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serenheist · 4 years ago

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What Jungkook is like in a relationship/ Jungkook as a boyfriend Tarot reading

I was gonna put Jin up first but I finished Jungkook quicker so oops but I’m finally back after 200 years of adulting things

1. How long does it take Jungkook to get into a relationship? 8 of pentacles, 2 of cups, the world Do he prefer long or short term relationships 7 of swords, ace of wands Nelys the alchemist 27 reversed, 5 of swords, 9 of cups reversed

For an actual relationship and not just dating I think he can take a while if not a long ass time because he’s too much of a perfectionist and will work hard at making sure everything is right before getting into a relationship. I don't know why I’m getting like before things would get “steamy” he would never let them see his body until he worked out enough for his own standards like everything has to be perfected and mastered beforehand. There’s also a reoccurring theme of work getting in the way and even in the beginning stages it’s like he meets up with them does whatever then has to hurry and run back to work and is like “hey I gotta go but I’ll text you later” type of shit. Big focus mostly on career though so it’s hard to tell. But I still think he’s not just sleeping around with just anyone I mean they have to be important if the 2 of cups pops up. I don’t think he’ll get into an actual relationship with someone unless there’s a strong connection. Or at least to him it seems like an important connection.

I gotta say too that the 7 of swords usually screams fuckboi to me but in this case I think the lying and trickery aspect of the card can be taken literally to mean of course he has to lie and sneak around when fans would legit doxx and slit his partners throat if they knew they were together. But anyway in a relationship there’s definitely gonna be extremely strong sexual chemistry I don’t know why this keeps popping up but alright. But one annoying thing is that in a relationship jungkook seems to like fighting in a way. He doesn’t like to lose to anything and will want to win an argument even if it’s petty. There’s also a kind of energy of the other person feeling inadequate sometimes with how much praise he gets from the entire world. It makes the other person feel as exposed since they’re not doing as “well” in the grand scheme of things. And will sometimes not want to compliment him on things because he gets compliments from the entire world this is just day to day petty shit. Another thing is getting into a relationship thinking this person is the one but then realizing over time and all the work you put in was useless cause this is emotionally unfulfilling.

2. Past and present love life king of pentacles, wheel of fortune reversed, queen of pentacles

Past: bruh his love life in the past is similar to the present. He was mostly focused on building his own career and wealth and love was on the back burner tbh. I think since he has huge goals for himself there was really no time to even do other things. But his love life right now seems like it’s a external long term problem affecting it. And I think he’s learning how to balance his love life and work life right now and just letting things happen and trying to take care of his body and mind.

3. What is he like in a relationship Tobaira of the waters 37 reversed, The glanconer 62 reversed, mother of dawn, knight of pentacles, flashover 11, 6 of swords reversed, addiction 11, envious gluttony 9, is this me? 4

When Jungkook is in a relationship he doesn’t fully feel like he can be emotionally vulnerable and instead will act mischievous and play around to hide behind vulnerability. It can tend to make the other person mad because they never know when he’ll actually be serious because he plays too much sometimes. There’s also playing up to peoples ideas of him. It’s not outwardly tricking people but allowing them to believe what they want and project their fantasies on him. It’s like a weird energy of wanting to rebel but also you feel stuck and want to please them so you don’t let them down. I think he overthinks legit everything and makes things a bigger deal in his mind than what it really is.

Another thing is he could have a tendency to stay with someone even if it’s toxic because of a mix of remembering the good times and also insecurities. There are big vibes of being emotionally stunted like I feel that he’s mentally a teenager still and even though he’s physically different and projects something different. When he’s in a relationship; he still feels like that insecure kid in his head and he can’t escape it. It’s like a false bravado thing going on. There’s a hole that leads to darkness and from that another one that leads to even more darkness. That's dramatic but that’s what it’s like for him. It’s like this emotionally starved monster in his head but in reality the monster is this scrawny young boy who wants to let go and open up but is blocked by himself and running away from his shadow aspects. I do see him though slowly moving towards becoming more open, honest allowing his vulnerable and passionate side out in a healthier way but it might take a while (unless he’s already been working on this) since the knight of pentacles is the slowest knight but he’s also the most stable and loyal.

4. What is his "type" the sage 19 reversed, knight of cups reversed, Jeanne the maid, golden empress, the lovers reversed, 3 of cups reversed

His ideal type is someone who can come across as aloof, cold, excessively critical. Hey I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt but when I pulled a clarifier I got the knight of cups reversed lolll. Dude likes toxic people apparently. On the surface they might look “normal” but on the inside their inner world is overflowing and they have an abundance of charisma and sexual energy. Honestly that could be a big reason why he likes that. There’s a big dualistic energy in them and appearing the best on surface level but underneath is really unpredictable and has the energy of unrequited love. I think he likes those types of people who don’t fawn over him like he’s the second coming of Jesus tbh. This person doesn’t give 2 fucks and they don’t tell everything up front they’re mysterious and it’s more of a challenge for him. They’re really good at appearing humble and maybe innocent even but that’s just because they know how to woo people really. They’re confident and can convince people of almost anything especially around those in power they know how to present their best self to get what they want.

At first I was confused why your ideal type would be someone that seems manipulative af but it makes sense when Jungkook has a lot of deep dark shit he needs to work on from the other cards. I think it’s a big codependency thing and excitement that someone toxic can bring also the fact that this person is down for anything in the bedroom they’re not ashamed or shy about it. His idea of love is pretty distorted he thinks he needs someone who is as intense as he is but really it would be a bad combination especially with the lovers reversed. I’m getting especially that as long as he keeps going after these types of people, he’s never going to be with his “true love” for a lack of a better term. Basically not be with someone who is actually good for him. There could be third party bs but I’m getting more of an overindulged and addiction energy between both of them. Even if he knows they’re no good it’s just so intoxicating it’s like a damn drug to him and it feeds into his more animalistic side (I have no idea how to articulate this lmao) it’s like possessive nature. This reminds me a lot of the attachment types since there’s a lot of people like this who love a more avoidant person and I feel that Jungkook is probably avoidant himself so this is like home sweet home to him. It puts him in the cat chasing mouse position instead of the other way around. That emotionally unavailable energy is very appealing to a lot of people I guess especially when you’re used to everyone bending over backwards for you.

5. What is his love language: Ta’Om the poet 29 reversed, the bodacious Bodach 59 reversed

He likes when someone actually does helpful things for him that is useful and not like the annoying meddling energy of just doing stuff for him that he doesn’t want you to do. He also does this for others. So acts of service mostly but you already knew that.

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rocksalt-and-pie · 2 years ago

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due to popular demand by a certain someone, here's the story about my little hitchhiker from the other party's pov:

I live in an urban area. Buildings, streets, sidewalks, cars, construction sites, you name it. I fly out of the nest, boom, suburbia. I see humans all the time.

Noctule bat is what they call us, or, in this particular place, small evening sailor. Personally, i think that's adorable. To clarify: i have nothing against humans. They're fine. I don't necessarily want one near me and it's not exactly ideal that they, you know, take away our prey and habitat with their lifestyle, but they're alright i guess.

However, encountering an actual live human in very close proximity was something I could have done without.

That night, just like every night since leaving the nest for the first time about three weeks ago, right after watching the big burning orb settle behind the horizon, my siblings and cousins and myself went out to hunt. We are mighty hunters of the night, if I do say so myself. Nobody else can hear a beetle crawl from nine feet away. And that's just our backup plan, in case our sonar fails.

Momma and all the aunts have warned us about the road and the vehicles on there. They also warned us about humans. Apparently, some of them are not very nice. Sometimes, when we were very little, they used to tell us this old urban legend about a human who literally bit off the head of one of our own! Like, who does that?! that's just sick. That's the scariest story I've ever been told during the daytime.

Tonight, I was about to find out how scary they really can be.

I don't know how and why, i must have not paid enough attention to my flight route, something had distracted me, but i flew too close to the road. Out of thin air one of those human vehicles appears, hits me straight in the face, needless to say i get thrown off course (YOU get hit by a ton of steel at high speed, we'll see if YOU immediately find your way back to your headed direction), i don't know where I'm going, it hits me AGAIN, and now the real horror begins.

I don't know where I am. I find a spot to sit. I usually hang upside down and avoid sitting on the ground, but it's okay. I need a break. I need to find out what happened. I need to make a plan. I need to catch my breath.

There's a lot of weird stuff around me. Most of it feels soft, but there's crinkly stuff too, and it makes rustling noises as I'm crawling through it. Speaking of noise: there is a lot of it. I have very sensitive ears and the noise is deafening. I don't like it. For some reason, the urban legend about the bitten off head comes to mind, and i shudder. That's also when I notice the human.

I've never seen one that up close. It's pretty big, bigger than you can imagine, and it too makes a noise, sounding kind of irritated.

I know for a fact that humans can't fly themselves, that's why they created these vehicles that do it for them, and apparently I'm IN one now. With a human. We're flying through the night at high speed, faster than I've ever flown before in my life, faster than anyone i know can fly. I'm holding on for dear life, praying that I'll make it out alive somehow.

Soon, we come to a stop. I keep very still. Lights flash. I'm not a big fan of lights if I gotta be honest here, it's too bright for my nocturnal eyes, and i frown. The human moves. A second later, another light, the brightest fucking light I've ever seen in my entire life is being pointed directly at me, and the human looks me straight in the eye. It screeches. I've heard them making that sound before, especially the little ones, but i'm not sure what it means. The human seems pretty upset though. It startles backwards, makes a few more of those harsh noises and disappears.

A moment later, i feel a stream of fresh air on my back and i turn around because i can smell the night, i can smell freedom. Unfortunately, the human is there too. I don't know how it got there that fast but i think it's reaching for me and i panic because, nuh uh, not today, no way I'm getting my head bitten off, no thanks. The open space between the human and the vehicle is very narrow, and according to my calculations it's a broad move, but I'm very brave, so i decide to make a run for it.

I fly directly at the human's face. I HAVE to. It's the only direction to go. It doesn't seem to like that, it makes that high noise again and frantically moves it's freakishly large long limbs. I miss it by mere inches. It's not like i TRIED to hit it and it certainly would have made it easier if it hadn't moved but I'm pretty proud of myself for managing to avoid it. It's not like WE bite off anyone's- nevermind. We actually do bite off insects' heads fairly often. But none of us would EVER bite off a human's head, not even our far removed cousins that drink other mammals' blood. What I'm saying is, pull yourself together, human, I'm just a small creature of the night trying to escape from your vehicle of hell.

I've made it. I'm free again. My heart's beating like crazy. I'm heading back East (i know where that is because i watched the big burning orb settle earlier, and as legend has it, it's always set in the West as long as we can remember), to the nest, where the rest of my family is gonna hear one hell of a story.

I've survived an encounter with a human. I'm a fucking hero returning from battle.

0/10 experience, do not recommend.

#bat #bats #story time #Ozzy Osbourne #writing #<< i guess. sure why not #witch-for-ordinary this is your fault. enjoy #for everybody who hasn't read my report‚ context: a bat flew into my car while i was literally listening to black sabbath #mp #halloween #spirit of halloween #the bat story #the bat incident #batman #black sabbath #anyway bye. god the tagging process is so silly why do i cringe so hard everytime i do it. yes i want my post to be seen sorry lmao

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omg-imagine · 4 years ago

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All We Are

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: V is jealous after Johnny’s date with Rogue, which leads to an honest discussion about where they both stand.

Words: 1.7k

Warning: spoilers for Blistering Love side job, a little angst

A/N: Requested by an anon. This may be a bit different than what you were expecting, but I was in the feels™. Hope you still enjoy :)

Also, can we please talk about how adorable he looks in the gif??

The long drive back to the apartment was silent; the utter stillness in the car weighs heavily on V’s mind. Hands gripping tight on the steering wheel, she tries to ignore this unsettling ache she has, not allowing even an ounce of thought to pass. Though she chalks it off as a side effect of the pseudoendotrizine, this strange, hollow feeling of hers continues to stir deep inside, burning, burning and burning.

And so, she switches on the radio and focuses ahead on the stretch of road winding down the North Oak hills, the approaching lights of Night City glowing brighter against the inky skies. A fresh breeze flows into the open windows, dulling the tension for a moment.

A moment of tranquility that ends far too soon, yet it was a moment V’s at least grateful to have.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Johnny points out, the gruff baritone of his voice piercing the air. “An enny for your thoughts?”

Kicking his feet up on the dashboard, his aviators glint in the silver moonlight, making him appear impossibly more obnoxious than he usually is. He acts as if he’s not aware of the recent thoughts plaguing V’s head, but perhaps that truly was the case. If it were, then she would be surprised— Johnny often invades her mind, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t be. For a while, she assumes he knows.

“Just tired,” V replies monotonously. Her answer was far from a lie; she really was tired. Exhausted, even. All she wants is to collapse into bed, pass out, and hope that for a few short hours, she can forget about today, about everything.

“Huh,” he breathes out, and V spares him not a single glance. “Pretty sure somethin’ was up. You’ve been actin’ weird since we left the drive-in.”

A chuckle rumbles through her chest. V still finds it unusual for Johnny to act so… concerned. Almost caring, if she had to be honest. She’s noticed a change in him recently, which became apparent after their conversation in the oil fields. He’s a lot softer now, sometimes sweet, both in his own unique way, of course. As if his rough edges were slightly smoothed out with sandpaper, enough that they no longer cut and make her bleed.

V would often catch him staring when he thinks she’s not looking. She also doesn’t fail to miss the small smile that creeps across his face as she talks. And in those passing seconds that lasts an eternity when the relic malfunctions, Johnny was there to offer her comfort. He’d kneel down to the ground while she coils in agony, whispering promises that this will all be over soon. That one way or another, they would get rid of that goddamn chip slotted in V’s head and ultimately save her life.

Life. Life has a funny way of unraveling itself. Fuck, this all seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on V. Fate is rarely kind to her, a sad fact she’s accepted over the years. Never would she have imagined that after experiencing the pain of heartbreak and loss, she’d find herself falling for someone at the worst possible time.

