two off to tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” I shook it off, “I figured we’d just wing it.”

“Excuse us,” the Old Man got up from the table and dragged me behind him into our bedroom, “You really are fucking clueless, aren’t you, Frankie?”

“What the fuck, Old Man?” I did my best to not tear him a new asshole, “What did I do?”

“You are fighting way over your weight class here, kid…”

“I know.” He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, “She’s…Fucking perfect.”

“She’s a Scarlotti, Frankie,” the Old Man grabbed me by my shoulders, “She’s practically royalty in this town. The Scarlottis are just above us. Only they’re more legit. But with a girl like her? You’re just going to wing it? I thought I taught you better.”

“She didn’t come off as the uppity type,” I told him, “She’s hella down to earth, Old Man. She’s not…I don’t think she could be the stuck-up princess if she wanted to be. She’s even told me that.”

“Telling you things and acting on them are two totally different things, Frankie,” he sat down, holding his face in his hands, “Dios mio…You need to impress this girl or you can kiss her goodbye.”

I wasn’t nervous going into this date. Not about her. I was more nervous about her meeting Mama and Mama not giving her a chance because of what she comes from. Not once did I think that shoe would be on the other foot. Not like this, “What do I do? I don’t want to lose her, Old Man. I’m starting to fall fast and hard for her and I don’t want to let this one go.”

“Here,” the Old Man slipped a couple hundreds in my pocket, “You take her somewhere nice. I mean, really nice. If you go anywhere within our network, you’ll be treated like a god. She’ll see you as someone with some power. And that’s going to score points in your favor like nothing else. Impress her, but don’t look like you’re trying to impress her. No one likes a try hard. If you take good care of her tonight, she’s yours. And if you can manage to spoil her a little bit in ways she doesn’t get at home, you’re in…Find out who her father is and what their relationship is like.”

“No,” I wasn’t playing into that, “I don’t fuck with someone’s daddy issues like that. That might be a you thing, Old Man, but hard pass for me.”

“You’re fucking adorable, Frankie,” he awed, “You’re trying to do this the old-fashioned way. Alright. Admirable. Stupid on your part, but admirable.”

“Why is it stupid?”

“Because your potential girlfriend comes from aristocracy, Frankie. That might get messy for a little hood rat like you.”

“Hurting my pride here, Old Man…”

“Good,” he gave me a nod, “It knocks you down a peg and puts things into a clearer perspective. It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, kid. You two are cute together. There’s no doubt about that. And she seems like a sweetheart. Pulling out the Spanish on your mama was brilliant. You know how she is about you.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “I brought an Italian girl home that just spoke to Mama in her native language. I don’t think she was doing that to score points.”

“Why else would she be doing it?”

“For the sake of making things easier on Mama,” I figured. Because that’s the kind of girl I brought home. I didn’t bring the aristocratic princess. She’s not like that. When I say Vanessa’s a good girl, she’s a good girl. Beautiful inside and out. Why would I want to throw that away? Maybe impressing her a little won’t hurt.

“You can’t afford to be too naïve, Frankie,” the Old Man warned me, “Her family might be a different story. Hell, your mama might still be a different story.”

“No, no, no,” I shook my head. I knew that one for a fact, “Her family? Yes. With the exception of Veronica. Veronica already loves me. I know this for a fact. I got her on lock. Her parents and her other sister are all I need to worry about. And I’m not that worried. I got this.”

“Well,” he let me go, “Good luck tonight, kid. You might need it. You might not. It’s kind of like when you bring condoms on a first date. Maybe you’ll get laid. Maybe you won’t. But it’s better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”

“I don’t think we’re having sex tonight, Old Man,” I looked at him strange, “But the well wishes and the analogy are appreciated.”

The two of us walked out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen. My potential girlfriend that I needed to impress tonight was in the middle of a full conversation with my mother with not a single error in her Spanish. Yeah. I got nothing to worry about. Mama and Vanessa seem to be getting along nicely. I’d hate to be the one to fuck this up. So, maybe I could stand to impress Vanessa. Just a little. I hated thinking of her being so shallow, but the Old Man could have a point. It can’t hurt me, right? But still…Just hearing her and Mama together made mi corazon skip a beat.

“Hey…Vanessa?” I cut them off, “You ready?”

“Si,” she nodded, turning her attention back toward Mama, “Necesitamos hacer esto de nuevo, Sariña.”

“No podría estar mas de acuerdo, niña,” Mama awed, “Cuidado esta noche.”

“Seremos, Mama,” I promised, taking Vanessa’s hand and kissing Mama’s cheek, “Te amo.”

“Te amo, cariño…”

And just like that, Vanessa and I took off. That could’ve gone worse. And God bless this angel I’m taking out tonight. Considering how bullshit it was of the Old Man to show up unannounced, that couldn’t have gone any better. Vanessa handled that beautifully. And baby, you deserve the world tonight. Far be it for me not to give it to you. You earned it.

“Hey, Frankie,” Vanessa slipped her hand in mine, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“What is it, Vanessa?”

“I…” her eyes lit up and sparkled in a way I’ve never seen before. But dammit, I need to see it more often, “I absolutely adore your mom.”

“Hey,” I gave her a little nudge, “So do I. We have so much in common.”

“You’re adorable,” she giggled a bit, “I’m serious. I do. I love your mom. She’s so sweet.”

“That’s because you caught Mama on a good day,” I teased, “Catch her on a bad one and you’ll be catching hands.”

“I don’t think she’d ever be like that with me,” Vanessa sighed out, “Not with me. Frankie, she was damn near drawing up our marriage license right then and there. She fucking loves me.”

“You also spoke to her in a way that put her back home,” I pointed out, “We haven’t been back to Spain in a long time.”

“How long has it been?” she wondered, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Probably…” I thought back, “Four…Five years? I might have been a freshman in high school the last time we went home. But I got a feeling we might be back there in the near future. I’m sure you’ve been jet setting over to Europe a time or two. Ever see my mother country?”

“Can’t say I have,” Vanessa admitted, “I’ve always wanted to see Spain, though. It’s the weirdest thing. Because I still have family in Italy and we’ve been there a few times, but we never ventured outside of that.”

“”Necesitas ver España,” I insisted, “Es el lugar más hermoso del mundo…”

“Me encantaría,” she smiled, “On one condition.”

“Name it,” I got the door for her. Let no one ever say I wasn’t a gentleman.

“You show me Spain,” Vanessa squeezed my hand a little tighter, “If that’s not too much to ask.”

Mama might have been onto something when she was already thinking about Vanessa and me getting married. Maybe the first real date might be a little too soon to decide that, but I should already start looking at houses in good school districts, “Me encantaría.”

“Bueno,” she kissed my cheek, “So…Where to? Were you serious when you said you were winging it?”

“No,” I shook my head, “I know a couple places we can go.”

“If you want,” Vanessa decided, “We can go somewhere on your side of the bridge.”

“Na,” I brushed her off, “We can go uptown. That’s not a problem.”

“Are you sure?” Because by the looks of her face, she wasn’t.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “It’s alright. Anywhere you want, it’s yours tonight.”

“Positive?”

“Vanessa,” I settled her, “Not only did you handle my mother tonight, but the Old Man, too. Kind of. Trust me. You earned it. The only thing that would’ve made that worse would be if my brothers didn’t have to work tonight. Fortunately, they left a little over an hour ago, so you don’t have to deal with them.”

“That wouldn’t have been a problem either,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, “Frankie, you forget what line of work I’m going into. You forget that I’ve been playing diplomat for the family since God knows when. I can work someone like it’s nobody’s business. You don’t even realize I’ve been doing that with you since the day we met.”

“Excuse me?” I looked at her strange. No way. She’s a good girl. She wouldn’t use dirty tricks on me.

“It’s all in the art of observation,” she leaned back against a nearby building, “Your mother’s incredibly protective of you, isn’t she?”

“That’s not something she exactly hides,” I giggled a bit.

“But the other one…” Vanessa went on, “He seems familiar. And he didn’t like that my last name is Scarlotti. Which leads me to believe he’s probably mafia. Am I right?”

“Holy shit…” I gasped, keeping my voice down, “How’d you know?”

“My parents have had problems with some people in the underground before,” she softly bit her bottom lip, “Particularly my mother. She tried taking matters into her own hands; something she has a bad habit of doing. And when that happened, someone pointed her in the direction of the man that runs the underground. With the way he carries himself and from what you’ve told me about your line of work, not to mention the fact that your mom told me about your dad, that’s your boss, isn’t it?”

“Damn, you’re good,” I swooned, “Keep telling me more things about me.”

“God,” Vanessa laughed, “That came out a little narcissistic, don’t you think?”

“Kind of,” I joined her, “In hindsight, I guess.”

“You were running a job for him the night we met, weren’t you?”

