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cosmos-coma · 1 year

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Blood and Vengeance - Part 5

A/N: please enjoy part 5!! if you didn’t see my earlier post I might have carpal tunnel in one hand and I sprained my thumb on my other hand so.... Part 6 might take a little longer lmao.

Pairing: Dettlaff x Reader

Words: 1445

Warnings: blood, violence (canon level), graphic descriptions of violence, fatal injuries, breaking and entering, Let me know if I missed anything!

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The knocker clacked again impatiently, and multiple voices murmured from just outside the door. “I’m coming!” You shouted, hurrying to let the baker and his assistant in.

You pulled open the large door swiftly, your smile fading quickly as you saw no baker at your door. Instead, you saw seven large men with empty burlap sacks standing before you, all with malevolent smiles.

Bandits.

The closest one- the leader you assumed- pulled a small silver dagger from his hip holster, “Oh good, It’s only the help home today.” he rasped out as he waved the knife, directing his men past you and into the house.

“Hey, No, no- Hold on!” you exclaimed, nearly falling over as your shoulders were knocked into by the burly ruffians. You turned finally as the leader slipped past you and grabbed his arm roughly. “Hey now! I don’t know who the fuck you think you are-“ you yelled loudly.

“Now, why would you go and do that?” He said, his tone eerily calm with a tsk and a shake of his head. He grabbed your shoulder with bruising force and with one swift motion stabbed the knife into your stomach, filling you with instant sharp pain.

“Why would you go and make this harder than it needs to be, Darlin’?” He seethed as he went to pull the knife out, only for the shitty dagger to break off at the hilt, the blade still stuck deep inside of you.

“Cheap piece of shit…” The bandit muttered, “doesn’t matter, there’s bound to be something better in here anyways” He finished and walked deeper into the house, leaving you for dead in the open doorway of the manor.

But you could barely hear any of what he said. Once the pain hit everything became completely glazed over with shock. Your knees gave out from under you and as if through slow motion you watched yourself fall backward onto the ground with a thud that shot another tsunami of pain through your body.

Was this It for you?

Tears slipped from your eyes as your fingers clenched as you held your stomach, feeling the warm viscous liquid seep and spill upon the steps where you lay. Pain radiated through your body with every breath, the blade sinking in deeper and deeper.

Is this truly where your story ends?

You tried to cry out for someone, anyone who could hear you, but it only got caught in your throat- adding insult to injury as your words choked you. Your movements slowed and your vision began to grow dim, the afternoon light surrounding you turning grayer and grayer….

Are you meant to die alone here? With not a word to say as you part with the world..?

You knew your mind was surely going as black and red smoke filled your sight. One slow, exhausted blink later and the flurry of smoke was replaced by Dettlaff’s panicked face.

“Dett…” you managed in a breathy voice as you reached up to touch his cheek, your hand shaking until it finally came to rest against his warm skin. A fleeting wave of comfort washed over you as his hand rested over your own, but quickly dissipated as another rip of pain tore through you.

“What happened, Y/n? Who did this to you?” He asked you desperately, only bits and pieces of which you could take in. Between the swarm of calling ravens above you, the shock, and the blood loss, just about every word that made it to your ears sounded like you were drowning underwater.

Your hand dropped from his cheek, but all you could see was the vibrant smear of blood on his cheek.

“Y/n. Who. Did. This?” His face was beginning to change again, his nose growing flat and the wrinkles of anger deepening until they pulled his features tight into a bat-like face.

Your vision continued to darken and grow hazy as his nails grew into long claws and his canines extended far past his already bared teeth. Even the storms that once lived in his eyes had since turned into raging hurricanes.

You lifted your arm once again to shakily point inside toward the bandits still roving the manor.

His attention immediately turned to the noise of footsteps moving throughout the house. Their repulsive smell stung his nose almost as bad as their voices grated his sensitive ears.

They hurt you- his little moth- with no cause, with no need, no hesitation.

“I’ll make them pay for what they’ve done… with their blood.” He snarled through his beastly features as he stood, glancing once again at you. “Hold on for me, Moth. Just one minute more…” was the last thing you heard him say before black and red smoke weaved its way into the house and out of your line of sight.

“Wait..!” you rasped out through a wince; your vision was nearly gone now, and you could feel yourself losing the grasp on your consciousness. You’re not sure you had another minute…

Screams and snarls echoed from the house as the last of your energy waned. You wouldn’t have another chance…

“I… love you…” You whispered, content with your final words as you focused on nothing but those stormy blue eyes as the black ink of unconsciousness smothered your light.

---

Dettlaff pulled his dangerously long claws from his first victim with a squelch that would be sickening to most, but to the rampaging vampire, it was the sweetest of melodies. The body thudded against the rug without care as the bandits gurgling protests quickly dissipated into silence.

“I… love you…” he heard you whisper faintly as your heart beat continued to grow slower and slower.

A new wave of rage swept over him as he darted towards the sound of the next bandit, yells and loud bangs coming from the kitchens. Ravens cawed angrily at the closed window, throwing them selves against it in an effort to help as Amelia swung her frying pan with reckless abandon.

“Chew on iron you rotten bastard!” she yelled as she finally knocked him square in the head, dropping him like a sack of flour. She held her pan in front of her once more as a growling huff came from the doorway.

Fear rippled through her for a moment as she took in the fanged and clawed beast before her, but it dissipated just as quickly when she realized who it was. “Mister…. Dettlaff?? What the fuck happened to you?” she asked.

The Bandit groaned from his position at her feet, not quite gone yet. “Oh, You son of a-” She muttered angrily as her foot jut out to kick him harshly.

“Front door.” Dettlaff said clearly to her, causing her to raise her head again. Those are the first words she’d ever heard him say. “Take care of her…” He finished before puffing off into smoke again to take care of the rest of his targets.

“Front door..?” she said curiously before letting out a gasp, “ Y/n!” Quickly she scrambled toward your weakening body to keep you stable while a chorus of screams and unearthly growls continued bouncing around the house.

“Hold on, Y/n…” Your friend urged, her voice tried to be calm but the state of you had absolutely shaken her to her core.

The front steps were a morbid painting of red and you were the sole subject. So much of your blood dripped its way down the steps and stained the stones below. It took Amelia all she had not to retch at the sight of it, let alone the sickly metallic smell.

With shaking fingers she pulled the blade out, thankful that you were unconscious and wouldn’t feel it slice through your muscles. A gut-churning wave of blood oozed out as she pressed down on the wound just as the noises seeping from the house stopped as well.

Dettlaff appeared out of no where by her side, eliciting a surprised yelp as his features smoothed out before her eyes.

The vampire looked skyward, noticing Regis’s writhing black and grey smoke in the sky above the manor. “Amelia… Go clean up as much blood as you can.” He ordered, knowing that's what currently held Regis and his help at bay.

Silence permeated the air as she hesitated.

“NOW!” He roared, stirring her to action as she scrambled into the house.

His voice softened as he scooped up your form and carried you inside.

“Hold on there, Moth… stay here in the dark with me for just a little while…” he whispered to you, his grip unwilling to ever let go again. “Don’t stray towards the light..”

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Taglist: @writingmysanity, @open--till--midnight @unstable-kiwi @madamemelancholysstuff @tigerlyla-of-metinna

Wanna be added to a Taglist? DM me to let me know!

#Dettlaff #dettlaff x reader #dettlaff imagine #dettlaff van der eretein #witcher dettlaff #dettlaff x y/n #dettlaff x you #dettlaff van der eretein x reader #dettlaff van der eretein x You #dettlaff van der eretein x Y/n #witcher imagine

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shuihuzhuan · 10 months

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my honest review of helluva boss after getting stupid with a couple friends and watching it all the way through because weve known each other for years and think tht kind of thing is funny is that it's, like, decidedly mid but like at a point on the mid scale where i can wish that it was decent. like if you redesigned all of the characters (because its not that some of the jokes that weren't just "hey we can say the word fuck did you know?" werent funny they were just coming out of the mouths of character designs that gave me carpal tunnel to Imagine drawing much less animating) and gave the script another pass with, like, maybe a professional writer who could refine it so they don't say fuck every four words and took out that one episode that entirely retconned the main relationship that viv wants you to root for it could be like. fine. middling show that airs on adult swim late at night and only a few people end up catching. you can tell it's a side project developed much later than hazhotel and that works entirely in its favor: vivziepop still can't kill her darlings but at least this time she's less attached to bullshit she probably made up in high school. it gets to sidestop most of the problems with hazhotel because of its smaller scale & the fact it simply does Not dwell on the whole "yo why are all of your sinners marginalized people" thing like it simply does not have the chance. and also they're not major characters so they're Not.

the show's biggest problem is just how ridiculously yaoibrained vivienne is - which results in the classic sidelining female characters & just... like, fucking up the characterizations of both them and the guys she wants to ship whenever she feels like it'll make the former or latter party feel less or more sympathetic respectively whenever it's convenient. like initially stolas' wife wants him dead and/or divorced because he's an asshole cheater. like, yeah, that's how it works, but later it's just like Well actually no she's just hated him and tried to get him killed looney tunes style the Whole Time they've been married which on paper is kind of funny but it's, like, come on man this guy sucks. he's an asshole that couldn't give less of a shit about his family. you're told that his only redeeming quality is trying to keep his family together because he cares about his daughter but then in the episode dedicated to him and his daughter he simply does not show it, instead spending the entire thing hitting on the main character who, in the context of what we're shown in that story, embodies the whole "he's a piece of shit but has the one redeeming quality of giving a shit about his daughter" INFINITELY better than we're supposed to believe w stolas. it's fascinating.

theres generally just a lot of Tell Don't Show going on when it comes to retconning these things. this is getting long sorry so basically ill just say all of the episodes written by people who Aren't vivziepop are like. honestly i'd go so far as to say like. decent. i think she needs to just kill herself and give her shit to someone else or something man idk

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copingintheghetto · 2 months

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Google voice typing trial run

I haven't written anything for a while. I am trying to form good habits and be consistent in just about everything in my life because that's a big problem for me. And I don't think my therapist can help me with this as my psychiatrist NP suggested.

Cognitive behavioral therapy is this the name I have and coping in the ghetto is- I don't know what these words mean as of February 28th 2024.

I need to change the word ghetto because I do not live in the ghetto anymore. I know where that is in this medium sized city, which is the capital of the state.

It's a place that is depressing to me because it reminds me of where I was and I worry that things will go badly and I'll lose my little home that I love and be walking the streets looking for anything and everything. I worry about losing my sources of income because I'm not good enough at my job according to my coaches. Even so, I think I'm a good employee that works my ass off. My homework assignment is to ask a coach for a minute of their time and read from a piece of paper that I will have written ahead of time addressing all of the things that I need to communicate. Then we'll be on the same page and a weight will be lifted off my shoulders. I will try to do this today. I have already talked to HR and she was really nice. She said she would be a mediator between me and the coaches and the leads nothing has ever come of that. Sometimes I wonder if they are treating me differently because of what she told them. Because I'm not expected to do as much as the other people. I mean new people are doing what I don't do. I've told them that I can do things if they're written down and I can see. But they don't seem to have time to let me write things down. So the solution will be to find a lesson on their learning platform while I'm clocked in before I start working and take notes. Then go up to them and say, "hey I got this written down here and I can do it now if you want me to."

What angers me is that I have carpal tunnel syndrome now because of my hard work there and my knee is messed up now as well. I'll see you doctor next week.

Then there's the anxiety about having to pay social security back around $5,000 since I went over the SGA amount beginning in November. I thought things that were incorrect, and now I know that I should have called them and asked about working full-time before I did so. It was awful for my mental and physical health by the way. The good thing is I gave them my wage information and now I'm just waiting for a caseworker to call me back.

If I do owe all of my savings, then that is just what will happen. The next step would be to save money again. And that's all there is to that.

The other thing is my psychiatrist NP who is now telling me to taper off of pregabalin and just take gabapentin, which is what I'm taking for my nerve pain in my wrist. I told her Gabapentin does not work for anxiety- that I've tried it. She ignored me and continued with her expert thoughts. I think the pregabalin shows promise. I just haven't figured out the right dose. But I am scared of talking to her about that.

The hand surgeon told me that he doesn't put people on Gabapentin long term. That if the pain gets bad, then surgery is an option. By the way, he gave me a steroid injection and I think it's helped but I'm not sure. He said it could help for months .

Back to NP. ... then the solution- if she's not willing to respect my wishes (my bodily autonomy?)- will be to find a different psychiatrist.

Unfortunately, they're pretty much all the same though. Perhaps 1 in 30 might prove helpful. But there's no law that says you have to stay with your provider. You can always seek another one.

Besides being consistent with things and writing things down before I tap on someone's shoulder to communicate, I have to figure out how to stop this compulsive talking I do all day at home.

A lot of it is just because I'm lonely and have no one to talk to. I crave human connection. Not with just anyone, of course. My own company is better than Bad Company. I wonder what the band Bad Company were thinking when they came up with that name.

I am not making an effort in this department though, so I can change that when I'm ready.

But how do I stop the talking? It wastes hours of my day every day. I apologize to my cat for not playing with her. I feel horrible. So, in order to decrease the chances of my ending up in a scary place with scary people trying to take advantage of me and succeeding, I have got to use my powerful amazing brain to make use of my precious time when I'm not at work.

Okay this should be the end of this Google Voice typing test. I think it works rather well so I'll continue to use it. This would be the beginning of another one.

Taking action. Cognitive behavioral therapy for me and you. No, the following is not something I came up with. Do I have to mention the source? I'll throw caution to the wind. This is from stuff I bought way over 10 years ago. It was expensive for me by the way, lol.

Lesson 1.

Anxiety: Symptoms, Causes, and Common Fears.

1. Notice personality traits that encourage anxiety.

2. Begin to appreciate the positive side of your personality.

3. You can change the way you think.

4. Begin making behavior changes.

5. Begin journaling.

6. Slow down in all ways.

7. Begin an exercise routine and reduce caffeine.

8. Recovery is a gradual process.

9. Use relaxation audio session three times daily.

10. Listen to your inner dialogue. Respectful? Kind?

"Your history does not have to be your future."

To be continued.

#Venting about problems #Confronting anxiety disorders #Problem solving for mental health #I need to play with my cat!#Proactive rambling thoughts #Telling my amygdala to get in the backseat #Prefrontal cortex needs to take the wheel!

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morenoooleslie · 1 year

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Writing Initiative #7

The hardest part was finding an idea for each project, in any class I've never had an assignment that had no guidelines or brief. It was fun but also difficult because it felt like too much freedom. Liberty was both a strength and a weakness, I didn't feel compressed with my ideas. Personally, I feel that usually professors tell you how they want assignments to be and look like and that takes away from creating my own style. That being said, this also gave me a chance to improve on my style and to finally have an opportunity to have actual physical assignments instead of it ALL being digital. The most difficult aspect was definitely time, I had a few things holding me back but I was able to pull through with a generous accommodation. In all honesty I'd say 7/10, if it wasn't for my carpal tunnel completely failing on me, I think that I'd would have been able to give my final pieces that extra spice and love it needed. Despite that I'm proud with what I've accomplished with all 4 projects, I find it so so so important to bring mental health awareness because it comes from a place of deep care for me. You never know what people are struggling with and it is always important to educate yourself the most you can, I hope that is what shown in my assignments.

