#I still can’t do boring and repetitive things at home because my brain said “fuck you”

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Since reading Rob Roy, I’ve become really really fast at reading books in a standard English dialect

[schneesisterss]

Do you have any head cannons for the other Dimitrescu sisters? I loved your takes on Cassandra!

thank you! <3 and Of Course I have headcannons for the other two. (though not as extensive as the ones I have for Cassandra bc you know... brain rot) BUT HERE:

Daniela:

ADD/ADHD representation

stims include, but not limited to: jumping, hard blinking, leg bouncing, word/phrase/noise repetition, and fidgeting with her clothing

and i’m also CONVINCED she gets the zoomies at random times of the day

Alcina, hearing loud and fast footsteps up and down her hallway at 3am: *sigh* “Daniela! Take it outside!”

followed by a loud THUMP and painful groan (she definitely ran into a wall)

hates loud noises but simultaneously has no volume control

especially when she gets excited

Cassandra has to constantly remind her to lower her voice

“AND THEN I TOOK MY KNIFE AND STABBED THE LYCAN IN THE NECK AND IT WAS SO COOL—”

“Dani, i’m standing right here, why are you yelling?”

she loves play-fighting with her sisters

Cassandra is more willing to entertain her than Bela but the both of them like to see their sister happy. so whenever they recognize Daniela getting antsy they’ll wrestle with her a bit

(Cassandra gets way to into it sometimes and makes Bela be the referee lol. Cass always ends up pinning her younger sister with a proud, competitive smile on her face. Bela let’s Dani win, but we don’t tell her that)

has the keenest senses of the three which makes her the best at stalking/killing pray

and since she can hear the best out of all of them, she unintentionally eves drops on conversations

so Daniela, bless her, has all the tea

tactile learner

will just. touch things

“Life hard, Mothers gown soft”

can get trapped in her own head and doesn’t know how to express to her family what’s bothering her

this can make her very reserved at times and she’ll distance herself for days on end

her mother is really the only person who knows how to get her out of that state. Alcina walks up the long flight of stairs to the highest point of her castle. her youngest daughter likes to come here sometimes when she needs the quiet. “Daniela? Are you up here?”

“Hello, Mother.” Alcina looks up to see her daughter lounging on a banister high up on the ceiling.

“What are you doing up there, my love?” Daniela rubs the fabric of her dress between her fingers. “Cassandra and Bela were arguing again. I don’t like when Cassandra yells.”

Alcina shakes her head. Those two were always going at it. She’ll speak to Bela about it later. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Daniela then grabs a fist full of her dress and tugs at it, blinking hard. “Come down for a moment. Talk to me, baby.”

and Daniela simply rolls herself off the banister and into free fall. Alcina, already prepared, catches her with ease and holds her bridal style against her chest. Daniela runs her hands over the sleeve of her mother’s dress.

Alcina gave her youngest child time to gather her thoughts, knowing it sometimes takes longer for her to be able to understand them herself. Daniela finally spoke up: “It’s been very loud recently. Around the castle. Small things, like footsteps or glasses clicking, they sound so loud in my head.” She covers her ears with her hands. “Even now I can still hear Cassandras voice through the castle, it’s pushing in my ears. My head hurts, Mother.”

Alcina gave her daughter a quick squeeze before setting her down. “Follow me baby, I want to show you something.” Daniela followed her Mother through the twists and turns of the castle until they ended up at a door that was just like all the others. It blended in and maybe that’s why Daniela has never noticed it before. “In here.” her mother guided.

Inside was a small library and lounge room. A fire place tucked in the corner and, of course, a wall a wine next to it. Daniela looked at her Mother questioningly.

“Listen.” her mother said, and Daniela did. She heard... nothing. Nothing outside of the quiet cracking of the fire place. “This room is sound proofed. Come here whenever you feel overwhelmed.” She leaned down to stroke her daughters head. “Just don’t tell your sisters I showed you my secret getaway room.” and with a wink, the tall woman exited the room and shut the door behind her.

The next day Daniela was at breakfast like nothing had changed. She didn’t even mind when Cassandra yelled at a maiden for breaking a plate, it only made her laugh.

(if you get overstimulated you KNOW what i’m talking about)

personal space? never heard of her.

loves to cling to Belas arm and Bela let’s her bc she thinks it’s just. so cute.

will also sometimes just crawl into her mothers lap and fall asleep. then Alcinas like: “well.. i guess i’m not moving for three hours”

Daniela: “if I run an jump at Cassandra, she’ll most certainly catch me.” *takes off in a full blown sprint*

Cassandra: “NO IM HOLDING HOT TEA—” *drops tea to catch Daniela* *proceeds to cuss her younger sister out, all while Dani is wrapped around her like a koala*

(this happens a lot. Dani will just... climb on Cassandra. piggy back rides, getting on her shoulders, wrapping her hands around her neck from behind and letting her feet drag on the floor, etc. Cassandra complains adamantly but never once moves to get her off)

Cassandra: “hey Dani, I dare you too—”

Bela: “Mother said Daniela isn’t allowed to accept dares anymore.”

Daniela: “apparently I have ‘no regard for my personal safety.’”

it takes a lot for Daniela to get genuinely angry, but when she does, it’s.... bad.

Very Very Scary when mad

turns into a completely different person that you Do NOT want to fuck with

dangerous and violent

much more dark and sadistic as compared to her normal personality

came home one night covered in blood and laughing hysterically. it scared the shit out of her sisters bc if they would try and get close, she’d slash at them with her weapon.

(this was one of the only times Bela had seen Cassandra genuinely worried and afraid for their sister)

when Alcina came to see what was wrong, Daniela, still laughing madly, swung at her too. Cassandra quickly shot out her arm and grabbed Belas elbow to stop her from getting involved. Bela whipped around with a growl but Cassandras glare and squeezing nails told her to back down. Mother can handle it.

Insane Laugh™️

thinks it’s funny to intimidate the maidens by showing her fangs and snapping her jaw

she often likes to find Bela when she’s reading a book to convince her to read to her (Bela almost always complies)

that’s it for Daniela. just a hyperactive baby with a murder streak <3 ONTO THE FINAL SISTER

Bela:

Mama’s (and I cannot stress this enough) Girl

needs constant reassurance that’s she’s doing a good job and yes this reassurance can ONLY come from her mother

INSOMNIAC

this girl never sleeps, pls baby you need some rest

she spends the time she should be sleeping reading books or running errands for her mother (whether Alcina asked her to or not)

she has read almost every single book in their giant library

Cassandra doesn’t understand this at all

“Why are you always cooped up in here?” Bela glanced up over the pages of her book at her younger sister. “This is the library Cassandra. Take a wild guess.” her voice was completely level and had no inflection. Cassandra gritted her teeth, “You think your so much better than me.” Bela sighed and closed her book. She didn’t want to do this again. “No. I don’t.” she said seriously. Cassandra eyed her for a moment then looked away, Bela saw the guilt on her face before she turned on her heal. “You’re so boring.”

because she reads so much, she is incredibly smart and just knows facts about random things

Daniela, daydreaming: “I wonder why grass is green.”

Bela, immediately: “the pigment that most grasses produce, Chlorophyll, absorbs almost all blue and red light and reflects green light which is why we see green. so I mean, technically grass is every single color EXCEPT for green.

Dani, confused as fuck: ....

Cass: “Bitch, how do you even know that?”

Bela’s sisters just end up using her as Google

“Hey Bela, how far away is the moon?” “238,900 miles.”

“Hey Bela, how many different climates are there?” “Twelve”

“Hey Bela, what’s the worlds deadliest poison?” “Botulinum... why?” “No reason.” “Dani. WHY?”

“Hey Bela, how much can I sell a human skull on the black market for?” Bela, concerned: “Cassandra why would—” “HOW MUCH?” “Well... are all the teeth still in tact?” “...No.” “Than only about $500.” “FUCK.”

“Hey Bela, I have this weird rash on my back and—” “Daniela. Do not finish that sentence. Go ask Mother.”

she is so quiet

and not just because she doesn’t talk very loud or even much at all. she’s just So. Silent. when she moves

just pops up in random places without anyone hearing her approach

even Daniela can’t hear her coming, which is saying something

Cassandra, minding her own business, drinking blood tea: .....

Bela, suddenly right next to her: “Hey I was wondering if— stop screaming, it’s me— have you seen Mothers lipstick? It’s missing.”

refuses any type of help with anything or else she feels like she failed that task

Never asks for help, Never asks for favors, and Never Ever will burden her Mother with any of her problems. Ever.

(Alcina thinks this is ridiculous. her eldest daughter pushes herself too hard.)

Anxiety™️

sometimes when her anxiety becomes too much she shuts down and becomes very indifferent to things around her. this has caused many fights between herself and Cassandra because Cass will get really fired up when all Bela does is respond with a monotone voice and blank stare.

overthinks literally everything and is a perfectionist

this makes her prone to panic attacks :(

when this happens she shuts herself in her room, not wanting to bother her Mother or sisters

Bela closes her bedroom door behind her and stumbles to her knees. she can’t seem to get air into her lungs no matter how hard she tried. she had failed. Mother asked her to bring her the head of that stupid man-thing, but somehow he knew their weakness.

how could he know? are Cassandra and Daniela ok? where are they? where is Mother?

Belas breathing was shallow and short, her chest burns as she presses her forehead into the ground. She claws the skin of her chest raw, leaving angry, red marks behind, desperately trying to open her lungs.

she stays as quiet as she can, only gasping few and far between. she will not be a burden. she should deal with the consequences of her failure. alone.

a sudden knock on her door makes her scramble backwards on her bottom till her back hits the opposite wall. then Belas worst nightmare, her Mothers voice.

“Bela?! Bela, is that you?” Alcinas words were rushes and worried. the door handle jiggled. “Bela, baby the door is locked, please let me in.” Bela covered her mouth and cried silently while her Mother begged to be let in.

the sound of snapping wood had Belas eyes flying open, her Mother had broken down the door. Bela shrunk into herself. She’s going to be so mad. I’m a failure. the ringing in her ears became so intense she couldn’t hear anything else.

large, soft hands cup her cheeks and a muffled voice through the air: “Bela, my love, you’re alright thank god. Are you hurt anywhere? Let me see.”

Bela pushed weakly at her Mothers arms and said between sobs, “I-I’m sorry, M-Mother.”

Alcina looked at her eldest daughter with confusion, she had no physical wounds, but the look on her face was heartbreaking. “What are you sorry for, my love?” this only made Belas breathing spend up even more, her face red from the lack of oxygen. Alcina quickly pulled her in close.

“Now Bela, listen to the sound of my voice,” she said it gently but just hard enough to grab her daughters attention. “I need you to copy my breath. Do it now, love, listen to me. Do what i’m telling you to.” Alcina took exaggerated breaths and noticed that instantly after her command, Bela had tried to follow, but the smaller girls breath was still choppy and small. Alcina rubbed a thumb across Belas cheek. “You’re doing so well baby. Keep going just like that. Good girl.” a smaller hand was placed on her arm and grabbed at her sleeve. “Good baby, use me to ground yourself. Keep breathing now, you’re doing so good.” Alcina kept whispering soft encouragements and praises until her daughters breathing was back to normal and she was laying limp on her chest.

Alcina moved the hair away from Belas face. “What a good girl, you did so well.” Bela squeezed her eyes shut and pushed into her Mother until her face was hidden. “I’m sorry Mother.” came a muffled apology, though her voice was much more steadier than before. “I failed you, I couldn’t stop the man-thing. He shot at the windows! He knows our weakness, Mother. What are we going to do? Where’s Daniela and Cassandra, are they ok? I should have stopped him for you I’m so sorry I—”

“Quiet.” Bela immediately seals her lips and looks away, already extracting herself from her Mother’s arms. She probably hates her. Alcina simple tugs her back and forces Bela to look in her eyes with a quick tap to the forehead. “Bela, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” Her daughters eyes go wide and she nods. “You have nothing to apologize for. This is not you’re fault and I will not allow you to think that way. Plus, the man-thing won’t bother us any longer, I took care of it.”

“But—” Alcina raises an eyebrow and Bela gives in, nodding hesitantly. “Good girl.” Bela exhales through her nose at the phrase and squeezes her Mother’s sleeve again. They sit like that for a few more moments, calming down.

Bela suddenly shoots up. “Daniela, Cassandra, are they—” “They’re fine my dear, Daniela got a little banged up, but Cassandra was already patching her up before I could even get close. We didn’t know where you were, that’s why I was so worried.” Bela relaxed and again nuzzled her nose into her Mother’s chest, took one more deep breath, then stood. “I’m going to go check on them.”

She steps through the now empty door frame and pauses. She spoke without turning around: “I won’t fail you again, Mother.” and shifts into a cloud of flies and disappears.

(am I projecting again? idk help)

can play the piano

no like you don’t understand, she is so good at piano

this girl has mastered songs by composers like Liszt, Beethoven, and Ravel

she’ll play for hours on end, if she starts a new piece she Will Not get up until she can play it through perfectly

she pretends not to notice Cassandra secretly listening to her play, hidden behind a nearby bookshelf

while her younger sisters always jump head first into a fight, Bela takes a more calculating approach. learning her enemies movements from afar before advancing and ending it in like 3 quick moves.

“Well Bela, if Mother asked you to jump off a bridge, would you?”

Bela, already climbing over the railing: “Hm?”

and there you go for Bela! my sweet child.. please learn self-care.

*ahem* I went overboard again didn’t I? WELP. I regret nothing. Give me more headcannons.

[mindninjax]

The Way It Blooms

Pairing: Wakatoshi Ushijima x virgin!reader 

Rating: M for the sex but it’s FLUFF

Warning: it’s fluffy smut, pure fluff. 

Word Count: 3.4K

a/n: Do you remember the moment you fell in love with someone?  The very first moment the two of you made love? This fic is kinda about that. Ushijima has quickly become one of my comfort characters as you will see in this soft ass shit.

This was used as inspiration and it’s beautiful. Also, you should listen to  Get You by Daniel Caesar during the smut lol. 

Dedicated to one @dymphnasprose for dropping so much Ushi content in my DMs and making me fall for him more and more and for this fucking adorable ass pet name that I will always use and associate with both you and Ushi. I love you babe! 

Plucking the strings idly of your old acoustic guitar, you feel the familiar rush of calm wash over your body. You haven’t picked it up since your sophomore year of high school when you—embarrassingly— serenaded your boyfriend at the time with a dumb love song you wrote him after only dating for 3 months. It was Valentine’s day, you thought it’d be special. He broke up with you and called you “clingy”. And being the dramatic but valid—because that guy was a major asshole— teenager, you’d stopped playing. 

As you got older, you’d forgotten about it, shifted your focus on getting into college, becoming a journalist like you’d planned. Something changed in you in the last few weeks though. You were braver, more confident, happier with who you were as a person. 

It could be because the winter months were coming to an end, the sun was shining more, beating down into your dorm room and warming the cold dark depressing atmosphere you hidden yourself in for the past few months. Or it could be...him. 

Your face heats up and you pluck a sour note on the guitar as his face fills your mind. Piercing moss green eyes gaze into your subconscious and make a home there. Your heart flutters when you think about his voice, the last words he said to you, “I’ll be back to you soon, don’t worry”, before it becomes heavy with yearning and you remember he’s across an ocean right now playing an intense volleyball match you’re sure his team will win. 

Wakatoshi pulled the deepest emotions from you, the deepest and most forgotten portions of your personality, the ones you used to enjoy the most before society squeezed it from you. He admired your creativity, and his blunt comments or questions always caught you by surprise, in a good way. 

“God, I wish I could go up on stage and sing like that!” you’d said one date night while watching  a woman perform karaoke. 

“Why can’t you?” Toshi asked in a deadpan voice as he stroked the back of your hand. You blinked at him, not able to give him a clear reason of why you couldn’t go up on stage. It’d just felt natural to say, like you weren’t supposed to go. By the end of the night, you were on stage laughing and singing, full of joy as you watched him clap along to the music and his eyes followed you around on stage. It was the happiest you’d been in a while, and it was one the first few dates you’d gone on with him.  

You strum a few chords, humming to yourself as you get caught up in the music. You’d forgotten how calming it was, how much strumming and humming helped you feel when you allowed yourself to just be you. It was strangely how you felt every single time you were around Wakatoshi, comfortable yet protected. You pick up your phone and check the time, an idea forming in your head. He’d be in the middle of the game right now so he won’t have his phone until it’s over. 

You prop the phone up on a pillow with it facing you. Your face is bare with no makeup, your hair is a little messy from the wear and tear of the day and you were in the middle of getting ready for bed so you’re wearing an old cami and tiny shorts. You shrug, electing not to worry about your appearance, prop the guitar up on your leg, clear your throat, and press the record button on your phone. 

You strum a simple tune, something that repeats where the beat can be easily kept. It’s a swaying melody, one that tiptoes up and down the score with light steps; like a soft lullaby intended to serenade and rock the listener into a dreamy slumber. You’re not nervous, you don’t worry about what anyone might think about you, you just close your eyes and think of Toshi and how much you miss him.

 You focus on how much you want to feel his arms around you, how he makes your heart jump into your chest when his fingers lightly draw over your skin. You giggle when you think about his dry attempts at jokes just so he can see you smile and the way he will poke at where the dimple would be if you smiled when you're frowning. His own little silent gesture to say “smile little doe,” because he's not a man of many words. 

You lose yourself in the melody, start to sing the words that sashay around your head and heart. You’re not sure if they make sense, or if they fit the tune, you only know you want him to know how you’re feeling and for some reason this feels like the perfect way to show him. You pour your heart into each word you sing, communicating in the most intimate way you know how to while he’s away, and it’s evident in the passionate way you float to each note.  

Your voice wavers when you sing about how much you wish he was here with you, how much you want him to touch you and hold you and feel you, even going so far as to mention making love to him. You two haven’t been dating long a few months at most, and you’re astounded at just how much you crave him. Except that isn’t the word you want to use. The word you want to use scares you, so you’re hoping, praying that he will feel it when he hears this. 

You end the song and stop the recording, softly and with purpose as if to solidify every feeling you’ve contained in this beautiful little song for him and before you become too afraid and erase it. No, he deserves to hear this song for him. A message in a bottle that you send across the ocean and with it, hope and comfort that there is someone out there in the world who understands him and sees him. 