And that someone is the imprisoned digital ghost of a rockerboy-turned-terrorist studying her from the passenger seat.

But V’s adamant in denying it. Her life was too fucking complicated for this right now.

“Are you capable of shutting the fuck up for two seconds?” V bitterly snaps, the hands on the wheel clenching stiffly as her jaw. “You got what you wanted tonight. Finally got your dick wet after fifty years, so leave me the hell alone, would’ya?!”

She doesn’t mean to act on her muted anger, but it manages to get the best of her. V knows why, and because of it, she crumbles. She crumbles like the walls she’s built around herself. Like the facade she’s been hiding behind for the past couple of months. Because underneath the dirt and grime, V was just a poor, tragic soul, more worried about losing the man she couldn’t have than her awaiting death.

“Really think that’s what happened?” Johnny asks, pushing his shades up to his head as he shifts to sit up straight in his seat.

V grits her teeth, eyes remaining locked on the road. She had woken up an hour or two after Johnny took over, finding her lips still warm, still swollen. Her hair was tousled, and she had been stripped off of most of her clothes; the scent of Rogue’s perfume lingering on her skin. She didn’t need him to recount; it was all clear to her what had transpired. It was what she agreed on to make him happy, a date with the Afterlife fixer and whatever it could lead up to.

In the end, V regretted it, not because Johnny used her body to sleep with someone. But because even after the rollercoaster ride, the dog tags, the private concerts, and the heart-to-heart they had at his gravesite, she still wasn’t his. He was too hung up over Rogue, and she couldn’t blame him. Having shared a lengthy history, there was no doubt Johnny wouldn’t snatch up the opportunity to win her back.

But then where does that leave V?

“The fuck is wrong, V? Don’t make me figure it out by myself.”

Biting the edge of her lip, she ignores Johnny’s latest question and contemplates swallowing an omega blocker. She doesn’t even care that he’s threatening to search for the truth without her permission. Choosing not to do so, he keeps pressing on regardless, and V was getting pissed off. When he doesn’t stop, she loses her temper and slams on the brakes, the Porsche coming to a screeching halt on a dead street.

Huffing, V pulls over to the side, shutting the car’s engine as Johnny is left bewildered by her actions. Peace and quiet. She yearns for peace and quiet, and the pills would do the trick in an instant. Her hand reaches for the bottle in her jacket pocket, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Popping the cap open, she turns her head to the side, unable to help herself. She sees the tenderness etched in his features, a wordless plea shining in his dark eyes.

��V… Tell me.”

V’s gaze slowly falters, her consciousness at war with itself. The storm of anger in her calms, yet she needs to know what her next move is. She’s always been terrible at this sort of thing, dealing with her feelings and shit. Growing up in the streets of Heywood, she’s learned how to shut people out and keep them out. Biggest rule she had imposed on herself was to never, ever fall for a choom, but this time was different. Despite him being a mere figment of her imagination, she feels safe around Johnny, appreciated and content. The two understand each other on a level nobody else has done. They’ve been through literal hell and would only sink further into it to find a way to survive.

A chrome palm comes to rest on V’s cheek, the sensation oddly warm, oddly familiar. Her attention flickers back to Johnny as he strokes her weary face. His touch was delicate, movements careful and controlled. He treats her as if she were porcelain, afraid that his metal hand would cause her to crack. V exhales deeply, relishing the feeling she’s longed from the moment she had broken that dumb rule of hers.

“Go ahead,” she mumbles, giving Johnny consent for him to read her mind. It only takes a second, maybe even less. V half expects his shit-eating grin to make its appearance. She couldn’t forget how cocky he was, and she thought this would certainly rub his ego.

It never comes. Instead, Johnny’s lips turn up into a genuine smile, one softer than the way his black hair falls to frame his face. V swears she was floating; this doesn’t feel all that real to her. It couldn’t be real. But as the first faint slivers of sunlight appear on the horizon, she starts to believe that she isn’t dreaming nor hallucinating. She was still very much wide awake.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Johnny quips as he leans closer. “You had no reason to be jealous, princess.”

“Why not?”

“Nothin’ happen between Rogue and me,” he clarifies, his fingers pushing back her locks. “Yeah, we made out a little, but I couldn’t go through with it. Wanna know why?”

V nods.

“’Cause I realized that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re too different people now; she’s got her own life, while I got mine sittin’ right here.”

“Johnny…” she murmurs his name as he brings up his other hand to cradle her face. “I wanted to have what you and Rogue had, minus the shitty things you did. But I could feel how much you loved her, how you basically worshipped the ground she walked on. Then I thought, can’t compete with her. She’s a livin’ legend, a badass. Meanwhile, I could be dead the next minute or two, either by this fuckin’ relic or a bullet.”

“Trust me, V, you wouldn’t want that,” Johnny returns, resting his forehead against hers. How could he feel so real? “What you and I have is special. Ain’t felt this way before, not even with Rogue or Alt. Like I said, you’re the fuckin’ closest to me. These feelings you’re afraid of? Shit, I have them too, and I’m fuckin’ terrified. But knowing that you’re here and we both share them, it makes things a lot less scary.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Johnny laughs softly. “Gotta spell it out for ya, huh? Well then, here it goes; V, I love you. I don’t throw that word around randomly, but know that it’s what I feel whenever I think of you.”

V doesn’t waste a second longer. Her lips meet his for a kiss that is gentle and bruising, all at once. They hold one another close, their grasps taut so that the other wouldn’t slip away, not wanting to lose what they’ve gained. Time goes by, ticking in the background as they kiss again and again, but to them, it’s slow, nearly everlasting.

And when it was over, when they finally had to part, they were breathless, panting.

“Love you too, Johnny,” she murmurs into his skin, tone dripping with affection as he hums in response.

Night melds into day, and the city comes back to its fullest life. V kisses Johnny a final time before driving back to the place she calls home, even though she’s found her true one in his heart.

—

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein @unaspiringwritings @planetkt @breakthenight @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

Johnny Silverhand Tags: @silverse @overheardatthecontinental @meshlababy @ataraxydreams @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread @savsselfinserts @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @donakamark

*If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to send me an ask or DM!

#johnny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand fanfic

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heyheydidjaknow · 4 years ago

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Okay, so the official update deadline for me is now every Sunday before I sleep. This is the second part. If the formatting is off, I apologize. Also, if you want to read the first bit, the link’s at the bottom. And the third one. I know there’s a way to make it so that touching on underlined text or something links you to the link, but I dunno how to do that.

Chapter 2

Surprisingly enough, the easiest one to convince of your legitimacy is Hamato Yoshi.

As soon as you walk into the lair, all you have to say to Ratman is that his daughter “was” named Miwa (obviously, dropping a bombshell like, “Your daughter is alive,” is somewhat bad form) and that he was going to give her a fan/knife thing, and he is convinced. Maybe it is to do with his natural compassion and/or naivety, but it allows you the option to sleep on the couch and not have to wander around to find exactly where the hell that address is.

You pull your knees to your chest as you stare blankly at the dead television screen, mind wandering as you listen to the accumulative sounds of the others. You are used to being awake at ungodly hours, of course, but typically they are spent alone; this is an uncommon occurrence. Now, anyways, you wish you had a way of contacting people. You already feel homesickness writhe around in your stomach, and your dread for what is going to happen next is outmatched by your gnawing curiosity regarding the fate of your family in the fire. Of course, you know their chances for survival was close to none, but—

“Y/N?”

You almost jump out of your skin, having not noticed the sinking of the couch next to you. You look over at the speaker, relaxing slightly. You put your hand on your chest. “Sorry,” you breath to Donatello as you try to calm your beating heart. “I uh, kinda zoned out.”

“It’s alright.” His posture is awfully stiff. “I just figured—ya know, since we’re going to be interacting more—we should uh, get to know each other a bit.”

You nod as you stretch your legs back out. “Sounds like a plan.” You turn your body to face him, shaking a little from the start but getting over it relatively quickly. “Oh, by the by, you’re the one that can kill me with your bare hands. You can and should relax.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Was it that obvious?”

“A little,” you shrug. “But, in your defense,” you smile playfully, “if some random bitch walked up to me and started telling me every detail of my past, I’d be hesitant to get too friendly too.”

“Oh, it’s not that!” He put his hands up, talking oddly quickly. “It’s just that you’re the first human I’ve ever met, and really the only person I’ve ever really talked to that isn’t one of my brothers or Splinter—”

A memory slaps you across the face. “Oh! Right!” You grab his hands, making sure his full attention was on you. “I gotta tell you something really important.”

He went red. “W-what?”

“I don’t think it’s wise to tell you outright exactly what’s going to happen,” you start, impulsively running your thumb over one of his knuckles, “but if you run into a triceratops man, or if you hear about a triceratops man, you have to kill him immediately.”

“I- huh?”

“Three or so episodes before the season three finale,” you repeat, “you or someone else is going to run into a triceratops man, who you have to kill. If you let him live, the world as you know it will be destroyed and sucked into a black hole.”

“Black hole?” He blinks. “So, in a few months, we—what?”

“Well, they call it a black hole, anyways.” You roll your eyes. “It’s pretty weak sauce for a black hole. I’d hasten to call it more than a portal, but, I guess, technically, it’s a black hole.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about this sort of thing.” He smiles awkwardly. “You know, for someone who just kinda popped out of the blue.”

“Well, yeah.” You smile back. “People like you inspire me to learn more about how the world around me works.”

His pupils dilate, and he breaks eye contact. “Wait, but you said that we had at least until the season five finale, right?” You feel his thumb wrap around yours slightly. ��If that’s the case, how can a black hole destroy our world? We’d die with it, wouldn’t we?”

“See, you would think that.” You shrug, letting his hands fall between you two. “But the show is already playing fast and loose with science in general, so.”

“I am legitimately so confused right now.”

You sigh, patting him on the shoulder. “Me too, buddy.”

“I just—“

“Honey.” You stifle a giggle. “No combination of words will make any of this make any more sense than it already does.”

“I know, but—“

“Listen, if you ask me any more questions, we’ll start having to deal with more time travel bullshit then we’ll already have to.”

He sighs. “Okay, I’m dropping it.”

You nod, already feeling the sting of guilt. “But, hey,” you nudge with your shoulder teasingly, “if it makes you feel any better, you definitely got the most sugar than your brothers.”

He blinks. “What does that have anything to do with that?”

“Compensation? I dunno.” You pull your legs under you. “Just trying to make up for the fact that it’s really not a good idea for me to give out too much info about an uncertain future.”

There is an awkward pause.

“So,” Donatello asks gently, “if you don’t mind me asking, you said you died, right?”

You nod.

“So, uh, how did you…?”

“House fire.”

He blinks. “You… you remember—?”

“Yup.” You chuckle tightly. “Every excruciating detail.”

He tenses slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “Don’t be. Not your fault.” ‘My fault, actually.’

He rests his head on his hand. After a pause, “Do you know, then?”

“Know what?”

“You know, what happens after.”

You shake your head. “I blacked out and now I’m here. I’m guessing you don’t run into a ton of people like me.”

He cracks a smile. “I don’t really run into a ton of people period.”

You try to help lighten this stifling mod you have created. “Well, I’m glad your first introduction to humanity proper is through some psycho pseudo-Cassandra.”

“Less Cassandra and more just general prophet.” He grins. “If Raph believes you enough to go off the handle—well, I guess that’s just Raph in general.”

You chuckle. “Hey,” you whine teasingly, “lay off your brother. Obviously he’s a very levelheaded man.”

“Totally.” He rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Cool as a cucumber, that guy.”

“Speaking of, where is everyone?” You look around the noticeably empty living room.

“Sleeping, probably. I tend to stay up later than they do.”

“And why’s that, Bill Nye?”

He shrugs. “It’s easier to work when people aren’t asking for help with things.”

“That is very fair.” You close your eyes as you lean against the back of the couch. “I must say, I’m not envious of your position.”

You hear him shift closer. “Why’s that?”

“If you don’t already, you’re probably—at least, from what I’ve seen,” you clarify. “Well, it seems like, sometimes, you have the world on your shoulders. It can’t be a good feeling.”

A pause. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”

You stretch upwards. “But” you continue, moaning softly as you feel your muscles crack, “if it makes you feel any better, I have—or at least had— access to the internet. I will gladly explain google.”

He clears his throat. “The internet search engine or the number?”

You grin. “Either or, although I would most certainly lose track if my zeros halfway through at best.”

He laughs. “It took me so long to figure out how to say it,” he sighs, “The trick is to just say zero for a long time and eventually just kinda zone out. You can really just stop after fifty and people won’t notice.”

“See,” you open your eyes, wrapping an arm around his shoulder—he certainly stiffened up quick— “that is why I like you, Donnie. You always know the score.”

He relaxes quickly. His speech is slurred a little. “You like me?”

“Hell yeah I do!” Your voice is noticeably lighter than it was before, more relaxed. “You are totally awesome, if you’ll pardon my candor.”

“N-not at all!” He smiled bashfully. “I’m flattered, really. I just—I’m surprised is all. I didn’t think you’d—uh—_like_ someone like me.”

“What? Why?” You are, apparently, extremely dense. “You’re the coolest guy ever!”

“Well, I’m not really a guy.”

“Wait, is this the whole turtle thing again?” You roll your eyes, leaning into him as you close them. “Dude, legitimately? I don’t care.”

His voice softened. “You what?”

“I don’t care. You’re smart, reliable, funny… I mean, what isn’t there to appreciate?” ‘I didn’t expect him to feel warm.’ “If I’m being honest,” you shrug in an attempt to stay casual, “and, if you promise not to give me shit—”

“I won’t,” he promises, almost eagerly.

You smile. “I will admit that I had a thing for you, along with many other people where I’m from. Fictional crush, you know.”

“You’re joking,” he challenges.

“Scout’s honor.” You raise your right hand, already starting to zone out. ‘Really warm…’

“You’re serious?”