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howdywrites · 3 years

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Distractions

- An In The Woods Somewhere drabble

Description: The aftermath of a violent zombie attack leaves Jackie shaken and Mara's there to pick up the pieces.

WC: 1.5k~ Warnings: (NOTE: this is a New Adult wip) blood, descriptions of gore and death, hurt/comfort, hints at PTSD

[WIP Intro]

My hand’s in his chest.

Jackie’s ragged breathing mixed with the pounding of her heart in her ears. She became aware of every sensation encompassing her trembling hands. Sharp bone and squirming innards. Blood so old and rancid it left her fist coated in its stomach churning viscosity. The smell of it burned her nose.

My hand’s in his fucking chest.

A voice, barely audible over the panicked thoughts echoing in her skull, called to her. Jackie’s eyes remained transfixed on the collapsed chest beneath her. She crouched over the man who had attacked her - if one could call it a man at all. His yellowed eyes stared at the stars above them, the light far from gone. His neck bent at an unnatural angle and the hunting knife she managed to wrestle off of him was now buried between his ribs. She gripped its leather handle for dear life, lost in the gore of his wound.

“Jackie.” Mara’s voice came to her like a freight train. A touch harsh and loud enough to pull her attention away from one of the cracked bones that dug into the back of her hand. Jackie’s head whipped around, meeting the soft, weary eyes of the woman she saved. “Jackie. Let go of the knife.” Her voice was soft. Softer than she’d ever heard from here in their two long days together. No snarky quips or barking orders. She beckoned to her like a cool oasis in a desert.

Jackie half expected the more experienced woman to be pissed at her for letting the killing get to her. Even after all they’d been through. But this… this was going to stick with her. Even with her own mind screaming at her to let go of the weapon and remove herself from the blood that began to soak into the knees of her jeans, she couldn’t release her grip on the damned thing.

“I… I can’t. Mara, I can’t-” She didn’t recognize her own voice. Shrill and panicked, she barely managed to swallow the sob growing in the back of her throat. “It’s stuck - I’m stuck!”

A quiet hush passed Mara’s lips. Jackie turned her face away so she wouldn’t see the hot tears that defied her and slipped down her cheeks. A warm, lithe body pressed against her back. Arms wrapped around her, grime coated hands taking her wrists. The lean muscle of her arms encased her protectively.

“Then let me do it. C’mon, let me free you.”

Jackie trembled. The sob won. Through blurry tears she watched as Mara’s fingers wrenched her own off the hilt of the blade. The muscle in her wrist ached terribly like the time in college when she gave herself carpal tunnel from writing two essays in a row. Despite the pain, they shook uncontrollably.

The chest against her back rumbled; Mara uttered a low groan as she hoisted Jackie off the dead man’s limp form. They stumbled backwards until they reached the mouth of the cave they had been hiding in for the past few hours to catch their breath.

Another sob wracked her chest, echoing off the jagged stone walls and high ceiling. Somewhere, in the distant woods, a high pitched yowling signalled danger. More of the fuckers lurked somewhere in the darkness. Mara squeezed her against her, mouth brushing against her ear. “Not here.” Her warm breath warned in a whisper. “The falls. Wait until the falls.”

Jackie’s breath fluttered in short bursts. Everything within her wanted to break down crying where they stood. Throw a fit that could shake the heavens and ultimately end the nightmare they were trapped in. But she choked back her whimpers and stumbled when Mara’s body left hers. A hand remained under her elbow, guiding her.

“This way. Carefully.”

Limbs carried her on their own. Her mind was too busy preoccupied with the violent attack playing over and over again like a rancid movie. Except it was her hands. Her feet. Her voice that cried out when she dealt the final blow.

Jackie’s ankle twisted oddly for a second as she lost her balance along the rocky shore of Sky Pond. Mara kept her upright, by some miracle, picking up their pace towards the Timberline Falls straight ahead. The sound of rushing water allowed her to cry again, as long as she kept the sobbing at bay. More tears slipped down her cheeks, cooling her hot flesh and releasing some of the pent up terror still lingering within her.

Timberline Fall’s grew louder the closer they approached it. Both of them surveyed their surroundings, making sure no one - and no thing - was close enough to attack. Jackie pulled her hand from Mara’s, pushing past her to get to a broad, flat boulder beside the body of water. Icy sprinkles fell from overhead, misting her. Relief joined hand in hand with the pain inside of her.

Before she knew it, Jackie’s screams drowned in the roar of Timberline.

It was uncertain how much time passed. The moon still hung high overhead, providing pale light. The falls became a background rumble that Jackie tuned out not long after arriving. The occasional whimper rattled in her throat, but it seemed she had cried every tear she could in the time they remained by the edge of Sky Pond.

At some point, she had been coaxed back to the cave. The dead man was nowhere in sight - something of Mara’s doing. Smears of his blood still painted the stone, but without his rotting corpse, there wasn’t much to see.

Jackie’s face pressed against warm skin. She wheezed, trying to conjure up another sob to finally drain her of energy. But it never came. Mara smelled like the earth. Strong and natural, with a hint of campfire and sweat. Not that she minded. After their two days together, she almost found it more comforting than her mother’s perfume or her past girlfriend’s deodorant. It was all Mara.

It took a small deal of effort to peel her tacky, tear-streaked cheek off of the bare shoulder she rested against. There, lounging by their backpacks, Mara held her and worked tirelessly to get the last of the rotten blood out from the creases of Jackie’s knuckles. Very few words were shared between them since her breakdown at the falls, but when she laid her head against her chest she let the sound of her steady heartbeat ground her.

“I’m sorry.” Though Jackie didn’t exactly know what she was apologizing for. Those dark eyes fluttered, a brow raising as they looked down at her.

“What have I told you about apologizing too much, Jackie?” The tease was light. Mara’s voice frayed, somehow mustering a small smile. “I’m just cleaning you up. I know what the scent of death can do to a person. You’ve dealt with enough. Just let me do this for you.”

Jackie went quiet, watching as Mara’s hands turned hers over so her palms faced up. The handkerchief she used was tossed aside. With both of their hands clean, she interlaced their fingers. The memory of the dead man’s face tried to surface, but the forehead that nestled against hers flung it back into the void.

“What are you thinking about?” Mara’s inquiry lingered unanswered for a moment. What was she thinking about? Images of the violence from the past days flickered but never formed completely at the front of her mind. Her brain buzzed with the touch. The gentleness in the warrior’s actions.

“Him. Or at least, I was.” Jackie’s breathing went shallow again. They were so close right then. She could feel her warm breath against her face. “I was thinking about the noise he made… but you’re kind of making it hard to do that right now.”

“Am I?” Mara snorted, pulling her head back from hers for a moment. Humor lingered on her exhausted gaze. “Don’t tell me you’ve caught feelings for some crazy bitch you met during a zombie apocalypse.”

Well that ruined the moment. Embarrassed, Jackie turned her face away and cast her gaze to the streaks of moonlight that lit up the front of the cave. A hand left one of hers. Warm fingers caressed the side of her jaw, pulling her gaze back to Mara. She looked serious then. Her brows lowered in concentration. They locked eyes for what seemed like hours.

Mara leaned in. Her lips were so close to hers. So fucking close. What a perfect distraction they were, even as they hovered ever so slightly next to hers. Jackie’s breath hitched in her throat and she watched her through her lashes. She gave a small nod, letting her know this was a welcomed advance.

She tasted of salt and sweet tobacco. Far better than the scent of blood or death. Jackie hummed against her lips, her hands trembling against. Only this time it was from the rush of electricity that coursed through her veins at the tender affection. Mara deepened the kiss, her hand still firmly against her jaw. A thumb swiped along her cheek bone, tickling her like a butterfly’s wings.

They only broke so she could catch her breath. After all her crying, Jackie still wasn’t sure how to breathe properly. The humor returned to Mara’s face and she murmured against her lips.

“Hope you like crazy, princess. You’re going to be stuck with me for a while”

ITWS Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @lordkingsmith @celestialbunnistories @aeslin-writes @writinginslowmotion @chayscribbles @theramwrites @tiredlittleoldme @sapphcon-ic @hazard-writes @lookingmuchimproved @themidnxghtwriter @draculinawrites @aetherwrites @svpphicwrites @maxgraybooks @writeherewaiting @sjjsalamanders @thelittlestspider @ashen-crest @writtendevastation @ravesthewriter @adie-dee @christine-thinks @cream-and-tea @reeseweston @languageisbae @mellowkittenwrites @yejidoesthings

#itws #itwsdrab #writeblr #murdereddarlings #writing community #wlw #romance #apocalypse #zombis

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tobiosmilktea · 4 years

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Hello! I really love your writing and I just saw your requests are open yay 👏🏻 So my idea is that the reader (female or neutral, as you prefer it) is a third year who takes art lessons as an extracurricular subject or something and the teacher ask their students to draw posters of the sport teams, and the reader got the volleyball team. The thing is the reader knows the third years but they're not really close, so they talk just a bit. (Part 1)

paint the clouds — tendou satori

4.7k words | genre/s: fluff | warning/s: possible ooc on everyone tbh | pairing: tendou x f!reader

↪︎ in which you painted a muse who always wanted you too

a/n: definitely not my best work and im super sorry for that, but i hope you still enjoy it 👉🏻👈🏻

a warm spring breeze blew strands of your hair in front of your face, laying against your rosy cheeks as you watched the horizon. the bright yellow sun teased the sky with hues of pink and orange, bound to mix into the darkness of the sunset. school had ended a few hours ago and now you were sitting in your art club waiting for your teacher to dismiss you. she was in a middle of a spiel explaining your next art project, but your brain struggled to follow.

your hand ached from drawing for hours, your wrist tender from constant pressure, and now you could’ve sworn you were going to get carpal tunnel sooner or later. it was worth it, anyway, you were doing what you liked doing as you honestly felt being an artist was your only talent. it was merely the only thing you focused on besides your academics. dating was certainly out of the question.

instead, you watched the birds fly past the open classroom window as your teacher explained the assignment something along the lines doing sports teams posters.

“i will be walking around the classroom with a box filled with names of sports clubs,” the teacher starts, pulling you out of your train of thought as your attention was finally set on her. “you will pick a random piece of paper from the box and that will be the sports team you will be making a club poster for.”

whispers erupted in the room as others verbalized which team they wished to get.

“i hope i get the volleyball team, they’re literally iconic.” you heard one girl say.

another voice exclaimed, “drawing the equestrian team sounds super fun too!”

the murmurs continued to the buzz even after the majority of the class had already picked out their sports team from the box. you were the last one to choose as you opted to sit in the back of the class.

“and last but not least,” said your teacher as she serpentine through the desks towards your sitting figure.

your hand dug into the small cardboard box only to feel one last piece of paper. you wanted to scoff slightly, but you stopped yourself the moment you grabbed the last slip of paper and read the messy handwriting. it took you a good second to even understand what it said as it was complete chicken scratch (no offense to the teacher).

“(y/n), what did you get?” your friend who sat in front of you turned with a smile on her face.

"i got the volleyball club,” you answered, eyes widening when your friend gasped.

“that’s literally the best one to get! i’m so jealous,” she sighed as if she just inhaled a rose scented breeze.

perhaps you were lucky to get such a sought after sports team as your main focus for the assignment, but you couldn’t help but feel an overbearing weight suddenly falling upon your shoulders. shiratorizawa’s volleyball team was the epitome of the academy. they were the ones who brought a significant name to the school with only the smartest of intellects but one with the best athletes. depending on how well you created this poster could potentially make or break your reputation. it was a visual representation of the team, anything less than iconic would dig a deeper hole for you.

it certainly doesn’t help the fact that you actually had to talk to the volleyball team now that you were in charge of their school poster. you internally groaned. you barely interacted with the third years, let alone being completely enamored over a familiar red-head.

your after school activities had ended in the midst of your running train of thoughts as you absentmindedly gathered your things and walked out of the classroom. you gripped the handle of your bag as you strolled through the near-empty hallways of the academy, your mind in a complete spiral as you had already tried visualizing what the end product might look like.

it was common knowledge to everyone who had known about you was well aware how amazing you were at art. no matter what medium you were given, you were known to be the girl who had magical hands that could create even the most beautiful things out of ash and smoke. you had this some innate, almost magical ability to have others stop in their tracks just to admire your works.

perhaps that you were too caught up in your own thoughts and the hypnotic tapping rhythm of your loafers clicking against the school floors that you hadn’t even notice your arrival towards the gym.

even the loud shouts of volleyball players from the ongoing practice wasn’t enough to pull your gaze away from the ground and towards the flying volleyball hurdling towards you.

“(y/l/n), watch out!” you heard a familiar voice shout out, immediately pulling you out of your own jungle-like psyche and into the real world.

everything had happened so quickly, all you knew was a blur fly past you to retrieve the ball before it knocked out of conscious. semi eita quickly turned to you, his figure greatly towering over you as he gave you a reassuring smile. “are you okay, (y/l/n)?”

you gulped, nodding almost too quickly. “yeah, i’m okay.”

“good,” he mutters as his brows slightly furrow in confusion. there was a thin blanket of awkwardness hovering above both of your heads as you both stood there in silence for a good five seconds—five seconds too long that is. “so what brings you here?” he finally breaks it, scratching the back of his head in the mean time.

right, you had almost forgotten why you were here in the first place.

“it’s about the art club, we’re doing sports team posters and i was wondering if i could talk to the third years for ideas.” you asked gently.

semi’s eyes immediately widened, the already prevalent smile on his face only increased at the statement. “that’s cool! come with me, i’ll show you to them.” he quickly motioned you to come inside the gym, feeling the brisk air difference of the air conditioned gymnasium to the warm spring breeze outside.

a shiver flowed down your back. not from the sudden influx of cold air surrounding your body, but the fact that towering volleyball players and their ever-so-intimidating nature causing nervous habits to take over you. soekawa jin, the vice captain of the team quickly flickered a look towards you before tapping ushijima’s arm for his attention. turning to see what his teammate wanted, soekawa swiftly pointed at you and semi approaching.

“it’s a surprise seeing you here, (y/l/n).” ushijima greets you in his deep, guttural voice. it caused you to gulp nervously, struggling to even put on the tiniest of smiles as you meekly muttered a ‘hi’ to the rest of the third years. however, it seemed as if the one you were most familiar with was not in sight. it did seem a tad bit quiet in the gym now that the practice game was on a time out.

“um,” one of the wing spikers approached you, ohira reon was it? “sorry for almost hitting you, by the way.”

you swiftly shook your head, “no, it’s okay. i was the one who wasn’t playing attention, so that’s on me.”

“so, you’re here for the poster?” ushijima cut into it like a sharp knife, bold and straight to the point.

“yeah, um, i just stopped by to ask if you guys had anything ideal you want to see on your club poster.” your voice was softer than you hoped it would be when you spoke.

eyebrows furrowing, ushijima glances among his teammates as provocation for an option saturated his hums of curiosity.

semi then clears his throat, “we’re not really sure if we have any input for you, (y/n). besides, i think your poster will be amazing nevertheless.”