You type a quick message and attach the video quickly before you talk yourself out of it: 

Toshi, here’s a little something to help you sleep! See you in two days! ❤️

You hit send and chew on your lip before tossing the phone aside and quickly finishing your night routine for bed. 

--

“Get some rest Ushiwaka! You deserve it after the win you got us today!” 

Wakatoshi waves off his teammates silently as he shuffles to his hotel room and pulls out the keycard. He sighs heavily when he hears the affirmative beep and the lock clicks. He’s exhausted, the long 5 set match finally done. The other team put up a great fight and he’s always appreciative of a team who has a fighting spirit, but he’s exhausted and hasn’t been able to see or hear from you all day. He collapses on his bed and digs through his bag for his phone. He turns it off before matches so he can keep his focus but he always sends a quick message to you before he does and he never turns it off until he gets a text back from you. 

When the screen lights up and comes back alive he smiles to himself. It’s your face on his phone background. One that he took when you both visited the park near campus. You’d picked a huge sunflower and you were beaming. He’d had to move quickly and figure out how to open his camera to take it before you realized, but it came out stunning. You looked so happy, the dimple in your cheek deepening as you caught his love-filled gaze on you. 

Your face smiles back at him on screen now and he frowns when he realizes how much he misses you. He wishes you were here with him. It’s very seldom that you aren’t at one of his games, cheering him on, watching his every movement, being his motivation. He plays harder when you’re watching, he wants to make you proud, although you’re always proud of him. But the way your eyes light up when he wins a match, how you jump on him and squeal when he leaves the court sweaty and still full of adrenaline from the match, makes the win all the more worth it. 

Wakatoshi doesn’t know exactly what it is about you that he likes so much. He finds himself pondering it as he watches you do mundane tasks. When you twirl your pencil while you work on homework, the way you bite your cheek when you’re thinking of something, or the way you gravitate toward him when you’re sitting next to him, he finds it entertaining. He could watch you all day and never get bored, and that’s a first for him. It’s a first that anything other than volleyball has kept his attention and he’s not bothered by it. 

He opens the message from you, swiping up to unlock his phone and his eyes grow a little wide when he sees you’ve sent him a video. He reads the message before getting up, grunting as he stands to go take a shower. If the video is to help him sleep, he figures he should get ready for bed before he watches, plus he likes the idea of your face being the last thing he sees before he drifts off to sleep. 

When he’s showered and his muscles are relaxed and dripping from the shower, he pulls on his boxers, dries himself and climbs into the stiff hotel bed, wishing once again that he was climbing in next to you. He grabs his phone again as he lays on his back. He opens the message once again, smiling at your face—he misses so much—and plays the video. 

The guitar strums surprise him, he didn’t know you could play guitar. It’s automatically soothing and he stores this fun fact in his brain, vowing to never forget it as it’s information on one of his favorite things. The tune you strum is simple yet beautiful, maybe because it’s you playing it or just that your fingers so meticulously strum the strings. He can tell this is your craft and you’re good at it. 

He closes his eyes as he continues to listen to the repetitive melody and he’s immediately thankful that you sent him this. It will help him sleep and he can drift off knowing that even though you aren’t here, you’re still helping and supporting him from afar. 

His eyes shoot open when you start to sing. Your voice is astounding. It is unlike anything Wakatoshi has ever heard before. It twinkles like a delicate little bell, rings loud and strong as the words continue and pierce his heart. It swirls, sways, rocks and swaddles him in all the love you project through these lyrics. Your voice is sweet, relieving, like ice cream on a very hot day after practice, and when you sing his name and about making love, he grunts in approval. It’s suddenly all he wants. His body, his heart aches for you and all he wants is to be with you again. When the song ends on a tender note, he plays the song again and again, hanging on every lilt of your voice and committing it to memory. 

Right before he drifts off to sleep, he texts back a quick message to you, a vow he intends on keeping. 

I am coming back to you soon little doe.

--

Your hair is brushed from your forehead and you sigh in contentment. You’re sure you're dreaming, it’s been the same recurring dream every night since Toshi has been gone. When you feel a hand cradle your face, your eyes shoot open to see him, sitting on the edge of your bed caressing your face in his large hand. Tears well in your eyes when you see him and you jump up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Toshi!”

He pulls you into his lap and cradles your body against his. You can hear his gym bag slip from his shoulder and you peep over his shoulder to see his luggage in the corner of your room. His luggage. You pull back to look into his eyes. 

“Toshi, did you come straight here when you got off the plane?” you ask looking concerned and trying to wipe the tears from your eyes. He’s faster than you, reaching a long finger out to catch a falling one and swipe it from your cheek. 

“Yes. You don’t have to cry. It was no trouble,” The deep baritone rumbles his body and moves through you. It’s only been a few days since you two have seen each other, but his voice still sends a shiver up your spine whenever you hear it. 

You shake your head in defiance, “Wakatoshi, you should’ve gone to your dorm. You need to rest,” you say furrowing your eyebrows and trying to be serious. 

He stares at you with an intense stare and you’re momentarily worried. Wakatoshi has never looked at you this way before. This stare is usually intended for his teammates or a rival, when he’s serious and focused during a match. 

“No. I needed to see you.” 

You’re not sure what comes over you but his words ignite a fire in you and you kiss him, hard and passionate. Ever the prepared sportsman, he kisses you back matching your passion and groaning into your mouth. All the yearning the two of you shared over the last few days rushes out of you and into the kiss. It’s sloppy and you both have to pull back and catch your breath. 

His hands fall to your hips as he pulls you closer against him. Your hands roam down his chest, up his broad shoulders and down his bulging back muscles. You breathe his name against his lips and he growls, picks you up and places you down on your back on the bed. 

He crawls over you, fixating himself between your thighs. You’re both still clothed but the aching for each other is more than just the sex. You just want to be close to him, to feel him wrap his arms around you, to feel his lips against yours again. He bends down to your face and kisses you again. Softer this time, as if he’s afraid to hurt you or lose control. He kisses down your jaw, bites and sucks on your neck, marking you as his. 

You hear him rumble into your neck, “Mine” before he bites down and makes another mark. You moan at the sensation and Wakatoshi momentarily stops to savor the sound. It’s almost as sweet as your lovely singing voice, and he’d give anything to hear you moan his name. You paw at the hem of his shirt as he continues to kiss your cheek and neck. 

“I want to see you Toshi,” you whimper. He gazes into your eyes for a moment before removing  his shirt and you marvel at his rippling muscles. He’s so big, his herculean frame always able to make your mouth water. He can see the pride of having him be yours in his eyes and he likes it. 

He wants you to be proud to have him, the same way he’s proud to have you. He grabs the end of your shirt and slowly pulls it over your head. Large hands clumsily grasp the clasp of the bra He observes you like a work of art, committing every freckle and mole to memory. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says and the way the word “beautiful” falls effortlessly from his lips when describing you makes your face grow hot. There’s nothing you want more than him, now. He removes his pants and underwear and slides yours down your legs as well. When you both are left staring at each other in awe, you pull him back down to kiss you again. 

You can feel his engorged cock twitching against your thigh as he hovers on his elbows over you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, desperation escaping with your next exhale. He kisses down your chest, covering every inch of you with the sweetest embrace of his lips. He licks at your nipple, nips softly and when he hears you gasp he bites down a bit harder before licking to soothe the brisk pain. 

Your heart beats faster with every kiss, this feeling inside of you overwhelms you and when you push your hips up to meet his, a silent plea, he pulls back to look at the exquisite fountain between your legs. He holds his weeping cock in one hand and for the first time you look at him nervously. Will it fit? What if it doesn’t? Will he still want to be with you? He reaches a large hand to caress your cheek and the tumbling storm in your chest calms with his sweet gesture. He stares into your eyes and that same intensity burns there, passionate and solicitous, like the sun. 

“Don’t worry little doe, I’ll be gentle,” he says running a thumb over your cheek. The anxiety is gone instantly and you look at him with the utmost trust as he places the tip of his dick to your entrance. He rubs it against your slippery folds, slathering your slick over his copious length and preparing you for all his glory. You nod to him when he looks at you for permission to enter. 

He pushes inside of you, moving slowly and passing the first ring of muscle. He grunts when the crown of his cock is sitting comfortably in your fluttering walls. You whimper as you become accustomed to how full you already feel. When your heaving chest slows down from the initial insertion, he continues to slide into you, hips moving closer to yours in a welcoming embrace. You stretch around him and it burns, but you clench as well, your body’s way of telling him not to stop. 

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you he grunts and you moan in unadulterated pleasure. Your eyes are shut as you concentrate on how he feels inside of you. Despite the fullness and the stretch it doesn’t feel foreign as you expected. It feels like he belongs, like your body will mold to his because it knows it’s supposed to be him. 

Little salty droplets bead at the corner of your eyes as you think about this, and when you open them Wakatoshi is staring with an unknown expression. The emotion, the love, grows inside of you like a sunflower reaching for the sun. It tumbles from your lips when he, while never severing your gaze, pulls his hips out ever so slightly and plunges back into you.  A quick chaste “I love you” that you’re sure and are slightly thankful he doesn’t hear. The fear and insecurity bubbling and shielding the sun again.

You cry out instead, “Oh god Toshi!” He wraps his arms around your body, leaning his weight onto his arms to avoid putting it all on you but wanting to pull you closer to his body. Your arms wrap around his neck as he pulls out all the way and slowly plunges back inside you again, starting a slow sensual pace. He rocks his hips, latches his lips to your neck as you dig your hands into his hair and you lift your hips to feel more of him. 

His pace quickens as he becomes lost in the passion of your warm velvety walls, what he assumes is heaven. You’re moaning his name over and over, tears now falling down your cheeks as your ecstasy creeps upon you. When you feel the coil inside you snap, you pull him closer, nails digging into his back as your thighs shake and wrap around his waist. You cry out again, no longer able to hold it in, “I love you! Toshi, I love you so much!” 

The words tumble from your lips as his cum spills inside you and grunts your name loudly. He connects his lips with yours as the two of you ride out your orgasm together, as one. When you both come down from your high, he rubs his forehead against yours brushing his nose against yours before whispering in his deep baritone voice something you almost don’t make out. But when you do hear it, you wrap your arms around his neck again and hug him close, intent on never letting go. 

“I love you, little doe.”

--

Thanks for Reading!!

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[mk-tozier]

BRAT| RICHIE TOZIER X READER

@softbumble asked: I was wanting a smut with Richie x quiet reader where the reader is acting like a brat and Richie decides to teach them some manners.

17-18 years old or whatever age you want idc lmao

I’m sorry if this is bad or not what you wanted, I’m also gonna be kinda slow on requests, I’m trying the best as i can. Also sorry if its short or kinda rushed I’ve been kinda busy!

It’s kinda bad and very repetitive. Thats on me tho cuz its rushed. Again sorry if this is not what you had in mind. I was also writing this with the IQ of 2 because my brain was not working after taking a 1 hour and a half science test and then a math test right after so please excuse the absolute chaos this writing is.

warnings: smut, language, slight choking, degrading, teasing, fingering, overstimulation, idk man’, unedited as hell

I sat in Bill’s living room, next to Richie, sitting on the couch. An hour before me and Richie were at home, fingers tangled in each others hair, He trailed kisses down my neck, leaving hickeys and love bites on my neck as he played with the waistband of my underwear, teasing me and rubbing my clit through it. Then we got a call from Bill asking to hangout and Richie being Richie said we’ll go and left me unsatisfied. So now i was stuck on the couch, bored and horny. “why do you look so upset y/n, did something happen?” Ben asks. “No I’m just tired, thats all.” i said sweetly, but shooting Richie a glare. He smirked, before looking back at the tv which was playing some movie that i had no interest in. Bill and Stan were setting things up, getting snacks from the kitchen, board games from the closet, getting things together. I wasn’t exactly sure what we were doing but we were waiting for them to finish up.

Stan came into the living room, placing a bowl of chips onto the table. “Heyy stanny boyyyyyyyyyyy” I giggled, i have no idea why but i made myself laugh. “hey Y/n” He smiled. “you’re my twin” i say. “how so?” he asks, seeming genuinely interested in what i had to say. “We’re both quiet, sassy, funny” i stop to send Stan a wink at the word ‘funny’ “and cool people” I smile brightly. “i agree” he shakes his head, smiling. I look over to see a annoyed Richie. Hes very easy to make jealous, thats whats fun about him. Stan walked out of the room to continue helping Bill. “flirting with another guy” Richie muttered to himself, in a growl. I put my hand on Richies thigh. He looked over at me. “what’re you doing?” he growls again. “nothing” i shrug. I lay my head on his shoulder.

time skip

i layed with Richie comfortablely, My hand still on his thigh. The boys finished setting everything up, putting on ‘The Goonies’. I moved my hand higher up Richies thigh, closer to his manhood. I looked up at him, Richies jaw clenched. “Richieeee” i whined into his ear. “what?” he replies. “i need youuuu.” i whine again, kissing his neck. “wait until we get home” he mutters. “but i need you now” i brush my hand against his clothed dick, feeling it harden a bit. “baby pleaseee” “I said wait until we get home” Richie growls into my ear. I huff but listen to him, keeping my hand on his thigh. He moves my hand off his thigh and onto the couch. I huff again, annoyed, hes being no fun. I wait a few minutes before putting my hand back on his thigh. “princess, stop it” he whispers into my ear. I ignore him, moving my hand closer to his manhood. “if you dont stop I’ll have to punish you” he growls. I stop moving my hand, leaving it directly on his hard-on. Richie keeps his eyes on the tv, jaw clenched and anger in his eyes. Just what i wanted. I began to palm Richie through his joggers, causing his breath to hitch. He grabbed my wrist, moving it away from my pants. “I just remembered i told my parents that I’d have Y/n over for dinner, they love her so they insist in inviting her to dinners. they’ll kill me if I’m late so we gotta go” Richie says to the losers, they nod understanding. He pulls me through the living room and out the door, shutting it behind him. “what the fuck was that?!?” Richie growls. He gets on his bike, i get on the back, wrapping my arms around him. “answer me” “its your fault, you said we could go to Bill’s, maybe if you werent such a tease then i wouldnt of done what i did” I snap back. “Acting like a brat now, are we?” he says, pedalling faster

When we arrived to the house Richie threw his bike to the ground on his front lawn, he dragged me inside, the door unlocked. Richie pushed me against the wall, attacking my neck. “Made me lie to the losers because you were so needy” He mumbled against my neck. “Needy slut can’t even wait until we get home” Richie says before beginning to suck and lick at my soft spot. I moan from the unexpected contact. “you like that? hmm?”  i nod my head. Richie trails down my neck, kissing my cleavage, his hands roam under my shirt. “Rich, not here” i gasp. “Its my house, we can fuck wheverever the hell i want” He grumbled. Richie picks me up, walking up the stairs, continuing to attack my neck with hickies. He pushes open his bedroom door, kicking it closed when we enter the room, throwing me on the bed. Richie quickly takes off his shirt, throwing it somewhere, revealing his pale skin and skinny frame. He walks over to the bed, getting on top of me, arms on both sides of my body. Richie takes off my shirt, throwing it behind him. He kisses around my bra and down my stomach, kissing the skin right before my shorts/skirt, leaving hickies along the way, getting closer to where i needed him the most. “Rich, please” I whine. “please what? Use your words” “i need you, please” i whine again. “bad girls dont get what they want, beg for it.” He growls into my ear, the raspiness of his voice and the lust in his eyes made me want him more, a wetness pooling in my underwear. Richie unclasped my bra, attacking my breasts, licking and sucking at one nipple as he fondled with the other breast. “please Richie, i need you inside me so bad, your fingers, your tongue, anything, i just need you. so, so, so bad Rich” I beg. “such a needy slut, you’ll use anything to get off, won’t you? so desperate for my cock, huh” Richie kisses down my stomach, removing my shorts/skirt. “you’re so wet for me. you’re my little whore, just begging for my cock.I barely touched you and you’re all riled up?”  Richie smirks.  

He puts his thumb on my clit, rubbing me through my underwear, i moan, satisfaction running through me. Richie rubbed my clit slowly, applying pressure. “please Rich, please i need you inside of me.” I whine. “Such a impatient needy slut, can’t wait to feel my fingers inside of you, falling apart just from a little touch” He pulls down my underwear slightly, blowing air onto my clit. “such a little whore, all soaked” Richie pushes one finger into me, thrusting slowly, i moan loudly, before biting my lip. “faster Rich please” i let out quickly. He speeds up his pace, lifting himself to my lips. Richie connects his lips with mine, kissing me softly, sometimes he can’t help himself and he’ll kiss me softly or passionately, he’ll never admit it but he has a soft spot. Richie curls his finger, hitting a different angle, causing me to moan into the kiss. “you like that? hmm?“ I nod my head moaning, my hips buck, the familiar pit in my stomach growing, i clenched around his finger. Richie enters another finger, thrusting quickly. My hips buck again, i moan loudly, letting my hands go to his hair, tugging. “fuck, rich im gonna cum” i whine, clenching around his fingers. I feel my release pulsing through me. Richie pulls his fingers out, i whine, annoyed. “riiich” “Bad girls dont get to cum” He says before licking his fingers. “you always taste so good princess” Richie connects my lips with his once again, shoving his tongue in my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip. He pulls away, lowering himself. Richie licks a stripe up my pussy unexpectedly. “Rich!” i squeal. He swirls his tongue around my clit and down to my slit. Richie licks my clit slowly, holding my thighs. I bite my lip, holding back the sounds. He begins speeding up the pace, drawing little circles on my thighs with his fingers.