“Vanessa,” I pulled her into my arms, “You ever have someone tell you that you’d be scary as hell in the wrong hands?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she curled into me. Oh…I like that. I like that a lot.

“So,” I brought it back, “Instead of you reading me like an open book, where would you like to go?”

“Well…” Vanessa thought it over, “There is a place not too terribly far from here. Maybe half hour, if we take the subway. It’s a nice Italian place my parents go to a lot.”

Granted, this is New York. Anyone could throw a rock in a random direction and hit an Italian place. But her description made me a little nervous, “What’s it called?”

“Pearl,” she told me. Fuck…Of course, “Why?”

“No,” I shot her down, “I know I said anywhere, but anywhere except for Pearl. We’re not going there. Not until this town is on its knees for me.”

“Why?”

“I used…” I stopped myself with the Old Man’s voice in my head. Impress her, Frankie. This girl comes from a pedigree. She needs a reason to stick around with a little mutt like you. I shook off my anxious feeling, “I know the owner. He’s a fucking prick. His managerial staff aren’t much different. Anywhere else.”

“You know what sounds good?” Vanessa thought, “You want to just hit a food truck and sit in the park?”

“Really?” That threw me for a loop. I didn’t think someone like Vanessa would give a food truck the time of day. Color me intrigued. She appealed to my commoner sensibilities, “You want to find a food truck?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Don’t get me wrong, upscale is nice, but I’m so fucking sick of being in that chokehold. I don’t want to be like that when I’m with you.”

“So,” I jabbed, “What you’re saying is that when you’re with me, you want to slum it as much as possible?”

“I’m saying I want to be free…” Vanessa wrapped herself around me, “I know I shouldn’t be complaining about my position, but it’s awfully cold and lonely in the ivory tower.”

“Well then…” Who was I to tell her no? I mean…If the princess is looking for a rescue, I’d be more than happy to oblige, “Did you have a particular truck in mind?”

“Not really,” she and I kept walking, “I’m kind of ashamed that when it comes to the local food trucks, I’m absolutely clueless. I know there are a few good ones that some people from school gush about, but because of me being who I am, my mother would be absolutely fucking mortified if she caught me stuffing my face with that garbage. What would it do to your waistline, Vanessa? Or your complexion? That shit’s exhausting. Like I said, don’t make me have to be that tonight.”

I only really frequented one food truck in town. And Abuela was done by nine. Would she be this far up? Maybe. But the Old Man said to impress her. Do I impress her with my knowledge of local food trucks (because I did know quite a few of them) or do I really impress her by saying I don’t eat that garbage? No…If she doesn’t want to be the princess, the debutant…Why would I ever want to force her into that? I knew where to go.

“I got one,” I took her hand, “Come on.”

Please appreciate my humble beginnings, Vanessa. Because Abuela’s food truck was the best in the city. I don’t care who has what artisan bullshit. Abuela was the real deal and a gift from God. Besides, looking for her food truck was always an adventure. Especially when it wasn’t between ten and noon and I wasn’t going to know where she’d be. Fortunately, I know her route. She should be uptown by now. And if we catch her in time, I bet we’d score for free. Not that she wouldn’t see my face in the window and give me free shit anyway.

There she was, sitting on the corner just past the gate to the park. And with only a few minutes to spare. When I still worked the restaurant, nothing would piss me off more than when customers would think it’s ok for them to roll up a few minutes before closing and order a three-course meal. Drove me absolutely fucking nuts. But…Sorry, Abuela. I didn’t want to do this to you, but I don’t have much of a choice. If I’m going to show Vanessa the best, I don’t need to go anywhere else.

“Abuela…!” I knocked on her window, doing my best to catch my breath, “Please don’t go yet!”

“Frankie!” Abuela chirped behind the window. She’s oddly uppity for it being this late. Maybe it’s my fault, “I was just about to close up, cariño. If you would’ve gotten here after I closed up, you know the kind of hell you would’ve caught?”

“I know,” I pulled myself together, “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“For you?” she glanced over my shoulder, “Of course not. Anytime. What can I get for you?”

“What do you want?” I cranked my neck back.

“Enchiladas,” Vanessa ordered, “They’re kind of a weakness.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. People would riot in the streets for Mama’s enchiladas. Or mine, for that matter. It’s good to know Vanessa’s weakness, “Two orders of enchiladas…A big ass lemonade…And an empanada.”

“Two empanadas…” Vanessa corrected me. Alright…I can appreciate a girl with an appetite, “If you think I’m sharing an empanada with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Alright,” Abuela nodded, “Give me a few minutes, ok?”

“Gracias, Abuela,” I melted inside, “You’re the best.”

“I try for you,” she awed, “By the way, Frankie…Who’s the young lady you have with you?”

“This is Vanessa,” I introduced her, “She’s…a special friend of mine.”

“She’s cute, cariño,” Abuela gushed, “She looks like the little one you were with the other day.”

“That’s her sister,” I explained.

“This is that food truck?” Vanessa gasped, “When Veronica said she bumped into the guy from the club, she said she was at a food truck with the greatest Mexican food she’s ever eaten. That’s this one?”

“That’d be the one,” I confirmed, “Abuela knows what she’s doing.”

“Aqui, niño,” Abuela passed our food through the window, “Hasta mañana.”

“Hasta mañana,” I waved behind us.

“Thank you!” Vanessa chimed in, “She’s sweet.”

“She’s been good to us over the years.” Abuela has cured many a hangover from my brothers and me. And sometimes Mama when she decides to let loose after a long week.

“I figured,” Vanessa thought, “Especially when it’s to the point where you’re calling her Abuela.”

“She’s always been Abuela,” I admitted, “She’s the best.”

“Come here,” she led me through the dark, “I know a spot.”

It’s a good thing it’s nice out tonight. I didn’t feel like freezing my ass off tonight. Granted, it’d be an excuse for Vanessa to get a little closer, but I think we’re good there. We found a spot near the fountain and I watched as Vanessa indulged herself in the wonderful world of food truck cuisine. This is no exaggeration when I say I think I saw her eyes roll all the way back into her head, Exorcist style. Shit was creepy, but I think I may have made a believer out of her.

“Veronica wasn’t shitting me,” Vanessa swooned, “That’s magical.”

“Abuela’s truck sits on the corner by my apartment building every day,” I told her, “She opens there at ten o’clock. You’re more than welcome to help yourself to it.”

“I might have to take you up on that offer,” she thought, “If my mother could see me now, she’d be pissed, but it’s not about her tonight.”

“Nope,” I put an arm around her, “Just you and me.”

“You know…” Vanessa stared up into the night sky, “It’s nights like this where I wish we could be up on my roof.”

“You hang out on your roof?” I wondered.

“It’s my quiet happy place,” she nodded, “When my parents are throwing a party or family dinner got to be a little too much for me to handle, I’d always go up on the roof until I felt good enough to come back inside. Usually, I go to bed from there, but yeah. I like my roof.”

“Your roof sounds like my fire escape,” I chuckled a bit.

“I like high places,” Vanessa shrugged, “Sue me.”

“I feel like if I were to sue you,” I joked darkly, “I’d be feeling it until my great grandchildren went to college.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” she promised, “Frankie…Can you do me a huge favor?”

“Of course.” Like I’d say no to her, “What is it?”

“I don’t want you to ever try to impress me,” Vanessa laid her head on my shoulder, “Ever. I’m not with you to be impressed. I want that to come naturally. Honestly…Right now, all you’d have to do is say I’m yours.”

“Hold on…” I sat up a little more, “What?”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, “I like you. Without you even trying. Frankie, you saved my sister’s life. You’re saving me from what everyone else wants me to be and from a life long sentence I’m sick of serving. Do you know what I got asked to do tonight, but instead I had plans with you?”

“What?”

“My parents and my sister are at the Met tonight,” Vanessa groaned, “And that’s never any fun. It’s a bunch of pain in the ass, stuck up dicks and I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be here with you…Say the word, Frankie. And I’m yours.”

I think I might throw up. But in a good way. In the best way. I knew she was my girl. I knew she wasn’t what the Old Man thought. I knew she was a good one. I pulled her a little closer, kissing her deeper than I ever had before. And I never wanted them to end. But I couldn’t wipe a smile off my face if I wanted to, “Word…”

[helaintoloki]

Season of the Witch | Michael Langdon

chapter three: The Witch is Back

masterlist

pairing: Michael Langdon x witch!reader

warnings: language, angst, violence, graphic descriptions, adult content, deception, toxic relationships, abuse, death, witchcraft, satanism and all that other good ahs stuff

notes: lowkey got emotional writing this bc i wish cordelia was my mom and i’m stupid. and small shout out to @gx-nji & @ateliefloresdaprimavera for all of their love and support for this fic! <3

summary: what exactly is hell? and who are these strange women? and why is y/n not dead?

