#I was like there needs to be a *supernatural* therapist. And then of course I was like. OH HEY. MIA VALLENS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebindingofpillo · 2 months

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in the big ol google doc, when esau dies, jacob is completely distraught. how does he try to cope? like i feel like hair pulling as an unhealthy coping mechanism for jacob. in the game, tainted jacob has a bald spot. and jacob seems the kinda guy to pull on his hair until it comes out when under a lotta stress. also, how does laz try to help? laz is shown to be abit more of less sympathetic person.

Another thing, what is Esau after he comes back to haunt jacob? A spirit trying to remind Jacob of his sins, or was it jacobs negative emotions and thoughts that made esau manifest as he is?

Lastly, how does both Jacob and Lazarus deal with esau?

Someone has read that monster of a Google doc????? Waow………

Anyway I feel like Jacob would be super depressed. I like the idea of him pulling out his hair in distress, but also consider: stress so big it just falls out. Lazarus brushes his hair and it just falls out in clumps… Speaking of which, yes, Lazarus is a bit of an ass, he’s not a bad person and Jacob is still his best friend (and future partner). It’s kinda sad but I envisioned Esau’s death as a huge growth opportunity for both of them, Jacob will learn to live as his own person without Esau and Lazarus will grow to be more responsible and less of a prick. He’ll finally realise how much Jacob means to him and will have to confront the fact that he’s not always been the best of friends to him (and Samson too, especially Samson, but that’s for another time) so he’ll try to make up for it.

I guess Lazarus would try and take over for Jacob. Like, taking care of him, making him food, making sure he eats and stuff… Jacob is also disabled, and Esau had been helping him in day-to-day life for the longest time, so Jacob is not only missing a brother but also a caretaker. Lazarus would immediately go to his house and take it from there, keeping tidy, making food etc. etc. he wouldn’t be alone of course, Bethany, Samson and even Eve will gladly stop by to help and make Jacob feel less alone… but also the fact that Jacob blames himself for his brother’s death will not make things easier for them. I feel like all my characters need therapy ngl. Maybe Samson can help him find a therapist…

As for Dark Esau… it’s Esau. He’s back. Basically the main idea was that Esau, in his first life, made some sort of deal with the devil to get revenge on his brother for everything he did to him (the birthright, the blessing etc.) but Jacob always managed to die before him, or before Esau gained his memories back, so he could never truly get revenge until now. This idea is still a bit fuzzy tho, don’t treat it like gospel. I also liked the idea that Esau’s rage is what constantly brought him back to life over and over, he just couldn’t let go. And not only because of Jacob! Esau’s grudge is also directed towards Isaac!!! Yes, Jacob stole his birthright but Isaac also refused to give him his blessing (and for a very stupid reason too!). And probably towards Rebekah too, since she was the one who originally pitted them against eachother… what I’m trying to say is that Esau has a huge grudge against his whole family, and nobody is safe.

When Esau started manifesting it was for Jacob only, and the man really thought he was going insane since nobody but him seemed to be able to see him. Lazarus was skeptical at first, but he’s dealt with enough supernatural bullshit (like being on a first name basis with the literal angel of death, knowing that demons exist etc. etc.) so while he thinks Jacob is only having a mental breakdown, but he’s still open to the possibility of him being actually haunted by his brother.

As for resolving the situation… eeeeeeh that’s still a bit fuzzy tbh. Like my main idea was that this situation would progressively escalate until Lazarus and Jacob had to find help with Judas and the others (because Apollyon is real powerful, Azazel is a demon and he might help, even Eden could chip in and lend a hand) but THEN Bethany would explode because of Dogma, and even Esau can’t bear to see someone he loved so much in so much pain, and I had this idea he would try and fight Dogma to save her and in doing so his should would be cleansed and ascend to heaven? It’s still a bit fuzzy, but I also think Isaac and Rebekah apologising could help… like it wouldn’t really do anything for Esau, but maybe it could help him let go of his anger and move on. Hell you know what? I’ll throw in Cain too, if someone knows what it’s like to kill your own brother and why it’s a bad thing it’s him! And his whole arc is about the importance of letting go and not let the past consume you etc. etc. it’s too perfect, he can help the flaming ghost. I also know how to shove it in the action: Dark Esau has completely reverted to his old memories and personality, which means he can only speak ancient Hebrew, like in Bible times. And Cain is the only one who can understand him! And then thanks to Cain he could unlock his most recent memories and realise he’s being stupid.

#godddd this was so long but I had a lot of fun answering this ask heheeeee thank u #I’ll eventually update the doc once I have the energy but damn this was enlightening #ask tag #lore post

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steelbluehome · 3 months

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On 'The Falcon and the Winter Soldier's Curiously Iffy Relationship With Therapy

By Gregory Lawrence

Mar 28, 2021

I’ve been going to therapy for many years, and if you’re reading this, I suggest you do, too. It’s an exceptional tool in the ongoing journey of one’s mental health, a place where you can speak and be listened to without agenda. The therapists I’ve spoken with in my life have one common trait: Unflappability. They are professionals at navigating the complicated emotional lives of their clients while not becoming destructively emotional themselves. They don’t pursue anything but giving you a runway to find your truth.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is a welcomely grounded Marvel Cinematic Universe series, one less interested in the “big three” of supernatural baddies (“androids, aliens, and wizards,” as Anthony Mackie’s Falcon phrases it) and more interested in the traumas and struggles of getting chewed up and spit out by the systems of regular-ass life. Yes, Mackie’s Sam and Sebastian Stan’s Bucky are fierce warriors who have used state-of-the-art tech and super-soldier serums respectively to battle all kinds of strange folks. But two episodes in, the series’ fights are human-to-human, full of shades and nuance, and often hamstrung by the cruel machinations of a society so determined to make life hard for people (especially returning veterans).

That’s why I was happy to see Amy Aquino show up as Dr. Christina Raynor, Bucky’s court-ordered therapist, in the very first episode. As made evident by Bucky’s nightmare of the merciless acts of violence he took while under Hydra mind control (rendered with shocking horror-tinged brutality by series director Kari Skogland), he needs therapy badly. In their initial sequence together, we see Bucky behave the way we often see troubled protagonists behave in therapy scenes: He plays the silent treatment at best and is openly antagonistic at worst. He baldly lies to his mental health professional about his own mental health. I understand that our (anti)hero can’t suddenly be enlightened and peaceful and ready to move on from his inner conflict; I want to see him go through this journey over the season of television. But I still couldn’t help but want to scream through the TV at him, “Just tell her the truth! You’re only hurting yourself!”

Depiction doesn’t equal endorsement, especially when it comes to a complicated character like Bucky who has objectively committed murders, but there’s something that continues to be complicated about seeing the center of our journey, the person we’re to align ourselves with being so resistant toward mental health wellness, perhaps to provoke a response of “Aw, I understand, I’d behave the same way. Therapy is weird!”

Then again, Dr. Christina Raynor might not be the best therapist for Bucky, or any client. Dramatic license must be taken in any depiction of real life. Unlike the often aimless moments of regular-ass life, dramatic scenes must involve conflict, intention, agency, and a visible drive toward a visible goal. Thus Dr. Raynor, like many film and television therapists before her, takes an aggressive approach toward “meeting the goal of making Bucky well,” poking and prodding at him, trying her best to “get him there.” She simply drips with derision and disdain at every level of her interaction with poor Bucky, even snarkily acting out his past tendencies to commit brainwashed murders. On the one hand, she needs to behave like this for the function of the scene; to watch a character be a blank slate of non-provocation without any goal of her own would likely make a boring scene. The way the scene plays is a strong visualization of Bucky’s resistance and Dr. Raynor’s (and the audience’s) desire for him to know peace. But as she kept poking and prodding and needling and frowning, even while insisting that Bucky needs to trust her, I thought to myself, “Of course he’s not speaking up. Who’d want to spill their innermost secrets to this force who obviously has an aggressive agenda?” The scene attempts to justify some of this behavior by reminding us that Dr. Raynor is a soldier who’s seen combat herself. But the moment a therapist tells you “That’s utter bullshit” is the moment you find a new therapist, dramatic license or not.

Episode 2 pumps up some of the oddness of this therapy dynamic by injecting it with one of the key secrets to the MCU’s sauce: Tension-cutting banter. After Bucky is arrested for not showing up to one of his court-mandated sessions (another complicated moment of positioning the viewer as finding therapy to be an impediment to the characters’, and show’s, action), Dr. Raynor forces both Bucky and Sam to sit down in front of her and figure out what’s tearing them apart. Surprisingly, and quite touchingly, Stan and Mackie play this scene earnestly, the pain they feel toward each other and themselves seeping from the corners of their eyes into their full figures, even as they do bantery things like move their chairs close together without knocking their knees together.