“that’s still a lot of pressure,” you mutter, “considering i would be mauled to death if this poster isn’t amazing.” sarcasm drenched your words like saccharine, hoping that the tall athletes would at least get your banter and share a laugh with you.

but they didn’t. instead, they stared with wide eyes at you in a mere worrying glance. perhaps the joke didn’t exactly translate well.

god, this is so awkward.

however, it wasn’t like you were exactly lying. as the face of shiratorizawa academy, you were aware that they needed to look good and if it were any less than that, you might never see the light of day ever again. not to mention you always liked adding twists to your artwork, which was technically the only reason why you were so infamously known to have such amazing works. but in the past half hour, you’ve came to the conclusion that it possibly isn’t the best option in this case.

“i’m kidding, by the way,” you let out a light huff.

“well, if it helps you in any way, you could always focus on ushijima as he is our ace.” soekawa cuts in, patting the captain’s back the moment he braided his arms over each other.

any form of leftover conversation (or lack thereof) was sliced—cut off from the sudden opening of the gymnasium doors and the (quite obnoxiously) loud middle blocker. tendou satori entered the giant gym with a bright beaming face of glimmering lights and cherries. tendou was perhaps one of the first people to talk to you the moment you entered this academy, eyes glazed in a honey-like optimism with every bright ‘hello.’ you always tended to be the quiet and secluded one in your classes with him despite being known to be infamously sardonic, you seemed to be the only one to which his overly comic ways of banter didn’t annoy you like it did with others. he, himself, was a sunray, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to expose that thought as your eyes fall onto the approaching boy.

out of all the third year volleyball players, you and tendou had talked the most, yet considering you two as more than just mere acquaintances was a bit of a reach.

“yo!” the redhead’s loud voice thundered throughout the gym and you could already feel it echo within your heart.

“you’re back,” mused ohira with his hands on his hips. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” tendou says, fixing the loosened athlete’s tape over his fingers. “but the school nurse was already gone by the time i got there, so i had to fix myself up—oh hey, (y/n)!” he had cut himself off the moment his eyes fell upon yours.

your breath had hitched the moment he greeted you. it was as if your heart had immediately jumped into your throat and prevented you from even muttering a word as you can already feel your palms getting clammy. “hey,” you mutter almost in a whisper.

“so what are you doing here?” questioned tendou as his eyes suddenly widen the moment the words came out of his mouth, “uh-that sounded really rude, um—i actually meant that in the nicest way possible, by the way.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his sudden burst of scattered thoughts, noticing a faint flush of pink upon his cheeks.

“she’s here for the club poster,” ushijima answers in your place as you seemed to not answer even after a beat had passed.

“oh nice! i’m sure it’ll look really cool!” the middle blocker grinned at you to which a sudden wave of monarch butterflies attacked your gut. you could even feel the heat coursing through your cheeks and all the way to the tips of your ears until they were as red as tendou’s hair.

“hopefully,” you modestly commented, eyes then falling upon tendou’s wrapped wrist and couldn’t help but be filled with curiosity. “what happened to you?”

the middle blocker shook his head dismissively. “i tried blocking one of ushijima’s spikes again, but as you know, it is a bit impossible and i ended up hurting myself. it’s no biggie, though.” he shrugs.

“t-that’s amazing.” you breathed out before you could catch yourself. and you swore, you saw the light pink hues of blush upon tendou’s face had darkened.

how cool, you thought with the stars in your eyes. the thought was a bit controversial, but you couldn’t but find tendou satori cooler than ushijima at that very moment. the fact that he knew very well how difficult and painful it was to block his spikes, tendou still attempted it to the point at the cusp of being injured. you began fiddling with your fingers for far too long as you’ve come to realize how long you were standing there for no more reason. you mentally face palmed as you cleared your throat, “anyway, if you guys do have any preferred ideas let me know before friday.”

before the boys could even say a proper goodbye, your legs were already carrying you towards the exits of the gymnasium as if it was running on autopilot. she did hear their shouts of good lucks from across the room as your long strides pushed you to quickly leave.

why was i so awkward for?

in retrospect, perhaps you were more nervous than you thought. it had been an entire week since you had received the assignment to create a club poster for the volleyball team and there hadn’t been a night filled with peaceful sleep. instead, they were brimming with 2am moments of inspired antics. working on the large poster filled you with nothing but utter confidence even after it was finished, but now that you were actually at school with the rolled up poster of the incredible volleyball team, you couldn’t help but feel waves of reluctance and insecurity.

it was always like this with you. where everything was fine and your confidence within your works were expected, but the moment you did have to present such things, you couldn’t help but think of what you should’ve done differently. you assumed that you could’ve improved your mixed media skills by a little bit as there wasn’t much you could’ve done either way in that murky little head of yours that obviously lacked sleep.

the hallways of shiratorizawa were still pretty empty as it was still quite early in the morning. most of the students were outside anyway, so you quickly took this chance to unroll the large poster. taking some push-pins from the side pocket of your school bag, you hung the poster up in it’s place.

you breathed out one last sigh of ichor before picking up your bag and walking away from the masterpiece.

throughout the entire day, you had come across dozens of stares of others as you walked through the hallways, bringing your endless sea of nerves to heighten until you were dragged upon its tides. there were whispers everywhere. they were probably talking about your poster for the volleyball club and immediately you felt drowned in sorrow.

within a snap, had already thought of the worse possible outcomes that others were talking about how terrible of a job you did. perhaps that leap of faith, that tiny step out of the box when creating your poster was too much of a risk that you ended up falling to your own demise.

“(y/n)!” a voice called from behind you.

turning over your shoulder, you saw a familiar redhead making his way towards you in a bright amble. you immediately felt your heart drop as you whip your head back around and started to walk away.

shit, shit shit. you thought, tendou was definitely not the first person you wanted to talk to you when the possibilities of what he had to say to you was tangling in your psyche. as if they were tangled vines yearning to be untangled for his closure and yet, you refused.

your shoes clicked rapidly against the floors of the school when suddenly your wrist was pulled back, turning towards his familiar tall figure.

your direct gaze was on his chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look up upon his eyes. you couldn’t, at least. as if you were, your face would resemble something similar to a tomato.

“listen, tendou.” you muttered, still not attempting to meet his gaze. “i’m kind of late for class, but if you want talk later then we can—”

“no, i want to talk now,” he stated seriously, almost too seriously as it caused you to look up to him in surprise.

your mouth gaped to say something, yet nothing seemed to come out.

“i just wanted to say thanks for the poster.” tendou says as his breath almost hitched from the mere sight of you. he could recall the rushing feeling of blood coursing towards his cheeks and ears the moment he stepped upon school grounds and saw your poster. there his painted figure was, stood more prominently than the rest of his team. it was as if he needed the taste of sweet-tongued cough syrup just to ease his aching cheeks from smiling so hard.

the feeling was amazing. that from the smallest little action of you focusing on him rather than what he thought was going to be ushijima (like always) it was you who chose him. the loud middle blocker over the incredible ace of shiratorizawa. he knew validation wasn’t everything, and yet, his immense feeling of being at the top of the world certainly didn't help the fact that he had always been in love with you. you and tendou had the same class each and every year, that each first day of school, he would always sit giddily at his desk just so he could watch your angelic figure walk in.

in spite of it all, from his loud and upfront nature, he could never bring himself to even talk to you everyday besides an occasional ‘good morning’ whenever you would walk in. perhaps seeing this poster of himself was a little push into the deep end—to finally grow the guts to spill his unspoken epiphanies of built up feelings for once.

“usually, it’s ushijima who’s the face of the shiratorizawa team, but it’s nice seeing a change.” continued the middle blocker on the cusp of rambling, “i really didn’t expect you to focus it on me though, so that was a surprise... which by the way,” he hesitates as if he was do embarrassed to even ask. “why did you choose me?”

you pursed your lips the moment your breath was snatched from your lungs. “um,” you sighed, your mind speedily trying to come up with a plausible answer—something other than perhaps inevitably revealing you feelings for him, “i just think you’re really cool.” was all you could come up with and quite honestly, you wanted to face palm yourself for how stupid it probably sounded.

but to tendou, it was an absolute godsend. his heart thumped rapidly against his rib cage as his cheeks reddened into crimson wine. he didn’t know what else to say afterwards as that was his final push. it was then the idea popped inside his mind. a cheeky smile melted upon his lips as he patted your head gently.

“you’re an amazing artist, (y/n).” he complimented, amused by the fact he was the one who caused your reddening face before turning his heel and waving, “see you tomorrow!”

“u-uh, see you?” you stammered over his sudden departure, briefly waving before hold your hand to your chest. you felt as if your heart was to inevitably combust at the sudden overflow of ardor and vehemence of tendou satori’s actions.

a sigh left your peachy lips, why am i feeling like this?

tendou could’ve sworn he had enough time to make it back to practice before stirring up any suspicions from his team, but the unfortunate tides have come across and drenched him in ill-fate—all gross and sticky.

ever since seeing your poster of him the day before, the thought of you had been on the middle blocker’s mind enough that even ushijima noticed his change in demeanor.

“what’s up with him?” the captain asked semi as they watched the redhead stumble into the gym.

“i think it’s about (y/l/n),” he answers in a hushed voice in case the disorganized tendou somehow heard. “he’s been in love with her since first year and seeing the poster of him is finally forcing him to make a move.”

ushijima refrained from chuckling, “so all it took was a poster with him as the center instead of me?”

“yeah, pretty much.” says semi.

tendou had been non-stop running back and forth between his classroom, the gym, and the art room after that burst of serendipitous ideas clouded his brain until it was all he could focus on. he had already missed the beginning of practice just so he could do something special for you for when he does muster up the courage to confess.

it was something along the lines of returning the favor of what you did to him, but he was well aware of the fact that he was a volleyball player for a reason and not an artist. honestly, most of the work was done with the help of you friend from the art club to which she basically did the drawing and tendou just colored it in. however he liked to think that it was the thought that counted, either way.

“sorry i’m late,” the missing middle blocker finally appeared. he was trying to catch his breathe as he rested his arms upon his bent knees. perhaps he quite disliked how gigantic the shiratorizawa campus was when it came to this. “i had to take care of something.”

ushijima gave semi an amused look before hardening his gaze on tendou, he tried not to laugh as he cleared his throat to hide that fact. “what’s more important than volleyball practice?” perhaps in the ace’s rarity, he was in the mood to tease the guy. “a girl?”

and immediately, the look on tendou’s face—of complete and utter fear that his captain would potentially punish him with extra conditioning was going to be the death of him—was instead replaced with chuckles him ushijima and semi.

“i’ll leave you off the hook as this was your first time missing a practice, not to mention you missed it for a girl you’ve liked for three years now.” said ushijima surprisingly out of character, than even he found himself shocked by saying it. “but if you miss another practice for (y/l/n), you’ll have extra conditioning everyday before and after school.”

tendou nods rapidly, “yessir!”

the rest of the day was filled with the sound of firm volleyballs being hit and slapped across the gym before falling to the floors with a coupled thud.

and despite trying his very hardest to focus his mind upon the practice game, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to you in your bright enormity. his mind was on you, and yet he was playing the game harder than ever with each and every block he endured. perhaps it was the nerves, the aching adrenaline that flowed through his veins at the mere thought of confessing to you by the time practice ended fueled his fire.

even if this was just a practice game against his own teammates, he was going to win for you and leave the gym with a confident aura enough to give him the guts to walk up to you.

the thing is, the game had already ended before he knew it. his side of the court had won and reached 25 points before he could even blink with the fact that he was in a ready stance even after the whistle had been blown.

“tendou,” ushijima called out to the redhead. “good luck.”

with that, the middle blocker’s head had cleared as he gave a smile to the setter. he walked over his bag, snatching it up and over his shoulder as he grabbed the rolled up poster within his clammy hands.

god, i’m was nervous. he thought to himself as he walked out of that gym.

the loud, boisterous guffaws from the rest of his teammates faded and echoed into oblivion as he walked the opposite way from everyone else. as the rest were going home, it was him who was on his was to your classroom. he had heard from your friend that you had cleaning duties today after school and it was the perfect time to just swallow his pride and just say.

but his actions were definitely faster than his thoughts as he had impulsively slammed the classroom door open without thinking.

you had thrown a shocked glance at the redhead at the sudden harsh action as he had thrown an embarrassed smile at you. chuckling at that adorable look on his face, you quickly set you mop aside. “tendou? what are you doing here? is your practice over already?”

the redhead nods, “yeah, just a couple minutes ago—um, i-uh just wanted to uh—”

he sighed frustratingly. this was the first time that the tendou satori—the third year infamously known for his innate way of speaking to others in such bright confidence for once, had his tongue tied. the reason why was obvious. it was because of you and your beaming eyes and that godforsaken smile of yours that made him go utterly crazy.

he was still trying to find the right words to say when your gaze fell upon the rolled up poster within his shaking hands. “what’s this?” you asked innocently as your hand reached for the poster and took it out of his hands without much force.

“w-wait! that’s—!”

you unrolled the poster, honey glazed your irises as your mouth gaped slightly.

it was you. a painting of you sitting under one of the large trees on one of the campus’s courtyards, sketching who knows what along with tendou’s large handwriting sprayed at the top:

WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME, (Y/N)?

you breath was snatched out of your throat as you flickered your widened eyes up to him. red and pink hues adored tendou’s cheeks and ears, scratching the back of his head as his chestnut eyes refused to meet yours. if he were to look at you then and there, he would immediately melt into a puddle of blossoming cherries.

“did you make this for me?” you asked gently, still absolutely moonstruck at the poster. it was a simple painting that was definitely not drawn entirely by tendou as you could tell your friend had something to do with it, but you couldn’t help but be absolutely astonished that he even went out his way for this. “i love it,” you whispered, capturing tendou’s attention.

“y-you do?” the redhead huffs in disbelief.

tendou was closer to you, more than you were comfortable with, but you didn’t fight it off. you didn’t bother giving a little space between you two. “i was serious when i always thought you were cool. you were the only one out of that group of popular kids to talk to me and was actually nice about it.” you suddenly professed. your consciousness mentally slapped you over and over again from the embarrassment of saying such a thing. and yet, the signal in her mind didn’t releasse itself until the moment you felt your eyes fall upon tendou’s chamomile lips. and to your peachy ones, did tendou even dare to think of the impossible, of the serenity that filled them under your blushing cheeks,

“i really like you, (y/n)... and i have for a while now.” he muttered.

you bit your lip at the sudden downpour of feelings that you didn’t even notice yourself clutching and perhaps accidentally crumpling the poster he made. “me too,” you said in a mere whisper, your gaze flickering back down to the floor. “and to answer your question... yes, i will go out with you, tendou.”

the redhead felt his breath hitch in his throat, pausing with his eyes almost wide and doe-like when he looked at you underneath the last rays of the setting sun. he let’s out a bright chuckle, “cool.” he attempted to act casually only to break the moment he found your embrace.

you gently laughed as it muffled within his chest, “cool.” you repeated.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #tendou satori #tendou x reader #tendou fluff #tendou imagine #tendou oneshot

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

Text

Impaled (FebuWhump 04)

I had an extremely crappy day at work today...like coming home crying level crappy. So, as a defense mechanism, this came out. Granted, it was always going to be a slightly humorous take on this scenario, but this went a little...extreme.

