Obsessions

Currently, mostly Supernatural, Doctor Who, Sherlock...

To see the "Sass-tiel"/Sassy Castiel, search under #sass

My writing stuff can mostly be found if you search my posts under #muse
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

theactualmishacollins:

kvotheunkvothe:

theactualmishacollins:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well I guess that depends. Are you stupid? Do you have a death wish? Any and all of the above?

"Hello?" she called tentatively.

The intercom crackled. “Who is this? Get off the line, run, don’t you know there’s a goddamn dragon in the building?”

"Where are you?" she asked, ignoring the oh-so practical advice.

"The radio tower. Outside the building." There was a pause. "…Dumbass."

"So I’ve heard. Now, how does one get out of the building without getting devoured by the fucking FIRE-BREATHING DRAGON?"

"Did you try any other exits? Or did’ja just give up?”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

theactualmishacollins:

kvotheunkvothe:

theactualmishacollins:

kvotheunkvothe:

theactualmishacollins:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well I guess that depends. Are you stupid? Do you have a death wish? Any and all of the above?

When she was a good five or six floors down, she slowed, breathing heavily.

She would supposedly have to find another way out of here, now.
aN OLD mAN died. But look, a computer!

Looking around, she saw the building was near deserted.

Quite deserted, in fact. Too bad that fellow had goaded the dragon and all. Oh well, he probably should’ve known better.

She wandered down another flight of steps, spying a figure from the corner of her eye.

Actually it was only a pole. Andi must be getting lonely. Like, hey, poley, what’s shakin’.

She went down a few further floors before she saw an actual person this time. She could tell because the figure was cursing loudly. “Damn DRAGON! Why the hell is a dragon here? Goddammit.”

Andi rubbed her eyes. Oh for fuck’s sake, now it was an intercom mounted on a pole. STRIKE TWO, ANDI. Maybe she needed glasses. Still, there was certainly someone on the other side of the intercom?

Asker thesasslord Asks:
"I trusted you!" [We haven't done a prompt in a long time whoa. I'm signing off for the night but I saw the thing and I just couldn't resist]
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well that was a mistake, wasn’t it.” [Nah, just remind me when you answer—might get buried otherwise!]

Brit hesitantly took a step closer to him and looked around the room. She hadn’t expected him to be…tech-savvy.

The figure moved, adjusting something, and then the flat object she was approaching began to let out a hum as with electrical power. “Please, to come not-far?” the voice implored her.

"Okay," she agreed, "But what do you want me to do?"

"Look in. And being without? To make light, dark. Very much to dark light." It hummed  slightly louder as she approached, not an angry sound, but a reactive sound.

She jumped a little, but looked into the mirror as directed. Better to be obedient, right? She didn’t want to cause trouble. “I…can’t make light, if that’s what you want,” she lied bluntly, despite her thoughts of honesty.

The surface was blank and black. But she got a strange feeling from looking at it. Like it was only waiting to be noticed. And it seemed the longer she studied it, the more she could pick out a little reflection. It started off as impressions—shadows. Moving when she did. And then, yes, now that she was looking for it, there was the faint sign of a face, there. A body. A poor reflection, maybe, but a mirror of a sorts. But it didn’t… feel like an image. It was as if the light of the room passed through her, threw her impression up on this blank canvas to be painted in her likeness, borne out of her particles. It was like being bombarded with cosmic radiation, and maybe it was just because that she was thinking like this, but she felt a little woozy and tired all of a sudden.
But then the man had a hold of her arm, pulling her away from the apparatus and propelling her to a chair where a hot mug of tea and a sandwich was pressed into her hand. “Is good. Is good,” he was encouraging her, his own features still too hard to make out as he patted her head. “But in resting, now, yes?”

She stood up immediately. “What the hell are you doing to me?” she demanded, “Is this some sort of satanic ritual or something where you steal my youth or shit like that?”

He was shaking his head. “Light,” he said again, touching her head almost sadly. “Needing only little light-making. It takes, but only little. Plem rosng. Moon-seven, all back. Not a forever taking.” He again seemed to be attempting to find the words, going around the panels of the room and dialing them back down again. “Small… energy?” he tried. “Taking? Like—” He blew into his palm, the bright points of light where his eyes should be looking to her to see if she understood.