You hum in confirmation. “I don’t…” You yawn, the weight of the incredible stress admittedly starting to take its toll. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable after what I just said,” you mumble, curling into him, admittedly not in your right mind, “but do you mind staying here until I fall asleep? Sup… surprisingly enough, you are ridiculously warm and comfortable and warm.”

He tenses up a little, but slowly wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Yeah. I’ve got nothing better to do.” His voice is gentle, soft.

“I owe you cupcakes.” You nod off.

You could tell you boosted his confidence if only a little bit. He stood taller the next night; admittedly, you feel a sense of pride at his pride. At least, it makes up for the verbal abuse from his brothers when they find you asleep together.

As you walk down the street that next night with Donnie shadowing you, you consider the pros and cons of revealing more about what you know; although there were certainly more items for pro, the chaos theory was sort of a big deal, and, knowing the reputation of this franchise and its post-apocalyptic bullshit, the last thing you need is to tempt fate. Still, something about this felt wrong, like not telling someone to get out of the way of a moving car. ‘Wish I were Cassandra,’ you think bitterly. ‘At least I wouldn’t feel bad.’

You stop in front of the offending building. ‘Finally.’ You look around for your chaperone and, after not seeing him— ‘Fucking ninjas, man.’—sigh and give in. “Good night,” you said to the open air.

You look back at the door, startled to see someone looking back at you. ‘You are fucking with me right now.’ You wave awkwardly as the man holds the door open for you. You step inside the building, making a beeline for the elevator. ‘A doorman? Really?’ The lobby was entirely too hotelish for your liking, the warm lighting bouncing off the smooth tile cleanly. ‘How much is this place, anyways? It’s fucking New York.’ You press one of the buttons. ‘If I’m the one paying rent, I am royally fucked.’

Somehow, via some sort of divine intervention, you find the apartment. You take the key out of your pocket— ‘Note to self: scavenge up enough money for a keychain.’—and stepped inside.

The apartment made you do a double take. It is so… familiar. Nicer than usual, more polished, yet somehow exactly how you’ would have used the space. The floors are hardwood, the walls painted a relatively neutral color that is easy on the eyes. As soon as you enter, you see the kitchen to your left; small, but considering it is only you, it would be perfect. To your left, down a short hall, is a bathroom—bright white surfaces with black countertops. And in the only other room in the apartment, in front of you, is a bed, a couch, some chairs, a table, a chest of drawers, a closet, a television, and a coffee table with a phone and an envelope on it.

You walk over to a large window overlooking the street, shutting it and sitting down on the couch. You pick up the letter first, carefully breaking its seal and pulling out a note and a card. Your heart leaps as you see your name in white lettering. ‘Well, having a credit card doesn’t sound too bad.’ You place it back onto the table as you start reading.

“Dear Y/N L/N:

We understand that the transition between your previous life and this one may be difficult, and we at The TIS are more than happy to provide for you and your needs during this transition period. Your questions are likely numerous. That is the purpose of this document, to address any concerns you may have.

Finances/Personal Belongings: The most noted concern of those just beginning in our program is to do with housing. We understand that it is incredibly important to the mental health of our members to have relatively stable housing, especially considering the strange, new environment they have been thrown into. Your residence is paid for by the TIS. All necessary emergency services (repair costs of any sort, medical bills, phone bills, etc.) and any utilities that may be included in said residence are also covered by this plan. In addition, your TIS assigned debit card will receive a daily balance of $300 (balance will change with inflation), which can be used at your discretion. Your residence has been pre-furnished to what our experts believe to be your taste, and your refrigerator and cupboards are filled with a variety of raw food items. Silverware, crockery and cookware has also been included. You have also been provided with various detergents and whatever hygiene products you used before your transition. These things will be replenished biweekly unless, for whatever reason, you start using different food/hygiene products. In this event, your inventory will be adjusted accordingly.

You are currently in position of one (1) weeks’ worth of clothing, including any undergarments applicable, which includes 7 pairs of pants and 7 shirts taken from your wardrobe, along with any clothing you are currently wearing.

Cell Phone: Your TIS assigned cell phone is, practically speaking, identical to your previous device. Any streaming services you were previously subscribed to, along with any you may decide to subscribe to, are covered by the TIS. Your login information is included with your banking/personal information, all of which is included in this envelope. If you wish to upgrade your phone as the years go by, or if you wish to purchase a second device, these log ins will still be available to you, although you will be required to purchase any additional software/electronics through our website: www.TISShop.org/FU. A charging cord and block are located by your bed. We recommend purchasing a case for your device.

Please note that all websites/services/apps previously available to you are also available via TIS approved electronic devices.

Employment: Employment has not been taken the TIS. We do not offer employment, although minors have been provided with a permit in the event that you chose to enter the workforce. If you choose to enter the workforce, aid will continue to be provided.

Enrollment: All minors are required by the TIS to enroll in their local school. Any documents required are provided in this envelope. If you are currently attending a college/university, or are thinking of enrolling/reenrolling, any credits you have accumulated will be transferred to whatever college/university you choose to attend. If you are currently a minor considering attending college, your funds will be provided by the TIS if applicable.

Identification: Any websites/services/products that are age restricted will be available to you, regardless of age.

Death: We at the TIS assure you that unnatural death, in your current situation, is not a matter that you need concern yourself with. While it is certainly possible to die, it is extremely unlikely, and we have the policy in place in the event of your death.

We at the TIS are aware of your awareness of the place you are now in. We wish to stress the importance consuming any media associated with the world in which you find yourself. If you gain nothing from this letter, please remember that we at the TIS are here for you, if only indirectly.

We wish you luck.”

The letter ends there. You check the envelope to see the other documents listed.

You stand up, picking up your new phone and laying down on the bed. You are left reeling from the little information you have been given. ‘So I was brought here. Well,’ you sigh, closing your eyes, ‘I guess I already knew that, but…’

You start scrolling through your device. Everything is still there, except for your contacts. You try to call what numbers you had memorized; they are apparently invalid.

You curl into a fetal position, clutching onto your jacket. “Well,” you mumble to yourself almost bitterly, “at least I know I won’t starve to death.” You decide against even turning the lights off as you hug yourself tightly. “This,” you decide, “is going to majorly suck.”

You nod off, already dreaming of smoke.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

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woodsteingirl · 3 years ago

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chapter two is out here! or read below the cut!

Dean turned the key to unlock the door. they all stepped inside, still in their moment of Revelation. the silence was eventually broken by jack saying, “why’s it empty?”

“It’s ‘cause our furniture isn’t here yet,” Cas explained. Dean tacked on that it would be arriving sometime today. In the meantime, before the stuff arrived, Dean took the time to explain what exactly this endeavor meant for everyone. He had applied online for a mechanic job the week prior, they had only gotten back to him to tell him he got the job the day before. Dean was still reeling from everything happening so fast. it’s like everything hed wanted for so many years was finally coming to fruition, and it was an adjustment.

Cas had signed both Jack and Claire up for school. Jack was going into first grade and Claire into her senior year of high school. Obviously, Claire was older than that, but she could pass as younger just for a little while, while everything was sorted out. Plus she could gather valuable intel that way. The hard part would be getting her to agree to this plan. Jack, on the other hand, was completely thrilled about starting school. He couldn’t wait to be able to have friends his own age. Cas didn’t have much to do throughout the day, but with the other stay-at-home parents in the neighborhood, he was sure he could find some way to help out.

Snapping out of his daydream, Dean took the time to explain how everything would go in the next month or so. “I got a job at the repair shop down the road, Cas will stay here and look after everything, Jack will go to school like we planned, and Claire, we sort of set you up in school again.”

“Wow, you guys are really on a kick of making life decisions without asking me arent you!”

“Claire, it was the best option at the time, we needed the intel from kids that age, and its not like Dean or I could just walk in and ask,” Cas explained.

There was no doubt about it, she reacted as expected. Even though shed only been out of school for a year or so, she’d never enjoyed it when she was involved, so the thought of going back made her sick to her stomach. Since there was really no where to stomp off too, as the entire house was empty, she settled for sitting on the floor behind the kitchen island to process. Some ten minutes later Dean came and sat down on the floor next to her.

“Look, I get it. Nothing can be perfect for us, but sometimes you just gotta tough it out and it’ll be better than you think.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾

(This is a flashback to the action point just so everyone knows whats happening)

It was a normal Tuesday evening. The couple was eating dinner just as normal. Quiet conversation, and unspoken glances were commonplace for them, so the feeling over eerie silence was nothing new, and neither thought anything of it. They didn’t even hear the sound of the door open. Did the door even open?

The husband reached across the table for the salt, his wife screamed in horror when she caught sight of the tall hooded figure above him. The town was small and she shouldve known who it was at first sight, but unfortunately, when youre about to be stabbed, those things dont come as easy. She reached across the table for her phone to call 911, but she didnt make it before the figure had stabbed her husband and was moving on to her. Those were the last thoughts she had before being found in a pool of her own blood the next morning.

The neighbor had heard them and called the cops. News spread like the blight, and everyone was taken in for questioning, so far, no motive or prime suspects had been declared. It had been a month since, and the police presence was now slim to none, even though almost no progress had been made into the actual investigation. That’s just how it is when you have to solve a murer case with nothing to go on but a dead couple and a town of suburbanites.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾

(this is bak in normal time just fyi)

After about half an hour of just trying to process what was happening, Claire was ready to go back to join the rest of her family in putting their furniture together. Cas was sitting on the floor in front of what looked like it could be a table, if you positioned it correctly.

“You need some help?” She asked.

“Yes, if it isnt too much to ask, I could use an extra hand,” he gestured to the manual, “it says you need two people here anyway.”

Claire sat down next to cas and took the manual from his hands, “what step are you even on? None of the pictures look like whatever you’ve managed to create.”

Upstairs, Dean was trying to show Jack how to use an impact driver, “look, I know youre only like what? Five? But its never too early to learn how to use a set of tools.” He handed the tool over to Jack, it looked wildly disproportionate in his hands but that’s not what mattered, what mattered was the fact that he was having a bonding moment with his son, a positive one too. He was bridging the gap of what he missed in his childhood, and giving Jack what he had wanted.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾

The next day was spent almost exclusively on introductions. First they went over and greeted their new neighbors on each side, Tracey and Paul Wayne on their right, and Peter and Vicky David on their left. It seemed to them that neither of them had much of a clue as to what was going on regarding the murder, seeing as that was not mentioned even in passing. However it could be basic politeness and not wanting to scare your new neighbors away. Both couples were in their mid-fiftes and greeted them kindly. The Waynes had a wooden statue of an eagle with some pro-America quote on it, and that was one of the most memorable things about them. The other memorable thing was their brigh red Volkswagon Beetle in the driveway. Dean silently noted a love of older cars as something to connect over in case he ever needed to get closer to them. The Davids had 6 small dogs, and that was their defining trait, they seemed like the people to have “I love my shitzu” stickers plastered all over their car, but they seemed like fine enough people.

The next thing on the agenda was when someone rang their doorbell. It was a woman about their age, who had come to their door both to introduce herself, and to inform them of a house party happening later that night. The woman introduced herself as Hester Stewart from two houses down. Both Dean and Cas were glad to see that there was someone their age who didn’t have a strange amount of pets, or questionable taste in outdoor decor. They made introductions of their own, Claire and Jack even briefly appeared to say hello. They asked her for more information about the party, and she explained that it was being put on by the HOA president to distract from all that was happening, “I guess she figured one shindig would make everyone forget about the murder that happened a few houses down from her house.” She gestured down the road and to the right, apparently in the direction of the woman’s house, “Also she did ask me to invite you, I’m not just asking you to show up without anyone’s permission,” she clarified.

After that they thanked her and went on with their day. “Do you think we should attend the party later today?” Cas asked. Not looking up from the loveseat he was putting together

“I think I was planning on it, it’d be a good way to get out and meet people, not to mention gather details on what’s happening around here without looking suspicious,” Dean replied, flipping the page in the manual.

Cas agreed. Usually events like this weren’t his thing, but he could suck it up for an hour or two if it meant gathering intel. He made a mental note to prepare for more events like this one, and pushed it to the back of his mind. He found himself having to do that more often since becoming human. His angel brain could process more information than any human by hundreds, but downsizing the amount of space in his brain was an adjustment, and he found himself having to push things of the back of his mind more often.

Claire had been eavesdropping from the top of the staircase for the past exchange. Truth be told, she was almost excited to ‘meet the new neighbors’ in such a domestic fashion. She had just gotten off the phone with Kaia, she was showing her the layout of the house, as well as updating her on the situation she had gotten herself into. “They really put you back in high school?” Kaia had asked, thinking about how if anyone had done that to her, she’d’ve put up a lot more of a fight.

“They really put me back in high school,” she had replied. Maybe deep down she did want to sort of have the closure she missed in her high school years. She missed Kaia a large amount for only not seeing her face to face for a little less than a week, but she had learned from all she’d lost, that she just had to let herself feel her feelings.

They all gathered in the empty living room shortly after. Cas explained the whole plan to Jack and her. Jack was thrilled to be getting out of the house, and getting to see new people. He’d always been a social person, even before becoming a child, but that certainly amplified his social need. This was part of the reason Dean and Cas wanted to get out of the bunker in the first place. Now that they were actually in a position for him to make friends his age, they were certainly going to make that a priority. Dean had noticed that there were more than a few kids Jack’s age in his walk around the neighborhood earlier that day.

The hours before the gathering came faster than expected. Everyone was in a rush to change into nicer clothes and make themselves not look like they’d been putting together furniture all day. (they had, but it was the act of making themselves presentable that matters in this case.) After all, weren’t first impressions the most important? Dean hadn’t really taken account the need for nice clothes this early on in his endevour, so the nicest things he had were a button down and his spare pair of jeans. Not that anyone else was much better off. Claire was wearing a skirt with a jean jacket and combat boots, Jack didn’t change at all seeing as he didn’t see the need, and who were they to argue. Cas was probably the most normal looking of them all, with his blue suit jacket paired with some jeans.