But Dr. Raynor is over here roasting and toasting them like a damn Friars Club gala. She glibly but stridently positions the exercises she wants them to do as normally being done by romantic couples, not giving them any chance to breathe at the slightest moment of resistance, cutting her patients off at the knees under the auspices of helping them stand. She is sarcastic throughout, saying things like “No volunteers? How surprising,” and “Sweet Jesus” with the tenor of a middle school gym teacher ragging on the math nerd who’s getting whomped in dodgeball. And yes, there’s an attempt at fun and bravado in these back-and-forths, the way we see all kinds of other fun back-and-forths in other “serious” MCU moments, the way we see Sam and Bucky constantly treat each other like bickering children. But not every single moment of the MCU needs to possess this kind of tone, especially not when we’re trying to watch a mental health professional deal with such clearly damaged clients.

All of this, this brevity and impatience and snarkiness, is perhaps more understandable and better played in this episode, given the emotional states of our title characters and the fact that it’s framed by an increasingly sleazy, dehumanizing new Captain America (Wyatt Russell, simply throwing away the line, “He’s too valuable of an asset to have tied up, so just do whatever you gotta do with him, then send him off to me”). But it’s still odd and brittle in a way I find unnecessary, even unhelpful. The sequence ends with a genuine moment of clarity and understanding — a breakthrough, even — between Sam and Bucky, even though it ends with Sam leaving the room. Dr. Raynor’s response, simply, is a sarcastic, “Thank you. That was really great.”

“No bullshit tough love,” to use a word Dr. Raynor is fond of, is a sensible stylistic choice for any character in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, but I worry it comes at the cost of actual human connection, change, or empathy in these very sensitive moments. And I worry it all comes at a cost of further demonizing seeking therapy as a viable option for anyone watching. I love the way The Falcon and the Winter Soldier pushes forward in its darker-than-usual plottings, but I really love the way it stands still in its darker-than-usual emotional explorations. I don’t want Dr. Raynor, nor performer Amy Aquino, to suddenly become clipped or dampened or in any way made less of a human being. I just hope Dr. Raynor’s own in-universe therapist tells her to get out of the way of her own bullshit and let the characters explore themselves in future episodes.

#the falcon #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #the winter soldier #sam wilson #bucky barnes #dr. raynor #anthony mackie #sebastian stan #amy aquino

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

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Blood Moon

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, bloodplay, mental illness/sleep disorder, slight medical abuse, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle to find a peaceful night’s rest but your therapist has a particular treatment in mind. (Vampire AU)

Characters: Tony Stark

Prompts: There is only safety in sunlight, and like safety, sunlight is fleeting. + “How many times have I hungered for you, darling?”

Note: Okay, I’m the first to say my supernatural fics aren’t my go to but this was fun and is the first of my sleepover drabble/fics. This turned out pretty long and my intent is to have an overarching vampire au with a few other characters getting their own installments.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.

Love you all like my dog loves pets. Take care. 💖

You pull the curtain shut and stagger back, tripping on your own feet and landing on your ass. You squeak as you fumble with your phone, the screen glaring in the dark and bringing tears to your eyes. You push yourself back into the corner, hiding behind the dresser as you hear the crisp friction against the window pane.

The shadow looms behind the thin barrier of fabric, as if he can see you still. You dial the emergency number, breaths shallow as fear swells in your chest. You curl your fingers into your cheek as the panic blooms, beating in your heart, and some unknown force bids you to hang up, to go and open the window.

But you won't. You can't.

"Hello, he's here again," you whisper into the phone, too frantic to think.

"Miss, please, who's there?"

"The man. The man," you quaver as the tapping begins. "Please, he's here again!"

"Miss, I need you to calm down. Tell me where you are."

"I'm... in my room. I'm hiding but he can see me! I can feel it--" You know you sound crazy. You hear yourself and the fragility in your voice. You recognise the words and how they must sound but you can't stop, you're terrified.

"Miss," the operator repeats firmly, "what's your address?"

You tremble and let out an 'oh'. Of course that's what they meant. You struggle to think. You can't remember. You don't know, you don't know! The line clicks and you look down at screen. You hit the button but it doesn't light up.

You shiver as you desperately try to turn on your phone. You toss it as it refuses to respond and you drop your head into your hands. The tapping is louder, a knocking, steady and maddening.

You clutch your head and let out a holler, "stop! Go away!"

But they don't listen. Him. It. Whatever. Tap, tap, tap... even and unending.

You wail as your skull thrums and your body tingles in terror. Will it please stop? Stop!

You fling yourself forward and crawl across the floor. Your knees hit the floor heavily, your body clumsy with adrenaline. Who is he? What is it?

You stand, shaking, feet slipping as your legs threaten to fold. You hit the light switch but nothing happens. You flip it up and down, up and down, and nothing. You collapse and let out another pathetic cry.

"Go away! Leave me alone!" You writhe on the floor as you cover your ears, trying to block out the steady beating. "No, no, no..."

You repeat the word over and over, every breath comes out with your refusal. "No, no, no, no," until that syllable smears to a drone and blackness speckles in your vision, a hovering shadow outside your window, the tapping, the tapping, tapping–

🩸

You wake with a start. The floor is cold as the stiffness settles in your bones. You blink, a memory vague in your mind, like a dream. It had to be a dream, a nightmare, like those before. They come more often and more clearly.

How did you get on the floor? You sit up but can't recall.

You get a foot under you and stand, catching yourself against the foot of your bed. You step on the corner of your phone and look down. You bend to take it, turning it over as suddenly your alarm blares from the speaker.

You silence the head-spinning siren and drop your phone. You feel dizzy. Like you don't know this place and yet you know it all too well. It's home so why does it feel so strange?

You shudder as your head aches, shutting out the memories tugging at your nerves. You go to the window and look out through the square panes trimmed in iron. The city smokes and steams in response, grey and heartless.

Your vision skews as you try to see into the distance then suddenly you're drawn back, by something closer. A smear on the glass, five long digits you barely notice, the scant outline of a hand pressed there. You back away as a frigid breath blows down your nape and spin to face the empty room.

You're alone.

You frown and your phone buzzes again. A reminder dinging with a persistent chime. Damn it, it's Tuesday.

🩸

You chew your thumb, ankles crossed as you rock in the chair, your anxiety mounting with the incessant tick of the clock. The waiting is always the worst part. You could combust from the erratic energy boiling under your skin.

The door opens and you slide closer to the edge of the chair. Dr. Stark appears in the frame as he gives a lazy scratch to his trimmed goatee. He sees you and smirks.

"Come in," he beckons to you with two fingers, "I've been waiting."

The greeting is almost ominous but he always has a way of being blunt. You get up and give a sheepish smile to his secretary but she's more interested in her long nails.

Tony waits and you pass him to enter, brushing him as he holds the door open. He shuts it with a snap and you nearly gasp, reminded of a similar noise, the tapping on glass. You go to the leather chaise and put your purse on the cushion beside you as you sit.

He takes his usual seat, an armchair beside a round side table with a recorder and a mug of dubious contents beside it. He hits the button and the light glows.

His dark eyes meet your, devouring you and he slides the pen from his pocket and presses the end to his lip. He hums as he considers you. He has a casual manner, unlike any therapist you've been to.

"So, sweetheart, how are you today?" He asks in his rocky voice.

You shift and notice how his eyes follow the flutter of your fingers and your leg as you hook it over the other. You fold your hands over your knees and slump your shoulders.

"Good," you lie.

He tisks and wiggles the pen in the air as he tilts his head, a thoughtful stroke to his chin as he watches you, "you look tired."

You gulp. How is it that one person can both put you on edge and at ease? It's like you can't decide if you like him or hate him. Yet, his timbre calms you, the deep tone floods you with a sensation akin to drowsiness.

"I am," you answer honestly.

"How long did you sleep?"

You chew your cheek guiltily, "a few hours."

His cheek dimples and he sucks his teeth. He puts the pen down beside the recorder and leans forward. "Not well?"

You avoid his gaze. He see right through you but there's no judgment, only concern.

"Have you eaten?" He moves on. Again your non-answer is telling.

"You were doing so well," he stands, his hand dragging off the arm of the chair, slowly, deliberately, the gesture making you shiver as if you could feel his touch on your own skin, "what's changed?"

You swing your foot nervously and scrunch your nose as you think. The shadow like a ghost outside your curtains and the tapping that made you itch.

"I'm having dreams," you look up at him as he strides around the chair, gripping the back as he turns to face you, "I woke up on the floor."

He gives a thoughtful hum, bending his elbows against the chair back and steepling his fingers, "what was the dream?"

You shake your head. It's foggy. Your heart races as you focus, trying to draw out the scene. All you recall is the frantic fear coursing through you.

"Someone's at the window…" you utter softly. Your eyes shut without your permission and you search your dark eye lids.

"Who?" He prompts.

You quiver, "I don't know."

"You don't know," he repeats calmly and your blood slows as a sort of trance clouds in your head, body locked as your head falls forward.