Richie starts licking slower before sucking on my clit, i cover my mouth, whining. Richie sits up, grabbing my hand. “let me hear you, dont cover your mouth. i want everyone to hear what a slut you are, let them know that you’re mine” He says before lowering himself, beginning to suck on my clit again. “Rich! Fuck!” i gasp, causing him to suck on my clit faster, i could feel the pit in my stomach growing already. My hips bucked into his mouth, i tugged on his hair. “Richieee baby im close” i groaned. He sucked faster, licking at my clit, swirling and moving his tongue. My hips bucked again as i let out an aspirated moan. “I’m gonna cum, fuck” i moaned, Richie pulled away quickly. “Riiiich.” I whine. “I told you, bad girls dont get to cum” he leans over me, arms on both sides of me again. “Maybe next time you’ll learn your lesson, flirting with Stan and acting like a brat? You had it coming” Richie whispers into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Needy slut” He mumbles. He connects our lips once again, my hands travel to his hair, playing with it. Richie grinds against my heat, groaning into the kiss,his hard on rubbing me through his joggers. “Rich i need you, please. I know I’m a bad girl, please i learned my lesson, I’ll behave i promise”

“Yeah? You want this cock? Huh?” “Yes. Please richie.” “Good girl, begging for me so well. You’re gonna behave?” “Yes i will.  i promise rich. I’ll be patient and i wont flirt with anyone, I’m yours and only yours” Richie groans. He gets off the bed, taking offf his joggers, his dick clearly showing through his boxers, is it up, helping him remove them. “Eager brat” Richie chuckles, he crawls onto the bed, pushing me onto my back. He looks up at me, his tip nearing my entrance. I nod, letting him know to go ahead. Richie slowly enters me, groaning, his precum leaking into my entrance. “So wet and warm for me” he groans. “Rich” i plead. Richie starts to thrust into me slowly, i moan, finally getting the pleasure i wanted. “Can Stanley fuck you this good? Huh?” Richie picks up the pace. I shake my head, whining. “Does his dick fill you up like this?” “N-no only you do.” I gasp. “Who’s are you?” He thrusts faster, groaning. “I’m yours Rich, only yours.” Richie groans again, he leans over, sucking on my neck, leaving dark purple bruises. My back arches and i moan loudly. He hovers over me again. “You’re mine” his words made the pit in my stomach grow, Richie puts his hand around my neck, making me moan. “You like that? You like when i choke you like the little toy you are.” He growls. I whimper, nodding my head. “You like using my hand as a necklace, hm? You like when i use you as my little sex toy?” Richie groans, i moan, his words sending me over the edge, my hips start bucking as i clench around him. “Are you gonna cum, princess?” I nod my head “yes richie. I’m gonna cum, please let me cum” I whimper again. “Go ahead doll, cum for me, cum all over my cock. I wanna see you” He whispers into my ear, completely sending me over the edge, making me cum harshly, my vision blurred from all the pleasure hitting me. “AH! RICH!” Richie chuckles,  kissing my cheek. His fast pace continues, the grip on my neck loosening a bit. “Rich.” I whimper. “You wanted my dick, you’re getting it. You’re gonna take it until i cum, is that alright?” I nod, moaning from overstimulation. “You like that baby? You like how I’m using you as my little cocksleeve?” He groans into my ear. I nod, whining. Richies thrusts start to falter, getting sloppier. I can feel my high coming back, the pit in my stomach starting again. My hips buck again, clenching around Rich. He groans, making me clench around his dick more. “B-Baby you close again?” He says, shutting his eyes. “Mhm” “cum again for me. I’m here, its okay.” He thrusts rougher into me, his head falling back in pleasure. I whine, his pleasure sending me over the edge, cumming. Richie groans, his dick twitching inside of me. “I’m close. Shit. You fuck so good princess, taking my dick so well.” “You’re so good rich, filling my up with your big dick.” I whine, he groans, cumming in me, stopping his thrusts.

Richie pants, i run my fingers through his hair. “You did so well doll” He flashes me his signature goofy grin. Richie looked down. “That was hot.” He chuckles, i smile admiring his features. “I love you Rich.” I whisper, barely audible. Richies head snaps up, his cheeks red. “Y-you what? Did i hear that r-right. Y-you love me?” His face softens, he smiles slightly. “I love you too Doll.” Richie plants a small sweet kiss on my lips, he pulls out. “You need a bath princess?” He asks. “That’d be nice.” I say softly. “C’mon I’ll go set up the bath”

[ayellowcurtain]

Like trouble water running cold - Ismail x Constantin

Chapter 6, I think

To @odi-et-amo85 and the anon that asked for this

-

The next morning, or afternoon actually, was not much easier. Ismail’s own words were still dancing in his very hungover brain, and he could tell it was no different with Constantin. He looked like a small, cute puppy that was left on the sidewalk for a new owner to grab or something. Ismail didn’t try to play nice that morning, he didn’t have the energy or emotions to do so.

Breakfast was quiet, and awkward, Constantin wouldn’t stop looking at him, and when Ismail tried to calmly tell Cons’ parents that he was leaving, Constantin tried to argue, saying to his parents that Ismail had nowhere else to go and no need to leave, but Ismail didn’t care, and he was out of the house a few hours later.

After another or two arguments with Constantin trying to stop him while packing his bag, or while taking everything to the door, he was finally on his way to Zoe’s place. He made sure to check that Kieu My wasn’t there that morning, and Zoe said it was only her, that even Nora wasn’t home.

Of course she already knew he and Constantin had a fight when he finally got there. If news travels fast, it travels faster than the speed of light between all of them, their tiny, extremely messy group of friends. She didn’t know exactly what the fight was about - it’s not like they hide that they hook up sometimes but it’s also their very private thing, their bubble that nobody has full access to - but she knew something had happened, and as always, tried to brush it off, to say whatever it was would be gone after a beer or two, or maybe wine.

Ismail didn’t feel like talking, or trying to fake anything, so he just used his hangover as an excuse and Zoe let him be for the next day or two.

Everyone’s lives did go back to normal eventually, at least the we-will-party-and-drink-no-matter-what part and Ismail was okay with it after those first few days feeling sorry for himself and angry with Constantin. He avoided going out the first week but he was going insane after all that time locked inside so he started going out again, and just avoided being alone with Constantin, ignoring his every attempt to talk and brush things off too.

Ismail could see him constantly staring though, drinking more and more every new day they went to go have drinks somewhere but he didn’t give in. Yeah, he made a big scene out of a small, dumb hook up but it was more than that. He was just generally tired of exactly this: Constantin trying to brush everything about them off like it’s no big deal when it was to Ismail. Constantin trying to always get his way because he can pout and look like a puppy and make you think you’re in the wrong when he’s the one constantly fucking things up left, right, and center.

“I don’t even know what’s exactly that you’re so pissed about.” Constantin said almost a month later. Ismail knew that this was planned, it just took everyone a whole month to make it happen.

They all felt bad that Constantin and Ismail weren’t talking at all, they all tried to fix it, to talk and find a way to get everything back to normal but Ismail assumed they were always way too drunk or high to put their stupid plan ir order. It only happened a month later, and it was basically an accident. Somehow, it felt like a miracle to be honest, Constantin was the less drunk one besides Ismail, and so he was in charge to walk everyone home, find their keys, shove them inside or something. Lucky for him, he only had to do that with Kieu My that night because everyone else was staying at Zoe’s.

Seeing him open the door for Kieu My, help her get inside her house safely and without making a sound made Ismail a little bit jealous deep down, remembering their laughter, and long arms wrapped around each other as they walked upstairs that one night. And maybe he froze watching that, too bitter to notice that Zoe and Finn ran as he waited for Constantin as they all should. So in the end, he was left behind to walk with Constantin, and that’s when Constantin started that conversation after long, awkward, heavy minutes walking in silence between them.

Ismail tried to ignore but of course that wouldn’t be a sign for Constantin to just leave him until they got to Zoe’s. He can never take a no for an answer.

“It can’t be because I had sex with Kieu My.” Constantin came closer to say that and Ismail stepped away, and he could hear the loud sigh before Constantin was in front of him, following every time he tried to go the other way to keep walking.

“What?! You, me and Kieu My had fun millions of times before, and the times it was just me and her are like,” Ismail rolls his eyes, and tries to move to the side again but Constantin quickly follows, "…less than my two hands, and you and I know that. It was never a fucking problem befo-”

“We were tested before that, remember?”

Constantin frows, doesn’t seem to remember right away. “Yes…? So…?”

Ismail huffs, and tries to move on again, but Constantin stops him again, holding his arm this time too.

“I used a fucking condom, Ismail! What do you want?”

“It’s funny that you still have to ask.”

Constantin stutters, blinking a few times, for once in shock, letting Ismail take a few steps in peace before he’s right back next to him.

“I like you too. I didn’t know this wasn’t clear or that big of a deal to you too-”

“You always get your way, Constantin. You hear other people, what they want or need, and you completely ignore if that’s not what you want. You’re selfish, you don’t care, even when you have feelings for someone, it’s still so fucking small compared to your ego. I’m tired of being your babysitter, I’m tired of always doing things your way. I’m taking care of myself now, putting myself first. So just leave me alone.”

Ismail bumped into Constantin’s shoulder as he walked away and Constantin didn’t bother him for the rest of the way, but Ismail could feel his puppy eyes watching his every step all the way home. Constantin obviously tried to make himself even worse, declining Zoe’s invitation to stay at hers too so he wouldn’t have to go home alone. He only decided to stay because Ismail got tired of his pity party, and said he should stay and not be dumb. He slept on the couch, and Ismail couldn’t even close his eyes that night.

6 months later

Ismail finishes his beer, rolling his eyes because Kieu My is still there, glued to his side, pressing her lips together not to say anything.

“Where’s your girlfriend again?” Ismail teases, and she laughs wholeheartedly, leaning against him, with her elbow on his shoulder.

“At least I’m not grumpy because I’m as single as one can be. No cute dates to drag to our parties tonight?”

Ismail is guilty of that, maybe, but it didn’t happen as often as Kieu My is acting.

“I deleted Grindr.” Ismail decides to finally tell her, it’s been a few weeks, the hookups got boring and repetitive.

“No way! Why?”

Ismail shrugs, turning around to watch the party, can’t help but look for Constantin, talking to Finn in a corner, smiling for once. Kieu My follows his eyes, and presses her elbow on his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna finally give him a break.”

“No.” Ismail cuts that conversation right away. He and Constantin are okay, finally, but there’s no chance they’ll go back to that mess. They’re friends. Like Finn, or Zoe, or Kieu My even. No benefits. They’re not even best friends anymore.

“He’s trying, you should at least give him that.”

“Trying what? To not act like a horny spoiled pre-teen?”

Kieu My raises her eyebrows, shaking her head from one side to the other. Constantin is a little better but Ismail can’t do that, ever again. He can’t get that close to Constantin again because - and nobody else needs to know that, the guilt inside his brain is big enough already - he knows his feelings are just asleep, buried under thick, comfortable layers of time passing by where Ismail got distracted with anything (and anyone) else.

“He’s not as dumb and egocentric as he used to be. You should be proud that you gave him some ground to walk on and grow up.”

“‘I’m that good of a human.” Ismail laughs, fixing his curls that are bothering his eyes. Maybe the hookups that he brought to some of their small parties were also intentional, to teach Constantin what he was missing but Ismail doesn’t have to admit that out loud either.

“And you still have that huge of a crush on your childhood best friend but we won’t talk about that, I’ll pretend I don’t see right through you.”

Kieu My doesn’t wait for his moody answer, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before finally joining Fatou on the dance floor they made in Zoe's living room. The fake disco ball with the strings attached to it, the confetti on the floor, they really went all out this time, it feels like the old days, before all the drama.

After months of failed attempts, Constantin doesn’t rush to try and talk to Ismail every time he’s alone at parties anymore. He misses it, a little bit. And he misses a lot the relationship they used to have, mess or no mess. There’s nobody that could ever fill the thousand of roles Constantin had in his life. Best friend, older brother, younger brother, bodyguard even, lover, easy sex…

Ismail turns around and walks around the counter to see if he finds himself something stronger to drink. He’s been living here for long enough to know where Zoe hides her good drinks so he checks the cupboards underneath the counter but there’s nothing new or interesting there.

“Zoe said we’re running out of booze.”

Ismail stands back up, for some weird reason getting a little nervous to be talking to Constantin, only the counter between them and even then, Cons is sort of leaning against it, and he looks painfully hot tonight. Maybe it’s the weeks without even getting to kiss someone that’s getting to Ismail.

“Already? It’s not even that late.”

Constantin shrugs, drinking his beer. “If you need it so bad we can go look around for some store that might be open still.”

Ismail shakes his head, wrapping his robe type of jacket tighter around him, using the feathers around the wrist to keep his hands warm.

“No fucking way, it’s too cold outside.”

“Okay then.” Constantin takes a long look at him, and Ismail feels a little prouder, a tiny bit exhibitionist. “You look good tonight.”

“Every night, you mean.” Constantin laughs, and it makes Ismail laugh too.

“No way.”

“Fuck you.”

Constantin raises his eyebrows, finishing his beer and Ismail rolls his eyes. I wish!

“I see you’re letting your hair grow…”

Ismail misses Constantin like he can’t even explain, even the tedious parts such as cutting his hair because Constantin is too much of a lazy ass to go find a professional hairdresser that he might like.

“Not really, I just don’t have the fucking option. My hairdresser doesn’t accept to deal with me and my reckless behavior anymore.”

Ismail sighs, stealing the beer Finn left at the counter to go to the bathroom. “You’re so fucking weird.”

Constantin leans against the counter again, following him with his eyes as Ismail doesn’t mind going around the counter, standing a step too close to Cons, but still far enough where Constantin doesn’t think Ismail is making a move on him.

“I still have the fancy hair cutting things you bought last year.”

“That I bought to cut my hair…” Constantin rolls his eyes, and Ismail stops himself from smiling too big.

“That you used to cut my hair too.” Ismail notices how short Constantin’s nails are when he starts spinning his empty bottle on the counter. It’s been a couple of years since Ismail saw his nails this short, he wonders how anxious he is today.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Constantin finally asks, less cool than how he was trying to be until just now.

“Cutting your hair, apparently.” Ismail finishes Finn’s beer, trying to tame the butterflies that are starting to fly on his stomach, well aware that Constantin will find a way to convince him to go stay at his place tonight.

[thisyearingaming]

1997 - This Year in Gaming

Muggins here was born in ‘97, and can’t really remember much of it, natch. But there were some good things released this year - I’ve played every one of these, and have missed so many more.

Diablo - Windows, January 3rd

We start with dungeon-crawl-em-up and well-loved out of season April Fool’s Joke, Diablo. I’ll be totally honest - I don’t like Diablo that much. It’s absolutely fine, I just can’t get into it. The writing, setting and characters are all very good especially since this year only marks the beginning of games being seen as a bit more adult and intelligent. Check out this gameplay from Hour of Oblivion on YouTube, and marvel at the faux-Scottish accent on Griswold the blacksmith.

Mario Kart 64 - Nintendo 64, February 10th

Compared to its more recent versions, Mario Kart 64 is a veritable bloody relic of the past - solid controls and a quirky style mean it’s still a crowd pleaser to this day, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone right now that would die on the hill of it being their favourite single-player racing experience. It’s also got some of the deepest, impenetrable lore in any medium known to the human race - why exactly is Marty the Thwomp locked up here?

Blast Corps - Nintendo 64, February 28th

February’s position as most boring month of the year is shaken up a bit by having a uniquely designed Rare game slammed into its 28-day long face. Blast Corps is the puzzle-action game where you take control of several vehicles to destroy homes and buildings in order to prevent a nuclear warhead exploding in the coolest incarnation of Cold War politicking ever seen in a video game. Calling Blast Corps a “hidden gem” these days is like calling Celeste a hidden gem - it impresses nobody and makes you look like a dick. 

Turok: Dinosaur Hunter - Nintendo 64, March 4th 

The N64 was home to a surprisingly large number of above-average shooters despite its muddy graphics and small cartridge space - Turok is one of these, a great FPS game where you shoot the SHIT out of dinosaurs. Brett Atwood of Billboard said it was like Doom and Tomb Raider mixed - Doom Raider, if you will. I say it isn’t - there’s no demons, and there’s no polygonal breasts to poke dinosaurs’ eyes out with! 

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night - Sony PlayStation, March 20th

What is a retrospective? A miserable little pile of opinions. I’ve only recently played through SotN for the very first time on a TOTALLY LEGITIMATE copy with a CRT filter. Bloody good (geddit?) game, that takes the repetition of its predecessors, improves on it in basically every conceivable way, and combines it with special effects and graphics that even 23 years later had me going “ooh, that looks quite good!” Symphony’s music and audio design are wonderfully paired with a deeply enjoyable experience that’ll have you saying “mm, maybe just one more room?”

Tekken 3 - Sony PlayStation, March 20th

Also releasing from the Land of the Rising Sun that day was Tekken 3, which many believe is still one of the best fighters ever made. Tekken 3′s combat is so fast and responsive that it’s better than some games made today. T3 is also the best and easiest way to knock seven shades of absolute shite out of your friends without risking a massive head injury or a trip to the headmaster’s office... where you could also challenge him, but only if he plays as my favourite Not-Guile-or-Ken character in gaming, Paul. 

Sonic Jam - Sega Saturn, June 20th

The moment Sega realised that re-packaging old Mega Drive games would net them serious cash - although unlike later collections, this is a strictly Sonic affair, and has a neat little 3D world to run around in as a sort of hub world. Sonic X-Treme proved that Sonic Team would have to work hard at getting the fastest thing alive into 3D space properly: Jam is the sort of test ground for it too. It features some genuinely good emulation work for 1997, although it’s basically the gaming equivalent of going round to your grandparents at Christmas only for them to give you the exact same gifts you got in 1991, 1992 and 1994 but wrapped in a bow to make you think it’s different. What are you lookin’ at, you little blue devil?

Star Fox 64 - Nintendo 64, June 30th

So there’s this German company, right, called StarVox. Nintendo look at Europe and say “shit, we don’t want another lawsuit... after all, we’ve done three this year!”. So they give us in the PAL region the exciting title of Lylat Wars which as far as I know means absolutely fucking nothing in the context of the game. They’re still called Star Fox in-game too so what was the point? Anyway, fun 3D shooter with graphics that’ll make you do a barrel roll off the sofa and onto the power button to make the brown and green blurs a little easier on the eyes. Hello 2007, I’ve come back to make old references with you!

Carmageddon - Windows, July 30th

The game so scary it was BANNED in the UK! More like the game so fucking shit it was banned. Carmageddon is so deeply boring to play on PC that I can only imagine that Stainless Games made it tasteless by 90s standards simply to ramp up demand - much like another game we’ll be covering soon. 