You can also read this on AO3

Fandom: Supernatural Summary: Who would have thought, in the end, it would be vampire clowns in a busted-up barn in the middle of nowhere?

Not the Winchesters, that's for certain.

And certainly not Castiel, who did not get resurrected again just to die at the hands of a monster with a fourteen-year grudge.

* * *

After everything..after Chuck and Free Will and rewriting their own lives...it all came down to this.

A musty old barn in the ass-crack of nowhere, facing down a gang of vampires of all things.

“So, what, now's when we find out Gordon isn't actually dead?” Dean muttered, standing back-to-back with Sam. “Or, ah, what's-her-name...the hippie one who only ate cows. Think she's here?”

“We watched Lenore die,” Sam reminded him. “And I killed Gordon. I don't think this is either of them.”

“Yeah, unless Chuck brought them back,” Dean shot back. “Cas?”

Castiel, who had been silently and efficiently dispatching vampires turned back at Dean's question. “I find it unlikely Chuck would have considered either of them important enough to bring back from Purgatory.” Another vampire roared up behind him, and without even looking Cas stabbed him through the throat with his angel blade.

Dean had to admit, the flutter of Cas's new calf-length trench coat was pretty impressive as the angel spun around to yank his blade from one vampire and plunge it into another. Jack had apparently hooked his adoptive father up with some new duds on his return from the Empty, so Cas wasn't exactly rocking the whole “holy tax accountant” look anymore.

On the one hand, the long black trench coat was absolutely badass. The way it spun around Cas as he moved in battle reminded Dean of the shadows of wings cast on the barn ceiling all those years ago, and it had a much more stylish cut that emphasized the muscle on the angel's powerful frame.

On the other...the rainbow-colored sweater vest was a little much. But the combination was something that was just so essentially Jack they really couldn't complain.

“Dean!”

Pulled out of his daydreams by his brother's warning scream, Dean managed to deflect an incoming vampire and roll out of the way, narrowly avoiding the dangerous-looking nail that was poking up out of one of the support beams. Damn, they really needed to stop confronting vampires in fallen-down old barns.

Cas hauled him to his feet and manhandled him to one side, a blast of holy power from his other hand obliterating yet another vampire clown. “How many more are there?” the angel shouted over the sounds of battle.

“They just keep coming,” Sam panted. They were cornered now—Cas's angel blade was still embedded in a vampire a few feet away, Dean's machete had gotten notched when it had gotten stuck on a particularly dense vampire spine, and Sam was favoring his right arm as though chopping off so many heads in such a short amount of time was giving some kind of hunter's carpal tunnel. “Are we sure...I mean, is Chuck really de-powered?”

“You think he planned for one of us to die in some shitty barn in the middle of nowhere?” Dean scoffed. “Dude. The man's a hack, but he's not that bad.”

“Enough!” A fourth voice—because, really, the vampire clowns had done nothing but snarl since the Winchesters had busted down the door—cut through the air as another figure strode into the center of the barn.

It was, predictably, another vampire. This one was obviously the boss, judging by the way she was dressed—halter top and jeans instead of baggy clothes and a clown mask. Seriously, why clowns? Was someone trying to make this place Sam's worst nightmare?

“Well, well. If it isn't the Winchesters.” The woman flipped a lock of long, dark hair back over her shoulder. “I'm sure you're surprised to see me.”

Dean stared at her for a moment then glanced over at his brother. Sam shrugged. “Right,” Dean said after a few seconds. “You're...the Ringmaster!”

Sam let out a groan and stumbled back to lean against the wall of the barn. Dean couldn't see much of Cas's face but the angel's body was radiating out disappointment. “Come on,” Dean protested. “Clowns? The circus?”

“Enough!” the woman snapped again. “You killed my entire clan fourteen years ago. I've waited a long time for this day, when my new clan would find the Winchesters and we would put an end to them!”

Dean let his gaze travel up and down the woman's body again. She was still familiar, but that wasn't really enough to jog his memory. “Sweetheart, you're gonna have to be way more specific than that. Fourteen years is a long time.”

Cas shot him a dirty look—though whether it was over the sweetheart comment or Dean's snarky tone of voice he couldn't tell.

The woman hissed in anger. “Jenny? I had been chosen to join Luther's clan? You kidnapped his mate, Kate? Killed all of them to get your father and your precious Colt back?”

Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth. Oh, right, he remembered her now...not that she needed to know that. “Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell.”

Jenny gave a shriek and charged toward him. Cas intercepted, easily turning her momentum against her. Sam charged in, the machete in his left hand now, easily cutting through the seemingly endless swarm of vampires.

With a rueful glance at his ruined machete, Dean took up a position to cover Cas's flank. Maybe he couldn't charge back into battle like Sam, but he could at least keep the small fry off the angel's back.

“This reminds me of the place we first met, Cas,” Dean called over his shoulder.

Cas grunted. “Hell was nothing like this, Dean. This barn has no resemblance to Alistair's pit.”

“What?” Dean shook his head. Right, sometimes he forgot about the whole raised-you-from-perdition thing. Maybe he needed to get that handprint tattooed back on or something...if he could face Sammy's teasing. “No, I meant the barn, man. Where I tried to shoot you.”

With a twist of his hips Cas flipped Jenny onto her back and wrapped one hand around her throat. “You also stabbed me,” he retorted. He was on limited power while he was on earth, but he had enough juice to burn Jenny out of existence.

“Still. Memories.”

There was a ragged cry from one of the vampire clowns—one of the few Sam hadn't managed to decapitate in the last five minutes (really, their heads just popped right off if you got the angle right...his high school history teacher had been so wrong). The vampire charged at Cas and the angel wasn't quite able to defend himself before he was driven back against one of the barn's support posts. Dean shouted a curse at the vampire and took a swing at his head.

The machete stuck. Dean swore and tugged it free, then swung again. The vampire went down, but it took a few more blows before he finally managed to separate the head from the body. “Dammit,” he swore, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. “Sammy?”

“Forty-seven,” Sam panted. He was doubled over, hands on his knees. “That was forty-seven vampire clowns. What the hell is happening?”

“Maybe Chuck's still in charge,” Dean theorized. “Cas?”

The angel grunted. Dean twisted around to see Cas staring down at his own chest, then the angel slowly peeled back one lapel of his trench coat. “Oh. I've been impaled.”

It was the rusty bar Dean had narrowly avoided earlier. It was longer than he'd thought, and the tip was poking out of Cas's chest right below his heart. “Cas?”

“I'm all right,” Cas reassured him, though the spray of blood he coughed up wasn't very reassuring.

“Oh god,” Sam fisted both hands in his hair. “Wh-what do we do? Should we call Jack? Do you need an ambulance? Or, wait, a spell? Maybe, maybe there's something in the car...”

“Sam, this is nothing,” Cas protested. He gripped the bar with one hand, frowning a little when he wasn't able to push himself free. “Though I could use some assistance.”

“No-no-no-no!” Sam waved his hands frantically. He'd pulled a bandanna out of...somewhere...and was trying to put pressure on the wound around the rusty bar. “We'll just...we can control the bleeding, and-and Dean can call an ambulance, and they can take care of you at the hospital.”

“Sam...”

“I didn't even get to say good-bye last time,” Sam whispered.

Ouch. Damn. Dean felt that one, right in his gut. That spurred him to action. “Hey, it's okay,” he said, quietly. He placed a hand on one of Sam's arms and leaned in closer to study the wound. “You said it's not bad? 'Cause I'm pretty sure some of that's supposed to be on the inside.”

Cas coughed and the wound gurgled as he sucked in a breath. “It would be a fatal wound if I were human,” he admitted. “But it cannot kill me. It is merely...uncomfortable.”

“There, see?” Dean knocked his shoulder against Sam's. He was worried, too...he would never get used to seeing Cas injured, no matter how long they were together. Especially not since the angel always tended to get the more...dramatic injuries. Like now, Sam and Dean were coming out of the fight with barely a scratch between them, while Cas had been impaled on a piece of rusty metal.

The absurdity of the situation finally struck Dean. The piles of dead vampire clowns. The woman from their past, who had apparently been planning revenge for fourteen years even though they hadn't even remembered her name.

And, most of all, their badass angel-of-the-lord (even if the lord in question at the moment was their adopted kid) in his rainbow sweater vest and badass trench coat staring down at the metal protruding from his chest like it was personally offending him.

Oh. I've been impaled.

He couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.

Sam turned, scandalized. Cas looked on with resigned amusement.

“He-he just,” Dean wheezed. “Like that snowman...just...”

Cas gave a long-suffering sigh and gripped the piece of metal in one hand. With a mighty twist it broke away from the barn's support beam, and with another wrench Cas had pulled it free from his body and dropped it to the floor. His legs buckled beneath him, but Sam caught him and eased him down, that ever-present bandanna pressed to the wound in Cas's chest.

“Oh man...it's gonna be okay, Cas. We'll...we'll figure this out.”

“Dude,” Dean staggered over to kneel next to them, tears of laughter running down his face. “He's fine, just...just let it go.”

“Stop quoting Frozen and put your hand here!” Sam snapped, yanking Dean closer. “We need to stop the bleeding!”

Cas just stared at them patiently while Sam rocked up to his knees to apply more pressure to his wound. Dean tried to help, he really did, but the entire situation was just spiraling too far out of control. If Chuck really was still writing their lives he'd obviously gone insane.

Sam peeled the bandanna back to check Cas's wound and there was...nothing. Just the smooth, colorful knit of his rainbow-colored sweater vest. Even the blood stains were gone, as though Cas had never been injured.

With a relieved sigh, Sam sank back onto his heels. Cas pushed himself up on his elbows, idly brushing at the straw that was sticking to his trench coat. Dean picked up the rusty piece of iron that had impaled Cas and flung it across the barn.

“Not today, Chuck!” he hollered after it. “No one's dying in some shitty barn in the middle of nowhere, you hear me?”

There was a companionable silence for a moment, then Sam suddenly shot to his feet and looked around. “We forgot about the kids!”

* * *

Jack sees his father both as a badass unstoppable force, and as the caring dad who always has time for him. Thus, when designing his wardrobe for his current resurrection, he went with the odd combination of cuddly rainbow vest and Neo-style trench coat. Oddly enough, it suits Cas more than anything else he's ever worn.

#supernatural #fic #fanfic #febuwhump #febuwhumpday4 #impaled #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #destiel #castiel and dean and sam friendship #jenny #vampires #episode fix-it: s15e20 Carry On #cas in a black trench coat #dean watches frozen #attempt at humor #hurt/comfort #there is one emotional punch moment

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agdollhouse · 3 years

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Continuing my adventures in eye painting, it is with a heavy heart that I admit that I... failed.

After destroying one set of eyes, I ordered a second set of eyes from an eBay seller. Those eyes went on an adventure. They were guaranteed to arrive on December 8th, but inexplicably went back to Tennessee where they were shipped from. At another point I saw an update that claimed they had made it to Miami. I do not know why this happened but it is maybe one of the funniest things that’s ever happened to me. I can’t even be mad about it, shipping was free and to be fair, the seller shipped it right after I paid for it. I received them December 21st.

Once the eyes arrived I realized that these eyes are different from pre-Mattel eyes.

They have a small piece of plastic in the back that helps hold in the weight. Taking the weight out was ridiculously difficult and the piece of plastic did break. I’ve read that this may affect how the eyes close when the whole thing is put back together but I never got that far so I can’t say for sure.

Removing the paint in these eyes was the most difficult thing I have ever done. I don’t know if it’s because the paint is newer, or if Mattel uses a different formulation, or if it’s because in the older eyes the paint was already beginning to peel, but the paint would not come out.

I fussed. I swore. I dabbed gently with acetone, super glued a nail to the back and tried to pull out the paint, scraped with a craft knife (which made some nice cuts in the eyes) and finally tried heating a hot glue stick and pulling it out when cooled. This also didn’t work. I ripped the glue stick in half, melted eyelashes on one eye, my hand went numb (thanks carpal tunnel) and eventually I was left with an eye full of hot glue that I couldn’t get out.

When I wasn’t working on the eyes, my cats, who are terrible, stole them from me repeatedly. They knocked over the container the eyes were in, popping it open and spilling parts across the floor. I am still finding eye parts under my dishwasher on the opposite side of the house.

Above is the cleanest I was able to get the eyes. I did try just painting over it with new paint and allowing it to dry, hoping that the two paints would stick together and I could then peel it off in one big piece. This, amazingly, didn’t work.

At this point I gave up and decided I was just going to order eyes in the colors I wanted. This meant ordering two new sets of eyes. This is fine, I told myself angrily. This is fine.

In summary, here are my tips for repainting doll eyes!

Use old eyes! Eyes that are silvered are defective already, the paint is beginning to pull away and that makes it easier to remove.

Peel as much paint out as you can. If you’re able to use tweezers and pull it off in one chunk, that’s ideal. Otherwise, heating the tip of a stick of hot glue and sticking it to the paint, letting it cool briefly and peeling it out seems to help. Others have had great success. I let mine cool for an hour or more and that was when I ripped the stick in half trying to peel it out.

If you’re careful, confident, and you have a steady hand, using a toothpick dipped in acetone will help break down stubborn residue stuck in the crevices.

Test your paint colors in advance. I did swatches on a sheet of white printer paper and it really helped see how the colors would dry down. They do dry a lot darker than they look when wet, so keep that in mind.

Use at least two coats, making sure they dry fully in-between coats.

It’s unfortunate that I ruined my first set of PM eyes because I think otherwise they would have been ideal for this project. On the other hand, I learned a lot and someday I will try again!

#american girl #american girl dolls #american girl custom

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1009

survey by spiritt

Do you play minesweeper or solitare or anything to pass the time? That’s what I did on my old Windows laptops whenever the internet would go out for a long period of time, but I haven’t had to do so in a while now. I’d sometimes play pinball as well, but in the end solitare ended up being my favorite.

Do you believe in life after death? No, I just think of it as sleeping for a very long time which is comforting enough for me to be okay with death. If I think too hard about what can potentially come after, I just get overwhelmed.

What do you think of Oprah? I don’t really think about her in any type of way. I know she had a wildly popular talk show and that she made fortunes out of it and that she occasionally gave out a lot of freebies to her screaming audience from time to time, but other than that I guess I never really cared.

Do you write a lot of surveys or do you just take them? Answered this super recently; I just take them.

What's something you're really good at? Beating deadlines, playing with dogs, and overthinking. Sometimes I do these individually, and sometimes I do them all at the same time loooool.

How big is your bedroom? Not very. I was supposed to have a much larger room in the house, but my sister and I were meant to share it. But after sharing a bedroom with my parents and siblings in our old house, I didn’t want to have to share with anyone anymore – so I called dibs on the bedroom that was meant for my brother; and considering my brother was only 4 when we moved in, it’s not the biggest room in the house. But I took it because I jumped at the chance of finally having personal space, and that’s the story of how I ended up having the smallest bedroom in the house haha. I never saw a reason to complain about it though, honestly...I’m only here to sleep, cry, work, and take surveys. As small as it is compared to other rooms, it provides me with all the space I need.