#pspspsps you want to reblog my fic #dean winchester #castiel #claire novak #spn fanfiction #spn #supernatural #jack kline

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sw4tch · 3 years ago

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In a complete ironic twist of destiny, the “redditor vibes” guy in my office might have a crush on me.

Once more, my complete magnetic and raw they/them charm has backfired on me

layers of irony aside, it really does fucking Suck. I haven’t been able to write down my thoughts about it because the first moment I realized it, it actually pissed me off a lot lmfao

like, don’t fucking even DARE look at me dude lol. lmao. lol. how DARE YOU interpret me with your incorrect idea of me and get a crush on that. lol.

Ok, so, here comes my tale of woes and grievances.

First off, to be completely fair (and balanced)- He. He is okay i guess. He’s an okay guy. A bit loud and annoying but he’s not. I guess actively an Asshole.

Which really, that’s gotta count for something.

Also when he’s trying to be friendly, well, he is indeed friendly and fun to listen talk to. He buys me sweet bread sometimes.

That’s it.

But he’s also the kind of guy that says “ugh sjws always ruin shit” and sometimes lets slide a “casual” rape joke escape from his mouth

and also sometimes tells me that “oh women could just report anyone about inappropriate behaviors” when he tries to hug me? Like. Like the implication here is that you think i’m gonna report you just for shits and giggles and, after such a “normal” interaction too so like. wtf? Are you threatening me? WHY do you feel the need to let that comment out of your mouth. what the hell.

Anyway, those little behaviors of his have made me lowkey, kinda, uhhhh, unnerved by him as a person.

Must clarify that must of the time, he’s an okay guy ok??? He’s fine and also apparently might have autism (he’s said so himself) so maybe those weird behaviors might be you know, smth smth missing social clues or whatever. I’m trying to sound apologetic over my description of him bcus for real, he’s just a common Guy(tm).

I cannot tell you how much he’s just loud and annoying but ultimately he’s fine, I believe. Like, the bar is on hell so he could be worse but he’s not and he’s good intentioned most of the time so, u get what i’m trying to say?

Sigh.

Anyway.

My worksona is a cis-woman who’s quiet but positive and very friendly most of the time. So, really, i’m trying to be smiley and “”“cute””” and not a downer while working at the office.

Because that’s what professionals do, make worksonas (lol).

So, it turns out this guy loves to talk (I would call it mansplain but I feel in this case it’s a mean-spirited reading of him). But most people, i feel, lowkey find him annoying and try to shut him up.

But when he talks to me to make casual conversation, well, I just listen and let him talk and sometimes make relevant comments. And then I try to leave because man does he like to talk and I have work to do.

And since we tend to be one of the first few people to arrive at the office, that’s when we tend to talk.

And I guess he appreciated that someone would actually listen to him and not try to shut him down.

He started calling me “cute” and “sweet”.

And he started hugging me more, even though I do not like it (in his defense, I have not told him I don’t like it when HE specifically hugs me, but, ehhhhhh, i dont wanna have that conversation).

And that’s what it boils down to basically.

I don’t wanna reject him and tell him outright I don’t like his affections towards me. Because I don’t want him to possibly turn aggressive on me, or just u know, make things awkward in the office.

But anyway. That’s not my biggest beef with this whole thing.

The thing that really PISSED ME OFF is that he dared get a crush on the fucking stupid worksona I created. He loves a cis-woman who’s meek and will listen to him talk and that’s it. DOES HE EVEN KNOW ME??? HE DOES NOT.

He likes the idea of the me that exists on his head and I despise That. Besides, what the hell am I supposed to do now??? How THE FUCK do you reject someone that technically hasn’t told you anything, and also technically you’re on friendly terms with???

I just.

Thanks! I hate it! We can’t even have normal dnd conversations because you have insisted on having your character have a crush on my character!!! Stop that!!! And yet.

Here’s the real kicker folks. The real irony of the whole thing.

He might be the only one in the office that enjoys talking to me, and actively tries to talk to me. (Besides my roomie bestie, of course). So like, what do I even do with that. I guess that’s why I also don’t want to reject him. He’s the one person actively trying to interact with me. I like making silly comics about our dnd characters interacting, because his character is the only one that actually interacts with mine. I like talking about my character too.

I like having a new friend I know I’m not annoying to, i guess.

Isn’t that pathetic folks. I’m lonely and I want to be liked by everyone. I just don’t want him to hate me but then again.

Am I not disrespecting myself by ignoring my own boundaries and needs?

What do you need, snaily? I need for him to BACK OFF and stop hugging me.

No matter how attention starved you are, you need to realize this trainwreck is not stopping because you’re the conductor. You’re still on the rails. Stop it before it crashes and burns. Grow up! Grow a spine! Have difficult conversations! Respect yourself, man! You have to stop being a people pleaser! You will never be free like that! Sigh. My only mental comfort right now? Saeran would have kicked his ass already.

#snaily blabber #big OL' v ent #i have a migraine now which is probably unrelated but also jesus did it only make it worse by the time i finished lol

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obaby-me · 4 years ago

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Hey, uh feel free to ignore this but, could I have some headcanons on how the brothers react to an MC with really bad depression but it’s hard to spot? Like, they’re a really sweet cinnamon roll and always putting everyone before them and loves talking about anime, books, cats, music, and anything else they like. It’s hard to spot but the more time they spend with them the more the little details show, like how they never finish a meal(pt 1)

Author’s Note: No need to apologize. Really, you just handed me a bunch of starter sentences.

Lucifer

“I’m used to it,” you said with a smile.

There was nothing to smile about.

Lucifer had this whole evening planned out for the two of you. A night out at one of the finest restaurants in the Devildom, a special bottle on reserve for the two of you. He’d been prepared to take you to the skies tonight, to see the meteor shower up close tonight, and have you make wish after wish tonight.

You had been so excited for the shower. You told him of the human custom of wishing upon shooting stars over a month ago and the minute he knew the shower was coming, he made positively sure to clear his schedule for it. And yours as well.

But he’d had to break them. Diavolo had requested his presence on an emergency and he couldn’t say no. You knew that. He knew that.

And when he broke the news, while he knew you’d be understanding, he had expected at least some disappointment, maybe even tears.

He’d been prepared for that.

“The things happen all the time,” you assure him, giving him a smile. “I’ve learned to accept that. Plans are always more likely than not to be cancelled. I’ve learned not to keep such expectations.”

Lucifer felt guilt well up inside him. “My sincere apologies,” he said once again. “I did not realize I had made it such a habit to put you aside like this. I will make it up to you,” he promised.

“Oh, it’s not you,” you told him waving away his concern. “Everyone does it. It’s okay, really!” To emphasize your point, you continued, “One time, for my birthday, we were going to go to this giant indoor waterpark. But mother sort of forgot and took the family car for the day to a friend’s place. We had to cancel.”

And you laughed. You laughed and Lucifer knew that something was deeply wrong. Wrong with the people around you to treat you with such disrespect to put you aside for the most menial and selfish of reasons; and wrong with you to believe it as acceptable.

Lucifer would have to correct that. While in this particular case, because it was an absolute emergency, for the future, he made sure to keep a perfect record: every plan he made, he kept—and always perfectly on time. Nothing but Diavolo emergencies, real emergencies, could deter him. If it meant sleepless nights in preparation, or sending a brother in his stead, he would suffer it. And he made sure each brother kept their promises as well. Punishments became extremely severe should they be late when attending to you or in skipping any plans to you.

You had to know you were worth the time promised to you.

Mammon

“My church always did say I was going to hell,” you chuckled in response to Mammon when he officially, and drunkenly, proclaimed you “one of us!”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, slinging an arm around your neck and giggling drunkenly into you. “What for, troublemaker?”

“For being bi.”

Mammon gave a small snort, and waited for the rest of your list, but apparently, that was the end of your list. Or maybe he missed it. His head was spinning rather terribly. “Is that it?”

“Yes.”

Mammon laughed loudly in response, his grip on your shoulders pulling you to sway with him as the two of you walked towards the House of Lamentation. “Love ain’t a reason to be sent to hell!” What a ridiculous concept. Love wasn’t a sin, in fact, it was a kind of virtue.

You gave him a smile, smaller than you should for a night like this. Did you not believe him?

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound as sober as possible despite his drunken state. He figured it’d help if maybe he stopped walking to do so. “We really don’t judge that here,” he said. “Ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that.”

“I know,” you said as you tried to get him moving again.

“No, ya don’t. Ya lookin’ all sad. About bein’ bi. Ya ain’t gotta be sad ‘bout that.”

“I’m not sad that I’m bi,” you clarify.

“Ya look sad,” he insisted.

You giggled slightly in return, and he just knew the words in your brain were something emasculating, like ‘cute.’

“On the contrary, I’m happy. I’m happy you don’t mind.”

Mammon laid his head against you. “Course I don’t. They shouldn’t either.”

“Well, they do.”

“Well, I don’t. And I’m here. And they’re not.”

You gave a small laugh as he blearily babbled on about how he intended to protect you from such people, from such things. You needn’t worry about a thing with him around, he assured you.

Leviathan

“I can relate.”

“To... this?” Levi asked with some surprise, eyes averting from the screen to you cuddled into his side.

You gave a small nod, unexpressive as you watched the protagonist, having lost his match against his rival, defeatedly monologue his own existential crises to the audience. Was all their efforts for nothing? What was the point of trying for more when clearly their dreams would never be realized?

Levi was quiet for a time, watching as the hero wallow in himself, waiting for the inevitable turn around, where the hero finds the answers to his question, finds his inspiration and resolve to keep them going.

But it didn’t come, not by the end of the episode.

Offended, Levi began a tirade of criticisms for regarding the episode, his worries not for the hero despite the context—but rather, for you.

For the next week he searches for anime and manga that center around the same themes, making sure the episodes and chapters that would bring the answers and conclusions necessary were available.

You had to read them.

You had to know.

Satan

“I think I was raised by a cult,” you murmured quietly.

Satan peered over his book at you, the air of silence you two had been enjoying while you read side by side broken by the most unexpected sentence.

He had many questions, but the first to make it out of his mouth was, “what?”

“Sorry,” you apologized quickly for having broken his concentration.

“A cult?” Satan continued, curious as to where this was going. “What kind of cult?”

“I was raised to think I was my dad’s property and that to go against my parents was to go against God.” You explained quietly, embarrassed to be speaking about this topic at all. But you had been the one to bring it up, albeit by accident—your mouth converting thoughts to your external voice rather than internal.

“Not an entirely novel concept for the middle ages. Have to say I’m surprised it’s managed to stick around,” Satan responded with a frown, closing his book carefully, a marker set into place to save it.

“Do you believe that to be true?” He asked.

You shook your head. He felt relief wash over him.

“But sometimes I still feel that, sort of, guilt, you know?”

Satan shifted so that he could get his arms around you, laying himself gently against you. “I imagine it would be difficult a feeling to unlearn.”

You said nothing in return, but quietly put some of your weight against him in acceptance of his affection.

“You don’t belong to anyone. You have every right to your own choices, no matter how your parents feel.” Satan murmured reminders into you. You knew these things, but to hear it felt reassuring.

It became a running theme that when asking you out for a date, Satan would ask or simply surprise you with, “something you’ve always wanted to do that you’re parents would absolutely hate.”

Asmodeus

“My dad’s always saying how fat I am,” you explained as you decline Asmo’s offering of his parfait.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Asmo asked with a tilt of his head.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat across from him and give a small noise that he thought you thought were words, but were entirely unintelligible once it hit the air.

“What was that, darling?”

“I said, I just don’t think I should have any.”

“Are you on a diet?”

“I mean, I should be.” You fidgeted in your seat, refusing to look Asmo in the eye. This was supposed to be a happy occasion: a special date he’d planned for the two of you out on the town trying all the most wonderful trendy treats the season had to offer.

“What do you mean you should be?”

“Well, my dad—“

Your dad, again? Why did his opinion matter to you so much? Especially when that opinion was just so wrong?

“Your dad has no right to say anything about your beautiful body, love!” Asmo protested. “If you want to diet, honey, we can go on one together. But don’t you dare say no to this parfait on account of your dad.”

For the rest of the day, and on into the evening, Asmo laid his compliments thick, and showered you with the attention your lovely body deserves.

Beelzebub

“I’m just not that hungry.”

“You said that at lunch too. And at breakfast.”

It wasn’t entirely unusual for you to skip a meal now and again. Sometimes, you just weren’t hungry after spending two hours snacking on gummies and popcorn in Levi’s room while marathoning TSL. Technically not a meal, but at least you had something in your stomach. Sometimes you were just too focused on a task that you’d forget the time all together.

But today you’d had nothing at all while holed away in your room. The few times he’d passed by, you laid curled on your side, scrolling through your phone.

A growl erupted in the room, and it wasn’t Beel’s. Your stomach was calling you out as a liar—outing you to the Avatar of Hunger incarnate.

“You should eat. I’ll pick something up for you.”

“I’m really not up to eating anything today.”

“Are you ill?”

“No,” you responded, turning your face away, as if ashamed to even look at him.

“You need to eat,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to.”

The question of why didn’t need to be asked. He only need to stare at you expectantly until you’d cave under his gaze.

“I don’t feel well,” you grumbled, contradicting yourself.

“Is it a cold? Satan does say you starve a cold and feed a fever.” He paused a moment. “Or was it the other way around?“ Beel asked himself, trying to recall the last time he and had his brothers had gotten sick. It had been centuries ago. (And it had been a disaster of each one getting sick after the other, passing it around.)

“It’s not that kind of sick.” You mumbled softly. “It’s not a body sick. It’s just... a...” You sunk further into the cocoon of your covers looking miserable. An unusual look for you.

“Sad sick?”

Not quite the way you’d put it, but it was apt enough for youYou didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Beel quietly joined you on your bed, wrapping his arms around your comforter wrapped form and tugging you close. He’d feed you later, he’d hug you now.