Herc’s Adventures - Sony PlayStation, July 31st

“And they said Kratos was the best hero? Shish... they got it wrong, sister! Hercules is clearly better... he even has a coconut weapon.” A surprisingly fun overhead action game that most people only know for... well, I’ll just embed it.

Mega Man X4 - Sony Playstation, August 1st

A few years ago I tried playing every Mega Man game there is - I gave up at X3 because I was getting bored. Even still, Mega Man bores me - but at least the level design is good. Stay away from the Windows port. Pictured: me in the background yawning.

GoldenEye 007 - Nintendo 64, August 25th 

The name’s Intro. Overused intro which I also managed to fuck up twice through the deeply editable medium of text. GoldenEye is like the Seinfeld of console shooters - playing it nowadays you’re unlikely to be amazed but holy shit there’s some absolute greatness in this game. Every sound and every piece of music in GoldenEye is permanently seared into my brain - sometimes I’ll just hear Facility or Frigate in my head alongside the door opening sound and the gentle PEW of the PP7. I mean come on, fucking listen to this and tell me Grant Kirkhope isn’t cool as all hell.

LEGO Island - Windows, September 26th

The first open world experience I ever had was LEGO Island. It’s still quite good today, utterly deranged animation from the likes of the Infomaniac and Brickster - a cautionary tale for children that giving pizza to high-profile criminals is disastrous for the human LEGO race. 

Fallout - Windows, October 10th

War never changes, but franchises do. Fallout’s legendary status in the industry is exemplified in how different it feels. Yes, we had the game Wasteland nine years prior, but until September 97 there was nothing quite like Fallout. From the chilling introduction sequence showing the ruins of the United States to the tragic ending, Fallout is an exercise in pure human misery with the brightest spots of hope it can possibly muster thrown in for good measure. What begins as a tedious isometric point-and-click RPG ends as a minigun-wielding power fantasy, before your entire worth is stripped from you at the finish line. You have 500 days to find a water chip before it’s too late, but you’re constantly being fought by terrifying Super Mutants, irradiated animals, and the biggest monster of all - humanity. See what I did there? If anything, humanity in Fallout’s setting would be the greatest unifying force possible against the horror of the outside world. But how is it? It’s dull, it’s sluggish, and it’s really hard to get into even if you’re already a fan - but push through that and it’s worthwhile to see exactly how far the series got before Todd Howard said “eh fuck it” and had the whole thing dipped into an FEV vat.

Grand Theft Auto - Sony PlayStation, October 21st

To put it simply, the first in the GTA series is now nothing but a novelty. It has an irritating camera, wonky controls, poor graphics and deeply repetitive gameplay. But thank fuck it exists, because without it the Rockstar story may have been very different indeed. It’s quintessential cops and robbers gameplay, spanning across Liberty City, Vice City and San Andreas in one game, but with maps so far removed from their modern incarnations they may as well be named “Not New York, Possibly Bristol and Orange Town”. People really fucking hated Hare Krishnas in the 20th Century, didn’t they?

Crash Bandicoot 2: Cortex Strikes Back - Sony PlayStation, October 31

A hard one to talk about, honestly - it’s more Crash and better than the first one. It looks great, and Crash controls so well compared to his first outing. It’ll also keep you playing for 100%, fiendishly addictive and unashamedly difficult. Had a weird cover that moved with your head. 

PaRappa the Rapper - Sony PlayStation, November 17th

Type type type the words into the box! (Type, type, type - uh oh - the box?)

PaRappa is a gorgeously stylised rhythm game about rapping to steal the heart of the girl of your dreams - which involves learning karate, getting your driver’s license, selling bottle caps and frogs, making a cake, desperately trying not to shit yourself, and finally performing live on stage. Every one of its segments is so well-produced that they’d genuinely sell like ghost cookies in this era of shite rap. Notable for producing the greatest Jay-Z backing track ever made.

Sonic R - Sega Saturn, November 18th

Sonic R is absolutely FINE with vibrant textures, interesting levels, neat gimmicks and decent controls. But I’m gonna talk about its fucking AWESOME soundtrack by Richard Jacques and T.J. Davis, an eclectic mix of Europop and New Jack Swing - even thinking about it is bringing tears of absolute joy to my eyes hearing Super Sonic Racing in my head. You’ve got the main theme, Living in the City, Can You Feel the Sunshine, Back in Time, Diamond in the Sky, Work It Out and Number One - all of these are absolute club bangers and genuinely wouldn’t be out of place in a 90s disco. 

Tomb Raider II - Sony PlayStation, November 18th

Lara Croft returns to single-handedly endanger every species on Earth. TR2 is really good, the exploration and puzzle-solving aspects of the first game expanded upon here and the gunplay remaining just as punchy. Lara’s got a fully-functioning ponytail which absolutely boggles the fucking mind - a lot of work went into Lara’s hair for the 2013 reboot, so I can’t imagine the amount of man hours it took to get fluid(ish, come on, it’s the PS1 we’re talking about) hair movements in 1997. 

And really, that’s all I played from 1997. I’ve left out big hitters like Quake II, Gran Turismo and Diddy Kong Racing, but I simply haven’t formed an opinion on them yet. Maybe in a future post. 

Thanks for reading.

[strawberry-jules]

the first

picture this: it’s 6:32 pm, you took an edible, and you’re listening to joey pecoraro while you delve headfirst into tumblr like it’s 2014 and you’re a closeted lesbian. because you were, and still are.

january 4, 2020, she texted me drunk, saying she had a secret and she was nervous. i immediately, almost innately, knew what the secret was. i was giggly, blushing, excited, nervous, and absolutely nauseated by the combination of emotions. it was overwhelmingly pleasant, and therefore upsetting, because i didn’t understand. 

i kept opening the picture of us from my christmas party a week earlier, her arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind, twisted into mine as she leaned down and kissed my cheek and laughed quietly into my hair. my eyes peek up at the camera coyly, captured in the flash with an actual sparkle. as the photo was taken, my heart was racing, and i held her arms around me for a moment after the photo was taken. i kept holding her there, pressed up against me, as i showed her what would become one of my most precious memories that i don’t fully remember. 

between the boxed wine, the shitty street weed, and the coke, the whole night is veiled in a thin fog. i do remember her coming to my house on acid, leaning on me and whispering in my ear that she had dropped and wanted some wine. i took her by the hand and led her to the drink and snack counter, already drunk. i watched her slow, graceful movements as she chatted with our friends in the biology club, friends from classes, friends of friends, roommates, and occasional strangers. she walked like she was made of satin, smooth and slippery and soft. she dragged her fingertips across whatever she touched, and i wanted everything to be me. we sat in my room with my cat for a moment, alone, in silence, and it was one of the most intimate moments of my life. 

i reflected on those feelings from a moment, suddenly interrupted by, 

“i have a fat crush on you. like honestly if you hadn’t left there’s a high chance i would have tried to make a move this semester”

holy fuck. holy motherfucking shit fuck. those were the words i had wanted to hear since the day we went hiking with bio club, then split off to explore a rich tech high school, discussed our two daughters and a son who all went to this school, played soccer and danced and played lacrosse, respectively, then discussed taking a pole dancing class and getting our nipples pierced on the way home, in a car full of girls we barely knew. it felt like we were the only two the entire day. she was so beautiful.

i obviously said i liked her, too, in the most eloquent words i could. i wanted to make a good impression.

“shut up

“morgan i’ve had a crush on you forever”

i’m pretty sure that was actually the opening to a romance novel from the 80s.

throughout the month of january, we talked and called and facetimed and i progressively fell more and more infatuated with her. i say infatuated because i loved her as my friend, but i don’t know that i was falling in love quite yet. i got that all over warm feeling when she texted, i got the butterflies at the thought of her name or her hands or her hair, felt a tingle in my spine when i thought of leaning down and kissing her, picking her up by the waist and wrapping her legs around me, trailing my fingers under her shirt. i was wildly infatuated by the feelings she gave me, and frankly a little terrified by how strong they were. i made a plan to ask her to be my girlfriend when she was coming to visit, but it never ended up happening because her parents didn’t let her come visit. for whatever reason, that triggered my brain to shut off. i still wanted her so badly, but i didn’t want to put her in the position to be angry with her parents because of me, that would have been an awful home life. and did i really want to be in a long distance relationship? was this a sign? i had never had a relationship with a girl, did i even know how to do it? what if she didn’t actually like me, and it was just a phase for her? what if i didn’t actually like her, and it was just a phase for me? how would either of us know? was it worth risking our friendship?

i fell into such a lesbian-questioning spiral, that i found the most buff, manly, gym rat dudes i knew and went on dates that i reflect on and gag. i had this intense identity crisis and met a guy who literally looked so much like my father that you could exchange their high school photos and their mothers would not notice and made him my boyfriend as quickly as i could. i forced myself to fall in love, so that i could ignore what happened and live the rest of my days as a straight woman with a man exactly like my father, as my parents had hoped. unfortunately for me, he fell very, very in love with me, and i developed a very, very deep resentment toward him for “keeping me from women”. i woke up one morning and realized that i was no longer questioning. i had a dream that compiled every kiss with every girl i had ever had, all of the images of women kissing and dancing and embracing that had ever impacted me emotionally, and contrasted it immediately by the awkward, cold, uncomfortable kisses with strange men and repetitive, quite literally emotionless kisses with boyfriends, and the way i never initiated sex ever, even in hookups i planned, because i simply did not want to be having sex. it’s like getting high and reading twilight, then immediately getting slapped with a faux leather-bound hotel bible. 

the years i spent with men were a travesty. 

i’m now in an identity crisis because i came to the realization so suddenly that my entire life feels flipped on its head and i have literally no sense of structure or direction or emotional stability or stability in identity that i am in a perpetual tumble backward, down a grassy hill with gopher holes. i hope i land at the bottom, softly, soon. but it’s just as likely that i keep rolling because i started doing that weird sideways thing where you stand up after rolling for like 28 seconds and you realize you’re 86 feet east northeast of your friend, halfway up the hill, when you were supposed to land about 50 feet directly north, at the bottom of the hill. maybe i just rolled down too many literal hills as a child and now i have brain damage because that made no sense.

this is my long winded way of saying i think i’m a lesbian and the two women i have founded the deepest, most emotional romantic bonds with were both best friends that had my name and looked exactly the same, and i think i have a type that is just the version of me i want to be? and is there something wrong with me? and why is being alive so confusing? i am struggling to cope with actual romantic feelings that i have been burying since i was 14. how do i get over a breakup with a girl i never dated and haven’t seen in almost 4 years when she has no idea how i felt and i’m just now understanding how i felt and how fucking incredibly frustrating it is to not know if she ever felt the same, or even has the capacity to feel the same? how fucking tragic to be in love with a straight woman who probably only thinks about you when reflecting on high school, when you’re the one who walks past her in dreams and looks for her when in public and would do very embarrassing and almost unspeakable things to talk to for 5 minutes. and how do i go about processing my feelings for morgan without projecting my feelings for julia on to her? what if my feelings for morgan are simply an extension of julia that i created, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to her and the second part of my name, the second version, the second chance? is that dramatic, or does it have validity? am i just using her as an outlet for a problem i think i can’t solve? i am losing my mind, i think.

[goddamnitlady]

OOC // super long post of me talking at myself, trying to make sense of my behaviour.

I need to put this chaos of thoughts down on the page. Or else they might claw my skull open from the inside out. This text is so super personal it would fit better in my diary. This is me talking at me.

So no obligation to you to read this!!!

I realise I’m so shaken, that in the below text, I will be (re-)constructing my own narrative about myself. I’ll do that right here. 

I will use this narrative to review what I learnt about my behaviour, re-interpret my past and then frame my current social reality. If I use kinder language, perhaps I'll think kinder of myself? Gotta try that. This is my unstructured train of thought, me talking at me. If you want to read about me talking at you, scroll down.

Enjoy some nude TMI. It’s long.

INTRO - BEHAVIOUR 

Yesterday I went to A.DHD Central to get tested and maybe a diagno.sis and surprise, I have it! I saw it coming and I'm okay with this. It explains why... 

why I'm always so easily distracted

why it's almost painful to be bored

why it's almost to do difficult tasks 

why I've got social periods that can last days or month and then suddenly get asocial periods

why I forget something 3 seconds after you said it

why I can't remember more than 3 instructions

why I don't have one train of thought, but 3 or 4. And I need to jump from train to train to keep up with them.

Okay so that's that.

The OTHER thing that I cannot stop thinking about now is just as important. The old man said it very casually, like: "oh btw on such an intense diagnosis day our team of trained specialist always finds other mental difficulties people developed too. AD.HD comes with friends. We see you have (traits of) avoi.dant personality disor.der okay continuing on, your computer test showed..."

And today I'm at home. I picked up my me.ds this morning and I've started dosing. I started thinking, wait what did they say yesterday about that other thing? So I read through Wikipedia.

ME TALKING @ ME. ^That new info about my behaviour changes my interpretation of my past.   

Yesterday a professional told me that 50% of the kids with ADH.D leave primary school feeling like an outcast so it's not weird I was bullied too.

On primary school I was dia.gnosed with dyslexia and dyscalculia. It means that letters and numbers magic to me. They tremble and swap places or vanish. The classes Maths and Languages were awful to me. Biology and History were better and more fun but they also make use of numbers (dates/calculations). Art class (with my hands or brain) was the one thing I could actually do. I could do presentations and discussions as well.

But I felt different from my peers because they could learn things so EASILY compared to me. I wasn't dumb, I understood, but then the explanation was gone and I'd forgotten it again(AD.HD). So I needed lots of repetition to learn. And then once I understood it the letters/numbers kept moving without my consent! (dyslexia/dyscalucia) Stupid letters/numbers.

I moved houses and thus switched schools. On the new school became bullied by being socially exluded, ignored, and critisized.

That bullying made me feel like I could be 'attacked' in class all the time. In hindsight I was sensitive to stimuli. Everyone has a filter on their mind that ignores certain things (like the fact you are breathing. congratulations, you are now aware that you are breathing) and lets other things through (such as the honk of a car when you're jaywalking). Child!me must have been working super hard to 

pay attention to class 

filter stimuli 

categorise high-speed which stimuli are hostile 

muffle intense emotional reactions 

consider which version of reply would create least conflict/emotion 

A lack of sleep (from reading books until late) make me sleepy during the day thus less sensitive to (negative) stimuli. 

So I became from age 10 onward very much an outcast/ anxious/ nervous/ shy/ avoidant-of-confrontations-where-I-could-be-rejected. 

I was bullied on secondary school too. Jackpot.

I worked harder than average but my grades were lower than average. I felt inadequate. Inferior. My self reflection went into overdrive. I started to think things like... if I can't do maths or language and don't like people, what sort of career could I do? What value did I have to humanity?  Was I not just taking up resources? I felt guilt and shame that my parents had to waste(!) money on me. No economic equation could justify having me around. I was a useless human being. My only good trait is that I'm kind to people, showing kindness always -- even if they don't deserve it. Because I know what it’s like to be hurt and I don’t want to do that to anyone. 

(I feel so fucking lucky that I grew up in a loving family because holy shit teenage!me sounded like the textbook perfect victim for types of abuse.)

I worked hard in all my classes and it paid off. I went to the above-medium level of education for secondary school. Finally away from my bullies at age 15,5! I think that ended my de.pression too. I switched schools to above-medium, it was a normal period on that secondary school.  Two more years after that went fine. Made my long-term school friends and cosplay friends in that time and since. Yay!

After that, I studied graphic design on adult education medium level, then for Teacher of English As A Foreign Language on above-medium level, now I'm this(!) close to finishing Literature Studies on university (highest) level. Take that, insecurity. I'm not stupid. My specialities (creativity) just lay elsewhere than the standard measurement.

I read somewhere that AD.HD people don't have normal emotions but that one emotion TIMES TEN. So a small mention of rejecton from another person causes a feeling of REJECTION TIMES TEN in me. I can easily say that I have joy times TEN, fear times TEN, and enthusiasm times TEN too, which can make me a very charming person?

I initially thought this strong emotional fear of rejection was the AD.HD-only symptom called RSD, rejection-sensitive dys.phoria. What makes it into a personality diso.rder?

Answer: Persistent malfunctioning in society. 

ME TALKING @ ME. Re-framing my social reality and examining my behaviours.

I malfunction as follows: I experience extreme shyness in certain moments, feel anxious before or during new social situations, don't want to go to the kitchen if my housemates are there, have a fear of emailing/calling people, or approaching groups. Fear of asking money back (I feel like "I'm not worth even a euro"). I have a GIANT fear of being rejected by others. Giant fear of being ridiculed. Cast out.

This leads to a behavior pattern where I avoid conflict. I'm just too scared to do them. Critique freaks me out (because me emotions will skyrocket times ten). And it's the worst when I'm doing a project with people (such as preparing a presentation with a group/making cosplay costume with a friend/travelling home by train and someone needs to pick me up). People are the worst. I feel I always let them down.

So then anticipate on being inadequate, take longer to do it perfect, get ill from thinking up a thousand stressful could-be's, then fiiiiiinally reach out, and hear "you should have done X" or "why didn't you call me earlier?! Now I have to deal with this escalated mess!"

HOW I RESPOND TO ONLINE STIMULI

When friends send me a message online, I get scared. I ALWAYS have fear of opening them. I always think "what did I do wrong this time?" I always anticipate an attack. This is why it's good I have both friends AND other people on whatsapp. Sometimes this emotional anticipation or reaction is so strong that it can dominate my mood for hours.

Sometimes (when I'm most afraid) I open the message to get rid of the notification and don't actually read it. 

Sometimes (when I'm fearful brave) I take a deep breath and read it and take an hour to deal with the stressful emotional reaction. I want to reply but 1)I need to think of the perfect reply to type up so the negative situation will be quelled or/or followed by 2) my AD.HD forgets it.

Sometimes (when I'm happy) I can respond immediately. I'm functional!!!

Sometimes (when I'm happy) I respond immediately and them too and it's fun! And I have a blast! Wow, talking to friends is so much fun!!! I'm charming. I'm fast. I'm celebrating.