Do you like to go bowling? I do love bowling. But going to bowling alleys is just so expensive I never really get to go and play a few rounds. And because I’m a bit of a sore loser, I like to keep the bumpers up whenever it’s my turn, ha.

Do you usually remember your dreams? I remember them for a few hours but unless I write them down, I’ll also forget them within the day.

Do you think they mean anything? I don’t think they necessarily reveal a lot; but my dreams are very reflective of what I’m going through and/or my emotions at a given time. So I wouldn’t say they reveal, but rather reiterate.

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? Yes, but only in high school. In college, one of the professors from the communication research department is super gorgeous and has the most amazing posture and wardrobe, but I never took her classes.

Besides bzoink, which websites do you frequent? Google Suite, YouTube, Reddit, andddd I’ve recently gone back to Twitter because I missed society, tweeting out my thoughts, and being updated with news. Isolation was also starting to not be good for me, so I had to go back.

Who was the last person to come to your house? My grandma and one of my cousins. They came for a quick catch-up and my cousin even got pizzas for us, heh <3

What's your birthstone? Do you have anything with it? Diamond. No, not yet at least.

Have you ever had carpal tunnel? Nope. My wrist has felt exhausted many times before, but I don’t think it was actually carpal tunnel syndrome.

Are you one of those people who is really smart but has no common sense? Hahahahahaha. Yeah I can be, and I’ve occasionally been told that before. I can be a little ditzy, I guess.

Do you think fast? Yes, but I’d rather not. It’s a lot of pressure to think on my feet most of the time.

What browser do you use? Chrome, but I’m increasingly thinking of making the shift to Safari because I’ve just been starting to realize how sleek and clean it looks. I probably wouldn’t simply because I’ve been on Chrome ever since I discovered the internet lmao, but I’ll give it a couple of trials nonetheless and see if I like it.

Are you clumsy? Yep. Tripping is a regular, familiar occurrence.

Paste the last thing you copied. “We were unable to authorize the payment you used to sign up for WWE Network, and as a result your WWE Network subscription has been cancelled.” I’m still figuring out how bank stuff and online payment work and so far no one has wanted to accept my subscriptions. Must be doing something wrong that I haven’t found out yet. I feel welcomed to adulthood, indeed.

Have you ever eaten at Hooters? No. We don’t have them here; but even if we did I dunno if I’d wanna go inside.

Do you like turtles? I certainly don’t dislike them.

Do you have to have goggles when you swim? No. I don’t mind the discomfort tbh, it’s not all bad.

How long can you stay awake? Just a few hours shy of 24.

Where were you going the first time you were on a plane? Boracay.

Do you have a good memory? Too sharp for my own good.

Are you usually more blunt or polite? Eh, I’ve pretty much mastered both. I use either tone whenever necessary.

Does it take a long time to get to know you? Except in the case of this blog, yes.

Is there a specific historical period that you're interested in? Anything but the Middle Ages; for some reason I find that particular period very uninteresting. The whole thing about the knights and peasants and land and feudalism just never grabbed my attention.

Tell me something funny that happened today. I went to PhilHealth today to get my ID and was super excited to take another step into being an independent adult and getting to stuff another Grown-Up™ ID in my wallet. The ID I got is nothing more than a flimsy fucking piece of paper. Barely an ID. This is also the same health insurance corporation whose higher-ups were discovered to have stolen P15 billion from the people’s funds, so. My country never disappoints; a comedy show through and through.

Do you know anyone with a really obnoxious laugh? No.

Do you hold grudges? Yes.

How much was your allowance when you were a kid? P100 a day back in high school.

Can you do push-ups? Very shakily.

I usually assume people online are girls. Do you do anything like that? ??? That’s weird, but okay. Also no I don’t generalize like that.

When you were growing up, did your family move around a lot? Only when I was an infant, so I don’t even remember those times at all.

Do you use public transportation? No. I would if they invested in it and improved on it, but I don’t see that happening.

What's your favorite punctuation mark? I don’t have one.

Have you ever had surgery? No.

What's something you're really proud of? The way I’m slowly learning to be independent. Life-wise, singlehood-wise...it’s terrifying most of the time and I still break down at least once a day. But I’m still alive and doing this survey and breathing, so I must be doing something right. Here’s to feeling and getting better; I know I want to get there.

#survey #surveys

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baldwin-montclair · 4 years

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Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 14)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: With just one day until the wedding, Alisha grapples with sceptical sisters-in-law, procedure and a deepening mystery.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @theshiningc @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore

The Story So Far

___

“She’s very pretty,” Stasia interrupted Verin’s focus on the doe she had in her sights, “pretty and sweet, like a little piece of cake!”

Verin knew when she was being baited and her sister had been prodding her since they saddled up their horses for the morning hunt.

The previous night’s dinner had been tense yet uneventful, filled with inane pleasantries between the myriad creatures taking residence in their family estate.

“It’s none of our business.” Verin shrugged instead, feigning disinterest.

“Quite right, and I think Ernst approves.”

“He loves music, he found an old violin piece online and she happened to be able to imitate it well enough.”

“More than well, she was very good I thought.”

“She is a daemon.” Verin practically spat the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“That she is, and I believe father forbade us from straying from the Covenant, I doubt he’d be too please with one of his children mating with a daemon...or a witch.”

“If you are going to talk this whole time we should abandon the hunt and return the horses!” Verin snapped and Stasia simply gave her a wide-eyed look of innocence.

“My apologies, I have not seen my sister in so long, I was excited at the prospect of some conversation.”

Verin sighed, doubting her previous assumption and blaming it on her preoccupation with the state of the family.

“You’re right, I am sorry I snapped.”

“Understandable, Baldwin did choose Freyja, of all of us, to house-train the stray.” Stasia grinned.

Verin allowed herself a smile at their sister-in-law’s expense before regaining her propriety.

“You must not let him, or anyone, hear you speak about her in such terms. Whether we like it or not, she is still Madame de Clermont, God help us!”

“Baldwin is not here, it is just you and I.”

“In that case,” Verin shook her head, “I must confess that I believe our brother has contracted whatever madness took the she-wolf’s mongrel.”

“Matthew was never exactly stable Verin, you know that.”

“Then what is Baldwin’s excuse?” Verin asked.

“Love?”

Verin snorted in derision.

“Our brother loves nothing. He appreciates a vanquished battle field, a brutal merger, a good vintage. But, he will do anything he can to protect our family, for whatever reason, it’s why father chose him.”

“Bound by-” Gallowglass started reading the embroidered letters on the piece of light blue ribbon Alisha was working before she turned it over and placed her hands over the words.

“Gallowglass,” she greeted, hoping her face was not as red as it felt, “I thought you were going hunting?”

“With Verin and Stasia?” He asked with incredulity as he took a seat opposite the daemon at the table of the small sitting room.

“They seem nice.”

“They’re not but they’re family.” He corrected.

“And Marcus-“

“He left this morning,” Gallowglass noted her troubled expression, “he’ll be back for the wedding tomorrow.”

“Good,” she nodded with relief, “need all the friendly faces I can get.”

“What is that anyway?”

“My motto.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“We already have one and that is not it.”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Oh, okay, they’re usually in Latin, or French.”

“I cant read or write Latin, or French.”

“I could translate for you if you want?”

She realised that he was honestly trying to help, not poke fun, he’d clearly not managed to read the whole thing.

“No, thank you,” she covered, “I’m almost done and will not have time to make another.”

The last thing she wanted was for her nephew, regardless of his age, to translate words into latin for a wedding night surprise from his aunt to his uncle.

“Shouldn’t you be helping with wedding preparations?” He asked.

“I was,” she shrugged, “Ysabeau banished me for not making decisions quickly enough.” She smiled.

“Best leave her to it.”

“I’m getting that,” she agreed, “oh, and you’re being drafted in tonight, waltzing lessons.”

“I’d love to but if I so much as touch you there’s a good chance Baldwin will actually kill me tomorrow, which would put a dampener on the whole thing.”

“Don’t worry, demonstration purposes only. Nathaniel’s also being subjected to it.”

A beep alert went off on Gallowglass’ phone and he checked it before placing it back in his pocket.

“The groom has arrived.” He smiled.

“Baldwin, he’s here?” She jumped from her chair with excitement.

“Literally have never seen anyone so happy about the prospect of him entering a room!”

“Gallowglass!”

“Of course he’s not at Sept-Tours, he’s twenty miles away at one of his many properties. I told you, you can’t see him until the wedding.”

“Right.” She nodded and sat back down.

“Oh hell,” he swore, “have you talked to him?”

“No!”

“Auntie, you need to know that lying to a vampire is pointless at the best of times but you are one god awful liar, a human could tell.”

“Fine, yes, I spoke to him once, last night.”

“Who gave you his number?”

“Nobody, Nathaniel gave me the new phone and Baldwin called me.”

“He called,” Gallowglass stared at her in disbelief, “Baldwin called you?”

“Fuck,” it was her turn to swear, “I should not have told you that, should I?”

“Relax, my lips are sealed.”

“Thanks but, why is it so surprising?”

“He makes rules but he also follows them, it’s too easy to hold oneself to a different standard, he doesn’t, usually.”

“Usually,” she smiled teasingly, “oh you mean by marrying a daemon”

Gallowglass shook his head in frantic disagreement.

“Wait, no, that’s no what I mean, I-“

“Gallowglass, I’m messing with you!” She assured him.

“And I though Stasia was the family jester.”

Knowing that Baldwin was relatively close-by, twenty miles was not so far as before, somehow made her feel slightly more secure and able to enjoy the more jovial atmosphere of Ysabeau’s waltzing lessons.

Both Verin and Stasia had declined to attend, the former having left the estate and the latter choosing instead to remain in her tower.

The remaining residents had been trying for around an hour, getting progressively less serious and more giddy as the time wore on. Sarah and Em were easily garnering the most praise from Ysabeau, followed closely by Gallowglass and Sophie.

“Hamish,” Gallowglass exclaimed as a Daemon entered the main hall.

“If I’d known there was a party I would have come here first!” He commented, Alisha noting the accent to be Scottish.

“Believe me,” Ysabeau started with pained irritation, “this is pretty far from what I would call a party.”

“Nope,” Hamish gestured to the thickly bound leather folder in his hands, “lot of paperwork, much farther from a party than this.”

His eyes sought out Alisha and gave her a smile as he approached, offering his hand which she shook.

“Hamish Osborne, I come bearing gifts of signature related carpal tunnel.”

“You’re a daemon too,” she stated with surprise, “I’m sorry, it’s just, I’ve literally never met so many daemons in my life.”

“Hamish has been dealing with our legal requirements of late.” Ysabeau explained.

“Might I borrow the bride?”

“I suppose.” Ysabeau agreed, giving him an indulgent smile, she clearly liked this daemon.

“What even is all this?” Alisha asked as Hamish sat opposite her in the sitting room, the table between them and a pen beside the open folder.

“Most of it? Transfer of deeds, property, stock, patent of nobility-“

“Wait, what?”

“Both yourself and Ysabeau hold the title of Madame de Clermont but also Marchioness de Clermont.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Purely ceremonial, it’s the rank of a Marquis’ wife and the de Clermont head is automatically granted the rank of Marquis and those under them Chevalier.”

“I’m no history expert but I thought that France had that whole thing where they like, killed all of the nobility?”

“It’s not French, it’s Papal.”

“They were given the title by the Pope?” ”Yes, for service to the church the de Clermont’s were granted this hereditary title to always be able to defend it. Pretty sure the actual land is in Tuscany, we’ll get to it.”

“Okay, let’s get this started.” She picked up the pen and Hamish opened the page to the signature line. She noticed Baldwin’s name was signed on the line just above.

Hamish picked up on her pause.

“Everything okay?”

“Mm-hm,” she glanced up before signing her name underneath.

Hamish was well organised, having small stickers on the pages that needed to be signed, he made quick work of getting through them all.

“I didn’t know Baldwin had any daemon friends.” Alisha commented after the last signature was complete and balled her fist a few times to stave off hand cramp.

“Baldwin? Hell no! I am a family friend but through Matthew.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.”

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he shook his head, “I’m sure he’s very kind to you.”

“But?”

“Matthew’s my best friend and your fiancé is not exactly kind to him.”

“I understand.”

“You do?” He asked doubtfully

“Not about their relationship, he doesn’t really talk about his family. But, I get to see a different side of him than you do, than Matthew does, or his enemies. I know he’s killed and that he can be cold, cruel, violent, he wouldn’t still be alive if he wasn’t.”

Hamish said nothing but the look he gave her was one of understanding. Knowing Matthew’s history and loving him anyway was something he knew not many people would understand.

“I’m not excusing the hurt he’s caused Matthew or anyone else, either in defence or malice, and they have no obligation to believe in a side of him they have never seen or think he is anything other than what he’s shown them he is. But, for the record, he is kind, and attentive, funny and incredibly sweet, surprisingly affectionate and very generous. He’s a good man, I believe that.”

Hamish shook his head with a sigh.

“It’s not easy to love a vampire, even less so a de Clermont I think, and I love Matthew like he’s my own blood...” he trailed off thoughtfully, “despite what he’s done, either in defence or Malice.”

She smiled a little at his repetition of her words.

“More than a few of our kind have shared their opinion on our friendship over the years.” He admitted.

“So you understand?”

“Unfortunately I think I do.”

“How...is he?”

“Baldwin?” Hamish asked and received a nod.

“Honestly, distracted. I don’t know him well, I’ve met him a handful of times but he definitely has something on his mind.”

“About time brother!” Verin called from her place on the reception room sofa as Baldwin returned from his post-hunt shower.

“What do you want Verin?” He asked wearily as he watched her get up from the chair.

“Freyja, really? You don’t say as much as three words to one another one year to the next and you trust her?”

“Her methods are more appropriate for the situation, Alisha is not a vampire!”

“No, she’s a daemon, she-“ she stopped, looking around, “is she here?”

“She’s not here Verin, you just left her at Sept-Tours!”

Verin looked around and located the source of the scent, a small box on the table.

She opened the box and went to touch the silk ribbon inside when Baldwin caught her wrist.

“Do not touch that!” he replaced the lid and stood resolutely in her path until she broke off to retake her seat.

“So that’s how you’ve managed to stay away. I was worried,” she stopped herself, “hoping rather, that the whole mating thing was a mistake, that you could be separated because she’s not your mate.”

Baldwin watched her before taking his own chair.

“She is-“

“A daemon, what would father say?”

“Verin-“ he warned.

“You’ve lived by his rules all your life, why now, why her?”

“A human, you mated with a human, Matthew with a witch,” he shook his head, “why is a daemon the line in the sand?”

“This is about her.”

“Of course it’s about her, it’s who we’re discussing.”

“Not ‘Alisha’, whatever manner of name that is-“

“Verin,” he cut off her meandering, “who are you referring to?”

“Oh, I see how mentioning a daemon musician might give you pause, should I narrow it down for you?”

Baldwin always had a soldier’s posture straight and solid, even seated, but her words made this even more inflexible and she questioned her decision.

“What is it you think you know?” He asked, his voice low and foreboding.

“The little Venetian spy, you were fond of her, I saw you both disappear together before the poor scribe was found dead. What did I hear you call her,” she made a performance of thinking, “Oscine, that’s it!”