"No, but I'm scared and he keeps knocking."

"He?"

"It?"

"What do– does it look like?" His voice scratches out.

"I don't know. I won't look. I can't–"

"Why don't you open the window?" His tone deepens.

"I'm scared–"

"Scared of what?" His voice distorts.

"Because I feel it. It wants me. It wants to…" your eyes roll back and you wobble dizzily.

"Wants to what?" You hear his soles scuff and sense him come close.

"I don't know," you rasp as your chest constricts.

He's quiet as you tremble. When he speaks, his lips brush your ear, "to consume you? To devour you? To taste the sweet nectar that flows from your veins?"

He sounds demonic and your lashes flutter in horror. You raise your head and fall backwards, drawn down into the dark as it swallows you up. You hit the bottom and wake, your cheek against the leather as Dr. Stark sits lazily sipping from his mug.

"So, you didn't eat," he says coolly as you look around in confusion, "that's not good."

"I…" you push yourself up weakly as your eyelids droop, "no, I guess..."

"I want you to go out and have a nice big meal after this," he insists tersely, "you need to eat with your meds. Understood?"

You nod and rub your temples. Did you pass out? Was it all a dream? He doesn’t seem bothered at all.

"The side effects can include hallucinations and vivid dreaming," his irises look bottomless as they cling to you, "sleepwalking…'

"Oh," you cross your arms, a frigid ripple spreading through you, "I guess that makes sense, then."

"You should keep a sleep journal. Write down your dreams and any sleep movement," he advises, "we might have to adjust your dosage."

"Alright," you nod dumbly.

"Well," he checks his watch, his veins look black beneath his pale skin, "that's the hour."

"Already?" You frown.

"We had a good session, I think."

"Oh?" A good session? You were unconscious for most of it.

"I mean it," he points at you sternly, "go get lunch and send me a picture. That's your homework."

You stare and slowly rise in unison with him. He offers his hand as he always does and you shake it. It's cold and smooth, like marble. A chill crawls over you as he grips you firmly.

"It's a full moon tonight," he says, "you should leave the curtains open."

You blanch as he releases you, pulling your hand back as if bitten, "what?"

"They say moonlight is cleansing," he shrugs, "guess that's just some old wives’ tale."

"Uh, oh, yeah," you sling your purse on your arm, "I think you're right. I need to eat."

"You must keep care of yourself, sweetheart," he gestures towards the door and follows you, "keep yourself fed and… plump."

He opens the door ahead of you and you look at him, his words pricking your ears. "I will."

"Good girl," he winks and dismisses you with a nod.

You walk through the empty waiting room and by the secretary and her talon like manicure. The place is static and cold. You didn't notice before but you never saw any other patients there, not coming or going. Just you.

🩸

You bend your fingers around the corner of the dresser and sob. He's there, the shadow, lurking, looming, driving you mad. The curtains are wide open but you don't remember opening them before you laid down. You barely remember going to bed.

It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream... you tell yourself as you huddle back and hide behind the shadow of the old wooden furniture.

Then it begins, the tapping, the tapping! The tempo is different, methodical and musical. You bury your face in your arms and heave. A deep sonourous voice begins, in tune with the beat of fingertips on glass.

‘There was a farmer's son, Kept sheep all on the hill; And he walk'd out one May morning To see what he could kill.’

The lyrics waft through the silence, filling the cadence of fingertips, of nails edging on the window. You tremble as your tears slow and your ears feel fuzzy from the timbre. Deep and dreary.

‘And sing blow away the morning dew The dew, and the dew. Blow away the morning dew, How sweet the winds do blow.’

Taunting, mocking, the thought of the morning so far away. The promise of what might never come.

‘He looked high, he looked low, He cast an under look; And there he saw a fair pretty maid Beside the wat'ry brook.’

He goes back into the course as your body moves without bidding. You peek out from behind the dresser as the shadow remains, lounging across the outside of the pane as he beats his melody against the window frame. You see his eyes, the pale white and deep crimson shining as the moon limns silver behind him.

‘Cast over me my mantle fair And pin it o'er my gown; And, if you will, take hold my hand, And I will be your own.’

He continues with only his voice, letting his hand slide down the glass as he moves closer. You put one hand down, then a knee, then the next, and another. You crawl across the floor as the temptation of his tones draws you into him, mysterious and entrancing.

‘If you come down to my father's house Which is walled all around, And, you shall have a kiss from me And twenty thousand pound.’

He stills his hand, pressed to the window as he leans in, smiling as his ivory teeth gleam pale in the grim darkness that shrouds his face. You stop before the ledge and peer up at him, tears evaporating as a chill floods your chest. You sway to the tune of his lyric, like a snake to a flute.

‘He mounted on a milk white steed And she upon another; And then they rode along the lane Like sister and like brother.’

The fear tugs at the nape of your neck but you cannot stop yourself. You cannot resist the creature on the other side. You raise your hand, shaking as you unlatch the the lock. A great gust pushes the window open and his song carries with the night breeze, surrounding you, strangling you as you kneel before him.

‘As they were riding on alone, They saw some pooks of hay. O is not this a very pretty place For girls and boys to play?’

He rises, and you notice how his feet hardly touch the pane, as he walks as if on air, angling in the window but not breaking the threshold. You twine your hands over your chest as your mouth parts in awe of his enchanting display.

‘But when they came to her father's gate, So nimble she popped in: And said: There is a fool without And here's a maid within.’

He bends and curls a finger, asking you closer, demanding you to come to him. You stand and stagger, your legs breaking the bonds of your reticence. You go to the window, just beyond his grasp and he sings lower, drawing out the notes.

‘We have a flower in our garden, We call it Marigold: And if you will not when you may, You shall not when you wolde.’

He quiets as he watches you, his song drifting off into the sky as it ends. Your hollow body seems to float, held up by unseen strings, like a puppet hanging, ready to be moved. Your hands creep up your neck and you grip your head as if your mind will split, as your fear swirls with desire.

"Might I come in?" Dr. Stark asks as he turns to let the moon illuminate his profile, "my darling, you are dreaming again... you do know it is only a dream, so let me in and I will see you to the dawn."

“Yes,” your welcome falls out without a thought, you don’t want to be alone. You never did, “yes, please, yes–”

He crosses the plane of the window, descending lightly, landing before you without a noise. It’s as if all air and sound has left the room, as if you’re suffocating on his presence. You bat your lashes, the world vague yet vivid.

His smirk grows and he presents his long teeth, the enamel shining in the shadows, two fangs overgrown and inhuman. You back away as you see him clearly, his dark eyes with tint of red, his pale skin like paper stretched thin, his dark hair lank and loose, the menacing point of his deadly teeth.

“No…” your breath escapes you, as if your ribs are being crushed, and you falter as you try to back away.

He catches you, so fast, his figure like smoke across the dim. His embrace is cold but gentle as he carries you to the bed, your feet dragging across the wood, the worn surface rough against your soles. He lays you down on the bed with a hush, like a hiss as he lingers near you.

His fingers trace your temple and cheek, sending a chill through you as he outlines the curve of your jaw. He inhales as if smelling you, his chest puffing out as his touch strays to your throat. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

“How many times have I hungered for you, darling?” He leans over you, another shiver rolls over you as he frames your neck with his hand, “how often have I smelled your blood and listened to the symphony of your heartbeat?” His grip is firmer as he speaks, “how often have I thought of this very moment and the taste of your flesh.”

You shudder and suck in a breath, a splash of icy water across your body as adrenaline courses through you. You’re paralysed even as you tell yourself to move. As you fight to lift a single finger against your bodily prison. His crimson eyes are like pits, eerie and endless, holding a fate you cannot see.

“Doctor…” you whisper weakly as he tilts your head up with two fingers.

“You smell like spring,” he purrs against your throat as you gulp, “you smell like sweet wine…” his teeth graze your skin as his nose touches your skin, “you smell like paradise.”

He tickles along your shoulder and a sudden pinch makes you squeak. He pierces your flesh, biting into the muscle beside your neck, the long draw tugging at you as he sucks. You groan as fear swells through you, rising and crashing like a tide as you can only twitch across the mattress.

“Pretty little pet,” he unhinges his jaw as a warm trickle of blood trails after his lips along the strap of your camisole, “do not be scared, I would keep a precious thing like you….”

His fingers brush along the thin strap and push it down your arm. He hovers over you as he guides the lace trim away from your chest and unveils your torso, goosebumps prickling over you. He bends again, kissing along the rise of your breasts, swirling his wet tongue around your tender nipples as they stiffen. He bites into a rigid bud and you whimper, your finger curling slightly.

Again, he drinks from you and the panic pulses through you. What is he? The question hardly matters as you feel him draining you.

Once more, his teeth part and he smears a wet path down your stomach, pushing your shirt to your hips. He growls as he teases you with his fangs and you spasm as he bites into you again. You whine as he sinks into the soft fat of your stomach, again and again, a trail of punctures to the vee of your pelvis.