Nowadays I have a lot of friends. At least twenty five! They're divided into four groups: hometown, student life, online, cosplay. These are "friends without obligation" MEANING that my presence is a addition and not a requirement. They will never guilt me for cancelling on them. We can only hang out once a year and have a blast without talking at all during the rest of the year, and we will still conciser each other friends.           I consider them friends if I can message/call them up at 2 a.m. and cry about a boyfriend or needing a place to sleep. Which is a huge deal to me, me-who-feels-guilty-for-taking-up-resources.)          It don’t always function. I can hide for weeks, avoiding social contact. Then I can be super functional for weeks. Ups and downs.          I function best around friends without obligations. 

ME @ TUMBLR FRIENDS.

I suppose I want my tumblr friends to know that...

I 'squish' on a person. I use the word here in the meaning of 'plantonic crushing' and 'wanting to have an emotional bond with them as friend'. I sometimes stalk/bombard a person with messages/like every post/am super invested in everything they do. Usual reason: because I think they are a fantastic content creator. This makes me feel like they are inspiring and amazing and sometimes 'socially higher ranked' than me.          To battle my inferiority, I want them to acknowledge me. I want to 'have' them. I hate to admit it, but the words "notice me senpai" sum it up badly. A better way of describing it is “proving my inferiority complex as wrong and my internalised social hierarchy as false as fast as I can”.         The resolution is often hanging out in chat and writing a thread together. It will make me realise that we're both humans. Often, once the person gives me attention, I very quickly normalise them and am able to stop bad thoughts.        I really dislike the senpai/kohai dynamic and want to get rid of it asap. Giving me attention helps! I've experienced this squishing in class/ social/ work/ online/ cosplay environments. If I am 'squishing' on you, just pat my head, okay? 

I feel compelled to admit have had squishes on but then normalised as equal Sky.e, Ni.kki, Ju.lia, E.su, Ham.my, J, Cel.este, Va.na, and various others who I don’t need to mention because I never became friends with them. My squishes on these people were on the creative person as future friend, not(!!!) on the muses. I still have a ton of respect for these people.

People I'm in the process of normalising are Surfi and Jana. I'm doing well. I’m not that bad. When Hammy appears I still want a pat on the head though.

One person I'm squishing on quite much right now is Nami. I want all their attention. Nami, if you're reading this, I hope it doesn't drive you crazy (not as mad as it drives me). So I'm sorry that I post a reply 0.3 seconds after you post and seem to be online 24/7. 

And if anyone else is reading this, sorry I’m paying less attention to you.

I hate it when partners drop threads unannounced because I'll be waiting by the front door like a labrador waiting for a dead owner to come home.

Its fine if you tell me you want to drop a thread, no problem, no feeling of rejection here.

It's fine if you take 2 years to reply to a thread. Literally.

I forget thread posts. Feel free to poke me when I take longer than a month.

Me not replying to your roleplay request is because I'm imagining that my rejection of your request will hurt you as much as it would hurt me. I'm imagining your pain and emphasize with my fantasy to the point that I leave your request in my inbox for months. And then it hurts that I didn't reply.

Me not posting your submission/ask message is because I'm always feeling inferior. I don't feel worthy of your attention. I don't feel worthy of your text/art/time, so when I get it I feel THRILLED. Like, "WOW they like me!! Take that inferiority complex!!" I feel thrilled. I have to give you the perfect reply that will show you exactly how thrilled I am. Or give you a perfect drabble as reply.

Me not replying to your chat messages is not me intentionally disrespecting you. You are important. Goddamnit I want to keep you as a friend. It's me being EMOTIONAL AS FUCK AND I'M PREPARING A REPLY or I FORGOT ABOUT IT.

I only give myself permission to delete those after 6 months of struggling.

Me roleplaying super intensely with you and then suddenly not at all, is because the following happened: 

I  squished on you back then,

we wrote and for a while my days centerend around your online hours, 

I normalised you and I found tranquillity (good ending) OR 

I was called away because I had ignored real life and it became on fire. (bad ending, very much at risk of uncontrolled squishing on you again!!!)  

(I want to continue to enjoy being friends with you Super Duper Much, I respect your distaste for my silences, I’m sorry, and I feel bad TIMES TEN that I put you in this mood.) (I then feel worthless. Then inferior and wow hello devil on my shoulder that tells me bad things. Hey devil if you’re here do you pay rent?  And I begin to avoid you which makes you even unhappier. Then I avoid you and - etc. etc. Goddamn I just want to be friends and write rp WHY am I like this! Why am I so fearful? It doesn’t make any sense!)  

The thought of writing with you makes me excited times ten. I respect you. And because we didn't RP and you're worried and I feel I let you down... I want to "make it up to you by being perfect and worthy".        It catapults me right back into the mindset/habits from where I used to squish on you, and my day will center around you again. I know I don't /want/ that mindset to ambush me. It'll control me.         So I either postpone engagement with you, OR I ask/agree a day where we can write together. Then my intense emotions and refresh-the-page obsession and "OH MY GOD THIS RP IS SO GOOD U R SUCH AN AWESOME CONTENT CREATOR WE HAVE SO MUCH FUN" thoughts can be limited to that day.         During the next days (I usually need days), I can cool down from the hype and try to continue with my life and productively avoid the bad squish. This may come across as cold. But I assure you, my mind is constantly on you. And when I’m settled, I’ll be easier to approach for casual RP again. 

I find it extremely hard to deal with users who see me as their senpai. When I feel that you idolise me as senpai, want my attention and affection, want to be my friend, I get really uncomfortable. I usually search for ways to calm you down and make you realize I'm human. But if I do not feel equal, (because of IM chat/because writing styles clash) I can’t hang out with you. That’s not you, that’s me. Feeling inferior is something I’m trained in now and know how to go to ‘equals’ level fast, I’m not trained at all to feel superior. I screw up wayyy to much to accept that role. I will fear hurting you. I wouldn’t know how to try to become equals. So then I dash away. I’m sorry.

I'm not good at IM messaging in chat on tumblr or other social media online because I'll 1)get scared of the messages or 2) really really want to write with you. So I generally don't want to chat at all, except to plot roleplays. I find it difficult to send friends regular 'hi how are you' messages because I want a "friendship-without-obligations" that I described earlier.

Wow this list must scare you. I'm sorry.

It scares me. Wow, what a manual. I'm so complicated.

I'm worried now about whether I should post this. I sound like such a... a crazy online person that has a ton of things wrong in the head and should be avoided at all cost. ......... No, let me rephrase that. I’m a self-reflective person. I am a critical analyst of my mind and it's unique I can put it into words. 

DEAR TUMBLR FRIENDS...

- You don't want my squishing + I don't want my squishing. Let's work together so this bad mindset doesn't thrive, OK?

- You don't want to be ignored + I don't want my ‘conflict avoiding anxiety’ that makes me ignore you. Let's continue to communicate!! Please sandwich your critique in kindness. Kind-critical-kind. Then I'll reply faster!

- I am worth as much as every one of you. I am NOT your kohai and if you start seeing me as such I'll feel offended. I'm worth as much as any of you. (My mind cannot be trusted.)

- You cannot control what emotions I feel, nor the intensity. Anything(!) could spark me to go into a different mindset.

ROLEPLAY I suppose I have a 'type' of muse. 

I like writing confident-arrogant muses who never hesitate about being better than others. They used their unique traits that set them apart to excel (not fall), and are so fearless of social rejections that they boldly abandoned social-mediocority to craft a setting they thrive in.       Its because their growth/conquer mindsets appeal to me. I want to continue training myself to think like that. It helps battle my fears.       I identify with them.       Reasons: I worked hard and rose from being bullied at primary school and medium education level to upper-middle level. Now I'm at highest level of education (university) despite my flaws. I channelled my traits of creativity + kindness + hard work and made a ton of friends. I am now struggling with my university bachelor thesis. I have to finish it asap, but damn, I'm amazing, I never thought I'd get this far?? I'm in my world of my own making. My loving supporting surrounding friends/family/teachers help me function.  

IN CONCLUSION....

So in conclusion, I can only ask for your friendship, your kindness to forgive me when I mess up, and to please occasionally pet my head.

In return, I will generously offer friendship for however long you want me, will bravely engage in struggles to reply to your messages in time, and I offer you lots of FEELS from my muses.

I'm going to make sure that the time we hang out and write together, will be the MOST AMAZING EXPERIENCE.

Excerpt from my thoughts to show you how it goes: Small bad thought in my head: "don't abandon me, please accept this RP service I offer, because you won't hang out with me for my personality due to my bad attention/communication skills. I can see why you like my Orochimaru/muses but can hardly see why you could like me." Louder good thought in my head: "Shut up you're a feeling from the AD.HD or conflict-avoident-personality-type part of my brain and you can't be trusted. LA LA LA I'M NOT LISTENING. I'M GREAT." Small thought: "...Keep telling yourself that." Louder thought: "Ouch. I mean. LA LA LA. POSITIVE SELF-DECEPTION  AGAINST BAD THOUGHTS UNTIL IT'S AN INTERNALISED TRUTH IS AN EMPOWERING METHOD THAT WORKS. LA LA LA." So that’s how it works. Sometimes I cannot differ which of the thoughts is bad and which one is the good one. 

EPILOGUE, I’m done.

Okay. I think I have figured myself out. I’ve re-evaluated my past. 

The urgent mess of thoughts in my brain has calmed down. I no longer feel like my head will explode. 

I’ve said all the things I wanted to say to myself, and I’ve said the things I want to say to tumblr friends. 

I’m going to pretend nooooo oneeee took the time to read this big post... so no one will be angry (something which I fear for no logical reason) ... and I’ll be able to sleep right now. 

[maximuswolf]

First LSD Trip Ever - 500 µg & I Saw god In A Butterfly Clutch via /r/LSD

First LSD Trip Ever - 500 µg & I Saw god In A Butterfly Clutch

Alright, so a few things to preface this trip report. Firstly, I'm an idiot. Secondly, I'm rather new to the world of psychedelics. I just tried 1.5 grams of shrooms (my first trip ever) 2 months ago and loved it. Since then, I went to DMT (do it all the time, now) which has been absolutely incredible and, seeing how I skipped over LSD in my planned journey, I figured it was time.

The wife and I have familiarized ourselves with DMT and, seeing how it's the "most powerful psychedelics known to man," with a shrug of the shoulders I thought, "I got this." About a week ago, I had seen a meme on this subreddit that said something about "peaking on 5 tabs" in front of your family. So. . .hell, that's where we start.

Fucking idiot.

We started at about 6 pm, I kicked it off and popped a tab (100 µg), ordered dinner and switched it to Star Wars. Pizza came about 45 minutes later. As I didn't feel anything at that point and, knowing we hadn't eaten really anything up until that point that day, figured it should have been well into my system by then. Just before eating, I popped two more, she popped one as it always takes me a little more (she's tiny).

Just like that, we finished up eating as the vibrations started maybe 20 minutes later. We headed to the bedroom, I popped two more (she said "bad idea"), I smiled my devious grin, turned on Solar Opposites and enjoyed the take off of beautiful colors and streams and then, the laughter. EVERYTHING WAS HILARIOUS. I swear, we were dying, having the best times of our lives, knowing full well that we were just stuck laughing at probably nothing.

That lasted for a good 15 minutes leaving us teary eyed with sore cheeks. Of course, during this fun little outburst, it had gotten quite hot, I took my shirt off. . .sweat was pouring off both of us. Things calmed down, we settled in and she came over for a cuddle. . .which. . .uhhh. . .turned into more. I don't remember all the early parts but I can say I erupted into certain euphoria while locked dead eyes with a beautifully colorful cartoon alien (don't tell the Mrs.).

After happy endings for all, I noticed that things seemed to be getting a little out of control. I felt excessively tired after that, the vibrations had superseded just being noticed at this point and were so intense that it felt like constant anxiety. It was extremely irritating - but little did I know, things were far from over.

While trying to get myself together (I'm guessing about 8:30 p.m. at this point), I wandered over to a wide, short dresser in our room, bent down with my forearms resting on top, and looked in the mirror. HOLY SHIT. My eyes. My face. Did I get fatter on this shit? Can't be. Gotta be similar to why my face looks like a frog on DMT. Kinda cool really. At that point, I got sucked into staring at my face as it shifted and flowed with color and odd circular objects always seemingly just out of crystal clear sight.

Just like that, I snapped out of it. The sensations were too much to just ignore again and this time, this rush felt more intense. "The fucking vibrating" I said to my wife as I looked at my hands. I turned to her and and asked, "does it feel. . .synthetic? To you." Like a lightbulb just turned on, she locks eyes with me and says, "yeeeeeeeah."

We've done shrooms - granted only 1.5 grams (nothing compared to this, I know) - and DMT is hard to compare because it's so quick. This just, was different. I don't know why, but that's when I started to break down the sensations. Sure, the visuals were cool as hell, but the vibration was WAY too much, not just in my entire body, but my brain too.

I didn't ever do it involuntarily but I did frequently have the urge to clench my teeth, flex my neck muscles, cock my head to the side, and push my chin outward all in one motion. And then my hell started. The next two hours felt like 6. I spent it trying to do the same thing - distract myself. I fell into this loop where I would try to distract myself by turning something on the tv.

From there, I would get bored for one reason or another, sit up in the bed. My wand would start to wander, I would start to cry and I couldn't do anything about it. I knew I would experience some kind of ego death with this trip but I had no idea that I would be dissolved into such small particles over the course of the next 8 hours that it would leave me clutching to the glimmer coming off a butterfly clutch on the floor.

If you don't know what this is, don't feel bad - I had to look it up. Essentially, it's the back of a pin that pokes through fabric - the round thing with two tabs that you press in to take it off the pin. So, let's go back before that and start this little cycle I started. The voices on Solar Opposites just became too much for me to deal with so I decided to try something I planned for us to do while we were tripping - fun visuals on YouTube.

So, I got that going on the tv and, at first it was awesome, but the music - it was just wrong. It sucked. So, I went to another one. This one, the visuals were even cooler but again, the music sucked. Fuck it. I know what to do. Mute the TV, grabbed my phone - and turned my mix on our bluetooth speaker. "Ahhhhhhhhh, that's better," I said as I crack a grin to her chuckle.

There, it was nice. This perfect little utopia. Just me, her, the world in front of us. At that point, I got MASSIVELY sucked into the visuals where, at times, I could see nothing but bright white as my vision tunnel visioned into the core of the visuals which, just so happened to be - a bright white ball. But that all came to a screeching halt when the visual changed. Just like that, I hated it. I tried to find another one, but the rest just weren't cool.

So, I sat up, swing my legs over the side of the bed. Put my head in my hands and rested my elbows on my knees before uttering to my wife "I think I went too hard." She said, "I told you." I was then consumed by a wave of emotions. Probably panic knowing that 1.) it was already too much for me to handle knowing it would be like this for 8 hours, and 2.) I was still on my way up.

From there, I stood up, walked over to the mirror, looked at myself, almost as if to say "you got this," before once again, staring at my morphing face. Tears were already starting to come out, but then something happened - like a dam broke. I couldn't help it. I didn't care to. I remember these cleansing tears on shrooms. I loved it - especially the way everything made me feel the day after.

Fuck it - bring it on. Tears. Snot. I just looked at my wife and with a shrug, kind of smiled and said, "can't help it." Feeling a little tired from the situation, I laid down face first on the carpet floor but I just cried more. God it felt good. It's so weird to say that. I've never been a crier. But the refreshing effects of shrooms is definitely what made me want to continue down this path.

So here we lay, crying on the floor. After about an hour, I just apologize to my wife, blow my nose, wipe my face. . .say "fuck this, I need to distract myself." Got back up, changed the tv to another visual, this time a car driving down a road that looks like it leads to a sun - and so the cycle repeats itself. Goes great for 5 mins or so, then a new visual comes on and I get irritated. Sit up, start crying, stand up, look at self in mirror, still crying, I walk away, see open space on floor, lay down. Cry.

Fuck this - NEED to end this cycle. So. . .lately I've been listening to Alan Watts. Many of you probably have known of him for some time but he's really been a great teacher in this time of searching for inner peace and enlightenment. So, I said to the wife, "well, this shit isn't helping, so let's try something else." I then search him, the vibrations so bad I can hardly use my fingers efficiently at this point.

After some struggle, I brought it up and his voice. Ahhhhhhhh. So calming. Like grandpa is about to tell this little boy about the good old days. Just the way he talks. So calm. So articulate. So confident. All of it. The man genuinely has a way of connecting with me on a level that just clicks. I immediately understand what he is saying and, for once in my life, things are starting to make sense.

So, at this point, it's getting harder to focus because all I want to do is close my eyes and go to sleep so it can pass = yeah, good luck. I knew that wasn't going to happen but you know what I did know? I could limit the sensory input. I shut my eyes. Buried my face in my pillow and just listened to the words of Mr. Watts. And as I sat there and listened, I could just feel things starting to come into focus.

My brain had been in such disarray for so long that it was hard to focus on anything. Granted it had been a while since I took the last two, so I asked my fellow traveler what time it was. "10:30, she said." My jaw hit the floor.

God fucking damnit. IT'S ONLY BEEN TWO HOURS?!?

What have I done? I utter to myself intercranial, assuring myself I only have 6 more hours left (little did I know how skewed my perception of how the rest of the trip would go.)

Alan kept my attention for about 45 minutes as we listened to the video titled "relax your mind." Me any my bride had a wonderful time delving into the words of the philosopher's words and not only what they meant in actuality, but what they meant for ourselves and our lives together. It was great...until the video ended. I didn't realize it.

But my time tolerating the same repetitive sound (the voice of Mr. Watts) had been coming to an end. And when I tried to switch to a new video. . .it was only a matter of 5 minutes before I sat up and my hell began all over again. The cycle carried on like this another two times I believe, but ultimately it was during this 45 minute lecture that would make me realize that everything was a lie.

You see, I come from a strict Christian home. Since I was 6, it was being pumped into my brain that God created you. God loved you so much he sacrificed his son for you. And, at the end of the day, if you're bad enough, you will spend the rest of eternity being tortured. Let's just say that I don't necessarily disagree with my parent's decision but, to put it bluntly, brainwashing a child from such a young age can have a lasting impact.