Belphegor

“My needs don’t matter.”

“They do,” came Belphie’s immediate response—cutting in a way that felt dangerous, frightening: an end to the sentence, to the thought. His eyes were stern and you shivered beneath his gaze, having both been caught off guard by how quick his response had been, and how angry it had been.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered in response, feeling guilty that you had upset him, to have ruined the lovely moment you two had been having.

Arms wrapped around you as Belphie pulled you against him. He shifted from sitting beside you, to wrapping himself around you, trapping you between his legs and his arms. “Don’t say it again. Don’t think it.”

Easier said than done, he knew that. “Belphie, it’s okay—“

“It’s not.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, an automatic response.

“You matter,” Belphie said, his head dropped into your shoulder and neck as he curled tighter around you. “You matter to me. If you need something, you should ask it. I’ll give it to you. I’d give you everything.”

There was quiet as you thought the statement over. “I just don’t want to be a bothe-“

“You’re not.” Belphie pre-emptively answered. “You could never be. Ask me. Ask anything of me. I gave myself to you, didn’t I?”

You thought yourself so little, so unimportant, but to Belphie you were so significant, so important, so beloved—and to have you not recognize that was as disrespectful to yourself as it was to him.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #headcanon #ouch #my heart #it's gonna be okay anon #i hope these make you feel better

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ironkissedmage · 4 years ago

Text

Sub Count

Whoops I had a small idea and once again it got a little out of hand. I tend to write more than I think I will so here’s a little treat I guess! Not sure if it’s long enough to put on ao3, so I’ll let you guys have it first.

Word Count: 2,279

Title: Sub Count

Premise: Dean and Cas have a little bit of a different life after beating Chuck. Cas has started a surprising new job and today he needs Dean’s help.

---------

“Dean, can you help me set something up?”

Dean looked up from where he was seated at the kitchen table, a half-empty beer slowly warming in his hands. Castiel was standing in the doorway in one of Dean’s old shirts. They really needed to go shopping for him now that he was human again, but Dean was more than a little happy seeing him in his clothes, so that could wait. Since rescuing Cas from the Empty, he has had to readjust to a life where he needs things. Dean makes sure he eats and doesn’t spend all day in bed. (That one could be a struggle sometimes; he has never seen anyone more reluctant to get out of bed than a newly human Cas.)

They have all had things to adjust to though. Sam was now the head honcho that all the other hunters called upon for help. He organized hunts and kept the bunker stocked up with rooms ready to go. To say Dean was proud would be an understatement.

Even Dean had done some adjusting after they beat Chuck and got Cas back. He helped Sam out with a few more hunts, killing the occasional vamp or stopping a witch here or there. But by now, Dean realized that he was just plain tired of hunting. He had given so much of himself and his life to it, that what he really longed for was a normal, everyday kind of job.

So that’s how they ended up here. Sam was always busy, either at the other end of the bunker or out teaming up with others to help out. Dean spent most days at his new job in the nearest town, fixing up cars. And Cas… well Cas found a new job of his own.

“I need to fix the lighting, Dean. It isn’t right for what I have planned.” Castiel deadpanned, not-so-patiently waiting for Dean to get up from his seat.

Dean released an amused sigh and pulled himself up out of his chair and followed Cas towards his room. They walked together, Cas being unusually silent.

“So, uh, what is it you’ve got planned that you need me to change the lighting for, Cas?” Dean scratched at the back of his head and turned his eyes away from his best friend. He was reminded of the confession Cas made to him not that long ago. The one Dean never officially responded to. His throat ran dry at the thought and he tried to push it back to the safe little spot it was usually stored away in his mind. He knew how he felt about that and he was sure Cas knew too. He didn’t have to say it. Not yet. Not really.

Instead of answering, Cas just swung his door open to reveal his current setup. Dean had been able to find him an old office chair by the side of the road one day at the start of Cas’s new hobby. Sam had gifted him one of his old laptops then as well. Since then, Cas has managed to upgrade a few things and obtain a decent microphone and camera. Dean never would have pegged Cas as a streamer, but apparently some people liked watching a man with rusty social skills play silly farm games. Dean thought it was endearing.

What he wasn’t sure was so endearing was the piece of clothing laid on on Cas’s bed.

“Uh, Cas, what’s that?” Dean asked hesitantly. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know.

“It’s why you’re helping me. I reached 500 subs and this is what the people wanted Dean.”

“They wanted you to put on a maid costume?” The words came out harsher than intended, but come on, Cas.

“Yes.”

Dean blinked. “And you’re going to do that?”

“Yes. Dean, I don’t understand what is so confusing about this. Do you want to help with the lighting or not?”

Dean hesitated, but ultimately agreed. He had already said yes; it would just be rude to leave him to do it himself now. So, Dean stowed his crap and moved around the lighting fixtures. Cas had said before that he wanted something called a ring light, and Dean was beginning to understand why. The lighting setup in this place was crap. It’s not like Dean has ever had to worry about that before, but it certainly posed an issue now.

“You know, Dean,” Cas spoke up as they finally agreed on the outcome of the lighting situation, “They have also expressed interest in having you here with me. You are welcome to stay for the stream.”

Dean thought he was going to choke.

“Wh-what? Cas, how do they even know about me?” He wouldn’t admit it, but he would be nervous enough in front of a camera, but next to Cas as he was in that, Dean wasn’t sure he would survive.

“I talk about you a lot. You are my best friend, Dean.”

And there it was. The proverbial knife in his chest again. Best Friend. It’s not like it wasn’t a title he had forced on them, even after Cas’s confession. Still, it hurt when Cas talked about them like that.

“Well, fine then. I guess, uh, call me back in when you��re… ready.” Dean scratched at the back of his neck while he spoke, eyes averted from Cas’s gaze.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Dean. It was only an offer.” Cas clarified as he pulled off his trenchcoat. Dean’s breath got caught in his throat.

“No!” He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “No, uh, I’ll do it. I’ll just… give you a minute.” Dean rushed out the rest of his words and swiftly removed himself from Cas’s room, shutting the door behind him. He had to compose himself before seeing Cas in that thing.

Leaning against the door, Dean forced himself to think about what he wanted. He had gotten out of the life for the most part. He had an ex-angel living a few rooms away from him who was in love with him and who he loved back but hadn’t had the guts to say it. What the Hell was he so afraid of? Losing him? Of course that had always been part of it, but now? They beat the biggest bad you could think of and their days of running headlong into danger were over. His other obstacle was thinking Cas couldn’t love him the way Dean loved Cas. But that too had been proven not to be the case. So what the Hell was he still pussy-footing around like this for?

The door swung open from behind him and he stumbled back into the room, his back hitting square against Cas’s chest. They both tumbled to the floor, a flailing heap of limbs grasping at each other for purchase. They landed hard and Dean’s weight firmly pushed Cas into the firm ground.

“Shit.” Dean hissed, quickly rolling off of Cas and kneeling beside him to be sure he didn’t break anything. “You okay?”

Cas groaned. “Yes, I’m fine.” It sounded strange and he sat up, rubbing at his elbow. That’s when Dean’s brain caught up with his eyes. Cas was crumbled on the floor -checking himself for bumps and bruises- in the maid dress. It frilled above his knees, enticingly short. The small apron on the front wrinkled over his lap from the fall and Dean could just picture how short the dress would be if he stood up. The sleeves were poofed, a thin line of lace running around the edges to keep it tight on his arms. Dean could never have imagined Cas looking this good in something like this. It should look silly, but Dean was entirely sure he was liking it.

“Cas-” His words broke off as they fled his mouth. Cas looked up from his personal assessment to rake his eyes over Dean.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas’s eyes were stormy and Dean couldn’t read them. Instead, he inched a little closer. He wanted to say it. He needed to say it back. He had meant to do it when he first saw Cas but it never felt right. Sitting on the floor while the person of interest was dressed up in a maid costume was doubtfully the right time, but he had waited far too long already. He was done waiting.

“Cas.” He started again, more sure of himself. “I gotta say something.” Cas stiffened then and straightened himself up onto his knees, giving Dean his full attention.

“Dean, you don’t have to say anything. You know how I feel. I am happy with being your friend. I-”

“Damn it, Cas, just give me a second!” And Cas stopped. His shoulders slouched some and it hurt Dean deep in his chest to think Cas could ever think he didn’t feel the same. “Cas,” he started for the third time, “I don’t know why I didn’t say it back. I couldn’t. I don’t know. But… but I do. Cas, you gotta know I do too.”

“Dean…” It sounded like a warning. Like Cas was telling him he didn’t have to risk changing things if he didn’t want this. But Cas was as much an idiot as Dean if he didn’t know Dean wanted this.

“I love you.” He said it fast, pushing the words past his lips before his brain could think too hard about it and mess it up. When his mind caught up, he released a hasty breath and his lips involuntarily ticked up at one end. “I love you.” He said it again. And then a third and fourth ime. The more he voiced it the more it tasted like candy on his tongue. When he met Cas’s eyes, they were shiny, dewey pools gathering at the corners, threatening to overflow and spill down his cheeks.

Dean’s hands moved on their own. He came up and gathered Cas’s face in them, pulling his lips to his own and not caring how hard they crashed together. The heat of the moment was intoxicating, stealing every breath Dean could hope to take right out of his lungs. Cas was everything. He was human now and he felt like it. He tasted like it, he sounded like it. Divinity reduced into the palm of his hands.

When they broke apart, desperate for air, Dean could feel the tears sliding down his fingers.

“Dean-” Cas broke, his voice rasped and low, impossibly hungry.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, Cas. I’m sorry it took me ‘til now to say it. But, I love you. If you… if you still want this, I swear you can have it-you can have me, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

Cas let out a broken sob, lips curling up into a smile in spite of it. “Yes, Dean. Of course I still want this. God, I could never want anything but this; but you.” His laugh was chopped, but it made Dean smile nevertheless.

“Good… Good.”

And Dean kissed him again. He was greedy for it, starving for his touch. He had let himself want for far too long and now that his self-imposed obstacles had been drawn and quartered, he was going to take everything Cas would give him.

When Cas pulled away, it was with a laugh- a real laugh, low and hearty and no longer tainted by tears.

“Dean, I… I still have to do the stream.”

Dean blinked. The what?

“Hm?” He placed a small kiss at the corner of Cas’s mouth where it was upturned.

“The stream, Dean. I didn’t get in this silly thing for nothing, you know.”

Dean leaned back and surveyed Cas’s attire again. Fuck, it looked good on him. Way better than it should.

“Would you still like to join me?” The grin held mischief behind it and Dean felt his interest in his pants.

“I uh… Cas, I don’t think that’s such a good idea anymore.” He gulped. Cas just squinted his eyes in that totally-shouldn’t-be-attractive way and tilted his head with it. Dean stuttered on. “I’m not sure I can uh… behave on a livestream if you’re going to be in this thing.” Dean averted his gaze from the smirk he knew would be resting on Cas’s stupid perfect lips.

“I see…” Cas trailed off, forcing Dean to look back in curiosity. He really shouldn’t have done that. “Then you’ll just have to come back when I’m done, hm? It was very difficult to put on. Perhaps you can help me out of it?”

Dean’s jaw dropped. What was he getting himself into? He ended up nodding, far too enthusiastically, in response. That garnered another toothy grin as Cas stood up. Still kneeled on the floor, Dean could practically see all the way up the dress and he averted his gaze once more as his cheeks flared red, taking Cas’s offered hands for help up. Cas walked him backwards to the door and out into the hall.

“Good things come to those who wait, Dean. So be a good boy and wait for me, okay?”

Every tiny bit of composure Dean had hoped to hold onto flew out the window and was replaced by a frantic, bussing warmth that spread through his chest like wildfire. Holy Hell, why was that hot? Dean strangled himself for a breath, to just swallow the lump in his throat and look back up at Cas. When he did, Cas just raised a brow and shut the door.

Fuck, Cas was going to be the death of him. But you know what? What a way to go.

#lmao this was so fun to write #I might even continue it with the smut portion later on #you know #for funsies #Hailey writes #destiel #deancas #fanfic #fanfiction #ficlet #please like this silly little fic #come on #do it for me #Dean confesses #Cas is a streamer for some reason #but he's still such an old man and he plays farm games but people love him #i love him too #maid costume #cas in a lil maid dress is too powerful someone stop him

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alovevigilante · 3 years ago

Text

A conversation with self. By: Kari Keillor

me: well, all I know is that I think about a lot of things both consciously and subconsciously that affect my feelings and mood in my present moment. And when I internally discuss things that are hurtful, like reminding myself of people who don’t value or appreciate me, or, have treated me poorly in the past, I tend to get upset … within myself. Does that make sense?

Bigger Me: sure, cause I’m you. But let’s clarify for all those who aren’t. You’re saying that you think about things that are not kind about yourself, or, better put, you choose to recall things that don’t serve you for a better outcome.

me: yes. And for clarity’s sake, I’m going to call my higher self, “we” since I’m connected to everyone, and everyone is a more fair consensus, than just me.

Bigger Me: agreed. We, are “we” from here on out.

me: cool.

Bigger Me: ok, so now we can refer to “you”, Kari, as “you”, and ourselves, also a part of you, as “we”.

me: yeah.

Bigger Me: got it. Now, where were we.

me: In me! But more figuratively you were clarifying being “we”.

Bigger Me: right. Ok.

me: Listen, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but if you are upset with me, and thinking negative things about me in our head, maybe you need to square things up with you, first, and not me.

Bigger Me: right, we agree. But we, remember, are a facet of you. So, we will aid in the squaring up.

me: and yes, it doesn’t escape me that I feel insane sometimes, and I’m talking to myself in my online journal.

Bigger Me: Listen Kari, we experience what you do, so let’s save the judgement and just continue chatting til we feel better. Deal?

me: Deal.

Bigger Me: Ok, let’s begin by saying that we’re your support team. We’re a part of you, but also connected to everyone else too. But we are here for you whenever you need us, and even when you think you don’t.

me: Thank you. I appreciate that.