Tears roll out as you lay prone to his bloody descent. The tug of your shorts elicits a moan from you and he eases them down your legs. You flick your lashes as dread consumes you. His lips meet your thigh and you cry out as he digs his fangs into you.

He drinks greedily as his hand crawls up your other leg. Your body reacts before your mind can. His fingertips whisper along your folds and pet the patch of hair that trims your cunt. He dips between your lips and you gasp in shock, slickness warm against his cool touch.

He tickles you, stroking you up and down, circling your clit, flicking, fluttering, and prodding at your entrance. His teeth slide free of your flesh and he moves to nuzzle your cunt as he pokes a finger inside you. He breathes you in and presses his tongue against your bud, adding another finger as he sinks in deeper.

He pulls back, pushing back in, then out, fucking your slowly as he tastes you. He glides his thumb up to toy with your clit in tandem with his tongue. You drone in delight as you’re overcome by a drowsy sort of pleasure.

He coaxes you, curving his fingers until a tingling weight rests at the end of them. You close your eyes as your head lols and your back arches without thought. The sound of your walls clinging to him fills the room, wet and wanting.

His teeth graze along your unbitten thigh and he slowly breaks the skin. He bites you as he speeds up, pounding his hand against you until you think you’ll explode, thumb firm to your clit as he unravels you. You cum, spasming as you leak out around his mouth and hand, staining your bed with ecstasy and blood.

He slows with the thrumming of your nerves, soothing you down from your peak as you pant and and writhe. He pulls his fingers from you reluctantly and raises himself on his knees. You’re empty and cold without him, woozy and wild for more.

“Please…” you moan.

He strips away his dark jacket and the shadows of it flies away as he flings it. You watch him dizzily above you as the layers fall all around you, flapping like bat wings and disappearing onto the floor, into the unseen. There is only him and the needling desire that claws at your insides.

“Doctor…” you sigh.

“Anthony, darling, if you will,” he lowers himself over you, pushing the web of his thumb and index against your chin, “how delicious you are.”

He kisses you, staining your lips with the metallic taste of your blood. You murmur as his tongue slides into your mouth and he hungrily kisses you. His naked skin is frigid against you. His hand trails down your body, smearing the blood seeping from you from neck to stomach, navel to cunt. He pushes his hand between your legs, spreading your knees with his own.

He draws his hand away and his body rocks subtly as he strokes himself, pumping slowly as your blood slickens his length. He pulls his mouth away and shudders as he leans his head back, baring his fangs as he licks them clean. He snarls as he presses his tip along your cunt and inches into you.

He quakes as he gets deeper, impaling you as he hangs his head forward and groans. The hair along his chin tickles your cheek and his hand crawls back up your figure. He cradles your head and turns it to the side, rocking his hips smoothly, cloyingly as he awakens your core.

He growls and bites into your neck. As he devours you, he thrusts harder, growing impatient and desperate as your head spins. Your vision hazes as you feel your energy seeping away.

“Wake up,” you whisper as your eyes roll back, “wake up… wake up--”

The sunlight sears your eyes as they open. You stare at the white ceiling, painted by the morning as the curtains ripple before the open window. You furrow your brow as your head aches and grumble. It was only a dream. Just a dream.

Your body aches as you sit up and you touch the tenderness at your throat. You hiss at the pang in response and the sheet falls away from your chest. You look down at the dark smears all over your body and the bruised marks spattered all around, crusted over in dry blood as others weep still.

No, not a dream. Yet, how could it be real.

Your eyes wander back to the window, tears glistening as the day stares back brightly. There is only safety in sunlight, and like safety, sunlight is fleeting. The night will come and so will he.

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #vampire au #roo's hallowsleepover #fic #dark fic #au #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #iron man #avengers

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theoddcatlady · 10 months

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Blood On Set

Being an actor isn’t easy. I’d like to act full time but right now working the night shift at my local Wal-Mart is what pays… part of the bills. I got three roommates to afford my apartment, we all bond on the impossible dream of catching our big break in the MCU.

Frankly I was through the moon when I finally got called back to do some work as one of the main characters in an indie film. Up until then, all my ‘acting’ skill was as an extra or a dead body and I was dying to actually show what I could do, you know? I wasn’t gonna get paid well but this could’ve been a stepping stone to greater things.

Shooting was to take place over two weeks. I was to play Seth Taylor, childhood friend to the main character who always wanted something a little more but never had the nerve. Plotline was basic, college girl was being stalked by an unknown figure who may or may not be supernatural, turns out it’s a group of satanists who need to sacrifice her on the new moon to achieve their sinister goals.

The night before shooting began all of us actors had drinks together. It was great getting to know each other. The star of the show was Abby, and I don’t really believe in love at first sight… but I believe in instant chemistry. And I knew off the bat Abby and I were compatible. She had this spark, this love for life and for acting. She’d already gotten a few small roles, even a guest role on a TV show as the victim of the week. I never felt so immediately comfortable around someone else.

Got to meet a few other people too, Geoffrey, who was going to be Abby’s boyfriend/first victim of the movie. He had one of those big laughs that could get a bit grating after a while, but he was nice enough. Liberty, who was going to be Abby’s best gal friend, she had such a morbid sense of humor and had us laughing all night. Ricky, CJ, Garrett, all gonna be various cult members, and Colin, the cult leader. I wasn’t really sure about the casting of Colin, he seemed so quiet, but I realized quite quickly when he stood up why he was cast- dude was nearly seven feet tall. I’m fucking five foot four, I had to crane my neck up to see his face.

Our director/writer/producer was Duncan Turner. He seemed pretty nice, a bit nervous, but nice. Clearly had a boner for Abby, he couldn’t tell her no to anything. I tried to tell him I was a trans man, he seemed to be trying to avoid the subject, then Abby brings up the idea of working that into my character’s backstory and he immediately grabbed his copy of the script to start scribbling in new lines.

Yeah, it was clear this was his first movie, but frankly I didn’t care. This was the first time I had a role with more than two lines. I was pumped.

First two days of shooting went off perfectly. Despite my initial doubts about Colin, he came right into the role of the disturbing cult leader Damion. And although the script was a little cliché, a little ridiculous, it was still fun.

It was fun. Until things got… weird. And by weird I mean someone got killed.

It was day three. We mostly used Duncan’s old college as a set, and we were filming the scene where Abby’s character Nancy is being chased around a theater all set up for a college production of The Phantom of the Opera. What was meant to happen was I was supposed to trip CJ and we were supposed to run off while he was stunned.

What happened was, I tripped CJ, I heard the sound of something cracking, and I looked up just in time for a giant fucking spotlight to come crashing down. CJ opened his eyes just in time for it to squash his head like a grape. Blood and head gore exploded everywhere, covering me, Abby, and the set around us.

I threw up. Duncan screamed bloody murder. Abby just stared at CJ’s twitching body.

Yeah, holy shit. I’ve never seen a dead body outside of a funeral before and uh… yeah, had a lot to talk about with my therapist that week.

It was just an accident, of course. No one was up there. Something was a little loose, and CJ was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was our third take of that scene, I was declared not responsible for CJ’s death. And uh, we marched on with filming.

Yeah, it’s cold, and I probably should’ve jumped ship then. But we only had so much time we were allowed to film at the college and Duncan invested a lot of his own money into this movie. Not to mention if I did leave, I’d forfeit my paycheck. We managed to reshoot the scene with Garrett and at the parking lot instead. Granted, Garrett nearly got hit by a goddamn car because some dumb bitch was driving drunk instead of taking an Uber, but he dodged it last second.

I should’ve known the shoot was cursed though. Like nothing as bad as CJ happened until the last day, but things were always off. Garrett kept showing up drunk and ended up breaking his ankle. Thankfully he’d already shot all his scenes but Jesus Christ dude, it’s still work. Ricky just stopped showing up, fucked off to god knows where. Geoffrey cut his arm really bad during his murder scene and it got infected. One of our dude extras got a little creepy with Liberty and she ended up breaking his nose. I could go on. Not to mention I started having some really fucked up nightmares.

I’d always struggled with nightmares. My combo of meds make my dreams super fucking vivid, but this was different. I swore I was really there when I dreamed that Garrett’s feet were getting sawed off. Or when worms and maggots started crawling out of Geoffrey’s cut arm, silencing his screams when they all filled his mouth and choked him to death. Just. Really fucked up shit.

I spent a lot of time with Abby to distract me from all the weird shit going on. We’d have drinks at her place, we’d talk everything from our acting dreams to the name of our favorite Neopet when we were kids. God, I could’ve talked about anything with her. I felt so safe and comfortable around her.

Maybe I should’ve picked up quicker that nearly all our male extras bailed. Or just didn’t turn up. There was something very wrong with this shoot and it’s on me that I didn’t realize something was wrong.