Most recently, life has taken a turn for me. I've found myself experiencing anxiety for the first time ever, depression and even suicidal thoughts. And as I sat in the hole of darkness, it was all I could focus on was how things got this way. How things looked so simple for other people and how I was struggling so hard. To some extent the words of Watts helped with things like that.

He spoke of how pretty a fabric (I believe) doily tablecloth. "On the outside" he said (paraphrasing), "it looks beautiful. Ornate." "However," he went on to say, "the back shows how it was all possible." Saying that it was a mess back there with strings and threads going every which way to ensure the front was gorgeous, he let out a cackle and said "just don't get caught looking at the back," and this was the beginning of an ego death so astounding and confusing, it broke me down to nothing.

I didn't have anything. I couldn't relate to anything here on earth. And what was worse. . .I couldn't even anchor myself to this reality. No matter how hard I tried.

After my time listening to Mr. Watts had come to an end (hour later maybe) as his voice has become mundane and almost irritating to a certain extent, my cycle continued - but this time I knew I had to get out of it. With my hands on my head, eyes wide open, I said to my wife, "I have to get out of this. I just keep going in circles. . .like a dog." So simply, she responded, "Why don't you try to go outside?"

So, there I went, outside. It was a warm night. 75 degrees F with a slight breeze - it was BEAUTIFUL. The stars. The trees blowing in the wind. The darkness. All of it. Coming together. A beautiful orchestra where I was the only attendant. Just for me. Unfortunately, it wasn't too long (maybe 10 minutes) before the vibrations became too much, forcing me to come inside. And what did I do?

Laid on the floor - reentering my cycle without my knowledge. At the time, I could remember just balling my eyes out, frustrated that I couldn't get it to stop. I talked to the wife about trip killers, but the conversation quickly fizzled. "It's so gorgeous outside. . .I this shit won't even let me have that," I said to her. Just like that, I laid down, once again immersed in everything from the physical feeling, the emotional, and disorientation from ego death.

I got off the floor about a half hour later and tried Alan Watts one more time, but I just couldn't. He had served his purpose. His time had ended - and this fact alone frustrated me even more seeing how I had originally found so much peace in his words. However, his message - the one I had previously listened to, was still resonating with me.

Going through my head, churning, and turning as I digested his words from this unbiased place. Seeing things in a way that I had never before. . .it was breaking me down. For once, I could see things in a way that made sense. I saw that my childhood - my Christian upbringing - how wrong it was. Not in that my parents were wrong for engaging in that community.

After all, they were just trying to do back then what I am now - figure things out. It's just that, for once. . .in the 27 years since the first day I stepped into that church (haven't been in well over a decade, mind you), but I could see it all for what it was. These people were scared. Wandering through life trying to see what all this is about - just like me *lightbulb*.

This whole time. This depression I've been going through. This anxiety that came about that I had never had to deal with before - it was the culmination of my life set upon an uneven foundation. I saw my ego for what it was. How toxic it was. How it was killing me. How simple? The way a belief can take hold of you and actually become a piece of your identity.

As I had made my way over to the floor again throughout this little metal clarity, I continued to uncontrollably cry and, this time, I just settled in. I let it wash over me knowing full well that my brain was being flushed of all the hullabaloo from daily life. Sweating, almost naked, I laid on the floor, crying as my vision seemingly faded into darkness.

It stayed that way as I had accepted my fate until my consciousness caught sight of a glimmer. I didn't know what it was. It was so far away. I was so disoriented that I almost didn't notice it shining in the distance. In all reality, this was just a butterfly clutch maybe two feet away. At the time, it looked like it was a star. . .so far away.

And as the glimmer got more prevalent, the rest of the world came into focus. I saw the brown carpet, the black frame of the bed. . .I even saw every cat hair on the floor. Trying to get to the root of my mystery, I reached out and grabbed what had caught my attention only to notice it was a worthless piece of metal. Regardless, I brought it close to my slobbering face, and just fixated on it's seeming beauty - but then even more tears.

Trying to put this into words the best I can, it was almost like that pin back was the only thing anchoring me to this world. I had identified with it for sanity's sake in order to ensure I didn't lose my fucking mind. But the ego death. . .it wouldn't even let me have that. Crying harder that I ever had that night, I looked up at my wife and uttered "I don't got much more in me babe."

"Fucking shit won't even let me have that," I said as I showed my confused wife. I eventually told her what the moment was about. . .but her looks of concern had since shifted to sympathy. Although she offered everything in the sun to help, I told her that there was only one thing that could help - time. "I just gotta get through it."

Disoriented as the LSD had taken every iota of my consciousness and thrown into up into the air, like sand, it was then that I started to really make sense of everything. It was like I could see how religion had really messed me up - not in the typical sense but rather that, for me, it didn't make sense. My whole life I had been wrestling with something that didn't made sense on a fundamental level for me.

I'm a highly analytical person. I like answers and I have a million questions that will get me to them. . .eventually. I thought about the "God" I knew. I thought about how he was supposed to be omniscient (knows everything). If that's the case, then why would he put a tree that would allow humans to sin, knowing full well they would. Free will.

It's always been about free will. So, God can't interfere here otherwise man wouldn't have free will, right? Well, then why did he interact so much in Old Testament? And besides, would a guy who knows EVERYTHING really get mad when people do what he should have known they were going to do? I mean, God got PISSED a few times throughout history.

I then wondered, if God knew everything, how could he get SO pissed off when certain things happened that he acted out in ANGER. Anger? From a man who knew what was going to happen? Doesn't make sense. Well, this guy was so pissed that he hit the reset button (the flood). Let's start over. Then my mind went to Jesus. Now, my mind has been on this tirade for a few years now but things became excessively clear this night.

For the past few years, I've been asking myself, how can I know that Jesus was not only real but the one, true Son of God? What happened after he died? Someone found his tomb empty with three of his most trusted friends - men who had sworn to die for him and had already proven that they would - saying that he had come to life and ascended into heaven. That's all we get.

There's no arguing that Jesus was a man. Alan Watts helped break through on this a little earlier too, though I hadn't noticed. Explaining what I have come to understand - that our life is energy passing through this world meant to serve as an entertaining experience (of course, there's more to it than that, but you get it) - Watts said, Jesus too came to this realization and "they killed him for it."

The lightbulb goes on. HOLY SHIT. Jesus may have climbed the steps of enlightenment naturally, over his life, and could have come to see this same understanding. Sure, I have no more proof in this than if Jesus did rise into the sky. . .but the ego death had allowed me to look at things in a way I could have never before.

Seeing how much Christianity was involuntarily engrained into my ego and existence kind of sucked - but it was good to know. Too bad for me, the realizations were only about half way through. At this point, I could almost envision my consciousness in the air, swirling around like a controlled sand storm. I could see how so much of it was messing with me simply because things didn't make sense.

I saw how it looked like other people all had their shit together and I turned to my wife, still crying of course, and said "so, if we're just energy passing through this life, meant to enjoy it, then why is it so hard for me? Why is it so fun for everyone else, and I can't wait to leave?" With sincerity in her eyes, she reminded me about the tablecloth (or whatever it was) that Watts had mentioned.

"Remember how you don't want to get peaking at the back? It just looks like they all have their shit together." Another lightbulb. Things were starting to come together for me. My ego, how it was my prison. How I couldn't break free from it because I needed it but how I also knew that something needed to change. I needed to build myself a sanctuary inside my mind. A strong foundation.

I pictured strong stone pillars holding up the shell of a broken, crumbling, and collapsing ego. I saw that this in turn would be my tablecloth. Things may look good on the outside of my shell, but look inside and you can see everything I'm working to keep together. Even better yet, I could see the first few steps I needed to take in order start building a foundation for the new me.

The rest of the morning (probably 6:30 a.m at this point) was spend with each passing wave getting a little less intense (not by much), but slow progress. It took a full 24 hours before I stopped feeling the vibrations, but the mental effects were gone by about 8 a.m. It was a hell of a ride and, like I said, it was stupid.

But holy shit. . .there's a few things I've taken away from this. For one, I needed this. Secondly, despite how bad it sucked at the time, I'm not sure if I would have had the same results with a lower dosage. It needed to break me down this much, for this long, to get here. And lastly, everything I knew was a lie - so, that's kinda weird too.

The days after LSD I have had COMPLETE clarity which is an odd feeling to have. Only had it one other time - and that was after shrooms. DMT does it to me a certain extent but not so much. This is different. So clear. And happy? Dare I say? Let's just put it this way - for the first time, in a LOOOOOONG time, I actually want to be here. I want to see what tomorrow brings. . .and fuck the rest.

In the end, I learned how much the people around me matter, like my wife (who I may take for granted at times). I don't know what I would have done without her that night.

I think this was long enough. I'll end it here. Hell of a ride. Not sure I'd suggest it. But figured someone may like to hear. Have a good one guys!

​

*After note* - just reread it to edit it and broke down crying. Got sucked back into it, just like I was there the first time. Fuck.

TL/DR: I took (5) 100 milligram tabs of acid for my first trip ever on LSD. I had complete ego death and dissociation from this reality. Saw how much my confusion over religion (instilled during childhood) was messing with me. Realized that religion was part of my understanding of this world, and thus a part of my ego, and then could come to the understanding of why. From there, I saw a new path forward to inner peace. I'm not depressed or suicidal today (for now. . .going to try my hand at micro-dosing from here on out ;) ). And I'm starting to realize that the here and now is really what I need to start focusing on - that and those I'm there with.

Long story short - my wife saved my ass on the worst and best night of my life.

Submitted October 02, 2020 at 08:43AM by DMTleprechaun via reddit https://ift.tt/3jCvY3b

[piano-and-voice]

November 28, 2017.

It’s 6:22 pm.

I’m waiting for Steve to come home so we can cook dinner together (things have been pretty fucking rough for us the last few weeks with his mother’s cancer surgery, his terrible time with his boss, my restlessness) so this is a good time to start posting.

I’m really unsatisfied with my job in so many ways. Some of my clients bore me, some are just fucking irritating and so frozen/stuck I get so frustrated at their seeming-helplessness. I’m bored about reading about psychology, trauma, therapeutic work, new research blah blah fucking blah. One of the things I was most looking forward to in this career was how much learning/reading/upgrading is necessary, but holy fuck. Some of it is so repetitive, and honestly? So much suffering comes simply from capitalism/colonialism. Without those, there would be very little mental health issues in this world. Anyway, this is all to say that I really need a change, and it might be a pretty significant one. And that terrifies me. Steve has a lot of trauma-shit around money, and since I’m not making a ton, he pays for all the household stuff - the mortgage, bills, groceries, everything. Dude almost makes six figures, and I moved to this 30,000-person town for him, so that feels pretty fair, especially while building up a practice.

But if I change course now, I feel guilty. The agreement was for him to do this while I work on building up my practice again. Also, being financially dependent on someone at 40 feels fucking terrible. So, I still want to make my own money, which at this point is paying off my visa that somehow ballooned to $3,000, as well as the $1,800 I still owe our line of credit for my piano. Stopping working is not an option. I want to buy a car after learning to drive, I want to be able to have some autonomy. My job as it is at this point is an absolute necessity.

How I spend my time beyond that is what I have control over. My schedule is embarrassingly sweet. Here it is:

Mondays: off Tuesdays: 1:00-6-ish (4 clients max) Wednesdays: sometimes a 10:00 client, a lesson at 12:00, then clients from 2:30-6-ish (4 clients max) Thursdays: 12:00-6ish (sometimes! Sometimes it’s a 1:15 client, then a 3:30 client, and that’s it!) (4 clients max) Fridays: 12:00-6-ish (4 clients max) Saturdays: off Sundays: off

Wednesdays are a day when I really can’t do much else than what I already do. So, I’m going to just leave that day alone. Every other weekday though, I have until noon free. Here is how I mostly spend it at this point (god damn this accountability shit STINGS):

- sleeping in until 9-ish - having some breakfast - puttering online - tumblr, facebook, twitter trifecta and now animal crossing as well - eating some lunch

Here is how I’m spending my evenings:

- having/making some kind of dinner - same as before online - having a tub - feeling deeply guilty and ashamed of not doing anything

I’m not okay with most of this (eating is necessary as is making the food, having a bath is nice). For a while (and I’m still trying to do this) I had a list of things to do on google calendar on my phone and for every day I did all of them, I got to put $5 towards another dress on eshakti. I have $15 so far, that’s it.

One of my issues is having somewhat unrealistic expectations for a single day. Another issue is then doing none of it. Another issue may be having too many things I want to do - as in, even if I had a realistic idea of what I could do on any given day, I have too many things I want to do, so none of them are done often enough to gain traction.

Here are the things I have been saying I need to do, daily:

- nose care - skin care - do physio/chiro exercises - practice piano - practice singing - read about either music theory, music therapy, or work on the paper I’m supposed to be working on to get published, based on my thesis

I also want to go to the gym/go swimming three times a week. My body just has to do this in order to keep functioning at this point.

When I look at this list, it doesn’t seem unreasonable in the schedule I have? Does this seem unreasonable?Like I said, maybe on Wednesdays it might be a big much (my only 10-6, 8-hour day)

As I’m writing this out, I’m reminded that I recently have stopped really watching TV or movies. We only put something on once we’re in bed, to fall asleep to. Steve needs the TV on all night or he has terrible nightmares, I wear ear plugs, so I only hear about half a show before I roll over and stuff them in my ears. This has freed up a lot of time, but the internet I think has eaten it up. I try to change my internet habits and they slide right on back to where they were. Sometimes in a day, sometimes in a few weeks, but so far, nothing has worked to change them. And I think that, plus an earlier wake up time are necessary for making more room.

I also have this thing about feeling like I don’t have enough time to do something. If I work in two hours? Then I believe I don’t have enough time to practice. But, I’m only practicing singing for about a half an hour, and at this point with piano, I can’t practice more than that either. That’s an hour. And I leave for work about twenty minutes before I start. That would still leave me with 40 minutes. I have this brain fizzle/shut down/not exactly panic, but I can maybe feel my the fear-induced limbic “stay with your old habits” system kick in. Why couldn’t my parents have been less crazy/intense about getting places on time? I absolutely learned this from them - my sister was able to unlearn, so I can too.

When I try to make new systems, this is what I do: I make it, and I make it un-moveable. If it fails, I abandon it. Sometimes I abandon it before it can fail. What I need to do: create a schedule and treat it like a hypothesis. The hypothesis being: this system will work. Like any science, failure is ok and is just information. But, you have to see it through for a long enough length of time to see if it is a) effective, and b) doable (effective here being “does it create the gains I want” and do-able being “can I stick with it/is it sustainable”) If it needs tinkering, try again, change a variable, but not more than one or then you won’t know what works.

Ok, this is what I’m going to do tonight:

1. Create a schedule for two weeks and stick to it as best as possible, noting where shit goes sideways and for what reason I think it might be doing so 2. Practice singing for half an hour because I have a lesson tomorrow at noon.

[bsides-of-roygbiv]

the conductor man and his strings:

i think that the levels of my consciousness are being connected with silver strings controlled by a medium sized man in a white room. he’s got on a train conductor outfit and his feet seem a little too small for his body. when he was a baby, his parents promised to make him a priest, but it’s kinda like sitting in grey pools waiting for yellow, waiting for greens and blues but we’re here and we’re only feeling light drizzles and the continuance has yet to continue (thank you, very much). they told of his undecided start sides and his inability to grandly evade hilltops and mountain sides, falling all over the place and yelling all the while his mouth yelling straight to heaven. so in the white room he sits, a string tied to each finger, the conductor has stepped into the conductors room and is ready to conduct today (please, sit down). so the following ballet (routine) occurs and you must pay very close attention with your eyes fixed and your lips sealed tight and understand that the seriousness of these moving (movement) parts hold gravity in your palms and bend your knees (remember to lift from your core). understand (the under of standing). begin:

left pinky 3 inches towards the sky. inhale sharply and feel the ability ten thousand feet in the air, soaring you through the streets and carrying you deep into the ocean. I think that i was born here, i think i was small here, i think i was, i think i was, i think i. the illumination of your cells will cause stretching in places previously unstretchable. the carefully coordinated sublimation leaves you asleep in the sunset and awake just in time for the weird dead-day, dead-light, dead—sun lightening kind of thing that occurs.

right middle finger towards the underworld and this kind of light is so filling, i’m so full, i am. bathing and drenching, pouring through the window, by the way it’s the window, just as i, with my inability to hum, reach the peaks of my self sustained valleys (ohhhhhh). it’s incredible to watch the past destructions from the front row; didn’t you know my dad paid lots of money for this spot? the repetition of habitual evils now lands me here, and so hear i sit, unable to construct the necessary construction (wednesday, 6:45).

right thumb 3 inches to the left, three times, tris tris tris, the ending lies in the threes and my i’s aren’t lining up so good, all out of place, all filled with clutter, all filled (how did i get here?), i’m filled, i’m full. don’t ever step on the crack of the side walk because you’ll find your bike chain in twenty pieces all spread out over the sidewalk 15 feet in front of you (that’s right).

left index finger taps middle finger four times (sideways movement). the silence is boring holes in me and i have no room left for air expanding in dualities (two directions) and i’m feeling more and more useless as the days continue hurtling me towards the inevitable/i forgot how to breathe so long in this darkness.

right ring finger touches right thumb firmly but light enough to know the difference. i thought that i was light enough for it, i’m engulfed in your skin and i can’t tell whose limbs are whose. this unfortunate silence has got me imagining the insides of your thighs and your sighs, all the while what is swirling above me has got the shallow breaths and is covered in pink and white and i couldn’t tell the difference if i/you tried but all i know is it burns, it burns, it burns and i’ve gotta fucking go (you’ve gotta fuck me).

left middle finger finger up to the sky eight times, my superstitions are three double backs times a few unsuccessful back flips equalling some begging in a bungalow, the wrong kind though, fat tears all running down my face. so my face feels really strange having been touched by all ten fingers (digits) leaving behind dna (the traces of) wiped across my own galaxies, we fell there and we’ll never get up.

right pinky finger circles once counter clockwise but the hands are ticking so slowly and it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve got, all webbed up in the new day/ it’s sunday, it’s the special day, the sun is out today and it makes the plants breathe, did you know. 24 steps across tile (straight, left, sharp right) advancements have been reached today and the sun told me so, i swear, we talked in the night and nobody else can ever know.

left ring finger taps palm twice I sold some things and so continues the contemplation of continuation, dancing through my skull sitting in traffic maybe i’m longing for the trees and all the emptiness and all the nothingness forcing the filling of my vacuum with 800 rotations a minute (ow, my legs can’t handle any more), please don’t bend my legs back like that cuz i keep seeing our scene from the hidden camera in the corner and i’m seeing it again in mexican restaurants and i’m whispering this/our tragedy into different ears, but still the secrets all ours all locked up tight, more inside of me than inside of you—your ability for pouring (the pouring out, of you) has me jealous and wondrous at the same time and so now I’ll miss the marveling at your excellence, I forgot how to play hopscotch and how to double dutch but i’d bet a hundred bucks you’d relearn me and reteach me re-forgive me but there’s too much too forgive, there’s too much god here + i can’t do this anymore

left thumb curls (hurls) downwards, i’ve dried up on the beach showing in my hands on my feet but keeping moisture on the rest, zigzag lines on blacktop and perceptions of alterations with 5”3 men i’m so ashamed i barely even know my own name spinning into different dimensions, the realities i’m finding past three are skating me to just after 5 illuminated and destroyed by yellow skies, but did you ever notice that it gets light right before the sun goes down. these moments are defined by strict and few coincidences mesmerizing evening time and the left corners of my mind/brain/consciousness//i thought there was one more avocado left, but i thought and maybe i didn’t my brain matter keeps trailing behind me.

right index finger points straight out ahead but i feel sick, gripping like a vice, the vice gripped me, i tried to grip but reality wasn’t in the spaces between chalk and skin so no grip was to occur on tuesday 7ish at night and the sky’s pink but i can’t find any water proof watches. so time is moving in seven thousand directions but all hurling me towards my gripping, all the while tripping over all the traffic cones, i forgot what it was like to feel four years passed and uncontrollable watering is occurring but the gardens are still dead, they’re still dead but the blooming is occurring straight out of my hips pouring the sunshine downwards towards the sideways white but only on the upside, right in time for a little down play. it’s 4pm and i’ve got some downtime to shrivel in the backyard with all of my imaginary misgivings, she said my brain is beautiful but i can’t cry any more and the uselessness of my queries won’t end stopping up all of my pores, the fibers and threads refuse to align in straight checkerboards always missing one or the other

the conductor man has finished his conducting and you may return with your two feet planted firmly in the earth and your 33 vertebrae stacked lugubriously on top of on another (there, they will return. the admittance of this weight (this seriousness) is going to leave you with your arms stretched tight behind you and you eyes astounding wide open wide stretched straight to the lord himself. the conductor man has finished his conducting and you can go home, now. (please).