She shook her head, “You didn’t tell me that you were going to drain my life energy.” The girl sighed and looked up at the strange man. Should she just make the room brighter and get it over with? She decided against it for the time being, figuring that It was too dangerous.

Small taking,” he repeated, a bit stubbornly, his low voice seeming to creep around in the dark away from him like it had its own little serpentine body. “It must to light dark. Look, am seeing?” he said, gesturing her over to the wall beside him.

Fuck it, she was going to just light the room. Brit didn’t move. “Light dark?” She opened the lights behind her eyes and filled the room with bright blue luminescence. The skin on her face glowed purple a little as the light shone behind it, making the silhouette of her skull just barely visible. “Is that what you want?”

There was a scream that felt soul-deep, suddenly roaring through the room. His body seemed to fall back like a literal shadow being chased by the light, twisting and writhing pathetically back against the wall, seeming to grow and shrink and shatter like a body just could not do. If you walked the streets of Hiroshima August of 1945 and saw the flash-print shadows of the disintegrating bodies left on unfeeling cement, you might have seen something like it.

She stopped immediately, horrified by the outcome of her decision. “I-I’m sorry! I thought…” The girl’s voice trailed off into the silent darkness of the room as she watched the figure intently to see that he was okay.

His breath was a jagged puncture in the air, form too insubstantial to pick out of the general darkness anymore. For a little while there was only that sound, like he had to gather the rest of himself up.

Asker Anonymous Asks:
Is it okay if I send you more asks tomorrow? I wouldn't want to be a bother, but I don't know who else to talk to
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

Of course. I’m getting near finals, soon, so I might not be on as much, but I will answer. I’ll try to tag them in my #help tag (where, by the way, there are also a bunch of resources).

“Is that supposed to scare me?”
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

theactualmishacollins:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well I guess that depends. Are you stupid? Do you have a death wish? Any and all of the above?

When she was a good five or six floors down, she slowed, breathing heavily.

She would supposedly have to find another way out of here, now.
aN OLD mAN died. But look, a computer!

Looking around, she saw the building was near deserted.

Quite deserted, in fact. Too bad that fellow had goaded the dragon and all. Oh well, he probably should’ve known better.

Asker thesasslord Asks:
"I trusted you!" [We haven't done a prompt in a long time whoa. I'm signing off for the night but I saw the thing and I just couldn't resist]
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well that was a mistake, wasn’t it.” [Nah, just remind me when you answer—might get buried otherwise!]

Brit hesitantly took a step closer to him and looked around the room. She hadn’t expected him to be…tech-savvy.

The figure moved, adjusting something, and then the flat object she was approaching began to let out a hum as with electrical power. “Please, to come not-far?” the voice implored her.

"Okay," she agreed, "But what do you want me to do?"

"Look in. And being without? To make light, dark. Very much to dark light." It hummed  slightly louder as she approached, not an angry sound, but a reactive sound.

She jumped a little, but looked into the mirror as directed. Better to be obedient, right? She didn’t want to cause trouble. “I…can’t make light, if that’s what you want,” she lied bluntly, despite her thoughts of honesty.

The surface was blank and black. But she got a strange feeling from looking at it. Like it was only waiting to be noticed. And it seemed the longer she studied it, the more she could pick out a little reflection. It started off as impressions—shadows. Moving when she did. And then, yes, now that she was looking for it, there was the faint sign of a face, there. A body. A poor reflection, maybe, but a mirror of a sorts. But it didn’t… feel like an image. It was as if the light of the room passed through her, threw her impression up on this blank canvas to be painted in her likeness, borne out of her particles. It was like being bombarded with cosmic radiation, and maybe it was just because that she was thinking like this, but she felt a little woozy and tired all of a sudden.
But then the man had a hold of her arm, pulling her away from the apparatus and propelling her to a chair where a hot mug of tea and a sandwich was pressed into her hand. “Is good. Is good,” he was encouraging her, his own features still too hard to make out as he patted her head. “But in resting, now, yes?”