“Fond,” he shook his head dismissively, “I had never met her before that night.”

“Oh, I know, but you wanted her, and would have had her, had the crime not been discovered. I would say that she wanted you too but, you know, Venetians, of course she did. Remember who found you both, brother.”

“You prevented nothing more than my hunt for some sport, you know how tedious those treaty negotiations could be!”

“I agree, they were infinitely tedious. For me! You loved them, which is why it was a surprise that you would miss the last one, to dally with a daemon.”

He didn’t respond, simply kept his breath and heartbeat steady, a very effective tactic in back footing an opponent.

“I was also surprised when I found you both in that store room, you left the party some time before I thought you would at least be caught in some kind of compromising position, but you hadn’t even persuaded her to take off that mask yet.”

“Given your particular skill set, sister, surely you would understand the value in taking one’s time.”

The barb was well executed and Verin felt her hackles rise before forcing herself to calm upon seeing the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“To be fair,” Verin continued, “she was just about to take the mask off when I interrupted. I wish I’d been a bit later, so curious about what she looked like, weren’t you?”

Again, no answer.

“Two outcomes. Either she wore the mask because she was unbearably ugly, in which case, brother, you were taking a risk-“

“Sister-“

“Or, and much more likely, she was beautiful and the mask was to protect her from the attentions of unscrupulous admirers, like yourself!”

“Does this have a point?” He asked steadily, giving nothing.

“Yes, I told father about where I found you, and with who.”

“I guessed as much.” He shrugged.

“You’re not angry at being sent away?”

“No, had I not been sent away I would not have found Miyako, nor would I have a daughter, besides, I was distracted by my desire and I deserved my exile.”

“Punishment, that’s why you think you were sent away?”

“Speak plainly sister, my patience is not infinite!”

“Father thought you were developing the mating instinct, for beautiful Oscine.”

“That’s ridiculous, she was-“

“A daemon?”

“Someone I met in person once!”

“In person yes, what about all those letters before that when she was just a spy reporting to you.”

He knew she was fishing, she had nothing and he wasn’t about to confirm anything.

“Alisha is my mate, not some long dead spy whose face I never saw!”

“She was bitten, by Guillermo?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you won’t drink from her heart vein or is there some other reason?”

Baldwin’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared, giving him the appearance of a bull about to charge.

Verin knew she had pushed too far. The joining in blood was a more intimate act for a vampire than sex could be for a human. Vampires, however, only shared this with their mate and it was not a matter to be discussed with other vampires.

“Go back to Sept-Tours,” he spoke through gritted teeth, “and never, on pain of exile, bring up the spy to me or anyone else ever again, am I clear?”

“Yes Sieur!” She answered with the faintest him of sarcasm before leaving him with her words.

Rest well, it will be a long day tomorrow, and an even longer night!

Alisha, alone in Baldwin’s tower at the time of the message, smiled at his text and punched in a reply.

I look forward to the second more than the first. Can’t wait to kiss you again. Xx.

She realised just how excited she was to see her husband, after just a couple of nights apart. He was definitely mistaken about the effects of the mate bond.

“Alisha,” the knock and voice belonged to Freyja, “can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah,” she quickly slid the phone under her pillow, “come in.”

Freyja opened the door and looked her up and down.

“You‘ve spoken to him again, haven’t you?”

“I have not spoken to Baldwin today.” She answered truthfully.

“Hmm,” the vampire considered the reply, “well I know he doesn’t text...”

The tiniest inhale of breath from Alisha gave her away.

“We really have to teach you to lie better.”

“What, now?”

“No, I’m here to escort you to your ladies in waiting.”

“My-“

“The witches and the daemon, it’s customary for you to be chaperoned the night before the wedding, prevents any romantic rivals from stealing the bride.”

“Okay, besides maybe Count Dracula, who’s going to scale the outside of this fortress, full of creatures, by the way, and essentially kidnap me?”

“Obviously it’s not a problem the de Clermont’s have but it’s tradition, and I believe the group have devised some ‘fun’ activities.”

“You’re coming too, surely?” She asked Freyja.

“If you wish me to?” She sighed with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course. Should we invite your sisters?”

“Stasia has declined the invitation and I have no idea where Verin is.

“Okay, lets go!”

Alisha made it to the door.

“Wait,” Freyja called after Alisha, “I wasn’t snooping but I managed to see a letter on the desk, in father’s writing.”

“You can read it if you want, I don’t mind.”

Alisha wasn’t about to deprive Freyja of unread words from a deceased father as she was sure the daughter had read everything the father had written, probably more than once.

“Thank you but, it’s not that, I wanted to ask if you would like me to translate it for you.”

“What?” Alisha’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Freyja picked up the paper and carried it over to Alisha.

“Latin, but I’m sure you’ve probably translated it yourself using an online translation service already. I doubt it could convey the proper nuance Far intended.”

Alisha shook her head absently and looked at the words.

Not in English, just as Freyja said. The letters she initially studied as though deciphering hand-writing were actually written in an unfamiliar alphabet. However, with concentration she found the meaning became clear although the words themselves did not.

“Yes, I um-“ she started, thinking, “I used Google translate when I got the phone, I know what it says but, thanks.” She managed a smile.

“Alisha, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm,” she shrugged and took the letter, “just tired, distracted probably.”

It wasn’t a lie, she’d barely managed more than a few hours since Baldwin left and she could think of little else. Her sudden ability to read Latin was a mystery that could wait.

___

PART 15

#a discovery of witches #adow #baldwin de clermont #adow fic #adow baldwin fic #baldwin montclair #baldwin’s nightingale

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thickveganchick · 4 years

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2019 was probably the best year of my life, but I will admit that I struggled a LOT with my identity this year. From changing jobs twice, to the type of exercise I do, my eating habits, and my mental health. I feel like I was all over the place with who I am and what I am about.

On the pros:

- I started doing pole, and I have REALLY enjoyed this type of exercise because you can visually see yourself getting better

- I found a high-paying, stable job!

- I got married to the love of my life!

- Shahar and I went to Japan

On the Cons:

I have struggled severely with being vegan- not because I don’t want to be or stopped agreeing with it fundamentally; I just have such an intense addiction to food that I am moving into addressing. I knew it was bad when I would find myself consciously eating something non-vegan like a slice of cheese or a peanut butter cup consciously, and then I would be like, “why did I do that? I don’t need to do that!”

As I mentioned before, having been vegan for almost four years, this really got to me mentally. Am I vegan? Am I changing my thoughts? Why do I keep doing this? I was terrified to come here and either rebrand or have to explain myself as I saw what happened when the famous vegan, Rawvana, started eating fish. I was not ready to be attacked or consistently put down and questioned about my choices when I KNEW I wanted to be vegan, but I didn’t know why I would eat one or two small things a day that were’t vegan.

All of this came to a head when I told my husband about my last month of my small choices to eat nonvegan things and how I felt so out of control and hopeless. He stepped away for a moment and came back with a small piece of paper- made to represent an AA coin- that said “1 day!!!” on it. It was truly then when I realized I had a problem, and I needed help.

I took steps to better myself before 2020 began. I started therapy with someone who specializes in food-based trauma, and in a couple weeks, I will see a nutritionist fir the first time. (side note: I had to fill out paperwork for the nutritionist, and I realized i knew my exact weight for every single important event of my life!)

For 2020, my goals are as follows:

- Participate in no-spend January

- See a therapist at least once a month

- Address my addiction to food head on

- Consolidate my debts and get $1000 in savings

- Get Back outside more

- Do what I need to do about my carpal tunnel and get on with enjoying my life again!

I am thankful to you all for sticking around, I am considering rebranding my approach to fitness and this blog here soon. Stay tuned for this year!

*I will not be accepting any conversations or criticisms about my non-vegn slip ups. I have consistently consumed only vegan food snce Shahar gave me my “chip,” and I do not think it is fair to attack me while I am so obviously struggling with my own demons.

#fitblr #fitness #vegan #health #healthbr #pole #hiking #new year resolution #mental health #therapy #marriage #exercising #weight loss #weightloss #vegan weightloss #finance #rebranding #solstice intimates

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aux-armes-citoyens · 4 years

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2, 6, 17, 20. 28

What is something you think you need to work on?

->I absolutely need to work on my vocabulary. I’m on thesaurus nearly every time I write because I just can’t think of the correct word most of the time haha. I think that’s a consequence of not doing any creative writing for literally 4 years. I’m working on it!

What kind of research do you put into your writing?

->If there’s something that is happening in the moment, ie. I gave Francis carpal tunnel, I’m up there researching carpal tunnel. I also try to keep consistent with the timeline of my rps. If Francis said his wrists hurt one day, he’s gonna have a brace the next time I make an open rp having gone to the doctor. Ya know? Just things like that.

I also always look up things like cultural norms for the way that he acts and speaks in certain situations. I take history into account and think of what he was doing and how he was acting during historical times. I actually took French history courses in my undergrad to be more knowledgeable too haha. I also take my own experiences in France into account to write for Francis!

Does writing energize or exhaust you?

->It energizes me usually! I only write when I feel up for it so I don’t experience burn out.

What inspires you to write?

->Honestly my fascination with France and the culture and the language. French is my second language and I’m not really that great at it anymore, and I find when I get bored and I want to work on it again, Francis just kinda Comes Out. I also was planning a trip to France and then he just kinda pops up and wants to be heard. Plus collaborative writing is fun!! I’m more engaged in writing if it’s not just me.

What makes you want to back away?

->If people just treat my muse like a bang piece. APH France is an incredibly sexualized character and it’s kind of why I DON’T rp smut on Tumblr. I don’t want to rp with people who only want to rp smut. I have put time in to give him depth, and it’s disappointing to me if people just assume that he (or I) am just in it for that. It’s fun if it works and Francis is very flirty but it’s not what I’m here for!

#thanks for the ask!!!#this was fun #kaltiism

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marcholasmoth · 4 years

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OSRR: 2018

today was really wonderful!!

i got to wake up with joel and just spend time in bed with him this morning, just chillin together quietly. it was nice. we got up eventually and got brunch at ihop with alex, tristen, and connor and aurora, and then we went bowling after! (joel didn't have socks though so we stopped at target first and then headed over.) i haven't been bowling in a long time, but it was a lot of fun!

so joel has carpal tunnel, and i have bad wrists. (i don't know why my wrists are bad, but they are.) anyway, joel won and i came in second (tied with tristen, who's a lefty) and i think it's funny that the people who hurt the most are the ones who ended up with the highest scores.

we only played one string, so that was fine. i brought joel home afterwards, and i went and got gas, and i stopped at shaw's on my way to the eggs' residence, and there were so many nice people! i'm usually very on edge when there's people who are close to me, and there were a few of those. but the first person i ran into was a nice older lady who was looking at flowers, who i ran into again and showed me the hydrangeas and petite roses she'd picked out! they were a perfect match. and then in the checkout line, the man in front of me gave me his monopoly pieces, and the man behind me said at the same time that if i would wait a minute that i could have his, too, so i happily accepted them! i ended up with gifts and cards for my parents for valentine's day, dessert for the evening, and juice for dinner, and then i headed over to the eggs. i reheated the food that has been cooked on the stove and it was really good! it was pork chops and potatoes and zucchini with leeks, and it was really really good. garlic powder is spectacular and so is lipton onion soup mix. and then i sat and talked to my sister for a while and i cut her hair again and we talked some more. and then i left around 10, and j came home and talked to my papa for an hour and a half and now i'm in bed and i really need to sleep.

it's been such a good day and i'm so grateful that joel and his friends have welcomed me so wholly into their group. i've never had a big group of friends where i didn't feel like a social burden or a nuisance, or that i wasn't really welcome. and finding small groups like that are hard for me to find too, but these people are all so kind and happy to have me there and it makes me so happy and i'm so grateful. joel has really changed my life and i'm so grateful for him and everything he's done for me and everything he continues to do for me.

💜

#molly rambles #operation srr #osrr #2000s #sunshine boy

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lafeae · 5 years

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Prompt: Empty Shell for @kpopislight

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Character: Seto Kaiba, Joey Wheeler

Form @badthingshappenbingo

Read on AO3

“You haven’t said much about the dreams,” the psychiatrist said.

Kaiba’s eyes fluttered open, and he lifted his cheek from his hand. “I don’t dream.”

“Everyone dreams.”

“Not me.”

The woman smiled tightly and folded her hands on her knees. Something about her was infuriating, but he couldn’t place it. She was well put together with her cream pantsuit and tight, pulled back bun. Some might have saw her as severe, conservative. Maybe cold. Kaiba considered her mostly unmemorable—another appointment on his digital day planner.

Well, mostly unmemorable. Her dull-brown flats were too tight.

“You mentioned them in some of our first sessions. That you were having vivid dreams about the events surrounding your assault.”

Kaiba sighed. His focus was pointed on her shoes. “I was heavily medicated, if you recall. I don’t remember what I said.”

“And you don’t remember any dreams?”

“No.”

“What about the assault? Have you recalled anything?” she asked. Her foot bounced.

“No.” Kaiba closed his eyes. This was such a waste of time, but if he fired this shrink, Mokuba would just find him another one. There was no telling how long this would go on for. He was already cleared to go back to work, but Mokuba was convinced there was still something lingering deep inside him. That, mentally, he hadn’t healed from the assault. What was to heal that wasn’t physical? “Nothing beyond the police reports.”

“I see. You did mention a while back that some things,” she flipped through her notes, “‘triggered something that seemed like memories’.”

“Hmph. A ridiculous phrase.”

“What’s that?”

“Triggered. I’m not triggered by anything,” he said. “I don’t get scared by pointy objects or strange groups of people on the street. I’ve dealt with far worse in my life than this attack. It’s hardly debilitating.”

A small note was made. Her foot bounced again. “Would you prefer a different term be used instead of triggered?”

“I’d prefer none. You can’t term something that I don’t have an issue with,” Kaiba said. He tried his best to keep his annoyance at bay, but it always slithered into his voice. The unmemorable shrink was almost worse trauma than the assault.

“Let’s go back to the dreams. When you dream—“

“I don’t.”

“—has anything been prevalent? Or...perhaps, you’re lying in bed and you’re thinking about something. What’s on your mind usually?”

Absently, Kaiba massaged his left forearm down to his wrist. The small, tingling pains shot down every now and then. Before, it was the beginning of carpal tunnel. Numbness in his fingertips when he typed or tried to shuffle a deck. Now, another pain persisted with it. Like barbed wire constricting around his nerves and veins, radiating from his shoulder down to his fingertips. He entire arm would become hot and heavy; sometimes even closing his fist was a chore. It made the numbness attractive.

“Joseph, typically. But that’s because he’s beside me. I hear him breathing,” Kaiba said. He closed his eyes, annoyed by her too-tight flats. With no other sound in the room, the gentle in and out of Joey’s breath was right next to his ear. Just a small curl of his lips away from syllable, a word, a sentence. Something other than his nasal breathing and occasional, gentle hums.

“How is Mr. Wheeler?” she asked.

Kaiba opened his eyes. “He’s alive.”

—

Alive was relative.

They had both made it out of ‘the assault’, as it was so clinically called, alive. After six months, they had both healed almost to the point that the reminders of it were gone. At least physically.