Hell was an odd place for y/n. Perhaps her father-in-law had taken mercy upon her poor soul as she couldn’t find one single thing wrong with it. No blistering winds and scorching fires, no little red man with horns, no screams of agony, and no suffering.

She wasn’t sure where she was. The only surroundings around her were pure white, so pure it made her eyes ache if she looked upon it for too long. But it was quiet, the air was cool, the only piece of furniture to be found was a comfy bed, and she felt at peace. Perhaps she wasn’t in hell at all... But if that was the case, then where the hell was she?

“Michael?” Y/N called out, her voice bouncing off the walls and echoing back to her. “Michael!”

“Y/N!”

“Michael?!”

“Help us!”

“Hello?! Who’s there?” Y/N called back, fear bubbling up within her stomach. She felt nauseous, the panic clawing its way through her heart as her fingers began to tingle and twitch in fear.

“Y/N!” The voice called, clearer now, ear shattering and in despair.

“W-Who are you?!” She cried. “Show yourself!”

“Save us! Save us, please,” the voices wailed.

“What do you want from me?!” She demanded, and she began to cry.

The walls drip red, hands smeared across the once clean white as multiple screams echo throughout the empty room and a chorus of bangs pound against the walls. They come in various directions, various voices, various suffering. The walls are closing in now, and she can’t breathe.

“Stop it!” She screeches, hands slamming over her ears and eyes closing shut. The screams grow louder, the pounding of the walls crescendoing until it‘s too much. Her heart was aching, lungs ready to explode. This was her hell. This was how she’d spend eternity.

When it seemed it couldn’t get any louder, the screams stopped, and the only sounds to fill the room were her quiet sobs.

“Please,” she whimpered, figure cowering against the red walls as she sunk to the ground and huddled against one of the corners.

“Y/N,” a voice, gentle and soothing, whispered. She could feel the cool air of someone’s breath against her ear, causing her to gasp. “Y/N. It’s time to wake up.”