Bigger Me: Great. So since we’re your internal guidance, we want what you truly want. And it’s your choice as to what energy we guide you with, since your filter will only allow whatever energy you’re ready to accept. And you are the person we’re focusing on right now. Make sense?

Me: Go on…

Bigger Me: alright, we believe you’re seeing yourself and other people in a not so great, kinda “eh” way. You believe you are mostly disliked by all who know you, and you review that frequently in your mind. We aren’t saying it, you are. But we’re all experiencing the energy of your opposing thoughts to what and how you truly are.

Me: yes. I’m not always down with people these days. Especially myself.

Bigger Me: …yes… and you are missing people being kind to you. And since you’ve alienated yourself from all those people in the physical, you are not being kind to you, by thinking about all the ways you have perceived and experienced the proof of your beliefs that you are not liked.

me: yes. I tend to be reactive to the energy that I perceive they are emitting to me.

Bigger Me: ok, right. Fair enough.

me: I usually am.

Bigger Me: well, since we are a facet of you, we agree.

me: yes! I knew there was a reason I enjoyed talking to you. But what happens when you like people, but you don’t agree with their interpretation of you, meaning me? That discord is hard to overcome, especially when their opinion is how ass I am.

Bigger Me: well, that’s just the thing.

me: what is?

Bigger Me: well, if that resonates, that’s what you need to look at. That’s how you may feel about yourself. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t affect you as much being labeled as that, because it wouldn’t be near to your higher vibrational state. But if you are close to agreeing with that ass statement, you’re gonna inevitably feel it.

me: damn…

Bigger Me: yeahhhh! Shit!

me: ok. Unfortunately I can’t get further away from the feeling of ass to experience much else right now, cause that’s all I’m replaying over and over in my head as of late.

Bigger Me: we know. That’s why we’re discussing. We think the thing to do is become in solidarity with the truth of the matter, and that is that you’re actually a loving, good person.

me: “unconditional love” is a little too lofty of an energy to leap to from where I’ve been recently and currently reside. I’ve been taking up a seemingly permanent residence in ass gulch, especially after I think about things about my past that support the hypothesis held by others and now by myself, that I suck.

Bigger Me: yes, we feel it.

me: so you see where I’m coming from then?

Bigger Me: of course we do. We’re you.

me: right. I keep forgetting…

Bigger Me: well, you’re currently writing about how people think you suck, thereby focusing on that, and reexperiencing the feeling of it. And we gotta say, we all hate it.

me: yeah. Me too.

Bigger Me: right! So, in short of getting a frontal lobotomy, maybe the path of least resistance would be to be more aware of what we’re thinking and what kinds of thoughts we entertain from here on out.

me: listen, that’s too tall of an order for me to do all the time. One can go insane and argue that I already have by writing this conversation with myself, let alone get lost in the minutiae of paying attention to every little thought I have ever. Also, I don’t have many friends left in which to share all this with.

Bigger Me: well, considering your current energetic state, we venture to say that that’s probably a good thing.

me: how so?

Bigger Me: well, you wouldn’t want to pass this ass to someone else, would you?

me: no. They may catch it.

Bigger Me: right. So going back to what we normally discuss, becoming more of yourself is cool and all, but your issue is when you bring the new “you” to the old energy, it’s not jiving so well. Because when you finally go back to interact with the other people that share your world, you become fearful that you will be rejected for it.

me: is that what the issue is?!

Bigger Me: well, we are a part of you, but we are also a part of everyone else too, so we have a slightly bigger perspective…

me: ok. Well, what about the people who don’t like me? Sometimes I construe their behavior as less than kind towards me, on purpose.

Bigger Me: seeing the world through the fear filter will garner that reactive, defensive energy. You will keep finding proof of your thoughts and beliefs, and you’ll keep creating situations for you to defend yourself. It’s a vicious cycle. The next time you feel defensive in a situation try this: when you feel attacked, go to a place in your head where there’s no argument, and no insult to fight against.

me: I can’t go there in my head immediately! People will think I’m nuts, or a pushover if I start talking about the calla lilies being in bloom as an answer to their insulting everything about me.

Bigger Me: can’t be any worse than what you perceive people think of you already. What do you care?

me: well, unfortunately I do.

Bigger Me: that’s the whole issue.

me: you have to at least be in the same reality as they are, don’t you?

Bigger Me: well, if you come from the preexisting, already established reality of insult and abuse, which incidentally always stems from fear of inadequacy, then you will continue the chain of abuse by accepting it. But, if you choose to have a filter of love, the weird stuff you claim people do and say to you won’t even register to you as such. Your filter in turn wouldn’t resonate or pick up the insult, or, if it does, you won’t care. Cause love overrides it. You end up filtering anything not love, out.

me: oh. I guess I never thought of it like that before, or I have, but I forgot.

Bigger Me: that’s why we check in.

me: let’s just say, that i say something kind to a jerk fach, and they gut punch me, are you saying I won’t feel it?

Bigger Me: well, first of all, you’ll feel it. And thereafter every time you think about it. But if you were to accept the energy of love you’d only have to experience the pain once, if that was the case. Also, if you were in the love energy, you wouldn’t label them as a “jerk fach” to begin with… and probably not have been open to being in the position of being gut punched, either physically or emotionally. In that case that’s still you choosing to hold and engage in some “not so great” energy. And that’s not love.

Secondly, people who are primarily choosing to experience and live in the energy of love aren’t usually around people who don’t, because the two energies don’t resonate. If they do happen to cross paths, which can sometimes occur, it doesn’t usually last for long. Everyone needs to, and will experience and be exposed to both contrast and love depending on life’s circumstances. There’s always a choice presented in every situation.

me: ok, but what if someone labels you as a jerk fach, and then gut punches you for no apparent reason…

Bigger Me: then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, don’t focus on the negative eventualities that are most likely not probable.

me: got it.

Bigger Me: Kari, you are a loving person. We appreciate your willingness to be open about your life, and wanting people to understand that everyone has an internal monologue that they are playing out both in their heads, and in their lives according to how they feel. You deciding to be honest about yours, is beneficial to the whole of all of us, regardless of who reads this or not. Because just the mere creation of the energy is enough to create a catalyst for change. It’s out there, and we are too. Life is how you decide to perceive it. Deciding to explore your feelings and your thoughts that aid in how you feel is a fast track to developing a way to your happiness. This is for anyone, including you. So, be you, and don’t worry about how you are perceived and treated by others. Because when your sole focus is love, that is all you’ll see and experience.

me: thanks for caring.

Scene.

#choose love #love matters #self reflection #self love #selfworth #self esteem #self improvement #self care #self development #love manifestation #a conversation with #myself #a love vigilante #guidance #intuition #love #me #selfie #selfie development

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years ago

Note

[thinks about a comfort fic with sniper and scout cuddling and scouts a little mopey that night (ty spy ily spy) and he asks really quietly “am I stupid” and sniper gives the 745 reasons scout is Not stupid because he REALLY is Not]

i will stand by the fact that scout’s not dumb he just has ADHD until the day i fucking die and that’s that. (warnings for very mild violence and scout hurt followed right away by scout comfort)

At least Scout had finally settled down, Sniper thought to himself, carding his fingers through his hair.

Sniper had seen him outside having a run, heading in circles around the base and surrounding land at a pretty brisk pace. It was something Scout did sometimes to clear his head, and Sniper would catch sight of him doing that pretty regularly, and so wasn’t too much concerned. Then, an hour later, when he looked outside and saw Scout still running despite the fact that it was getting dark, he’d gone outside.

And it hadn’t startled him that Scout was out of breath—jogging for an hour would do that to anyone, even someone as in-shape as Scout—but it startled him to see that Scout was breathing so heavily through his mouth. Then he realized Scout had probably been doing that for some time, because all at once he noticed that Scout’s nose was bright red and very swollen, blood all across the bottom half of his face.

He hadn’t even asked at first, just taking Scout by the wrist and pulling him back to his camper. He’d given Scout a glass of water (which was drained in about five gulps), cleaned the blood off his face (“Oh, shit, that was bleeding again? I thought that was just sweat—“), and gotten an ice pack for his nose.

“What happened?” Sniper asked once all that was taken care of, tone leaving no room for argument.

Scout’s head fell, and he remained silent.

“Bilby, if you don’t tell me who did this, I’m going to head inside that base and start putting holes in the first bloke I find,” he said matter-of-factly, aware that his voice was intimidating and trying very hard to keep anger out of his tone. “What. Happened?”

“I got in a fight,” Scout started, speaking slowly, carefully. Sniper was tempted to interrupt, to say yeah, clearly, but he didn’t, just letting Scout talk. “Spy was just, he was getting on my case again, and, and saying all kinds of fuckin’… garbage. About… just, it was… look, he was just on my case again, alright? And I, I mouthed off, and then there was a fight, and half the team came in to break it up, and I… went out to take a run, and then I just, I don’t fuckin’ wanna go back in there.”

“Alright,” Sniper said quietly, putting a cautious hand on his shoulder in what he hopes was a comforting motion. “Alright, you can… stay here tonight.”

“But you—“ Scout started to protest, but he cut himself off, setting his jaw.

“What? What is it?” Sniper gently prompted.

“You said you don’t want me in here on weekdays,” Scout said quietly, unable to look at him.

Sniper’s heart ached. “When did I say that?”

“Last week. You said…” Scout started hesitantly, glancing up at him.

Silence. “Mate, I, I meant about sleeping over, since we have work in the morning and neither of us gets to bed when you do, we’re always up talking until late, I—you’re always welcome in here, I just wanted to make sure we were both getting enough sleep,” he clarified.

“But we’ve got work tomorrow,” Scout tried next, looking increasingly lost.

“We can make exceptions,” Sniper shrugged, “it’s alright. As long as we don’t make a habit of it.”

Scout nodded hesitantly, still clearly unsure. “So I can sleep over?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

To be honest, Sniper wasn’t particularly used to having to tiptoe around Scout. He wasn’t in the practice of being particularly rude to people, and it generally took something excessively mean to get Scout upset anyways, so it wasn’t a concern. Scout had a pretty thick skin. Except… apparently he didn’t. Because all at once he seemed hesitant, jumpy, visibly trying to make himself seem smaller, even if he didn’t seem to be aware of it.

He urged Scout to go ahead and use his shower, found some of Scout’s pajamas that he’d left over and passed them through the door. Soon enough Scout was in bed with him, settled in against him, curled around Sniper’s arm with his head on his chest. And finally he seemed relaxed, as ease, like he wasn’t just sitting and waiting for Sniper to kick him out. When the nervousness melted away, it seemed that Scout was left exhausted, tired down to his bones.

“Snipes?” Scout asked quietly, voice very soft, after a long few moments of quiet.

Sniper hummed in answer to show he was still awake, going back to fiddling with Scout’s hair. It was very soft, even a bit damp, and it smelled like his own shampoo, something that made his chest feel warm the more he thought about it. “Yeah?” he asked after another moment when Scout didn’t immediately go to speak.

“Am I stupid?”

Silence. Stillness. Sniper had frozen entirely as the words and the weight behind them sunk into his mind. “No,” was all he managed after a second, words clogging his throat and choking him.

Scout seemed to sink. “I won’t get mad if you tell the truth,” he murmured, and he just, he sounded so very small in that moment, and it broke Sniper’s heart.

“Scout, that is the truth. Of course you aren’t stupid,” Sniper continued, free hand moving to squeeze Scout on the shoulder.

“Snipes, I can barely fuckin’ read, I almost didn’t make it through high school, I can’t ever remember anything important and I hardly even know English let alone—“

“Spy called you stupid?” Sniper cut in, just to be sure.

“And some other stuff,” Scout confirmed quietly. “But everyone calls me stupid. Because I am stupid.”

“No, you aren’t,” Sniper said firmly, anger bubbling away deep in his chest, but he pushed it back down for the moment, taking a deep breath and setting it aside for later. “You’re not stupid. Just because you don’t think quite the same as everyone else, that doesn’t make you stupid.”

“What if it does?”

“Bilby, it doesn’t,” he insisted.

“Well I’m sure not smart,” Scout scoffed. “I don’t—everyone here is either really smart or really good at what they do, and I’m just not, I’m just fast, I’m not cool or good at fighting or, or smart, and I, I’m not like the rest of you guys, I’m just dead weight, I don’t belong here—“

“Yes you do,” Sniper said, working hard not to snap. “You’re one of the most clever blokes around here. Not book-smart, the real kind of smart. The kind where you think of things faster, notice things, react quickly. And you’re a bloody genius at reading people when it’s important to, you’re almost always the first one to notice when someone’s acting fishy, and every time Miss Pauling comes around you always get a read on how she’s doing even though she doesn’t talk to you much—“

“Spy can do that, and Heavy can do that—“ Scout mumbled.

“But they’re also both at least twenty years older than you and either have a degree or were literally trained to read people. With everything working against you, you’re still bloody bright.”

“Clever, huh, can’t even read—“

“You slammed your way through the entirety of that Ghost D.A. series in a weekend,” Sniper pointed out.

“The kids version.”

“It was a thirty-six volume series with about two hundred pages per book. You realize that’s still impressive, right?”

“I still barely made it through school—“

“You realize that technically the Doc never went to school?” Sniper interrupted.

A pause. “What?”

“He never went to school. He was in through… what do you lot call it, elementary school? Then he was homeschooled for the rest of the required time, then he got an apprenticeship from his family and cheated his medical exams to get his license. He never even went to a real university, he just skipped to doing a residency.”

“Well he still knows what he’s doing. He’s batshit crazy, yeah, way too excited whenever he gets a dead body to mess around and experiment on, but he can only do that because he’s smart. What the hell do I know how to do?”

“Talk to people, get through places efficiently, what can hold your weight and how to balance, you always remember where you are and where you were and how to get there, you always know what people mean when they talk to you about things even if they’re bad at explaining, you’re the most empathetic bloody person I’ve ever met in my life—that’s intelligence. You’re intelligent.”