Kaiba had recovered ninety percent of the motion in his left leg, and eighty percent in his left arm. From his last session three days prior, the psychical therapist said he was doing ‘quite well’, and ‘above average for his injury’. Though he liked the logical and mathematical side of recovery, he wasn’t sure how normalcy was measured. Especially not in percents.

As far as Kaiba was concerned, he was doing better. Quite well felt like a stretch. But if it had to be measured from the moment the knife struck him in the shoulder and in between his ribs, he’d say above average fit decently.

If there was anything he remembered from the attack—that is, if he wasn’t manufacturing details based on police reports and photographs—it was the distinct sensation of his heart beating in the wound between his ribs while he lost feeling of everything south of it. He didn’t want to say it was true. It made sense, but he could have sensationalised it from the details he’d been given in the first few days after it had happened. But he had lied to his shrink: he knew a few details.

He recalled that it a chill night, and that he was walking down an empty road with Joey. He recalled lighting a cigarette, and Joey asked him for one because, as always, his pack was empty. He begrudgingly gave one and mocked Joey’s empty-headedness and then—

—he remembered being in Joey’s arms and looking up into his eyes. Brilliant, but dark, amber eyes stared back at him. All the while, Joey’s lips moved, but Kaiba couldn’t make out what he had said. He was too focused on Joey’s quivering hand; it laid overtop the gushing wound, his rough fingertips pressed deep into it to stop the bleeding. Kaiba’s heartbeat slowed and thickened against the touch.

How Joey went from frantic to catatonic was a mystery to Kaiba.

Roland said that Joey had been that way from the moment the paramedics arrived. He had refused to give up Kaiba’s unconscious body, clinging to it like a doll. The paramedics had to let Joey bring him onto the ambulance, and once they were at the hospital, it took three orderlies to pry Joey away. It did seem like Joey to ignore his own injuries, but if he’d stubborned himself into the unresponsive state, Kaiba was more pissed than he was relieved that Joey cared so much.

It didn’t feel real. Sometimes, Kaiba convinced himself he was in a nightmare. That he’d come home and Joey would be curled up on the couch, hooting and hollering while he and Mokuba played video games. Or he would come skidding out from the kitchen proclaiming that he may or may not have burnt another sauce pan and that they should order takeaway. Or he would just meet Kaiba at the door, throw his arms around his neck, and kiss his cheek.

When Kaiba returned home from the shrink’s office, he found Joey on the couch. Not unusual. Joey could move willingly, or as willingly as catatonics could, but it was only in short bursts, from one place to the next. That was unless someone in house had moved him. It was doubtful. The wheelchair Joey was usually placed in every morning, reminiscent of the time Kaiba spent in a wheelchair in his teens (almost six months, he thought bitterly), sat at an awkward angle next to the arm of the couch.

The blond’s body was rigid. Shoulders squared, back straight, hands in his lap. Like he was ready for a lecture. Except Kaiba had never seen him so at attention in the many years they’d know each other. He was too lackadaisical, too lazy to bother. But he always listened and replied. Usually with laughter in his voice.

Kaiba missed the laughter.

“Afternoon, Joseph,” Kaiba said. He sat in front of Joey, waiting for a response. Always waiting. “It’s Tuesday. I don’t know if you know that or care. But I went to see the psychiatrist today. She’s still trying to get me to remember. She wants to use hypnosis, like that’s a real technique from a trained professional. Ridiculous...I should fire her for that reason.”

Kaiba looked into Joey’s eyes. Glassy, dark amber.

“I don’t see how it matters if I remember what happened. I’m sure you remember. There’s something going on inside that head of yours. There’s always something dumb rattling around in there.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Kaiba lowered his head.

“I don’t see why she even says to talk to you. Or why I listen to her. She’s clearly some new age quack who doesn’t actually understand why the problem is...”Kaiba trailed off. He didn’t really know what the problem was either.

The longer he stared at Joey, the more his insides shook. His very existence was sickening. If it wasn’t for the ring on Joey’s finger, Kaiba would have left him in his sister’s care. Or his friends. They were always so cheery, coming around and talking to him, including him in everything when they knew full well that he couldn’t do a damn thing but just sit and stare.

“You don’t listen to me. You can’t...you can’t touch me. What’s the point?” Kaiba asked.

Slowly, he reached his hand out and cupped Joey’s cheek. Stubble was growing, he was going to need a shave in the morning. A shower, too. Kaiba wasn’t sure if he had the strength to do it anymore, even if his limbs had healed.

“Hm? Joseph, what’s the point? Why do I even talk to you when I doubt you understand a word I’m saying. You don’t even know I’m alive.”

Kaiba pulled his hand away and left before he did something that he regretted.

—

Another week went by, and Kaiba returned to the unmemorable shrink’s office. It had been a long fight with Mokuba, one that ended with Mokuba fighting back tears, before he finally caved and went again.

“How was therapy?” she asked.

“It went.”

“Do you feel like you’ve gotten a better hold on yourself? You mentioned you hadn’t felt whole ever since this happened.”

Kaiba sighed. This again. “Whole is a manner of speaking. All the pieces are there, if that’s what you want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to say anything. We’re just talking this out and seeing how you’re feeling lately. You sound a little stressed,” she mentioned. A springboard topic. A little stressed, a little tired, a little anxious. Kaiba made it a point not to give away too much to her. She was educated enough to read his body language, his facial expressions, and the little ticks that he made when he wriggled around in the uncomfortable chair.

“I’m always stressed. We have the latest version of the Duel Disk releasing. The academy is beginning its second year. There’s a lot to look after.”

“You have a lot on your plate.”

“It’s manageable.”

“Do you ever step back?”

Kaiba rolled his eyes. “I let my guard down and they’ll eat me alive. It’s how it goes.”

She made a small note. Her foot bobbed. The flats she was wearing today still didn’t fit, but they were better than the last ones. “I know I’ve asked this before, but...do you think you let your guard down that night?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you still don’t remember anything?”

Kaiba’s eyes pinched closed. “No. I’m not worried about remembering anything. We went to a movie, I was attacked, and I woke up in the hospital alone. The details in between are irrelevant.”

“You’re angry.”

“I’m annoyed,” he admitted. “I come here week after week listening to you demand that I remember something, and I tell you time and time again that I don’t want to remember. I don’t need to! It was one of Joseph’s old crew who stumbled on us and felt like they needed to do something. We fought back, I was stabbed, and Joseph...”

Kaiba paused. He had jumped up at some point, emphatic. His hands shook and his jaw clenched. Slowly, he wandered over to the window so he didn’t have to look at the shrink and her terrible shoes.

“I’m still listening.”

“I’m done talking,” he said.

“Take your time. Remember to breathe, Seto.”

Kaiba held out a hand to her, disagreeing with her lack of formality. Like that would make him more comfortable. There were exactly three people allowed to call him Seto, and one of them couldn’t speak anymore.

“Tell me about Mr. Wheeler.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s pointless.”

The shrink hummed and scribbled in her notes, though the scratching went on longer than anticipated. The overcast sky became more and more interesting. “You and Mr. Wheeler we’re engaged how long prior to the assault?”

“Six months. You already know that.”

“So...it’s been a year now. Did you have wedding plans?”

Kaiba frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

“Small talk.”

Kaiba saw right through her. She wanted him to open up about Joey. Have him spill all of his emotions over her floor like some serenade of love and worship to his significant other. “Of course we had wedding plans. Who gets engaged and doesn’t have wedding plans?”

He turned from the window and stomped to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m done with this. It hasn’t helped me, if anything it’s just made more more anxious because I know I have to come here week after week.”

The shrink stood. “Is it Joseph?” she asked. The use of Joey’s name made Kaiba flinch.

Her and her damned informality. “Stop.”

“Does he bother you?” she asked. Kaiba hung on the door handle. He reasoned if he was going to leave, he would have. But her question hit him hard. “You mentioned that you woke up alone, does Joseph’s condition...anger you?”

“Stop it!” Kaiba pivoted to her, ready to storm right up to her face. “You don’t know us. You don’t understand how we were, or what we did, or why...why he’s...why it’s not...”

Kaiba didn’t know what he was saying.

His chest hurt, and his arm began to ache. He was very actively aware of the pains that had been inflicted on him. They were a curse, a reminder, of what happened for the rest of his life. Every time he got out of the bathtub, there were the jagged, off-white scars marring his pale skin. The knife twisting in the muscle beneath. Nothing he’d ever felt had measured up to that pain, that torment, of steel deep in his body.

“I am not angry at Joseph. I’m...” Kaiba calmed himself, quelling some of the anger and dispassion for this woman and her terrible footwear. “That’s not Joseph. What’s in my house is not my fiancé.”

“Who is it?”

Kaiba opened his mouth but shook his head instead. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sit down. Come on,” the shrink urged, nudging him towards the chair. He rolled her hand off his shoulder and stood, defiant, in front of it. “What do you remember from that night?”

Kaiba closed his eyes.

—

The knife slowly slid out of him. Joey was in front of him, punching the knife-wielder in the face again and again and again. Until he was a mess of blood and teeth.

Kaiba swung at someone, connecting with their cheek before grabbing their neck with one hand. He swayed, and the wounds in his skin squelched with each step. He didn’t stop. His adrenaline was racing—a few more punches, the crack! of someone’s nose against his elbow—but he fell, anyways. Into awaiting arms that laid him on the ground.

“Stay alive, Seto.”

“Mmm....nggh....not...”

“Stay alive, look at me, stay alive,” Joey’s face was red with tears. He quickly wiped them away. His hands shimmered from how much blood caked them. He lowered his hand down and put pressure on Kaiba’s spurting wound. “You’re gonna make it. Keep breathin’, Seto. Keep breathin’. Hold onto me, ya feel that, feel me? That’s me. Let me touch ya, okay? Jus’ let me hold on. Here...take my hand. Take my hand...”

Their fingers knit overtop of the wound. He went cold to the feeling of Joey’s hand slithering inside of him. Any other time it would have been welcomed, but not in his abdomen, not bleeding on some sidewalk two blocks from the movie theatre.

Kaiba fingered Joey’s ring. “I’m...beating...”Kaiba said. “I’m...alive...”

“I know, I know. Stay with me, okay. Stay alive...” Joey repeated. Again and again. “I’m so sorry, Seto. This is my fuckin’ fault, I’m sorry...please don’t...stay alive. Hold onto me please. Please! Hold on.”

—

Kaiba opened his eyes and shook his head.

“Do you remember anything?” the shrink asked.

“No. I don’t...”

An unknown expression rippled on her face. Another note was made. Somehow, Kaiba knew the lie didn’t quite roll off of his tongue. He put too much pause in it, but he didn’t care.

He stood up and left, with no intention of going back.

—

For the longest time, Kaiba sat in front of Joey searching for words. The apology rung in his ears. The pure guilt that he had heard was something that he couldn’t shake. Never once had he thought that this was Joey’s fault, even after finding out it had been Kane’s crew that had done this to them. Thugs stuck in their middle school rut, jealous of what Joey had managed to make of himself.

It probably wasn’t even that.

They may not have even recognised Joey. They were a couple walking alone on a dim-lit street. A perfect target, too blind in their own euphoria to see someone coming for them. Kaiba had wore a nice coat, shoes, slacks. Whatever they saw. Knowing their motivation wasn’t going to change Joey’s pleas. And it wasn’t going to change the constant ‘stay alive’ that replayed again and again. How long after he passed out had Joey said it, clung to him, begged him?

He’d never been at a loss of words with Joey. But then, the empty shell before him wasn’t his Joey. It was someone else. Something else. It stole his lover’s skin and masqueraded in quiet.

Too quiet.

By nightfall, Kaibagave up. He was hungry, tired, aching. He just wanted to sleep. By tomorrow, whatever he remembered would end up feeling like a bad dream.

He took Joey upstairs with him, laying him in the bed, and then took a shower. It should have been the both of them in the shower. They were more efficient that way. But after staring at Joey’s blank face for so long he couldn’t take it anymore. Once he climbed into bed, he would near the blond’s breathing all night.

It was a miracle Kaiba didn’t smother Joey. A lifeless body wouldn’t be any different.

Kaiba stepped back into the bedroom. The wheelchair was abandoned close to the bed, and Joey had crept up into it, sitting on the edge. Wilful only when he wanted to be annoying.

“Lay down if you want,” Kaiba said.

Joey didn’t respond.

It was a quick routine at the vanity. Towelling off his hair and rubbing lotion over the scars. They were softening day by day, but they were too jagged to ever fully go away. His hand rested on the gash over his ribs. The thick heartbeat lingered there. He was alive, with Joey’s hot palm pressed against him.

“You don’t remember,” Kaiba said. He sat on the bed beside Joey. “Whoever you are, you don’t remember what happened, or else you would know that I’ve been talking to you all this time. That I survived. Is that what you thought, that I had died on you and this is how you respond? You’re so...pathetic Joseph,” Kaiba hiccuped. He wondered if he would react the same, losing sense of self if it had been Joey instead of him. Thinking that Joey had died. “Pathetic and stupid.”

Kaiba manuevered Joey onto his spot on the left side of the bed. Until he pressed Joey down, he would remain upright, gently swaying to his heatbeat.

Heartbeat.

Pursing his lips, Kaiba grabbed Joey’s hand and rested it against the scar on his ribs. The inactivity made Joey’s skin cold, but familiar roughness of his was still there. Even if it was Kaiba forcing Joey to touch him, it was the most erotic feeling he’d gotten in months. His skin was parched of Joey’s leathery, worked hands and fingers. He only recalled the slickness of the blood and the thickness of his heartbeat. He’s forgotten what an actual touch felt like.

If this was all he could have, he would take it.

Kaiba revelled in it for several moments, expecting nothing. Eventually he would lay Joey’s hand down and force him onto his side to sleep. He didn’t expect anything from this very out there experiment, his own form of begging Joey to recognise that he existed. Alone.

“I’m alive,” he muttered. So soft he didn’t hear himself.

Joey’s hand pressed harder against the scar. Slowly, he leaned forward until his head rested against Kaiba’s shoulder, and his face buried deep into Kaiba’s collarbone. The very faintest feather-touch of Joey’s lips scrapped across Kaiba’s skin, and hot breath dripped down his abdomen.

“....hey....”

Kaiba embraced Joey. No more words were necessary.

#ygo #yugioh #seto kaiba #fanfic #joey wheeler #jounouchi katsuya #hurt/comfort #whump #badthingshappenbingo #tw: violence #tw: trauma

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wildstrandsblog · 5 years

Text

Pulling The String

Pulling The String 5.28.19

About two months ago, I woke up with a debilitating pain in my hands and arms unable to bring a glass of water to my face just as I was writing through one of the most painful chapters in my life. My hands and arms seemed worn from the physical pressure that had been placed on my body after five pregnancies, three children, lifting three, thirty pound babies, wrangling wriggling bodies, twisting sippy cups, pouring gallon jug milks…my hands felt like they had been weighed down with lead weights. Barely able to open and close my hands, my husband stayed home for a day to give my body some time to heal, but what was happening to me wasn’t going to be sustainable for us in the long term. With no end to the physical toll as a single-income family relying on my hands for childcare, something would have to change.