And everything went dark.

~~~

Cordelia watched with tears in her eyes as her daughter rose from the dead with a gasp and a chorus of violent coughs. Beside y/n awoke her fellow sisters, and Cordelia couldn’t help but feel the love for her coven and hope for a second chance at salvation swell in her heart.

“Surprise bitch,” Madison smirked as she kneeled before Mallory. “I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”

“My dearest y/n,” Cordelia quivered, a gentle hand resting on her cheek as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the young girl’s forehead. “It’s been so long. I thought he’d taken you away from me forever.”

“W-Who are you?” Y/N whimpered, flinching away from her touch as she glanced around frantically at the new faces before her. “Where’s Michael?”

“We couldn’t find your batshit crazy boyfriend,” Madison quipped. “You really need to learn to be picky about who you give your pussy to.”

“Michael isn’t my boyfriend, he’s my husband,” y/n corrected with a frown, and Cordelia felt sick to her stomach.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Myrtle cooed. “He really did do a number on you.”

“What are you talking about?!” Y/N insisted, rising from her spot on the ground and immediately growing nauseated. Cordelia held out her arms to hold the poor girl but y/n refused. She felt sick to her stomach, her head was spinning and her mind couldn’t wrap around anything that was presented to her.

“Being revived from the dead surely takes a toll on the mind and spirt, doesn’t it? I think the perfect antidote to stoke the blood and speed up the recovery process would be a spicy gazpacho andaluz,” Myrtle smiled.

“You think the kitchen here has a spice rack?” Madison retorted, and Cordelia shook her head.

“We put your sisters, Coco and Mallory, under an identity spell to keep them safe. But you... my sweet daughter,” Cordelia smiled sadly, reaching out and gently moving a stray strand of hair out of her face, “Michael took you away before I could protect you. I failed you, but I won’t let it happen again.”

“Sisters? N-No, I... I was an orphan. I am an orphan. I only ever had Michael.”

“Can somebody please just tell me what’s going on?!” Mallory questioned with frustration in her tone.

“You all are sisters, all part of the coven, all witches,” Myrtle stated.

“Witches?!” Y/N cried. “I-I don’t have any...”

And then it hit her. The dreams, the blurry memories, the incident with Mallory. They were all connected, they had to be. And when y/n looked at the woman in front of her again, gazed upon her face and took in her features, she realized.

“You’re the woman from my dreams,” y/n whispered, hesitantly reaching to touch the woman’s face in front of her in fear that she’d disappear just like the dreams. But when y/n rested her hands on her cheeks, tears immediately began to fall. “Cordelia.”

“I never stopped looking for you,” the woman whispered, her own tears shedding. “Never stopped thinking of you. You were my whole world, my sweet little witch.”

“I... I see your face every night,” y/n sniffled, a sad smile on her face. “I always felt like a part of me was missing and now I... I’ve found it.”

“Okay, this is sweet and all,” Madison interrupted, “but we have serious issues to discuss. Like how to defeat Michael, for instance.”

“Defeat him? I don’t want to defeat him,” Mallory stuttered.

“Leave me out of it,” Dinah butted, chiming in for the first time since being raised from the dead. “I haven’t promised anything, I haven’t signed any contracts, no disclaimers, nothing. I don’t owe you anything and I’m not here to defeat anyone.”

“Yeah right, as if you could ever defeat anyone with your backwards voodoo shit,” Madison scoffed.

“How can any of you defeat me when I’ve already won?” A voice boomed, and all women turned to see Michael at the top of the stairs smiling smugly, accompanied by his right hand Miss Mead. His arrogant demeanor faltered slightly when he saw his bride standing beside the woman he loathed the most.

“Y/N,” Michael cooed gently. “My beloved, step away from that woman right now.”

“N-No,” y/n protested, nervously clinging to Cordelia’s arm for support.

“No?” Michael repeated, his patience already growing thin. He scoffed. “Little lamb, you know not to disobey me. Now come here right now.”

“Fuck you,” y/n spat, and it felt good. No longer did he have total control over her mind, body, and soul, no longer could he manipulate and degrade her, punish and use her. She didn’t feel like kissing the ground he walked anymore, didn’t feel like pleasing him, and she didn’t feel like submitting to him anymore. His spell had been broken. Michael Langdon no longer had control over y/n. “I’m staying right here with my sisters, the ones you took away from me.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, dearest y/n,” Michael spat, venom in his voice as he uttered her name, “but you don’t have a choice. Have you seen the state of the world? I’m the only one who can provide for you.”

“The state of the world is almost as bad as your dinner jacket,” Myrtle retaliated, “but at least the world can be saved.”

“By you?” Michael teased.

“By all of us,” Cordelia declared, hand reaching for y/n’s in solidarity.

“Hey, get the wax out of your ears, I’m here to watch,” Dinah reminded.

“Well I’m not,” Coco huffed, marching towards Michael but faltering slightly under his menacing gaze. “Just don’t let me die again okay? The first time really sucked.”

And y/n, still trying to keep up with her new surroundings and new findings, held her head high despite how hot Michael’s burning gaze felt against her skin. He’d taken everything away from her, hidden her true self and turned her into his little pet, taken advantage of everything she was.

Not anymore.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

tag list: @ticklish-leafy-plant @gx-nji @anacerta @bluebirdbts @heda-mikaelson @redlovett @fuck-yeah-bruno-buccerati @ateliefloresdaprimavera @quechulitaaa @theeonlyroman

[oculusius]

Desk Jockey

“I want that report on my desk at 6 AM tomorrow or your ass is on the street.”

I look up from my keyboard, from the sickeningly modern, blank desk to the even worse face of my branch manager. Picture what you’d expect the person saying this to look like, and you’re probably right. Tall, dark hair combed back, slicked back with just enough gel to not be disgusting. Attractive, but only conventionally, because it hides his fetid interior. The rotten, wriggling insides of the kind of guy who relishes other’s misery, especially when he’s snorting high grade blow on the weekends. Though he’d probably prefer orphan’s tears (But that’s a story for another time).

I’ll do my best, you fucking cretin.

I mumble out some garbled excuse. I won’t even tell you what I said because I forget, or rather, it was so insignificant that I never committed it to memory in the first place. “Sorry Eric,” (He’s one of the ‘hip’ bosses that makes us call him by his first name), “Won’t happen again”, Please don’t take my healthcare away I will literally suck your dick to keep it. He shakes his head and walks away. We’re the last ones in the office, one of the tallest buildings in our shitty, Midwestern town; all glass and steel like some gaudy San Francisco startup. The only lights still on are in the lobby; besides that the only other illumination is from the sickeningly crisp glow emanating from my monitor. As soon as the elevator doors close behind Eric, I grasp my hair in my hands; it’s drenched in sweat and I’m balding already, despite being in my late twenties. Flakes of dandruff are appearing on my scalp, but by the time I get home from work I’m too damn tired to remember to get that special shampoo. Stress related? Probably. Did I have time to fix it? Fuck no.

I swear to God you motherfucker I’ll name you when I eat a fucking bullet you shit fuck…

Stop. The more rational voice in my head. Finish this shit in the next—5 hours? Shit, it’s already 1 AM! I’ll smash bottles and get proper wasted when I’m finished. And when the following day is over, seeing as I’d probably be pulling an all-nighter. Fuck. I take two caffeine pills from the nondescript tin in my top drawer.

Alright. I need to get the excel sheet from that old email inbox the intern left when he quit (not that I blame him). To do that, I need to go through my inbox and find that time I CC’ed him about scheduling that conference call. But to get into my inbox, I need to reset my password because company policy is to change passwords every 3 weeks, and it can’t be a past password…

Alright. One step at a time.

 It’s two hours later. I found the file, finally. I feel like I crossed the fucking Rubicon with no limbs to get here. Now, to get the shit I need from it and send it to Eric. I hope he chokes on it. While bleeding. From every orifice, and then some. I open the file, and I’ve never been so goddamn happy to see the sickening green of excel. Document recovery—what’s that? Fuck it, I’ll deal with it later. I ctrl f the account name. Beads of sweat are dripping off my forehead. Outside, it’s still the vaguely pinkish black of night in any big city. I might actually get some sleep tonight…

WHY IS THERE A FUCKING HYPERLINK HERE?

Oh boy, this better not cost me my job. I get sent to a greyish webpage, the kind of soulless portal that screams ‘high finance’. A nondescript login page for “Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management LLC”. I roll my eyes. Management occasionally threw us these shitty platforms because their friends from way back developed them, and they wanted to help them out. Because God forbid we use Citibank.

There’s no login, but there’s a support number on the bottom of the page. Maybe if I call, they can help me? It’s worth a shot. I mean, I had nothing but time, and if it actually worked and saved my job, I would fly all the way to India or some shit to kiss that phone technician on the lips. Alright. God, when I was an undergrad did I ever imagine this would be my waking life (or lack thereof?) I should’ve joined the military. Better to be blown up overseas then mentally scarred over here.

4-887-612-393: 24/7 Live Support

I call from my office phone, in the hopes that it’ll lend credence to the claim that I fucking need this login. The phone rings for what seems like half an hour, but I can tell from the clock on the wall that it hasn’t been a single, godforsaken minute. Maybe I’d died and gone to purgatory? Seemed believable enough—although, I wasn’t sure what I’d done in a past life to deserve this. Maybe I was a Mongol slavedriver, and…

“Hello, this is ZenDesk, my name is Robert. How may I help you today?” My crisis of existential spiraling instantly, mercifully, shatters. I put on a cheery voice.

“Hi, I work at [company name]. I really need to find something for my boss, and in this accounts payable excel file, it says that I’m supposed to login to a ‘Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management?’ I have all my company info if you need it, I was just never told we used this firm before.”

A beat passes. I hope he heard the desperation in my voice, because if I had a guardian angel, it’d be on the other end of that phone line. Why did I tell him I never heard of this place? He doesn’t care! He isn’t paid to care!

“Of course, sir. Just a moment please. What’s your name sir?”

That thin veneer of politeness again.

“Uh, Keith Sanders. I also have my company email, if you can send the password there…”

“OK sir, what’s the address?”

I spell it out for him. My fingers are digging into the faux-leather of the chair. I’m starting to sweat. If this doesn’t work, I’m fucking hosed…

I tell him the address, and soon I have the URL to reset the Kleene-Rosser password. Surprisingly, my company email works for the username. Lucky guess I suppose? I thank him, truly from the bottom of my heart, and wait for the page to load.

According to the web page, the site was some kind of file storage service. Besides a few nondescript tabs on the top leading to “Home”, “Support”, etc. there’s nothing but a grey background set behind a very basic file directory.

[company_name]/Accounts/Accounts_Payable/2019/May/.

There it is! So deceptively close. 05.19.19.xcl

When I try to open it, I hear the most awful of noises: the Windows 10 error sound, impossibly loud. File corrupted. WHAT THE FUCK? HOW DO YOU CORRUPT A FUCKING EXCEL FILE? SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS SIDEWAYS?