She stood up immediately. “What the hell are you doing to me?” she demanded, “Is this some sort of satanic ritual or something where you steal my youth or shit like that?”

He was shaking his head. “Light,” he said again, touching her head almost sadly. “Needing only little light-making. It takes, but only little. Plem rosng. Moon-seven, all back. Not a forever taking.” He again seemed to be attempting to find the words, going around the panels of the room and dialing them back down again. “Small… energy?” he tried. “Taking? Like—” He blew into his palm, the bright points of light where his eyes should be looking to her to see if she understood.

She shook her head, “You didn’t tell me that you were going to drain my life energy.” The girl sighed and looked up at the strange man. Should she just make the room brighter and get it over with? She decided against it for the time being, figuring that It was too dangerous.

Small taking,” he repeated, a bit stubbornly, his low voice seeming to creep around in the dark away from him like it had its own little serpentine body. “It must to light dark. Look, am seeing?” he said, gesturing her over to the wall beside him.

Fuck it, she was going to just light the room. Brit didn’t move. “Light dark?” She opened the lights behind her eyes and filled the room with bright blue luminescence. The skin on her face glowed purple a little as the light shone behind it, making the silhouette of her skull just barely visible. “Is that what you want?”

There was a scream that felt soul-deep, suddenly roaring through the room. His body seemed to fall back like a literal shadow being chased by the light, twisting and writhing pathetically back against the wall, seeming to grow and shrink and shatter like a body just could not do. If you walked the streets of Hiroshima August of 1945 and saw the flash-print shadows of the disintegrating bodies left on unfeeling cement, you might have seen something like it.

Asker Anonymous Asks:
I've considered that before. That mindset is kind of how I started figuring out how to get over my eating disorders, but that was physical needs, and I have absolutely no idea whatsoever to handle emotional needs. I saw someone saying that I might need 'me' time, but in all honesty, most of the time, I'm alone.
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

"Me" time isn’t always "alone" time. It can just be taking stock of the self, recognizing what you need, and sometimes communicating that to others. And as was mentioned, if you’re having trouble identifying your emotional needs, you might need to start reaching out to other sources. Maybe try writing in a journal, or talking it out with someone—a friend, or a counselor—to figure out what’s missing or making you feel inadequate. Maybe you just need recognition for all you do, and that can be as easy as demanding it. But, again, it can also be very complicated. You just need to figure out what works best for you.

Asker thesasslord Asks:
"I trusted you!" [We haven't done a prompt in a long time whoa. I'm signing off for the night but I saw the thing and I just couldn't resist]
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well that was a mistake, wasn’t it.” [Nah, just remind me when you answer—might get buried otherwise!]

Brit hesitantly took a step closer to him and looked around the room. She hadn’t expected him to be…tech-savvy.

The figure moved, adjusting something, and then the flat object she was approaching began to let out a hum as with electrical power. “Please, to come not-far?” the voice implored her.

"Okay," she agreed, "But what do you want me to do?"

"Look in. And being without? To make light, dark. Very much to dark light." It hummed  slightly louder as she approached, not an angry sound, but a reactive sound.

She jumped a little, but looked into the mirror as directed. Better to be obedient, right? She didn’t want to cause trouble. “I…can’t make light, if that’s what you want,” she lied bluntly, despite her thoughts of honesty.

The surface was blank and black. But she got a strange feeling from looking at it. Like it was only waiting to be noticed. And it seemed the longer she studied it, the more she could pick out a little reflection. It started off as impressions—shadows. Moving when she did. And then, yes, now that she was looking for it, there was the faint sign of a face, there. A body. A poor reflection, maybe, but a mirror of a sorts. But it didn’t… feel like an image. It was as if the light of the room passed through her, threw her impression up on this blank canvas to be painted in her likeness, borne out of her particles. It was like being bombarded with cosmic radiation, and maybe it was just because that she was thinking like this, but she felt a little woozy and tired all of a sudden.
But then the man had a hold of her arm, pulling her away from the apparatus and propelling her to a chair where a hot mug of tea and a sandwich was pressed into her hand. “Is good. Is good,” he was encouraging her, his own features still too hard to make out as he patted her head. “But in resting, now, yes?”