“Snipes, I can’t ever remember anything,” Scout all but snapped. “What’s the point of reading fast or knowing what people are talking about when I can’t think all the way back to breakfast, don’t know what day of the week it is half the time, always forget my chores and what I’ve gotta do for the day?”

Sniper took a deep breath. “Scout. That’s still okay. That still doesn’t make you stupid. Truckie forgets simple things like that too. So does Spy. They aren’t smarter than you, they’ve just got more practice at working around it. Truckie almost never remembers meals, Spy records things to listen to them back later.”

“He speaks like six languages,” Scout muttered.

“And he’s an arsehole in all six, what’s your point?”

For the first time that night, Scout laughed, even if it was just a little jump in his shoulders, a puff of air startled out of him.

“Bilby,” Sniper started in, voice gentle again. “You aren’t stupid. The blokes just… they pick an insult for everyone, is what it is. Soldier is insane, Demo’s a drunk, I’m a hermit, the Engineer is short. They don’t mean it, not really.”

“How come I’ve got so many, then?” Scout asked, tone not full of bitterness so much as… resigned insecurity. “I’m stupid, I’m scrawny, I’m loud, I’m annoying, I’m babyfaced, I’m uneducated, I’m rude…”

“No you aren’t, they’ve just decided to call you that,” Sniper was quick to correct.

“What’s the difference? If everyone thinks it, doesn’t that make it kinda true?”

“No,” Sniper said, carding his fingers back through Scout’s hair and feeling him relax at the attention. “No, it doesn’t.”

He kept petting at Scout’s hair for a little while, and Scout kept relaxing in increments. It was quiet for a long few moments, then minutes.

“I love you,” Sniper finally said, and Scout’s head tilted against him slightly. “And even if you were the dumbest bloke on the planet, I’d still love you. Even if you were all those things, I’d still love you. Because you’ve got a good heart, and you make me want to be better, make me want to work hard to deserve all the happiness you give me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Scout said quietly. “I love you too.”

Silence.

“Night, Snipes,” Scout said, and he really did sound tired, terribly tired.

“Night, Bilby.”

The next day, Scout was still out of sorts, tired, lagging behind on his morning routine. Sniper turned the tables on what they usually did, offering to go get breakfast and bring it back to the camper for him. Scout agreed quickly, maybe too quickly, and Sniper pulled on his vest and hat and made his way into the base.

The kitchen was bustling, full to the brim with the rest of the team eating their own breakfasts of varying nutritional value. Sniper made his way to the counter where the main breakfast—eggs and bacon and toast, simple and straightforward and well-agreed-upon, it must have been Medic’s turn to cook. He packed up two little boxes and shoved them in his bag, then promptly made his way back into the main eating area.

He got one or two waves, an offhanded greeting. They all seemed unperturbed. Sniper wondered whether they’d even noticed that Scout was gone, and all the anger that he’d carefully pushed down bubbled and spilled over all at once.

He picked up one of the few empty chairs at the table and slammed it back down against the ground. The resounding BANG of wood against concrete immediately drew the attention of the entire room.

“Bushman,” Spy greeted calmly from his immediate left, almost bored-looking. “Here to break our furniture, I see.”

“What’d you say to him?” Sniper asked, voice cold enough to freeze over hell.

Silence in the room, the few mercenaries not already looking alarmed quickly shifting to do so. All except Spy, who just sneered. “You’ll need to be more specific, I’m afraid,” he said with faux politeness, an undercurrent of venom that would have most people backing down.

Sniper was not most people. “What did you say to Scout yesterday?” he clarified. “Tell me what you said.”

“Oh, before he threw a temper tantrum and stormed off to hide in his room like a spineless coward?” Spy asked airily.

“He’s not in his room, Spook,” Sniper said, the deadly cold hardening further. “He’s not anywhere in the base. Now tell me what you said to him.”

In his periphery, troubled shuffling, glances, concern. Spy did no such thing, just rolling his eyes and producing a tape recorder from within his jacket, rolling it back expertly and stopping after a few moments, letting it play.

“—don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” came Scout’s voice, slightly odd-sounding, different on tape than it sounded in real life, as well as apparently being a bit distant.

“Yes I do,” came Spy’s voice, slightly louder. “You’re an idiot, and a man-child, and a coward, and are only in a desert shooting your little gun at men who can’t die because you couldn’t possibly get a job anywhere else. You’re lucky that Miss Pauling took pity on you and gave you a job here, or else you’d be lying dead, overdosed in a ditch somewhere along the east coast just like everyone else you ever knew. And the moment someone faster and more literate comes along, that’s where you’ll be ending up anyways. Before you do, pass along an apology to your mother for the inconvenience of a funeral.”

Spy clicked the button again to stop the tape, cutting off the sound of Scout starting to yell something. Then Spy moved to say something, probably snarky, probably clever, but it never made it out of his mouth, because Sniper’s fist connected with his jaw at high speeds.

As the Frenchman was sent sprawling out of his chair and to the ground, swearing, and several members of the team moved to stand up and start protesting, but Sniper squared his shoulders again and turned to level a look at them, and they promptly stopped. He shook out his hand, glaring coldly.

“I’m guessing none of you lot said anything, did you?” he asked, still cold. “Just pushed them apart when Scout stood up for himself.”

The silence spoke for itself.

“Here’s what’s going to happen now,” he continued when it became clear that nobody had anything to add. “You lot are going to stop with your little jokes. Stop your fun little game where you make fun of the littlest bloke here. And you’re going to apologize to Scout for the way you’ve all been acting. This isn’t the schoolyard, and you’re all far too old to be acting like bullies just because he hardly ever bothers standing up for himself. And if you don’t, if you keep acting like children, you’re going to regret it.”

“You plan on knocking the whole team out cold, son?” the Engineer asked down the table, his own tone sharp. “Or are you saying Scout’s gonna try?”

“No,” he said. “Neither of us. That’s not what I meant.”

Quiet for a second.

“You’re all willing to lose Scout over this?” he asked flatly, looking around the room. Several of the team couldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re alright with Scout leaving, quitting this job, rather than you lot putting in the effort to stop being complete fuckin’ bastards to him all the time?”

“Where is he? Where did little Scout go?” Heavy cut in to ask.

“Is the lad alright?” Demo asked, genuine concern etched across his face.

“I found him when he was out for a run,” Sniper replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Nose bleeding and all. Acting like he’d just seen a ghost. He talked to me. Maybe because I’m not a complete and utter cunt to him.”

Guilt seemed to be a common factor in most of the team’s expressions. Pyro had one hand up against their mask, body language that of upset.

“He told me he thinks he’s stupid. Worst bloke on the team, not as good as any of you lot. The weak link. Says he doesn’t think he belongs here. Wonder where he got that idea?” Sniper asked, the cold rage back in his voice again, and there were glances again, looks exchanged. “I’m not going to tolerate any more of what I just heard. Any of you in my line of sight start treating Scout like that again, there’ll be hell to pay. Because I’m not going to let you lot chase off the one good thing that’s ever happened to me just because you think you’re being cute.”

He shifted, looking over at Spy, who was still on the ground nursing his jaw, looking equal parts pissed off and concerned, something peeking through the anger, something that told Sniper that he really hadn’t ever considered the consequences.

“And if any of you give a damn about Scout, you won’t ever let that—“ a flippant gesture towards the fuming Frenchman, “—happen again. Do we have an understanding?”

A chorus of answers, all in the affirmative. Sniper nodded once, and promptly left the room.

He and Scout walked into the locker rooms to finish suiting up, and the place fell quiet.

Scout’s head sank, eyes falling to the floor, and he kept his head down as he walked to his locker, starting to wrap up his hands. He was doing that thing again, where he tried to make himself very, very small. Sniper sat down directly next to him as he pulled on and tightened the laces of the boots he generally wore into battle, and even that simple act of solidarity was enough at least to make Scout’s hands stop shaking so violently.

The click of expensive leather shoes on concrete, calmly coming towards them. Sniper felt the runner shift beside him, looking up, but he didn’t bother, keeping his eyes on his task.

“Scout,” Spy said, tone as aloof as every other day of the year.

“Just fuck off, Spy,” Scout mumbled, and perhaps Spy didn’t hear it, but Sniper did—the waver in his voice.

“No. I have something important to say,” Spy replied, tone even. A very brief pause fell. “I’m sorry.”

Sniper’s gaze flicked up. Scout went tense next to him. “What?”

“I apologize. I was out of line yesterday. I said several things which I very much regret. I sincerely did not think you cared enough about my opinion of you that my insults would in any way hurt, and clearly I was wrong, and so, I am sorry.” His words were awkward, not in the way of them being forced, but in the way that told them that Spy was uncomfortable, clearly not much used to giving real apologies.

Silence for a second before a Scout figured out how the hell to react to that. When he did speak, his voice was tight. “What, did Medic make you come over and apologize or something? Did Hardhat yell at you?” he asked, frustration filtering through.

“No. They did not. It just became very clear from your reaction that you were upset, and now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m…” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

Scout was quiet again. Sniper glanced at him. He looked confused, mostly. “Okay,” he finally said, very much lost on what to do.

Spy nodded, looked away. Seemed to chew on his words for a moment. “And I take back what I said,” he added, quieter now. “You are not someone that could be easily replaced on this team. You play a very important role here, and… you are good at what you do, and we are all very fortunate to have you here on our team.”

Scout outright didn’t reply to that, visibly at a loss for words.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Spy finally said, glanced between Scout and Sniper, walked away from them and towards the rest of the team, a stiffness to his posture.

Sniper watched him go, saw the way the rest of the team glanced at Spy, saw Spy starting to talk quietly to Heavy and Demo, the latter of whom glanced back towards the two of them. Then he looked at Scout, hoping Scout didn’t see the overt way they were interacting, and saw that Scout very much wasn’t paying attention to that. Instead, he had his head ducked, and was starting to sniffle, eyes welling up.

“Wait, Bilby, what’s wrong?” Sniper asked quickly, a hand on his shoulder, ducking to try and get a good look at his expression, confusion and concern mounting.

“No, I, it’s just—“ He sniffled again and swallowed hard, hurriedly wiping off his eyes with his forearm as a few tears started falling. He took a few seconds to compose himself, and bent further forward when he cracked again. “I just, I think that was the nicest thing any of the guys have ever said to me.”

Sniper took a moment or two to process that, a series of complicated emotions rising in his chest, before he simply moved to pull Scout into a tight hug, his own throat becoming tight.

His gaze rose to the rest of the team, most of whom seemed to be watching them with some amount of concern and confusion. He flashed them a thumbs up as covertly as possible, and they relaxed, returning to what they had been doing.

They all became much nicer to Scout, still occasionally ragging on him, but largely dialing it back to a normal level, to the level they gave just about everyone on the team rather than him being the common target. And it took a while—a long while—but Scout seemed to brighten, straighten, smile more, relax more. And god, was Sniper happy to see it. God was he happy to see it.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #sniperscout #speeding bullet #(mild tbh)#shut up me #my fanfiction #the fiendship tag #also the nickname bilby is very good don't @ me

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txchikaze · 4 years ago

Text

@kazeshinigami

They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing, though Shuuhei doesn’t mimic Kensei’s speed in drinking his, given his comparative lack of resilience against alcohol. He steels himself by recalling a prior conversation, had shortly before Kensei had consented to the idea of tying Shuuhei’s hands behind his back as part of the evening’s activities. He remembers Kensei’s assurance from then: that he would listen to Shuuhei’s ideas where Shuuhei had the greater expertise. And if that had been from before they had reexamined the boundaries and aspirations of this relationship, then… it should be only more true now, right? They aren’t going to get anywhere if Shuuhei is always afraid to open his mouth. In which case, it’s best to bite the bullet.

“How, um… how comfortable are you with things like… Dominant and submissive play? Or sadistic and masochistic? I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but… they've been staples for me, for a long time. I’d… prefer not to have to go without them, if that’s at all… negotiable.” He only pauses for a moment before backpedalling enough to clarify: “And when I mention this, I mean that I would be the submissive and masochistic party, respectively.”

After another mouthful of his drink, he further hedges with, “I wouldn’t expect anything extreme out of the gate. I just… it… calms me, to give myself over to someone like that. …It would make me happy to give myself to you… like that.”

--- Well, it had only been a matter of time until Shuuhei wanted to talk about this. Kensei had known, when Shuuhei had begun his query about bondage, that one time, that that was just dipping his toes in the water. He is not blind, nor a fool. He knows Shuuhei sometimes used to come to work with.. Odd injuries. And he is out of bed early, which means there have been a few misty mornings where he has seen his lieutenant return home { though that seemed to be a rarer occurrence, as Mashiro claimed he slept at home a lot; just came home late }. \

He purses his lips, looking into his empty cup. He fills it up again before answering, which he realises later might be construed as a bad sign. He does not immediately sip, though. “Well..” He begins, feeling the inklings of discomfort in his belly, for being put to a topic he does not know that much about. “I’m comfortable being in charge.. Be a pretty lousy captain if I wasn’t.” But he is not quite sure that stretches to the extent Shuuhei is looking for. “It’s not a staple for me, I’m sure you’re aware, and what little I know has been taught to me involuntarily by witnessing conversations between Rose, Lisa and Love..” They discussed such things freely, mostly in hypotheticals, and fiction, though Rose seemed to have actual experience.

“I’m not the type of guy to go around brandishing a whip. Gotta be at Rose’s door for that..” He took another sip of sake. “--but I don’t mind bossing you around, or getting rough with you. Or trying the whole tying you up thing...” since they’d already talked about that. He downs his drink again. He likes being in control, what he does not like is not knowing what he is doing.. So he is hesitant. Especially since Shuuhei is apparently an expert.

“Can’t promise how comfortable I’ll be with all that stuff, though..” His eyes settle on Shuuhei’s face, surveying his reaction seriously. He has to wonder what Shuuhei will do if he cannot fulfill those apparent desires.