I dig my fingertips into my temples. I can feel the faint outline of an engorged vein on the side of my head. I imagine it, an angry, vibrant purple, the shooting representation of my immense, earth-shattering frustration.

It was as if every cog in the infernal machine that was my work place was designed specifically to drive me fucking bananas. Like my life was some cosmic joke to see how much I would endure before going postal, or at least smashing my monitor. Jump out an office window, strapped with speakers blaring “FUCK THIS PLACE” over and over again, even when they’re scraping me off the pavement with a comically large spatula. Every little thing piled atop one another to form the worst shit tsunami eternally suspended above my head. Every wriggling, squealing fucking cell in my brain…

Alright, let’s think of solutions. Eric wanted the file, and if it was corrupted, I’d just tell him the truth: that it’s how I found it. Man, why did I drive myself up the wall earlier? So stupid… I log into my email. Actually, I don’t. As soon as I hit enter in the URL bar, I get that fucking google “no internet” error dinosaur. At this point, I try to keep rolling with the punches. Alright, network diagnostics, here we go. After what feels like centuries, after windows resets the router, etc. I finally get an answer. Sort of. An error code. I had two hours left before I was unemployed. I take another caffeine pill and keep going, determined to see this shit through to the end.

Hidden on the fifth page of the search results is my answer. It’s on an obscure, early 2000s web forum that had a grand total of 2 users online, probably bots. A post from a literal decade ago has my same issue, and one of the commenters mentions he had the same thing. Apparently, it’s a hardware issue with the router. Despite being woefully underqualified to deal with IT issues, I have no other choice. No fucking way Eric will believe that the internet cut out 2 hours before my deadline. I find the tech support number, and pray that the information is up to date and that they won’t have to send a technician out to fix it.

As the phone rings, I ponder my situation. I was unlucky enough to find what I needed right as the Wi-Fi died, and it was probably one of those issues that fixes itself in an hour anyway. There it is again; I can almost see the shadowy gears of the universe working against me, trying to crush my psyche beneath their teeth into bits of mental scrap. When I finally get a response, I’m caught off guard. This guy seems American. His voice is a bit hoarse, and I picture him as the fat comic book guy from the Simpsons, gut and all.

“----- tech support. How can I help you?”

I don’t like the way his voice trails off every word, leaving a breathy wisp behind like the tail of a comet. It makes me want to shudder.

“Yeah, uh—“

My mind blanks for a minute. I’ve been derailed, and it takes an agonizing few seconds for me to decide what I want to say.

“I was trying to email my boss, and—“again with the unnecessary details “I got this error code, and I saw online that it was an issue with the router.”

“Uh huh.” He sounds skeptical. And disapproving. I imagine he’s wrinkled that gob of cartilage clinging to his face he calls a nose. “What’s the model number?” He finally asks.

I read off the name, and he laughs. He fucking laughs. Is my suffering amusing him? Arousing him?

I have a clearer image of this guy now. Pervading my mind, filling the gaps in my brain, covering my synaptic gaps with fucking cement. He’s grossly overweight, in some dark room somewhere. He smells like BO and he is sweaty milky beads off his forehead that are landing into his keyboard and congealing. The scent is odious, like a corpse coated in mayonnaise and left in a tomb for five millennia, except it’s still wet.

“Sir?” That subtle tone of annoyance again. “Do you understand me, sir?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Would you mind repeating that? I was just—talking to someone.” Idiot he can tell you weren’t.

I write down his instructions, but first he pontificates about some issue with a chip in the router or some shit. Apparently I have to call the manufacturer? And they can help me dust it off or some such?

He’s fleshy and sickeningly soft, like a malformed, hairless puppy. That shirt’s been pasted to his damp stomach longer than you’ve been on Earth. It’s just a crude impersonation of the kind of people that run this industry. And you’re just his plaything, to be antagonized and fucked with until…

As soon as my attention is re-centered, I say “Alright thanks bye” without even knowing what he was rambling about before. He laughs. No, cackles. I can practically smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath. I slam the receiver down. It was starting to stick to my face with sweat and I really wanted to switch to my cell anyway. Peeling it away was orgasmic.

I examine the napkin I had scribbled on. I’d written it down in a haze, and it almost felt like I was reading someone else’s handwriting. Was that a 5, or a 6, or what? Doesn’t matter. I plug in the numbers, to some obscure fucking company I know nothing about. There’s like 12 digits, not like any number I’ve ever dialed. Unbeknownst to me, I was about to make the worst fucking mistake of my life, worse than taking on that debt to go to college or that time I puked on grandma’s casket at the funeral. Light years away, I imagine, some metaphysical blade was eagerly, sexually, preparing to scoop out my insides and flay them across time and space, flicking its imaginary tongue back and forth in anticipation.

I had expected that infuriating error code, but instead, I feel it. All of it. The other side is cold, and every hair on my body stands right on edge.

“Hello?”

The phone’s definitely connected.

“Hello?!”

This time it seems to echo. I’d opened a door, a beaming ray of light into a place that hasn’t been graced by it in eons.

“Is this Infolink appliances?” I gulp suddenly. My throat is impossibly dry. Everything that made me me, my identity, my memories, my interests… were spilling out into space, into an impossible void far blacker than even the darkest of nights. Please. Like my brain was a plastic bag full of air, but now it’s been punctured. It’s getting sucked out like a breached spaceship, and my body is curling around the now torturous void. I am a husk.

I drop the phone on the ground, and the screen cracks. But I’m far beyond caring about that screen now. The spiritual, inky black is billowing out of the phone like an endless wave going out in every direction. And there’s something else. A raucous laughter, and sneering, they’re laughing so hard somewhere backstage that their mouths, or whatever they call those fucking gullets, are overflowing with sickening white foam with streaks of yellow bile. Dark silhouettes that have been eagerly waiting this whole time for this horrible climax. I’d played my part. Everything else was out of my hands now.

[sambukasam]

Babe, Can I Call?

Summary: Typically, the client calls the escort. But when Dean goes into rut a month early and thinks you caused it, he calls you to help him “take care of it”. 

Kink Bingo Square Filled: Rut

AU Bingo Square Filled: Escort!Dean

ABO Bingo Square Filled: Rut

Genre Bingo Square Filled: Late Night Call

Good Things Happen Bingo Square Filled: Reunited

Pairing: Alpha!Escort!Dean x Omega!Reader

Warnings: ABO, smut, rut sex, knotting

Word Count: 2912

A/N: the title is taken from a song by the hunna but the song doesn’t really apply to the fic

Created for @spnkinkbingo and @spngenrebingo and @spnaubingo and @spnabobingo  and @goodthingshappenbingo

Kink Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ Genre Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ AU Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ ABO Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ Good Things Happen Bingo Masterlist ↔︎ Normal Masterlist 

feedback is always appreciated

“Y/N?”

You frowned at the hoarse voice coming from your phone. It was nearing midnight and you were in your pyjamas with a hot drink and a bowl of cereal, just about to hop into bed. Who the hell would call you at this time? You didn’t have the number saved, but the voice sounded familiar.

“Y/N? Shit is this the wrong number-” the voice clicked in your mind, and before he could hang up you were talking to him.

“Dean?” You didn’t have a last name to go off, but you were pretty sure the first name he gave you was real.

“Oh thank God.”

“Are you alright? You sound kinda sick or something,” you frowned, your cereal growing soggier as your concern for him became your main priority.

You and Dean had a purely business relationship, and he never initiated contact. Hell, you never even had his personal phone number! There had to be a serious reason as to why he was calling you, you just couldn’t think of it.

“Uh, yeah, ‘bout that. I’m in rut.”

Deciding that it wasn’t dire, you shovelled another spoonful into your mouth before answering. “Is that related to why you’re calling me?”

“That’s kinda the whole reason why I’m calling you.” Blink. A splash of milk landed on your arm. When you didn’t reply straight away, he kept going, “my rut isn’t due for another month. I think… I think that you caused it.”

“And how the hell did I manage to do that if I haven’t seen you in two months?”

Ah yes, the dry spell. Well, that’s what you liked to call it. You decided that it was probably time for you to stop calling Dean up every time your social group had a function, and it had unintentionally lasted three weeks. Then you decided that you couldn’t call him because you had left it too long. You figured that he probably had way more clients now and wouldn’t even be able to find time for you, which led you to now, three months later.

He grunted, and you were reminded of how serious the situation was. If you had managed to force his rut on him rather than it occurring naturally, that meant that only you could get him out of it. And time is of the essence when it comes to forced ruts because they tend to play with Alpha’s heads. If Dean was left long enough he could even go feral, and a feral Alpha was a lost cause.

“Look, I accidentally stole a pair of your panties.”

You sputtered indignantly, is that what happened to your favourite pair? The ones that you only got to wear a grand total of three times before they vanished?

“I shoved them in my pocket the last time we... hooked up. It was at that fancy ball thing your friend was hosting, and I wanted to keep them up off the floor so that no one would see them. I forgot all about them, to be honest, I haven’t even gotten around to washing my pants from that night yet.”

“Gross,” you interjected. It had been at least three months since that day.

“Well, it is what it is. I found them a few hours ago, and your scent… It’s so strong on them, holy fuck, and I never noticed it before, but I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt in my whole damn life. And I don’t know if my body is just tense from not seeing you in so long, but…. I sort of just snapped, and now I’m starting to go into rut, and I feel like a pervert because I can’t focus on anything but the damn smell of those panties.”

“Dean, I’ll come over if you need me to. But are you 100 per cent certain that it’s my panties you're smelling? Like, are you positive that I’m the one who put you into it? Surely you have a ton of other clients who could have done it.”

“Y/N, I haven’t seen any other clients in almost a year. I deleted my profile on the website and everything. And besides, I've never slept with any client other than you." A smug smile spread across your face as you heard that last sentence, suck it insecurities! Dean Winchester didn't get a ton of other clients and move on! "But anyway, you were the only client I’ve kept seeing since then. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you on a real date ever since I deleted my profile but it never seemed like something you would have been into. And then you stopped contacting me, so I assumed you met someone and moved on past me. Wait, shit, you aren’t seeing someone, are you?”