She stood up immediately. “What the hell are you doing to me?” she demanded, “Is this some sort of satanic ritual or something where you steal my youth or shit like that?”

He was shaking his head. “Light,” he said again, touching her head almost sadly. “Needing only little light-making. It takes, but only little. Plem rosng. Moon-seven, all back. Not a forever taking.” He again seemed to be attempting to find the words, going around the panels of the room and dialing them back down again. “Small… energy?” he tried. “Taking? Like—” He blew into his palm, the bright points of light where his eyes should be looking to her to see if she understood.

She shook her head, “You didn’t tell me that you were going to drain my life energy.” The girl sighed and looked up at the strange man. Should she just make the room brighter and get it over with? She decided against it for the time being, figuring that It was too dangerous.

Small taking,” he repeated, a bit stubbornly, his low voice seeming to creep around in the dark away from him like it had its own little serpentine body. “It must to light dark. Look, am seeing?” he said, gesturing her over to the wall beside him.

(via spn-cas)

tumblmushroom:

sometimes cas does the cutest things and i dont know what to do so i just roll around on the ground and make screeching noises

image

(via jaredpunzel)

Asker Anonymous Asks:
I try to do things like that, but I don't know. I just feel like I'm inadequate all the time. And sometimes I really want attention but I feel bad because that's extremely selfish, and I don't want to be a selfish person. And it's been getting worse, too. I have no idea why. I'm starting to get anxiety attacks for the first time ever and some of my old problems are coming back and I really don't know what to do. I try not to make my purpose pleasing others but I can't feel good any other way
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

Then maybe this isn’t the time to develop that sense of yourself. You might need to be a little more “selfish.” And by that I mean focus more on the self. Look to your needs; it seems like your emotional ones certainly aren’t being fulfilled. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what your needs are, and it can help you develop into a better rounded person and relate to others more easily.

Asker thesasslord Asks:
"I trusted you!" [We haven't done a prompt in a long time whoa. I'm signing off for the night but I saw the thing and I just couldn't resist]
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well that was a mistake, wasn’t it.” [Nah, just remind me when you answer—might get buried otherwise!]

Brit hesitantly took a step closer to him and looked around the room. She hadn’t expected him to be…tech-savvy.

The figure moved, adjusting something, and then the flat object she was approaching began to let out a hum as with electrical power. “Please, to come not-far?” the voice implored her.

"Okay," she agreed, "But what do you want me to do?"

"Look in. And being without? To make light, dark. Very much to dark light." It hummed  slightly louder as she approached, not an angry sound, but a reactive sound.

She jumped a little, but looked into the mirror as directed. Better to be obedient, right? She didn’t want to cause trouble. “I…can’t make light, if that’s what you want,” she lied bluntly, despite her thoughts of honesty.

The surface was blank and black. But she got a strange feeling from looking at it. Like it was only waiting to be noticed. And it seemed the longer she studied it, the more she could pick out a little reflection. It started off as impressions—shadows. Moving when she did. And then, yes, now that she was looking for it, there was the faint sign of a face, there. A body. A poor reflection, maybe, but a mirror of a sorts. But it didn’t… feel like an image. It was as if the light of the room passed through her, threw her impression up on this blank canvas to be painted in her likeness, borne out of her particles. It was like being bombarded with cosmic radiation, and maybe it was just because that she was thinking like this, but she felt a little woozy and tired all of a sudden.
But then the man had a hold of her arm, pulling her away from the apparatus and propelling her to a chair where a hot mug of tea and a sandwich was pressed into her hand. “Is good. Is good,” he was encouraging her, his own features still too hard to make out as he patted her head. “But in resting, now, yes?”

She stood up immediately. “What the hell are you doing to me?” she demanded, “Is this some sort of satanic ritual or something where you steal my youth or shit like that?”