Last day. Last shoot. Final scene. Seth was going to save Nancy from being sacrificed by Damion, and we’d kill him together. It was originally going to be shot in Duncan’s basement, but the morning of I got a text, saying Abby was going to pick me up and that things had changed.

She arrived about an hour from sundown, already in costume judging by the fake blood all over her t-shirt. I jumped in the car and asked what was up.

“Colin has a better basement, more space for camera junk and stuff. Duncan was totally cool with it and will meet us there. Apparently it’ll be a one take deal, so you think you can do it?”

I gave a double thumbs up. Abby smiled, my heart melted, and she offered me a bottle of water. So my throat wouldn’t be dry during shoots.

I didn’t realize I was drugged until I was almost asleep, and of course by then it was too late.

I woke up tied to a chair, some sort of cloth stuffed in my mouth to gag me. The room was completely dark and smelled like rotting meat. In front of me, I saw Duncan laying on the floor, his head was bleeding but I heard him groan. I wondered why the hell he wasn’t getting up but then I saw the pools of blood around his hands and feet.

He’d been nailed to the goddamn floor.

When Abby walked into sight it hit me like a sledgehammer that the blood on her shirt probably wasn’t fake.

She waved her hand and candles all around the room lit up. I would’ve screamed if I could’ve, but all I could do was stare in horror at the bodies nailed to all the walls. Garrett, Ricky, CJ’s headless body, all the other extras that stopped showing up, other guys I didn’t recognize. All of them were dead with their chests ripped open.

Abby came beside me and tested the ropes on my wrists to make sure they were secure. “You comfortable? They aren’t too tight or anything?” She asked.

I stared at her, I couldn’t believe this was happening. Abby nodded before removing the gag. “Right, sorry. Can’t talk while gagged.”

I swallowed all the spit in my mouth before I said, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because he needs it. Otherwise he’ll die. And I won’t let my boyfriend die. You’re just here so you have an alibi, so it’s not pinned on you. Cuz I really like you, Logan. And I’m sorry you have to witness this, but if it gets too much, just close your eyes. I had to at first too.”

I was going to ask why the hell her ‘boyfriend’ needed something when I realized something was hanging from the ceiling that was not another body.

It crawled down one of the walls, its unnaturally long limbs jointed in three different places. It had six arms and four legs, and was naked. Each of its pale fingers ended in an inch long claw. It was the most inhuman thing I have ever seen.

But its head was human, even if its neck was almost two feet long. Colin’s head. Colin’s head was on this thing’s body, and as it looked up at me I swear its eyes looked hungry. Abby patted its shoulder and shook her head. “Leave him alone, babe. He’s my friend,” She said.

Colin looked at her before bobbing its head up and down and it scrambled over to the awakening Duncan.

“Wha… what’s going on…” Duncan’s eyes fluttered open as Colin’s head hovered above his own. His face went white. “Oh- oh my god, what the f-”

One of Colin’s limbs shot forward and its claws unzipped Duncan’s chest like a winter jacket, his guts spilling out everywhere. Duncan’s scream will never leave me. Colin’s mouth opened, revealing a mouthful of janky sharp teeth before he bit into Duncan’s guts, I think I saw him pull out an intestine before I listened to Abby and closed my eyes.

Duncan didn’t scream for much longer, but the chewing and swallowing sounds were impossible to block out. When it was all quiet, I finally opened my eyes. Duncan’s torso was hollowed out, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

Colin looked normal again, just your average guy. Abby patted his back, kissed his gore covered cheek, and he walked upstairs. She looked at me and I had to ask one more thing:

“What the hell are you two?”

Abby laughed quietly.

“I’m a witch. And as for Colin… he’s… unknown.”

With that, she walked upstairs and out of my life.

The cops came soon enough, I guess Duncan’s screams carried enough, or maybe Abby called them. I was taken to the hospital and thankfully I was just considered a victim that these two crazy motherfuckers hadn’t gotten around to. There was twelve bodies in that basement.

Maybe Abby cursed the shoot herself, maybe it was just never meant to go right. Either way, Abby and Colin are gone, and I don’t think I’ll ever see them again. If I’m quiet for too long I swear I can hear that chewing echoing in my ears.

I did get paid though. Dunno by who considering how very not alive Duncan is, but I just got the money wired into my account today.

I guess Abby didn’t want my time wasted on what probably would’ve been an okay movie, had not most of the cast got murdered and eaten by her boyfriend.

#my stories

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skylarmoon71 · 1 month

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Castiel (Supernatural/Grimm) - Short Story -Extra 2

Castiel has so many cute sides.

But what is most endearing is probably the way he looks at you sometimes when you’d kiss him suddenly. His eyes would gleam in a way that almost glowed. His lips would form a small smile and his cheeks would become a delicate flush, brows furrowed in curiosity and anticipation.

“Can I have another?”

You often found yourself gushing when he made the request. He was just too sweet. So of course you were obligated to fulfill his request and give him another little kiss to satisfy him.

Days on the job were funny.

You get to see Castiel somewhat in an element that he’s familiar with. He’d told you he worked a number of cases with Dean back home. It’s a bit funny because Castiel’s serious persona worked great for some of the more tricky cases. His blunt way of questioning suspects made it easy to spot lies.

Like today.

“Where were you last night Mr. Adona?”

The man shifted in his spot at the glare Castiel had directed right at him.

“I-I was just at home having a beer.”

“You’re lying.”

Adona stiffened in his seat and Castiel’s eyes were still narrowed, as if trying to intimidate the truth right out of him.

“F-Fine! I killed him okay! The bastard basically stole my wife and kid! What was I supposed to do?”

“You’ve been separated from your wife for three years and she wasn’t romantically involved with John Kleff. He was her therapist. She was trying to work through losing her home after you gambled away most of your money. You killed an innocent man because you were a jealous gambling drunk.”

You could tell that your words had struck him. The pain on his face was something he deserved. You never liked cases like these. Wrong place at the wrong time.

You slid the pad across the desk.

“Write it all down.”

He nodded, lowering his head in shame as he grabbed the pen.

It was tough, those situations where there were no real winners. Stepping out of the interrogation, you took the confession as some other officers grabbed him to be processed. Castiel was at your side, matching stride. It took maybe twenty minutes to get it all done. The second you were done with the paperwork, you dropped the stack on your desk. Castiel walked in and when you saw the small pack of marshmallows in his hand you smiled. He handed it to you, and you took it graciously. He sat down.

“I know it can be difficult, but I am always here if you need me.”

You appreciate that more than he realizes. For a while you’ve been without a partner and for longer you’ve been somewhat alone. Relationships were tough. It was hard to know who to trust, more so because of what you could see. Dragging someone into this without fully knowing what you were capable of, it always felt like a sort of deceit.

That’s why love was a bit out of your reach. It was also why Diana had been so adamant on helping you. Diana has always been perceptive, and you knew that under all the jokes and tricks, she must have realized just how lonely you were, how much it hurt to see other people have what you couldn’t. You’re forever grateful, she never lets you forget it either.

“You seem happier.”

You nod, leaning back in your seat.

“I’m very happy, you’re here after all.” You smiled at him and he returned it, shyly looking away.

“Thank you.”

You nod, giggling.

Another thing you absolutely loved is his bashful nature.

You’re very lucky.

The day seems to drag on, by the time your shift ends, you’re ready to just dive into Castiel’s arms. You thought you were the only one eager, but the second you both had made it outside he’d pretty much teleported you to his home. You staggered and he caught you.

You looked at him with a laugh.

“Castiel, we left my car at the precinct.”

He seemed to register that.

“My apologies.”

You just shook your head, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Let’s shower and pop in a movie.”

He was ready for that.

A nice soak in the bath together and some wrestling later and you were tucked on your couch under his arm enjoying the film.

“Oh, I almost forgot I have to stop by the spice shop tomorrow.”

Castiel hummed in response, fingers stroking your arm.

“You smell like lavender.”

He tucked his head into your neck, inhaling softly and this time you were the one blushing. You had indeed changed your body wash but you didn’t think it was enough for him to tell the difference.

“Yeah, I changed it recently. Is it good? If the scent is too strong I can get another one.”

He started planting kisses along your skin and it became very obvious that the scent was indeed something he appreciated. His hand cupped your right breast and you nibbled on your lower lip. You could clearly see where the night was heading.

Some very strenuous activity a few hours later and you were off to the spice shop the following morning. Diana had texted you about grabbing a cup of coffee on the way for her. No doubt she was messing around there asking Rosalee about medicinal cures and such. She loved that stuff. It’s obvious why.

The second you entered she practically grabbed the drink.

“Wow, you’re welcome (Y/N), I really appreciate you going out of your way to get me that drink.”

Castiel’s brows furrow.

“Why are you speaking in the third person?”

His confused expression just made you and Diana laugh. She placed the cup down with a sarcastic bow and you rolled your eyes, glancing at the book she opened.