You blinked at the wall, trying to process everything that he had just said to you. He was into you? Were you the reason he shut his profile down, or were you being narcissistic and really he was just getting sick of it? But if that was the truth, he wouldn't have kept seeing you afterwards.

You weren’t gonna lie, you did get butterflies around him, but you thought that was just because he was so good at his job. I mean, he was paid a ridiculous amount of money to give you a good time. You always just assumed that he was giving you your money's worth, never that there was actual intent behind his actions. A smile was spreading across your face and you resisted the urge to giddily squeak, but then Dean was groaning down the phone again and you remembered the urgency of the situation.

“I’m single,” you managed to blurt out. “Text me your address and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hung up the phone to text you before you could grill him any further on his feelings for you, but it wasn't like you could blame him. When you went into heat, it was always the only thing you could focus on. You had never called Dean when you went into it though, always settling for taking some meds and willing yourself through the worst of it. To feel needed by someone like Dean, who was considered such good company that he was literally paid to spend time with people, was amazing.

You grabbed the first bag you could find, which happened to be an old book bag from high school. You threw a few bottles of water and snacks into it in case Dean was running low on them and got going.

You pulled up outside his apartment block fifteen minutes later, taking a second to marvel at how upscale the building was. Escorting obviously gave him a decent wage.  That thought made you think about how weird the whole situation was. You didn't even know the man's surname but here you were speeding across the city to help him.

The doorman was waiting for you and led you to the elevator, telling you to send Dean his regards. If he had any questions about why you were showing up in your pyjamas with a school bag, he didn't ask them.

Dean told you that his apartment was 32B, but he really didn’t have to specify, you could smell him the second you stepped out of the elevator. Following your nose rather than the numbers on the doors, you knocked quickly against his door before you could hear him shout that it was open.

If you thought that his scent had been strong in the hall, it was a completely different story once his door swung open. You could have dropped to your knees right then and there if you hadn’t of known how much he needed you at that moment.

“Dean? You good buddy? I brought some water and some snacks to stock you up for a few days in case you run low, I don’t know how long your ruts last for…” You trailed off, eyeing how fancy the entryway to his apartment was.

“Bring it with you, I’m on the third door on the right.”

When you got to the threshold of the room he was in, you were greeted by the beautiful sight of him sweaty and in just his underwear, a sight you hadn’t realised just how much you had missed until that moment.

“Thank God,” he sighed, relief on his face. You opened the bag and threw a bottle of water at him and he smiled gratefully, twisting the cap off before chugging the whole thing.  

His room was boyish. It was considerably less fancy than the rest of his apartment that you had seen, and it really gave you an insight into the man behind the penis. There was a collection of guitars hung up along the wall and shelves full of DVDs and CDs, and a poster for All Saint's Day hung slightly crooked on his closet. Your panties were crumpled up into a ball on the bed beside where Dean was propped up, and you were both relieved and annoyed that they were your good pair that went missing. All in all, his room felt like a homely mancave.

“You good?” You decided to ask him.

“I haven’t gone fully into it yet, but… Since you opened the door, your scent is super strong and it's speeding things up.”

He looked like he was struggling to remain coherent and you took pity on him. “What do you need me to do?”

“Getting naked would be a great place to start,” he joked with a grin, but you nodded and went along with it.

You tugged your shirt over your head, not even trying to hide your smirk at his reaction to seeing your boobs. You weren't wearing a bra because you were just about to go to sleep, and you didn't bother putting one on before you ran out.

“Holy shit I didn’t think it was possible for my dick to get any harder right now,” he cursed, dropping a hand to palm himself. Your eyes followed his movement and you allowed yourself to notice just how hard he was for the first time since you’d stepped into the room. His cock was clearly outlined through his briefs, and if your eyesight was any clearer you would probably be able to see him throb.

“Please Y/N, I need something, literally anything, it just hurts really bad and-”

You interrupted him by crawling over the bed to him, planting your arms on his shoulders and pushing him onto his back. The bed reeked of Alpha arousal, and you felt like if the scent got any stronger it would trigger your own heat. To distract both of you, you kissed him firmly.

Though you had spent months without each other, the kiss was perfect, as if you had never lost any time. Dean kissed you with a needy eagerness as his hands reached for your hips, pulling you down to grind against him. He was hard as a rock, and you gasped into his mouth as he bumped against your clit.

“You should take these damn pants off before I do it myself. And if I do it, they’ll get shredded,” Dean practically growled when he pulled back from the kiss. His lips were even poutier than normal, flushing a deep red that almost matched the heat in his cheeks.

You figured it was probably smart to listen to him because you were wearing your comfiest pair. Hopping off of him and the bed, you shoved them down your legs quickly, leaving you in your ratty but comfortable underwear. He barely seemed to notice that, however, although a small smirk appeared when he saw the holes in your boy shorts.

“Easy access?”

“More like my washing machine has no respect for anything cotton.”

“Get back over here,” he whined, patting his lap. You rolled your eyes at how he changed the subject so subtly.

You straddled him again and leaned in for a kiss but he dodged your lips completely, leaning down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. “Shit, Dean!” You whimpered in surprise at the unexpected gesture.

“I have missed you both so much,” he groaned, looking right at your boobs as he said it.

You laughed at how immature he was, it was refreshing to see that he hadn’t changed much while you were apart. To distract him you rolled your hips down, grinding onto his dick and making his breath catch.

This caused something to snap inside of him as he rolled the two of you over suddenly, leaving you to lie on your back with him in between your legs. The ever growing wet spot in your panties was pressed right against his bulged, only separated by your underwear.

“Stop teasing me, Omega,” he commanded, and shivers went down your spine at the unfamiliar tone he was using with you. He had never broken out his ‘Alpha voice’ when you two had had sex before, usually keeping it light with his playful antics. Now you felt like you were having sex with him for the first time all over again as he stared at you with a newfound intensity you had never seen in anyone before, let alone from him.

“Make me,” you urged him, gasping when he reached down and ripped your underwear clean off.

“Trust me, I was planning on it.”

He looked like he wanted to keep talking after that but he paused as your scent filled the room, uncovered. It seemed that your own heat definitely would be coming soon as your scent grew stronger almost as if to challenge Dean’s.

“Omega,” he growled, and it was then that you knew he was fully under. There was no more laughing and joking, as he now had one thing on his mind - to knot you.

“Alpha,” you submitted, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull yourself closer to him. His eyes darkened, blown wide with lust as he rutted against you, putting a hand down to guide himself into your pussy. “Oh my God.”

He stretched your walls out almost painfully, and you could feel the beginning of his knot press against your ass once he bottomed out. He had never knotted you before, something that had you both nervous but excited.

“Fuck, ‘mega,” he grunted, dropping his forehead to rest against your shoulder as he glanced down to where the two of you were connected. “So tight. Feels like you were made to take my knot.”

He drew his hips back and slammed forward, sending you inches up the bed. He grabbed your shoulders to keep you in place before setting up a punishing rhythm. It felt like he was trying to make you feel this for months afterwards, which you didn’t doubt would happen.

His breath was brushing against your sensitive mating gland on your neck, and you half wished he would just reach down and bite onto it, to make you his Omega.

The room filled with the wet sound of him entering you and the combination of your desperate moans as the two of you tried to stay as close to each other as possible the whole time.

His knot was almost ready now, big and insistent with every thrust of his hips. “Please, Dean, Alpha, need you to knot me,” you begged, arching your back to raise your hips and give him a better angle. "I want to come on your knot."

"Jesus Christ," he groaned, his thrusts growing uneven. He reached a hand down to rub your clit, making you unintentionally clench harder around him. He was growing close, you could tell by the way his thrusts lost their rhythm as he focused more on force rather than pace.

With each slam of his hips his knot rubbed against you, pushing and pushing until finally, it popped and tied the two of you together.

"Fuck Dean!" You cried, the sudden stretch in your pussy being that last push you needed to send you over the edge. You came around him, milking his cock as he filled you with his cum. He kept rubbing your clit the whole time you came until finally you caved into your sensitivity and had to push his hand away.

Once the two of you were finished, you got comfortable lying on your side facing each other. You kept one leg propped up around his waist and he had a hand on your thigh, squeezing it softly as he smiled down at you. His rut was calming down for a while, you could tell as his cheeks returned to their normal colour.

"I missed you," he admitted quietly, looking at where his hand was on you rather than into your eyes.

"Was it true? When you said that you've never slept with another client?"

He nodded and looked back up at you. "It was. And so was what I said about wanting to ask you out on a date. And now it's my turn to ask a question. Would you like to go on a date with me when this is all over?"

You grinned at his words, glad to hear that they were true. "Of course I would, Dean. But only if I get to ask one more question."

"Anything."

"What the hell is your last name?"

TAGS:

-

Want to be tagged?

Everything:

@blackolivejuice / @heyitscam99

Dean:

@akshi8278

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 16

No one even bothered cleaning up the glass; all three of us too tired and jagged from words better left unsaid.

Not even a word had been spoken since; Eleven refusing to leave her room, and me ducking into my own soon after the ordeal.

Not that it mattered.

Dad didn’t even try to talk to us; still wound up too tightly to say anything but cutting remarks.

I’m pretty sure he’d fallen asleep on the couch, refusing to leave his post out of pure spite; and what do you know? When I peered our from my room, he was still there.

I edged out of my room, having already memorised every creaky floorboard and loose nail in true teenage renegade fashion.

Step by step, I made it across the living room, tiptoeing through a gauntlet of shattered glass and upturned furniture just waiting to trip me up.

I lost my footing; my heel falling down on a particularly large shard of glass; the sharp crunch cutting through the air like a gunshot.

Dad snorts, and my heart stops in my chest.

I dared a glance up at him, dreading the conversation we’d have if he woke.