#[i got interupted writing this and then forgot i hadnt actually finished or posted it sdfghg]#kazeshinigami #/nsfw #citrus

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goatsandgangsters · 4 years ago

Note

Autumnal asks! Cider, harvest, spice (the correct answer for which is my old living quarters you now gaze upon out the window)

cider - a food that you disliked as a child but now enjoy?

pickles. used to hate them. now I’m the “eats the pickles of everyone who doesn’t want theirs” person at restaurants (back when we still went to those)

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why?

okay I don’t want to drag myself too hard here by giving you names. but I’m sure there’s a noticeable pattern on my blog where my favorite type of fictional character is “absolute bastard with a tough exterior and some kind of angry/cool/aloof persona, who isn’t actually as tough as they project and probably actually a dumb loser nerd on the inside (with some unaddressed pain and probably a mean dad?)” ...... like a piece of bruised fruit. a particularly surly piece of bruised fruit, with an angry face drawn on it in sharpie. and it’s mad because it’s the mean little plum that’s been left at the bottom of the plum barrel.

which is not me in the slightest! I have a gooey marshmallow center, which pairs with my equally marshmallow exterior. and also my dad is great. but, you know! sometimes you just gotta love the bastards (the reminder that messy people are still loved) who have softness inside (the narrative catharsis when the forbidden soft spot shines through). I equally love “character you thought was slick is a loser nerd” as much as I love “character you thought was a bastard Hurts Inside” and I love when they’re the same person. angry fictional bastards have the most fun, I love them dearly, and I wanna watch ‘em break a little just to get put back together again. you know. for the emotional catharsis. the narrative tension.

spice - have you ever encountered a house that you believed to be haunted?

of course I have, I’m from Pennsylvania, that’s why this is going under a cut because it’s about to get LONG

first of all, I DON’T REMEMBER YOU MENTIONING THAT YOUR PREVIOUS APARTMENT WAS HAUNTED. I will wave at the ghosts from my window.

HAUNTED HOUSE: PENNSYLVANIA

But, as stated, I’m from Pennsylvania, which is Especially Haunted as far as US states go. It’s not Maine, but it’s up there. There was a ghost tour on the street that I grew up on. It was not a ghost tour for the town or for the neighborhood. No, it was a ghost tour of the street. Granted, this is the same street that once housed Washington’s troops during the Revolutionary War, so there’s a lot of ghosts accumulated. Fortunately, my house was one of the newer ones on the street (built in 1888) and it was not haunted.

But my friend two doors down, her house was built in 1750. And it was HAUNTED! (I want to note that it wasn’t even on the ghost tour. The family was asked by ghost shows multiple times if they could film there, but the mom said no because she didn’t want to annoy the ghosts).

I never encountered anything specific there myself, besides feeling completely uneasy in the older parts of the house (and that unease would instantly dissipate as soon as I went into new construction additions that had been put on the house). Especially late at night, the old parts just felt... bad. I once went home barefoot because I left my shoes on the other side of the house and I refused to cross the house alone in the dark to get them.

There was something... wrong with the basement, also. I don’t remember the specifics of this, but I remember something about the shadow of a man who only appeared on the wall in December and would proceed down the stairs over the first week of December and then vanish, or something along those lines? (I’m not still in touch with the neighbor, but I texted a mutual childhood friend, who also recalled something about a man on the stairs specifically in December without my prompting). Their dad always claimed that there were Revolutionary War soldiers buried in the basement, which I don’t think was true (there are 100+ buried farther up the street though). But I never went in the basement! It was the only part of their entire house where we NEVER went! They had a repair guy in the basement once. He left. Because he got too freaked out down there.

The mutual friend also told me she experienced weird dreams where voices told her they wanted to talk to Sarah. And she never thought anything of it, because no one named Sarah lived there. As an adult, she found out that our friend’s mom—who went by Sally and didn’t want to film ghost shows for the sake of the ghosts—was actually named Sarah. One time a bead curtain (y’know, it was the early 2000s) went absolutely WILD when no one but my neighbor was home. It may have even broken, if memory serves?

HAUNTED HOUSE: LONG ISLAND

A house we rented one summer at the beach was definitely haunted. Nothing menacing, but similar to the above, I always felt super nervous and creeped out in the old part of the house, but would feel instantly relaxed in the newer addition. My uncle smelled pipe smoke constantly, in a family where no one smoked (nor did the owners). My dog spent that summer barking at nothing (and she was not a barker, despite being a beagle). I don’t know how old that house was, but it did have a fire once because there was an article about it framed on the wall. I don’t think anyone died though? But that house had... some vibes which were not ordeal.

HAUNTED DORM: BOSTON

I believe I’ve told you the story of Shaft Girl, the ghost who opened my dorm room door my freshman year of college?

So (and there are a few college people who follow me who can corroborate this story) the dorm I lived in in college was built in 1920. I don’t remember the particulars of her origin story, but the upper floors were haunted by a ghost nicknamed Shaft Girl (I thiiiiink she was supposed to have been the daughter of an architect or engineer or something, who fell down the elevator shaft and died during construction? She definitely fell from the upper floors into the elevator shaft and died, because that’s why her name was Shaft Girl).

One time, I was watching a movie in my dorm room with two friends. One left, but I left the door unlocked in case he wanted to come back. And these were those heavy dorm room doors—the kind that does NOT stay open, they swing shut right away, and they’re generally pretty heavy and loud. So my friend and I are sitting on my bed, watching the movie. And the door opens about 45 degrees. It swings towards us, so we can’t see who’s holding the door open. But no one came in. It just... stayed open. And we go, “um.... [Friend Who Left]?”

The door closes. We immediately get up and open it. No one is there. My dorm room was at the end of a very long hallway. And no one is in the hallway. We didn’t hear any other door open or close before we looked (remembering that these are college dorm doors, so you HEAR them), and we looked pretty quickly. There’s really nowhere anyone could have GONE that quickly or that quietly. So naturally I was freaked out, the friend stayed over because my roommate had already left for winter break, I went home in a couple of days, and I didn’t think anything more about it.

THE NEXT YEAR—AND THANK GOD SHE WAITED UNTIL I WAS NO LONGER LIVING IN THAT ROOM TO TELL ME THIS—A FRIEND FROM THAT FLOOR TELLS ME A STORY ABOUT SOMETHING WEIRD THAT HAPPENED. Her dorm room was near mine at the end of the hall. She was coming home from class, the floor was pretty empty and quiet, and she stopped to look at the bulletin board. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a girl with long hair in a white dress standing at the end of the hallway, right in front of my dorm room (and I expressed my gender very different my freshman year of college, so that conceivably Could Have Been Me). So my friend turns to say hi to me, but no one is there. She keeps walking to the end of the hallway to return to her room and... no one is there. Again, it’s the end of the hall, and there’s nowhere anyone could go without either the loud open-and-close of a college dorm door or the emergency exist stairs that set off the alarm when opened.

She tells me this one night. AND THE STORY OF MY DOOR OPENING BY ITSELF COMES RUSHING BACK. AND THAT WEIRD THING I NEVER THOUGHT MUCH ABOUT SUDDENLY TAKES ON NEW MEANING. BECAUSE HEY, APPARENTLY SOMEONE ELSE SAW A GHOST HANGING AROUND MY DORM AND WHO ONE TIME OPENED THE DOOR. Those are the only two particularly creepy incidents I know about with this dorm. But yeah. It freaks me out.

HAUNTED RESTAURANT: MANHATTAN

OH AND HOW COULD I FORGET!! I was seriously about to post this without THE BEST GHOST STORY!!! How could I forget that one time @meyerlansky and I were on a date in John’s, The Historical Gangster Restaurant You All Know And Love From Boardwalk Which Was Actually Frequented By Actual Real Life Gangsters. You know, this one (and they actually sat us at that table too, which was aaAAAA). And coincidentally, it was Charlie’s birthday. I want to clarify, we did not go on a date for Charlie’s birthday—but I was home from college for Thanksgiving break and meeting up in Manhattan was the most convenient for us at the time.

Anyway. Here we are in this historical restaurant, frequented by historical gangsters, on historical Charlie Luciano’s birthday. We talk. We eat. We pay our bill. We loiter. We talk. And then we start deliberating on whether or not we should get going.

And very suddenly, the candle on the table goes out. It didn’t look like the oil burned out, and despite being by the door/window, it didn’t feel drafty at all. Maybe the oil did burn out, but the timing of it was impeccable. It was literally “do you want to go?” /CANDLE OUT.

And we booked it out of there pretty fast! Because being paranoid people, our first thought in the gangster restaurant was that gangster ghosts were... threatening us or warning us or something. So we book it, we go home, and later that night, I’m recounting this story of being in the historical gangster restaurant on a historical gangster’s birthday and suddenly the candle goes out and—oh, I realize. That’s what you do on birthdays. You blow candles out.

SO I’M NOT TRYING TO SAY THAT CHARLIE LUCIANO’S GHOST ONCE THIRD-WHEELED ONE OF OUR DATES, but like... it’s possible. And honestly, he would.

#opheliaintherushes #that was so many ghost stories actually!#but they were fun to write #obviously getting third-wheeled by the ghost of a dead gangster is my best one #less creepy than elevator ghosts entering my dorm room at least #about me

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letteredlettered · 5 years ago

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Do you have any tips for coping with people making problematic comments on things you have written? I'm currently writing a fic that explores communication problems & societal gender narratives. In this context, the main (cis/het) couple have a nasty fight & there is clear fault on both sides. I've had several people attack the female character in the comment section, saying that she is a complete bitch/piece of shit & her husband should leave her - I'm finding it quite upsetting.

First of all, I’m so sorry this is happening to you. It’s painful to receive comments that aren’t thoughtful about your work or you and that are hateful toward a character that you love and in some way is a part of you.

I do think sometimes people don’t mean to be hateful with comments like this. They’re trying to show that they’re invested. Also, sometimes people read fanfic to reinforce feelings they already have about canon, and they’re not really interested in fics that deviate. Sometimes people don’t even seem to notice that it deviates, which took me a long time to understand. Apparently, so many people are used to reading fics in which Draco Malfoy is a pure flower and Harry Potter is a jerk that they assume that’s the fic I’m writing, when as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I was pretty sure we were all starting on the premise that Draco Malfoy was a bigoted bully who was a party to genocide and Harry Potter is a brave and generous savior.

Knowing that people aren’t really understanding my story or considering what it’s actually trying to say--that they’re just kind of repeating the shipper or fanon or headcanon feelings they want all fics to have--isn’t actually comforting. After all, they’re not thinking about my story. But at the same time, it is somewhat comforting to me to realize that my story probably doesn’t suggest that Draco Malfoy is a pure flower, that they’re bringing that from somewhere else, and that even though they’ve decided to ignore nuance in my story, that doesn’t change what my story is.

So, honestly, my response to these kind of comments is usually to just ignore them. But there are other options:

1) Delete. There is absolutely nothing wrong with deleting a comment.

2) Reply. I got a comment not too long ago that to me was the complete opposite of what I was trying to write about. I have to say it horrified me. My reply went something like, “I’m so glad you’re enjoying this story, and thanks for your comment. I must say I’m very sorry this is the impression you received, as I was trying to convey the exact opposite. As someone who deeply cares about [X], its makes me sad that you believe this story [bashes X]. However, I also deeply believe that readers should feel free to have their own interpretations, and in that sense, what you get from the story is just as valid as what I intended. Thank you again for reading.” The commenter clarified that they didn’t exactly hate X and had meant something a little different, which was a little comforting (as I gotta say, the initial comment was SHOCKING to me), though I’m honestly still disturbed about it.

My reply was very polite (I hope), but it’s also okay to just tell someone how you feel--that you’re frustrated/hurt/upset by their comment. It really depends on whether saying that will make you feel better, and whether you’re willing to deal with that person getting angry or there being a confrontation in your comments. Confrontations are okay. Expressing yourself is good. But if it makes you anxious or upset, it’s also okay to avoid it in this instance. The stakes for honesty are low here--the only thing to be gained by it is making yourself feel better, so if just unloading frustration or rage would make you feel better, eh--go ahead. If it won’t, don’t. (If it’s someone you know and must deal with repeatedly, the stakes for honesty are much higher.)

3) Ignore, but formulate a reply. Sometimes the point of expressing all your feelings isn’t for the sake of honesty--it isn’t so the other person now knows The Truth. Sometimes expressing yourself is important so you can understand how you feel, face it, let yourself feel it, and move through those emotions. Sometimes I find it comforting to just let all my feelings out in a reply without posting the reply. When I express my anger and frustration in a reply, I often feel better by the time I finish the reply. I feel no need to release that anger and frustration onto someone else, because I’ve already released it within myself. Then I just erase my reply and basically forget about the comment.

4) Ignore, but talk to trusted friends. Sometimes a comment is so frustrating or upsetting that I feel kind of at a loss. By sharing the comment with people I know and trust, I can a) once again, express my feelings and allow myself to deal with them, b) receive the comfort and reassurance of my friends, who are going to say nice things about me and my story regardless, c) avoid confrontation and upset with a stranger whose opinion I don’t particularly care about either way.

What I would advise against when it comes to this is mentioning the comment to people you don’t know/trust, which includes semi-public spaces like tumblr/twitter/discord/instagram/etc. This, to me, is the absolute wrong thing to do and can be very ugly and unkind. Sure, you get to express yourself and receive the support of your friends, but there’s always the possibility that people will go troll that commenter or make life difficult for them.

The exception, I would say, is if the offensive comment is offensive in a way that deserves public attention. I personally believe that it can be fine to call public attention to things like racist and misogynist slurs or comments inciting violence towards real people etc. In those cases, I believe that social condemnation can actually be useful, though personally I still believe some care should be taken in how one approaches such a situation.

Anyway, this was a long response, but I’m sorry again you’re dealing with this, and good luck on your story! It sounds like a good fic.

#comments #fic #not-so-naughty-nel

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