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 2

He raises an eyebrow. “Never say never.”

I turn to Morty and Jim. “My contract doesn’t say anything about agreeing to something like that. Getting engaged is serious business, and you can’t make me.” I might sound like a petulant child, but I’m dead serious.

Jim, who puts off a fatherly air as opposed to Morty’s slimeball vibe, smiles at me.

“Sit down, Selena. I think we can all come to an agreement here. You want what’s best for your career, don’t you?”

I take a deep breath, shoving down the urge to scream again.

“Yes. That’s all I want. What’s best for my career, and this can’t be it.”

“We’ve been in this business a lot longer than you have, darlin’. You need to trust us. We’re not going to steer you wrong.”

Patronizing. There it is again.

Morty starts carrying on like this is a done deal. “It’s fucking perfect. JC, during your last song of the night, you’ll call Selena up onstage and drop to one knee. People will eat that shit up.”

“You can’t do this!”

All three men look at me, and their smiles send chills down my spine.

Holy. Shit.

“Deal with it, Wix,” Morty says with a smug smile. “This is happening, or you’re on the first bus back to the trailer park. Maybe we’ll even let you keep the diamond when it’s all over.”

Nothing I can say is going to change a thing right now, so instead, I swallow back the protests I want to scream and speak as calmly as I’m able. “This discussion isn’t over, but I have to get to practice.”

My head reeling and stomach churning, I pull my trucker hat lower and head for the door without waiting for a response.

“Let’s take that one from the top again,” I call out to my guys in the band.

I want to apologize for wasting their time today, but I don’t because then I’d have to explain why—and I can’t. But it’s impossible to concentrate on the music when I feel my dream slipping away. What won’t I do to save it? Can I go through with this farce? Everyone has a line, and I’m not sure where mine is.

But that’s not a question I’m going to be able to answer right now, so I’d better freaking focus. We have a new song that we want to add to the set list, and if we can’t get it together, we’re all going to look like idiots at the next show.

I study the guys, and am once again thankful that Homegrown didn’t screw me over on this front. My band is an amazing crew, and I’m lucky to have them. I could have ended up with a bunch of washed-up has-beens, but I got seasoned musicians with serious talent. Shocking, right?

The bitterness I feel toward Homegrown is ridiculous. It’s so hard to reconcile the fact that I have them to thank for giving me a shot to live this dream, and now they’re demanding I fall in line or sacrifice it. How is that fair? I guess it’s lucky that I wasn’t raised to think life should be fair. And besides, I’ve had my share of good fortune—if I didn’t win Country Dreams, I’d still be serving up deep-fried pickles at the bowling alley.

And Gran might still be alive, the voice of guilt whispers in my brain.

“Selena, what the hell? You planning on singing anytime soon, darlin’?”

I jerk my head around, shaking the thought from my mind as the guys silence their instruments . . . several bars after my cue.

“Sorry. I was a million miles away.”

“You need to take a breather, hon?” Lonnie, my drummer, asks as he spins one stick.

“Nah, I’m good. I just need to get my head back in the game.”

The guys look at each other, and suddenly I wonder if there’s something I’m missing.

“What?”

Darius, my bass player, finally speaks. “You getting homesick thinking about being away on Christmas Eve? Because we’ve all decided we’re catching flights home on our own dime right after the show. You should do the same.”

He’s talking about our show in three days, the one that will finally get me onstage at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Talk about a completely different universe. Little old me from Gold Haven, Kentucky, opening for country’s bad boy on a stage only slightly less impressive to me than the Opry itself. I just hope I don’t develop stage fright.

I consider Darius’s question. I’m a little homesick, but not because I want to go home—because I don’t really have a home to go to anymore. The only family I had that mattered is six feet under. My first Christmas without Gran is going to be brutal. My first everything without her has been tough, so why should this be any less painful?

Maybe I deserve the pain. Maybe I earned that pain.

But wasting this opportunity isn’t going to bring her back or absolve me of the guilt I’m carrying. Nothing will.

“You ready, Selena?”

I shake it all off as best I can—JC, the record execs, my guilt—and straighten my spine, standing taller in my worn-out boots.

“I’m ready. Let’s take it from the top.”

The rest of practice goes well because I force myself to stay firmly in this moment, firmly in the music. Singing my songs, even on this practice stage, is enough to finally drag me out of the dark place I’ve been sliding into.

As we pack up the gear when practice is finished, I check my watch. I’m headed back to Mick and Tana’s for dinner, and then home to pack for the two shows we’ve got before our extended break. First stop Philly, and then the Big Apple.

I shrug my bag over my shoulder and feel it vibrate with a text. Fishing my phone out, I see one from Tana.

TANA: I thought you said you weren’t doing it!!

I quickly tap out a reply.

ME: ??? are you talking about?

Tana’s response doesn’t hit my phone until I’m climbing into my car and firing it up.

TANA: JC. The engagement.

I called Tana as soon as I walked out of Homegrown and drove to practice. The number of f-bombs she dropped during that conversation was impressive. She almost beat out Mrs. Finchly, Gran’s next-door neighbor, when the repo man came to take her shiny new convertible because her winnings at bingo weren’t covering the payments.

Before I can type out a reply, my phone rings. Tana.

“I’m not,” I answer.

“Um, honey, have you seen Perez Hilton? Because there’s a picture of JC at the very top, and he’s buying a fucking engagement ring. He’s nothin’ but smiles.”

What? No way. No. Way.

“That’s impossible. They just—”

“Hang up the phone and google it, Selena. It’s there. It’s happening. They’re going to corner you into it, and they’re not wasting any time. You need a plan.”

“A plan?”

My brain spins, attempting to latch on to any idea at all, but I’ve got nothing. Nothing but the vision of me standing onstage at Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve celebration, the words “go screw yourself” popping out of my mouth when JC pops the question.

My career will be over. My dream will be dead.

Tana is right; I need a plan. Because boarding a bus home isn’t going to be part of my future. I might be a lot of things, but a failure isn’t one of them.

Christmas Eve, New York City

Bored.

It’s not a safe state of affairs for a man like me. Bad shit happens when I’m bored. I have a tendency to dabble in hostile takeovers when I need something to get my adrenaline pumping. Or I’ll go out and pick up three women, and introduce them to each other in the filthiest way possible.

Judge me all you want; I don’t give a fuck what you think about me. Because I own half this town, and the other half isn’t worth having.

You can check the crotch of my Gucci suit pants for yourself. Not even a hint of a bulge at the thought of a foursome. Threesomes are passé, but it’s a sad situation when even a foursome can’t get my dick interested.

Because I’m fucking bored.

I shove out of my chair and stalk to the window of my tower. You see that down there? Fifth Avenue and my city. We’re just south of the park, which means the holiday lights are everywhere.

I fucking hate Christmas. Just one more holiday that reminds me of things I’d rather forget. But enough of this shit. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hover my thumb over the screen. I’ve got hundreds of numbers I can call and have a chick on my dick in less than fifteen minutes, even on Christmas Eve. Again, I wait for some sign of action in my pants, but I get nothing.

My dick must be broken. There’s no other explanation for it—except that I’m bored with my options. I know I’m getting repetitive, but bad things happen when I get bored. My past is littered with mistakes that arose from situations like this one.

But you know what? I’m in the mood to make another mistake. It’s time to grab my suit jacket and find out what kind of trouble I can get into tonight.

Christmas Eve, New York City

I’m giving myself a man for Christmas. Yes, a man.

I can do this. Really, I can. I think. Maybe.

From just inside the door, I scan the fancy hotel bar, looking for a likely prospect. The warmth of the whiskey I drank at the after party buzzes through me in a happy hum. I needed more than a little liquid courage to talk myself into this plan. I think it’s safe to say that this is my first rodeo.

And of course, I had to choose something way out of my league. But who knew the hotel bar would be so dang fancy? The Rose Club at the Plaza. Fifth Avenue, New York City.

I stifle the urge to check the carpet for any traces of mud that might have fallen off my cowboy boots, and wonder if it’s the first time a Kentucky girl in honest-to-God shit-kickers has stepped into this joint. Although, these boots are part of my stage costume, so the fringe and rhinestone-encrusted leather is a heck of a lot nicer than the worn-out ones I left in my cubby on the bus.

The bluish-purple glow coming from the ornate domed light fixtures makes it look like someone dunked the whole room in grape juice, giving the bar a kind of otherworldly feel. One look at the handful of folks in here tonight makes it clear that these people are from a completely different planet than me.

But I push aside the comparison and venture closer to the shiny wooden bar. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to need another shot of that liquid courage.

I slide onto one of the velvet bar stools, absolutely aware of the fact that my tiny jean skirt is riding up my thighs. A man in a suit one stool down is eyeing my legs while he swirls the liquor in his glass. I can’t tell what color it is, because everything takes on the unnatural shade of the lights.

I’m grateful for those lights. Something about the color is mellow and sexy, and it gives me the guts to follow through with my plan.

My Christmas list may be short, but it’s certainly specific. One man with enough cockiness and a smoking-hot body to take my mind off the grief stalking me tonight.

I snag the drink menu and flip it open. It lands on exactly the page I need. American Whiskey. The best damn kind there is. My jaw drops when I read the prices.

“Holy shit. Sixteen dollars for Jack Daniel’s? What the hell? Did Jack rise from the grave and make that mash himself? Holy . . . damn.” My voice carries, and everyone in the room, including the bartender in his snazzy suit, turns to look at me.

The guy one seat over must take that as some sort of invitation, and slides onto the velvet stool next to me. His smile is as smarmy as his words.

“I’ll buy a pretty girl a drink.” He jerks his head toward the bartender. “Put whatever she wants on my tab.”

Well, that didn’t take long.

I drop my gaze quickly, and the paunch straining the buttons of his dress shirt quickly disqualifies him as having the smoking-hot body on my Christmas wish list. But maybe this is a situation where beggars can’t be choosers?

I’ve never been much of a barfly, but the few times I’ve ventured out after shows with the guys, it seems like I always get these business types who spend a little too much time on the road, and none of it hitting the hotel gym.

Resignation filters through me. Maybe this is as good as it gets? One thing is clear, even through the warmth of the whiskey—this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.

“Thank you, but I think I’m a little lost tonight.” I flip the menu shut. “I should probably just get back to my room.”

The label put me up at the Plaza as a goodwill gesture for doing the show on Christmas Eve; otherwise, I would never drop that kind of money on a hotel, even if I had that kind of cash to spare—which I don’t.

He lays a hand on my arm. “How can you be lost, when I just found you?”

The line is cheesy, and I’m not even sure it counts as a line. But either way, I’ll be better off with some room-service dessert and a pity party for one.

I slide off the edge of the stool, but his grip tightens before his hand lands on my leg, sliding up my skirt almost instantly.

“You can’t go yet. We haven’t even gotten acquainted. Just let me buy you a drink. I promise I’ll make it worth your while, sweetheart.”

Chills of ick run through me at his touch, and I struggle to slide out of his grip, but he’s got me trapped. Apparently he thinks I’m a hooker, but my skirt isn’t that short.

Reaching down to pry his hand off my leg, I dig my nails in, but he just squeezes tighter.

Seriously, world? This is what I get when I try to have some harmless fun? Not. Fair.

I yank at his hand and open my mouth to tell him to let go when a rough, deep voice curls around me.

“I’ll thank you to take your hands off my wife.”

In one swift move, the unwelcome hands touching me are gone, and the man is stumbling off his stool. My gaze jerks from the handsy guy trying to catch his balance, and darts over my left shoulder.

Another guy in a suit. Except instead of being on the slippery side of fifty and overweight, this man might just be God’s gift to women. Or maybe just Saint Nick’s gift to me in the form of a rescue? Because, holy wow. Dark brown hair falls perfectly over his forehead, and his cheekbones could have been carved by one of those Italian master sculptor guys.

A hint of recognition tugs at the edges of my whiskey-soaked brain as his dark eyes burn into mine, as if daring me to play along. I don’t know what his game is, but for him . . . I might just be willing to try it.

The sexy man in the suit lifts a hand to my hair and smooths a lock between two fingers. His dark brown eyes never leave mine. “Darling, I told you that the picking-up-strangers game to make me jealous was for New Year’s Eve, not Christmas Eve.”

The other guy backs away another step, and the memory of his touch is fading just as quickly as it came. It’s like watching the laws of nature play: the beta male bows to the alpha, and the sexy man in the suit is one hundred percent the alpha dog in this situation.

Whatever pheromones he’s throwing off have me shifting on the velvet bar stool and leaning closer to him without thinking. It’s a million times better than the thought of getting up close and personal with Handsy. I reach down to rub my arm where the jerk touched me, and a red mark has already appeared.

Alpha Dog doesn’t miss my move. He lays a possessive hand on my shoulder and speaks to Handsy in a low, dangerous growl. “If you don’t want to be still picking up teeth next Christmas Eve, I’d suggest you pay your tab and get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper. You don’t ever put your hands on a woman who clearly isn’t interested.”

Handsy apparently doesn’t recognize the alpha yet. “She came in here looking like she was trolling for a man. She was fucking interested. Maybe you should keep a leash on your woman if you can’t control her.”

I open my mouth to tell him I was most definitely not interested, but Alpha speaks first.

“I suggest you walk away while you’re still able.”

Alpha’s expression must be even more dangerous than his words, because Handsy snaps his fingers at the bartender, who slides an embossed leather folder down the bar. Apparently he’s been listening to this whole exchange as well, because he’s grinning smugly.

Alpha slides an arm around my middle and pulls me back against his solid chest. It’s everything I can do to stop myself from purring and rubbing up against him like a tabby cat in heat.

What is coming over me? I’ve never reacted like this to any man before. I should want to shower off the other guy, but instead I just want to get closer to the leader of the pack behind me.

Handsy flips the folder open and fumbles for his wallet.

Alpha Dog clips out, “Make sure you leave a good tip.”

The other man is counting out bills, and Alpha Dog’s thumb begins to rub a path back and forth across my stomach, just below my breasts. With every stroke, I press more weight back against him as all the nerve endings in my body seem to come to life at once.

His chest rumbles with his words. “Two hundred should be sufficient. It’s fucking Christmas. Don’t be a cheap fuck, you prick.”

I bite my lip to hold back the giggle welling up inside me.

Handsy shoves two hundreds inside and flips the leather folder shut before stumbling off his stool.

He takes three steps, and Alpha says, “I sure as hell hope you haven’t forgotten to apologize to my wife for being a dick before you go.”

Handsy pauses and stiffens. “Sorry, ma’am. I apologize sincerely.”

My belly shakes with silent laughter, and Alpha squeezes me tighter.

“Something funny, sweetheart?”

I’m debating whether I should disentangle myself from his hold to face him when he takes the decision out of my hands and drops his arm. He pulls out the bar stool next to me, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits.

I expect him to turn and start explaining what just happened, and why the hell he rescued me and then pretended to be my husband, but he just holds up two fingers.

“Bushmills 21 for the lady.”

The bartender hops to it, nodding before he grabs a tall bottle from the top shelf.

“I’ll have a double shot of Jack,” I say, correcting him.

The bartender freezes and looks from me to Alpha Dog.

My sideways glance reveals him shaking his head. “She’ll have the Bushmills. We’re expanding her palate.”

I look at him and open my mouth to object, but get distracted by his profile. The man is beautiful, from his dark hair and equally dark eyes to his black tie tucked into a matching three-button vest. My eyes drop lower to the bulge in his suit pants. I swallow and remember exactly why I’m sitting in this bar tonight.