To my relief he remained dead to the world; half drunk bottle of beer still gripped in his hand. He lets out aloud snore, lazily lifting his wrist to run at his nose, before falling limp once more.

I let out a sigh of relief, thanking whatever God was up there was too preoccupied to humiliate me.

I then lifted my foot, holding back a hiss as the motion finally stirred my pain reflex; the glass feeling as painful as the metaphors might suggest.

Balancing rather deftly on one leg, I raised my foot up, allowing me to get a better look at the cut.

It had bled a lot, but it wasn’t deep; the bloody shard that caused it still wedged in my skin.

I pulled it out, wincing when the jagged edges caught on exit, but still; it would be fine.

I’d had splinters worse; I swear.

After that I was more careful, rising up on my tiptoes so only the barest amount of my foot touched the floor as I made my way across to Eleven’s room.

I reached it without further injury, lightly rapping my knuckles on the door.

“El, it’s me; Lola. Can I come in?” I asked in a hoarse whisper, leaning in close to the wood lest dad might hear me.

Silence.

“I know it’s late, but I thought you could use some company...” I continued; not entirely sure that the kid wasn’t fast asleep and I was talking to thin air.

Still nothing.

I tried one last desperate attempt, hoping that somehow she’d be listening.

“I bought Eggos.” I said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. I’d fished them out of the trash when dad wasn’t looking, guessing I might need some bargaining chips later, and hid them underneath my mattress where dad wouldn’t find them.

The door clicked as it unlocked, swinging open ever so slightly.

It seemed my ploy payed off.

I snuck into the room, making sure to make as little sound as possible as I shut the door behind me.

El was sat on the floor, knees tucked up to her chest in a position that was universally recognisable as upright foetal; a clear sign she wasn’t quite over what dad had said yet.

Tear stains streaked her cheeks; her eyes still red and puffy from crying, and dried blood crusted beneath her nose from where she’d attempted to wipe it away with her sleeve.

Overall; she looked a sorry state, and my heart cried out in sympathy for her. It wasn’t easy going head on with Jim Hopper’s fury, especially not at thirteen years old with no experience.

“Hey El...” I smiled, slowly approaching her much like you’d approach a startled horse; all soft words and gentle movements.

“Can I sit down?” I asked, slowly lowering myself to her level.

She nodded, and I sunk down beside her, sitting with my back to the wall so she didn’t feel pressured to look me in the eye.

“Y’know; all that destroying things with your mind stuff, that’s pretty badass...” I remarked, grasping for something to break the silence.

“I could think of a few situations I could use that...” I continued, giving her a sly look, because it was true. I could use that; especially if it meant scaring the shit out of a certain pretty boy who couldn’t seem to keep his hands off me.

But this was about Eleven; not me.

“Do you want an Eggo?” I offered, reaching into the oversized pockets of my shirt where I’d hidden my haul.

El nodded, managing a small smile that licked at the corners of her mouth.

I pulled out the Eggos, slightly regretful that they’d become so crushed in transit.

“They’re a little squished. Had to hide them from the fun patrol...” I joked, pulling the cellophane wrapper from one before handing it to her.

“But they’re still good.”

El took a bite from it, before smiling and nodding.

“Still good.” She agreed, taking another bite.

I watched her eat for a moment, savouring that small satisfied smile that stretched across her face every time she took a bite.

I knew I was gonna have to talk to her. At least try to foster some forgiveness between her and dad before sunrise. God knows the pair of them were too pigheaded to do so themselves, but still; the challenge seemed daunting in its own way.

“You know; all that shit dad said earlier, he didn’t mean it.” I began, fixing my gaze on the door opposite, because I wasn’t sure I could do this if she was looking straight at me.

“You’re not...”

“A brat?” She finished my sentence; no hint of accusation in her words, just pure curiosity.

“No; you’re not a brat.” I confirmed; my voice dropping low, because I really didn’t like to use that word for the kid; not after all she’d been through.

I reached out for her, grasping my hand around her own and interlacing our fingers, if not for her sake then for my own; because I wasn’t good with emotions and shit; I was gonna need some moral support for this one.

“It’s just... sometimes he gets real mad and doesn’t know what he’s saying and he does stuff that can really hurt...” I tried to explain; the confession coming harder than I thought it would.

“Hopper hurt you?” She asked; though her phrasing made it seem more like a statement than a question.

“What?” I replied; confused on what made her think that.

She reached across with her spare hand, fingers gently tracing my wrist where deep purple bruises decorated my skin in the shape of fingerprints.

“Hopper hurt you?” She repeated herself; her intention clearer now than before. My stomach sunk again at the realisation.

She thought dad hit me; the genuine concern on her face laced with resentment a more cutting tool than any weapon. She honestly believed that my dad would hurt me; physically and not just with words. It made my heart break in my chest.

“No, sweetie; no.” I corrected with a sad smile, pulling gently on her head till it rested on my shoulder in some strange hybrid of a half hug.

“Dad would never hurt me; or you, for that matter. Not ever”

I felt her body relax after that, tension bleeding out of her as if her only fear was what I might’ve went through. That I might’ve suffered just a smidgeon of what she had; bless her heart.

I didn’t deserve El; her honesty and genuine enthusiasm. Being around her was like seeing the world through fresh eyes, and being as jaded as I was; that was an experience I could never underestimate.

El was an incredible little kid, and dad should buck up and see that before it’s too late.

—————————————————

The next morning I’d woken up to the sound of hammering just outside my bedroom; the dull thump of metal on wood ridiculously loud in the wood’s serene silence. Seems like dad had started cleaning up the mess.

Good for him; I heard cleaning builds character.

I forced myself out of bed and began to get dressed, eager to get to school, because as much as I hated having to listen to rumours there; at least I could drop kick someone if they really pissed me off.

Here, I’d have no hope; tensions already high enough without the threat of physical violence rearing it’s head.

I was still pissed at dad; more for Eleven’s sake than my own.

Yes; she’d acted recklessly and put herself in danger, and that was childish, but guess what? She was a child, and I’d forgive her a multitude of sins for that very reason, and the fact that beneath it all, she was a pretty good kid; if not a little messed up.

But so was I; I guess that’s why we related so well.

Dad, on the other hand, had been completely out of line.

He’d berated and belittled her at every opportunity, before downright threatening her with what was virtually abandonment; and I couldn’t condone that, not after the bullshit she’d already been through at the hands of so called responsible adults.

He knew what he’d said had been wrong, but I wasn’t gonna be the one to spell it out for him; he was old enough to do that for himself.

So when I left my room, I didn’t say a word to him, making a beeline straight for my keys on the kitchen counter.

“Well; lookie who it is, if it isn’t the caped crusader emerging from her cave...” Dad drawled; no trace of affection in the dry nickname.

“Had fun gossiping with Robin; Batman?” He asked sardonically, but I wasn’t about to sink to his level.

Instead, I just shoved on my leather jacket, ignoring how he stared at me expectingly, as if that question deserved an answer.

“The silent treatment; huh?” He continued, following me as I stalked across the room to find my backpack.

“Well good for you for setting a great example for the kid. I bet that attitude goes down real fucking peachy with the kids at school...” He continued to gripe, but that was it.

That was the last straw, and I wasn’t about to shut up and take it whilst he dragged me through the mud like a fucking martyr.

I marched up to him; eyes burning with a subtle fury as I stared him down, not a hint of submission in my posture.

“You know what; I did talk to the kid last night, and yes; it was about you, but only because I was trying to convince her that you weren’t a total dick.” I spat; not even flinching at the sprinkling of expletives finding their way into my speech.

“But apparently I’d been wrong and stupid, and I know; ‘we are not stupid.” I finished, throwing his words into his face, before storming out of the cabin.

“Lola; wait...” He called out; regret already colouring his voice, but you know what; fuck him.

He was the one so set on the fact that actions had consequences, so now he could fucking drown in them for all I cared.

[myvoicenottheoneyougiveme]

Preach.

It's my fault I'm being stalked. It's my fault there is a psycho trying to undo every aspect of my life. It's my fault.

It's my fault. It's my fault that these games are being played. It's my fault that socially someone is destroying my life. It's my fault that on a whim, this psycho...

It's my fault. It's somethign I'm failing to do or be. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault "this" is happening to me.

It's my fault. Preach.

It's my fault that the right to discretion, that the very fabric of social bonding is being rended, that the concept of trust, that the act of a door that opens outward not one that's kicked inward.... it's my fault. What's happening to me is my fault.

It's my fault. It's my fault.

It's my fault.

I just need to be more this or be more that or be less this. It's my fault. What's happening to me, the consequences of it, but regardless of the consequences....

I said don't touch me. I said, here no further. I said hands off. I said what makes human bonds is choice. I said that what makes trust, makes connection, is choice.

But you kick the door down.

Like an animal on a leash thrown naked onto a stage...

it's my fault.

It's my fault.

Tell me it's my fault. Tell me that what's happening to me is my fault.

I just need to be raped so I can get used to it. "Get used to it" "Get over it"

It's my fault. It's my fault.

Tell me again

I said “no”. But the trauma of it all, my reaction to it, it’s my fault.

SHHH SHHHH SHHHHH, just let it happen... Don’t be a baby. Just need “exposure”. Just need to build “immunity”.

It’s not traumatic. It’s not traumatic. How it makes me feel, what it does to me, that’s my problem, it’s my problem. It’s my fault.

It’s my fault “this” is happening.

Tell me again, it’s my fault.

Preach at me. Tell me again

Edit:

In the face of yesterday’s attempt at induced conversation, mother/whoever, I checked your argument with the reality of narcissistic abuse.

So long as a person’s relationships with others, so long as a person’s life is being held hostage, swallowed up and consumed by, so long as you are using your target’s support network against them, to collapse on them, to be the antithesis of solid ground, to gaslight... but simply, so long as you are holding his relationships with others, with everyone ever, hostage, then good luck on your little sonny boy [Seth in this induced conversation] extricating himself from his “toxic” relationship with high probabilities of success.

Speaking for myself- reputation, regard of others, friendships, just the whole of a life, those people’s opinions are only part of the equation. Pleasing, pleasing the world on whole, not being hated, not being an object of wrath, that’s only part of the equation for the codependent. Only part. The codependent and the narcissist have the same wound after all, it’s just that the narcissist has it so much worse. That’s why in cold empathy (in other words understanding but not feeling the effects) the narcissistic person is so damned good at punching their target’s/love object’s buttons.

The regard of anyone else, the desire to not be hated or rejected, that’s only one part of the equation for the codependent.