“What are you reading?”

She flipped the page.

“It’s a potion that protects you from the pheromones of Ziegevolk. Last week one of the triplets apparently got hit with some. Figured it could come in handy since you and Kelly are the only ones that are practically immune.” You smile.

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“You wish.”

She was smiling as she took another sip of your drink as you waited for Rosalee to get in from the back. You usually came by on your days off to help with the stock. When you turned, Castiel was already lifting a few boxes. He already knows the drill. You smile.

“Castiel, have I told you how good your butt looks when you’re lifting heavy items.”

The familiar flush returned to his cheeks.

“I don’t believe you have.”

His responses were also very entertaining. He placed the boxes down in their designated space, shuffling back to grab the next stack, still wearing a slight blush.

“You guys are so lovey dovey it’s almost sickening.” Diana complained.

“Just remember it’s all because of you.”

“Oh trust me, I’ll never forget.”

You were ready for the list of items she would request for setting you up with Castiel, but she straightened in her seat, looking over at the door, then to the side. When she stood it became apparent something was going on. You recognize that look.

“Diana, what’s wrong?”

The subtle amethyst glow ignited around her irises, her eyes looking around as if searching.

“Something is coming..”

You did not like the sound of that.

Castiel paused, dropping his boxes.

“She is right.”

Castiel's eyes were now shining as well, the blue light very familiar. His angel blade slid right out of his sleeve, gripping the handle as he prepared.

Rosalee walked in that very moment and you drew your gun, just in case.

“Is something wrong?” Rosalee asked, concerned.

“I’m not sure…”

Diana sounds distracted, and you’re waiting for it, whatever it is. What you don’t expect is the sound of wings. Similar to what Castiel’s sounds like when he just vanishes. You all seem to turn at the male now standing in the room and Castiel relaxes.

“Michael.”

He places his blade away, so you take it as a sign that this person isn’t a threat. The light has left Diana's eyes as well.

“I apologize for my sudden appearance. Jack informed me that you had left our world. I was concerned so I came to..”

The way his words lagged at the end was confusing. He looked like he was staring at something. You followed his gaze, and it landed right on Diana who’s wearing a similarly dazed expression. Michael stepped towards her and she had yet to move, her lips were parted as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“You have wings..”

Her words didn’t make sense.

“Wings, what wings?” You asked. She looked back at you.

“Y-You can’t see them, they’re right there.” She pointed, but you still couldn’t make them out. Michael stopped when he was directly in front of her.

“You are very beautiful..” Michael spoke wistfully.

She giggled in a very un-Diana way, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. She was smiling and you could have been wrong, but you could have sworn she was blushing.

“What the..”

You were still trying to figure out what was going on.

Castiel slid over to your side.

“I believe my brother might be interested in courting your sister.” He whispered next to you. Even if he’d shouted it, it was clear that neither of them would hear. Rosalee looked excited at the little love connection.

“Brother, you came to speak with me.”

Michael blinked, as if remembering. He turned to Castiel.

“Yes I..I just wanted to ensure that you were…you were..”

He was having a hard time finding his train of thought, his gaze moving back to Diana who was smiling way too widely.

“Is this how we were when we first met?”

You couldn’t imagine acting so foolishly lovestruck.

“Definitely.” Diana responded without breaking eye contact from Michael.

“Since you’re here, maybe I can show you around our universe. That is if you have time to spare.” She batted her eyes and he nodded eagerly.

“Yes, I would like that very much. “

She smiled, holding out her hand.

“I’m Diana, it’s nice to meet you Michael.”

“You as well.”

He still seemed very much in a daze and Diana sent a wink in your direction.

You were starting to notice a pattern.

It’s clear that your bloodline was attracted to all things angel.

~Nick and Adalind’s House~

“Dad!!! I got a boyfriend!!”

Diana’s call was like a siren and Nick broke the corner with his gun drawn. Michael looked a bit confused.

“What do you mean boyfriend!! Were you hiding him all this time like your sister!?!”

You casually strolled into the room with Castiel and Adalind walked out of the kitchen with an apron around her waist.

“Why is your first response to us having partners so aggressive and why do you have your gun drawn!”

He shrugged.

“Just making sure she was safe.”

“She said boyfriend, not a serial killer Dad!!”

“I don’t see the difference.” He muttered.

Castiel rolled over to Michael’s side.

“You have nothing to worry about, this is a normal greeting in traditional human customs.”

You facepalm.

“Castiel, it really isn’t. My dad is just a psycho and very overprotective.”

Michael tilts his head, taking a step forward.

“I assure you no harm will come to your daughter while she’s in my care. If anyone were to hurt her I would rip their souls right out of their body and scatter the pieces to the edges of the earth.”

Your expression just went blank. Diana was grinning and Adalind looked a bit concerned.

“Another angel huh, guess I can make an exception.”

Nick holds out his hand.

“Welcome to the family.”

“DAD!!”

Your family needs serious help.

#diana schade #grimm #nick burkhardt #humo #care #castiel #supernatural #crossover #castielxreader #michael #siblings #love #soulmates #trust

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five-nights-at-whoopees · 4 months

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Meet the Characters: Part 1

So, to keep myself from posting lore spoilers- I decided to write more information on the characters; it certainly will not be all of them as I want to keep some things under wraps (also as a way to keep myself from rushing in and spilling everything in one go)

Minor lore ramble: something to keep in mind is that the Ninja does not exist- for obvious reasons. The supernatural comes from the Whoopee attractions and its secondary pizzeria joints. The timeline is yet to be set in stone, but I do think that the original Whoopee's Pizzeria has been around for more than few decades; the missing children incident did occur almost thirty years ago.

Now, onto our first character- the main character of our tale: Ellis Winslow.

While their appearance remains undetermined as picrew can be a little menace sometimes, Ellis does have a set personality; they are a bit reserved- preferring to keep to themself, and has a habit of keeping others at a distance. They can be loyal to a fault, capable of holding secrets. Unfortunately for El, they also have childhood trauma causing outbursts at times, using unhealthy coping mechanisms (such as smoking), and having feelings of uncomfortableness around the pizzeria - without fully knowing why.

Ellis was born in Norrisville, Oklahoma. Their mother worked as a physical therapist, and their father was a mechanic (which is how El decided to become an engineer-). They were an only child, but somewhere down the line, they met Randy Cunningham and Howard Weinerman.

Randy and El were a lot closer than El had been to Howard, but the trio mostly met up on the weekends; since El's parents were busy a lot of the time, taking Ellis to see the boys during school nights simply wouldn't have been as possible-

Some years later, Whoopee's Pizzeria was established as a state-of-the-art animatronic restaurant with family-friendly fun. Having already been going on and off, it wasn't a surprise when they went for a birthday party. Things had been going amazingly- at least Randy was bouncing off the walls, excited to see his favorite characters, and Howard seemed to care about the food but even then they were having fun. Some of their classmates had also gone as it was the weekend, and well, who wouldn't want to see a band perform and eat delicious food?

Unfortunately, only three hours later- tragedy struck the heart of Norrisville.

Several children went missing- and were never seen again; amongst them was Randy Cunningham, El's close friend.

(things were never the same after that)

Ellis could feel a pit in the bottom of their stomach, unknowingly aware they would never see Randy again- years however, came to pass and the barely-hanging-on-a-thread friendship they had with Howard fell apart. In high school, El picked up unhealthy habits (more specifically smoking) as a way to deal with their parents being constantly busy, and well, the nightmares plaguing them about Randy's disappearance (they weren't the only one-).

Thankfully, they managed to pass high school and decided to become an engineer- and somehow, despite the wariness held over the place, scored a job at Whoopee World; the expanded amusement park of the former Whoopee's Pizzeria (and new home to the animatronics). Ellis was tasked with repairing the animatronics, as well as providing technical support when needed. Perhaps it would come to give them the closure they needed.

El knew the animatronics had free-roaming software and would likely be installed with face recognition, but there was something about the red panda animatronic sharing his name. (deep down it hurt, knowing it couldn't be randy- it was just a robot).

At some point, I do plan on writing a masterpost/masterlist with the characters' information and then some, but that will have to come later!

Ellis is of course, not the security guard but they are still the main character- alongside a few others.

#randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #rc9gn #rc9gn oc #rc9gn original character #five nights at whoopee's #original character #character introduction #ellis 'el' winslow #randy cunningham #howard weinerman #fnaf crossover #rc9gn crossover #randy cunningham crossover #five nights at whoopee's oc #my ocs #ocs #engineer ellis is such a brainrot character atm and i live for it #ellis has nightmares from that day but it's complicated #i feel so bad for what i have planned but it's plot development baby

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sccoobydoobers · 2 years

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linda as a therapist for literally everyone in the show is pretty flawed. yes, she can give perspective on supernatural matters but even her friends outside of the know (ella) go to her when they need the advice of a therapist. feel free to correct me on this but with my vague memory I at least know its highly unprofessional to take on a patient (fully booked and everything I presume) who you know personally or even just, has a impression in your life. as this can very much effect how you treat them and the help you give to them even if you don't mean it too.

lucifer being linda's paitent was obviously highly unethical at the start but eventually they develop into a more professional-friend kind. where still, it is unethical as eventually linda DOES fall into a relationship with lucifer's brother. who was an antagonist of sorts during at least season 1's sessions.

at some point i'd think between seasons 2-3 she starts writing the book about lucifer's therapy sessions and his life, given the book was on its completed first draft and we are shown it at least half way through at some point. and, if you dont know, writing a whole book (especially as long as linda's) takes a LONG time.

meaning, at any point in that time linda could've stepped back and thought: 'this is highly unethical and maybe I should at least get the permission of everyone who im using their private therapy sessions.' its a very simple yet, it couldve changed the whole direction of the book from being the simplified cliches of everyone to more realistic versions of the people.

linda takes advantage of lucifer while doing this, really, as when lucifer finds out about this book, he is thrilled. he is excited because it will be the first book to ever have an accurate representation of him.

And I think later, when everyone reads the book and finds out the contents are a really bad fanfiction of their lives, Lucifer is a bit disappointed. I mean, its supposed to be the first book to portray him in a light most accurate to him, and the book doesn't even end up doing that!

I also want to add that everyone gets mad at lucifer because of their portrayals in the book. When, in fact, they should've at least placed part of the blame on linda, the person who wrote the book. instead of taking literally every word of it to heart. (this post goes into it in more detail!)

Lucifer is, at times (a lot of the time), an unreliable narrator. Because he is made to always tell the truth, something that could be world-ending for Earth might not be important at all to him because x reason etc etc.

(example: the whole mira/rory thing - it didn't occur to him to mention to chloe that this supposed child of him is half angel because that genuinely wasnt important to him and didn't seem relevant to the occasion. chloe then gets pissy at him for this so the more you know)

I'm gonna say something that's pretty obvious but needs to be said: linda is not the group's therapist. of course, she is lucifer's highly unethical therapist. but she is not everyone elses. no one else is shown to have regular one on one sessions with her. apart from maybe ella & maze a couple times and the others are super rare.

her knowing and giving this guidance to her friends is really that. an act of their friendship that they trusted her to give good advice on how to deal with their obviously very stressful and traumatic lives.

then for her to turn around and write it into a book (probably turned book series given how long its said to be) which will be accessed but not only the general public, but also people outside of the know that close to them. like chloe's mother, ella's family, dan's parents etc etc.

that is a horrible thing. even if their families don't read the book, other people will.

imagine ella's distant cousin reads the books after it becomes popular for some reason, connects the dots. then suddenly ella's family are asking if she really had a serial killer for a boyfriend and can imagine the way a person dies perfectly from just seeing the scene and and and

dan is also very dead. at least legally dead. will dan's parents be contacted before the publishing of the book to ask for permission? probably not.

- (it would be funny to think if this is the downfall of the book. dan's parents suing this random stranger who claims to be their dead son's therapist for writing him in a book that hugely slanders and makes fun of him)

this will also affect their professional lives. all of sudden everyone they ever meet will have readily accessible detailed accounts of their lives for the past 5 years, their traumas, their ambitions everything about them at the fingertips of coworkers, employers, bosses, whatever.

even just a snippet of the book (it will most likely gain popularity with lucifer's reputation + the fact more that 50% of the cast for it will be cops) would be very insightful towards the point of view and personal information of everyone involved.

its a breach of privacy, a betrayal of trust and a destroyer to any lives the main cast could possibly lead after the publication. the storyline and concept sucks.

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with0utath0ught · 2 years

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Sooo...

Ships?

Now, I know originally this idea was more for a Stiles-centric fic, but I have been more interested in Scott.

I still plan on having Stiles be just as important in this plot as Scott, but the thing is I don't think I will be giving Stiles a love interest.

I don't really buy the Lydia and Stiles romance, don't get me wrong, I can see them being together, but not for a long and not because they actually like each other.

In the first season Stiles was infatuated with the idea of Lydia, he didn't know her, and he kind of stalked her. Again, I like to think of them as friends, I like their dynamic, and it's fun, but I don't see them being in a relationship.

Now, a bit of controversial thought, I don't think shipping Stiles with Derek is that great, at least not in the first few seasons.

He is in high school after all, I can see them being together, don't get me wrong, their dynamic is just as fun, but in the future, when Stiles is his own person.

I want to see Stiles who finds it hard to talk to anyone that isn't his dad or Scott, and even with them, he would find it hard.

I want a Stiles who finds out he still has powers from his time with Nogitsune and I want him to be inconsolable. I want him to be visited by Allison, only to immediately kick her out, because the thought that he almost killed her is just too much for him.

I want to see Melissa recommend a therapist for him, and then see him quickly accept it, because he trusts her soo much, he knows she would never hurt him.

I want to see him sitting with his dad in silence as he hugs him and doesn't let go.

I want to see him and Scott spend time playing family-friendly games as they trash-talk to each other, just so they don't have to think about anything.

When it comes to Scott, I am a die-hard Scott x Isaac x Allison shipper. I like the two idiots and the one with the brain cell of the group. I like the idea of them helping each other overcome their trauma. Of course, I know that when it comes to trauma it's always better to see a specialist, that's why I see Allison doing it first, closely followed by Isaac.

It's hard, of course, it is, but they try, they acknowledge that they need help and try to seek it out, but Scott is not like that, he got used to being a leader, someone who is perfect and kind.

Someone who is strong and with no fault, I think Scott would be so far into his denial, even after the Nogitsune and even after Allison barely survives (yes I plan on having her survive).

After the Nogitsune, I want to see him become overbearing, I want him constantly to be checking on everyone, through calls and messages, even visits.

He would not be letting Stiles or Allison out of his sight, if Isaac decided that he wanted to go live with Derek again, Scott would not allow it, not because he doesn't trust Derek, but because the thought of hurt Isaac makes him sick from anxiety.

He will become too much, because while everyone understands the first month or two, they start to get frustrated.

Allison and Isaac would be attempting to get him to talk to them, or Stiles, even his mom, but Scott would not comply.

It would end in a fight. As for the later, well I have yet to decide.

In this version, I want to focus on Stiles' and Scott's bromance, I want them to be two idiots running around, trying to figure out their mental health and the aftermath of everything, I want to see them question their life in the supernatural world, I want to see them be lost and hurt, and I want to see other people, the ones close to them slowly figure out that something isn't right.

So yeah, I want to see them in romantic relationships, but I also want to focus on platonic ones as well.

Part 1

#teen wolf #teen wolf prompt #fanfic #allison x isaac x scott #allison argent #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #isaac lahey #derek hale #sherrif stilinski #melissa mccall #scallisaac

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knot-ee · 9 months

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▇ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 ▇ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ▇ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐎 ▇

the content.

yadda yadda independent roleplay blog featuring canon characters from all sorts of media. you curate the content you want to see. mature and dead dove content will be featured on this blog without tagging. pro doing whatever the hell you want since this is fiction and a hobby. two thumbs up when it comes to smut, but it comes with conditions.

the babes.

∙ work in progress character info sheet is located here. ∙ Kim Hong-jin "Horangi" — Call of Duty ∙ Piers Nivans — Resident Evil ∙ Roy Harper "Arsenal" — DC Prime Earth ∙ Cole Cash "Grifter" — DC Prime Earth ∙ Akihiro "Daken" — Marvel 616 ∙ Varro — Spartacus TV ∙ Lambert — Witcher games & books ∙ Olrox — Castlevania TV ∙ Nogitsune — Teen Wolf ∙ Ben Braeden — Supernatural TV ∙ Jin Marito — Bucchigiri ∙ Ryōmen Sukuna — Jujutsu Kaisen ∙ Dean Winchester — Supernatural TV

the writer.

disgustingly older than 18. horridly older than 20. if i were under 25, i'd be a happy boy and bragging about it. male (he/him) and gay — just like all my muses. i am very friendly and open minded; i just have no interest being your bff or your therapist.

the rules.