It hits me like a splash of slush from a cab on my boots. I know exactly who he is, because he doesn’t look all that different from the cover of Forbes that Tana had at her house a couple of months ago. I still remember the headline: KARAS CRUSHES COMPETITION.

Well, he certainly crushed the competition tonight. The rush of nervousness I was already feeling builds. The Selena gives herself a man for Christmas plan is suddenly alive and well again.

But how do I do this? I’ve never propositioned a stranger in a bar, let alone a billionaire. Or is this already a foregone conclusion, and he’s just waiting for me to catch up to his agenda for the evening?

“We’re expanding my palate?” My words come out breathier than I intended.

His full lips slide into a lazy, yet predatory smile. “In this respect, and I’m hoping a few others before the night is over.”

Oh. My. God.

I sure hope I know what I’m getting myself into.

Fuck me.

That’s what her glossy siren-red lips are saying, and I don’t think she has a goddamn clue how edible she looks sitting perched on that stool. She shifts, and the rhinestones at her neck, ears, and wrist flash purple in the trademark light of the Rose Club—light that’s more accustomed to reflecting off diamonds than costume jewelry.

She drew my eye when she stepped through the door because she looked so utterly out of place. But I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her because . . . Fuck. I have no idea. I’ve had my fair share of beautiful women, but this one’s a completely different breed. Not the trained purebred type of woman who crowds this place, tittering and looking for her next meal ticket.

No. One look at her, and I know she’s untrained and innocent. She’s not the kind of woman who is going to be angling for a handout, and the absolute lack of motive behind her actions is more alluring than I would have guessed. The way she instantly played along and never shied from my touch. Hell, she leaned into me, wanting more. She’s rare, and I’m the kind of man who appreciates that quality more than most when it comes to choosing a woman.

And then there’s the fact that she’s sitting in this bar on Christmas Eve with no ring on her finger—not sure how the dumb fuck missed the lack of that little accessory. It tells me she’s as alone in this city tonight as I am.

Boredom is now the last thing on my mind. This innocent girl has managed to eradicate every trace of it.

I make my decision instantly. She’s mine tonight.

The bartender, Aric, according to his nametag, sets our whiskey down in front of us.

“Please let me know if I can get you anything else, Mr. Karas.”

I wince as he says my name. I expect her demeanor to change immediately, for greedy claws to come out and spear into me.

Instead, she eyes the lowball glass in front of her. “How much is that drink gonna cost me? Ten dollars a swallow?”

I barely hold back a groan at the word swallow, because, fuck, I’m a guy, and I’ve already been picturing my dick in her mouth.

“Not a thing, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let a woman drink alone, and I sure as hell wouldn’t let her pay for her own drinks.”

I wait for an objection, but instead she lifts the glass and sniffs its contents.

“Kinda smells like . . . candy?”

“Caramelized toffee and dark chocolate.”

Her lips press against the rim, and she tips back a swig. Fuck. Her throat works as she swallows the liquor.

I want to taste it on her lips. Hell, I just want to taste her. I lean in, not even totally conscious of my movement, but urged on by the need to sample my favorite Irish whiskey from her, rather than from the glass.

But she freezes, and so do I.

Her brown eyes widen. “Holy horseshit, that’s some good stuff.”

My chest shakes as a chuckle breaks loose. “Damn straight.”

Her mouth curves into a grin as she lifts and sips again. This time she swallows more, and my dick pulses against the zipper of my suit pants. I want her on her knees, those wide brown eyes staring up at me as I cup her jaw and thrust my cock between those lush red lips.

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #73: Average.

Written: 3/21/2017                                                                 

When Tammy was only a couple months younger, she would get into the nasty habit of hot boxing her car, which would lead her to get covered in cannabis fumes that seemed impossible to deal with, outside of changing her clothes. Those were back in the days where she had never been caught smoking, so she would grow more and more reckless until one day, when her mother had come home to a house that reeked so bad that the poor woman ran to a sink, run water over a washcloth, and pressed it against her nose and mouth, confusing fire safety with drug exposure. When she finally reached Tammy’s room, she found her daughter mid inhale in what looked like a pile of garbage, but later turned out to be a gravity bong, and she almost had a stroke on the spot. After fights, threats, heart break, and all other sorts of family drama, it became clear to Tammy that she had been incredibly stupid, careless with her life, so she promised to her parents that she would swear off reefer, and she promised to herself that she would be more clandestine.

Now, as she sat in her car, in the mall parking lot, she made sure that she would have to go through great lengths to not get caught. She never wanted to be known or seen as a stoner, since there was more to her than her addiction. So, she made sure to keep her window rolled down, her body slumped in the chair so anyone nearby wouldn’t notice when she took a hit of her jazz cigarette, cautiously inhaling out of the open window, evenly distributing small amounts of smoke to ensure that a cloud wouldn’t built, making her too visible, and before every hit, before she did any of this, she would have to crane her head around just to make sure that there was nobody within 30’ of her car. Afterwards, she would put her gear away, tucked in its special box that she kept in the glove compartment. Then she would sit for five to ten minutes, donning sunglasses, and after the time had passed, allowing her to air out, she would roll up the windows and douse herself in perfume. After she popped a stick of gum into her mouth, she could wander around and do nothing, while feeling very interested in it.

She didn’t know why she decided to go to the mall, it was never very fun, and just seemed to be filled with a lot of stores that she was uninterested in. However, for some reason she decided that it would be a good destination, and at least she would be able to follow the crowd and stare at the people that it was made up of.

People were strange to her, especially since there were so many of them who had decided to end up in the same place as her, and they all had different reasons for doing so. Walking was starting to get to be too much, she was more focused on questioning people than moving forward, so when she reached a bench she decided to plop herself onto it, not noticing that she had decided to sit next to a friendly looking old woman. If she had been aware of this, she would have found somewhere else to rest, concentrate, de-high, where somebody wouldn’t try to talk her ear off, but as she thought of this alternative she felt bad for already making assumptions of this stranger. Didn’t she go through her masking ritual to not be thought of as a stoner, wasn’t it wrong of her to-

“What a wonderful day it is today.” A grimace had to be repressed, she was right all along, and this had began to confuse her. “I know I’m spending a sunny day inside the mall, but its still beautiful out. If you spend a lot of time inside, then you appreciate the outside more.” So was it wrong of people to apply stereotypes to her? Was she actually less than she thought she was? “Its like Ed always said, when he would come home from a hard days work, and he would talk about staring out at the sky, in the parking lot, suddenly-” Who was Ed? How did this woman expect her to participate, or understand, or maybe was the woman right all along, maybe she- “Ugh, this girl has the worst sense of perfume, Ed would never buy me such a-”

Pride wounded, Tammy turned to the rambling and insulting old woman, only to realize—unclear if this was real or just an effect of the strain—that the woman was speaking without moving her mouth. Feeling the young girl’s stare burn into the side of her face, the woman turned to Tammy, very uncomfortable, and said, “Why is this girl staring at me? What could she want? The youths in this city are a problem, maybe I should have found somewhere safer to hide out fro-” Sunglasses obscured an angry expression forming on the high nineteen-year-old’s face. Speaking with her mouth, “Hello?” Then, without moving her lips, “Why isn’t she saying anything? What could she possibly want?”

Two options formed in Tammy’s head:

-She could insult the woman for thinking that she was some sort of punk, trouble maker, ne'er-do-well, but then she would fall into the pit of over-generalization, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, since her stereotypes about the old woman were true, and her brain was too fried to rationally process this information, without forming more and more questions that led nowhere.

-She could punch the old broad in the face, teach her a lesson.

As she decided between those two, the old woman eventually left, and Tammy no longer had to deal with the dilemma. Yet, there was something strange about the encountered that bothered her, and it wasn’t the fact that the woman’s lips didn’t move, but it was because it was eerily familiar to her. This was actually a very common occurrence for her, when she was under the influence, but she was not high around other people very often, so it was always easy to forget about, to explain away as having smoked too much.

Eventually she forgot about the strange woman, and instead started to worry about how everyone had to know that she was high. Somebody could see her sunglasses and think, “Her eyes must be red behind those, she must be very baked.” Or maybe, or what if the smelled her strong perfume and came to the same conclusion? Knowing it was paranoia, she tried to calm down, but knowing that she was rational didn’t help her become rational, so she sat on the bench, stewing and panicking. Then it was time to think about excuses, just in case she was caught or questioned, so that she could expertly avoid trouble when it inevitably came. However, she was bad with excuses, and instead decided to watch the people around her, deciding that if it seemed like anyone was suspicious of her, she could just go somewhere else. Leave the scene of her crime against sobriety.

“What was the name of that guy who could pull the bus all by himself? God damn it this is going to kill me, if I don’t-”

“I have to get to that sale before its over, I can’t believe I let myself get talked into babysitting. I need to put my foot down, I need to tell them that I have a life of my own, and just because I’m 18 doesn’t mean that I have some sort of responsibility to deal with their dumb kids!”

“That girl has a nice ass, that girl has a nice set of shoulders, that girl is okay, that girl is okay, that girl has-”

She kept hearing these sorts of speeches being given as strangers walked by, and it seemed like the mall was deafening loud, but then she realized something.

“Okay, so if matter can’t be created, then where the fuck do babies come from, how are they made? I should have said that, jammed that in his face, lets see him react smartly to that-”

She was pretty stupid, or just pretty high, and either way she felt foolish. How much time did she spend watching television, or writing weird stories about death and strange creatures, and it took her how long to realize that she was reading people’s thoughts? In order to diffuse her building embarrassment, she decided to just focus on the thoughts of other people, to find somebody interesting. Then, maybe she could follow them around, and it would be like tuning into some sort of television show.

Some middle aged man who looked like an accountant, only thought about classic rock guitar riffs. Boring. A middle aged woman imagined having sex with a guy who was walking ten feet ahead of her, having some argument in his head with his father. A lone child walked past, trying to find their parents. A thirty year old man walked past, trying to hide from his lost kid. Two teenage girls walked side by side, one thinking about some male pop star who made millions off of pretending that he was some kind of perfect boyfriend that didn’t exist, and the other girl wondered if the first girl knew that she (the second girl) was sleeping with the first girl’s boyfriend. A vaguely homeless looking man was swearing in his head, upset with himself for telling a friend of his where all of the best spots where to collect recyclables. A large amount of teenagers, who passed by separately and didn’t know each other, all seemed to be thinking the same thing, which was: “Everyone must be looking at me right now, I hope I look cool.”

This began to get somewhat boring for Tammy, and she decided to get off of the bench and move into the crowd, hoping to find somebody of interest deeper in the mall. One person thought the smell of her perfume was too heavy, which at first made her feel offended, and then incredibly self conscious, but she eventually realized that only one person, in the crowd, had been vaguely thinking about her. Everyone else was just immersed in their own bullshit, their own thoughts that were incredibly pointless, dull, and repetitive. It made her worry about her own thoughts, and how uninteresting she may be.

It was hard for her to figure out a way to solve this. Maybe she could try being more interesting, more noticeable, so more people would be thinking about her, but then she realized that the idea was nowhere near a real solution, since it didn’t change her inner workings one bit. She then wondered if she could try escaping off to some sort of fantasy, day dream world, but then she would just be sitting around, wasting time until she would, probably, lose her ability to read minds. Ding! Feeling ridiculously stupid, Tammy remembered that she could read people’s thoughts, and than meant that she was inherently more interesting than the people around her. Just because average and boring people made up a majority of the population, didn’t mean that she was inherently one of them.

More determined than ever to find somebody of interest, somebody she could relate to in a vague sense, she decided to speed her way through the mall. For a little while, the only thoughts she picked up on were ones complaining about how Tammy had shoved them out of her way, and these were surprisingly common. Wondering why everyone in this crowd had seemed so stale, she realized that she should probably wonder over to interesting parts of the mall, to increase her chances. Disoriented and lost, she instead just stumbled into the closest store, which was filled with all sorts of strange, colorful, random, and interesting items. For some reason, most of the thoughts that she was able to pick up on went along the lines of, “People will think I’m interesting when they see me with this!” or “Oh, I can just imagine somebody seeing this and having to ask about it.”

People were starting to bum her out.

“If he calls, I’m not going to answer. I’m just going to let it ring, and he’ll know that he can’t treat me that way anymore, he can’t say I’m needy when I ignore him! But if he called I should actually probably answer just to let him know that I don’t care about what he says, then I should hang up after that, unless he stops me and wants to say something, then I should listen, but out of pity. Actually, I should call him right now, and just let him know that I-”

“That girl has a cute top, I wonder where she got it. I hope she got it at one of the stores in here.”

“Oh god, oh god, I hope nobody looks in my bag, I hope nobody knocks into me and they see what’s inside.” The person saying this was a guy who looked like a business man, or at least somebody who was somewhat important. Intrigued, she decided to follow this first person of interest. “If anybody finds out, my life is over, I wont be able to go on, they wont be able to look at me the same way anymore. The kids, oh god I’ll never see my kids again! How could I be expected to be a good father, when I went out and bought every Cher album I could find.” Suddenly angry through disappointment, Tammy wanted to throw something at the guy’s head, just because he wasted her time on something that turned out to be pointless. It was all starting to get exhausting.

It was like everybody that passed by was just thinking of or worrying about pointless shit, just going on with their lives as if they were somehow important. And what made Tammy so important, so different? Slumped over a trashcan, appearing as if she was about to throw up, but really just too high to process this, she attempted to figure out what made her so special.

‘So what if I can read minds, its not like I’m any different than everybody else. Its like just because I know how shitty everything is, that doesn’t make me, like, any better. Fuck! Fuck all of this! Whats the point of anything if everything is so pointless, if everyone is so wrapped up inside of themselves that they can’t even, ugh, why does it have to be like this?’

It took her a little while to realize that a concerned crowd had formed around her, to see if she was okay, and she had to wave them away, and vaguely say something about being sad about a break up. Out of the six people that checked on her, one was genuinely concerned, three were also trying to hit on her, two wanted to seem heroic, and one guy was with his kid, and only decided to help in the hopes that his child would think of him as a good person, but the child only stared at the nearby video game store, thinking about some stupid, colorful character. Standing up, dusting herself off, Tammy assured them that she was fine, then briskly walked off towards the bathroom.

When she arrived, she had to sit inside a stall, and just hope that the high would wear off, the mind reading could go away, and she would stop being aware of how dull she really was. While she waited, she could only think about aspects of her life that she used to think were interesting. Her smoking turned out to be nothing close to being unique, and her ritual was probably very common among a lot of smokers. At first it seemed cool of her to just show up at the mall, high, with no plan, just going with the flow, but she had started to realize that she just did have a plan, or any idea of anything significant to do, so she was really just wandering around until something interesting, some outside source of excitement, would happen to or around her. She used to think that she was different from everyone else, because she had refused to get a job or go to college, which to her used to seem like she was experiencing life more than anyone else, but now it seemed, to her, that she was just wasting her time before she died, hoping something interesting would… and then she thought about that. Was that the main rule she followed? Wait until something cool happens, wait for external sources to make life interesting, to make it worth interesting? And then it hit her—like a train bearing down on a teenager involved in a pissing contest to prove their useless courage—that she was the dumb stoner that she worried about everyone seeing her as, that she had nothing inside to make her more interesting than anyone else, only assuming she was special because she was blind to all other sorts of experiences, and she wanted to cry, and then she did.

Finally leaving the stall, after twenty minutes of mourning her loss of individuality, she decided to check herself in the mirror. At first she didn’t know what the point would be, nobody was going to focus on her very much anyways, but then she decided that it would have been terrible to get negative thoughts directed at her, so she decided to look her appearance once over. It was whatever, she barely did anything to fix it. What would be the point?

Walking out of the bathroom, taking in the sight of the mall’s ecosystem, she was suddenly nauseated, and just wanted to go home.

“That girl has nice cans, that girl has a nice ass, that girl’s clothes are much too baggy, what a slut,  not showing me anything, that girl is fat but I’d still hit it”

“Oh god, everyone’s looking at me, aren’t they? I hope there isn’t anything in my teeth. I hope they can’t tell I’m high, I bet I’m so obvious right now, they can probably tell, fuck!”

“Kids these days are so wrapped up in themselves, not like me, I’m much better than those out of touch kids”

“Shit, what day is it today?”

“Did I leave my headlights on? Oh god, I wish I didn’t leave my head lights on.”

“Did somebody take my wallet? Might as well check, but lets try to do it so people wont notice, because they might steal it if they see me checking, or-”

“I hope nobody notices this erection, oh god, oh god”

And on and on, a million voices with nothing to say, or at least thats how it felt to Tammy, who was too high to be anything but dramatic, getting so lost in the sea of thoughts that she never realized that she was heading in the opposite direction, away from where her car was parked, and further in further into the mall she hated so much, because of how much it reflected her. Thoughts cloudy, she forgot that she wanted to leave and was instead feeling as if she was trapped in the building, never to escape, but also very hungry. Denial kicked in, and she decided that maybe she was just upset from being hungry, so she maneuvered herself, with some trouble, to the food court.

When she had gotten her meal, which consisted of a shit load of ice cream and two slices of greasy pizza, she sat down, and did nothing but eat until her meal had been finished, her whole life seemed to revolve around that simple—but entirely satisfying—task, and she hardly paid any attention to the thoughts of the people around her, they had just begun to turn into white noise. Yet, when she was finished in her meal in spirit, since she still wanted to eat more, but knew that she was physically unable to, and she began to pay attention to everything around her, she heard something that, at first, seemed like it couldn’t be real. It was a string of interesting thoughts.

“Look at this asshole chew down his disgusting sandwich, I bet that the next time he takes a bite I could shove it down his throat, choke him to death with the fucking thing. That’ll teach him. Fuck that would be great, to stand over him, hands over his mouth, watching the life leave him, watching him struggle as he tries to fight against me, against death, and then eventually knowing that its pointless, having to accept it. That sounds boring now. I wonder what it would feel like, to crush somebody’s hands with your throat, I wonder what it would feel like to tear an ear off with like a block of wood, like to apply enough pressure to scrape it clean off. Look at that girl, I wonder whats under those sunglasses, I wonder if she doesn’t have any eyes, I wonder what it would feel like to-”

Tammy located the person of interest, and noticed that it was a girl who was looking directly at her. She was starting to feel okay about being average, and a little worried about her own well being.