The poorly named “codependent” or in other cases “empath” is responding to the suffering (real or false suffering) of their narcissistic partner. The “poor me”s and anger and frustration but especially her perceived pain, --the idea of abandoning her is more than he can stand.

Even with “better sense” to override everything his heart is telling him, if he can’t shut the door on--can’t immunize himself to--what she herself is feeling and thinking about all of this and about him, -if he can’t shut the door on her pain, and he won’t likely be able to, because he’s already self-deprecating to a fault, already taking the world on his shoulders, already feeling responsible for thigns that are not his to own, already such a damned good beast of burden, -if he can’t shut the door on “the suffering girl” which he sees through the lens of the faith he has in her, of what he projects onto her, of what may or may not really be there but has so much to do with what’s already inside of him,

--if he can’t shut the door on that inner voice of guilt, true genuine guilt, true genuine bleeding for the person he believes in this part of himself, this feeling illogical irrational part of himself, true bleeding for this person he’s letting fall, letting down... he’s causing the pain as far as he’s concerned. He’s everything wrong with the world as far as he’s concerned. Even if everyone else is making him feel that way, he already feels that way.

Between the inside and the out, CRUSHED. Flattened. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t, desperation increasing, desperation, hopelessness, a double-bind. Melting heart and mind. A blurring between the real and the perceived--the felt. “Heart cooks brain”.

In the face of narcissistic abuse, this person will fail and fail and fail and fail and fail... to get away. If we’re talking about the same person here, cause I don’t regard Seth in this way, obviously. But this was your induced conversation. If he’s a stand-in for me and my “crimes” of not being able to walk away all those years ago, then I check your argument with the realities of narcissistic abuse.

Now, I’ve elaborated on just why such a person would be so susceptible. Not everyone can be trapped by, can be controlled by, can be manipulated by this person. It takes a special kind of someone, lacking certain resources of self, to fall prey to “this” kind of thing.

...But the present, “this” here right now is something else, something for which no amount of guidance or me altering myself or my course can fix. At the point of criminality, at the point that it’s come “this” far, the last thing the victim or target needs to be telling themselves is how if only they were more this or less that or did this or did that. The last thing the victim of harassment and stalking is supposed to be doing is blaming themselves for it happening to them.

It’s not on me to make “this” stop.

It isn’t my fault that it’s happening, and its perpetuation happens with or without me. 

The real story ended 7+ years ago ...but you had other plans. And here we are. Tell me again, that I just need to do or be more this and less that and it will go away. Tell me again, that being stalked beyond stalking, beyond harassment, beyond abuse, is my fault or my responsibility to own.

Tell me again that what’s happening to me rests on me. The part I played in “this” thing’s perpetuation was resolved 7+ years ago. “This” escalation in response to my ability to shut the door on you and keep it shut, isn’t my responsibility and I’ve done more than enough to end it however fruitlessly for the last several years.

This next step for me is my last... if this doesn’t work, then I don’t know what. If I fail this time to create space, to create separation, if after everything I’ve done to extricate myself from your reach has failed, and even after choosing a life totally devoid of all means of access to me, you still break in... I thought “air-gapped” and lacking all wireless components would be enough to shut the door on you. This next step, internal power source, not tied to any grid, removed from everything out and away in the wilderness, if this doesn’t shut the door on you, then I don’t know what will. I know it’s physically impossible at this point, unless you’re using some frequency beyond the range of my scanner to move data in and out. I know it’s physically impossible now. You’d have to follow me out there, and you’d have to do it without a hardline. They make jammers. That could be a next step, but my point is, I’m running out of things to try, psycho stalker.

I can’t live “this” way.

If I succeed, and this lifestyle becomes sustainable for me, you know I’m never coming back, mother. The greatest harm lies with you for the part you’ve played in “this”. You should have been the last person on earth, to ever do these things to me. But, if you haven’t shown me what you’re really made of through all of “this”.

I can’t live “this” way.

Edit: What’s more, as though I even needed to spell it out, gaslighting and it’s associated denial of reality is said to be the most destructive form of emotional abuse. But you’re not just denying reality and having your way with me, you’re stalking, you’re stalking and manipulating and toying with, and you’re using others to help you. Gaslighting and flying monkeys the primary weapons of narcissistic abuse--of the narcissist. By your actions I name you, by your actions. Not by your “reasons” as you bend and twist and distort and manipulate and masterfully manage your image in the eyes of those you conscript/absorb, but by your actions and your dismissal of the consequences to me and the trampling of my boundaries.

By your actions I name you. You name yourself by your actions. It’s that simple.

Edit: Even if you are possibly delusional over your reflection (the grandiose version is quite blind, has blinded themselves) you’re not stupid.

You’re simply doing what nets you the biggest reaction. If that means playing saint and forcing your “grace” onto me seemingly deaf to everything I couldn’t spell out any clearer if I tried, then that’s what you’ll do. It also affords you an opportunity to reframe yourself in contrast to me. If I get pushy or aggravated by your assaults, you will take any of what you can to the bank as though I had no right to be angry with you or any of “this”. You will take that to the bank as some kind of proof of what’s wrong with me, cause you are after all, such a saint. Who could deny you? I mean you’re just “helping” after all, what the hell is wrong with this guy?

And on and on it goes.

[mustbeyourmoonsign]

Tarot Readings: What They Are and What they Aren’t

I’m a woman of many hobbies which I indulge as frequently as possible (with this site being my latest creative endeavor). I’m also someone people frequently come to for advice; I assume it’s a combination of my (sometimes brutal) honesty and intuitive nature. And considering my interest in witchcraft and spiritual things, tarot pulled me in like the tide on the full moon.

I’m still a novice though; I rely heavily on my book or on Biddy Tarot for card meanings. In order to learn, I practice on anyone interested. This means friends and family but also my coworkers.

I work at an open source tech company, which is probably the last place you’d expect to find a self-proclaimed “office witch”. But word got around that not only did  I read, but I’m very accurate. We started calling in office readings “cosmic checkins” and they pop up on my calendar from time to time. Despite the interest in having a reading, many people are often very apprehensive. There’s fear in the unknown but also a healthy dose of it when someone wants to peek into their future. To ease those concerns, here is what you can expect from a tarot reading...at least one from me.

You Need to Be Open to It

Even if you are skeptical of fortune telling and tarot, if you aren’t at least open to it, I can’t read you properly. I’ve noticed people who are closed off have cards that are all over the place; they tell a fragmented story that often doesn’t make sense. To be blunt; if you’re not really into it, please don’t waste your tarot reader’s time.

The Cards Speak the Truth

I typically read blind; I have you shuffle the deck while thinking of a question. I’ll ask you to think of something specific / non-ambiguous. Anything like “what is my future?” is too broad thus hard to answer properly. I prefer the horseshoe spread because it tells a clearer story than other spreads I’ve tried. It shows the path that lead you to where you are, what may have influenced that path and what road you should take (the answer to your question).

Part of the reason I read blind (other than because it’s extra impressive when I’m spot-on) is so I can’t influence the reading. There have been times when I think I know the question and the reading seems off but then the person I’m reading for confirms everything I’ve said is resonating. This happened once with a good friend of mine. I was so sure he was going to ask about his current relationship but kept getting career cards. Low and behold, he had asked about his career and financial stability in the future. I was totally wrong and the cards were right.

The cards don’t lie. Sometimes they ignore what you’ve asked and dig into something you really need to know or deal with. This happens all the time when I try to do my own cards. Don’t be surprised if I uncover something you maybe weren’t planning on asking about and don’t ask about anything you don’t want me to know. Be as thoughtful about your question as you can and the cards will help show you the way.

The Death Card is Not Literal

There are 78 tarot cards in a deck; 22 Major Arcana (The World, The Moon, The High Priestess, etc.) and 56 Minor Arcana cards (Two of Cups, Seven of Swords, and so on). However, everyone seems to get hung up on one card: Death.

Death does not mean LITERAL death. This isn’t some B horror movie on Netflix. There are two meanings depending on if the card is upright or reversed and neither spell out your demise.

From Biddy Tarot:

Upright: Endings, beginnings, change, transformation, transition

Reversed: Resistance to change, unable to move on

Death usually means some kind of transformation or a new beginning. If you’re struggling or going through a rough patch, it’s an awesome card to get in your spread. If it’s reversed, it usually reflects being stuck or being unable to let go. If you get an upside down Death card, you need to stop being resistant to change. You’re holding yourself back from better things on the other side.

It’s More Guidance and Advice

While I may have very keen intuition and some empathic tendencies, I’m not a psychic. Even using a powerful tool like tarot, I can’t tell you your exact future. You’ll never hear me say “Oh you’ll be married to a handsome man from the West Coast by next year and you’ll have 2.5 children by 2025!” That’s not how it works. Tarot readings are more advice and guidance; you have a question that needs answering or you’re unsure of your next move. Since you control the question, you also control the answer. In my readings, I can’t recall a time when anyone was shocked at the outcome or any of the revelations made by the cards. Sometimes they offer warnings, usually about people who might not have your best intentions at heart, but again it’s all related to your questions and your openness to what the cards have to say.

Nothing is Set in Stone

If you find the cards are telling you the opposite of what you want to hear, fear not! The reading represents where you are right now at the present time. Nothing is set in stone; if the reading reveals the opposite of what you were hoping, you have the power to change that outcome. Maybe you asked if you were going to get a promotion you wanted and the cards indicated struggle, disappointment or feeling stagnant. Look at what you’re doing right now to make your next career move. Is there another project you could take on to help prove you’re ready to step up? Or maybe it’s time to move on to another opportunity somewhere else. I recommend people come back after a few months and we do another “check in” to see if the outcome as changed. The cards represent the path you’re on at the moment; you can always choose a different one for yourself.