He was shaking his head. “Light,” he said again, touching her head almost sadly. “Needing only little light-making. It takes, but only little. Plem rosng. Moon-seven, all back. Not a forever taking.” He again seemed to be attempting to find the words, going around the panels of the room and dialing them back down again. “Small… energy?” he tried. “Taking? Like—” He blew into his palm, the bright points of light where his eyes should be looking to her to see if she understood.

Asker Anonymous Asks:
I just always try to do things for people the best I can. Online, in real life, whatever. But nobody ever really appreciates it. Or the time I put into it. And I'm realizing now that no matter what I'm good at, there's always someone way better, so what's the point of trying anyways?
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

I can relate to feeling unappreciated. And I think there are two ways you can really answer this: You could either become bitter and stop trying to do things for other people, or you can keep doing what you’re doing but stop caring about others’ reactions. Do it for yourself. For the good feeling you get from being able to do something well, or making somebody’s life a little better, whether they realize it or not. Stop being reliant on others’ for your own well-being. Maybe branch out to different people. Try doing small things you never expect any acknowledgement for: leave sticky notes with affirmations around your school or campus; donate to a food bank. You can still be a person in service of others without relying on their reactions. If that’s the kind of person you want to be, it will develop into its own reward.

In terms of feeling inadequate, again, Anon, I can completely relate. Sometimes I just need to listen to Losers on repeat until I pound it into my skull that you do NOT HAVE TO BE THE VERY BEST. There are no winners. We’re all fucking losers, sometimes. And that’s okay! There will always be someone better than you. But that in no way diminishes what you’re capable of. It’s not a competition. The only one you should be measuring yourself against is your past self. Look at whatever it is you can do: your writing, maybe your art, your sport, your dramatic piece, your interpersonal communication, your understanding of your own heart. Look at the progress you’ve made, developing these skills over your life! Keep working at them, find the things that give you passion, and you’ll only improve until you’re the very best that you can be. That’s the point. Give yourself some credit, Anon, and don’t give up.

Asker Anonymous Asks:
I hate myself
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

Oh, please don’t do that, Anon. I bet whoever you are, you’re a lot more awesome than you even realize.

Asker thesasslord Asks:
"I trusted you!" [We haven't done a prompt in a long time whoa. I'm signing off for the night but I saw the thing and I just couldn't resist]
kvotheunkvothe kvotheunkvothe Said:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

rockysontheroad:

kvotheunkvothe:

kvotheunkvothe:

"Well that was a mistake, wasn’t it.” [Nah, just remind me when you answer—might get buried otherwise!]

Brit hesitantly took a step closer to him and looked around the room. She hadn’t expected him to be…tech-savvy.

The figure moved, adjusting something, and then the flat object she was approaching began to let out a hum as with electrical power. “Please, to come not-far?” the voice implored her.

"Okay," she agreed, "But what do you want me to do?"

"Look in. And being without? To make light, dark. Very much to dark light." It hummed  slightly louder as she approached, not an angry sound, but a reactive sound.

She jumped a little, but looked into the mirror as directed. Better to be obedient, right? She didn’t want to cause trouble. “I…can’t make light, if that’s what you want,” she lied bluntly, despite her thoughts of honesty.

The surface was blank and black. But she got a strange feeling from looking at it. Like it was only waiting to be noticed. And it seemed the longer she studied it, the more she could pick out a little reflection. It started off as impressions—shadows. Moving when she did. And then, yes, now that she was looking for it, there was the faint sign of a face, there. A body. A poor reflection, maybe, but a mirror of a sorts. But it didn’t… feel like an image. It was as if the light of the room passed through her, threw her impression up on this blank canvas to be painted in her likeness, borne out of her particles. It was like being bombarded with cosmic radiation, and maybe it was just because that she was thinking like this, but she felt a little woozy and tired all of a sudden.
But then the man had a hold of her arm, pulling her away from the apparatus and propelling her to a chair where a hot mug of tea and a sandwich was pressed into her hand. “Is good. Is good,” he was encouraging her, his own features still too hard to make out as he patted her head. “But in resting, now, yes?”