Having the fortunate ability to pick a specialist with our insurance, I was planning to research a good orthopedist to treat me, but I wasn’t sure that was a necessary step since the at-home massage therapy I had begun on myself had improved some of my function. I called my GP’s office to ask what they thought. They recommended I schedule a visit to come see them.

When the doctor came into the exam room, he immediately gave me little eye contact, flipping his eyes back and forth between the mobile device with my electronic chart in it and me, but mostly landing on the screen. “What brings you in today?,” he said clinically. “I think I might have carpal tunnel,” I said back. “Are you currently experiencing any tingling or numbing sensation?,” barely raising his eyes from looking down at the chart to peer over the rim of his glasses. Being put on the spot, I began asking myself that question in the exam room like many women do, forgetting the history that brought me there in the first place. “Well, no, not currently.” trying to answer his question. “Well, it’s not carpal tunnel then” he said placing the electronic chart over to the side, finally wheeling his stool closer to the exam table where I was sitting, flipped my arms over then back again, not asking anything about the wrist splints I was carrying in my purse. He continued to tell me I wasn’t experiencing carpal tunnel. The exam didn’t improve much more after that. There was no real care, he was not listening to my story, what goes on in my everyday life, and how I got there.

I spoke to him for a total of five minutes. His only offering was to say “Go see an orthopedist.” No problem-solving was offered when I explained how the at-home massage therapy I was giving myself was improving my function, spending hours, daily, working out the chronic pain. When I probed further just to say, “What if this orthopedist has no availability? I need to be seen as soon as possible. Do you have any other recommendations?,” he scribbled on his prescription pad underneath his orthopedist referral,“Google ortho va,” and concluded the exam saying, “I hope you feel better.”

I knew the care he had given me was horrible, and being the caretaker in my family I also knew I would be the only one who could care for my health on the level I needed. So I took matters into my own hands and, by luck, found a therapist close by who specialized in energy healing, her title being Yoga Therapist. It was something that would be new for me, something I had put aside after my own energy experience a year and a half ago because the health of my husband, sons, and others had taken precedence over my own.

On the drive to see the therapist, my mind began questioning itself, unsure of how to approach the two, large energy experiences I had had in my life. The dialogue in my mind went, “Do you tell her about your crazy experiences? Would she even understand? Do you not tell her since you don’t have all the right words to explain it?” It’s not a topic I talk about regularly, having no practice with it, because the people in my world had never experienced something so spiritually strange and out-of-body. But for my sake, I felt like I needed to say something.

When I arrived, I filled out the regular paperwork asking about medical history and previous surgeries. There was no box to check for “Christ Consciousness/Kundalini experience.” I handed the paperwork back and simply said to the therapist, “I receive energy well” so she at least had some awareness. Laying down on the massage table, I could already feel myself settling in, the ambient sounds of thunderstorms and temple bells that rung out from the speaker in the massage room were now ringing their subtle healing sounds in my head. As she began working on me, touching me, I could feel I had never met someone like her before. She had such a gentle and calming effect on my nervous system, a female with a great flowing energy, unwavering, and merging it with mine. The ease she carried began to open my heart center up first where I could begin to take deeper breaths that then traveled to my head to give me the peace I was looking to find.

I opened up to her little by little that helped to reveal the wounded pieces of myself. “I mentioned earlier that I’m a person who receives energy well, but you should probably know I’ve had a Kundalini experience,” I said to her. She was interested where most others had dropped off after hearing the word ‘Kundalini.’ She then asked,“Did you see lights during your experience?” “Did I,” I thought, still keeping some of the crazier experiences close to my heart. “Yes, there’s a lot I experienced,” stumbling up to the words that best describe what happened to me. “I experienced Christ Consciousness.” Her hands stopped moving. She then asked, “How do you know?” I explained how I had been seeing a psychologist versed in Jungian psychology, also brought to him through luck or what I like to call my intuition, when it all happened. The yoga therapist responded with “You were lucky to have been helped by a doctor who was so knowledgeable. Jungian psychology carries a lot of the same beliefs we practice here.” I knew what she was saying was true, not only having read case studies where others like me had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and put on loads of medications to mask the real symptoms they were experiencing, pain from trauma that had left wounds on people’s souls, but because my Spirit was receiving her words and understood.

My heart decided that was all I needed to reveal that day so the conversation ended which gave me the opportunity to absorb the work she was doing on my body, tugging, pulling, pushing, bending, and twisting me back into place in peace and silence. Afterwards, the work she did had me feeling like I could have jumped off the table, my body felt so good. I got dressed and went back out to the reception area where she was waiting for me. We settled up but I could tell there was something more she wanted to say. She came around to the front of the desk and started expressing care and even concern for me. “How are you sleeping?,” she asked me. “I’m sleeping pretty well with the help of a sleep aid. It’s the only medication I’m taking, “ I told her. She reinforced the need for me to get rest. “Your kids will be grounding for you,” she said. It was a lot of information to take in after having just felt like I had left cloud nine on the massage table.

Driving back home, my mind began to process what she had said to me, seeping deeper and deeper into my many layers, making its ways into my heart center. Her care was like a hand that had lead me back to the scene of a car accident one narrowly escapes with their life, total annihilation of vehicles, and completely amazed how someone could walk away unscathed aside from severe psychological trauma. It’s those cases, when you’ve survived a time where there is no guarantee that life might continue, that you can’t help but ask the question, “Why? Why me?” The next few days I was sick from post traumatic stress much like having the flu and a migraine at the same time. I’ve learned to afford myself the time to heal despite the calls from the outside world needing me. Healing comes from time and breathing. I got better a few days later and realized I may have walked into a portal, that opportunity that may bring about the change I’m needing, but what that change is I have no idea.

I began to see the yoga therapist, whose name is Christie, every two to three weeks after that. The two sessions following the initial one I didn’t do much talking. I really just wanted the healing in my hands and arms to happen without diving in too deeply about my energy experiences again. My body was finding so much relief from this therapy, and it was helping me to find that the origin of my pain was not beginning in my hands and arms but from my right chest muscle. When Christie started to apply pressure there, she asked me to feel with my own hands how much tension I was holding there, even over my left chest muscle that wasn’t fully relaxed either. It was so interesting because I hadn’t even felt the pain there before. I didn’t even know it existed until she pointed it out. Afterwards, it became so obviously painful.

Having grown in our familiarity, our next therapy session, just before Mother’s Day, took a different turn. Christie started in her usual way, pushing on my shoulders with a pulsating pressure signaling to my body to relax and receive her care while I laid comfortably on my back. When she reached my right chest muscle again, I was feeling the pain as she applied the pressure in a good way now. Some of the tension had fallen away with the help of our previous sessions and the work I was continuing at home, though I felt something different this time when she pushed. I felt emotions, sad ones. A dialogue about what I was experiencing started again in my head but instead of just keeping it all inside, I began to talk from a place of no real consciousness other than to dictate what I was experiencing. “This week has been really hard on me emotionally. Mother’s Day brings up mixed emotions. I’m not talking to my mother. I haven’t spoken to her in a year and half even through my last pregnancy. There’s nothing about that that feels natural. My last conversation with her was shortly after my Christ Consciousness experience and, in my frailty, I still tried to bridge the large gap between us, again, because it pains me so much. But my mom not only could not hear my pain but reinforced the idea she’s said to me for years and I use to believe, that I am a bad person.”

I told Christie why there was so much pain between my mother and I, sharing my childhood trauma of being molested by family and how that had been a vicious cycle, my mother having been a victim of molestation by family, too. “When I finally gathered up the courage in my young twenties to speak out against it,” I began telling her, “I asked my mother to help me. I was shocked to hear her say, ‘We can’t say anything about this. There are just too many weddings happening this year,’ even after I knew of her own stories she had told us as children and her experience in her twenties trying to speak up for herself against the abuse.” Christie then shared with me her experience, having been molested by her uncle. When she approached her mother about it, her mother told her “Boys will be boys,” and how there had to be a time she didn’t speak to her mother for two years.

Christie began counseling me on how family, unfortunately, are not the ones to help you when they are also caught up in the cycle of dysfunction, unable to see outside of it. While I believed that concept to be true since that had been my own experience at so many different times in my life, it’s still been a hard concept for me to accept because I experience the bigger picture and have longed envisioned what life would look like if that vicious cycle in my family were healed. “Help will come from other women, Kayt. You are the healer in your family and you will be the one to hold the space for them if they want to see the end to the vicious cycle, too.” “But I haven’t met these women, yet, Christie.” I said with longing. “I know they exist but they haven’t come across my path, yet, face-to-face.” “They will, now, because you want it,” she assured me.

Christie then asked if I would be willing to try a new therapy technique she had just learned the previous weekend. I would be the first one she’d be trying it on. I told her I was open to it. The objective of the therapy was to talk to the subconscious. She explained how the conscious mind is always existing in either the past or the future, but our subconscious mind is always here, our automatic pilot. So she began to ask me a series of questions to activate my subconscious mind which would respond by the strength or weakness I sensed in my arm. My arm was elevated upward off the table so that it could be pushed.

Getting passed the initial stages, we started to explore. She asked me to say something I wanted, or felt, or that I was to my subconscious mind. I eventually landed on saying “I want a hug from my mother,” and expressed the longing I had for that and how I wanted a wisdom to come from an older woman to help me. “I’ve been so underwatered there, Christie, especially as a young mother for so long.” Guided by Christie’s line of questions as if my subconscious were getting interviewed, the last question we explored became the most interesting. I didn’t even know how I got there to reveal something that was just below the surface. i found myself at the place of expressing the feeling of not feeling safe. I expressed how this process for me started two years ago when my husband, on an out-of-town trip with our children, grabbed my arm in front of our sons and left bruises after he tried to hold me down during a fight. It triggered me intensely, finally reaching a place where I would no longer take the abuse. We’ve been going through growing pains ever since.

After questioning my subconscious that revealed I was safe, Christie moved forward with a technique to balance energies that had me repeating, “I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.” She asked me to describe the place I saw in my mind where I felt that safety. This is what I said... “I’m alone. I’m in the city. I see buildings behind me. There are little shops in them. I’m looking up. The sky is blue. There are birds flying. I can feel the hum of energy and people and things around me. There is a bicycle riding by. I’m sitting at a cafe having a drink at a table underneath the shade of an umbrella.”

Afterwards, with the session going extremely over time, I came out to the reception area where Christie was waiting for me again. She had an excited energy. She came around to the front of the desk again and gave me a big hug and just held me. When we released our embrace she said, “I’m excited for you. Thank you so much for giving me that gift.” She then gave me her personal card and offered the opportunity to work with her more closely, for free or for donation, but that she was looking to work on others besides her family and friends. I told her how much I appreciated her help and just asked for the opportunity for my heart to catch up to my mind before making the decision. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, but I could feel the connection was good, just not one I was use to, like an abused animal who doesn’t know how to react when given real love.

Then something happened. The next day my husband told me he had plans for us to go into the city for Mother’s Day, to the Eastern Market not far from the Washington, D.C. Capitol building. I could feel my appreciation for such a kind gesture but I also found myself taking a deep breath because my husband isn’t known for his ability to lead our small army. We got all three boys dressed and ready, no easy task, and started heading down the road. We didn’t get far when we saw the baby throwing up like the Exorcist, all over himself and all over the backseat. I took a deep breath and pulled into a neighborhood in fight or flight mode not knowing if my baby was choking, but still taking every precaution not to crash the car, keeping everyone safe. It was a lot of emotions for me, though I kept it all contained.

My husband and I worked through it, not seamlessly, but after assessing that the baby was okay, just carsick, changed his clothes, and cleaned up the seat, we pulled it together to keep going. We didn’t turn back around like we had done in the past. We continued. When we got close to the market though, we not only discovered that parking was going to be more of problem than my husband had anticipated with all the garages closed and street parking hard to find, but the baby was getting sick again. It must have been panic that came over me at this point because I had a hard time processing my husband’s response which was to continue the search for parking. My response was, “My baby is throwing up, I’m pulling over at this bus stop right here, I don’t care whether I can stop here or not, I care about my baby.”

I was so amped and angry now. That’s all I could feel. My mind kept turning over and over again saying, “Why am I in this situation again? This is Stefan’s poor planning? Why is he worried about parking when the baby is getting sick?” I was not in a good place. I told Stefan, who was out of the car with the baby, to stay there. I needed the space to calm down. I would find parking with our two older boys and we would come find them. When we finally merged back together, I was so joyless. I was in a beautiful place but could make no connection to it and Stefan wasn’t connecting with me. Even a walk around the block for me wasn’t enough to bring me back. I felt so vulnerable, having all of these feelings in public. I did not feel safe. All I could do was just go through the motions. We stopped at a sandwich shop because I bickered at Stefan saying, “Can we at least stop somewhere to get food to walk around with or something?”

It was my oldest son, my three year old who’s already shown me his strong empathic side and has taught me on numerous occasions to follow his lead, who suggested we sit down at one of the tables in front of the cafe. Stefan and I tried to talk things out more but we were struggling. He said, “I’m closer to you than you think, Kayt?,” but as much as I wanted to believe him, we had found ourselves at this place too many times before and I had never been found. So I said back to him, “How do you know if you’re close to me if you don’t even know where I'm at?”

It was then that I witnessed the change. He felt it, that all of his knowing where I was didn’t matter if he didn’t feel it. His mind knew but his heart did not. Instantly, I could see the shift happening, the thought of knowing where I was drifting down from his mind into his heart center and he started to feel my pain. He started to feel how vulnerable I was and his eyes began to water with tears. He looked right at me and said, “I’m so sorry, Kayt. I’m so sorry.”

And I finally felt it back. I finally felt like he had found me. He knew where I was and he knew what he was saying, not just to be saying it. He felt my pain. And it was so hard for me to take it, never having received such compassion from him during our eight years of relationship in such a vulnerable state. I hadn’t prepared myself not to be angry with him anymore so I had to look away, out to the street, to catch my breath. What I saw out in front of me when I turned away was shocking. Just shocking. I saw shops with blue sky above me. There were birds in the sky and a bicycle riding by. And I was sitting at a table in the shade of an umbrella, just as I had seen in my vision when Christie asked me to describe my safe place. I knew in that instant, it was all there telling me something. The universe was with me. The universe reorganized itself to make my vision come true, to show me that I was safe and all I needed to do now was to accept it.

I turned back to Stefan and I just let it all go, all of the pain between us, all of the anger, I just let it go because he was there now and holding out his hand to receive me. I reached out with mine and we held each other’s hands and sat there with healing tears and smiles sent back to each other. We found each other at the same place, at the same time, together, in the city with the hum of the beautiful energy around me. I could finally feel it all, where I was, in a beautiful and safe place with my family around me.

And I guess I remain, still, so surprised, as a person who has journeyed to the center of myself countless times over, never realizing that I was always operating from a place of not feeling safe and how much that had been holding me back. I never realized how much I needed a healer who had felt my great pain to lead me to my next place of growth, all of this because I was ready and I decided to pull the string to take care of my great pain. So for me, it’s not just knowing or believing now, I’m seeing and I’m feeling everything. EVERYTHING is connected. EVERYTHING is God. EVERYTHING is the universe. We are the universe. I am the universe. All we have to do now is be ready to receive and pull the string.

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