1. one-liners and single paragraph threads bore me. gimme content. gimme details. furthermore, plotting is encouraged and is more certainly a two way street. 2. i am selective but going back and forth about being running a mutuals only blog. for now, non-followers can send in asks. 3. do not fucking reblog my headcanons and edits if we're not mutuals. reblog images and memes from the source; this really pisses me the fuck off if you fail to do so. if i tag you in something, you are, of course, free to reblog it from me. 4. i will not tag individual "triggers". the only thing i will tag is nsfw images as freaky!! this is pro-creativity zone. don't like something, do not follow me. 5. cut yer damn posts. tag yer fucking posts. i will not follow people who post excessive negativity and excessive mun images like it's twatter. 6. icons aren't guaranteed because they take god damn time. 7. i do keep up with the jujutsu kaisen manga on a weekly basis. please do not share leaks. i will tag all manga spoilers as spoiler alert! 8. when it comes to daken, i do not write him through his redemption/hero phase. he will only be portrayed as a villain here. 9. all of my muses are cis-male with the exception of the nogitsune who is sexless and genderless. 10. smut will only occur with male muses as all my muses are written as gay.. except akihiro who is technically pansexual in the canon. i used to be really loose when it came to smut and ended up getting bored, sooo there needs to be compatibility between us, the characters, and a fun plot built around doing da nasty. 11. nsfw memes can be sent by all mutuals even if we haven't written before or plotted. don't continue them as threads unless i've given you approval.

straight up i fucking love crossovers even if i'm not familiar with the fandom your character is from, i'll give you a shot if i find it vibes with what i got going on here. however there are some fandoms that i have no interest in or do not like, such as: animated disney shows, the vampire diaries, star wars, wwe.

#── captain shit nuts . ooc

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rurpleplayssims · 2 years

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“Sorry about earlier” Emmy said, deciding it was better to be honest and admit that she might well be overthinking all that was happening between them. She’d been hoping Alon would notice her in this way for months and she was still stunned that he had made his move. “I’m just a bit...”

“Nervous?” Alon offered.

Emmy winched “A bit, yeah.”

“I was nervous too” he told her with kindness. “But it feels right with you. So why stress?”

“So, when did you wanna move in? Before or after the twins get here?” Briony asked her fiancé.

“I think when you go on your maternity leave” Jed told her. “Maybe sooner. Our house is almost ready. You sure Sylvie’s ok with me staying a few nights?”

“Course she is” Briony told him. “Sylvie approves of you and you’re looking after me.”

“I try my best” he amended.

She snorted “Babe, you’re treating me better than anyone else has. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I love you Briony” he told her with a heart-warming smile.

She lent forward and gave him a lingering kiss “Meh, you’re alright.”

They both laughed.

“So, are we staying at yours or mine tonight?”

“You can come over to mine” Tyler said. “More privacy that way.”

“You make it sound like my place has paper thin walls!” Victoria laughed.

“It does” Tyler replied, winking at her. “Remember when Emmy said she thought she heard us and we had to play it cool?”

“Oh yeah” Victoria giggled. “Ok fine, we’ll head to yours tonight.”

“I think the day’s going very well” Thomas told his bride. “Putting our feelings about today aside, everyone looks like they’re enjoying themselves. You did very well to plan all of this.”

“You helped, remember?” Althea reminded him softly. “But yes, I’m happy that everyone appears to be as happy as we are.”

“You dance really well.”

“What did you expect from a werewolf?” Luke asked with a laugh.

Becky shrugged “No expectations, just glad to know you’ve not trodden on my feet yet.”

“Did you think anymore on the offer that Althea gave you?”

“Gave us, you mean?” she corrected. “Yeah I have...and I’m quite tempted to go for it. Just scared I’m underestimating the task.”

He was shaking his head silently before she finished her sentence. “You’re not underestimating the work. You’re thinking ahead, asking Althea for any and all resources and answers to possible hurdles. I think you’ll be perfect for the role and I’m happy to be your second-in-command whilst Althea and Thomas are on their break.”

“We’d best let them know that we’ve made up our minds then” Becky said, an excited gleam in her eyes.

Matthew was impressed with Sylvie and her way of thinking.

To some, it was almost cruel but it was just brutally honest. He was surprised by he’d been able to ask her tentatively about her supernatural abilities. He was tactful, deciding not to ask her any questions that would make her compromise her safety.

Sylvie, for her part, was put at ease by Matthew’s common sense and his sense of doing the right thing. But under the surface, she sensed he was hurting and wasn’t willing to let anybody see.

After twenty more minutes of talking, she broached the subject. “Have you heard from Deidre?”

Matthew blinked, completely caught off-guard by the question. In the past few weeks since she’d been kicked out of town, he’d tried not to think of his elderly friend. He’d not mentioned Deidre to Sylvie so he had no idea why or how she knew about her banishment. But then, Sylvie was a supernatural being who knew things when others didn’t.

“How did you-” he started to ask.

“I know things” she said simply, confirming his assumption. “Don’t worry, I shan’t compromise her healing or spread it around town, you have my word.”

He cleared his throat “No, she’s...she’s refused to take my phone calls actually.”

Sylvie could see the open hurt and pain in the therapist’s eyes.

She decided that he needed some reassurance “She will heal Matthew” she told him gently. “And when she’s better, she will reach out to you.”

“How is it working at the Chronicle?” Helen asked.

“I only started on Friday for my induction” Dominic admitted. “But Cheryl’s working with Briony and I think she might be keeping an eye on the office when Briony goes on her maternity leave. But I’m looking forward to it!”

“I always liked writing” Helen said thoughtfully. “But I never has the patience for it.”

“But you had the patience to learn to play the violin?” Dominic asked, amused. She’d already admitted her love of music.

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hekate1308 · 2 years

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Fictober 2022, #18

Prompt: "I don't think this is your problem."

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: G

Pairings: Drowley

When Crowley considered his current situation – which he did on a regular basis, simply because he felt that it was best to keep track of one’s life – he couldn’t help but feel that, while somewhat unusual for him, he had gained nothing but satisfaction from his arrangement with Dean Winchester.

The most beautiful man he had ever met was his – well, it would probably be referred to as his friend with benefits, and he had no reason whatsoever to complain.

Granted, he had lately realized that he did have a strange tendency to feel anxious if he hadn’t heard from Dean for two or three days, which had never been a problem before, but really, that was probably just because he had gotten used to having him around, which could easily be remedied.

Still, he was surprised at how comfortable Dean seemed to have gotten, for he had only slightly complained about his thirteen-year-old son, whose latest weekend visit had not gone well, at all, when Dean turned around and told him, “You should cut him some slack. And yourself, too.”

He had to put his foot down, as they said. "I don't think this is your problem." It wasn’t – this was between Crowley and his son.

Then Dean’s face fell and he immediately fell – was that guilt? Was he feeling guilty? This couldn’t be. He didn’t do guilt.

“Unless you want it to be.” What – he certainly hadn’t bloody meant to say that! But on the other hand, if he hadn’t, Dean would probably have left and that would have been the end, and he didn’t want this to end because -. Because -. –

Dean took a deep breath and actually smiled and the tension in Crowley’s breast eased considerably. Seriously, how –

“See, I know a thing or two about… difficult father-son relationships.”

“I’d gathered as much.” He had because – well – one couldn’t be in such an arrangement as theirs without eventually talking about something, and since Dean loved talking about his brother constantly, it had soon transpired that they and their late father hadn’t exactly been close, for reasons entirely to do with said father (say what you want about Crowley, and he was aware that he wasn’t a good parent, but at least he’d never left Gavin alone with another child to look after in a motel room – so Dean really liked to talk, and Crowley liked listening to his voice. So what? Oh God, the voice in his head was starting to sound like Dean).

“Yeah, so… I know this is by no means hopeless. He’s an angry teenager whose parents are separated –“

“We were never together –“

“Yeah, yeah, Peaches, I get it. But my point stands – he’s an angry teenager who wants to blame everyone and the world for the fact that he’s angry, and you’re… well of course you’re going to butt heads. But I think if we talk to him, we could figure something out.”

We? Now that sounded rather like… “You’d help?”

“Of course” Dean affirmed but Crowley told himself not to think too much of it. Dean was exactly the sort of man who helped old ladies across the street and dropped everything to help a friend in need (in other words, Crowley’s exact opposite).

Yes, let Dean talk to Gavin if he wanted to. After all, they had had their arrangement for close to six months already.

No reason to think it would last much longer.

Two years later

He sighed when he heard the door slam. “Gavin!”

“Sorry, Dad, me and Kevin just want to play a few games – don’t worry, we’ve done our homework!”

And he and his friend ran past his home office. He and Dean had made it a rule that one of them should be home when Gavin came back from school, just to show, as Gavin’s therapist had suggested to them, that they were reliable..

It mostly meant he went through his documents at home, now.

When he didn’t have something better to dop, as was the case today, so he decided to go speak to Gavin.

As it turned out, he didn’t gave to remind him of his plans, for as soon as he knocked on the door, his son called out, “I’ll stay at Kevin’s tonight so you can pop the question, don’t worry.”

He would say that, they certainly communicated better these days.

At first, he had admittedly been nervous not to only move in with his boyfriend, but to take full custody of Gavin – whose home situation and proved to be a major reason for his outbursts – but Dean had quickly convinced him that it was a good idea, and so it had proved.

He had everything he could ever have wanted,

Well, almost. He puled the ring out of his pocket.

He was about to rectify that.

#fictober22 #my writings #spn #drowley #crowley #dean winchester

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